Boussh: Plan for the worst, hope for the best
by Majick

 Grand Admiral Thrawn turned to face Sci.
 "Well done," the blue skinned alien said, leaning back in his swivel chair.
"One hundred thousand people dead, all three of my Destroyer's out of
commission, and your Devaronian managed to put a 'Kick Me' sign on my
back... Really, you have been most impressive."
 Sci looked blankly at the Grand Admiral. When had all that happened? Last
thing he remembered was the insane planning sessions the task force had been
working through. His comlink crackled, and he flicked it on.
 "Lead, this is Eleven. Why am I standing knee deep in stormtroopers with my
knife at Wraith Four's throat?"
 "Lead, One. Did we just get transported? Are we in another universe now?
Can I meet Captain Janeway? Or B'Elanna?"
 Thrawn reached out and plucked Sci's comlink from his hand.
 "All New Republic forces, please hold your fire. This is Grand Admiral
Thrawn. I surrender."
 "A little late, Admiral," Josh Nolan's voice cut across the comm. "We've
killed everyone under your command."
 "That suggests to me a good time to cut my losses. Really, though, I didn't
think y'all would go to this much trouble."
 "Trouble?" Sci burst out. "You kidnap our friends, kill our comrades,
murder countless civilians... And you didn't expect us to go to any
trouble?"
 "Sure, fellah. I was only looking for someplace to practise for my comeback
tour. This time I might even play in England."
 "What *are* you talking about?" asked Wedge Antilles, as he knocked the
last attacking TIE fighter out of the sky with a steely glance. "What
comeback? Who are you?"
 Thrawn sighed, and ran a hand over his face. Sci blinked in astonishment as
the blue colouring streaked and rubbed off.
 Thrawn gestured, and the lighting on the bridge of the ISD Admonitor
changed. Unnoticed previously, a band sat at the far side of the bridge,
tuning its instruments. One of them waved at Sci.
 Thrawn pealed off his Admiral's jacket, revealing a rhinestone studded
jumpsuit underneath. Using the jacket, he wiped the last of his makeup off,
revealing two long sideburns, reaching far down his face.
 "Ah guess y'all just couldn't wait to hear me sing again, huh?" Elvis
Presley said, grinning from ear to ear. "Now, you boys and girls just come
along in here, and I'll treat you to your very own li'l concert. Then maybe
we can go find ourselves a little McDonalds or something afterwards. Sound
good?" He looked back at his band. "Okay fellas? Now, a one, a two, a
one-two-three..."
 Suddenly, all of the Boussh team were sitting around Sci, who was now in
the captains chair. In front of him, Elvis was helping his band by running
through scales.
 Sci looked around, and glared at Brad.
 "This what you get when you give open ended orders," he growled. The
Australian looked abashed for a moment, before rallying. "Hey," he said.
"Not like I wanted to sit hear and watch this. Whose best and worst is this,
anyway?"
 Everyone turned to glare at Tennessee native Josh Cochran, who shrugged. "I
prefer rock to country. Ask the DJ," he suggested.
 All eyes turned on Mike. The Brit sat staring wordlessly, as Elvis
swivelled his hips. Vickie waved her hand in front of his face, looked over
at Sci, and shook her head.
 Terra Lead sighed. Drawing his pistol, he sighted on the former Grand
Admiral.
 Elvis launched into 'Return to Sender' and Sci put away his gun. He could,
at least, enjoy the show. Then he'd kill Elvis. Yeah.
 As Elvis hunka-hunka'd his way through his songs, he smiled. Little did
they know that Elvis was itself a persona. Once the Boussh team was lulled
into a false sense of security, he'd reveal his true identity.
 JFK would rule the world, after forty years of driving conspiracy theorists
mad, he'd returned from his secret meetings with the Alien master race, the
Ethereals, and now he had the power to do everythign he'd wanted to do as
American President.
 For a start, he'd ban all this 'star wars' crap from clogging up the
airwaves