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Urpoliitikko : Top 5 things that have gone wrong with YouTube: 5. Removing the bug that made video automatically loop. 4. Making channels look messy and confusing(RIP channel comments) 3. Taking away videoresponses. 2. All the shit that has happend to the comment section. 1. GOOGLE+GOOGLE+!!!GOOLE+!!!.!"#!"¤!"

tiarawhy : I just really wish I could have "newest comments" as default instead of top comments.

PlagueOfGripes : I can't even tell what's real anymore.

Richard Catlin : Boy if people 4 years ago could see what YouTube has turned into...

Reaping Time : I actually like Google + =) It's very innovative and fun to use =D #Nope

Shalnark Kun : ☻/ This is Bob . There's no way google plus is going to change the comments since /▌ people are going to use youtube no matter what, but feel free to copy and paste / \ him anyway if it makes you feel better.

BroworksVT : Star Wars: A New Hope script  STAR WARS Episode IV A NEW HOPE From the JOURNAL OF THE WHILLS by George Lucas Revised Fourth Draft January 15, 1976 LUCASFILM LTD. ---------------------- A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away... A vast sea of stars serves as the backdrop for the main title. War drums echo through the heavens as a rollup slowly crawls into infinity. It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire. During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Death Star, an armored space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet. Pursued by the Empire's sinister agents, Princess Leia races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy... The awesome yellow planet of Tatooine emerges from a total eclipse, her two moons glowing against the darkness. A tiny silver spacecraft, a Rebel Blockade Runner firing lasers from the back of the ship, races through space. It is pursed by a giant Imperial Stardestroyer. Hundreds of deadly laserbolts streak from the Imperial Stardestroyer, causing the main solar fin of the Rebel craft to disintegrate. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- MAIN PASSAGEWAY. An explosion rocks the ship as two robots, Artoo-Detoo (R2-D2) and See-Threepio (C-3PO) struggle to make their way through the shaking, bouncing passageway. Both robots are old and battered. Artoo is a short, claw-armed tripod. His face is a mass of computer lights surrounding a radar eye. Threepio, on the other hand, is a tall, slender robot of human proportions. He has a gleaming bronze-like metallic surface of an Art Deco design. Another blast shakes them as they struggle along their way. THREEPIO: Did you hear that? They've shut down the main reactor. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness! Rebel troopers rush past the robots and take up positions in the main passageway. They aim their weapons toward the door. THREEPIO: We're doomed! The little R2 unit makes a series of electronic sounds that only another robot could understand. THREEPIO: There'll be no escape for the Princess this time. Artoo continues making beeping sounds. Tension mounts as loud metallic latches clank and the scream of heavy equipment are heard moving around the outside hull of the ship. THREEPIO: What's that? EXTERIOR: SPACECRAFT IN SPACE. The Imperial craft has easily overtaken the Rebel Blockade Runner. The smaller Rebel ship is being drawn into the underside dock of the giant Imperial starship. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER. The nervous Rebel troopers aim their weapons. Suddenly a tremendous blast opens up a hole in the main passageway and a score of fearsome armored spacesuited stormtroopers make their way into the smoke-filled corridor. In a few minutes the entire passageway is ablaze with laserfire. The deadly bolts ricochet in wild random patterns creating huge explosions. Stormtroopers scatter and duck behind storage lockers. Laserbolts hit several Rebel soldiers who scream and stagger through the smoke, holding shattered arms and faces. An explosion hits near the robots. THREEPIO: I should have known better than to trust the logic of a half-sized thermocapsulary dehousing assister... Artoo counters with an angry rebuttal as the battle rages around the two hapless robots. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DESERT WASTELAND -- DAY. A death-white wasteland stretches from horizon to horizon. The tremendous heat of two huge twin suns settle on a lone figure, Luke Skywalker, a farm boy with heroic aspirations who looks much younger than his eighteen years. His shaggy hair and baggy tunic give him the air of a simple but lovable lad with a prize-winning smile. A light wind whips at him as he adjusts several valves on a large battered moisture vaporator which sticks out of the desert floor much like an oil pipe with valves. He is aided by a beatup tread-robot with six claw arms. The little robot appears to be barely functioning and moves with jerky motions. A bright sparkle in the morning sky catches Luke's eye and he instinctively grabs a pair of electrobinoculars from his utility belt. He stands transfixed for a few moments studying the heavens, then dashed toward his dented, crudely repaired Landspeeder (an auto-like transport that travels a few feet above the ground on a magnetic-field). He motions for the tiny robot to follow him. LUKE: Hurry up! Come with me! What are you waiting for?! Get in gear! The robot scoots around in a tight circle, stops short, and smoke begins to pour out of every joint. Luke throws his arms up in disgust. Exasperated, the young farm boy jumps into his Landspeeder leaving the smoldering robot to hum madly. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- MAIN HALLWAY. The awesome, seven-foot-tall Dark Lord of the Sith makes his way into the blinding light of the main passageway. This is Darth Vader, right hand of the Emperor. His face is obscured by his flowing black robes and grotesque breath mask, which stands out next to the fascist white armored suits of the Imperial stormtroopers. Everyone instinctively backs away from the imposing warrior and a deathly quiet sweeps through the Rebel troops. Several of the Rebel troops break and run in a frenzied panic. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER. A woman's hand puts a card into an opening in Artoo's dome. Artoo makes beeping sounds. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER. Threepio stands in a hallway, somewhat bewildered. Artoo is nowhere in sight. The pitiful screams of the doomed Rebel soldiers can be heard in the distance. THREEPIO: Artoo! Artoo-Detoo, where are you? A familiar clanking sound attacks Threepio's attention and he spots little Artoo at the end of the hallway in a smoke-filled alcove. A beautiful young girl (about sixteen years old) stands in front of Artoo. Surreal and out of place, dreamlike and half hidden in the smoke, she finishes adjusting something on Artoo's computer face, then watches as the little robot joins his companion. THREEPIO: At last! Where have you been? Stormtroopers can be heard battling in the distance. THREEPIO: They're heading in this direction. What are we going to do? We'll be sent to the spice mine of Kessel or smashed into who knows what! Artoo scoots past his bronze friend and races down the subhallway. Threepio chases after him. THREEPIO: Wait a minute, where are you going? Artoo responds with electronic beeps. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- CORRIDOR The evil Darth Vader stands amid the broken and twisted bodies of his foes. He grabs a wounded Rebel Officer by the neck as an Imperial Officer rushes up to the Dark Lord. IMPERIAL OFFICER: The Death Star plans are not in the main computer. Vader squeezes the neck of the Rebel Officer, who struggles in vain. VADER: Where are those transmissions you intercepted? Vader lifts the Rebel off his feet by his throat. VADER: What have you done with those plans? REBEL OFFICER: We intercepted no transmissions. Aaah....This is a consular ship. Were on a diplomatic mission. VADER: If this is a consular ship...were is the Ambassador? The Rebel refuses to speak but eventually cries out as the Dark Lord begins to squeeze the officer's throat, creating a gruesome snapping and choking, until the soldier goes limp. Vader tosses the dead soldier against the wall and turns to his troops. VADER: Commander, tear this ship apart until you've found those plans and bring me the Ambassador. I want her alive! The stormtroopers scurry into the subhallways. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- SUBHALLWAY. The lovely young girl huddles in a small alcove as the stormtroopers search through the ship. She is Princess Leia Organa, a member of the Alderaan Senate. The fear in her eyes slowly gives way to anger as the muted crushing sounds of the approaching stormtroopers grow louder. One of the troopers spots her. TROOPER: There she is! Set for stun! Leia steps from her hiding place and blasts a trooper with her laser pistol. She starts to run but is felled by a paralyzing ray. The troopers inspect her inert body. TROOPER: She'll be all right. Inform Lord Vader we have a prisoner. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- SUBHALLWAY. Artoo stops before the small hatch of an emergency lifepod. He snaps the seal on the main latch and a red warning light begins to flash. The stubby astro-robot works his way into the cramped four-man pod. THREEPIO: Hey, you're not permitted in there. It's restricted. You'll be deactivated for sure.. Artoo beeps something to him. THREEPIO: Don't call me a mindless philosopher, you overweight glob of grease! Now come out before somebody sees you. Artoo whistles something at his reluctant friend regarding the mission he is about to perform. THREEPIO: Secret mission? What plans? What are you talking about? I'm not getting in there! Artoo isn't happy with Threepio's stubbornness, and he beeps and twangs angrily. A new explosion, this time very close, sends dust and debris through the narrow subhallway. Flames lick at Threepio and, after a flurry of electronic swearing from Artoo, the lanky robot jumps into the lifepod. THREEPIO: I'm going to regret this. INTERIOR: IMPERIAL STARDESTROYER. On the main viewscreen, the lifepod carrying the two terrified robots speeds away from the stricken Rebel spacecraft. CHIEF PILOT: There goes another one. CAPTAIN: Hold your fire. There are no life forms. It must have been short-circuited. INTERIOR: LIFEPOD. Artoo and Threepio look out at the receding Imperial starship. Stars circle as the pod rotates through the galaxy. THREEPIO: That's funny, the damage doesn't look as bad from out here. Artoo beeps an assuring response. THREEPIO: Are you sure this things safe? EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ANCHORHEAD SETTLEMENT -- POWER STATION -- DAY. Heat waves radiate from the dozen or so bleached white buildings. Luke pilots his Landspeeder through the dusty empty street of the tiny settlement. An old woman runs to get out of the way of the speeding vehicle, shaking her fist at Luke as he flies past. WOMAN: I've told you kids to slow down! INTERIOR: POWER STATION -- DAY. Luke bursts into the power station, waking The Fixer, a rugged mechanic and Camie, a sexy, disheveled girl who has been asleep in his lap. They grumbled as he races through the office, yelling wildly. FIXER: Did I hear a young noise blast through here? CAMIE: It was just wormie on another rampage. Luke bounces into a small room behind the office where Deak and Windy, two tough boys about the same age as Luke, are playing a computer pool-like game with Biggs, a burly, handsome boy a few years older than the rest. His flashy city attire is a sharp contrast to the loose-fitting tunics of the farm boys. A robot repairs some equipment in the background. LUKE: Shape it up you guys!.... Biggs? Luke's surprise at the appearance of Biggs gives way to great joy and emotion. They give each other a great bear hug. LUKE: I didn't know you were back! When did you get in? BIGGS: Just now. I wanted to surprise you, hot shot. I thought you'd be here...certainly didn't expect you to be out working. (he laughs.) LUKE: The Academy didn't change you much...but you're back so soon? Hey, what happened, didn't you get your commission? Biggs has an air of cool that seems slightly phony. BIGGS: Of course I got it. Signed aboard The Rand Ecliptic last week. First mate Biggs Darklighter at your service...(he salutes)...I just came to say good-bye to all you unfortunate landlocked simpletons. Everyone laughs. The dazzling spectacle of his dashing friend is almost too much for Luke, but suddenly he snaps out of it. LUKE: I almost forgot. There's a battle going on! Right here in our system. Come and look! DEAK: Not again! Forget it. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ANCHORHEAD -- SETTLEMENT -- POWER STATION -- DAY. The group stumbles out into the stifling desert sun. Camie and The Fixer complain and are forced to shade their eyes. Luke has his binoculars out scanning the heavens. LUKE: There they are! Biggs takes the binoculars from Luke as the others strain to see something with the naked eye. Through the binoculars Biggs sees two small silver specks. BIGGS: That's no battle, hot shot...they're just sitting there! Probably a freighter-tanker refueling. LUKE: But there was a lot of firing earlier... Camie grabs the binoculars away banging them against the building in the process. Luke grabs them. LUKE: Hey, easy with those... CAMIE: Don't worry about it, Wormie. The Fixer gives Luke a hard look and the young farm boy shrugs his shoulders in resignation. FIXER: I keep telling you, the Rebellion is a long way from here. I doubt if the Empire would even fight to keep this system. Believe me Luke, this planet is a big hunk of nothing... Luke agrees, although it's obvious he isn't sure why. The group stumbles back into the power station, grumbling about Luke's ineptitude. INTERIOR: REBEL BLOCKADE RUNNER -- HALLWAY Princess Leia is led down a low-ceilinged hallway by a squad of armored stormtroopers. Her hands are bound and she is brutally shoved when she is unable to keep up with the briskly marching troops. They stop in a smoky hallway as Darth Vader emerges from the shadows. The sinister Dark Lord stares hard at the frail young senator, but she doesn't move. LEIA: Lord Vader, I should have known. Only you could be so bold. The Imperial Senate will not sit for this, when they hear you've attacked a diplomatic... VADER: Don't play games with me, Your Highness. You weren't on any mercy mission this time. You passed directly through a restricted system. Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by Rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you. LEIA: I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan... VADER: You're a part of the Rebel Alliance...and a traitor. Take her away! Leia is marched away down the hallway and into the smoldering hole blasted in the side of the ship. An Imperial Commander turns to Vader. COMMANDER: Holding her is dangerous. If word of this gets out, it could generate sympathy for the Rebellion in the senate. VADER: I have traced the Rebel spies to her. Now she is my only link to find their secret base! COMMANDER: She'll die before she tells you anything. VADER: Leave that to me. Send a distress signal and then inform the senate that all aboard were killed! Another Imperial Officer approaches Vader and the Commander. They stop and snap to attention. SECOND OFFICER: Lord Vader, the battle station plans are not aboard this ship! And no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting, but no life forms were aboard. Vader turns to the Commander. VADER: She must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. Send a detachment down to retrieve them. See to it personally, Commander. There'll be no one to stop us this time. COMMANDER: Yes, sir. EXTERIOR: SPACE. The Imperial Stardestroyer comes over the surface of the planet Tatooine. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DESERT. Jundland, or "No Man's Land", where the rugged desert mesas meet the foreboding dune sea. The two helpless astro-droids kick up clouds of sand as they leave the lifepod and clumsily work their way across the desert wasteland. The lifepod in the distance rests half buried in the sand. THREEPIO: How did I get into this mess? I really don't know how. We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life. Artoo answers with beeping sounds. THREEPIO: I've got to rest before I fall apart. My joints are almost frozen. Artoo continues to respond with beeping sounds. THREEPIO: What a desolate place this is. Suddenly Artoo whistles, makes a sharp right turn and starts off in the direction of the rocky desert mesas. Threepio stops and yells at him. THREEPIO: Where are you going? A stream of electronic noises pours forth from the small robot. THREEPIO: Well, I'm not going that way. It's much too rocky. This way is much easier. Artoo counters with a long whistle. THREEPIO: What makes you think there are settlements over there? Artoo continues to make beeping sounds. THREEPIO: Don't get technical with me. Artoo continues to make beeping sounds. THREEPIO: What mission? What are you talking about? I've had just about enough of you! Go that way! You'll be malfunctioning within a day, you nearsighted scrap pile! Threepio gives the little robot a kick and starts off in the direction of the vast dune sea. THREEPIO: And don't let me catch you following me begging for help, because you won't get it. Artoo's reply is a rather rude sound. He turns and trudges off in the direction of the towering mesas. THREEPIO: No more adventures. I'm not going that way. Artoo beeps to himself as he makes his way toward the distant mountains. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DUNE SEA. Threepio, hot and tired, struggles up over the ridge of a dune; only to find more dunes, which seem to go on for endless miles. He looks back in the direction of the now distant rock mesas. THREEPIO: That malfunctioning little twerp. This is all his fault! He tricked me into going this way, but he'll do no better. In a huff of anger and frustration, Threepio knocks the sand from his joints. His plight seems hopeless, when a glint of reflected light in the distance reveals an object moving towards him. THREEPIO: Wait, what's that? A transport! I'm saved! The bronze android waves frantically and yells at the approaching transport. THREEPIO: Over here! Help! Please, help! EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ANCHORHEAD SETTLEMENT -- POWER STATION -- DAY. Luke and Biggs are walking and drinking a malt brew. Fixer and the others can be heard working inside. LUKE: (Very animated)...so I cut off my power, shut down the afterburners and came in low on Deak's trail. I was so close I thought I was going to fry my instruments. As it was I busted up the Skyhopper pretty bad. Uncle Owen was pretty upset. He grounded me for the rest of the season. You should have been there...it was fantastic. BIGGS: You ought to take it easy Luke. You may be the hottest bushpilot this side of Mos Eisley, but those little Skyhoppers are dangerous. Keep it up, and one day, whammo, you're going to be nothing more than a dark spot on the down side of a canyon wall. LUKE: Look who's talking. Now that you've been around those giant starships you're beginning to sound like my uncle. You've gotten soft in the city... BIGGS: I've missed you kid. LUKE: Well, things haven't been the same since you left, Biggs. It's been so...quiet. Biggs looks around then leans close to Luke. BIGGS: Luke, I didn't come back just to say good-bye...I shouldn't tell you this, but you're the only one I can trust...and if I don't come back, I want somebody to know. Luke's eyes are wide with Biggs' seriousness and loyalty. LUKE: What are you talking about? BIGGS: I made some friends at the Academy. (he whispers)...when our frigate goes to one of the central systems, we're going to jump ship and join the Alliance... Luke, amazed and stunned, is almost speechless. LUKE: Join the Rebellion?! Are you kidding! How? BIGGS: Quiet down will ya! You got a mouth bigger than a meteor crater! LUKE: I'm sorry. I'm quiet. (he whispers) Listen how quiet I am. You can barely hear me... Biggs shakes his head angrily and then continues. BIGGS: My friend has a friend on Bestine who might help us make contact. LUKE: Your crazy! You could wander around forever trying to find them. BIGGS: I know it's a long shot, but if I don't find them I'll do what I can on my own...It's what we always talked about. Luke, I'm not going to wait for the Empire to draft me into service. The Rebellion is spreading and I want to be on the right side -- the side I believe in. LUKE: And I'm stuck here... BIGGS: I thought you were going to the Academy next term. You'll get your chance to get off this rock. LUKE: Not likely! I had to cancel my application. There has been a lot of unrest among the Sandpeople since you left...they've even raided the outskirts of Anchorhead. BIGGS: Your uncle could hold off a whole colony of Sandpeople with one blaster. LUKE: I know, but he's got enough vaporators going to make the place pay off. He needs me for just one more season. I can't leave him now. BIGGS: I feel for you, Luke, you're going to have to learn what seems to be important or what really is important. What good is all your uncle's work if it's taken over by the Empire?...You know they're starting to nationalize commerce in the central systems...it won't be long before your uncle is merely a tenant, slaving for the greater glory of the Empire. LUKE: It couldn't happen here. You said it yourself. The Empire won't bother with this rock. BIGGS: Things always change. LUKE: I wish I was going...Are you going to be around long? BIGGS: No, I'm leaving in the morning... LUKE: Then I guess I won't see you. BIGGS: Maybe someday...I'll keep a lookout. LUKE: Well, I'll be at the Academy next season...after that who knows. I won't be drafted into the Imperial Starfleet that's for sure...Take care of yourself, you'll always be the best friend I've got. BIGGS: So long, Luke. Biggs turns away from his old friend and heads towards the power station. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK CANYON -- SUNSET. The gargantuan rock formations are shrouded in a strange foreboding mist and the onimous sounds of unearthly creatures fill the air. Artoo moves cautiously through the creepy rock canyon, inadvertently making a loud clicking noise as he goes. He hears a distant, hard, metallic sound and stops for a moment. Convinced he is alone, he continues on his way. In the distance, a pepple tumbles down the steep canyon wall and a small dark figure darts into the shadows. A little further up the canyon a slight flicker of light reveals a pair of eyes in the dark recesses only a few feet from the narrow path. The unsuspecting robot waddles along the rugged trail until suddenly, out of nowhere, a powerful magnetic ray shoots out of the rocks and engulfs him in an eerie glow. He manages one short electronic squeak before he topples over onto his back. His bright computer lights flicker off, then on, then off again. Out of the rocks scurry three Jawas, no taller than Artoo. They holster strange and complex weapons as they cautiously approach the robot. They wear grubby cloaks and their faces are shrouded so only their glowing eyes can be seen. They hiss and make odd guttural sounds as they heave the heavy robot onto their shoulders and carry him off down the trail. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK CANYON -- SANDCRAWLER -- SUNSET. The eight Jawas carry Artoo out of the canyon to a huge tank-like vehicle the size of a four-story house. They weld a small disk on the side of Artoo and then put him under a large tube on the side of the vehicle and the little robot is sucked into the giant machine. The filthy little Jawas scurry like rats up small ladders and enter the main cabin of the behemoth transport. INTERIOR: SANDCRAWLER -- HOLD AREA. It is dim inside the hold area of the Sandcrawler. Artoo switches on a small floodlight on his forehead and stumbles around the scrap heap. The narrow beam swings across rusty metal rocket parts and an array of grotesquely twisted and maimed astro-robots. He lets out a pathetic electronic whimper and stumbles off toward what appears to be a door at the end of the chamber. INTERIOR: SANDCRAWLER -- PRISON AREA. Artoo enters a wide room with a four-foot ceiling. In the middle of the scrap heap sit a dozen or so robots of various shapes and sizes. Some are engaged in electronic conversation, while others simply mill about. A voice of recognition calls out from the gloom. THREEPIO: Artoo-Detoo! It's you! It's you! A battered Threepio scrambles up to Artoo and embraces him. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK CANYON -- SANDCRAWLER -- SUNSET. The enormous Sandcrawler lumbers off toward the magnificent twin suns, which are slowly setting over a distant mountain ridge. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DESERT -- DAY. Four Imperial stormtroopers mill about in front of the half- buried lifepod that brought Artoo and Threepio to Tatooine. A trooper yells to an officer some distance away. FIRST TROOPER: Someone was in the pod. The tracks go off in this direction. A second trooper picks a small bit of metal out of the sand and gives it to the first trooper. SECOND TROOPER: Look, sir -- droids. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DUNES. The Sandcrawler moves slowly down a great sand dune. INTERIOR: SANDCRAWLER. Threepio and Artoo noisily bounce along inside the cramped prison chamber. Artoo appears to be shut off. THREEPIO: Wake up! Wake up! Suddenly the shaking and bouncing of the Sandcrawler stops, creating quite a commotion among the mechanical men. Threepio's fist bangs the head of Artoo whose computer lights pop on as he begins beeping. At the far end of the long chamber a hatch opens, filling the chamber with blinding white light. a dozen or so Jawas make their way through the odd assortment of robots. THREEPIO: We're doomed. A Jawa starts moving toward them. THREEPIO: Do you think they'll melt us down? Artoo responds, making beeping sounds. THREEPIO: Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Will this never end? EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DESERT -- LARS HOMESTEAD -- AFTERNOON. The Jawas mutter gibberish as they busily line up their battered captives, including Artoo and Threepio, in front of the enormous Sandcrawler, which is parked beside a small homestead consisting of three large holes in the ground surrounded by several tall moisture vaporators and one small adobe block house. The Jawas scurry around fussing over the robots, straightening them up or brushing some dust from a dented metallic elbow. The shrouded little creatures smell horribly, attracting small insects to the dark areas when their mouths and nostrils should be. Out of the shadows of a dingy side-building limps Owen Lars, a large burly man in his mid-fifties. His reddish eyes are sunken in a dust-covered face. As the farmer carefully inspects each robot, he is closely followed by his slump- shouldered nephew, Luke Skywalker. One of the vile little Jawas walks ahead of the farmer spouting an animated sales pitch in a queer, unintelligible language. A voice calls out from one of the huge holes that form the homestead. Luke goes over to the edge and sees his Aunt Beru standing in the main courtyard. BERU: Luke, tell Owen that if he gets a translator to be sure it speaks Bocce. LUKE: It looks like we don't have much of a choice but I'll remind him. Luke returns to his uncle as they look over the equipment for sale with the Jawa leader. OWEN: I have no need for a protocol droid. THREEPIO: (quickly) Sir -- not in an environment such as this -- that's why I've also been programmed for over thirty secondary functions that... OWEN: What I really need is a droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators. THREEPIO: Vaporators! Sir -- My first job was programming binary load lifter...very similar to your vaporators. You could say... OWEN: Do you speak Bocce? THREEPIO: Of course I can, sir. It's like a second language for me...I'm as fluent in Bocce... OWEN: All right shut up! (turning to Jawa) I'll take this one. THREEPIO: Shutting up, sir. OWEN: Luke, take these two over to the garage, will you? I want you to have both of them cleaned up before dinner. LUKE: But I was going into Toshi Station to pick up some power converters... OWEN: You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done. Now come on, get to it! LUKE: All right, come on! And the red one, come on. Well, come on, Red, let's go. As the Jawas start to lead the three remaining robots back into the Sandcrawler, Artoo lets out a pathetic little beep and starts after his old friend Threepio. He is restrained by a slimy Jawa, who zaps him with a control box. Owen is negotiating with the head Jawa. Luke and the two robots start off for the garage when a plate pops off the head of the red astro-droid's head plate and it sparks wildly. LUKE: Uncle Owen... OWEN: Yeah? LUKE: This R2 unit has a bad motivator. Look! OWEN: (to the head Jawa) Hey, what're you trying to push on us? The Jawa goes into a loud spiel. Meanwhile, Artoo has sneaked out of line and is moving up and down trying to attract attention. He lets out with a low whistle. Threepio taps Luke on the shoulder. THREEPIO: (pointing to Artoo) Excuse me, sir, but that R2 unit is in prime condition. A real bargain. LUKE: Uncle Owen... OWEN: Yeah? LUKE: What about that one? OWEN: (to Jawa) What about that blue one? We'll take that one. With a little reluctance the scruffy dwarf trades the damaged astro-droid for Artoo. LUKE: Yeah, take it away. THREEPIO: Uh, I'm quite sure you'll be very pleased with that one, sir. He really is in first-class condition. I've worked with him before. Here he comes. Owen pays off the whining Jawa as Luke and the two robots trudge off toward a grimy homestead entry. LUKE: Okay, let's go. THREEPIO: (to Artoo) Now, don't you forget this! Why I should stick my neck out for you is quite beyond my capacity! INTERIOR: LARS HOMESTEAD -- GARAGE AREA -- LATE AFTERNOON. The garage is cluttered and worn, but a friendly peaceful atmosphere permeates the low grey chamber. Threepio lowers himself into a large tub filled with warm oil. Near the battered Landspeeder little Artoo rests on a large battery with a cord to his face. THREEPIO: Thank the maker! This oil bath is going to feel so good. I've got such a bad case of dust contamination, I can barely move! Artoo beeps a muffled reply. Luke seems to be lost in thought as he runs his hand over the damaged fin of a small two-man Skyhopper spaceship resting in a low hangar off the garage. Finally Luke's frustrations get the better of him and he slams a wrench across the workbench. LUKE: It just isn't fair. Oh, Biggs is right. I'm never gonna get out of here! THREEPIO: Is there anything I might do to help? Luke glances at the battered robot. A bit of his anger drains and a tiny smile creeps across his face. LUKE: Well, not unless you can alter time, speed up the harvest, or teleport me off this rock! THREEPIO: I don't think so, sir. I'm only a droid and not very knowledgeable about such things. Not on this planet, anyways. As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure which planet I'm on. LUKE: Well, if there's a bright center to the universe, you're on the planet that it's farthest from. THREEPIO: I see, sir. LUKE: Uh, you can call me Luke. THREEPIO: I see, sir Luke. LUKE: (laughing) Just Luke. THREEPIO: And I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations, and this is my counterpart, Artoo-Detoo. LUKE: Hello. Artoo beeps in response. Luke unplugs Artoo and begins to scrape several connectors on the robot's head with a chrome pick. Threepio climbs out of the oil tub and begins wiping oil from his bronze body. LUKE: You got a lot of carbon scoring here. It looks like you boys have seen a lot of action. THREEPIO: With all we've been through, sometimes I'm amazed we're in as good condition as we are, what with the Rebellion and all. LUKE: You know of the Rebellion against the Empire? THREEPIO: That's how we came to be in your service, if you take my meaning, sir. LUKE: Have you been in many battles? THREEPIO: Several, I think. Actually, there's not much to tell. I'm not much more than an interpreter, and not very good at telling stories. Well, not at making them interesting, anyways. Luke struggles to remove a small metal fragment from Artoo's neck joint. He uses a larger pick. LUKE: Well, my little friend, you've got something jammed in here real good. Were you on a cruiser or... The fragment breaks loose with a snap, sending Luke tumbling head over heels. He sits up and sees a twelve-inch three-dimensional hologram of Leia Organa, the Rebel senator, being projected from the face of little Artoo. The image is a rainbow of colors as it flickers and jiggles in the dimly lit garage. Luke's mouth hangs open in awe. LEIA: Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope. LUKE: What's this? Artoo looks around and sheepishly beeps an answer for Threepio to translate. Leia continues to repeat the sentence fragment over and over. THREEPIO: What is what?!? He asked you a question...(pointing to Leia) What is that? Artoo whistles his surprise as he pretends to just notice the hologram. He looks around and sheepishly beeps an answer for Threepio to translate. Leia continues to repeat the sentence fragment over and over. LEIA: Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope. THREEPIO: Oh, he says it's nothing, sir. Merely a malfunction. Old data. Pay it no mind. Luke becomes intrigued by the beautiful girl. LUKE: Who is she? She's beautiful. THREEPIO: I'm afraid I'm not quite sure, sir. LEIA: Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi... THREEPIO: I think she was a passenger on our last voyage. A person of some importance, sir -- I believe. Our captain was attached to... LUKE: Is there more to this recording? Luke reaches out for Artoo but he lets out several frantic squeaks and a whistle. THREEPIO: Behave yourself, Artoo. You're going to get us in trouble. It's all right, you can trust him. He's our new master. Artoo whistles and beeps a long message to Threepio. THREEPIO: He says he's the property of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a resident of these parts. And it's a private message for him. Quite frankly, sir I don't know what he's talking about. Our last master was Captain Antilles, but with what we've been through, this little R2 unit has become a bit eccentric. LUKE: Obi-Wan Kenobi? I wonder if he means old Ben Kenobi? THREEPIO: I beg your pardon, sir, but do you know what he's talking about? LUKE: Well, I don't know anyone named Obi-Wan, but old Ben lives out beyond the dune sea. He's kind of a strange old hermit. Luke's gazes at the beautiful young princess for a few moments. LUKE: I wonder who she is. It sounds like she's in trouble. I'd better play back the whole thing. Artoo beeps something to Threepio. THREEPIO: He says the restraining bolt has short circuited his recording system. He suggests that if you remove the bolt, he might be able to play back the entire recording. Luke looks longingly at the lovely, little princess and hasn't really heard what Threepio has been saying. LUKE: H'm? Oh, yeah, well, I guess you're too small to run away on me if I take this off! Okay. Luke takes a wedged bar and pops the restraining bolt off Artoo's side. LUKE: There you go. The princess immediately disappears... LUKE: Well, wait a minute. Where'd she go? Bring her back! Play back the entire message. Artoo beeps an innocent reply as Threepio sits up in embarrassment. THREEPIO: What message? The one you're carrying inside your rusty innards! A women's voice calls out from another room. AUNT BERU: Luke? Luke! Come to dinner! Luke stands up and shakes his head at the malfunctioning robot. LUKE: All right, I'll be right there, Aunt Beru. THREEPIO: I'm sorry, sir, but he appears to have picked up a slight flutter. Luke tosses Artoo's restraining bolt on the workbench and hurries out of the room. LUKE: Well, see what you can do with him. I'll be right back. THREEPIO: (to Artoo) Just you reconsider playing that message for him. Artoo beeps in response. THREEPIO: No, I don't think he likes you at all. Artoo beeps. THREEPIO: No, I don't like you either. INTERIOR: LARS HOMESTEAD -- DINING AREA. Luke's Aunt Beru, a warm, motherly woman, fills a pitcher with blue fluid from a refrigerated container in the well-used kitchen. She puts the pitcher on a tray with some bowls of food and starts for the dining area. Luke sits with his Uncle Owen before a table covered with steaming bowls of food as Aunt Beru carries in a bowl of red grain. LUKE: You know, I think that R2 unit we bought might have been stolen. OWEN: What makes you think that? LUKE: Well, I stumbled across a recording while I was cleaning him. He says he belongs to someone called Obi-Wan Kenobi. Owen is greatly alarmed at the mention of his name, but manages to control himself. LUKE: I thought he might have meant old Ben. Do you know what he's talking about? Well, I wonder if he's related to Ben. Owen breaks loose with a fit of uncontrolled anger. OWEN: That old man's just a crazy old wizard. Tomorrow I want you to take that R2 unit into Anchorhead and have its memory flushed. That'll be the end of it. It belongs to us now. LUKE: But what if this Obi-Wan comes looking for him? OWEN: He won't, I don't think he exists any more. He died about the same time as your father. LUKE: He knew my father? OWEN: I told you to forget it. Your only concern is to prepare the new droids for tomorrow. In the morning I want them on the south ridge working out those condensers. LUKE: Yes, sir. I think those new droids are going to work out fine. In fact, I, uh, was also thinking about our agreement about my staying on another season. And if these new droids do work out, I want to transmit my application to the Academy this year. Owen's face becomes a scowl, although he tries to suppress it. OWEN: You mean the next semester before harvest? LUKE: Sure, there're more than enough droids. OWEN: Harvest is when I need you the most. Only one more season. This year we'll make enough on the harvest so I'll be able to hire some more hands. And then you can go to the Academy next year. Luke continues to toy with his food, not looking at his uncle. OWEN: You must understand I need you here, Luke. LUKE: But it's a whole 'nother year. OWEN: Look, it's only one more season. Luke pushes his half-eaten plate of food aside and stands. LUKE: Yeah, that's what you said last year when Biggs and Tank left. AUNT BERU: Where are you going? LUKE: It looks like I'm going nowhere. I have to finish cleaning those droids. Resigned to his fate, Luke paddles out of the room. Owen mechanically finishes his dinner. AUNT BERU: Owen, he can't stay here forever. Most of his friends have gone. It means so much to him. OWEN: I'll make it up to him next year. I promise. AUNT BERU: Luke's just not a farmer, Owen. He has too much of his father in him. OWEN: That's what I'm afraid of. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- LARS HOMESTEAD. The giant twin suns of Tatooine slowly disappear behind a distant dune range. Luke stands watching them for a few moments, then reluctantly enters the doomed entrance to the homestead. INTERIOR: LARS HOMESTEAD -- GARAGE. Luke enters the garage to discover the robots nowhere in sight. He takes a small control box from his utility belt similar to the one the Jawas were carrying. He activates the box, which creates a low hum, and Threepio, letting out a short yell, pops up from behind the Skyhopper spaceship. LUKE: What are you doing hiding there? Threepio stumbles forward, but Artoo is still nowhere in sight. THREEPIO: It wasn't my fault, sir. Please don't deactivate me. I told him not to go, but he's faulty, malfunctioning; kept babbling on about his mission. LUKE: Oh, no! Luke races out of the garage followed by Threepio. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- LARS HOMESTEAD. Luke rushes out of the small doomed entry to the homestead and searches the darkening horizon for the small triped astro- robot. Threepio struggles out of the homestead and on the salt flat as Luke scans the landscape with his electrobinoculars. THREEPIO: That R2 unit has always been a problem. These astro-droids are getting quite out of hand. Even I can't understand their logic at times. LUKE: How could I be so stupid? He's nowhere in sight. Blast it! THREEPIO: Pardon me, sir, but couldn't we go after him? LUKE: It's too dangerous with all the Sandpeople around. We'll have to wait until morning. Owen yells up from the homestead plaza. OWEN: Luke, I'm shutting the power down for the night. LUKE: All right, I'll be there in a few minutes. Boy, am I gonna get it. He takes one final look across the dim horizon. LUKE: You know that little droid is going to cause me a lot of trouble. THREEPIO: Oh, he excels at that, sir. INTERIOR: LARS HOMESTEAD -- PLAZA. Morning slowly creeps into the sparse but sparkling oasis of the open courtyard. The idyll is broken be the yelling of Uncle Owen, his voice echoing throughout the homestead. OWEN: Luke? Luke? Luke? Where could he be loafing now! INTERIOR: LARS HOMESTEAD -- KITCHEN. The interior of the kitchen is a worm glow as Aunt Beru prepares the morning breakfast. Owen enters in a huff. OWEN: Have you seen Luke this morning? AUNT BERU: He said he had some things to do before he started today, so he left early. OWEN: Uh? Did he take those two new droids with him? AUNT BERU: I think so. OWEN: Well, he'd better have those units in the south range repaired be midday or there'll be hell to pay! EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- DESERT WASTELAND -- LUKE'S SPEEDER -- DAY. The rock and sand of the desert floor are a blur as Threepio pilots the sleek Landspeeder gracefully across the vast wasteland. INTERIOR/EXTERIOR: LUKE'S SPEEDER -- DESERT WASTELAND -- TRAVELING -- DAY. Luke leans over the back of the speeder and adjusts something in the motor compartment. LUKE: (yelling) How's that. Threepio signals that is fine and Luke turns back into the wind-whipped cockpit and pops the canopy shut. LUKE: Old Ben Kenobi lives out in this direction somewhere, but I don't see how that R2 unit could have come this far. We must have missed him. Uncle Owen isn't going to take this very well. THREEPIO: Sir, would it help if you told him it was my fault. LUKE: (brightening) Sure. He needs you. He'd probably only deactivate you for a day or so... THREEPIO: Deactivate! Well, on the other hand if you hadn't removed his restraining bolt... LUKE: Wait, there's something dead ahead on the scanner. It looks like our droid...hit the accelerator. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK MESA -- DUNE SEA -- COASTLINE -- DAY. From high on a rock mesa, the tiny Landspeeder can be seen gliding across the desert floor. Suddenly in the foreground two weather-beaten Sandpeople shrouded in their grimy desert cloaks peer over the edge of the rock mesa. One of the marginally human creatures raises a long ominous laser rifle and points it at the speeder but the second creature grabs the gun before it can be fired. The Sandpeople, or Tusken Raiders as they're sometimes called, speak in a coarse barbaric language as they get into an animated argument. The second Tusken Raider seems to get in the final word and the nomads scurry over the rocky terrain. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK MESA -- CANYON. The Tusken Raider approaches two large Banthas standing tied to a rock. The monstrous, bear-like creatures are as large as elephants, with huge red eyes, tremendous looped horns, and long, furry, dinosaur-like tails. The Tusken Raiders mount saddles strapped to the huge creatures' shaggy backs and ride off down the rugged bluff. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK CANYON -- FLOOR. The speeder is parked on the floor of a massive canyon. Luke, with his long laser rifle slung over his shoulder, stands before little Artoo. LUKE: Hey, whoa, just where do you think you're going? The little droid whistles a feeble reply, as Threepio poses menacingly behind the little runaway. THREEPIO: Master Luke here is your rightful owner. We'll have no more of this Obi-Wan Kenobi jibberish...and don't talk to me about your mission, either. You're fortunate he doesn't blast you into a million pieces right here. LUKE: Well, come on. It's getting late. I only hope we can get back before Uncle Owen really blows up. THREEPIO: If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I think you should deactivate the little fugitive until you've gotten him back to your workshop. LUKE: No, he's not going to try anything. Suddenly the little robot jumps to life with a mass of frantic whistles and screams. LUKE: What's wrong with him now? THREEPIO: Oh my...sir, he says there are several creatures approaching from the southeast. Luke swings his rifle into position and looks to the south. LUKE: Sandpeople! Or worst! Come on, let's have a look. Come on. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK CANYON -- RIDGE -- DAY. Luke carefully makes his way to the top of a rock ridge and scans the canyon with his electrobinoculars. He spots the two riderless Banthas. Threepio struggles up behind the young adventurer. LUKE: There are two Banthas down there but I don't see any...wait a second, they're Sandpeople all right. I can see one of them now. Luke watches the distant Tusken Raider through his electrobinoculars. Suddenly something huge moves in front of his field of view. Before Luke or Threepio can react, a large, gruesome Tusken Raider looms over them. Threepio is startled and backs away, right off the side if the cliff. He can be heard for several moments as he clangs, bangs and rattles down the side of the mountain. The towering creature brings down his curved, double-pointed gaderffii -- the dreaded axe blade that has struck terror in the heart of the local settlers. But Luke manages to block the blow with his laser rifle, which is smashed to pieces. The terrified farm boy scrambles backward until he is forced to the edge of a deep crevice. The sinister Raider stands over him with his weapon raised and lets out a horrible shrieking laugh. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- ROCK CANYON -- FLOOR -- DAY. Artoo forces himself into the shadows of a small alcove in the rocks as the vicious Sandpeople walk past carrying the inert Luke Skywalker, who is dropped in a heap before the speeder. The Sandpeople ransack the speeder, throwing parts and supplies in all directions. Suddenly they stop. Then everything is quiet for a few moments. A great howling moan is heard echoing throughout the canyon which sends the Sandpeople fleeing in terror. Artoo moves even tighter into the shadows as the slight swishing sound that frightened off the Sandpeople grows even closer, until a shabby old desert-rat-of-a-man appears and leans over Luke. His ancient leathery face, cracked and weathered by exotic climates is set off by dark, penetrating eyes and a scraggly white beard. Ben Kenobi squints his eyes as he scrutinizes the unconscious farm boy. Artoo makes a slight sound and Ben turns and looks right at him. BEN: Hello there! Come here my little friend. Don't be afraid. Artoo waddles over to were Luke lies crumpled in a heap and begins to whistle and beep his concern. Ben puts his hand on Luke's forehead and he begins to come around. BEN: Don't worry, he'll be all right. LUKE: What happened? BEN: Rest easy, son, you've had a busy day. You're fortunate you're still in one piece. LUKE: Ben? Ben Kenobi! Boy, am I glad to see you! BEN: The Jundland wastes are not to be traveled lightly. Tell me young Luke, what brings you out this far? LUKE: Oh, this little droid! I think he's searching for his former master...I've never seen such devotion in a droid before...there seems to be no stopping him. He claims to be the property of an Obi- Wan Kenobi. Is he a relative of yours? Do you know who he's talking about? Ben ponders this for a moment, scratching his scruffy beard. BEN: Obi-Wan Kenobi...Obi-Wan? Now thats a name I haven't heard in a long time...a long time. LUKE: I think my uncle knew him. He said he was dead. BEN: Oh, he's not dead, not...not yet. LUKE: You know him! BEN: Well of course, of course I know him. He's me! I haven't gone by the name Obi-Wan since oh, before you were born. LUKE: Then the droid does belong to you. BEN: Don't seem to remember ever owning a droid. Very interesting... He suddenly looks up at the overhanging cliffs. BEN: I think we better get indoors. The Sandpeople are easily startled but they will soon be back and in greater numbers. Luke sits up and rubs his head. Artoo lets out a pathetic beep causing Luke to remember something. He looks around. LUKE: Threepio! EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- SAND PIT -- ROCK MESA -- DAY. Little Artoo stands at the edge of a large sand pit and begins to chatter away in electronic whistles and beeps. Luke and Ben stand over a very dented and tangled Threepio lying half buried in the sand. One of his arms has broken off. Luke tries to revive the inert robot by shaking him and then flips a hidden switch on his back several times until finally the mechanical man's systems turn on. THREEPIO: Where am I? I must have taken a bad step... LUKE: Can you stand? We've got to get out of here before the Sandpeople return. THREEPIO: I don't think I can make it. You go on, Master Luke. There's no sense in you risking yourself on my account. I'm done for. Artoo makes a beeping sound. LUKE: No, you're not. What kind of talk is that? Luke and Ben help the battered robot to his feet. Little Artoo watches from the top of the pit. Ben glances around suspiciously. Sensing something, he stands up and sniffs the air. BEN: Quickly, son...they're on the move. INTERIOR: KENOBI'S DWELLING. The small, spartan hovel is cluttered with desert junk but still manages to radiate an air of time-worn comfort and security. Luke is in one corner repairing Threepio's arm, as old Ben sits thinking. LUKE: No, my father didn't fight in the wars. He was a navigator on a spice freighter. BEN: That's what your uncle told you. He didn't hold with your father's ideals. Thought he should have stayed here and not gotten involved. LUKE: You fought in the Clone Wars? BEN: Yes, I was once a Jedi Knight the same as your father. LUKE: I wish I'd known him. BEN: He was the best star-pilot in the galaxy, and a cunning warrior. I understand you've become quite a good pilot yourself. And he was a good friend. Which reminds me... Ben gets up and goes to a chest where he rummages around. As Luke finishes repairing Threepio and starts to fit the restraining bolt back on, Threepio looks at him nervously. Luke thinks about the bolt for a moment then puts it on the table. Ben shuffles up and presents Luke with a short handle with several electronic gadgets attached to it. BEN: I have something here for you. Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it. He feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damned-fool idealistic crusade like your father did. THREEPIO: Sir, if you'll not be needing me, I'll close down for awhile. LUKE: Sure, go ahead. Ben hands Luke the saber. LUKE: What is it? BEN: Your fathers lightsaber. This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight. Not as clumsy or as random as a blaster. Luke pushes a button on the handle. A long beam shoots out about four feet and flickers there. The light plays across the ceiling. BEN: An elegant weapon for a more civilized time. For over a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times, before the Empire. Luke hasn't really been listening. LUKE: How did my father die? BEN: A young Jedi named Darth Vader, who was a pupil of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights. He betrayed and murdered your father. Now the Jedi are all but extinct. Vader was seduced by the dark side of the Force. LUKE: The Force? BEN: Well, the Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together. Artoo makes beeping sounds. BEN: Now, let's see if we can't figure out what you are, my little friend. And where you come from. LUKE: I saw part of the message he was... Luke is cut short as the recorded image of the beautiful young Rebel princess is projected from Artoo's face. BEN: I seem to have found it. Luke stops his work as the lovely girl's image flickers before his eyes. LEIA: General Kenobi, years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope. There is a little static and the transmission is cut short. Old Ben leans back and scratches his head. He silently puffs on a tarnished chrome water pipe. Luke has stars in his eyes. BEN: You must learn the ways of the Force if you're to come with me to Alderaan. LUKE: (laughing) Alderaan? I'm not going to Alderaan. I've got to go home. It's late, I'm in for it as it is. BEN: I need your help, Luke. She needs your help. I'm getting too old for this sort of thing. LUKE: I can't get involved! I've got work to do! It's not that I like the Empire. I hate it! But there's nothing I can do about it right now. It's such a long way from here. BEN: That's your uncle talking. LUKE: (sighing) Oh, God, my uncle. How am I ever going to explain this? BEN: Learn about the Force, Luke. LUKE: Look, I can take you as far as Anchorhead. You can get a transport there to Mos Eisley or wherever you're going. BEN: You must do what you feel is right, of course. EXTERIOR: SPACE. An Imperial Stardestroyer heads toward the evil planet-like battle station: the Death Star! INTERIOR: DEATH STAR -- CONFERENCE ROOM. Eight Imperial senators and generals sit around a black conference table. Imperial stormtroopers stand guard around the room. Commander Tagge, a young, slimy-looking general, is speaking. TAGGE: Until this battle station is fully operational we are vulnerable. The Rebel Alliance is too well equipped. They're more dangerous than you realize. The bitter Admiral Motti twists nervously in his chair. MOTTI: Dangerous to your starfleet, Commander, not to this battle station! TAGGE: The Rebellion will continue to gain a support in the Imperial Senate as long as.... Suddenly all heads turn as Commander Tagge's speech is cut short and the Grand Moff Tarkin, governor of the Imperial outland regions, enters. He is followed by his powerful ally, The Sith Lord, Darth Vader. All of the generals stand and bow before the thin, evil-looking governor as he takes his place at the head of the table. The Dark Lord stands behind him. TARKIN: The Imperial Senate will no longer be of any concern to us. I've just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the council permanently. The last remnants of the Old Republic have been swept away. TAGGE: That's impossible! How will the Emperor maintain control without the bureaucracy? TARKIN: The regional governors now have direct control over territories. Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station. TAGGE: And what of the Rebellion? If the Rebels have obtained a complete technical readout of this station, it is possible, however unlikely, that they might find a weakness and exploit it. VADER: The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands. MOTTI: Any attack made by the Rebels against this station would be a useless gesture, no matter what technical data they've obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I suggest we use it! VADER: Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed. The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force. MOTTI: Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the Rebel's hidden fort... Suddenly Motti chokes and starts to turn blue under Vader's spell. VADER: I find your lack of faith disturbing. TARKIN: Enough of this! Vader, release him! VADER: As you wish. TARKIN: This bickering is pointless. Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the Rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke. EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- WASTELAND. The speeder stops before what remains of the huge Jawas Sandcrawler. Luke and Ben walk among the smoldering rubble and scattered bodies.

KhanSeb : Amen.

Oliver Willis : Google are dumb, why isn't there a functional auto HD setting built into this site? Sure you can use extensions but they don't work on all comps. Having to click that reprehensible cog then select the top quality then wait while the deplorable thing whirls is a major first world problem which threatens to tear apart our beloved society, I must go now to tend to my collection of elaborate gravy boats.

Diet Dr. Bass : I went from jojo's bizarre adventure's pillar men theme to this video. You're now officially Japan tier weird, congrats.

1aundulxaldin : The people behind Google plus must be jacking it to our misery.

gorrilaboy22 : WHY DOES GOOGLE+ EVEN EXIST?

Ehren : I worry that associating Google+ with pus may be a pretty big insult... ...to pus

Elric Edwards : I think my laptop even laughed, bugged a little at the end xD

lugiacannongalatic : Instead of Going to war like Bob, Follow Steve,The People's Voice. Steve is Anonymous but if we band together to voice out our opinions directly at Google, Maybe they'll actually listen. Make Reason Not War

Andy Semple : I can't say it's bothing me all that much. I like the removal of the character limit but I hate being unable to comment on pre-plus comments. Everything else, eh. I will say if people don't like it, that's fine... videos like this are fine as it's an expressed opinion -- but this whole "Bob" thing? Way WAY more annoying than Goggle+. It's annoying for users who're having topics buried under that shit instead of Google though. Honestly it's making me hate these spammers waaay more, and making me not want to support them at all.

Owl : This appeared in my "Watch it again" section. So I did.

TheNinjaDC : On the one hand, this really ******s up Youtube comments & interactions in general for awhile. I mean really ******s it up! On the other hand this could be one step closer to killing the outdated dinosaur that is Facebook. I'm conflicted here...

Jade Harley : My mobile device doesn't support google+... Now I can't comment on it anymore...:(

MOONVOID : I hate Google+ with a burning passion. Truly.

Alexander Gamzaliev : "How's the seamless integration with Google Plus going?" I'm punching myself in the head and crying that's how.

TheyCallMeRay : whats the point of hashtags on youtube?

Kirosana Perkunos : Every link in the comments directs you to a site that installs malware to your computer. Nice.

Handbanana : More like google MINUS ami- (dodges tomatoes)

Hibryd7 : Well put!  And subtle.  I think you speak for us all. Looking forward to being notified daily for years to come every time someone replies "lawl srsly" to this meaningless comment on the backwaters of the internet thanks to Google+.

Myne : And the funny thing is this was a recommended video from Youtube =w=

Lawgx : oh my god, google plus is actually trying to make youtube to almost become facebook.

no no : Pretty good, actually. The new system is easy to use once I took about two minutes to understand the changes, and there are a lot more cool features now. Don't get all the hate around it.

OddWizard : I just imagine SexuaLobster logging on at 7 last night and rushing to make this animation to express how he truly feels about this. Google is trying so hard to promote this, and it's filthy. Filthy.

2dgametheater : Well they gave you the ability to separate google plus, and your youtube account. Also the new comments section is awesome as you can actually have conversations now, and spam ACIII art, so everybody wins?

dave : Google Plus? More like Google Minus!

Chandler Hull : Turning the comments back to "Newest First" just makes things seem more homely.

Johnthfailsnail : I actually like Google +, said no one ever.

darioplay92 : As God is bigger and wiser than us, trying to guess what you think is like an ant try to guess what I think. I on the anthill in my garden I spent days watching the ants, trying to see which ones were good and which were bad, but they all looked the same to me ... I began to kill all ... kill them with water, gasoline, and with the mower, and to be honest I think I got like crazy with the shovel. Those ants could have worship all day, and I heard, and could not do anything about it ... and I think it's the same with us. We can not do anything ... Why worry? ... I think we can only live life with such kindness and decency as we can, and not think that God is with us with a giant shovel.

ayreon : Is it only me who read all the arguments and then forget they were watching a video?

captloki13 : This works well with everything in my life. I need a better life.

TheSPACECOWBOY33 : I shudder to think what google will come out with next.

Zoltan B : This video is pure internet zeitgeist. Bravo.

1upclock : I'll only agree to Google's demands if they stop recommending Pewdiepie videos.

Anders Finnemann : I am from the future, and oh boy... it is only down hill from here....

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lopendepaddo : enjoy this great (not so much) book Chapter 1 I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair – it just won’t behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable. Kate is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no – today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious – much more precious than mine – but he has granted Kate an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities. Kate is huddled on the couch in the living room. “Ana, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Kate begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy. “Of course I’ll go Kate. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?” “Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.” “I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic. “The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.” “Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Kate, would I do this. “I will. Good luck. And thanks Ana – as usual, you’re my lifesaver.” Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this. But then Kate can talk anyone into anything. She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she’s my dearest, dearest friend. The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Kate’s lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal. My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimidating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby. Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate. “I’m here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh.” “Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Kate’s formal blazers rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me. “Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in. She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits. The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby – again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and white who rises to greet me. “Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow. I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly cursing Kate for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice. I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Steele. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel. Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up. “Miss Steele?” the latest blonde asks. “Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident. “Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?” “Oh please.” I struggle out of the jacket. “Have you been offered any refreshment?” “Um – no.” Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble? Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk. “Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me. “A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur. “Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer. “My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes.” Olivia returns with a glass of iced water. “Here you go, Miss Steele.” “Thank you.” Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work. Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African-American man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes. He turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Grey.” I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me! “Good afternoon ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding door. “Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through,” Blonde Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door. “You don’t need to knock – just go in.” She smiles kindly. I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office. Double crap – me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Grey’s office, and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow – he’s so young. “Miss Kavanagh.” He extends a long-fingered hand to me once I’m upright. “I’m Christian Grey. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?” So young – and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice. “Um. Actually–” I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. “Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Grey.” “And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite. “Anastasia Steele. I’m studying English Literature with Kate, um… Katherine… um… Miss Kavanagh at Washington State.” “I see,” he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I’m not sure. “Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch. His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking. “A local artist. Trouton,” says Grey when he catches my gaze. “They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently. “I couldn’t agree more, Miss Steele,” he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing. Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Kate’s questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.” “Take all the time you need, Miss Steele,” he says. “Do you mind if I record your answers?” “After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?” I flush. He’s teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.” “Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?” “Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.” Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand. “Good,” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Mr. Grey.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I thought you might,” he says, deadpan. He’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional. “You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed. “Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.” “Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Kate’s list – but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise. “I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’” “You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again. Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that. “Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft. “Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak. “I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.” My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility. “Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted. “I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me. I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he’s so arrogant. I change tack. “And do you have any interests outside your work?” “I have varied interests, Miss Steele.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.” And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought. “But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?” “Chill out?” He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking. “Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.” He shifts in his chair. “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.” I glance quickly at Kate’s questions, wanting to get off this subject. “You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable? “I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?” “That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.” His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me. “Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.” “Why would they say that?” “Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile. “Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Kate’s list. “I’m a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews,” he trails off. “Why did you agree to do this one?” “Because I’m a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.” I know how tenacious Kate can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams. “You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?” “We can’t eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.” “That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?” He shrugs, very non-committal. “It’s shrewd business,” he murmurs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense – feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude. “Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?” “I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie’s: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.” “So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak. “I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.” “You sound like the ultimate consumer.” “I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Kate has enough material now? I glance at the next question. “You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows. “I have no way of knowing.” My interest is piqued. “How old were you when you were adopted?” “That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.” His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap. Yes of course – if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly. “You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.” “That’s not a question.” He’s terse. “Sorry.” I squirm, and he’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?” “I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.” “Are you gay, Mr. Grey?” He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I’m just reading the questions? Damn Kate and her curiosity! “No Anastasia, I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased. “I apologize. It’s um… written here.” It’s the first time he’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear. He cocks his head to one side. “These aren’t your own questions?” The blood drains from my head. Oh no. “Err… no. Kate – Miss Kavanagh – she compiled the questions.” “Are you colleagues on the student paper?” Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame. “No. She’s my roommate.” He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. “Did you volunteer to do this interview?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet. Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I’m compelled to answer with the truth. “I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic. “That explains a great deal.” There’s a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.” “We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.” Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She’s appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It’s not just me. “Very well, Mr. Grey,” she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me. “Where were we, Miss Steele?” Oh, we’re back to ‘Miss Steele’ now. “Please don’t let me keep you from anything.” “I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” His gray eyes are alight with curiosity. Double crap. Where’s he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting. I swallow. “There’s not much to know,” I say, flushing again. “What are your plans after you graduate?” I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seattle with Kate, find a place, find a job. I haven’t really thought beyond my finals. “I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.” Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze. “We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job? “Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I murmur, completely confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.” Oh no. I’m musing out loud again. “Why do you say that?” He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde. “Not to me,” he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What’s going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder. “Would you like me to show you around?” he asks. “I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.” “You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It’s begun to rain. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” His tone is stern, authoritative. Why should he care? “Did you get everything you need?” he adds. “Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. His eyes narrow, speculatively. “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.” “The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever. As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand. “Until we meet again, Miss Steele.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves. “Mr. Grey.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide. “Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele.” He gives me a small smile. Obviously, he’s referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I flush. “That’s very considerate, Mr. Grey,” I snap, and his smile widens. I’m glad you find me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I’m surprised when he follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised. “Did you have a coat?” Grey asks. “Yes.” Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on. Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. His burning gray eyes gaze at me. “Anastasia,” he says as a farewell. “Christian,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

SwearDie : indeed.

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