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I Will Marry You

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The newly appointed admiral of Death Squadron was satisfied that his life was finally settling into a pleasant routine. He had been assigned to a dream position. He was in a stable relationship and beginning to get used to this weird Force stuff.

Speaking of the Force stuff, he soon found out how to use it in an improper manner. The respirator could make a surprised squeal sound utterly menacing, which shortened staff meetings a great deal and earned him half-hearted reprimands in private. He found both enjoyable.

He was completely unprepared, however, for the most challenging com talk of the month. The light side of the Force took its revenge on him - his mother called. When the news of her son's promotion reached her, she decided that it was time to make her baby boy a married man. Admiral Piett was not amused.

"Firmus, you are old enough to get married, and I won’t have any excuses that you have no time to find a proper partner!”

The words were accompanied by an accusing finger pointed at him, and his weak protests about duty and devotion to the cause and the Empire were beaten into the dust by a very stern motherly voice explaining the merits of married life to him. The string of holos of suitable ladies she picked from the flock of her friends' daughters started to fill the screen. Admiral Piett, who was the scourge of pirates, smugglers and rebel scum alike felt the pure dread of a hopeless situation, but desperate times required desperate measures.

"Mother, I'm not interested in females of any species," he managed to say when she stopped for an astrosecond to display another holo of marriage suitable woman. The silence lasted even shorter.

"I see, that explains the content of your ‘secret box’ and that tall infantry captain you were orbiting around. Dear, I thought it was just a phase after that man got married. Poor wife of his... what does one even have to offer if they design huge walking transports? You know what those boys with huge shiny speeders compensate for. I know, it did not hurt that much when you did ‘chaka chaka’ with him," the elderly lady did not miss a beat.

Her son had to have inherited his talents for crushing enemies with brutal force from somebody. The impact hit him hard, and his jaw dropped in shock.

"Mother... it is not a phase. He did not compensate for anything and, and he prefers women," he squeaked in a high-pitched tone.

"Dear, nobody is perfect. But no ladies, I get it. So, my friend has a son who..."

She was set on having him marry, and damn, she would succeed in that endeavor, no matter how many setbacks it would take.

"Mother! I am already in relationship," he pulled up his deflector shields.

"Firmus, considering your past and only exploit... are you sure?" His mother used that particular tone which was reserved for small children and village idiots.

The forward deflector shields were gone.

"He is sure," the booming voice distorted by the respirator invaded the conversation from an indiscernible spot.

As presumed, it did little to impress the elderly Mrs. Piett. She threw her son a sharp glance.

"Good sir, whoever you are - I want you to make my little boy happy and respect his honor in the future. I hope you are into latex stuff, judging by the contents of the ‘secret box’.”

She gave a thin smile, then ended the call.