TK-726 Journal Entry 21-12-20

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The following journal entries are those of Stormtrooper TK-726, a struggling, low-level attorney stationed on the first Death Star. They largely depict his trials and tribulations as a last-resort Imperial attorney. Found floating in space by a band of smugglers, Mos Eisley Radio acquired the journals and has set to work on translating and documenting the content. Though his fate is still shrouded in mystery, at this point, one thing is strikingly unclear: Who knows why TK-726 even bothered to record his these things?

TK-726 IN
Journal Entry 11-82-21

A pretty angry trooper came stomping into my office earlier today. He was all irate about something, but I was finishing a brief so I told him to just have a seat. When he went to sit down, instead of turning around, he backed up while facing me and then shuffled laterally. It was very bizarre and it immediately caught my attention.

“OK, take your helmet off and tell me what’s on your back that you don’t want me to see?” I asked, putting my brief away.

He had his full stormtrooper gear on. I like to have people take their helmet off so I can read their eyes. I, of course, keep mine on because I don’t want them to see my eyes, and it looks cool with my suit.

He looked mad and sheepish at the same time, which is quite the expression. When he turned around I didn’t see anything particularly interesting about the back of his armor. Then he pointed at his ass-plate.

Somebody had branded a perfect visage of Vader’s helmet on the left cheek of his pearly white backside armor.

It was spectacular.

“I gotta say, somebody is an artist. Where do you even get a brand capable of doing that on the Star?” I asked. It was truly impressive work, and to acquire or build a brand like that was amazing. The trooper didn’t share my appreciation.

“I want to sue someone.”
“Hold on. Why don’t you just get a new plate?”
“The guys at Equipment and Maintenance think it’s funny, they said they’re out of plates until Friday.”
“I assume it’s the talented SOB that branded your armor that you’re looking to sue here, and not the clowns at Equipment. Who was it?”
“I’m not sure.”

I paused. This, believe it or not, is not an uncommon situation. “Well, that’s going to be a bit of a problem.”

“I think it’s TK-1037. He accused me of cheating when I beat him in sabaac a few weeks ago.”

Now this type of thing happens quite a bit. Some angry person comes storming in wanting vengence. The problem is that the law isn’t always the best avenue for this. Sometimes you just have to be a little more creative.

“Let me break this down for you. You want to sue TK-1037 because he stamped Vader’s face on your ass, which by the way is truly impressive work. So you’re going to sue this guy and guess what? You’re going to be famous by the end of the day. Every officer on this whole space station is going to know that you’re sitting on Vader’s mug, and sooner or later so will the big guy himself, and then it’s chokey-chokey time. And for what? You think you’re going to get “paid” for this? What are your damages? Embarrassment and future infamy? Good luck with that, buddy.”

I motioned him closer.

“Here’s what you do, kid. You take whatever money you wanted to pay me and go down to Equipment. You give it to my buddy TK-481 and tell him that I sent you. Explain that this guy got you good and you’re looking for some payback. Tell him to hide all the codpieces for 48 hours. Then you go back up to joker’s room when he’s working out and superglue a whole bunch of your hair in strategic places to his. Oh, and get yourself a new assplate before you get yourself killed.”

Who says lawyers aren’t creative?

TK-726 OUT

TK-726 Journal Entry 11-40-21

Written by Admin | posted in Read, TK-726 | 0 Comments |

The following journal entries are those of Stormtrooper TK-726, a struggling, low-level attorney stationed on the first Death Star. They largely depict his trials and tribulations as a last-resort Imperial attorney. Found floating in space by a band of smugglers, Mos Eisley Radio acquired the journals and has set to work on translating and documenting the content. Though his fate is still shrouded in mystery, at this point, one thing is strikingly unclear: Who knows why TK-726 even bothered to record his these things?

TK-726 IN
Journal Entry 11-40-21

Product liability cases are never what they seem at first glance. Remember that famous case where the elder female officer ordered the cup of caf and burned herself, then sued and won? Remember how unfair everyone thought that was? What if I told you that the officer who burned herself was in her 70’s, the coffee was 85 standard degrees, would cause 3rd degree burns in less than 2 seconds, could not be consumed orally at that temperature, and she lost 20% of her body weight while in the hospital receiving major skin grafts to her groin and thighs. Makes it a little more believable that a jury awarded her some money, right?

The point is that you have to find out all the facts before you make a decision about one of these. This week was a good example of why you ask all the weird questions.

Scout Trooper TB-2847 came in looking for someone to represent him. I guess the other side was willing to settle and pay most of his medical bills, but nothing else. He said that he’d been badly injured by his “cooker”. A cooker is essentially a box that has some heating coils in the bottom, powered by electricity. You put your food on the grate, and the coils heat it up. You see them everywhere in trooper outposts because they’re small and simple devices. Now, he didn’t look injured, but he had his gear on so it was hard to tell.

“So what happened?” I ask.
“My cooker electrocuted me,” he said.
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“It electrocuted me and gave me a heart attack.”

Not exactly what I was going for, but I suppose I could have been more specific.

“What were you doing when your cooker electrocuted you?”
“Cooking.”

I’d had enough of this clown.

“Ok. Take your helmet off.” He obliged. “I assume you want me to represent you, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what the hell happened here, so go ahead and explain from the beginning.” That seemed to resonate, because he immediately took his helmet off. He was in his mid 20’s. Didn’t look too bright, which may seem strange to say, but sometimes you can just tell. His slightly dazed eyes betrayed a history of close encounters between his had and a vibro-baton.

“I was doing recon on Endor. We’d just gotten some new supplies from station, and it included a cooker and a generator. We were pretty excited because we’d been living out of cans and whatever we could cook over a fire. We fired up the generator, and put in some meat from an animal we snared. I opened it up to pull the meat out and put my hand in there and I must have brushed one of the heating elements because it blew up and electrocuted me. I’m not really sure because I blacked out and woke up an hour later. I guess the guys say my heart stopped but they got it going again.”

Quite a story. I was this close to taking the case and telling him to go home so I could start working on it. Something in the back of my mind told me to ask a few more questions.

“So it just blew up when you touched the coil?” I asked.
“I guess so. Kinda hard for me to remember.”
“You weren’t wearing your gloves were you?” I thought maybe a buckle or something got caught in there. It was a long shot.
“Nope. My gloves are pretty dirty. I didn’t want to handle the food with them.”
“Ok. So that we’re clear, it was a new cooker, a standard generator, you put your hand in without a glove, and it electrocuted you.”
“Yep.”

Seemed legit to me. I went through the whole standard paperwork thing with him, talked a while about billing, and was walking him out the door when a thought popped into my head.

“You don’t have an extensive medical history, do you? Nothing crazy I should know about, right?”

He stopped at the door and turned around. “Well, I had a pretty bad speeder bike accident a couple years ago.”
“How bad was it?”
“I probably should have died. They barely put me back together.”

I cringed, hoping that I wasn’t right.

“What hand did you use to get the food out?”
“My right. Why?”

I walked over, holding my hand out to shake his, and when he put his hand in mine, I pulled off his right glove revealing his shining, metal, robotic hand.

We settled.

TK-726 OUT

TK-726 JOURNAL ENTRY 11-30-21

Written by Admin | posted in Read, TK-726 | 0 Comments |

The following journal entries are those of Stormtrooper TK-726, a struggling, low-level attorney stationed on the first Death Star. They largely depict his trials and tribulations as a last-resort Imperial attorney. Found floating in space by a band of smugglers, Mos Eisley Radio acquired the journals and has set to work on translating and documenting the content. Though his fate is still shrouded in mystery, at this point, one thing is strikingly unclear: Who knows why TK-726 even bothered to record his these things?

TK-726 IN
JOURNAL ENTRY 11-30-21

The Death Star is not small. Sure, it looks a little like a moon from a distance, but when you live inside this place, it can get ridiculous.

I ran out of exhibit tags last week. I meant to order them but forgot. Now I’m a day away from a hearing on some marital dispute and I don’t have any tags and no time to order them. I have to go get them myself.

It turns out that the only place that sells legal supplies is this little joint way over on level 6 in sector 57. When I first looked it up, I didn’t even realize this station had 57 sectors and then I found out why. It’s completely on the other side, as far from my office as geometrically possible. This was going to be a trek.

When you have to travel a distance like this, you don’t walk. You take an inner-transport. It’s built into a tube system that runs the circumference of the station. It’s usually dirty, filled with questionable individuals, and often smells pretty bad. In short, it sucks and I try to avoid it at all costs.

As luck would have it (and I say this loosely because once you get on an inner-transport, events like this seem to be inevitable) the guy sitting next to me turned out to be completely wasted. He was some low-end Imperial officer, probably a few months out of training. As luck would also have it (again, loosely), he wanted to talk. I was hoping he wouldn’t be making an assumption that I was an attorney because of the suit.

Attempts to accurately translate his drunken slurs into coherent typed phrases are, unsurprisingly, exhausting. Just assume that this guy wasn’t exactly a holodrama voiceover candidate. “If you’re driving a speeder and are pulled over by a sec (security) trooper, do you have to give a breath sample?” he slurs. Crap.

I try to ignore him. Guess the results.

“Hey! You’re a lawyer aren’t you?” This would be one of the rare times where I actually wish that I had to wear armor like everyone else instead of just the helmet. Finally, I oblige out of a morbid curiosity.

“Why did you get pulled over?” I ask.
“I was pulled over.”
“You just said you got pulled over”
“No I didn’t. I said I WAS pulled over.”
“Ok. So you weren’t driving when the trooper found you?”
“Nope.”

Well now we have a real mystery on our hands. At this point he’s smiling, clearly knowing that he’s got his hooks in me. However, his rubbery, fluid speech makes it all a strange, largely unentertaining game to really make out what he’s saying. I’m sparing you this aspect of the mystery.

“So you were in your car, but not driving when the trooper found you.”
“Right!”
“How long had you NOT been driving when the trooper found you?”

He had to think about this one. “None,” he says.

“None?”
“None.” He seemed satisfied with that answer. I was not.

“Why weren’t you driving when he found you?” I had an idea.
“My speeder was busted.”

Winner.

“You crashed your speeder into a sec-trooper, didn’t you?” I laughed.
“Yep.” He seemed pleased. “Big Time. Wrecked his whole back end.”
“How mad was he?” I asked, already knowing the obvious answer.
“He wasn’t happy.”

Now the million credit question.

“So how wasted were you?”
“Pretty wasted.”

Of course. There was a long pause. He seemed to be trying to formulate a thought, but I didn’t want to let the conversation get back into a potential legal advice scenario with this clown, so I struck pre-emptively.

“Where are you going?”
“I gotta go to court to get my permit back.”
“Today? Which court?” Obviously, going to court hammered to get a speeder permit back was less than advisable. Naturally, I withheld such advice, knowing it would be ignored in the unlikely event he even remembered it.
“Traffic court, man.”

I looked at the map on the wall of the transport.

“Traffic court was like 7 stops ago, dude.”

He looked at me with his head sort of wavering, then stood up and tottered over to the map. He was staring at it, kind of swaying, when the transport stopped suddenly and he flew sideways. His body turned at the last second and his face hit a stability pole flush. Bang. Out cold.

I was completely in shock. My mouth was wide open and after a few seconds I heard him start to groan on the ground. I knew he wasn’t dead. I don’t know why, but I just burst out laughing. The next stop was mine and I was crying under my helmet I was laughing so hard. It took nearly 10 minutes to compose myself to get the legal tags because I was just completely unhinged.

I wish I would have gotten his ID to check out how his hearing went.

TK-726 OUT

TK-726 JOURNAL ENTRY 11.92.11

Written by Admin | posted in Read, TK-726 | 0 Comments |

The following journal entries are those of Stormtrooper TK-726, a struggling, low-level attorney stationed on the first Death Star. They largely depict his trials and tribulations as a last-resort Imperial attorney. Found floating in space by a band of smugglers, Mos Eisley Radio acquired the journals and has set to work on translating and documenting the content. Though his fate is still shrouded in mystery, at this point, one thing is strikingly unclear: Who knows why TK-726 even bothered to record his these things?

TK-726 IN.
JOURNAL ENTRY 11.92.11

To see a Moff stroll into my office was a shock. Even more shocking was what he carried with him.

I should enlighten you as to why it would be a shock to see a real live Moff walk into my office. Not three floors above me sits the high end firm of TKs-7 and 9, PLC. They have represented virtually every big-time imperial Moff in the last fifty years. I, on the other hand, am pretty sure that the last occupant of my office was some sort of huttese cookery because early in the mornings when the heat kicks in, this place has a weird smell. If you were a Moff looking for legal counsel, where would you go? Spendy Corellianwood conference tables, or former Hutt kitchen. Exactly.

Anyway, here comes this old guy. I know he’s old because 1: he looks old, and 2: he has no sideburns. I’m not sure when exactly this happened, but someone must have passed some sort of law that says that Moffs under the age of fifty have to grow enormous burns. I saw a guy yesterday whose head was wider than it is tall. Let’s just say I’m glad I wear a helmet because sideburns big enough to put into ponytails are not exactly what I want.

I digress. Here comes old man Moff with one of those durasteel briefcases. The kind where you’re about 95% sure whatever is in there has got to be seriously illegal, and is usually handcuffed to some poor chap who is destined to take a blaster bolt at any time.

He steps in and the first thing he says is, “This shall remain confidential. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. How may I help you?”

“I have something I want you to look at.”

Now, if you know me at all, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t started thinking about how I’m going to get paid. Let me assure you; Moffs have a great legal coverage plan. We can move on, back to what’s in the briefcase.

“Before I show you what’s in this, you’re probably wondering why I’m not at 7 and 9. I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust their clients; namely, all the other Moffs. Someone has broken into my personal quarters. After a thorough sweep, it appears that no documents were disturbed, and no bugs were planted. However, they did leave behind a piece of evidence,” the Moff calmly spoke, although I could see the intensity in his eyes that he was going to open the briefcase.

He cracks the lid and a little bit of fog escapes, as though I needed any more mystique in this whole event. As the lid opens wider I recognize he’s got a mini-carbonite casing inside. First off, those things are flat-out awesome, and not even close to affordable. But what is even more awesome is what I was pretty sure was captured perfectly inside the little carbonite chamber.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It is indeed. The burglar left it in the sani-room.”

It was a perfectly preserved turd, sealed in carbonite.

Yes, I was staring at a grown man who has brought me another man’s (I can only assume man. I suppose I could be wrong) defecation in a 25,000 credit mini-carbonite chamber.

“So, just so we’re clear here, this is indeed feces?”

“Yes, it is”

“And why exactly are you here again?”

“You’re going to help me find the burglar.”

Sigh. I really thought this was going to be a big score for me. I was so tired of drinking low end garbage ale that I really did consider going through with it, but I just couldn’t. I had to bring this nut-job back to reality and out of the holodramas. My god, he could have his finger on the button of this freaking space station’s laser. He doesn’t need this on his mind.

“Sir, if you could take a look around for a second, you’ll see that not only do I not have any of the fake equipment you see in holodramas that might be used to, how shall I say, process this particular item, but I’d like to raise the following potential to you. Let’s say that I was another Moff looking to really befuddle you. Isn’t it possible that someone broke into your quarters, left no bugs, took nothing, and dropped one in your sanibowl knowing that you just might spend the next month carrying it around trying to track down the culprit?”

We stared at each other for a good 30 seconds. I have never been more glad I wear a helmet.

He grabbed his sh*t and walked out. I didn’t hear another word about it.

TK-726 OUT

TK-726 JOURNAL ENTRY 11.82.11

Written by Admin | posted in Read, TK-726 | 0 Comments |

The following journal entries are those of Stormtrooper TK-726, a struggling, low-level attorney stationed on the first Death Star. They largely depict his trials and tribulations as a last-resort Imperial attorney. Found floating in space by a band of smugglers, Mos Eisley Radio acquired the journals and has set to work on translating and documenting the content. Though his fate is still shrouded in mystery, at this point, one thing is strikingly unclear: Who knows why TK-726 even bothered to record his these things?

JOURNAL ENTRY 11.82.11

Up until yesterday, it had been a pretty boring week. The kind of week where you wonder if starting your own practice had been a good idea at all. It’s times like this when ridiculous stuff starts happening, as though the laws of averages just can’t bear to see you bored. Enter my latest client, TK-9724.

This clown was eating in the cafeteria on level 17, sector 5, and decided to order the biggest bowl of soup they offered. That day the soup was Tatooine Bean (which is sort of grainy and leaves a completely inexplicable dry aftertaste in your mouth that won’t leave for days). Why anyone would order this is beyond me, but there you have TK-9724 walking around with an enormous bowl of the barely edible slop, just ready to chow down. Sure enough, he steps on a mouse droid the second he’s done paying for it.

So he doesn’t just spill it, because that would be too easy. He chucks it about three feet in the air and tries to catch it with… his body. I’m sure he thought he could go pro in huttball or something, but catching a bowl of soup in your body is dumb. You know that little gap where a trooper’s chest armor meets his abdominal plate? Yeah. Scalding hot soup got in there.

Here’s where you ask, “Wait a second. Doesn’t he wear a thermal suit underneath?” Of course he does, but this is where the real genius of this guy begins. He cut it out in that section.

“Why the hell did you cut out your thermal layer there?” I asked.

“To keep me cool in the summer.”

???

Ok. I have no idea where this moron was stationed before here, but it could be nuclear freaking winter outside and it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference here on the Death Star. It took me a good minute to formulate my next thought, which was, of course, that this guy had to pay me up front for whatever he wanted.

Now I wish I had a lot more time with this guy because no matter how hard it is to make it as an attorney on Tarkin’s toy, your life is surely too short to miss opportunites to gather stories from idiots like this. Unfortunately, what he said next was a complete deal killer. I don’t mind suing the Empire for worker’s comp. I don’t mind if you include a couple Imperial officers while you’re at it to let them know you’re serious. But guess who this guy wanted to include in the suit.

Vader.

Wrong answer. Nice knowing you, thanks for stopping by, be sure to have your chromosomes counted on the way out because I’m pretty sure you’re missing more than a few. This guy could have paid me in lightsaber-grade crystals and I wouldn’t do it. So, I wish him well, and out he goes. Sure enough, I read about him in today’s paper. He got some fresh-out-of-law-school lawyer who must have had his helmet too tight to go ahead and file it and guess what happened when they called the big guy up to let him know?

Yep. Vader choked them out over the holocall. Bang. Dead. Both of them.

Man. I know I didn’t do well at Imperial Law in law school, but I remembered the cardinal rule. Unbelievable. Oh well. Slow week, but I wouldn’t have missed this one for anything. Maybe next week’s idiot will actually pay me before he goes and corpses himself.

TK-726 OUT.