Star Warrior

Wind from the door allowed a dramatic arrival of a cosplayer resembling Darth Vader. Smoke machines added to the effect. The small crowd cheered and clapped as a small CD player delivered the “Imperial March” with crisp notes.

In the event space where a banner read “Star Wars Convention ‘97,” the attendees looked at booths and merch and prepared for conferences.

“Thank you, baby,” Dozana Holiday said with her hair styled like Princess Leia’s. She had hazel-green eyes and ample bosom. Her face looked like it was crafted from a sculptor’s hand. The high cheekbones and burnt sienna skin all contributed to a look that spoke of beauty contests.

“No thank you,” Han Solo’s black counterpart replied. His name was Woodson Haskell. Aged twenty-eight, he had a strong look about him as well. His oil black skin and Nubian nose spelled someone who could be confused for a fashion model or an actor.

“I’m just glad you could be with me to experience all of this. I mean twenty years of Star Wars! How are we going to explain this to our children?”

“We’re going to tell them everything we saw and heard. We’re going to get as much merch as possible. This is awesome!”

“I have in mind the idea of going to one conference at a time and seeing the reactions of the actors. If I see Mr. George Lucas, I promise you I might start babbling and saying nonsense words,” Haskell said.

“It’s okay, hon. You’ll be fine? Or should I say Han?”

“Clever girl. Clever girl.”

They walked around to the entrance of the show and saw Harrison Ford and James Earl Jones signing autographs.

“I’ve got to go over there. Come with me.”

“I’m going to go up to the room and freshen up.”

“Alright, but first let’s get these signatures.”

Dozana smiled. “I’ll be right back, it's no big thing.”

“Okay. I’ll ask for two.”

“You do that.”

Dozana then rushed through the ballroom doors to catch the elevator upstairs to the hotel room.

Haskell’s eyes became saucers. He looked at the various ways he could interact with fellow Star Warriors. He finally got to the front of the line to meet and greet with the stars of the movie. Ford and Jones laughed and signed posters of the original movie and the two sequels.

He opened the door. “I’ve got all kinds of…” He looked up in astonishment mixed with embarrassment and simmering rage. He dropped the posters and the t-shirts and decal and watched them flutter and fall to the ground like leaves.

“I can explain,” Dozana stammered.

“You’re a Trekkie?!” He asked with growing ire.

“Like I said, I can explain. Since I missed the thirtieth anniversary of the original series last year, I just wanted to present myself as what I truly am.” She was dressed just like Lieutenant Nyota Uhura. Her costume looked impeccable down to the hairstyle.

“This is a Star Wars convention! We’re supposed to be Star Warriors. You are the antithesis of what it means to be a Warrior.

I want to separate right now. I want to leave. I’m gathering everything. You get nothing!”

“Let me just say, you’ve tried to push Wars on me. I never liked it. It’s about the past. Trek is about the future. I don’t care about any of the storylines which are thin and underdeveloped.”

Real tears fell from her face. They pooled at her chin.”

“We’re done!” He replied with conviction. “You take your Trek mess and get out of here. This room is in my name. Go to your year-late convention and get the hell out of here, you and your hairdo!”

Dozana continued to weep as she packed up her items and left the room. As she walked to the elevator with her bag, Haskell yelled down the hall.

“May the fourth be with you!”