STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE
                by George Lucas
           THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK
               by Donald F. Glut
              RETURN OF THE JEDI
                 by James Kahn
                    EPISODE
 =                   IV                     =



                       
                       
                       
                  STAR WARS
                  A New Hope
                       
                       
     From the Adventures of Luke Skywalker






            A Novel by George Lucas






                       
                       
                       
                   Prologue
                       
                       
                       
 ANOTHER galaxy, another time.
 The Old Republic was the Republic of legend,
greater than distance or time. No need to note
where it was or whence it came, only to know
that... it was the Republic.
 Once, under the wise rule of the Senate and
the protection of the Jedi Knights, the
Republic throve and grew. But as often happens
when wealth and power pass beyond the
admirable and attain the awesome, then appear
those evil ones who have greed to match.
 So it was with the Republic at its height.
Like the greatest of trees, able to withstand
any external attack, the Republic rotted from
within though the danger was not visible from
outside.
 Aided and abetted by restless, power-hungry
individuals within the government, and the
massive organs of commerce, the ambitious
Senator Palpatine caused himself to be elected
President of the Republic. He promised to
reunite the disaffected among the people and
to restore the remembered glory of the
Republic.
 Once secure in office he declared himself
Emperor, shutting himself away from the
populace. Soon he was controlled by the very
assistants and boot-lickers he had appointed
to high office, and the cries of the people
for justice did not reach his ears.
 Having exterminated through treachery and
deception the Jedi Knights, guardians of
justice in the galaxy, the Imperial governors
and bureaucrats prepared to institute a reign
of terror among the disheartened worlds of the
galaxy. Many used the imperial forces and the
name of the increasingly isolated Emperor to
further their own personal ambitions.
 But a small number of systems rebelled at
these new outrages. Declaring themselves
opposed to the New Order they began the great
battle to restore the Old Republic.
 From the beginning they were vastly
outnumbered by the systems held in thrall by
the Emperor. In those first dark days it
seemed certain the bright flame of resistance
would be extinguished before it could cast the
light of new truth across a galaxy of
oppressed and beaten peoples ...
                                From the First
                           Saga Journal of the
                                        Whills



'They were in the wrong place at the wrong
time. Naturally they became heroes.'
              Leia Organa of Alderaan, Senator
                       
                       
                       
                     = I =
                       
                       
                       
 IT was a vast, shining globe and it cast a
light of lambent topaz into space - but it was
not a sun. Thus, the planet had fooled men for
a long time. Not until entering close orbit
around it did its discoverers realize that
this was a world in a binary system and not a
third sun itself.
 At first it seemed certain nothing could
exist on such a planet, least of all humans.
Yet both massive G1 and G2 stars orbited a
common center with peculiar regularity, and
Tatooine circled them far enough out to permit
the development of a rather stable, if
exquisitely hot, climate. Mostly this was a
dry desert of a world, whose unusual starlike
yellow glow was the result of double sunlight
striking sodium-rich sands and flats. That
same sunlight suddenly shone on the thin skin
of a metallic shape falling crazily toward the
atmosphere.
 
 The erratic course the galactic cruiser was
traveling was intentional, not the product of
injury but of a desperate desire to avoid it.
Long streaks of intense energy slid close past
its hull, a multihued storm of destruction
like a school of rainbow remoras fighting to
attach themselves to a larger, unwilling host.
 One of those probing, questing beams
succeeded in touching the fleeing ship,
striking its principal solar fin. Gemlike
fragments of metal and plastic erupted into
space as the end of the fin disintegrated. The
vessel seemed to shudder.
 The source of those multiple energy beams
suddenly hove into view - a lumbering Imperial
cruiser, its massive outline bristling
cactuslike with dozens of heavy weapons
emplacements. Light ceased arching from those
spines now as the cruiser moved in close.
Intermittent explosions and flashes of light
could be seen in those portions of the smaller
ship which had taken hits. In the absolute
cold of space, the cruiser snuggled up
alongside its wounded prey.
 Another distant explosion shook the ship -
but it certainly didn't feel distant to Artoo
Detoo or See Threepio. The concussion bounced
them around the narrow corridor like bearings
in an old motor.
 To look at these two, one would have supposed
that the tall, human-like machine, Threepio,
was the master and the stubby, tripodal robot,
Artoo Detoo, an inferior. But while Threepio
might have sniffed disdainfully at the
suggestion, they were in fact equal in
everything save loquacity. Here Threepio was
clearly - and necessarily - the superior.
 Still another explosion rattled the corridor,
throwing Threepio off balance. His shorter
companion had the better of it during such
moments with his squat, cylindrical body's low
center of gravity well balanced on thick,
clawed legs.
 Artoo glanced up at Threepio, who was
steadying himself against a corridor wall.
Lights blinked enigmatically around a single
mechanical eye as the smaller robot studied
the battered casing of his friend. A patina of
metal and fibrous dust coated the usually
gleaming bronze finish, and there were some
visible dents - all the result of the pounding
the rebel ship they were on had been taking.
 Accompanying the last attack was a persistent
deep hum which even the loudest explosion had
not been able to drown out. Then, for no
apparent reason, the basso thrumming abruptly
ceased, and the only sounds in the otherwise
deserted corridor came from the eerie dry-twig
crackle of shorting relays or the pops of
dying circuitry. Explosions began to echo
through the ship once more, but they were far
away from the corridor.
 Threepio turned his smooth, humanlike head to
one side. Metallic ears listened intently. The
imitation of a human pose was hardly necessary
- Threepio's auditory sensors were fully
omnidirectional - but the slim robot had been
programmed to blend perfectly among human
company. This programming extended even to
mimicry of human gestures.
 'Did you hear that?' he inquired rhetorically
of his patient companion, referring to the
throbbing sound. 'They've shut down the main
reactor and the drive.' His voice was as full
of disbelief and concern as that of any human.
One metallic palm rubbed dolefully at a patch
of dull gray on his side, where a broken hull
brace had fallen and scored the bronze finish.
Threepio was a fastidious machine, and such
things troubled him.
 'Madness, this is madness.' He shook his head
slowly. 'This time we'll be destroyed for
sure.'
 Artoo did not comment immediately. Barrel
torso tilted backward, powerful legs gripping
the deck, the meter-high robot was engrossed
in studying the roof overhead. Though he did
not have a head to cock in a listening posture
like his friend, Artoo still somehow managed
to convey that impression. A series of short
beeps and chirps issued from his speaker. To
even a sensitive human ear they would have
been just so much static, but to Threepio they
formed words as clear and pure as direct
current.
 'Yes, I suppose they did have to shut the
drive down,' Threepio admitted, 'but what are
we going to do now? We can't enter atmosphere
with our main stablizer fin destroyed. I can't
believe we're simply going to surrender.'
 A small band of armed humans suddenly
appeared, rifles held at the ready. Their
expressions were as worry-wrinkled as their
uniforms, and they carried about them the aura
of men prepared to die.
 Threepio watched silently until they had
vanished around a far bend in the passageway,
then looked back at Artoo. The smaller robot
hadn't shifted from his position of listening.
Threepio's gaze turned upward also though he
knew Artoo's senses were slightly sharper than
his own.
 'What is it, Artoo?' A short burst of beeping
came in response. Another moment, and there
was no need for highly attuned sensors. For a
minute or two more, the corridor remained
deathly silent. Then a faint scrape, scrape
could be heard, like a cat at a door, from
somewhere above. That strange noise was
produced by heavy footsteps and the movement
of bulky equipment somewhere on the ship's
hull.
 When several muffled explosions sounded,
Threepio murmured, 'They've broken in
somewhere above us. There's no escape for the
Captain this time.' Turning, he peered down at
Artoo. 'I think we'd better-
 The shriek of overstressed metal filled the
air before he could finish, and the far end of
the passageway was lit by a blinding actinic
flash. Somewhere down there the little cluster
of armed crew who had passed by minutes before
had encountered the ship's attackers.
 Threepio turned his face and delicate
photoreceptors away - just in time to avoid
the fragments of metal that flew down the
corridor. At the far end a gaping hole
appeared in the roof, and reflective forms
like big metal beads began dropping to the
corridor floor. Both robots knew that no
machine could match the fluidity with which
those shapes moved and instantly assumed
fighting postures. The new arrivals were
humans in armor, not mechanicals.
 One of them looked straight at Threepio - no,
not at him, the panicked robot thought
frantically, but past him. The figure shifted
its big rifle around in armored hands - too
late. A beam of intense light struck the head,
sending pieces of armor, bone, and flesh
flying in all directions.
 Half the invading Imperial troops turned and
began returning fire up the corridor - aiming
past the two robots.
 'Quick - this way!' Threepio ordered,
intending to retreat from the Imperials. Artoo
turned with him. They had taken only a couple
of steps when they saw the rebel crewmen in
position ahead, firing down the corridor. In
seconds the passageway was filled with smoke
and crisscrossing beams of energy.
 Red, green and blue bolts ricocheted off
polished sections of wall and floor or ripped
long gashes in metal surfaces. Screams of
injured and dying humans - a peculiarly
unrobotic sound, Threepio thought - echoed
piercingly above the inorganic destruction.
 One beam struck near the robot's feet at the
same time as a second one burst the wall
directly behind him, exposing sparking
circuitry and rows of conduits. The force of
the twin blast tumbled Threepio into the
shredded cables, where a dozen different
currents turned him into a jerking, twisting
display.
 Strange sensations coursed through his metal
nerve-ends. They caused no pain, only
confusion. Every time he moved and tried to
free himself there was another violent
crackling as a fresh cluster of componentry
broke. The noise and man-made lightning
remained constant around him as the battle
continued to rage.
 Smoke began to fill the corridor. Artoo Detoo
bustled about trying to help free his friend.
The little robot evidenced a phlegmatic
indifference to the ravening energies filling
the passageway. He was built so low that most
of the beams passed over him anyhow.
 'Help!' Threepio yelled, suddenly frightened
at a new message from an internal sensor. 'I
think something is melting. Free my left leg -
the trouble's near the pelvic servomotor.'
Typically, his tone turned abruptly from
pleading to berating.
 This is all your fault!' he shouted angrily.
'I should have known better than to trust the
logic of a half-sized thermocapsulary
dehousing assister. I don't know why you
insisted we leave our assigned stations to
come down this stupid access corridor. Not
that it matters now. The whole ship must be-'
Artoo Detoo cut him off in midspeech with some
angry beepings and hoots of his own, though he
continued to cut and pull with precision at
the tangled high-voltage cables.
 'Is that so?' Threepio sneered in reply. 'The
same to you, you little...!'
 An exceptionally violent explosion shook the
passage, drowning him out. A lung-searing
miasma of carbonized component filled the air,
obscuring everything.
 
 Two meters tall. Bipedal. Flowing black robes
trailing from the figure and a face forever
masked by a functional if bizarre black metal
breath screen - a Dark Lord of the Sith was an
awesome, threatening shape as it strode
through the corridors of the rebel ship.
 Fear followed the footsteps of all the Dark
Lords. The cloud of evil which clung tight
about this particular one was intense enough
to cause hardened Imperial troops to back
away, menacing enough to set them muttering
nervously among themselves. Once-resolute
rebel crew members ceased resisting, broke and
ran in panic at the sight of the black armor -
armor which, though black as it was, was not
nearly as dark as the thoughts drifting
through the mind within.
 One purpose, one thought, one obsession
dominated that mind now. It burned in the
brain of Darth Vader as he turned down another
passageway in the broken fighter. There smoke
was beginning to clear, though the sounds of
faraway fighting still resounded through the
hull. The battle here had ended and moved on.
 Only a robot was left to stir freely in the
wake of the Dark Lord's passing. See Threepio
finally stepped clear of the last restraining
cable. Somewhere behind him human screams
could be heard from where relentless Imperial
troops were mopping up the last remnants of
rebel resistance.
 Threepio glanced down and saw only scarred
deck. As he looked around, his voice was full
of concern. 'Artoo Detoo - where are you?' The
smoke seemed to part just a bit more. Threepio
found himself staring up the passageway.
 Artoo Detoo, it seemed, was there. But he
wasn't looking in Threepio's direction.
Instead, the little robot appeared frozen in
an attitude of attention. Leaning over him was
- it was difficult for even Threepio's
electronic photoreceptors to penetrate the
clinging, acidic smoke - a human figure. It
was young, slim, and by abstruse human
standards of aesthetics, Threepio mused, of a
calm beauty. One small hand seemed to be
moving over the front of Artoo's torso.
 Threepio started toward them as the haze
thickened once more. But when he reached the
end of the corridor, only Artoo stood there,
waiting. Threepio peered past him, uncertain.
Robots were occasionally subject to electronic
hallucinations - but why should he hallucinate
a human?
 He shrugged ... Then again, why not,
especially when one considered the confusing
circumstances of the past hour and the dose of
raw current he had recently absorbed. He
shouldn't be surprised at anything his
concatenated internal circuits conjured up.
 'Where have you been?' Threepio finally
asked. 'Hiding, I suppose.' He decided not to
mention the maybe-human. If it had been a
hallucination, he wasn't going to give Artoo
the satisfaction of knowing how badly recent
events had unsettled his logic circuits.
 'They'll be coming back this way,' he went
on, nodding down the corridor and not giving
the small automaton a chance to reply,
'looking for human survivors. What are we
going to do now? They won't trust the word of
rebel-owned machines that we don't know
anything of value. We'll be sent to the spice
mines of Kessel or taken apart for spare
components for other, less deserving robots.
That's if they don't consider us potential
program traps and blow us apart on sight. If
we don't ...' But Artoo had already turned and
was ambling quickly back down the passageway.
 'Wait, where are you going? Haven't you been
listening to me?' Uttering curses in several
languages, some purely mechanical, Threepio
raced fluidly after his friend. The Artoo
unit, he thought to himself, could be
downright close-circuited when it wanted to.
 Outside the galactic cruiser's control center
the corridor was crowded with sullen prisoners
gathered by Imperial troops. Some lay wounded,
some dying. Several officers had been
separated from the enlisted ranks and stood in
a small group by themselves, bestowing
belligerent looks and threats on the silent
knot of troops holding them at bay.
 As if on command, everyone - Imperial troops
as well as rebels - became silent as a massive
caped form came into view from behind a turn
in the passage. Two of the heretofore
resolute, obstinate rebel officers began to
shake. Stopping before one of the men, the
towering figure reached out wordlessly. A
massive hand closed around the man's neck and
lifted him off the deck. The rebel officer's
eyes bulged, but he kept his silence.
 An Imperial officer, his armored helmet
shoved back to reveal a recent scar where an
energy beam had penetrated his shielding,
scrambled down out of the fighter's control
room, shaking his head briskly. 'Nothing, sir.
Information retrieval system's been wiped
clean.'
 Darth Vader acknowledged this news with a
barely perceptible nod. The impenetrable mask
turned to regard the officer he was torturing.
Metal-clad fingers contracted. Reaching up,
the prisoner desperately tried to pry them
loose, but to no avail.
 'Where is the data you intercepted?' Vader
rumbled dangerously. 'What have you done with
the information tapes?'
 'We - intercepted - no information,' the
dangling officer gurgled, barely able to
breathe. From somewhere deep within, he
dredged up a squeal of outrage. 'This is a...
councilor vessel... Did you not see our ...
exterior markings? We're on a... diplomatic
... mission.'
 'Chaos take your mission!' Vader growled.
'Where are those tapes?' He squeezed harder,
the threat in his grip implicit.
 When he finally replied, the officer's voice
was a bare, choked whisper. 'Only ... the
Commander knows.'
 'This ship carries the system crest of
Alderaan,' Vader growled, the gargoylelike
breath mask leaning close. 'Is any of the
royal family on board? Who are you carrying?'
Thick fingers tightened further, and the
officer's struggles became more and more
frantic. His last words were muffled and
choked past intelligibility.
 Vader was not pleased. Even though the figure
went limp with an awful, unquestionable
finality, that hand continued to tighten,
producing a chilling snapping and popping of
bone, like a dog padding on plastic. Then with
a disgusted wheeze Vader finally threw the
doll-form of the dead man against a far wall.
Several Imperial troops ducked out of the way
just in time to avoid the grisly missile.
 The massive form whirled unexpectedly, and
Imperial officers shrank under that baleful
sculptured stare. 'Start tearing this ship
apart piece by piece, component by component,
until you find those tapes. As for the
passengers, if any, I want them alive.' He
paused a moment, then added, 'Quickly!'
 Officers and men nearly fell over themselves
in their haste to leave - not necessarily to
carry out Vader's orders, but simply to
retreat from that malevolent presence.
 Artoo Detoo finally came to a halt in an
empty corridor devoid of smoke and the signs
of battle. A worried, confused Threepio pulled
up behind him.
 'You've led us through half the ship, and to
what...?' He broke off, staring in disbelief
as the squat robot reached up with one clawed
limb and snapped the seal on a lifeboat hatch.
Immediately a red warning light came on and a
low hooting sounded in the corridor.
 Threepio looked wildly in all directions, but
the passageway remained empty. When he looked
back, Artoo was already working his way into
the cramped boat pod. It was just large enough
to hold several humans, and its design was not
laid out to accommodate mechanicals. Artoo had
some trouble negotiating the awkward little
compartment.
 'Hey,' a startled Threepio called,
admonishing, 'you're not permitted in there!
It's restricted to humans only. We just might
be able to convince the Imperials that we're
not rebel programmed and are too valuable to
break up, but if someone sees you in there we
haven't got a chance. Come on out.'
 Somehow Artoo had succeeded in wedging his
body into position in front of the miniature
control board. He cocked his body slightly and
threw a stream of loud beeps and whistles at
his reluctant companion.
 Threepio listened. He couldn't frown, but he
managed to give a good impression of doing so.
'Mission ... what mission? What are you
talking about? You sound like you haven't got
an integrated logic terminal left in your
brain. No ... no more adventures. I'll take my
chances with the Imperials - and I'm not
getting in there.'
 An angry electronic twang came from the Artoo
unit.
 'Don't call me a mindless philosopher,'
Threepio snapped back, 'you overweight,
unstreamlined glob of grease!'
 Threepio was concocting an additional
rejoinder when an explosion blew out the back
wall of the corridor. Dust and metal debris
whooshed through the narrow subpassageway,
followed instantly by a series of secondary
explosions. Flames began jumping hungrily from
the exposed interior wall, reflecting off
Threepio's isolated patches of polished skin.
 Muttering the electronic equivalent of
consigning his soul to the unknown, the lanky
robot jumped into the life pod. 'I'm going to
regret this,' he muttered more audibly as
Artoo activated the safety door behind him.
The smaller robot flipped a series of
switches, snapped back a cover, and pressed
three buttons in a certain sequence. With the
thunder of explosive latches the life pod
ejected from the crippled fighter.
 When word came over the communicators that
the last pocket of resistance on the rebel
ship had been cleaned out, the Captain of the
Imperial cruiser relaxed considerably. He was
listening with pleasure to the proceedings on
the captured vessel when one of his chief
gunnery officers called to him. Moving to the
man's position, the Captain stared into the
circular viewscreen and saw a tiny dot
dropping away toward the fiery world below.
 'There goes another pod, sir. Instructions?"
The officer's hand hovered over a computerized
energy battery.
 Casually, confident in the firepower and
total control under his command, the Captain
studied the nearby readouts monitoring the
pod. All of them read blank.
 'Hold your fire, Lieutenant Hija. Instruments
show no life forms aboard. The pod's release
mechanism must have short-circuited or
received a false instruction. Don't waste your
power.' He turned away, to listen with
satisfaction to the reports of captured men
and material coming from the rebel ship.
 Glare from exploding panels and erupting
circuitry reflected crazily off the armor of
the lead storm trooper as he surveyed the
passageway ahead. He was about to turn and
call for those behind to follow him forward
when he noticed something moving off to one
side. It appeared to be crouching back in a
small, dark alcove. Holding his pistol ready,
he moved cautiously forward and peered into
the recess.
 A small, shivering figure clad in flowing
white hugged the back of the recess and stared
up at the man. Now he could see that he faced
a young woman, and her physical description
fit that of the one individual the Dark Lord
was most interested in. The trooper grinned
behind his helmet. A lucky encounter for him.
He would be commended.
 Within the armor his head turned slightly,
directing his voice to the tiny condenser
microphone. 'Here she is,' he called to those
behind him. 'Set for stun forc-
 He never finished the sentence, just as he
would never receive the hoped-for
commendation. Once his attention turned from
the girl to his communicator her shivering
vanished with startling speed. The energy
pistol she had held out of sight behind her
came up and around as she burst from her
hiding place.
 The trooper who had been unlucky enough to
find her fell first, his head a mass of melted
bone and metal. The same fate met the second
armored form coming up fast behind him. Then a
bright green energy pole touched the woman's
side and she slumped instantly to the deck,
the pistol still locked in her small palm.
 Metal-encased shapes clustered around her.
One whose arm bore the insignia of a lower
officer knelt and turned her over. He studied
the paralyzed form with a practiced eye.
 'She'll  be all right,' he finally  declared,
looking  up  at his subordinates.  'Report  to
Lord Vader.'
 Threepio stared, mesmerized, out of the small
viewport set in the front of the tiny escape
pod as the hot yellow eye of Tatooine began to
swallow them up. Somewhere behind them, he
knew, the crippled fighter and the Imperial
cruiser were receding to imperceptibility.
 That was fine with him. If they landed near a
civilized city, he would seek elegant
employment in a halcyon atmosphere, something
more befitting his status and training. These
past months had gifted him with entirely too
much excitement and unpredictability for a
mere machine.
 Artoo's seemingly random manipulation of the
pod controls promised anything but a smooth
landing, however. Threepio regarded his squat
companion with concern.
 'Are you sure you know how to pilot this
thing?'
 Artoo replied with a noncommittal whistle
that did nothing to alter the taller robot's
jangled state of mind.
                       
                       
                       
                    = II =
                       
                       
                       
 IT was an old settlers' saying that you could
burn your eyes out faster by staring straight
and hard at the sun-scorched flatlands of
Tatooine than by looking directly at its two
huge suns themselves, so powerful was the
penetrating glare reflected from those endless
wastes. Despite the glare, life could and did
exist in the flatlands formed by long-
evaporated seabeds. One thing made it
possible: the reintroduction of water.
 For human purposes, however, the water of
Tatooine was only marginally accessible. The
atmosphere yielded its moisture with
reluctance. It had to be coaxed down out of
the hard blue sky -coaxed, forced, yanked down
to the parched surface.
 Two figures whose concern was obtaining that
moisture were standing on a slight rise of one
of those inhospitable flats. One of the pair
was stiff and metallic - a sand-pitted
vaporator sunk securely through sand and into
deeper rock. The figure next to it was a good
deal more animated, though no less
sunweathered.
 Luke Skywalker was twice the age of the ten-
year-old vaporator, but much less secure. At
the moment he was swearing softly at a
recalcitrant valve adjuster on the
temperamental device. From time to time he
resorted to some unsubtle pounding in place of
using the appropriate tool. Neither method
worked very well. Luke was sure that the
lubricants used on the vaporators went out of
their way to attract sand, beckoning
seductively to small abrasive particles with
an oily gleam. He wiped sweat from his
forehead and leaned back for a moment. The
most prepossessing thing about the young man
was his name. A light breeze tugged at his
shaggy hair and baggy work tunic as he
regarded the device. No point in staying angry
at it, he counseled himself. It's only an
unintelligent machine.
 As Luke considered his predicament, a third
figure appeared, scooting out from behind the
vaporator to fumble awkwardly at the damaged
section. Only three of the Treadwell model
robot's six arms were functioning, and these
had seen more wear than the boots on Luke's
feet. The machine moved with unsteady, stop-
and-start motions.
 Luke gazed at it sadly, then inclined his
head to study the sky. Still no sign of a
cloud, and he knew there never would be unless
he got that vaporator working. He was about to
try once again when a small, intense gleam of
light caught his eye. Quickly he slipped the
carefully cleaned set of macrobinoculars from
his utility belt and focused the lenses
skyward.
 For long moments he stared, wishing all the
while that he had a real telescope instead of
the binocs. As he stared, vaporators, the
heat, and the day's remaining chores were
forgotten. Clipping the binoculars back onto
his belt, Luke turned and dashed for the
landspeeder. Halfway to the vehicle he thought
to call behind him.
 'Hurry up,' he shouted impatiently. 'What are
you waiting for? Get it in gear.'
 The Treadwell started toward him, hesitated,
and then commenced spinning in a tight circle,
smoke belching from every joint. Luke shouted
further instructions, then finally gave up in
disgust when he realized that it would take
more than words to motivate the Treadwell
again.
 For a moment Luke hesitated at leaving the
machine behind - but, he argued to himself,
its vital components were obviously shot. So
he jumped into the landspeeder, causing the
recently repaired repulsion floater to list
alarmingly to one side until he was able to
equalize weight distribution by sliding behind
the controls. Maintaining its altitude
slightly above the sandy ground, the light-
duty transport vehicle steadied itself like a
boat in a heavy sea. Luke gunned the engine,
which whined in protest, and sand erupted
behind the floater as he aimed the craft
toward the distant town of Anchorhead.
 Behind him, a pitiful beacon of black smoke
from the burning robot continued to rise into
the clear desert air. It wouldn't be there
when Luke returned. There were scavengers of
metal as well as flesh in the wide wastes of
Tatooine.
 
 Metal and stone structures bleached white by
the glaze of twin Tatoo I and II huddled
together tightly, for company as much as for
protection. They formed the nexus of the
widespread farming community of Anchorhead.
 Presently the dusty, unpaved streets were
quiet, deserted. Sand-flies buzzed lazily in
the cracked eaves of pourstone buildings. A
dog barked in the distance, the sole sign of
habitation until a lone old woman appeared and
started across the street. Her metallic sun
shawl was pulled tight around her.
 Something made her look up, tired eyes
squinting into the distance. The sound
suddenly leaped in volume as a shining
rectangular shape came roaring around a far
corner. Her eyes popped as the vehicle bore
down on her, showing no sign of altering its
path. She had to scramble to get out of its
way.
 Panting and waving an angry fist after the
landspeeder, she raised her voice over the
sound of its passage. 'Won't you kids ever
learn to slow down!'
 Luke might have seen her, but he certainly
didn't hear her. In both cases his attention
was focused elsewhere as he pulled up behind a
low, long concrete station. Various coils and
rods jutted from its top and sides. Tatooine's
relentless sand waves broke in frozen yellow
spume against the station's walls. No one had
bothered to clear them away. There was no
point. They would only return again the
following day.
 Luke slammed the front door aside and
shouted, 'Hey!'
 A rugged young man in mechanic's dress sat
sprawled in a chair behind the station's
unkempt control desk. Sunscreen oil had kept
his skin from burning. The skin of the girl on
his lap had been equally protected, and there
was a great deal more of the protected area in
view. Somehow even dried sweat looked good on
her.
 'Hey, everybody!' Luke yelled again, having
elicited something less than an overwhelming
response with his first cry. He ran toward the
instrument room at the rear of the station
while the mechanic, half asleep, ran a hand
across his face and mumbled, 'Did I hear a
young noise blast through here?'
 The girl on his lap stretched sensuously, her
well-worn clothing tugging in various
intriguing directions. Her voice was casually
throaty. 'Oh,' she yawned, 'that was just
Wormie on one of his rampages.'
 Deak and Windy looked up from the computer-
assisted pool game as Luke burst into the
room. They were dressed much like Luke,
although their clothing was of better fit and
somewhat less exercised.
 All three youths contrasted strikingly with
the burly, handsome player at the far side of
the table. From neatly clipped hair to his
precision-cut uniform he stood out in the room
like an Oriental poppy in a sea of oats.
Behind the three humans a soft hum came from
where a repair robot was working patiently on
a broken piece of station equipment.
 'Shape it up, you guys,' Luke yelled
excitedly. Then he noticed the older man in
the uniform. The subject of his suddenly
startled gaze recognized him simultaneously.
 'Biggs!'
 The man's face twisted in a half grin.
'Hello, Luke.' Then they were embracing each
other warmly.
 Luke finally stood away, openly admiring the
other's uniform. 'I didn't know you were back.
When did you get in?'
 The confidence in the other's voice bordered
the realm of smugness without quite entering
it. 'Just a little while ago. I wanted to
surprise you, hotshot.' He indicated the room.
'I thought you'd be here with these other two
nightcrawlers.' Deak and Windy both smiled. 'I
certainly didn't expect you to be out
working.' He laughed easily, a laugh few
people found resistible.
 'The academy didn't change you much,' Luke
commented. 'But you're back so soon.' His
expression grew concerned. 'Hey, what happened
- didn't you get your commission?'
 There was something evasive about Biggs as he
replied, looking slightly away, 'Of course I
got it. Signed to serve aboard the freighter
Rand Ecliptic just last week. First Mate Biggs
Darklighter, at your service.' He performed a
twisting salute, half serious and half
humorous, then grinned that overbearing yet
ingratiating grin again.
 'I just came back to say good-bye to all you
unfortunate landlocked simpletons.' They all
laughed, until Luke suddenly remembered what
had brought him here in such a hurry.
 'I almost forgot,' he told them, his initial
excitement returning, 'there's a battle going
on right here in our system. Come and look.'
 Deak looked disappointed. 'Not another one of
your epic battles, Luke. Haven't you dreamed
up enough of them? Forget it.'
 'Forget it, hell - I'm serious. It's a
battle, all right.'
 With words and shoves he managed to cajole
the occupants of the station out into the
strong sunlight. Camie in particular looked
disgusted.
 'This had better be worth it, Luke,' she
warned him, shading her eyes against the
glare.
 Luke already had his macrobinoculars out and
was searching the heavens. It took only a
moment for him to fix on a particular spot. 'I
told you,' he insisted. 'There they are.'
 Biggs moved alongside him and reached for the
binoculars as the others strained unaided
eyes. A slight readjustment provided just
enough magnification for Biggs to make out two
silvery specks against the dark blue.
 'That's no battle, hotshot,' he decided,
lowering the binocs and regarding his friend
gently. 'They're just sitting there. Two
ships, all right - probably a barge loading a
freighter, since Tatooine hasn't got an
orbital station.'
 'There was a lot of firing - earlier,' Luke
added. His initial enthusiasm was beginning to
falter under the withering assurance of his
older friend.
 Camie grabbed the binoculars away from Biggs,
banging them slightly against a support pillar
in the process. Luke took them away from her
quickly, inspecting the casing for damage.
'Take it easy with those.'
 'Don't worry so much, Wormie,' she sneered.
Luke took a step toward her, then halted as
the huskier mechanic easily interposed himself
between them and favored Luke with a warning
smile. Luke considered, shrugged the incident
away.
 'I keep telling you, Luke,' the mechanic
said, with the air of a man tired of repeating
the same story to no avail, 'the rebellion is
a long way from here. I doubt if the Empire
would fight to keep this system. Believe me,
Tatooine is a big hunk of nothing.'
 His audience began to fade back into the
station before Luke could mutter a reply.
Fixer had his arm around Camie, and the two of
them were chuckling over Luke's ineptitude.
Even Deak and Windy were murmuring among
themselves - about him, Luke was certain.
 He followed them, but not without a last
glance back and up to the distant specks. One
thing he was sure of were the flashes of light
he had seen between the two ships. They hadn't
been caused by the suns of Tatooine reflecting
off metal.
 
 The binding that locked the girl's hands
behind her back was primitive and effective.
The constant attention the squad of heavily
armed troopers favored her with might have
been out of place for one small female, except
for the fact that their lives depended on her
being delivered safely.
 When she deliberately slowed her pace,
however, it became apparent that her captors
did not mind mistreating her a little. One of
the armored figures shoved her brutally in the
small of the back, and she nearly fell.
Turning, she gave the offending soldier a
vicious look. But she could not tell if it had
any effect, since the man's face was
completely hidden by his armored helmet.
 The hallway they eventually emerged into was
still smoking around the edges of the
smoldering cavity blasted through the hull of
the fighter. A portable accessway had been
sealed to it and a circlet of light showed at
the far end of the tunnel, bridging space
between the rebel craft and the cruiser. A
shadow moved over her as she turned from
inspecting the accessway, startling her
despite her usually unshakable self-control.
 Above her towered the threatening bulk of
Darth Vader, red eyes glaring behind the
hideous breath mask. A muscle twitched in one
smooth cheek, but other than that the girl
didn't react. Nor was there the slightest
shake in her voice.
 'Darth Vader ... I should have known. Only
you would be so bold - and so stupid. Well,
the Imperial Senate will not sit still for
this. When they hear that you have attacked a
diplomatic miss-
 'Senator Leia Organa,' Vader rumbled softly,
though strongly enough to override her
protests. His pleasure at finding her was
evident in the way he savored every syllable.
 'Don't play games with me, Your Highness,' he
continued ominously. 'You aren't on any mercy
mission this time. You passed directly through
a restricted system, ignoring numerous
warnings and completely disregarding orders to
turn about - until it no longer mattered.'
 The huge metal skull dipped close. 'I know
that several transmissions were beamed to this
vessel by spies within that system. When we
traced those transmissions back to the
individuals with whom they originated, they
had the poor grace to kill themselves before
they could be questioned. I want to know what
happened to the data they sent you.'
 Neither Vader's words nor his inimical
presence appeared to have any effect on the
girl. 'I don't know what you're blathering
about,' she snapped, looking away from him.
'I'm a member of the Senate on a diplomatic
mission to-
 'To your part of the rebel alliance,' Vader
declared, cutting her off accusingly. 'You're
also a traitor.' His gaze went to a nearby
officer. 'Take her away.'
 She succeeded in reaching him with her spit,
which hissed against still-hot battle armor.
He wiped the offensive matter away silently,
watching her with interest as she was marched
through the accessway into the cruiser.
 A tall, slim soldier wearing the sign of an
Imperial Commander attracted Vader's attention
as he came up next to him. 'Holding her is
dangerous,' he ventured, likewise looking
after her as she was escorted toward the
cruiser. 'If word of this does get out, there
will be much unrest in the Senate. It will
generate sympathy for the rebels.' The
Commander looked up at the unreadable metal
face, then added in an off-handed manner, 'She
should be destroyed immediately.'
 'No. My first duty is to locate that hidden
fortress of theirs,' Vader replied easily.
'All the rebel spies have been eliminated - by
our hand or by their own. Therefore she is now
my only key to discovering its location. I
intend to make full use of her. If necessary,
I will use her up - but I will learn the
location of the rebel base.'
 The Commander pursed his lips, shook his head
slightly, perhaps a bit sympathetically, as he
considered the woman. 'She'll die before she
gives you any information.'
 Vader's reply was chilling in its
indifference. 'Leave that to me.' He
considered a moment, then went on. 'Send out a
wide-band distress signal. Indicate that the
Senator's ship encountered an unexpected
meteorite cluster it could not avoid. Readings
indicate that the shift shields were
overridden and the ship was hulled to the
point of vacating ninety-five percent of its
atmosphere. Inform her father and the Senate
that all aboard were killed.'
 A cluster of tired-looking troops marched
purposefully up to their Commander and the
Dark Lord. Vader eyed them expectantly.
 'The data tapes in question are not aboard
the ship. There is no valuable information in
the ship's storage banks and no evidence of
bank erasure,' the officer in charge recited
mechanically. 'Nor were any transmissions
directed outward from the ship from the time
we made contact. A malfunctioning lifeboat pod
was ejected during the fighting, but it was
confirmed at the time that no life forms were
on board.'
 Vader appeared thoughtful. 'It could have
been a malfunctioning pod,' he mused, 'that
might also have contained the tapes. Tapes are
not life forms. In all probability any native
finding them would be ignorant of their
importance and would likely clear them for his
own use. Still...
 'Send down a detachment to retrieve them, or
to make certain they are not in the pod,' he
finally ordered the Commander and attentive
officer. 'Be as subtle as possible; there is
no need to attract attention, even on this
miserable outpost world.'
 As the officer and troops departed, Vader
turned his gaze back to the Commander.
'Vaporize this fighter - we don't want to
leave anything. As for the pod, I cannot take
the chance it was a simple malfunction. The
data it might contain could prove too
damaging. See to this personally, Commander.
If those data tapes exist, they must be
retrieved or destroyed at all costs.' Then he
added with satisfaction, 'With that
accomplished and the Senator in our hands, we
will see the end of this absurd rebellion.'
 'It shall be as you direct, Lord Vader,' the
Commander acknowledged. Both men entered the
accessway to the cruiser.
 'What a forsaken place this is!'
 Threepio turned cautiously to look back at
where the pod lay half buried in sand. His
internal gyros were still unsteady from the
rough landing. Landing! Mere application of
the term unduly flattered his dull associate.
 On the other hand, he supposed he ought to be
grateful they had come down in one piece.
Although, he mused as he studied the barren
landscape, he still wasn't sure they were
better off here than they would have been had
they remained on the captured cruiser. High
sandstone mesas dominated the skyline to one
side. Every other direction showed only
endless series of marching dunes like long
yellow teeth stretching for kilometer on
kilometer into the distance. Sand ocean
blended into sky-glare until it was impossible
to distinguish where one ended and the other
began.
 A faint cloud of minute dust particles rose
in their wake as the two robots marched away
from the pod. That vehicle, its intended
function fully discharged, was now quite
useless. Neither robot had been designed for
pedal locomotion on this kind of terrain, so
they had to fight their way across the
unstable surface.
 'We seem to have been made to suffer,'
Threepio moaned in self-pity. 'It's a rotten
existence.' Something squeaked in his right
leg and he winced. 'I've got to rest before I
fall apart. My internals still haven't
recovered from that headlong crash you called
a landing.'
 He paused, but Artoo Detoo did not. The
little automaton had performed a sharp turn
and was now ambling slowly but steadily in the
direction of the nearest outjut of mesa.
 'Hey,' Threepio yelled. Artoo ignored the
call and continued striding. 'Where do you
think you're going?'
 Now Artoo paused, emitting a stream of
electronic explanation as Threepio exhaustedly
walked over to join him.
 'Well, I'm not going that way,' Threepio
declared when Artoo had concluded his
explanation. 'It's too rocky.' He gestured in
the direction they had been walking, at an
angle away from the cliffs. 'This way is much
easier.' A metal hand waved disparagingly at
the high mesas. 'What makes you think there
are any settlements that way, anyhow?'
 A long whistle issued from the depths of
Artoo.
 'Don't get technical with me,' Threepio
warned. 'I've had just about enough of your
decisions.'
 Artoo beeped once.
 'All right, go your way,' Threepio announced
grandly. 'You'll be sandlogged within a day,
you nearsighted scrap pile.' He gave the Artoo
unit a contemptuous shove, sending the smaller
robot tumbling down a slight dune. As it
struggled at the bottom to regain its feet,
Threepio started off toward the blurred,
glaring horizon, glancing back over his
shoulder. 'Don't let me catch you following
me, begging for help,' he warned, 'because you
won't get it.'
 Below the crest of the dune, the Artoo unit
righted itself. It paused briefly to clean its
single electronic eye with an auxiliary arm.
Then it produced an electronic squeal which
was almost, though not quite, a human
expression of rage. Humming quietly to itself
then, it turned and trudged off toward the
sandstone ridges as if nothing had happened.
 Several hours later a straining Threepio, his
internal thermostat overloaded and edging
dangerously toward overheat shutdown,
struggled up the top of what he hoped was the
last towering dune. Nearby, pillars and
buttresses of bleached calcium, the bones of
some enormous beast, formed an unpromising
landmark. Reaching the crest of the dune,
Threepio peered anxiously ahead. Instead of
the hoped-for greenery of human civilization
he saw only several dozen more dunes,
identical in form and promise to the one he
now stood upon. The farthest rose even higher
than the one he presently surmounted.
 Threepio turned and looked back toward the
now far-off rocky plateau, which was beginning
to grow indistinct with distance and heat
distortion. 'You malfunctioning little twerp,'
he muttered, unable even now to admit to
himself that perhaps, just possibly, the Artoo
unit might have been right. 'This is all your
fault. You tricked me into going this way, but
you'll do no better.'
 Nor would he if he didn't continue on. So he
took a step forward and heard something grind
dully within a leg joint. Sitting down in an
electronic funk, he began picking sand from
his encrusted joints.
 He could continue on his present course, he
told himself. Or he could confess to an error
in judgment and try to catch up again with
Artoo Detoo. Neither prospect held much appeal
for him.
 But there was a third choice. He could sit
here, shining in the sunlight, until his
joints locked, his internals overheated, and
the ultraviolet burned out his photoreceptors.
He would become another monument to the
destructive power of the binary, like the
colossal organism whose picked corpse he had
just encountered.
 Already his receptors were beginning to go,
he reflected. It seemed he saw something
moving in the distance. Heat distortion,
probably. No-no - it was definitely light on
metal, and it was moving toward him. His hopes
soared. Ignoring the warnings from his damaged
leg, he rose and began waving frantically.
 It was, he saw now, definitely a vehicle,
though of a type unfamiliar to him. But a
vehicle it was, and that implied intelligence
and technology.
 He neglected in his excitement to consider
the possibility that it might not be of human
origin.
 
 'So I cut off my power, shut down the
afterburners, and dropped in low on Deak's
tail,' Luke finished, waving his arms wildly.
He and Biggs were walking in the shade outside
the power station. Sounds of metal being
worked came from somewhere within, where Fixer
had finally joined his robot assistant in
performing repairs.
 'I was so close to him,' Luke continued
excitedly, 'I thought I was going to fry my
instrumentation. As it was, I busted up the
skyhopper pretty bad.' That recollection
inspired a frown.
 'Uncle Owen was pretty upset. He grounded me
for the rest of the season.' Luke's depression
was brief. Memory of his feat overrode its
immorality.
 'You should have been there, Biggs!'
 'You ought to take it a little easier,' his
friend cautioned. 'You may be the hottest bush
pilot this side of Mos Eisley, Luke, but those
little skyhoppers can be dangerous. They move
awfully fast for tropospheric craft - faster
than they need to. Keep playing engine jockey
with one and someday, whammo!' He slammed one
fist violently into his open palm. 'You're
going to be nothing more than a dark spot on
the damp side of a canyon wall.'
 'Look who's talking,' Luke retorted. 'Now
that you've been on a few big, automatic
starships you're beginning to sound like my
uncle. You've gotten soft in the cities.' He
swung spiritedly at Biggs, who blocked the
movement easily, making a halfhearted gesture
of counterattack.
 Biggs's easygoing smugness dissolved into
something warmer. 'I've missed you, kid.'
 Luke looked away, embarrassed. 'Things
haven't exactly been the same since you left,
either, Biggs. It's been so-' Luke hunted for
the right word and finally finished
helplessly, 'so quiet.' His gaze traveled
across the sandy, deserted streets of
Anchorhead. 'It's always been quiet, really.'
 Biggs grew silent, thinking. He glanced
around. They were alone out here. Everyone
else was back inside the comparative coolness
of the power station. As he leaned close Luke
sensed an unaccustomed solemness in his
friend's tone.
 'Luke, I didn't come back just to say good-
bye, or to crow over everyone because I got
through the Academy.' Again he seemed to
hesitate, unsure of himself. Then he blurted
out rapidly, not giving himself a chance to
back down, 'But I want somebody to know. I
can't tell my parents.'
 Gaping at Biggs, Luke could only gulp, 'Know
what? What are you talking about?'
 'I'm talking about the talking that's been
going on at the Academy - and other places,
Luke. Strong talking. I made some new friends,
outsystem friends. We agreed about the way
certain things are developing, and-' his voice
dropped conspiratorially -'when we reach one
of the peripheral systems, we're going to jump
ship and join the Alliance.'
 Luke stared back at his friend, tried to
picture Biggs - fun-loving, happy-go-lucky,
live-for-today Biggs - as a patriot afire with
rebellious fervor.
 'You're going to join the rebellion?' he
started. 'You've got to be kidding. How?'
 'Damp down, will you?' the bigger man
cautioned, glancing furtively back toward the
power station. 'You've got a mouth like a
crater.'
 'I'm sorry,' Luke whispered rapidly. 'I'm
quiet - listen how quiet I am. You can barely
hear me-
 Biggs cut him off and continued. 'A friend of
mine from the Academy has a friend on Bestine
who might enable us to make contact with an
armed rebel unit.'
 'A friend of a-You're crazy,' Luke announced
with conviction, certain his friend had gone
mad. 'You could wander around forever trying
to find a real rebel outpost. Most of them are
only myths. This twice removed friend could be
an imperial agent. You'd end up on Kessel, or
worse. If rebel outposts were so easy to find,
the Empire would have wiped them out years
ago.'
 'I know it's a long shot,' Biggs admitted
reluctantly. 'If I don't contact them, then' -
a peculiar light came into Biggs's eyes, a
conglomeration of newfound maturity and ...
something else - 'I'll do what I can, on my
own.'
 He stared intensely at his friend. 'Luke, I'm
not going to wait for the Empire to conscript
me into its service. In spite of what you hear
over the official information channels, the
rebellion is growing, spreading. And I want to
be on the right side - the side I believe in.'
His voice altered unpleasantly, and Luke
wondered what he saw in his mind's eye.
 'You should have heard some of the stories
I've heard, Luke, learned of some of the
outrages I've learned about. The Empire may
have been great and beautiful once, but the
people in charge now- He shook his head
sharply. 'It's rotten, Luke, rotten.'
 'And I can't do a damn thing,' Luke muttered
morosely. 'I'm stuck here.' He kicked futilely
at the ever-present sand of Anchor-head.
 'I thought you were going to enter the
Academy soon,' Biggs observed. 'If that's so,
then you'll have your chance to get off this
sandpile.'
 Luke snorted derisively. 'Not likely. I had
to withdraw my application.' He looked away,
unable to meet his friend's disbelieving
stare. 'I had to. There's been a lot of unrest
among the sandpeople since you left, Biggs.
They've even raided the outskirts of
Anchorhead.'
 Biggs shook his head, disregarding the
excuse. 'Your uncle could hold off a whole
colony of raiders with one blaster.'
 'From the house, sure,' Luke agreed, 'but
Uncle Owen's finally got enough vaporators
installed and running to make the farm pay off
big. But he can't guard all that land by
himself, and he says he needs me for one more
season. I can't run out on him now.'
 Biggs sighed sadly. 'I feel for you, Luke.
Someday you're going to have to learn to
separate what seems to be important from what
really is important.' He gestured around them.
 'What good is all your uncle's work if it's
taken over by the Empire? I've heard that
they're starting to imperialize commerce in
all the outlying systems. It won't be long
before your uncle and everyone else on
Tatooine are just tenants slaving for the
greater glory of the Empire.'
 'That couldn't happen here,' Luke objected
with a confidence he didn't quite feel.
'You've said it yourself - the Empire won't
bother with this rock.'
 'Things change, Luke. Only the threat of
rebellion keeps many in power from doing
certain unmentionable things. If that threat
is completely removed - well, there are two
things men have never been able to satisfy:
their curiosity and their greed. There isn't
much the high Imperial bureaucrats are curious
about.'
 Both men stood silent. A sandwhirl traversed
the street in silent majesty, collapsing
against a wall to send newborn baby zephyrs in
all directions.
 'I wish I was going with you,' Luke finally
murmured. He glanced up. 'Will you be around
long?'
 'No. As a matter of fact, I'm leaving in the
morning to rendezvous with the Ecliptic.'
 'Then I guess ... I won't be seeing you
again.'
 'Maybe someday,' Biggs declared. He
brightened, grinning that disarming grin.
'I'll keep a look out for you, hotshot. Try
not to run into any canyon walls in the
meantime.'
 'I'll be at the Academy the season after,'
Luke insisted, more to encourage himself than
Biggs. 'After that, who knows where I'll end
up?' He sounded determined. 'I won't be
drafted into the starfleet, that's for sure.
Take care of yourself. You'll ... always be
the best friend I've got.' There was no need
for a handshake. These two had long since
passed beyond that.
 'So long, then, Luke,' Biggs said simply. He
turned and re-entered the power station.
 Luke watched him disappear through the door,
his own thoughts as chaotic and frenetic as
one of Tatooine's spontaneous dust storms.
 There were any number of extraordinary
features unique to Tatooine's surface.
Outstanding among them were the mysterious
mists which rose regularly from the ground at
the points where desert sands washed up
against unyielding cliffs and mesas.
 Fog in a steaming desert seemed as out of
place as cactus on a glacier, but it existed
nonetheless. Meteorologists and geologists
argued its origin among themselves, muttering
hard-to-believe theories about water suspended
in sandstone veins beneath the sand and
incomprehensible chemical reactions which made
water rise when the ground cooled, then fall
underground again with the double sunrise. It
was all very backward and very real.
 Neither the mist nor the alien moans of
nocturnal desert dwellers troubled Artoo
Detoo, however, as he made his careful way up
the rocky arroyo, hunting for the easiest
pathway to the mesa top. His squarish, broad
footpads made clicking sounds loud in the
evening light as sand underfoot gave way
gradually to gravel.
 For a moment, he paused. He seemed to detect
a noise - like metal on rock - ahead of him,
instead of rock on rock. The sound wasn't
repeated, though, and he quickly resumed his
ambling ascent.
 Up the arroyo, too far up to be seen from
below, a pebble trickled loose from the stone
wall. The tiny figure which had accidentally
dislodged the pebble retreated mouselike into
shadow. Two glowing points of light showed
under overlapping folds of brown cape a meter
from the narrowing canyon wall.
 Only the reaction of the unsuspecting robot
indicated the presence of the whining beam as
it struck him. For a moment Artoo Detoo
fluoresced eerily in the dimming light. There
was a single short electronic squeak. Then the
tripodal support unbalanced and the tiny
automaton toppled over onto its back, the
lights on its front blinking on and off
erratically from the effects of the paralyzing
beam.
 Three travesties of men scurried out from
behind concealing boulders. Their motions were
more indicative of rodent than humankind, and
they stood little taller than the Artoo unit.
When they saw that the single burst of
enervating energy had immobilized the robot,
they holstered their peculiar weapons.
Nevertheless, they approached the listless
machine cautiously, with the trepidation of
hereditary cowards.
 Their cloaks were thickly coated with dust
and sand. Unhealthy red-yellow pupils glowed
catlike from the depths of their hoods as they
studied their captive. The jawas conversed in
low guttural croaks and scrambled analogs of
human speech. If, as anthropologists
hypothesized, they had ever been human, they
had long since degenerated past anything
resembling the human race.
 Several more jawas appeared. Together they
succeeded in alternately hoisting and dragging
the robot back down the arroyo.
 At the bottom of the canyon - like some
monstrous prehistoric beast - was a
sandcrawler as enormous as its owners and
operators were tiny. Several dozen meters
high, the vehicle towered above the ground on
multiple treads that were taller than a tall
man. Its metal epidermis was battered and
pitted from withstanding untold sandstorms.
 On reaching the crawler, the jawas resumed
jabbering among themselves. Artoo Detoo could
hear them but failed to comprehend anything.
He need not have been embarrassed at his
failure. If they so wished, only jawas could
understand other jawas, for they employed a
randomly variable language that drove
linguists mad.
 One of them removed a small disk from a belt
pouch and sealed it to the Artoo unit's flank.
A large tube protruded from one side of the
gargantuan vehicle. They rolled him over to it
and then moved clear. There was a brief moan,
the whoosh of a powerful vacuum, and the small
robot was sucked into the bowels of the
sandcrawler as neatly as a pea up a straw.
This part of the job completed, the jawas
engaged in another bout of jabbering,
following which they scurried into the crawler
via tubes and ladders, for all the world like
a nest of mice returning to their holes.
 None too gently, the suction tube deposited
Artoo in a small cubical. In addition to
varied piles of broken instruments and
outright scrap, a dozen or so robots of
differing shapes and sizes populated the
prison. A few were locked in electronic
conversation. Others muddled aimlessly about.
But when Artoo tumbled into the chamber, one
voice burst out in surprise.
 'Artoo Detoo - it's you, it's you!' called an
excited Threepio from the near darkness. He
made his way over to the still immobilized
repair unit and embraced it most
unmechanically. Spotting the small disk sealed
onto Artoo's side, Threepio turned his gaze
thoughtfully down to his own chest, where a
similar device had likewise been attached.
 Massive gears, poorly lubricated, started to
move. With a groaning and grinding, the
monster sandcrawler turned and lumbered with
relentless patience into the desert night.
                       
                       
                       
                    = III =
                       
                       
                       
 THE burnished conference table was as
soulless and unyielding as the mood of the
eight Imperial Senators and officers ranged
around it. Imperial troopers stood guard at
the entrance to the chamber, which was sparse
and coldly lit from lights in the table and
walls. One of the youngest of the eight was
declaiming. He exhibited the attitude of one
who had climbed far and fast by methods best
not examined too closely. General Tagge did
possess a certain twisted genius, but it was
only partly that ability which had lifted him
to his present exalted position. Other noisome
talents had proven equally efficacious.
 Though his uniform was as neatly molded and
his body as clean as that of anyone else in
the room, none of the remaining seven cared to
touch him. A certain sliminess clung cloyingly
to him, a sensation inferred rather than
tactile. Despite this, many respected him. Or
feared him.
 'I tell you, he's gone too far this time,'
the General was insisting vehemently. 'This
Sith Lord inflicted on us at the urging of the
Emperor will be our undoing. Until the battle
station is fully operational, we remain
vulnerable.
 'Some of you still don't seem to realize how
well equipped and organized the Rebel Alliance
is. Their vessels are excellent, their pilots
better. And they are propelled by something
more powerful than mere engines: this
perverse, reactionary fanaticism of theirs.
They're more dangerous than most of you
realize.'
 An older officer, with facial scars so deeply
engraved that even the best cosmetic surgery
could not fully repair them, shifted nervously
in his chair. 'Dangerous to your starfleet,
General Tagge, but not to this battle
station.' Wizened eyes hopped from man to man,
traveling around the table. 'I happen to think
Lord Vader knows what he's doing. The
rebellion will continue only as long as those
cowards have a sanctuary, a place where their
pilots can relax and their machines can be
repaired.'
 Tagge objected. 'I beg to differ with you,
Romodi. I think the construction of this
station has more to do with Governor Tarkin's
bid for personal power and recognition than
with any justifiable military strategy. Within
the Senate the rebels will continue to
increase their support as long-
 The sound of the single doorway sliding aside
and the guards snapping to attention cut him
of. His head turned as did everyone else's.
 Two individuals as different in appearance as
they were united in objectives had entered the
chamber. The nearest to Tagge was a thin,
hatchet-faced man with hair and form borrowed
from an old broom and the expression of a
quiescent piranha. The Grand Moff Tarkin,
Governor of numerous outlying Imperial
territories, was dwarfed by the broad, armored
bulk of Lord Darth Vader.
 Tagge, unintimidated but subdued, slowly
resumed his seat as Tarkin assumed his place
at the end of the conference table. Vader
stood next to him, a dominating presence
behind the Governor's chair. For a minute
Tarkin stared directly at Tagge, then glanced
away as if he had seen nothing. Tagge fumed
but remained silent.
 As Tarkin's gaze roved around the table a
razor-thin smile of satisfaction remained
frozen in his features. 'The Imperial Senate
will no longer be of any concern to us,
gentlemen. I have just received word that the
Emperor has permanently dissolved that
misguided body.'
 A ripple of astonishment ran through the
assembly. The last remnants,' Tarkin
continued, 'of the Old Republic have finally
been swept away.'
 'This is impossible,' Tagge interjected. 'How
will the Emperor maintain control of the
Imperial bureaucracy?'
 'Senatorial representation has not been
formally abolished, you must understand,'
Tarkin explained. 'It has merely been
superseded for the - ' he smiled a bit more -
'duration of the emergency. Regional Governors
will now have direct control and a free hand
in administering their territories. This means
that the Imperial presence can at last be
brought to bear properly on the vacillating
worlds of the Empire. From now on, fear will
keep potentially traitorous local governments
in line. Fear of the Imperial fleet - and fear
of this battle station.'
 'And what of the existing rebellion?' Tagge
wanted to know.
 'If the rebels somehow managed to gain access
to a complete technical schema of this battle
station, it is remotely possible that they
might be able to locate a weakness susceptible
to minor exploitation.' Tarkin's smile shifted
to a smirk. 'Of course, we all know how well
guarded, how carefully protected, such vital
data is. It could not possibly fall into rebel
hands.'
 'The technical data to which you are
obliquely referring,' rumbled Darth Vader
angrily, 'will soon be back in our hands. If-
 Tarkin shook the Dark Lord off, something no
one else at the table would have dared to do.
'It is immaterial. Any attack made against
this station by the rebels would be a suicidal
gesture, suicidal and useless - regardless of
any information they managed to obtain. After
many long years of secretive construction,' he
declared with evident pleasure, 'this station
has become the decisive force in this part of
the universe. Events in this region of the
galaxy will no longer be determined by fate,
by decree, or by any other agency. They will
be decided by this station!'
 A huge metal-clad hand gestured slightly, and
one of the filled cups on the table drifted
responsively into it. With a slightly
admonishing tone the Dark Lord continued.
'Don't become too proud of this technological
terror you've spawned, Tarkin. The ability to
destroy a city, a world, a whole system is
still insignificant when set against the
Force.'
 'The Force,' Tagge sneered. 'Don't try to
frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord
Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient
mythology has not helped you to conjure up
those stolen tapes, or gifted you with
clairvoyance sufficient to locate the rebels'
hidden fortress. Why, it's enough to make one
laugh fit to-'
 Tagge's eyes abruptly bulged and his hands
went to his throat as he began to turn a
disconcerting shade of blue.
 'I find,' Vader ventured mildly, 'this lack
of faith disturbing.'
 'Enough of this,' Tarkin snapped, distressed.
'Vader, release him. This bickering among
ourselves is pointless.'
 Vader shrugged as if it were of no
consequence. Tagge slumped in his seat,
rubbing his throat, his wary gaze never
leaving the dark giant.
 'Lord Vader will provide us with the location
of the rebel fortress by the time this station
is certified operational,' Tarkin declared.
'That known, we will proceed to it and destroy
it utterly, crushing this pathetic rebellion
in one swift stroke.'
 'As the Emperor wills it,' Vader added, not
without sarcasm, 'so shall it be.'
 If any of the powerful men seated around the
table found this disrespectful tone
objectionable, a glance at Tagge was
sufficient to dissuade them from mentioning
it.
 
 The dim prison reeked of rancid oil and stale
lubricants, a veritable metallic charnel
house. Threepio endured the discomfiting atmos
phere as best he could. It was a constant
battle to avoid being thrown by every
unexpected bounce into the walls or into a
fellow machine.
 To conserve power - and also to avoid the
steady stream of complaints from his taller
companion - Artoo Detoo had shut down all
exterior functions. He lay inert among a pile
of secondary parts, sublimely unconcerned at
the moment as to their fate.
 'Will this never end?' Threepio was moaning
as another violent jolt roughly jostled the
inhabitants of the prison. He had already
formulated and discarded half a hundred
horrible ends. He was certain only that their
eventual disposition was sure to be worse than
anything he could imagine.
 Then, quite without warning, something more
unsettling than even the most battering bump
took place. The sandcrawler's whine died, and
the vehicle came to a halt - almost as if in
response to Threepio's query. A nervous buzz
rose from those mechanicals who still retained
a semblance of sentience as they speculated on
their present location and probable fate.
 At least Threepio was no longer ignorant of
his captors or of their likely motives. Local
captives had explained the nature of the quasi-
human mechanic migrants, the jawas. Traveling
in their enormous mobile fortress-homes, they
scoured the most inhospitable regions of
Tatooine in search of valuable minerals - and
salvageable machinery. They had never been
seen outside of their protective cloaks and
sandmasks, so no one knew exactly what they
looked like. But they were reputed to be
extraordinarily ugly. Threepio did not have to
be convinced.
 Leaning over his still-motionless companion,
he began a steady shaking of the barrel-like
torso. Epidermal sensors were activated on the
Artoo unit, and the lights on the front side
of the little robot began a sequential
awakening.
 'Wake up, wake up,' Threepio urged. 'We've
stopped someplace.' Like several of the other,
more imaginative robots, his eyes were warily
scanning metal walls, expecting a hidden panel
to slide aside at any moment and a giant
mechanical arm to come probing and fumbling
for him.
 'No doubt about it, we're doomed,' he recited
mournfully as Artoo righted himself, returning
to full activation. 'Do you think they'll melt
us down?' He became silent for several
minutes, then added, 'It's this waiting that
gets to me.'
 Abruptly the far wall of the chamber slid
aside and the blinding white glare of a
Tatooine morning rushed in on them. Threepio's
sensitive photoreceptors were hard pressed to
adjust in time to prevent serious damage.
 Several of the repulsive-looking jawas
scrambled agilely into the chamber, still
dressed in the same swathings and filth
Threepio had observed on them before. Using
hand weapons of an unknown design, they
prodded at the machines. Certain of them.
Threepio noted with a mental swallow, did not
stir.
 Ignoring the immobile ones, the jawas herded
those still capable of movement outside, Artoo
and Threepio among them. Both robots found
themselves part of an uneven mechanical line.
 Shielding his eyes against the glare,
Threepio saw that five of them were arranged
alongside the huge sandcrawler. Thoughts of
escape did not enter his mind. Such a concept
was utterly alien to a mechanical. The more
intelligent a robot was, the more abhorrent
and unthinkable the concept. Besides, had he
tried to escape, built-in sensors would have
detected the critical logic malfunction and
melted every circuit in his brain.
 Instead, he studied the small domes and
vaporators that indicated the presence of a
larger underground human homestead. Though he
was unfamiliar with this type of construction,
all signs pointed to a modest, if isolated,
habitation. Thoughts of being dismembered for
parts or slaving in some high-temperature mine
slowly faded. His spirits rose
correspondingly.
 'Maybe this won't be so bad after all,' he
murmured hopefully. 'If we can convince these
bipedal vermin to unload us here, we may enter
into sensible human service again instead of
being melted into slag.'
 Artoo's sole reply was a noncommittal chirp.
Both machines became silent as the jawas
commenced scurrying around them, striving to
straighten one poor machine with a badly bent
spine, to disguise a dent or scrape with
liquid and dust.
 As two of them bustled about, working on his
sandcoated skin, Threepio fought to stifle an
expression of disgust. One of his many human-
analog functions was the ability to react
naturally to offensive odors. Apparently
hygiene was unknown among the jawas. But he
was certain no good would come of pointing
this out to them.
 Small insects drifted in clouds about the
faces of the jawas, who ignored them.
Apparently the tiny individualized plagues
were regarded as just a different sort of
appendage, like an extra arm or leg.
 So intent was Threepio on his observation
that he failed to notice the two figures
moving toward them from the region of the
largest dome. Artoo had to nudge him slightly
before he looked up.
 The first man wore an air of grim,
semiperpetual exhaustion, sandblasted into his
face by too many years of arguing with a
hostile environment. His graying hair was
frozen in tangled twists like gypsum
helicites. Dust frosted his face, clothes,
hands, and thoughts. But the body, if not the
spirit, was still powerful.
 Proportionately dwarfed by his uncle's
wrestlerlike body, Luke strode slump-
shouldered in his shadow, his present attitude
one of dejection rather than exhaustion. He
had a great deal on his mind, and it had very
little to do with farming. Mostly it involved
the rest of his life, and the commitment made
by his best friend who had recently departed
beyond the blue sky above to enter a harsher,
yet more rewarding career.
 The bigger man stopped before the assembly
and entered into a peculiar squeaky dialogue
with the jawa in charge. When they wished it,
the jawas could be understood.
 Luke stood nearby, listening indifferently.
Then he shuffled along behind his uncle as the
latter began inspecting the five machines,
pausing only to mutter an occasional word or
two to his nephew. It was hard to pay
attention, even though he knew he ought to be
learning.
 'Luke - oh, Luke!' a voice called.
 Turning away from the conversation, which
consisted of the lead jawa extolling the
unmatched virtues of all five machines and his
uncle countering with derision, Luke walked
over to the near edge of the subterranean
courtyard and peered down.
 A stout woman with the expression of a
misplaced sparrow was busy working among
decorative plants. She looked up at him. 'Be
sure and tell Owen that if he buys a
translator to make sure it speaks Bocce,
Luke.'
 Turning, Luke looked back over his shoulder
and studied the motley collection of tired
machines. 'It looks like we don't have much of
a choice,' he called back down to her, 'but
I'll remind him anyway.'
 She nodded up at him and he turned to rejoin
his uncle.
 Apparently Owen Lars had already come to a
decision, having settled on a small semi-
agricultural robot. This one was similar in
shape to Artoo Detoo, save that its multiple
subsidiary arms were tipped with different
functions. At an order it had stepped out of
the line and was wobbling along behind Owen
and the temporarily subdued jawa.
 Proceeding to the end of the line, the
farmer's eyes narrowed as he concentrated on
the sand-scoured but still flashy bronze
finish of the tall, humanoid Threepio.
 'I presume you function,' he grumbled at the
robot. 'Do you know customs and protocol?'
 'Do I know protocol?' Threepio echoed as the
farmer looked him up and down. Threepio was
determined to embarrass the jawa when it came
to selling his abilities. 'Do I know protocol!
Why, it's my primary function. I am also
well-'
 'Don't need a protocol droid,' the farmer
snapped dryly.
 'I don't blame you, sir,' Threepio rapidly
agreed. 'I couldn't be more in agreement. What
could be more of a wasteful luxury in a
climate like this? For someone of your
interests, sir, a protocol droid would be a
useless waste of money. No, sir - versatility
is my middle name. See Vee Threepio - Vee for
versatility - at your service. I've been
programmed for over thirty secondary functions
that require only...'
 'I need,' the farmer broke in, demonstrating
imperious disregard for Threepio's as yet
unenumerated secondary functions, 'a droid
that knows something about the binary language
of independently programmable moisture
vaporators.'
 'Vaporators! We are both in luck,' Threepio
countered. 'My first post-primary assignment
was in programming binary load lifters. Very
similar in construction and memory-function to
your vaporators. You could almost say ...'
 Luke tapped his uncle on the shoulder and
whispered something in his ear. His uncle
nodded, then looked back at the attentive
Threepio again.
 'Do you speak Bocce?'
 'Of course, sir,' Threepio replied, confident
for a change with a wholly honest answer.
'It's like a second language to me. I'm as
fluent in Bocce as-
 The farmer appeared determined never to allow
him to conclude a sentence. 'Shut up.' Owen
Lars looked down at the jawa. Til take this
one, too.'
 'Shutting up, sir,' responded Threepio
quickly, hard put to conceal his glee at being
selected.
 'Take them down to the garage, Luke,' his
uncle instructed him. 'I want you to have both
of them cleaned up by suppertime.'
 Luke looked askance at his uncle. 'But I was
going into Tosche station to pick up some new
power converters and ...'
 'Don't lie to me, Luke,' his uncle warned him
sternly. 'I don't mind you wasting time with
your idle friends, but only after you've
finished your chores. Now hop to it - and
before supper, mind.'
 Downcast, Luke directed his words irritably
to Threepio and the small agricultural robot.
He knew better than to argue with his uncle.
 'Follow me, you two.' They started for the
garage as Owen entered into price negotiations
with the jawa.
 Other jawas were leading the three remaining
machines back into the sandcrawler when
something let out an almost pathetic beep.
Luke turned to see an Artoo unit breaking
formation and starting toward him. It was
immediately restrained by a jawa wielding a
control device that activated the disk sealed
on the machine's front plate.
 Luke studied the rebellious droid curiously.
Threepio started to say something, considered
the circumstances and thought better of it.
Instead, he remained silent, staring straight
ahead.
 A minute later, something pinged sharply
nearby. Glancing down, Luke saw that a head
plate had popped off the top of the
agricultural droid. A grinding noise was
coming from within. A second later the machine
was throwing internal components all over the
sandy ground.
 Leaning close, Luke peered inside the
expectorating mechanical. He called out,
'Uncle Owen! The servomotor-central on this
cultivator unit is shot. Look ...' He reached
in, tried to adjust the device, and pulled
away hurriedly when it began a wild sparking.
The odor of crisped insulation and corroded
circuitry filled the clear desert air with a
pungency redolent of mechanized death.
 Owen Lars glared down at the nervous jawa.
'What kind of junk are you trying to push on
us?'
 The jawa responded loudly, indignantly, while
simultaneously taking a couple of
precautionary steps away from the big human.
He was distressed that the man was between him
and the soothing safety of the sandcrawler.
 Meanwhile, Artoo Detoo had scuttled out of
the group of machines being led back toward
the mobile fortress. Doing so turned out to be
simple enough, since all the jawas had their
attention focused on the argument between
their leader and Luke's uncle.
 Lacking sufficient armature for wild
gesticulation, the Artoo unit suddenly let out
a high whistle, then broke it off when it was
apparent he had gained Threepio's attention.
 Tapping Luke gently on the shoulder, the tall
droid whispered conspiratorially into his ear.
'If I might say so, young sir, that Artoo unit
is a real bargain. In top condition. I don't
believe these creatures have any idea what
good shape he's really in. Don't let all the
sand and dust deceive you.'
 Luke was in the habit of making instant
decisions - for good or bad - anyway. 'Uncle
Owen!' he called.
 Breaking off the argument without taking his
attention from the jawa, his uncle glanced
quickly at him. Luke gestured toward Artoo
Detoo. 'We don't want any trouble. What about
swapping this- he indicated the burned-out
agricultural droid - 'for that one?'
 The older man studied the Artoo unit
professionally, then considered the jawas.
Though inherently cowards, the tiny desert
scavengers could be pushed too far. The
sandcrawler could flatten the homestead - at
the risk of inciting the human community to
lethal vengeance.
 Faced with a no-win situation for either side
if he pressed too hard, Owen resumed the
argument for show's sake before gruffly
assenting. The head jawa consented reluctantly
to the trade, and both sides breathed a mental
sigh of relief that hostilities had been
avoided. While the jawa bowed and whined with
impatient greed, Owen paid him off.
 Meanwhile, Luke had led the two robots toward
an opening in the dry ground. A few seconds
later they were striding down a ramp kept
clear of drifting sand by electrostatic
repellers.
 'Don't you ever forget this,' Threepio
muttered to Artoo leaning over the smaller
machine. 'Why I stick my neck out for you,
when all you ever bring me is trouble, is
beyond my capacity to comprehend.'
 The passage widened into the garage proper,
which was cluttered with tools and sections of
farming machinery. Many looked heavily used,
some to the point of collapse. But the lights
were comforting to both droids, and there was
a homeliness to the chamber which hinted at a
tranquillity not experienced by either machine
for a long time. Near the center of the garage
was a large tub, and the aroma drifting from
it made Threepio's principal olfactory sensors
twitch.
 Luke grinned, noting the robot's reaction.
'Yes, it's a lubrication bath.' He eyed the
tall bronze robot appraisingly. 'And from the
looks of it, you could use about a week's
submergence. But we can't afford that so
you'll have to settle for an afternoon.' Then
Luke turned his attention to Artoo Detoo,
walking up to him and flipping open a panel
that shielded numerous gauges.
 'As for you,' he continued, with a whistle of
surprise, 'I don't know how you've kept
running. Not surprising, knowing the jawas'
reluctance to part with any erg-fraction they
don't have to. It's recharge time for you.' He
gestured toward a large power unit.
 Artoo Detoo followed Luke's gesture, then
beeped once and waddled over to the boxy
construction. Finding the proper cord, he
automatically flipped open a panel and plugged
the triple prongs into his face.
 Threepio had walked over to the large
cistern, which was filled almost full with
aromatic cleansing oil. With a remarkably
humanlike sigh he lowered himself slowly into
the tank.
 'You two behave yourselves,' Luke cautioned
them as he moved to a small two-man skyhopper.
A powerful little suborbital spacecraft, it
rested in the hangar section of the garage-
workshop. 'I've got work of my own to do.'
 Unfortunately, Luke's energies were still
focused on his farewell encounter with Biggs,
so that hours later he had finished few of his
chores. Thinking about his friend's departure,
Luke was running a caressing hand over the
damaged port fin of the 'hopper - the fin he
had damaged while running down an imaginary
Tie fighter in the wrenching twists and turns
of a narrow canyon. That was when the
projecting ledge had clipped him as
effectively as an energy beam.
 Abruptly something came to a boil within him.
With atypical violence he threw a power wrench
across a worktable nearby. 'It just isn't
fair!' he declared to no one in particular.
His voice dropped disconsolately. 'Biggs is
right. I'll never get out of here. He's
planning rebellion against the Empire, and I'm
trapped on a blight of a farm.'
 'I beg your pardon, sir.'
 Luke spun, startled, but it was only the tall
droid, Threepio. The contrast in the robot was
striking compared with Luke's initial sight of
him. Bronze-colored alloy gleamed in the
overhead lights of the garage, cleaned of pits
and dust by the powerful oils.
 'Is there anything I might do to help?' the
robot asked solicitously.
 Luke studied the machine, and as he did so
some of his anger drained away. There was no
point in yelling cryptically at a robot.
 'I doubt it,' he replied, 'unless you can
alter time and speed up the harvest. Or else
teleport me off this sandpile under Uncle
Owen's nose.'
 Sarcasm was difficult for even an extremely
sophisticated robot to detect so Threepio
considered the question objectively before
finally replying, 'I don't think so, sir. I'm
only a third-degree droid and not very
knowledgeable about such things as transatomic
physics.' Suddenly, the events of the past
couple of days seemed to catch up with him all
at once. 'As a matter of fact, young sir,'
Threepio went on while looking around him with
fresh vision, 'I'm not even sure which planet
I'm on.'
 Luke chuckled sardonically and assumed a
mocking pose. 'If there's a bright center to
this universe, you're on the world farthest
from it.'
 'Yes, Luke sir.'
 The youth shook his head irritably. 'Never
mind the "sir" - it's just Luke. And this
world is called Tatooine.'
 Threepio nodded slightly. 'Thank you, Luke s
- Luke. I am See Threepio, human-droid
relations specialist.' He jerked a casual
metal thumb back toward the recharge unit.
'That is my companion, Artoo Detoo.'
 'Pleased to meet you, Threepio,' Luke said
easily. 'You too, Artoo.' Walking across the
garage, he checked a gauge on the smaller
machine's front panel, then gave a grunt of
satisfaction. As he began unplugging the
charge cord he saw something which made him
frown and lean close.
 'Something wrong, Luke?' Threepio inquired.
 Luke went to a nearby tool wall and selected
a small many-armed device. 'I don't know yet,
Threepio.'
 Returning to the recharger, Luke bent over
Artoo and began scraping at several bumps in
the small droid's top with a chromed pick.
Occasionally he jerked back sharply as bits of
corrosion were flicked into the air by the
tiny tool.
 Threepio watched, interested, as Luke worked.
'There's a lot of strange carbon scoring here
of a type I'm not familiar with. Looks like
you've both seen a lot of action out of the
ordinary.'
 'Indeed, sir,' Threepio admitted, forgetting
to drop the honorific. This time Luke was too
absorbed elsewhere to correct him. 'Sometimes
I'm amazed we're in as good shape as we are.'
He added as an afterthought, while still
shying away from the thrust of Luke's
question. 'What with the rebellion and all.'
 Despite his caution, it seemed to Threepio
that he must have given something away, for an
almost jawa-like blaze appeared in Luke's
eyes. 'You know about the rebellion against
the Empire?' he demanded.
 'In a way.' Threepio confessed reluctantly.
'The rebellion was responsible for our coming
into your service. We are refugees, you see.'
He did not add from where.
 Not that Luke appeared to care. 'Refugees!
Then I did see a space battle!' He rambled on
rapidly, excited. 'Tell me where you've been -
in how many encounters. How is the rebellion
going? Does the Empire take it seriously? Have
you seen many ships destroyed?'
 'A bit slower, please, sir,' Threepio
pleaded. 'You misinterpret our status. We were
innocent bystanders. Our involvement with the
rebellion was of the most marginal nature.
 'As to battles, we were in several, I think.
It is difficult to tell when one is not
directly in contact with the actual battle
machinery.' He shrugged neatly. 'Beyond that,
there is not much to say. Remember, sir, I am
little more than a cosmeticized interpreter
and not very good at telling stories or
relating histories, and even less proficient
at embellishing them. I am a very literal
machine.'
 Luke turned away, disappointed, and returned
to his cleaning of Artoo Detoo. Additional
scraping turned up something puzzling enough
to demand his full attention. A small metal
fragment was tightly lodged between two bar
conduits that would normally form a linkage.
Setting down the delicate pick, Luke switched
to a larger instrument.
 'Well, my little friend,' he murmured,
'you've got something jammed in here real
good.' As he pushed and pried Luke directed
half his attention to Threepio. 'Were you on a
star freighter or was it -'
 Metal gave way with a powerful crack, and the
recoil sent Luke tumbling head over heels.
Getting to his feet, he started to curse -then
froze, motionless.
 The front of the Artoo unit had begun to
glow, exuding a three-dimensional image less
than one-third of a meter square but precisely
defined. The portrait formed within the box
was so exquisite that in a couple of minutes
Luke discovered he was out of breath - because
he had forgotten to breathe.
 Despite a superficial sharpness, the image
flickered and jiggled unsteadily, as if the
recording had been made and installed with
haste. Luke stared at the atmosphere of the
garage and started to form a question. But it
was never finished. The lips on the figure
moved, and the girl spoke - or rather, seemed
to speak. Luke knew the aural accompaniment
was generated somewhere within Artoo Detoo's
squat torso.
 'Obi-Wan Kenobi,' the voice implored huskily,
'help me! You're my only remaining hope.' A
burst of static dissolved the face
momentarily. Then it coalesced again, and once
more the voice repeated, 'Obi-Wan Kenobi,
you're my only remaining hope.'
 With a raspy hum the hologram continued. Luke
sat perfectly still for a long moment,
considering what he was seeing, then he
blinked and directed his words to the Artoo
unit.
 'What's this all about, Artoo Detoo?'
 The stubby droid shifted slightly, the cubish
portrait shifting with him, and beeped what
sounded vaguely like a sheepish reply.
 Threepio appeared as mystified as Luke. 'What
is that?' he inquired sharply, gesturing at
the speaking portrait and then at Luke. 'You
were asked a question. What and who is that,
and how are you originating it - and why?'
 The Artoo unit generated a beep of surprise,
for all the world as if just noticing the
hologram. This was followed by a whistling
stream of information.
 Threepio digested the data, tried to frown,
couldn't, and strove to convey his own
confusion via the tone of his voice. 'He
insists it's nothing, sir. Merely a
malfunction - old data. A tape that should
have been erased but was missed. He insists we
pay it no mind.'
 That was like telling Luke to ignore a cache
of Durindfires he might stumble over in the
desert. 'Who is she?' he demanded, staring
enraptured at the hologram. 'She's beautiful.'
 'I really don't know who she is,' Threepio
confessed honestly. 'I think she might have
been a passenger on our last voyage. From what
I recall, she was a personage of some
importance. This might have something to do
with the fact that our Captain was attache to-
 Luke cut him off, savoring the way sensuous
lips formed and reformed the sentence
fragment. 'Is there any more to this
recording? It sounds like it's incomplete.'
Getting to his feet, Luke reached out for the
Artoo unit.
 The robot moved backward and produced
whistles of such frantic concern that Luke
hesitated and held off reaching for the
internal controls.
 Threepio was shocked. 'Behave yourself,
Artoo,' he finally chastised his companion.
'You're going to get us into trouble.' He had
visions of the both of them being packed up as
uncooperative and shipped back to the jawas,
which was enough to make him imitate a
shudder.
 'It's all right - he's our master now.'
Threepio indicated Luke. 'You can trust him. I
feel that he has our best interests in mind.'
 Detoo appeared to hesitate, uncertain. Then
he whistled and beeped a long complexity at
his friend.
 'Well?' Luke prompted impatiently.
 Threepio paused before replying. 'He says
that he is the property of one Obi-Wan Kenobi,
a resident of this world. Of this very region,
in fact. The sentence fragment we are hearing
is part of a private message intended for this
person.'
 Threepio shook his head slowly. 'Quite
frankly, sir, I don't know what he's talking
about. Our last master was Captain Colton. I
never heard Artoo mention a prior master. I've
certainly never heard of an Obi-Wan Kenobi.
But with all we've been through,' he concluded
apologetically, 'I'm afraid his logic circuits
have gotten a bit scrambled. He's become
decidedly eccentric at times.' And while Luke
considered this turn of events, Threepio took
the opportunity to throw Artoo a furious look
of warning.
 'Obi-Wan Kenobi,' Luke recited thoughtfully.
His expression suddenly brightened. 'Say... I
wonder if he could be referring to old Ben
Kenobi.'
 'Begging your pardon,' Threepio gulped,
astonished beyond measure, 'but you actually
know of such a person?'
 'Not exactly,' he admitted in a more subdued
voice. 'I don't know anyone named Obi-Wan -
but old Ben lives somewhere out on the fringe
of the Western Dune Sea. He's kind of a local
character - a hermit. Uncle Owen and a few of
the other farmers say he's a sorcerer.
 'He comes around once in a while to trade
things. I hardly ever talk to him, though. My
uncle usually runs him off.' He paused and
glanced across at the small robot again. 'But
I never heard that old Ben owned a droid of
any kind. At least, none that I ever heard
tell of.'
 Luke's gaze was drawn irresistibly back to
the hologram. 'I wonder who she is. She must
be important - especially if what you told me
just now is true, Threepio. She sounds and
looks as if she's in some kind of trouble.
Maybe the message is important. We ought to
hear the rest of it.'
 He reached again for the Artoo's internal
controls, and the robot scurried backward
again, squeaking a blue streak.
 'He says there's a restraining separator bolt
that's circuiting out his self-motivation
components.' Threepio translated. 'He suggests
that if you move the bolt he might be able to
repeat the entire message,' Threepio finished
uncertainly. When Luke continued to stare at
the portrait, Threepio added, more loudly,
'Sir!'
 Luke shook himself. 'What ... Oh, yes.' He
considered the request. Then he moved and
peered into the open panel. This time Artoo
didn't retreat.
 'I see it, I think. Well, I guess you're too
small to run away from me if I take this off.
I wonder what someone would be sending a
message to old Ben for.'
 Selecting the proper tool, Luke reached down
into the exposed circuitry and popped the
restraining bolt free. The first noticeable
result of this action was that the portrait
disappeared.
 Luke stood back. 'There, now.' There was an
uncomfortable pause during which the hologram
showed no sign of returning. 'Where did she
go?' Luke finally prompted. 'Make her come
back. Play the entire message, Artoo Detoo.'
 An innocent-sounding beep came from the
robot. Threepio appeared embarrassed and
nervous as he translated. 'He said, "What
message?"'
 Threepio's attention turned half angrily to
his companion. 'What message? You know what
message! The one you just played a fragment of
for us. The one you're hauling around inside
your recalcitrant, rust-ridden innards, you
stubborn hunk of junk!'
 Artoo sat and hummed softly to himself.
 'I'm sorry, sir,' Threepio said slowly, 'but
he shows signs of having developed an alarming
flutter in his obedience-rational module.
Perhaps if we-
 A voice from down a corridor interrupted him.
'Luke ... oh, Luke - come to dinner!'
 Luke hesitated, then rose and turned away
from the puzzling little droid. 'Okay,' he
called, "I'm coming, Aunt Beru!' He lowered
his voice as he spoke to Threepio. 'See what
you can do with him. I'll be back soon.'
Tossing the just-removed restraining bolt on
the workbench, he hurried from the chamber.
 As soon as the human was gone, Threepio
whirled on his shorter companion. 'You'd
better consider playing that whole recording
for him,' he growled, with a suggestive nod
toward a workbench laden with dismembered
machine parts. 'Otherwise he's liable to take
up that cleaning pick again and go digging for
it. He might not be too careful what he cuts
through if he believes you're deliberately
withholding something from him.'
 A plaintive beep came from Artoo.
 'No,' Threepio responded, 'I don't think he
likes you at all.'
 A second beep failed to alter the stern tone
in the taller robot's voice. 'No, I don't like
you, either.'
                       
                       
                       
                    = IV =
                       
                       
                       
 LUKE'S Aunt Beru was filling a pitcher with
blue liquid from a refrigerated container.
Behind her, in the dining area, a steady buzz
of conversation reached to the kitchen.
 She sighed sadly. The mealtime discussions
between her husband and Luke had grown
steadily more acrimonious as the boy's
restlessness pulled him in directions other
than farming. Directions for which Owen, a
stolid man of the soil if there ever was one,
had absolutely no sympathy.
 Returning the bulk container to the
refrigerator unit, she placed the pitcher on a
tray and hurried back to the dining room. Beru
was not a brilliant woman, but she possessed
an instinctive understanding of her important
position in this household. She functioned
like the damping rods in a nuclear reactor. As
long as she was present, Owen and Luke would
continue to generate a lot of heat, but if she
was out of their presence for too long - boom!
 Condenser units built into the bottom of each
plate kept the food on the dining-room table
hot as she hurried in. Immediately, both men
lowered their voices to something civilized
and shifted the subject. Beru pretended not to
notice the change.
 'I think that Artoo unit might have been
stolen, Uncle Owen,' Luke was saying, as if
that had been the topic of conversation all
along.
 His uncle helped himself to the milk pitcher,
mumbling his reply around a mouthful of food.
The jawas have a tendency to pick up anything
that's not tied down, Luke, but remember,
they're basically afraid of their own shadows.
To resort to outright theft, they'd have to
have considered the consequences of being
pursued and punished. Theoretically, their
minds shouldn't be capable of that. What makes
you think the droid is stolen?'
 'For one thing, it's in awfully good shape
for a discard. It generated a hologram
recording while I was cleaning-' Luke tried to
conceal his horror at the slip. He added
hastily, 'But that's not important. The reason
I think it might be stolen is because it
claims to be the property of someone it calls
Obi-Wan Kenobi.'
 Maybe something in the food, or perhaps the
milk, caused Luke's uncle to gag. Then again,
it might have been an expression of disgust,
which was Owen's way of indicating his opinion
of that peculiar personage. In any case, he
continued eating without looking up at his
nephew.
 Luke pretended the display of graphic dislike
had never happened. 'I thought,' he continued
determinedly, 'it might have meant old Ben.
The first name is different, but the last is
identical.'
 When his uncle steadfastly maintained his
silence, Luke prompted him directly. 'Do you
know who he's talking about, Uncle Owen?'
 Surprisingly, his uncle looked uncomfortable
instead of angry. 'It's nothing,' he mumbled,
still not meeting Luke's gaze. 'A name from
another time.' He squirmed nervously in his
seat. 'A name that can only mean trouble.'
 Luke refused to heed the implied warning and
pressed on. 'Is it someone related to old Ben,
then? I didn't know he had any relatives.'
 'You stay away from that old wizard, you hear
me!' his uncle exploded, awkwardly
substituting threat for reason.
 'Owen ..." Aunt Beru started to interject
gently, but the big farmer cut her off
sternly.
 'Now, this is important, Beru.' He turned his
attention back to his nephew. 'I've told you
about Kenobi before. He's a crazy old man;
he's dangerous and full of mischief, and he's
best left well alone.'
 Beru's pleading gaze caused him to quiet
somewhat. 'That droid has nothing to do with
him. Couldn't have,' he grumbled half to
himself. 'Recording - huh! Well, tomorrow I
want you to take the unit into Anchorhead and
have its memory flushed.'
 Snorting, Owen bent to his half-eaten meal
with determination. 'That will be the end of
this foolishness. I don't care where that
machine thinks it came from. I paid hard
credit for it, and it belongs to us now.'
 'But suppose it does belong to someone else,'
Luke wondered. 'What if this Obi-Wan person
comes looking for his droid?'
 An expression between sorrow and a sneer
crossed his uncle's seamed face at the
remembrance. 'He won't. I don't think that man
exists anymore. He died about the same time as
your father.' A huge mouthful of hot food was
shoveled inward. 'Now forget about it.'
 'Then it was a real person,' Luke murmured,
staring down at his plate. He added slowly,
'Did he know my father?'
 'I said forget about it,' Owen snapped. 'Your
only worry as far as those two droids are
concerned is having them ready for work
tomorrow. Remember, the last of our savings is
tied up in those two. Wouldn't even have
bought them if it wasn't so near harvest.' He
shook a spoon at his nephew. 'In the morning I
want you to have them working with the
irrigation units up on the south ridge.
 'You know,' Luke replied distantly, 'I think
these droids are going to work out fine. In
fact, I-' He hesitated, shooting his uncle a
surreptitious glare. 'I was thinking about our
agreement about me staying on for another
season.'
 His uncle failed to react, so Luke rushed on
before his nerve failed. 'If these new droids
do work out, I want to transmit my application
to enter the Academy for next year.'
 Owen scowled, trying to hide his displeasure
with food. 'You mean, you want to transmit the
application next year - after the harvest.'
 'You have more than enough droids now, and
they're in good condition. They'll last.'
 'Droids, yes,' his uncle agreed, 'but droids
can't replace a man, Luke. You know that. The
harvest is when I need you the most. It's just
for one more season after this one.' He looked
away, bluster and anger gone now.
 Luke toyed with his food, not eating, saying
nothing.
 'Listen,' his uncle told him, 'for the first
time we've got a chance for a real fortune.
We'll make enough to hire some extra hands for
next time. Not droids - people. Then you can
go to the Academy.' He fumbled over words,
unaccustomed to pleading. 'I need you here,
Luke. You understand that, don't you?'
 'It's another year,' his nephew objected
sullenly. 'Another year.'
 How many times had he heard that before? How
many times had they repeated this identical
charade with the same result?
 Convinced once more that Luke had come round
to his way of thinking, Owen shrugged the
objection off. 'Time will pass before you know
it.'
 Abruptly Luke rose, shoving his barely
touched plate of food aside. 'That's what you
said last year when Biggs left.' He spun and
half ran from the room.
 'Where are you going, Luke?' his aunt yelled
worriedly after him.
 Luke's reply was bleak, bitter. 'Looks like
I'm going nowhere.' Then he added, out of
consideration for his aunt's sensibilities, 'I
have to finish cleaning those droids if
they're going to be ready to work tomorrow.'
 Silence hung in the air of the dining room
after Luke departed. Husband and wife ate
mechanically. Eventually Aunt Beru stopped
shoving her food around her plate, looked up,
and pointed out earnestly, 'Owen, you can't
keep him here forever. Most of his friends are
gone, the people he grew up with. The Academy
means so much to him.'
 Listlessly her husband replied, 'I'll make it
up to him next year. I promise. We'll have
money - or maybe, the year after that.'
 'Luke's just not a farmer, Owen,' she
continued firmly. 'He never will be, no matter
how hard you try to make him one.' She shook
her head slowly. 'He's got too much of his
father in him.'
 For the first time all evening Owen Lars
looked thoughtful as well as concerned as he
gazed down the passage Luke had taken. 'That's
what I'm afraid of,' he whispered.
 Luke had gone topside. He stood on the sand
watching the double sunset as first one and
then the other of Tatooine's twin suns sank
slowly behind the distant range of dunes. In
the fading light the sands turned gold,
russet, and flaming red-orange before
advancing night put the bright colors to sleep
for another day. Soon, for the first time,
those sands would blossom with food plants.
This former wasteland would see an eruption of
green.
 The thought ought to have sent a thrill of
anticipation through Luke. He should have been
as flushed with excitement as his uncle was
whenever he described the coming harvest.
Instead, Luke felt nothing but a vast
indifferent emptiness. Not even the prospect
of having a lot of money for the first time in
his life excited him. What was there to do
with money in Anchorhead - anywhere on
Tatooine, for that matter?
 Part of him, an increasingly large part, was
growing more and more restless at remaining
unfulfilled. This was not an uncommon feeling
in youths his age, but for reasons Luke did
not understand it was much stronger in him
than in any of his friends.
 As the night cold came creeping over the sand
and up his legs, he brushed the grit from his
trousers and descended into the garage. Maybe
working on the droids would bury some of the
remorse a little deeper in his mind. A quick
survey of the chamber showed no movement.
Neither of the new machines was in sight.
Frowning slightly, Luke took a small control
box from his belt and activated a couple of
switches set into the plastic.
 A low hum came from the box. The caller
produced the taller of the two robots,
Threepio. In fact, he gave a yell of surprise
as he jumped up behind the skyhopper.
 Luke started toward him, openly puzzled.
'What are you hiding back there for?'
 The robot came stumbling around the prow of
the craft, his attitude one of desperation. It
occurred to Luke then that despite his
activating the caller, the Artoo unit was
still nowhere to be seen.
 The reason for his absence - or something
related to it - came pouring unbidden from
Threepio. 'It wasn't my fault,' the robot
begged frantically. 'Please don't deactivate
me! I told him not to go, but he's faulty. He
must be malfunctioning. Something has totally
boiled his logic circuits. He kept babbling on
about some sort of mission, sir. I never heard
a robot with delusions of grandeur before.
Such things shouldn't even be within the
cogitative theory units of one that's as basic
as an Artoo unit, and ...'
 'You mean ...?' Luke started to gape.
 'Yes, sir... he's gone.'
 'And I removed his restraining coupling
myself,' Luke muttered slowly. Already he
could visualize his uncle's face. The last of
their savings tied up in these droids, he had
said.
 Racing out of the garage, Luke hunted for non-
existent reasons why the Artoo unit should go
berserk. Threepio followed on his heels.
 From a small ridge which formed the highest
point close by the homestead, Luke had a
panoramic view of the surrounding desert.
Bringing out the precious macrobinoculars, he
scanned the rapidly darkening horizons for
something small, metallic, three-legged, and
out of its mechanical mind.
 Threepio fought his way up through the sand
to stand beside Luke. 'That Artoo unit has
always caused nothing but trouble,' he
groaned. 'Astromech droids are becoming too
iconoclastic even for me to understand,
sometimes.'
 The binoculars finally came down, and Luke
commented matter-of-factly, 'Well, he's
nowhere in sight.' He kicked furiously at the
ground. 'Damn it - how could I have been so
stupid, letting it trick me into removing that
restrainer! Uncle Owen's going to kill me.'
 'Begging your pardon, sir,' ventured a
hopeful Threepio, visions of jawas dancing in
his head, 'But can't we go after him?'
 Luke turned. Studiously he examined the wall
of black advancing toward them. 'Not at night.
It's too dangerous with all the raiders
around. I'm not too concerned about the jawas,
but sandpeople ... no, not in the dark. We'll
have to wait until morning to try to track
him.'
 A shout rose from the homestead below. 'Luke
- Luke, are you finished with those droids
yet? I'm turning down the power for the
night.'
 'All right!' Luke responded, sidestepping the
question. I'll be down in a few minutes, Uncle
Owen!' Turning, he took one last look at the
vanished horizon. 'Boy, am I in for it!' he
muttered. 'That little droid's going to get me
in a lot of trouble.'
 'Oh, he excels at that, sir.' Threepio
confirmed with mock cheerfulness. Luke threw
him a sour look, and together they turned and
descended into the garage.
 'Luke ... Luke!' Still rubbing the morning
sleep from his eyes, Owen glanced from side to
side, loosening his neck muscles. 'Where could
that boy be loafing now?' he wondered aloud at
the lack of response. There was no sign of
movement in the homestead, and he had already
checked above.
 'Luke!' he yelled again. Luke, Luke, Luke ...
the name echoed teasingly back at him from the
homestead walls. Turning angrily, he stalked
back into the kitchen, where Beru was
preparing breakfast.
 'Have you seen Luke this morning?' he asked
as softly as he could manage.
 She glanced briefly at him, then returned to
her cooking. 'Yes. He said he had some things
to do before he started out to the south ridge
this morning, so he left early.'
 'Before breakfast?' Owen frowned worriedly.
'That's not like him. Did he take the new
droids with him?'
 'I think so. I'm sure I saw at least one of
them with him.'
 'Well,' Owen mused, uncomfortable but with
nothing to really hang imprecations on, 'he'd
better have those ridge units repaired by
midday or there'll be hell to pay.'
 An unseen face shielded by smooth white metal
emerged from the half-buried life pod that now
formed the backbone of a dune slightly higher
than its neighbors. The voice sounded
efficient, but tired.
 'Nothing,' the inspecting trooper muttered to
his several companions. 'No tapes, and no sign
of habitation.'
 Powerful handguns lowered at the information
that the pod was deserted. One of the armored
men turned, calling out to an officer standing
some distance away. 'This is definitely the
pod that cleared the rebel ship, sir, but
there's nothing on board.'
 'Yet it set down intact,' the officer was
murmuring to himself. 'It could have done so
on automatics, but if it was a true
malfunction, then they shouldn't have been
engaged.' Something didn't make sense.
 'Here's why there's nothing on board and no
hint of life, sir,' a voice declared.
 The officer turned and strode several paces
to where another trooper was kneeling in the
sand. He held up an object for the officer's
inspection. It shone in the sun.
 'Droid plating,' the officer observed after a
quick glance at the metal fragment. Superior
and underling exchanged a significant glance.
Then their eyes turned simultaneously to the
high mesas off to the north.
 
 Gravel and fine sand formed a gritty fog
beneath the landspeeder as it slid across the
rippling wasteland of Tatooine on humming
repulsors. Occasionally the craft would jog
slightly as it encountered a dip or slight
rise, to return to its smooth passage as its
pilot compensated for the change in terrain.
 Luke leaned back in the seat, luxuriating in
unaccustomed relaxation as Threepio skillfully
directed the powerful landcraft around dunes
and rocky outcrops. 'You handle a landspeeder
pretty well, for a machine,' he noted
admiringly.
 'Thank you, sir,' a gratified Threepio
responded, his eyes never moving from the
landscape ahead. 'I was not lying to your
uncle when I claimed versatility as my middle
name. In fact, on occasion I have been called
upon to perform unexpected functions in
circumstances which would have appalled my
designers.'
 Something pinged behind them, then pinged
again.
 Luke frowned and popped the speeder canopy. A
few moments of digging in the motor casing
eliminated the metallic bark.
 'How's that?' he yelled forward.
 Threepio signaled that the adjustment was
satisfactory. Luke turned back into the
cockpit and closed the canopy over them again.
Silently he brushed his wind-whipped hair back
out of his eyes as his attention returned to
the dry desert ahead of them.
 'Old Ben Kenobi is supposed to live out in
this general direction. Even though nobody
knows exactly where, I don't see how that
Artoo unit could have come this far so
quickly.' His expression was downcast. 'We
must have missed him back in the dunes some
where. He could be anywhere out here. And
Uncle Owen must be wondering why I haven't
called in from the south ridge by now.'
 Threepio considered a moment, then ventured,
'Would it help, sir, if you told him that it
was my fault?'
 Luke appeared to brighten at the suggestion.
'Sure ... he needs you twice as much now.
Probably he'll only deactivate you for a day
or so, or give you a partial memory flush.'
 Deactivate? Memory flush? Threepio added
hastily, 'On second thoughts, sir, Artoo would
still be around if you hadn't removed his
restraining module.'
 But something more important than fixing
responsibility for the little robot's
disappearance was on Luke's mind at the
moment. 'Wait a minute,' he advised Threepio
as he stared fixedly at the instrument panel.
'There's something dead ahead on the metal
scanner. Can't distinguish outlines at this
distance, but judging by size alone, it could
be our wandering droid. Hit it.'
 The landspeeder jumped forward as Threepio
engaged the accelerator, but its occupants
were totally unaware that other eyes were
watching as the craft increased its speed.
 
 Those eyes were not organic, but then, they
weren't wholly mechanical, either. No one
could say for certain, because no one had ever
made that intimate a study of the Tusken
Raiders - known less formally to the margin
farmers of Tatooine simply as the sandpeople.
 The Tuskens didn't permit close study of
themselves, discouraging potential observers
by methods as effective as they were
uncivilized. A few xenologists thought they
must be related to the jawas. Even fewer
hypothesized that the jawas were actually the
mature form of the sandpeople, but this theory
was discounted by the majority of serious
scientists.
 Both races affected tight clothing to shield
them from Tatooine's twin dose of solar
radiation, but there most comparisons ended.
Instead of heavy woven cloaks like the jawas
wore, the sandpeople wrapped themselves
mummylike in endless swathings and bandages
and loose bits of cloth.
 Where the jawas feared everything, a Tusken
Raider feared little. The sandpeople were
larger, stronger, and far more aggressive.
Fortunately for the human colonists of
Tatooine, they were not very numerous and
elected to pursue their nomadic existence in
some of Tatooine's most desolate regions.
Contact between human and Tusken, therefore,
was infrequent and uneasy, and they murdered
no more than a handful of humans per year.
Since the human population had claimed its
share of Tuskens, not always with reason, a
peace of a sort existed between the two - as
long as neither side gained an advantage.
 One of the pair felt that that unstable
condition had temporarily shifted in his
favor, and he was about to take full advantage
of it as he raised his rifle toward the
landspeeder. But his companion grabbed the
weapon and shoved down on it before it could
be fired. This set off a violent argument
between the two. And, as they traded
vociferous opinions in a language consisting
mostly of consonants, the landspeeder sped on
its way.
 Either because the speeder had passed out of
range or because the second Tusken had
convinced the other, the two broke off the
discussion and scrambled down the back side of
the high ridge. Snuffling and a shifting of
weight took place at the ridge bottom as the
two Banthas stirred at the approach of their
masters. Each was as large as a small
dinosaur, with bright eyes and long, thick
fur. They hissed anxiously as the two
sandpeople approached, then mounted them from
knee to saddle.
 With a kick the Banthas rose. Moving slowly
but with enormous strides, the two massive
horned creatures swept down the back of the
rugged bluff, urged on by their anxious,
equally outrageous mahouts.
 'It's him, all right,' Luke declared with
mixed anger and satisfaction as the tiny
tripodal form came into view. The speeder
banked and swung down onto the floor of a huge
sandstone canyon. Luke slipped his rifle out
from behind the seat and swung it over his
shoulder. 'Come round in front of him,
Threepio,' he instructed.
 'With pleasure, sir.'
 The Artoo unit obviously noted their
approach, but made no move to escape; it could
hardly have outrun the landspeeder anyway.
Artoo simply halted as soon as it detected
them and waited until the craft swung around
in a smooth arc. Threepio came to a sharp
halt, sending up a low cloud of sand on the
smaller robot's right. Then the whine from the
landspeeder's engine dropped to a low idling
hum as Threepio put it in parking mode. A last
sigh and the craft stopped completely.
 After finishing a cautious survey of the
canyon, Luke led his companion out onto the
gravelly surface and up to Artoo Detoo. 'Just
where,' he inquired sharply, 'did you think
you were going?'
 A feeble whistle issued from the apologetic
robot, but it was Threepio and not the
recalcitrant rover who was abruptly doing most
of the talking.
 'Master Luke here is now your rightful owner,
Artoo. How could you just amble away from him
like this? Now that he's found you, let's have
no more of this "Obi-Wan Kenobi" gibberish. I
don't know where you picked that up - or that
melodramatic hologram, either.'
 Artoo started to beep in protest, but
Threepio's indignation was too great to permit
excuses. 'And don't talk to me about your
mission. What rot! You're fortunate Master
Luke doesn't blast you into a million pieces
right here and now.'
 'Not much chance of that,' admitted Luke, a
bit overwhelmed by Threepio's casual
vindictiveness. 'Come on - it's getting late.'
He eyed the rapidly rising suns. 'I just hope
we can get back before Uncle Owen really lets
go.'
 'If you don't mind my saying so,' Threepio
suggested, apparently unwilling that the Artoo
unit should get off so easily, 'I think you
ought to deactivate the little fugitive until
you've gotten him safely back in the garage.'
 'No. He's not going to try anything.' Luke
studied the softly beeping droid sternly. 'I
hope he's learned his lesson. There's no need
to-
 Without warning the Artoo unit suddenly
leaped off the ground - no mean feat
considering the weakness of the spring
mechanisms in his three thick legs. His
cylindrical body was twisting and spinning as
he let out a frantic symphony of whistles,
hoots, and electronic exclamations.
 Luke was tired, not alarmed. 'What is it?
What's wrong with him now?' He was beginning
to see how Threepio's patience could be worn
thin. He had had about enough of this addled
instrument himself.
 Undoubtedly the Artoo unit had acquired the
holo of the girl by accident, then used it to
entice Luke into removing his restraining
module. Threepio probably had the right
attitude. Still, once Luke got its circuits
realigned and its logic couplings cleaned, it
would make a perfectly serviceable farm unit.
Only ... if that was the case, then why was
Threepio looking around so anxiously?
 'Oh my, sir. Artoo claims there are several
creatures of unknown type approaching from the
southeast.'
 That could be another attempt by Artoo to
distract them, but Luke couldn't take the
chance. Instantly he had his rifle off his
shoulder and had activated the energy cell. He
examined the horizon in the indicated
direction and saw nothing. But then,
sandpeople were experts at making themselves
unseeable.
 Luke suddenly realized exactly how far out
they were, how much ground the landspeeder had
covered that morning. 'I've never been out in
this direction this far from the farm before,'
he informed Threepio. 'There are some awfully
strange things living out here. Not all of
them have been classified. It's better to
treat anything as dangerous until determined
otherwise. Of course, if it's something
utterly new ..." His curiosity prodded him. In
any case, this was probably just another ruse
of Artoo Detoo's. 'Let's take a look,' he
decided.
 Moving cautiously forward and keeping his
rifle ready, he led Threepio toward the crest
of a nearby high dune. At the same time he
took care not to let Artoo out of his sight.
 Once at the top he lay flat and traded his
rifle for the macro-binoculars. Below, another
canyon spread out before them, rising to a
wind-weathered wall of rust and ocher.
Advancing the binocs slowly across the canyon
floor, he settled unexpectedly on two tethered
shapes. Banthas - and riderless!
 'Did you say something, sir?' wheezed
Threepio, struggling up behind Luke. His
locomotors were not designed for such outer
climbing and scrambling.
 'Banthas, all right,' Luke whispered over his
shoulder, not considering in the excitement of
the moment that Threepio might not know a
Bantha from a panda.
 He looked back into the eyepieces, refocusing
slightly. 'Wait ... it's sandpeople, sure. I
see one of them.'
 Something dark suddenly blocked his sight.
For a moment he thought that a rock might have
moved in front of him. Irritably he dropped
the binoculars and reached out to move the
blinding object aside. His hand touched
something like soft metal.
 It was a bandaged leg about as big around as
both of Luke's together. Shocked, he looked up
... and up. The towering figure glaring down
at him was no jawa. It had seemingly erupted
straight from the sand.
 Threepio took a startled step backward and
found no footing. As gyros whined in protest
the tall robot tumbled backward down the side
of the dune. Frozen in place, Luke heard
steadily fading bangs and rattles as Threepio
bounced down the steep slope behind him.
 As the moment of confrontation passed, the
Tusken let out a terrifying grunt of fury and
pleasure and brought down his heavy gaderffii.
The double-edged ax would have cleaved Luke's
skull neatly in two, except that he threw the
rifle up in a gesture more instinctive than
calculated. His weapon deflected the blow, but
would never do so again. Made from
cannibalized freighter plating the huge ax
shattered the barrel and made metallic
confetti of the gun's delicate insides.
 Luke scrambled backward and found himself
against a steep drop. The Raider stalked him
slowly, weapon held high over its rag-enclosed
head. It uttered a gruesome, chuckling laugh,
the sound made all the more inhuman by the
distortion effect of its gridlike sandfilter.
 Luke tried to view his situation objectively,
as he had been instructed to do in survival
school. Trouble was, his mouth was dry, his
hands were shaking, and he was paralyzed with
fear. With the Raider in front of him and a
probably fatal drop behind, something else in
his mind took over and opted for the least
painful response. He fainted.
 None of the Raiders noticed Artoo Detoo as
the tiny robot forced himself into a small
alcove in the rocks near the landspeeder. One
of them was carrying the inert form of Luke.
He dumped the unconscious youth in a heap next
to the speeder, then joined his fellows as
they began swarming over the open craft.
 Supplies and spare parts were thrown in all
directions. From time to time the plundering
would be interrupted as several of them
quibbled or fought over a particularly choice
bit of booty.
 Unexpectedly, distribution of the
landspeeder's contents ceased, and with
frightening speed the Raiders became part of
the deserts-cape, looking in all directions.
 A lost breeze idled absently down the canyon.
Far off to the west, something howled. A
rolling, booming drone ricocheted off canyon
walls and crawled nervously up and down a
gorgon scale.
 The sandpeople remained poised a moment
longer. Then they were uttering loud grunts
and moans of fright as they rushed to get away
from the highly visible landspeeder.
 The shivering howl sounded again, nearer this
time. By now the sandpeople were halfway to
their waiting Banthas, that were likewise
lowing tensely and tugging at their tethers.
 Although the sound held no meaning for Artoo
Detoo, the little droid tried to squeeze
himself even deeper into the almost-cave. The
booming howl came closer. Judging by the way
the sandpeople had reacted, something
monstrous beyond imagining had to be behind
that rolling cry. Something monstrous and
murder-bent which might not have the sense to
distinguish between edible organics and
inedible machines.
 Not even the dust of their passing remained
to mark where the Tusken Raiders had only
minutes before been dismembering the interior
of the landspeeder. Artoo Detoo shut down all
but vital functions, trying to minimize noise
and light as a swishing sound grew gradually
audible. Moving toward the landspeeder, the
creature appeared above the top of a nearby
dune:
                       
                       
                       
                     = V =
                       
                       
                       
 IT was tall, but hardly monstrous. Artoo
frowned inwardly as he checked ocular
circuitry and reactivated his innards.
 The monster looked very much like an old man.
He was clad in a shabby cloak and loose robes
hung with a few small straps, packs, and
unrecognizable instruments. Artoo searched the
human's wake but detected no evidence of a
pursuing nightmare. Nor did the man appear
threatened. Actually, Artoo thought, he looked
kind of pleased.
 It was impossible to tell where the odd
arrival's overlapping attire ended and his
skin began. That aged visage blended into the
sand-stroked cloth, and his beard appeared but
an extension of the loose threads covering his
upper chest.
 Hints of extreme climates other than desert,
of ultimate cold and humidity, were etched
into that seamed face. A questing beak of
nose, like a high rock, protruded outward from
a flashflood of wrinkles and scars. The eyes
bordering it were a liquid crystal-azure. The
man smiled through sand and dust and beard,
squinting at the sight of the crumpled form
lying quietly alongside the landspeeder.
 Convinced that the sandpeople had been the
victims of an auditory delusion of some kind -
conveniently ignoring the fact that he had
experienced it also - and likewise assured
that this stranger meant Luke no harm, Artoo
shifted his position slightly, trying to
obtain a better view. The sound produced by a
tiny pebble he dislodged was barely
perceptible to his electronic sensors, but the
man whirled as if shot. He stared straight at
Artoo's alcove, still smiling gently.
 'Hello there,' he called in a deep,
surprisingly cheerful voice. 'Come here, my
little friend. No need to be afraid.'
 Something forthright and reassuring was in
that voice. In any case, the association of an
unknown human was preferable to remaining
isolated in this wasteland. Waddling out into
the sunlight, Artoo made his way over to where
Luke lay sprawled. The robot's barrellike body
inclined forward as he examined the limp form.
Whistles and beeps of concern came from
within.
 Walking over, the old man bent beside Luke
and reached out to touch his forehead, then
his temple. Shortly, the unconscious youth was
stirring and mumbling like a dreaming sleeper.
 'Don't worry,' the human told Artoo, 'he'll
be all right.'
 As if to confirm this opinion, Luke blinked,
stared upward uncomprehendingly, and muttered,
'What happened?'
 'Rest easy, son,' the man instructed him as
he sat back on his heels. 'You've had a busy
day.' Again the boyish grin. 'You're mighty
lucky your head's still attached to the rest
of you.'
 Luke looked around, his gaze coming to rest
on the elderly face hovering above him.
Recognition did wonders for his condition.
 'Ben ... it's got to be!' A sudden
remembrance made him look around fearfully.
But there was no sign of sandpeople. Slowly he
raised his body to a sitting position. 'Ben
Kenobi... am I glad to see you!'
 Rising, the old man surveyed the canyon floor
and rolling rimwall above. One foot played
with the sand. 'The Jundland wastes are not to
be traveled lightly. It's the misguided
traveler who tempts the Tuskens' hospitality.'
His gaze went back to his patient. 'Tell me,
young man, what brings you out this far into
nowhere?'
 Luke indicated Artoo Detoo. 'This little
droid. For a while I thought he'd gone crazy,
claiming he was searching for a former master.
Now I don't think so. I've never seen such
devotion in a droid - misguided or otherwise.
There seems to be no stopping him; he even
resorted to tricking me.'
 Luke's gaze shifted upward. 'He claims to be
the property of someone called Obi-Wan
Kenobi.' Luke watched closely, but the man
showed no reaction. 'Is that a relative of
yours? My uncle thinks he was a real person.
Or is it just some unimportant bit of
scrambled information that got shifted into
his primary performance bank?'
 An introspective frown did remarkable things
to that sandblasted face. Kenobi appeared to
ponder the question, scratching absently at
his scruffy beard. 'Obi-Wan Kenobi!' he
recited. 'Obi-Wan ... now, that's a name I
haven't heard in a long time. A long time.
Most curious.'
 'My uncle said he was dead.' Luke supplied
helpfully.
 'Oh, he's not dead,' Kenobi corrected him
easily. 'Not yet, not yet.'
 Luke climbed excitedly to his feet, all
thoughts of Tusken Raiders forgotten now. 'You
know him, then?'
 A smile of perverse youthfulness split that
collage of wrinkled skin and beard. 'Of course
I know him: he's me. Just as you probably
suspected, Luke. I haven't gone by the name
Obi-Wan, though, since before you were born.'
 'Then,' Luke essayed, gesturing at Artoo
Detoo, 'this droid does belong to you, as he
claims.'
 'Now, that's the peculiar part,' an openly
puzzled Kenobi confessed, regarding the silent
robot. 'I can't seem to remember owning a
droid, least of all a modern Artoo unit. Most
interesting, most interesting.'
 Something drew the old man's gaze suddenly to
the brow of nearby cliffs. 'I think it's best
we make use of your landspeeder some. The
sandpeople are easily startled, but they'll
soon return in greater numbers. A
landspeeder's not a prize readily conceded,
and after all, jawas they're not.'
 Placing both hands over his mouth in a
peculiar fashion, Kenobi inhaled deeply and
let out an unearthly howl that made Luke jump.
'That ought to keep any laggards running for a
while yet,' the old man concluded with
satisfaction.
 'That's a krayt dragon call!' Luke gaped in
astonishment. 'How did you do that?'
 'I'll show you sometime, son. It's not too
hard. Just takes the right attitude, a set of
well-used vocal cords, and a lot of wind. Now,
if you were an imperial bureaucrat, I could
teach you right off, but you're not.' He
scanned the cliff-spine again. 'And I don't
think this is the time or place for it.'
 'I won't argue that.' Luke was rubbing at the
back of his head. 'Let's get started.'
 That was when Artoo let out a pathetic beep
and whirled. Luke couldn't interpret the
electronic squeal, but he suddenly compre
hended the reason behind it. Threepio.' Luke
exclaimed, worriedly. Artoo was already moving
as fast as possible away from the landspeeder.
'Come on, Ben.'
 The little robot led them to the edge of a
large sandpit. It stopped there, pointing
downward and squeaking mournfully. Luke saw
where Artoo was pointing, then started
cautiously down the smooth, shifting slope
while Kenobi followed effortlessly.
 Threepio lay in the sand at the base of the
slope down which he had rolled and tumbled.
His casing was dented and badly mangled, One
arm lay broken and bent a short distance away.
 'Threepio!' Luke called. There was no
response. Shaking the droid failed to activate
anything. Opening a plate on the robot's back,
Luke flipped a hidden switch on and off
several times in succession. A low hum
started, stopped, started again, and then
dropped to a normal purr.
 Using his remaining arm, Threepio rolled over
and sat up. 'Where am I?' he murmured, as his
photoreceptors continued to clear. Then he
recognized Luke. 'Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I must
have taken a bad step.'
 'You're lucky any of your main circuits are
still operational,' Luke informed him. He
looked significantly toward the top of the
hill. 'Can you stand? We've got to get out of
here before the sandpeople return.'
 Servomotors whined in protest until Threepio
ceased struggling. 'I don't think I can make
it. You go on, Master Luke. It doesn't make
sense to risk yourself on my account. I'm
finished.'
 'No, you're not,' Luke shot back,
unaccountably affected by this recently
encountered machine. But then, Threepio was
not the usual uncommunicative, agrifunctional
device Luke was accustomed to dealing with.
'What kind of talk is that?'
 'Logical,' Threepio informed him.
 Luke shook his head angrily. 'Defeatist.'
 With Luke and Ben Kenobi's aid, the battered
droid somehow managed to struggle erect.
Little Artoo watched from the pit's rim.
 Hesitating part way up the slope, Kenobi
sniffed the air suspiciously. 'Quickly, son.
They're on the move again.'
 Trying to watch the surrounding rocks and his
footsteps simultaneously, Luke fought to drag
Threepio clear of the pit.
 The decor of Ben Kenobi's well-concealed cave
was Spartan without appearing uncomfortable.
It would not have suited most people,
reflecting as it did its owner's peculiarly
eclectic tastes. The living area radiated an
aura of lean comfort with more importance
attached to mental comforts than those of the
awkward human body.
 They had succeeded in vacating the canyon
before the Tusken Raiders could return in
force. Under Kenobi's direction, Luke left a
trail behind them so confusing that not even a
hypernasal jawa could have followed it.
 Luke spent several hours ignoring the
temptations of Kenobi's cave. Instead he
remained in the corner which was equipped as a
compact yet complete repair shop, working to
fix Threepio's severed arm.
 Fortunately, the automatic overload
disconnects had given way under the severe
strain, sealing electronic nerves and ganglia
without real damage. Repair was merely a
matter of reattaching the limb to the
shoulder, then activating the self-reseals.
Had the arm been broken in mid-'bone' instead
of at a joint, such repairs would have been
impossible save at a factory shop.
 While Luke was thus occupied, Kenobi's
attention was concentrated on Artoo Detoo. The
squat droid sat passively on the cool cavern
floor while the old man fiddled with its metal
insides. Finally the man sat back with a
'Humph!' of satisfaction and closed the open
panels in the robot's rounded head. 'Now let's
see if we can figure out what you are, my
little friend, and where you came from.'
 Luke was almost finished anyway, and Kenobi's
words were sufficient to pull him away from
the repair area. 'I saw part of the message,'
he began, 'and I...'
 Once more the striking portrait was being
projected into empty space from the front of
the little robot. Luke broke off, enraptured
by its enigmatic beauty once again.
 'Yes, I think that's got it,' Kenobi murmured
contemplatively.
 The image continued to flicker, indicating a
tape hastily prepared. But it was much
sharper, better defined now, Luke noted with
admiration. One thing was apparent: Kenobi was
skilled in subjects more specific than desert
scavenging.
 'General Obi-Wan Kenobi,' the mellifluous
voice was saying, 'I present myself in the
name of the world family of Alderaan and of
the Alliance to Restore the Republic. I break
your solitude at the bidding of my father,
Bail Organa, Viceroy and First Chairman of the
Alderaan system.'
 Kenobi absorbed this extraordinary
declamation while Luke's eyes bugged big
enough to fall from his face.
 'Years ago, General,' the voice continued,
'you served the Old Republic in the Clone
Wars. Now my father begs you to aid us again
in our most desperate hour. He would have you
join him on Alderaan. You must go to him.
 'I regret that I am unable to present my
father's request to you in person. My mission
to meet personally with you has failed. Hence
I have been forced to resort to this secondary
method of communication.
 'Information vital to the survival of the
Alliance has been secured in the mind of this
Detoo droid. My father will know how to
retrieve it. I plead with you to see this unit
safely delivered to Alderaan.'
 She paused, and when she continued, her words
were hurried and less laced with formality.
'You must help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are my
last hope. I will be captured by agents of the
Empire. They will learn nothing from me.
Everything to be learned lies locked in the
memory cells of this droid. Do not fail us,
Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do not fail me.'
 A small cloud of tridimensional static
replaced the delicate portrait, then it
vanished entirely. Artoo Detoo gazed up
expectantly at Kenobi.
 Luke's mind was as muddy as a pond laced with
petroleum. Unanchored, his thoughts and eyes
turned for stability to the quiet figure
seated nearby.
 The old man. The crazy wizard. The desert bum
and all-around character whom his uncle and
everyone else had known of for as long as Luke
could recall.
 If the breathless, anxiety-ridden message the
unknown woman had just spoken into the cool
air of the cave had affected Kenobi in any way
he gave no hint of it. Instead, he leaned back
against the rock wall and tugged thoughtfully
at his beard, puffing slowly on a water pipe
of free-form tarnished chrome.
 Luke visualized that simple yet lovely
portrait. 'She's so - so- His farming
background didn't provide him with the
requisite words. Suddenly something in the
message caused him to stare disbelievingly at
the oldster. 'General Kenobi, you fought in
the Clone Wars? But... that was so long ago.'
 'Um, yes,' Kenobi acknowledged, as casually
as he might have discussed the recipe for
shang stew. 'I guess it was a while back. I
was a Jedi Knight once. Like,' he added,
watching the youth appraisingly, 'your
father.'
 'A Jedi Knight,' Luke echoed. Then he looked
confused. 'But my father didn't fight in the
Clone Wars. He was no knight - just a
navigator on a space freighter.'
 Kenobi's smile enfolded the pipe's
mouthpiece. 'Or so your uncle has told you.'
His attention was suddenly focused elsewhere.
'Owen Lars didn't agree with your father's
ideas, opinions, or with his philosophy of
life. He believed that your father should have
stayed here on Tatooine and not gotten
involved in ...' Again the seemingly
indifferent shrug. 'Well, he thought he should
have remained here and minded his farming.'
 Luke said nothing, his body tense as the old
man related bits and pieces of a personal
history Luke had viewed only through his
uncle's distortions.
 'Owen was always afraid that your father's
adventurous life might influence you, might
pull you away from Anchorhead.' He shook his
head slowly, regretfully at the remembrance.
'I'm afraid there wasn't much of the farmer in
your father.'
 Luke turned away. He returned to cleaning the
last particles of sand from Threepio's healing
armature. 'I wish I'd known him,' he finally
whispered.
 'He was the best pilot I ever knew,' Kenobi
went on, 'and a smart fighter. The Force ...
the instinct was strong in him.' For a brief
second Kenobi actually appeared old. 'He was
also a good friend.'
 Suddenly the boyish twinkle returned to those
piercing eyes along with the old man's natural
humor. 'I understand you're quite a pilot
yourself. Piloting and navigation aren't
hereditary, but a number of the things that
can combine to make a good small-ship pilot
are. Those you may have inherited. Still, even
a duck has to be taught to swim.'
 'What's a duck?' Luke asked curiously.
 'Never mind. In many ways, you know, you are
much like your father.' Kenobi's unabashed
look of evaluation made Luke nervous. 'You've
grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw
you.'
 Having no reply for that, Luke waited
silently as Kenobi sank back into deep
contemplation. After a while the old man
stirred, evidently having reached an important
decision.
 'All this reminds me,' he declared with
deceptive casualness, 'I have something here
for you.' He rose and walked over to a bulky,
old-fashioned chest and started rummaging
through it. All sorts of intriguing items were
removed and shoved around, only to be placed
back in the bin. A few of them Luke
recognized. As Kenobi was obviously intent on
something important, he forbore inquiring
about any of the other tantalizing flotsam.
 'When you were old enough,' Kenobi was
saying, 'your father wanted you to have this
... if I can ever find the blasted device. I
tried to give it to you once before, but your
uncle wouldn't allow it. He believed you might
get some crazy ideas from it and end up
following old Obi-Wan on some idealistic
crusade.
 'You see, Luke, that's where your father and
your uncle Owen disagreed. Lars is not a man
to let idealism interfere with business,
whereas your father didn't think the question
even worth discussing. His decision on such
matters came like his piloting -
instinctively.'
 Luke nodded. He finished picking out the last
of the grit and looked around for one
remaining component to snap back into
Threepio's open chest plate. Locating the
restraining module, he opened the receiving
latches in the machine and set about locking
it back in place. Threepio watched the process
and appeared to wince ever so perceptibly.
 Luke stared into those metal and plastic
photoreceptors for a long moment. Then he set
the module pointedly on the workbench and
closed the droid up. Threepio said nothing.
 A grunt came from behind them, and Luke
turned to see a pleased Kenobi walking over.
He handed Luke a small, innocuous-looking
device, which the youth studied with interest.
 It consisted primarily of a short, thick
handgrip with a couple of small switches set
into the grip. Above this small post was a
circular metal disk barely larger in diameter
than his spread palm. A number of unfamiliar,
jewellike components were built into both
handle and disk, including what looked like
the smallest power cell Luke had ever seen.
The reverse side of the disk was polished to a
mirror brightness. But it was the power cell
that puzzled Luke the most. Whatever the thing
was, it required a great deal of energy,
according to the rating form of the cell.
 Despite the claim that it had belonged to his
father, the gizmo looked newly manufactured.
Kenobi had obviously kept it carefully. Only a
number of minute scratches on the handgrip
hinted at previous usage.
 'Sir?' came a familiar voice Luke hadn't
heard in a while.
 'What?' Luke was startled out of his
examination.
 'If you'll not be needing me,' Threepio
declared, 'I think I'll shut down for a bit.
It will help the armature nerves to knit, and
I'm due for some internal self-cleansing
anyhow.'
 'Sure, go ahead,' Luke said absently,
returning to his fascinated study of the
whatever-it-was. Behind him, Threepio became
silent, the glow fading temporarily from his
eyes. Luke noticed that Kenobi was watching
him with interest. 'What is it?' he finally
asked, unable despite his best efforts to
identify the device.
 'Your father's lightsaber,' Kenobi told him.
'At one time they were widely used. Still are,
in certain galactic quarters.'
 Luke examined the controls on the handle,
then tentatively touched a brightly colored
button up near the mirrored pommel. Instantly
the disk put forth a blue-white beam as thick
around as his thumb. It was dense to the point
of opacity and a little over a meter in
length. It did not fade, but remained as
brilliant and intense at its far end as it did
next to the disk. Strangely, Luke felt no heat
from it, though he was very careful not to
touch it. He knew what a lightsaber could do,
though he had never seen one before. It could
drill a hole right through the rock wall of
Kenobi's cave -or through a human being.
 'This was the formal weapon of a Jedi
Knight,' explained Kenobi. 'Not as clumsy or
random as a blaster. More skill than simple
sight was required for its use. An elegant
weapon. It was a symbol as well. Anyone can
use a blaster or fusioncutter - but to use a
lightsaber well was a mark of someone a cut
above the ordinary.' He was pacing the floor
of the cave as he spoke.
 'For over a thousand generations, Luke, the
Jedi Knights were the most powerful, most
respected force in the galaxy. They served as
the guardians and guarantors of peace and
justice in the Old Republic.'
 When Luke failed to ask what had happened to
them since, Kenobi looked up to see that the
youth was staring vacantly into space, having
absorbed little if any of the oldster's
instruction. Some men would have chided Luke
for not paying attention. Not Kenobi. More
sensitive than most, he waited patiently until
the silence weighed strong enough on Luke for
him to resume speaking.
 'How,' he asked slowly, 'did my father die?'
 Kenobi hesitated, and Luke sensed that the
old man had no wish to talk about this
particular matter. Unlike Owen Lars, however,
Kenobi was unable to take refuge in a
comfortable lie.
 'He was betrayed and murdered,' Kenobi
declared solemnly, 'by a very young Jedi named
Darth Vader.' He was not looking at Luke. 'A
boy I was training. One of my brightest
disciples ... one of my greatest failures.'
 Kenobi resumed his pacing. 'Vader used the
training I gave him and the Force within him
for evil, to help the later corrupt Emperors.
With the Jedi knights disbanded, disorganized,
or dead, there were few to oppose Vader. Today
they are all but extinct.'
 An indecipherable expression crossed Kenobi's
face. 'In many ways they were too good, too
trusting for their own health. They put too
much trust in the stability of the Republic,
failing to realize that while the body might
be sound, the head was growing diseased and
feeble, leaving it open to manipulation by
such as the Emperor.
 'I wish I knew what Vader was after.
Sometimes I have the feeling he is marking
time in preparation for some incomprehensible
abomination. Such is the destiny of one who
masters the force and is consumed by its dark
side.'
 Luke's face twisted in confusion. 'A force?
That's the second time you've mentioned a
"force."'
 Kenobi nodded. 'I forget sometimes in whose
presence I babble. Let us say simply that the
force is something a Jedi must deal with.
While it has never been properly explained,
scientists have theorized it is an energy
field generated by living things. Early man
suspected its existence, yet remained in
ignorance of its potential for millennia.
 'Only certain individuals could recognize the
force for what it was. They were mercilessly
labeled: charlatans, fakers, mystics -and
worse. Even fewer could make use of it. As it
was usually beyond their primitive controls,
it frequently was too powerful for them. They
were misunderstood by their fellows - and
worse.'
 Kenobi made a wide, all-encompassing gesture
with both arms. 'The force surrounds each and
every one of us. Some men believe it directs
our actions, and not the other way around.
Knowledge of the force and how to manipulate
it was what gave the Jedi his special power.'
 The arms came down and Kenobi stared at Luke
until the youth began to fidget uncomfortably.
When he spoke again it was in a tone so crisp
and unaged that Luke jumped in spite of
himself. 'You must learn the ways of the force
also, Luke - if you are to come with me to
Alderaan.'
 'Alderaan!' Luke hopped off the repair seat,
looking dazed. 'I'm not going to Alderaan. I
don't even know where Alderaan is.'
Vaporators, droids, harvest - abruptly the
surroundings seemed to close in on him, the
formerly intriguing furnishings and alien
artifacts now just a mite frightening. He
looked around wildly, trying to avoid the
piercing gaze of Ben Kenobi... old Ben ...
crazy Ben ... General Obi-Wan ...
 'I've got to get back home,' he found himself
muttering thickly. 'It's late. I'm in for it
as it is.' Remembering something, he gestured
toward the motionless bulk of Artoo Detoo.
'You can keep the droid. He seems to want you
to. I'll think of something to tell my uncle -
I hope,' he added forlornly.
 'I need your help, Luke,' Kenobi explained,
his manner a combination of sadness and steel.
'I'm getting too old for this kind of thing.
Can't trust myself to finish it properly on my
own. This mission is far too important.' He
nodded toward Artoo Detoo. 'You heard and saw
the message.'
 'But ... I can't get involved with anything
like that,' protested Luke. 'I've got work to
do; we've got crops to bring in - even though
Uncle Owen could always break down and hire a
little extra help. I mean, one, I guess. But
there's nothing I can do about it. Not now.
Besides, that's all such a long way from here.
The whole thing is really none of my
business.'
 'That sounds like your uncle talking,' Kenobi
observed without rancor.
 'Oh! My uncle Owen ... How am I going to
explain all this to him?'
 The old man suppressed a smile, aware that
Luke's destiny had already been determined for
him. It had been ordained five minutes before
he had learned about the manner of his
father's death. It had been ordered before
that when he had heard the complete message.
It had been fixed in the nature of things when
he had first viewed the pleading portrait of
the beautiful Senator Organa awkwardly
projected by the little droid. Kenobi shrugged
inwardly. Likely it had been finalized even
before the boy was born. Not that Ben believed
in predestination, but he did believe in
heredity - and in the force.
 'Remember, Luke, the suffering of one man is
the suffering of all. Distances are irrelevant
to injustice. If not stopped soon enough, evil
eventually reaches out to engulf all men,
whether they have opposed it or ignored it.'
 'I suppose,' Luke confessed nervously, 'I
could take you as far as Anchorhead. You can
get transport from there to Mos Eisley, or
wherever it is you want to go.'
 'Very well,' agreed Kenobi. 'That will do for
a beginning. Then you must do what you feel is
right.'
 Luke turned away, now thoroughly confused.
'Okay. Right now I don't feel too good:'
 
 The holding hole was deathly dim, with only
the bare minimum of illumination provided.
There was barely enough to see the black metal
walls and the high ceiling overhead. The cell
was designed to maximize a prisoner's feelings
of helplessness, and this it achieved well. So
much so that the single occupant started
tensely as a hum came from one end of the
chamber. The metal door which began moving
aside was as thick as her body - as if, she
mused bitterly, they were afraid she might
break through anything less massive with her
bare hands.
 Straining to see outside, the girl saw
several imperial guards assume positions just
outside the doorway. Eyeing them defiantly,
Leia Organa backed up against the far wall.
 Her determined expression collapsed as soon
as a monstrous black form entered the room,
gliding smoothly as if on treads. Vader's
presence crushed her spirit as thoroughly as
an elephant would crush an eggshell. That
villain was followed by an antiqued whip of a
man who was only slightly less terrifying,
despite his minuscule appearance alongside the
Dark Lord.
 Darth Vader made a gesture to someone
outside. Something that hummed like a huge bee
moved close and slipped inside the doorway.
Leia choked on her own breath at the sight of
the dark metal globe. It hung suspended on
independent repulsors, a farrago of metal arms
protruding from its sides. The arms were
tipped with a multitude of delicate
instruments.
 Leia studied the contraption fearfully. She
had heard rumors of such machines, but had
never really believed that Imperial techni
cians would construct such a monstrosity.
Incorporated into its soulless memory was
every barbarity, every substantiated outrage
known to mankind - and to several alien races
as well.
 Vader and Tarkin stood there quietly, giving
her plenty of time to study the hovering
nightmare. The Governor in particular did not
delude himself into thinking that the mere
presence of the device would shock her into
giving up the information he needed. Not, he
reflected, that the ensuing session would be
especially unpleasant. There was always
enlightenment and knowledge to be gained from
such encounters, and the Senator promised to
be a most interesting subject.
 After a suitable interval had passed, he
motioned to the machine. 'Now, Senator Organa,
Princess Organa, we will discuss the location
of the principal rebel base.'
 The machine moved slowly toward her,
traveling on a rising hum. Its indifferent
spherical form blocked out Vader, the
Governor, the rest of the cell... the light...
 
 Muffled sounds penetrated the cell walls and
thick door, drifting out into the hallway
beyond. They barely intruded on the peace and
quiet of the walkway running past the sealed
chamber. Even so, the guards stationed
immediately outside managed to find excuses to
edge a sufficient distance away to where those
oddly modulated sounds could no longer be
heard at all.
                       
                       
                       
                    = VI =
                       
                       
                       
 'LOOK over there, Luke,' Kenobi ordered,
pointing to the southwest. The landspeeder
continued to race over the gravelly desert
floor beneath them. 'Smoke, I should think.'
 Luke spared a glance at the indicated
direction. 'I don't see anything, sir.'
 'Let's angle over that way anyhow. Someone
may be in trouble.'
 Luke turned the speeder. Before long the
rising wisps of smoke that Kenobi had somehow
detected earlier became visible to him also.
 Topping a slight rise, the speeder dropped
down a gentle slope into a broad, shallow
canyon that was filled with twisted, burned
shapes, some of them inorganic, some not. Dead
in the center of this carnage and looking like
a beached metal whale lay the shattered hulk
of a jawa sandcrawler.
 Luke brought the speeder to a halt. Kenobi
followed him onto the sand, and together they
began to examine the detritus of destruction.
 Several slight depressions in the sand caught
Luke's attention. Walking a little faster, he
came up next to them and studied them for a
moment before calling back to Kenobi.
 'Looks like the sandpeople did it, all right.
Here's Bantha tracks ...' Luke noticed a gleam
of metal half buried in the sand.
 'And there's a piece of one of those big
double axes of theirs.' He shook his head in
confusion. 'But I never heard of the Raiders
hitting something this big.' He leaned back,
staring up at the towering, burned-out bulk of
the sandcrawler.
 Kenobi had passed him. He was examining the
broad, huge footprints in the sand. 'They
didn't,' he declared casually, 'but they
intended that we - and anyone else who might
happen onto this -should think so.' Luke moved
up alongside him.
 'I don't understand, sir.'
 'Look at these tracks carefully,' the older
man directed him, pointing down at the nearest
and then up at the others. 'Notice anything
funny about them?' Luke shook his head.
'Whoever left here was riding Banthas side by
side. Sandpeople always ride one Bantha behind
another, single file, to hide their strength
from any distant observers.'
 Leaving Luke to gape at the parallel sets of
tracks, Kenobi turned his attention to the
sandcrawler. He pointed out where single
weapons' bursts had blasted away portals,
treads, and support beams. 'Look at the
precision with which this firepower was
applied. Sandpeople aren't this accurate. In
fact, no one on Tatooine fires and destroys
with this kind of efficiency.' Turning, he
examined the horizon. One of those nearby
bluffs concealed a secret - and a threat.
'Only Imperial troops would mount an attack on
a sand-crawler with this kind of cold
accuracy.'
 Luke had walked over to one of the small,
crumpled bodies and kicked it over onto its
back. His face screwed up in distaste as he
saw what remained of the pitiful creature.
 'These are the same jawas who sold Uncle Owen
and me Artoo and Threepio. I recognize this
one's cloak design. Why would Imperial troops
be slaughtering jawas and sandpeople? They
must have killed some Raiders to get those
Banthas.' His mind worked furiously, and he
found himself growing unnaturally tense as he
stared back at the landspeeder, past the
rapidly deteriorating corpses of the jawas.
 'But... if they tracked the droids to the
jawas, then they had to learn first who they
sold them to. That would lead them back to
..." Luke was sprinting insanely for the
landspeeder.
 'Luke, wait ... wait, Luke!' Kenobi called.
'It's too dangerous! You'd never...!'
 Luke heard nothing except the roaring in his
ears, felt nothing save the burning in his
heart. He jumped into the speeder and was
throwing the accelerator full over almost
simultaneously. In an explosion of sand and
gravel he left Kenobi and the two robots
standing alone in the midst of smoldering
bodies, framed by the still smoking wreck of
the sandcrawler.
 
 The smoke that Luke saw as he drew near the
homestead was of a different consistency from
that which had boiled out of the jawa machine.
He barely remembered to shut down the
landspeeder's engine as he popped the cockpit
canopy and threw himself out. Dark smoke was
drifting steadily from holes in the ground.
 Those holes had been his home, the only one
he had ever known. They might as well have
been throats of small volcanoes now. Again and
again he tried to penetrate the surface
entrances to the below-ground complex. Again
and again the still-intense heat drove him
back, coughing and choking.
 Weakly he found himself stumbling clear, his
eyes watering not entirely from the smoke.
Half blinded, he staggered over to the
exterior entrance to the garage. It too was
burning. But perhaps they managed to escape in
the other landspeeder.
 'Aunt Beru ... Uncle Owen!' It was difficult
to make out much of anything through the eye-
stinging haze. Two smoking shapes showed down
the tunnel barely visible through tears and
haze. They almost looked like- He squinted
harder, wiping angrily at his uncooperative
eyes.
 No.
 Then he was spinning away, falling to his
stomach and burying his face in the sand so he
wouldn't have to look anymore.
 
 The tridimensional solid screen filled one
wall of the vast chamber from floor to
ceiling. It showed a million star systems. A
tiny portion of the galaxy, but an impressive
display nonetheless when exhibited in such a
fashion.
 Below, far below, the huge shape of Darth
Vader stood flanked on one side by Governor
Tarkin and on the other by Admiral Motti and
General Tagge, their private antagonisms
forgotten in the awe-someness of this moment.
 'The final checkout is complete,' Motti
informed them.  'All systems are operational.'
He turned to the others. 'What shall be the
first course we set?'
 Vader appeared not to have heard as he
mumbled softly, half to himself, 'She has a
surprising amount of control. Her resistance
to the interrogator is considerable.' He
glanced down at Tarkin. 'It will be some time
before we can extract any useful information
from her.'
 'I've always found the methods you recommend
rather quaint, Vader.'
 'They are efficient,' the Dark Lord argued
softly. 'In the interests of accelerating the
procedure, however, I am open to your
suggestions.'
 Tarkin looked thoughtful. 'Such stubbornness
can often be detoured by applying threats to
something other than the one involved.'
 'What do you mean?'
 'Only that I think it is time we demonstrated
the full power of this station. We may do so
in a fashion doubly useful.' He instructed the
attentive Motti, 'Tell your programmers to set
course for the Alderaan system.'
 
 Kenobi's pride did not prevent him from
wrapping an old scarf over nose and mouth to
filter out a portion of the bonfire's drifting
putrid odor. Though possessed of olfactory
sensory apparatus, Artoo Detoo and Threepio
had no need of such a screen. Even Threepio,
who was equipped to discriminate among
aromatic aesthetics, could be artifically
selective when he so desired.
 Working together, the two droids helped
Kenobi throw the last of the bodies onto the
blazing pyre, then stood back and watched the
dead continue to burn. Not that the desert
scavengers wouldn't have been equally
efficient in picking the burned-out
sandcrawler clean of flesh, but Kenobi
retained values most modern men would have
deemed archaic. He would consign no one to the
bone-gnawers and gravel-maggots, not even a
filthy jawa.
 At a rising thrumming Kenobi turned from the
residue of the noisome business to see the
landspeeder approaching, now traveling at a
sensible pace, far different from when it had
left. It slowed and hovered nearby, but showed
no signs of life.
 Gesturing for the two robots to follow, Ben
started toward the waiting craft. The canopy
flipped open and up to reveal Luke sitting
motionless in the pilot's seat. He didn't look
up at Kenobi's inquiring glance. That in
itself was enough to tell the old man what had
happened.
 'I share your sorrow, Luke,' he finally
ventured softly. 'There was nothing you could
have done. Had you been there, you'd be dead
now, too, and the droid would be in the hands
of the Imperials. Not even the Force-'
 'Damn your Force!' Luke snarled with sudden
violence. Now he turned and glared at Kenobi.
There was a set to his jaw that belonged on a
much older face.
 'I'll take you to the spaceport at Mos
Eisley, Ben. I want to go with you - to
Alderaan. There's nothing left for me here
now.' His eyes turned to look out across the
desert, to focus on something beyond sand and
rock and canyon walls. 'I want to learn to be
a Jedi, like my father. I want...' He paused,
the words backing up like a logjam in his
throat.
 Kenobi slid into the cockpit, put a hand
gently on the youth's shoulder, then went
forward to make room for the two robots. 'I'll
do my best to see that you get what you want,
Luke. For now, let's go to Mos Eisley.'
 Luke nodded and closed the canopy. The
landspeeder moved away to the southeast,
leaving behind the still-smoldering sand-
crawler, the jawa funeral pyre, and the only
life Luke had ever known.
 
 Leaving the speeder parked near the edge of
the sandstone bluff, Luke and Ben walked over
and peered down at the tiny regularized bumps
erupting from the sun-baked plain below. The
haphazard collage of low-grade concrete,
stone, and plastoid structures spread outward
from a central power-and-water-distribution
plant like the spokes of a wheel.
 Actually the town was considerably larger
than it appeared, since a good portion of it
lay underground. Looking like bomb craters
from this distance, the smooth circular
depressions of launch stations pockmarked the
cityscape.
 A brisk gale was scouring the tired ground.
It whipped the sand about Luke's feet and legs
as he adjusted his protective goggles.
 'There it is,' Kenobi murmured, indicating
the unimpressive collection of buildings, 'Mos
Eisley Spaceport - the ideal place for us to
lose ourselves while we seek passage
offplanet. Not a more wretched collection of
villainy and disreputable types exists any
where on Tatooine. The Empire has been alerted
to us, so we must be very cautious, Luke. The
population of Mos Eisley should disguise us
well.'
 Luke wore a determined look. Tm ready for
anything, Obi-Wan.'
 I wonder if you comprehend what that might
entail, Luke, Kenobi thought. But he only
nodded as he led the way back to the
landspeeder.
 Unlike Anchorhead, there were enough people
in Mos Eisley to require movement in the heat
of day. Built from the beginning with commerce
in mind, even the oldest of the town's
buildings had been designed to provide
protection from the twin suns. They looked
primitive from the outside, and many were. But
oftentimes walls and arches of old stone
masked durasteel double walls with circulating
coolant flowing freely between.
 Luke was maneuvering the landspeeder through
the town's outskirts when several tall,
gleaming forms appeared from nowhere and began
to close a circle around him. For one panicked
moment he considered gunning the engine and
racing through the pedestrians and other
vehicles. A startlingly firm grip on his arm
both restrained and relaxed him. He glanced
over to see Kenobi smiling, warning him.
 So they continued at a normal town cruising
speed, Luke hoping that the Imperial troops
were bent on business elsewhere. No such luck.
One of the troopers raised an armored hand.
Luke had no choice but to respond. As he
pulled the speeder over, he grew aware of the
attention they were receiving from curious
passersby. Worse yet, it seemed that the
trooper's attention was in fact reserved not
for Kenobi or himself, but for the two
unmoving robots seated in the speeder behind
them.
 'How long have you had these droids?' the
trooper who had raised his hand barked. Polite
formalities were to be dispensed with, it
appeared.
 Looking blank for a second, Luke finally came
up with 'Three or four seasons, I guess.'
 'They're up for sale, if you want them - and
the price is right,' Kenobi put in, giving a
wonderful impression of a desert finagler out
to cajole a few quick credits from ignorant
Imperials.
 The trooper in charge did not deign to reply.
He was absorbed in a thorough examination of
the landspeeder's underside.
 'Did you come in from the south?' he asked.
 'No ... no,' Luke answered quickly, 'we live
in the west, near Bestine township.'
 'Bestine?' the trooper murmured, walking
around to study the speeder's front. Luke
forced himself to stare straight ahead.
Finally the armored figure concluded his
examination. He moved to stand ominously close
to Luke and snapped, 'Let me see your
identification.'
 Surely the man sensed his terror and
nervousness by now, Luke thought wildly. His
resolution of not long before to be ready to
take on anything had already disintegrated
under the unwinking stare of this professional
soldier. He knew what would happen if they got
a look at his formal ID, with the location of
his homestead and the names of his nearest
relatives on it. Something seemed to be
buzzing inside his head; he felt faint.
 Kenobi had leaned over and was talking easily
to the trooper. 'You don't need to see his
identification,' the old man informed the
Imperial in an extremely peculiar voice.
 Staring blankly back at him, the officer
replied, as if it were self-evident. 'I don't
need to see your identification.' His reaction
was the opposite of Kenobi's: his voice was
normal, but his expression peculiar.
 'These aren't the droids you're looking for,'
Kenobi told him pleasantly.
 'These aren't the droids we're looking for.'
 'He can go about his business.'
 'You can go about your business,' the metal-
masked officer informed Luke.
 The expression of relief that spread across
Luke's face ought to have been as revealing as
his previous nervousness, but the Imperial
ignored it.
 'Move along,' Kenobi whispered.
 'Move along,' the officer instructed Luke.
 Unable to decide whether he should salute,
nod, or give thanks to the man, Luke settled
for nudging the accelerator. The land-speeder
moved forward, drawing away from the circle of
troops. As they prepared to round a corner,
Luke risked a glance backward.
 The officer who had inspected them appeared
to be arguing with several comrades, though at
this distance Luke couldn't be sure.
 He peered up at his tall companion and
started to say something. Kenobi only shook
his head slowly and smiled. Swallowing his
curiosity, Luke concentrated on guiding the
speeder through steadily narrowing streets.
 Kenobi seemed to have some idea where they
were headed. Luke studied the run-down
structures and equally unwholesome-looking
individuals they were passing. They had
entered the oldest section of Mos Eisley and
consequently the one where the old vices
flourished most strongly.
 Kenobi pointed and Luke pulled the
landspeeder up in front of what appeared to be
one of the original spaceport's first block
houses. It had been converted into a cantina
whose clientele was suggested by the diverse
nature of transport parked outside. Some of
them Luke recognized, others he had only heard
rumors of. The cantina itself, he knew from
the design of the building, must lie partially
underground.
 As the dusty but still sleek craft pulled
into an open spot, a jawa materialized from
nowhere and began running covetous hands over
the metal sides. Luke leaned out and barked
something harsh at the subhuman which caused
it to scurry away.
 'I can't abide those jawas,' murmured
Threepio with lofty disdain. 'Disgusting
creatures.'
 Luke's mind was too full of their narrow
escape for him to comment on Threepio's
sentiments. 'I still can't understand how we
got by those troops. I thought we were as good
as dead.'
 The Force is in the mind, Luke, and can
sometimes be used to influence others. It's a
powerful ally. But as you come to know the
Force, you will discover that it can also be a
danger.'
 Nodding without really understanding, Luke
indicated the rundown though obviously popular
cantina. 'Do you really think we can find a
pilot here capable of taking us all the way to
Alderaan?'
 Kenobi was exiting from the speeder. 'Most of
the good, independent freighter pilots
frequent this place, though many can afford
better. They can talk freely here. You should
have learned by now, Luke, not to equate
ability with appearance.' Luke saw the old
man's shabby clothing anew and felt ashamed.
'Watch yourself, though. This place can be
rough.'
 Luke found himself squinting as they entered
the cantina. It was darker inside than he
would have liked. Perhaps the regular habitues
of this place were unaccustomed to the light
of day, or didn't wish to be seen clearly. It
didn't occur to Luke that the dim interior in
combination with the brilliantly lit entrance
permitted everyone inside to see each newcomer
before he could see them.
 Moving inward, Luke was astonished at the
variety of beings making use of the bar. There
were one-eyed creatures and thousand-eyed,
creatures with scales, creatures with fur, and
some with skin that seemed to ripple and
change consistency according to their feelings
of the moment.
 Hovering near the bar itself was a towering
insectoid that Luke glimpsed only as a
threatening shadow. It contrasted with two of
the tallest women Luke had ever seen. They
were among the most normal-looking of the
outrageous assemblage of humans that mixed
freely among alien counterparts. Tentacles,
claws, and hands were wrapped around drinking
utensils of various sizes and shapes.
Conversation was a steady babble of human and
alien tongues.
 Leaning close, Kenobi gestured toward the far
end of the bar. A small knot of rough-looking
humans lounged there, drinking, laughing, and
trading stories of dubious origin.
 'Corellians - pirates, most likely.'
 'I thought we were looking for an independent
freighter captain with his own ship for hire,'
Luke whispered back.
 'So we are, young Luke, so we are,' agreed
Kenobi. 'And there's bound to be one or two
adequate for our needs among that group. It's
just that in Corellian terminology the
distinction between who owns what cargo tends
to get a little muddled from time to time.
Wait here.'
 Luke nodded and watched as Kenobi worked his
way through the crowd. The Correllians'
suspicion at his approach vanished as soon as
he engaged them in conversation.
 Something grabbed Luke's shoulder and spun
him around.
 'Hey.' Looking around and struggling to
regain his composure, he found himself staring
up at an enormous, scruffy-looking human. Luke
saw by the man's clothing that he must be the
bartender, if not the owner of this cantina.
 'We don't serve their kind in here,' the
glaring form growled.
 'What?' Luke replied dumbly. He still hadn't
recovered from his sudden submergence into the
cultures of several dozen races. It was rather
different from the poolroom behind the
Anchorhead power station. 'Your droids,' the
bartender explained impatiently, gesturing
with a thick thumb. Luke peered in the
indicated direction, to see Artoo and Threepio
standing quietly nearby. 'They'll have to wait
outside. We don't serve them in here. I only
carry stuff for organics, not,' he concluded
with an expression of distaste, 'mechanicals.'
 Luke didn't like the idea of kicking Threepio
and Artoo out, but he didn't know how else to
deal with the problem. The bartender didn't
appear to be the sort who would readily
respond to reason, and when he looked around
for old Ben, Luke saw that he was locked in
deep conversation with one of the Corellians.
 Meanwhile, the discussion had attracted the
attention of several especially gruesome-
looking types who happened to be clustered
within hearing range. All were regarding Luke
and the two droids in a decidedly unfriendly
fashion.
 'Yes, of course,' Luke said, realizing this
wasn't the time or place to force the issue of
droid rights. 'I'm sorry.' He looked over at
Threepio. 'You'd better stay outside with the
speeder. We don't want any trouble in here.'
 'I heartily agree with you, sir,' Threepio
said, his gaze traveling past Luke and the
bartender to take in the unfriendly stares at
the bar. 'I don't feel the need for
lubrication at the moment anyway.' With Artoo
waddling in his wake, the tall robot hastily
headed for the exit.
 That finished things as far as the bartender
was concerned, but Luke now found himself the
subject of some unwanted attention. He
abruptly became aware of his isolation and
felt as if at one time or another every eye in
the place rested a moment on him, that things
human and otherwise were smirking and making
comments about him behind his back.
 Trying to maintain an air of quiet
confidence, he returned his gaze to old Ben,
and started when he saw what the oldster was
talking to now. The Corellian was gone. In its
place Kenobi was chatting with a towering
anthropoid that showed a mouthful of teeth
when it smiled.
 Luke had heard about Wookiees, but he had
never expected to see one, much less meet one.
Despite an almost comical quasi-monkey face,
the Wookiee was anything but gentle-looking.
Only the large, glowing yellow eyes softened
its otherwise awesome appearance. The massive
torso was covered entirely with soft, thick
russet fur. Less appealing cover consisted of
a pair of chromed bandoliers which held lethal
projectiles of a type unknown to Luke. Other
than these, the Wookiees wore little.
 Not, Luke knew, that anyone would laugh at
the creature's mode of dress. He saw that
other denizens of the bar eddied and swirled
around the huge form without ever coming too
close. All but old Ben - Ben who was talking
to the Wookiee in its own language, quarreling
and hooting softly like a native.
 In the course of the conversation the old man
had occasion to gesture in Luke's direction.
Once the huge anthropoid stared directly at
Luke and let out a horrifying howling laugh.
 Disgruntled by the role he was evidently
playing in the discussion, Luke turned away
and pretended to ignore the whole
conversation. He might be acting unfairly
toward the creature, but he doubted that spine-
quaking laugh was meant in gentle good-
fellowship.
 For the life of him he couldn't understand
what Ben wanted with the monster, or why he
was spending his time in guttural conversation
with it instead of with the now-vanished
Corellians. So he sat and sipped his drink in
splendid silence, his eyes roving over the
crowd in hopes of meeting a responsive gaze
that held no belligerence.
 Suddenly, something shoved him roughly from
behind, so hard he almost fell. He turned
angrily, but his fury spent itself in
astonishment. He found himself confronted by a
large squarish monstrosity of multiple eyes
and indeterminate origin.
 'Negola dewaghi wooldugger?' the apparition
bubbled challeng-ingly.
 Luke had never seen its like before; he knew
neither its species nor its language. The
gabbling might have been an invitation to a
fight, a request to share a drink, or a
marriage proposal. Despite his ignorance,
however, Luke could tell by the way the
creature bobbed and wove unsteadily on its
podal supports that it had imbibed too much of
whatever it considered a pleasing intoxicant.
 Not knowing what else to do, Luke tried
turning back to his own drink while studiously
ignoring the creature. As he did so, a thing -
a cross between a capybara and a small baboon
- bounced over to stand (or squat) next to the
quivering many-eye. A short, grubby-looking
human also approached and put a companionable
arm around the snuffling mass.
 'He doesn't like you,' the stubby human
informed Luke in a surprisingly deep voice.
 'I'm sorry about that,' Luke admitted,
wishing heartily he were somewhere else.
 'I don't like you, either,' the smiling
little man went on with brotherly negativity.
 'I said I was sorry about it.'
 Whether from the conversation it was having
with the rodentlike creature or the overdose
of booze, the apartment house for wayward
eyeballs was obviously growing agitated. It
leaned forward, almost toppling into Luke, and
spewed a stream of unintelligible gibberish at
him. Luke felt the eyes of a crowd on him as
he grew increasingly more nervous.
 '"Sorry,"' the human mimicked derisively,
clearly deep into his own cups. 'Are you
insulting us? You just better watch yourself.
We're all wanted.' He indicated his drunken
companions. 'I have the death sentence on me
in twelve different systems.'
 'I'll be careful, then,' Luke muttered.
 The little man was smiling broadly. 'You'll
be dead.'
 At this the rodent let out a loud grunt. It
was either a signal or a warning, because
everything human or otherwise which had been
leaning up at the bar immediately backed away,
leaving a clear space around Luke and his
antagonists.
 Trying to salvage the situation, Luke essayed
a wan smile. That faded rapidly when he saw
that the three were readying hand weapons. Not
only couldn't he have countered all three of
them, he had no idea what a couple of the
lethal-looking devices did.
 'This little one isn't worth the trouble,' a
calm voice said. Luke looked up, startled. He
hadn't heard Kenobi come up alongside him.
'Come, let me buy you all something
 By way of reply the bulky monster chittered
hideously and swung out a massive limb. It
caught an unprepared Luke across the temple
and sent him spinning across the room,
crashing through tables and shattering a large
jug filled with a foul-smelling liquid.
 The crowd edged back farther, a few grunts
and warning snorts coming from some of them as
the drunken monstrosity pulled a wicked-
looking pistol from its service pouch. He
started to wave it in Kenobi's direction.
 That spurred the heretofore neutral bartender
to life. He came charging clumsily around the
end of the bar, waving his hands frantically
but still taking care to stay out of range.
 'No blasters, no blasters! Not in my place!'
 The rodent thing chattered threateningly at
him, while the weapon-wielding many-eye spared
him a warning grunt.
 In the split second when the gun and its
owner's attention was off him, the old man's
hand had moved to the disk slung at his side.
The short human started to yell as a fiery
blue-white light appeared in the dimness of
the cantina.
 He never finished the yell. It turned into a
blink. When the blink was finished, the man
found himself lying prone against the bar,
moaning and whimpering as he stared at the
stump of an arm.
 In between the start of his yell and the
conclusion of the blink, the rodent-thing had
been cleft cleanly in half down the middle,
its two halves falling in opposite directions.
The giant multiocular creature still stood
staring, dazed, at the old human who was
poised motionless before it, the shining
lightsaber held over his head in a peculiar
fashion. The creature's chrome pistol fired
once, blowing a hole in the door. Then the
torso peeled away as neatly as had the body of
the rodent, its two cauterized sections
falling in opposite directions to lie
motionless on the cool stone.
 Only then did the suggestion of a sigh escape
from Kenobi; only then did his body appear to
relax. Bringing the lightsaber down, he
flipped it carefully upward in a reflex
saluting motion which ended with the
deactivated weapon resting innocuously on his
hip.
 That final movement broke the total quiet
which had enshrouded the room. Conversation
resumed, as did the movement of bodies in
chairs, the scraping of mugs and pitchers and
other drinking devices on tabletops. The
bartender and several assistants appeared to
drag the unsightly corpses out of the room,
while the mutilated human vanished wordlessly
into the crowd, cradling the stump of his gun
arm and counting himself fortunate.
 To all appearances the cantina had returned
to its former state, with one small exception.
Ben Kenobi was given a respectful amount of
space at the bar.
 Luke barely heard the renewed conversation.
He was still shaken by the speed of the fight
and by the old man's unimagined abilities. As
his mind cleared and he moved to rejoin
Kenobi, he could overhear bits and snatches of
the talk around him. Much of it centered on
admiration for the cleanness and finality of
the fight.
 'You're hurt, Luke,' Kenobi observed
solicitously.
 Luke felt the bruise where the big creature
had struck him. 'I...' he started to say, but
old Ben cut him off. As if nothing had
happened, he indicated the great hairy mass
which was shouldering its way through the
crowd toward them.
 'This is Chewbacca,' he explained when the
anthropoid had joined them at the bar. 'He's
first mate on a ship that might suit our
needs. He'll take us to her captain-owner now.
 'This way,' the Wookiee grunted - at least,
it sounded something like that to Luke. In any
case, the huge creature's follow-me gesture
was unmistakable. They started to wend their
way deeper into the bar, the Wookiee parting
the crowd like a gravel storm cutting
canyonettes.
 Out in front of the cantina, Threepio paced
nervously next to the landspeeder. Apparently
unconcerned, Artoo Detoo was engaged in
animated electronic conversation with a bright
red R-2 unit belonging to another of the
cantina's patrons.
 'What could be taking them so long? They went
to hire one ship - not a fleet.'
 Abruptly Threepio paused, beckoning silently
for Artoo to be quiet. Two Imperial troopers
had appeared on the scene. They were met by an
unkempt human who had emerged almost simultane
ously from the depths of the cantina.
 'I do not like the looks of this,' the tall
droid murmured.
 
 Luke had appropriated someone else's drink
from a waiter's tray as they made their way to
the rear of the cantina. He gulped at it with
the giddy air of one who feels himself under
divine protection. That safe he was not, but
in the company of Kenobi and the giant Wookiee
he began to feel confident that no one in the
bar would assault him with so much as a dirty
look.
 In a rear booth they encountered a sharp-
featured young man perhaps five years older
than Luke, perhaps a dozen - it was difficult
to tell. He displayed the openness of the
utterly confident - or the insanely reckless.
At their approach the man sent the humanoid
wench who had been wriggling on his lap on her
way with a whispered something which left a
wide, if inhuman, grin on her face.
 The Wookiee Chewbacca rumbled something at
the man, and he nodded in response, glancing
up at the newcomers pleasantly.
 'You're pretty handy with that saber, old
man. Not often does one see that kind of
swordplay in this part of the Empire anymore.'
He downed a prodigious portion of whatever
filled his mug. 'I'm Han Solo, captain of the
Millennium Falcon.' Suddenly he became all
business. 'Chewie tells me you're looking for
passage to the Alderaan system?'
 'That's right, son. If it's on a fast ship,'
Kenobi told him. Solo didn't bridle at the
'son.'
 'Fast ship? You mean you've never heard of
the Millennium Falcon?'
 Kenobi appeared amused. 'Should I?'
 'It's the ship that made the Kessel run in
less than twelve standard timeparts!' Solo
told him indignantly. 'I've outrun Imperial
starships and Corellian cruisers. I think
she's fast enough for you, old man.' His
outrage subsided rapidly. 'What's your cargo?'
 'Only passengers. Myself, the boy, and two
droids - no questions asked.'
 'No questions.' Solo regarded his mug,
finally looked up. 'Is it local trouble?'
 'Let's just say we'd like to avoid any
Imperial entanglements,' Kenobi replied
easily.
 'These days that can be a real trick. It'll
cost you a little extra.' He did some mental
figuring. 'All in all, about ten thousand. In
advance.' He added with a smile, 'And no
questions asked.'
 Luke gaped at the pilot. 'Ten thousand! We
could almost buy our own ship for that.'
 Solo shrugged. 'Maybe you could and maybe you
couldn't. In any case, could you fly it?'
 'You bet I could,' Luke shot back, rising.
'I'm not such a bad pilot myself. I don't-
 Again the firm hand on his arm. 'We haven't
that much with us,' Kenobi explained. 'But we
could pay you two thousand now, plus another
fifteen when we reach Alderaan.'
 Solo leaned forward uncertainly. 'Fifteen ...
You can really get your hands on that kind of
money?'
 'I promise it - from the government on
Alderaan itself. At the worst, you'll have
earned an honest fee: two thousand.'
 But Solo seemed not to hear the last.
'Seventeen thousand ... All right, I'll chance
it. You've got yourselves a ship. As for
avoiding Imperial entanglements, you'd better
twist out of here or even the Millennium
Falcon won't be any help to you.' He nodded
toward the cantina entrance, and added
quickly, 'Docking bay ninety-four, first thing
in the morning.'
 Four Imperial troopers, their eyes darting
rapidly from table to booth to bar, had
entered the cantina. There was muttering from
among the crowd, but whenever the eyes of one
of the heavily armed troopers went hunting for
the mutterers, the words died with sullen
speed.
 Moving to the bar, the officer in charge
asked the bartender a couple of brief
questions. The big man hesitated a moment,
then pointed toward a place near the back of
the room. As he did so, his eyes widened
slightly. Those of the officer were
unreadable.
 The booth he was pointing to was empty.
                       
                       
                       
                  =   VII   =
                       
                       
                       
 LUKE and Ben were securing Artoo Detoo in the
back of the speeder while Threepio kept a
lookout for any additional troops.
 'If Solo's ship is as fast as his boasting,
we should be all right,' the old man observed
with satisfaction.
 'But two thousand - and fifteen more when we
reach Alderaan!'
 'It's not the fifteen that worries me; it's
the first two,' Kenobi explained. 'I'm afraid
you'll have to sell your speeder.'
 Luke let his gaze rove over the landspeeder,
but the thrill it had once given him was gone
- gone along with other things best not dwelt
on.
 'It's all right,' he assured Kenobi
listlessly. 'I don't think I'll need it
again.'
 
 From their vantage point in another booth,
Solo and Chewbacca watched as the Imperials
strode through the bar. Two of them gave the
Corellian a lingering glance. Chewbacca
growled once and the two soldiers hurried
their pace somewhat.
 Solo grinned sardonically, turning to his
partner. 'Chewie, this charter could save our
necks. Seventeen thousand!' He shook his head
in amazement. 'Those two must really be
desperate. I wonder what they're wanted for.
But I agreed, no questions. They're paying
enough for it. Let's get going - the Falcon
won't check itself out.'
 'Going somewhere, Solo?'
 The Corellian couldn't identify the voice,
coming as it did through an electronic
translator. But there was no problem
recognizing the speaker or the gun it held
stuck in Solo's side.
 The creature was roughly man-sized and
bipedal, but its head was something out of
delirium by way of an upset stomach. It had
huge, dull-faceted eyes, bulbous on a pea-
green face. A ridge of short spines crested
the high skull, while nostrils and mouth were
contained in a tapirlike snout.
 'As a matter of fact,' Solo replied slowly,
'I was just on my way to see your boss. You
can tell Jabba I've got the money I owe him.'
 'That's what you said yesterday - and last
week - and the week prior to that. It's too
late, Solo. I'm not going back to Jabba with
another one of your stories.'
 'But I've really got the money this time!'
Solo protested.
 'Fine. I'll take it now, please.'
 Solo sat down slowly. Jabba's minions were
apt to be cursed with nervous trigger fingers.
The alien took the seat across from him, the
muzzle of the ugly little pistol never
straying from Solo's chest.
 'I haven't got it here with me. Tell Jabba-'
 'It's too late, I think. Jabba would rather
have your ship.'
 'Over my dead body,' Solo said unamiably.
 The alien was not impressed. 'If you insist.
Will you come outside with me, or must I
finish it here?'
 'I don't think they'd like another killing in
here,' Solo pointed out.
 Something which might have been a laugh came
from the creature's translator. 'They'd hardly
notice. Get up, Solo. I've been looking
forward to this for a long time. You've
embarrassed me in front of Jabba with your
pious excuses for the last time.'
 'I think you're right.'
 Light and noise filled the little corner of
the cantina, and when it had faded, all that
remained of the unctuous alien was a smoking,
slimy spot on the stone floor.
 Solo brought his hand and the smoking weapon
it held out from beneath the table, drawing
bemused stares from several of the cantina's
patrons and clucking sounds from its more
knowledgeable ones. They had known the
creature had committed its fatal mistake in
allowing Solo the chance to get his hands
under cover.
 'It'll take a lot more than the likes of you
to finish me off. Jabba the Hutt always did
skimp when it came to hiring his hands.'
 Leaving the booth, Solo flipped the bartender
a handful of coins as he and Chewbacca moved
off. 'Sorry for the mess. I always was a
rotten host.'
 
 Heavily armed troopers hurried down the
narrow alleyway, glowering from time to time
at the darkly clad beings who hawked exotic
goods from dingy little stalls. Here in Mos
Eisley's inner regions the walls were high and
narrow, turning the passageway into a tunnel.
 No one stared angrily back at them; no one
shouted imprecations or mouthed obscenities.
These armored figures moved with the authority
of the Empire, their sidearms boldly displayed
and activated. All around, men, not-men, and
mechanicals were crouched in waste-littered
doorways. Among accumulations of garbage and
filth they exchanged information and concluded
transactions of dubious legality.
 A hot wind moaned down the alleyway and the
troopers closed their formation. Their
precision and order masked a fear of such
claustrophobic quarters.
 One paused to check a door, only to discover
it tightly locked and bolted. A sand-encrusted
human shambling nearby visited a half-mad
harangue on the trooper. Shrugging inwardly,
the soldier gave the crazy human a sour eye
before moving on down the alley to join up
again with his fellows.
 As soon as they were well past, the door slid
open a crack and a metallic face peered out.
Below Threepio's leg, a squat barrel shape
struggled for a view.
 'I would rather have gone with Master Luke
than stay here with you. Still, orders are
orders. I don't quite know what all the
trouble is about, but I'm sure it must be your
fault.'
 Artoo responded with a near impossibility: a
sniggering beep.
 'You watch your language,' the taller machine
warned.
 The number of old landspeeders and other
powered transports in the dusty lot which were
still capable of motion could be counted on
the fingers of one hand. But that was not the
concern of Luke and Ben as they stood
bargaining with the tall, slightly insectoid
owner. They were here not to buy, but to sell.
 None of the passersby favored the hagglers
with so much as a curious glance. Similar
transactions which were the business of no one
but the transactors took place half a thousand
times daily in Mos Eisley.
 Eventually there were no more pleas or
threats to be exchanged. As though doling out
vials of his own blood, the owner finalized
the sale by passing a number of small metal
shapes to Luke. Luke and the insectoid traded
formal good-byes and then they parted, each
convinced he had gotten the better of the
deal.
 'He says it's the best he can do. Since the
XP-38 came out, they just aren't in demand
anymore,' Luke sighed.
 'Don't look so discouraged,' Kenobi chided
him. 'What you've obtained will be sufficient.
I've enough to cover the rest.'
 Leaving the main street, they turned down an
alleyway and walked past a small robot herding
along a clutch of creatures resembling
attenuated anteaters. As they rounded the
corner Luke strained for a forlorn glimpse of
the old landspeeder - his last link with his
former life. Then there was no more time for
looking back.
 Something short and dark that might have been
human underneath all its wrappings stepped out
of the, shadows as they moved away from the
corner. It continued staring after them as
they disappeared down a bend in the walkway.
 
 The docking-bay entrance to the small saucer-
shaped spacecraft was completely ringed by
half a dozen men and aliens, of which the
former were by half the most grotesque. A
great mobile tub of muscle and suet topped by
a shaggy scarred skull surveyed the semicircle
of armed assassins with satisfaction. Moving
forward from the center of the crescent, he
shouted toward the ship.
 'Come on out. Solo! We've got you
surrounded.'
 'If so, you're facing the wrong way,' came a
calm voice.
 Jabba the Hutt jumped - in itself a
remarkable sight. His lackeys likewise whirled
- to see Han Solo and Chewbacca standing
behind them.
 'You see, I've been waiting for you, Jabba.'
 'I expected you would be,' the Hutt admitted,
at once pleased and alarmed by the fact that
neither Solo nor the big Wookiee appeared to
be armed.
 'I'm not the type to run,' Solo said.
 'Run? Run from what!' Jabba countered. The
absence of visible weapons bothered Jabba more
than he cared to admit to himself. There was
something peculiar here, and it would be
better to make no hasty moves until he
discovered what was amiss.
 'Han, my boy, there are times when you
disappoint me. I merely wish to know why you
haven't paid me ... as you should have long
ago. And why did you have to fry poor Greedo
like that? After all you and I have been
through together.'
 Solo grinned tightly. 'Shove it, Jabba. There
isn't enough sentiment in your body to warm an
orphaned bacterium. As for Greedo, you sent
him to kill me.'
 'Why, Han,' Jabba protested in surprise. 'Why
would I do that? You're the best smuggler in
the business. You're too valuable to fry.
Greedo was only relaying my natural concern at
your delays. He wasn't going to kill you.'
 'I think he thought he was. Next time don't
send one of those hired twerps. If you've got
something to say, come see me yourself.'
 Jabba shook his head and his jowls shook -
lazy, fleshy echoes of his mock sorrow. 'Han,
Han - if only you hadn't had to dump that
shipment of spice! You understand ... I just
can't make an exception. Where would I be if
every pilot who smuggled for me dumped his
shipment at the first sign of an Imperial
warship? And then simply showed empty pockets
when I demanded recompense? It's not good
business. I can be generous and forgiving -
but not to the point of bankruptcy.'
 'You know, even I get boarded sometimes,
Jabba. Did you think I dumped that spice
because I got tired of its smell? I wanted to
deliver it as much as you wanted to receive
it. I had no choice.' Again the sardonic
smile. 'As you say, I'm too valuable to fry.
But I've got a charter now and I can pay you
back, plus a little extra. I just need some
more time. I can give you a thousand on
account, the rest in three weeks.'
 The gross form seemed to consider, then
directed his next words not to Solo but to his
hirelings. 'Put your blasters away.' His gaze
and a predatory smile turned to the wary
Corellian.
 'Han, my boy, I'm only doing this because
you're the best and I'll need you again
sometime. So, out of the greatness of my soul
and a forgiving heart - and for an extra, say,
twenty percent - I'll give you a little more
time.' The voice nearly cracked with
restraint. 'But this is the last time. If you
disappoint me again, if you trample my
generosity in your mocking laughter, I'll put
a price on your head so large you won't be
able to go near a civilized system for the
rest of your life, because on every one your
name and face will be known to men who'll
gladly cut your guts out for one-tenth of what
I'll promise them.'
 'I'm glad we both have my best interests at
heart,' replied Solo pleasantly as he and
Chewbacca started past the staring eyes of the
Hutt's hired guns. 'Don't worry, Jabba, I'll
pay you. But not because you threaten me. I'll
pay you because ... it's my pleasure.'
 
 'They're starting to search the spaceport
central,' the Commander declared, having to
alternately run a couple of steps and then
walk to keep pace with the long strides of
Darth Vader. The Dark Lord was deep in thought
as he strode down one of the battle station's
main corridors, trailed by several aides.
 'The reports are just starting to come in,'
the Commander went on. 'It's only a matter of
time before we have those droids.'
 'Send in more men if you have to. Never mind
the protests of the planetary Governor - I
must have those droids. It's her hope of that
data being used against us that is the pillar
of her resistance to the mind probes.'
 'I understand, Lord Vader. Until then we must
waste our time with Governor Tarkin's foolish
plan to break her.'
 
 'There's docking bay ninety-four,' Luke told
Kenobi and the robots who had rejoined them,
'and there's Chewbacca. He seems excited about
something.'
 Indeed, the big Wookiee was waving over the
heads of the crowd and jabbering loudly in
their direction. Speeding their pace, none of
the foursome noticed the small, dark-clad
thing that had followed them from the
transporter lot.
 The creature moved into the doorway and
pulled a tiny transmitter from a pouch
concealed by its multifold robes. The trans
mitter looked far too new and modern to be in
the grasp of so decrepit a specimen, yet its
manipulator was speaking into it with steady
assurance.
 Docking bay ninety-four, Luke noted, was no
different in appearance from a host of other
grandiosely named docking bays scattered
throughout Mos Eisley. It consisted mostly of
an entrance rampway and an enormous pit gouged
from the rocky soil. This served as clearance
radii for the effects of the simple antigrav
drive which boosted all spacecraft clear of
the gravitational field of the planet.
 The mathematics of spacedrive were simple
enough even to Luke. Antigrav could operate
only when there was a sufficient gravity well
to push against - like that of a planet -
whereas supralight travel could only take
place when a ship was clear of that same
gravity. Hence the necessity for the dual-
drive system on any extrasystem craft.
 The pit which formed docking bay ninety-four
was as shabbily cut and run-down as the
majority of Mos Eisley. Its sloping sides were
crumbling in places instead of being smoothly
fashioned as they were on more populous
worlds. Luke felt it formed the perfect
setting for the spacecraft Chewbacca was
leading them toward.
 That battered ellipsoid which could only
loosely be labeled a ship appeared to have
been pieced together out of old hull fragments
and components discarded as unusable by other
craft. The wonder of it, Luke mused, was that
the thing actually held its shape. Trying to
picture this vehicle as spaceworthy would have
caused him to collapse in hysteria - were the
situation not so serious. But to think of
traveling to Alderaan in this pathetic ...
 'What a piece of junk,' he finally murmured,
unable to hide his feelings any longer. They
were walking up the rampway toward the open
port. 'This thing couldn't possibly make it
into hyperspace.'
 Kenobi didn't comment, but merely gestured
toward the port, where a figure was coming to
meet them.
 Either Solo had supernaturally acute hearing,
or else he was used to the reaction the sight
of the Millennium Falcon produced in
prospective passengers. 'She may not look like
much,' he confessed as he approached them,
'but she's all go. I've added a few unique
modifications to her myself. In addition to
piloting, I like to tinker. She'll make point
five factors beyond lightspeed.'
 Luke scratched his head as he tried to
reassess the craft in view of its owner's
claims. Either the Corellian was the biggest
liar this side of the galactic center, or
there was more to this vessel than met the
eye. Luke thought back once more to old Ben's
admonition never to trust surface impressions,
and decided to reserve judgment on the ship
and its pilot until after he had watched them
in operation.
 Chewbacca had lingered behind at the docking-
bay entrance. Now he rushed up the ramp, a
hairy whirlwind, and blabbered excitedly at
Solo. The pilot regarded him coolly, nodding
from time to time, then barked a brief reply.
The Wookiee charged into the ship, pausing
only to urge everyone to follow.
 'We seem to be a bit rushed,' Solo explained
cryptically, 'so if you'll hurry aboard, we'll
be off.'
 Luke was about to venture some questions, but
Kenobi was already prodding him up the ramp.
The droids followed.
 Inside, Luke was slightly startled to see the
bulky Chewbacca squirm and fight his way into
a pilot's chair which, despite modifications,
was still overwhelmed by his massive form. The
Wookiee flipped several tiny switches with
digits seemingly too big for the task. Those
great paws drifted with surprising grace over
the controls.
 A deep throbbing started somewhere within the
ship as the engines were activated. Luke and
Ben began strapping themselves into the vacant
seats in the main passageway.
 
 Outside the docking-bay entrance a long,
leathery snout protruded from dark folds of
cloth, and somewhere in the depths to either
side of that imposing proboscis, eyes stared
intently. They turned, along with the rest of
the head, as a squad of eight Imperial troops
rushed up. Perhaps not surprisingly, they
headed straight for the enigmatic figure who
whispered something to the lead trooper and
gestured to the docking bay.
 The information must have been provocative.
Activating their weapons and raising them to
firing position, the troops charged en masse
down the docking-bay entrance.
 
 A glint of light on moving metal caught
Solo's eyes as the unwelcome outlines of the
first troops showed themselves. Solo thought
it unlikely they would pause to engage in
casual conversation. His suspicion was
confirmed before he could open his mouth to
protest their intrusion, as several dropped to
their knees and opened fire on him Solo ducked
back inside, turning to yell forward.
 'Chewie - deflector shields, quick! Get us
out of here!' A throaty roar of acknowledgment
came back to him.
 Drawing his own pistol, Solo managed to snap
off a couple of bursts from the comparative
safety of the hatchway. Seeing that their
quarry was neither helpless nor comatose, the
exposed troops dove for cover.
 The low throbbing rose to a whine, then to a
deafening howl as Solo's hand came down on the
quick-release button. Immediately the overhead
hatchcover slammed shut.
 As the retreating troops raced out of the
docking-bay entrance, the ground was trembling
steadily. They ran smack into a second squad,
which had just arrived in response to the
rapidly spreading emergency call. One of the
soldiers, gesticulating wildly, tried to
explain to the newly arrived ranking officer
what had happened back in the bay.
 As soon as the panting trooper had finished,
the officer whipped out a compact communicator
and shouted into it, 'Flight deck ... they're
trying to escape! Send everything you've got
after this ship.'
 All across Mos Eisley, alarms began to sound,
spreading out from docking bay ninety-four in
concentric circles of concern.
 Several soldiers scouring one alleyway
reacted to the citywide alarm at the same time
as they saw the small freighter lift
gracefully into the clear blue sky above Mos
Eisley. It shrank to a pinpoint before any of
them thought to bring a weapon to bear.
 
 Luke and Ben were already undoing their
acceleration straps as Solo walked past them,
moving toward the cockpit with the easy, loose-
limbed stride of the experienced spacer. Once
forward, he fell rather than sat in the
pilot's seat and immediately began checking
readouts and gauges. In the seat next to him
Chewbacca was growling and grunting like a
poorly tuned speeder engine. He turned from
studying his own instruments long enough to
jab a massive finger at the tracking screen.
 Solo gave it a quick glance, then turned
irritably to his own panel. 'I know, I know
... looks like two, maybe three destroyers.
Somebody certainly dislikes our passengers.
Sure picked ourselves a hot one this time. Try
to hold them off somehow until I can finish
the programming for the supralight jump. Angle
the deflectors for maximum shielding.'
 With those instructions he ceased conversing
with the huge Wookie as his hands flew over
the computer input terminals. Solo did not
even turn around when a small cylindrical
shape appeared in the doorway behind him.
Artoo Detoo beeped a few remarks, then
scurried away.
 Rear scanners showed the baleful lemon eye of
Tatooine shrinking rapidly behind them. It
wasn't rapid enough to eliminate the three
points of light that indicated the presence of
the pursuing Imperial warships.
 Although Solo had ignored Artoo, he turned to
acknowledge the entrance of his human
passengers. 'We've got two more coming in from
different angles,' he told them, scrutinizing
the remorseless instrumentation. 'They're
going to try to box up before we can jump.
Five ships ... What did you two do to attract
that kind of company?'
 'Can't you outrun them?' Luke asked
sarcastically, ignoring the pilot's question.
'I thought you said this thing was fast.'
 'Watch your mouth, kid, or you'll find
yourself floating home. There's too many of
'em, for one thing. But, we'll be safe enough
once we've made the jump into hyperspace.' He
grinned knowingly. 'Can't nobody track another
ship accurately at supralight speeds. Plus, I
know a few tricks that ought to lose any
persistent stick-tights. I wish I'd known you
boys were so popular.'
 'Why?' Luke said challengingly. 'Would you
have refused to take us?'
 'Not necessarily,' the Corellian replied,
refusing to be baited. 'But I sure's hell
would've boosted your fare.'
 Luke had a retort poised on his lips. It was
wiped out as he threw up his arms to ward off
a brilliant red flash which gave black space
outside the viewport the temporary aspect of
the surface of a sun. Kenobi, Solo, and even
Chewbacca did likewise, since the proximity of
the explosion nearly overrode the phototropic
shielding.
 'Here's where the situation gets
interesting,' Solo muttered.
 'How long before you can make the jump?'
Kenobi inquired easily, apparently unconcerned
that at any second they all might cease to
exist.
 'We're still within the gravitational
influence of Tatooine,' came the cool
response. 'It will be a few minutes yet before
the navigation computer can compensate and
effect an accurate jump. I could override its
decision, but the hyperdrive would likely
shred itself. That would give me a nice hold
full of scrap metal in addition to you four.'
 'A few minutes,' Luke blurted, staring at the
screens. 'At the rate they're gaining..."
 'Traveling through hyperspace isn't like
dusting crops, boy. Ever tried calculating a
hyperspace jump?' Luke had to shake his head.
'It's no mean trick. Be nice if we rushed it
and passed right through a star or some other
friendly spatial phenom like a black hole.
That would end our trip real quick.'
 Fresh explosions continued to flare close by
despite Chewbacca's best efforts at evasion.
On Solo's console a red warning light began to
flash for attention.
 'What's that?' Luke wondered nervously.
 'We're losing a deflector shield,' Solo
informed him with the air of a man about to
have a tooth pulled. 'Better strap yourselves
back in. We're almost ready to make the jump.
It could get bad if we take a near-burst at
the wrong moment.'
 Back in the main hold area Threepio was
already locked tightly into his seat by metal
arms stronger then any acceleration straps.
Artoo swayed back and forth under the
concussion produced by increasingly powerful
energy bursts against the ships deflectors.
 'Was this trip really necessary?' the tall
robot muttered in desperation. 'I'd forgotten
how much I hate space travel.' He broke off as
Luke and Ben appeared and began strapping
themselves back into their chairs.
 Oddly, Luke was thinking of a dog he had once
owned when an immensely powerful something
wrenched at the ship's hull with the strength
of a fallen angel.
 
 Admiral Motti entered the quiet conference
room, his face streaked by the linear lights
lining the walls. His gaze went to the spot
where Governor Tarkin stood before the curved
viewscreen, and he bowed slightly. Despite the
evidence of the small green gem of a world
entered in the screen, he formally announced,
'We have entered the Alderaan system. We await
your order.'
 The door signaled and Tarkin made a falsely
gentle gesture to the admiral. 'Wait a moment
yet, Motti.'
 The door slid aside and Leia Organa entered,
flanked by two armed guards, followed by Darth
Vader.
 'I am-' Tarkin began.
 'I know who you are,' she spat, 'Governor
Tarkin. I should have expected to find you
holding Vader's leash. I thought I recognized
your unique stench when I was first brought on
board.'
 'Charming to the last,' Tarkin declared in a
fashion which suggested he was anything but
charmed. 'You don't know how hard I found it
to sign the order for your termination.' His
expression changed to one of mock sorrow. 'Of
course, had you cooperated in our
investigation, things might be otherwise. Lord
Vader has informed me that your resistance to
our traditional methods of inquiry-
 'Torture, you mean,' she countered a trifle
shakily.
 'Let us not bandy semantics,' Tarkin smiled.
 'I'm surprised you had the courage to take
the responsibility for issuing the order on
yourself.'
 Tarkin sighed reluctantly. 'I am a dedicated
man, and the pleasures I reserve for myself
are few. One of them is that before your
execution I should like you to be my guest at
a small ceremony. It will certify this battle
station's operational status while at the same
time ushering in a new era of Imperial
technical supremacy. This station is the final
link in the new-forged Imperial chain which
will bind the million systems of the galactic
Empire together once and for all. Your petty
Alliance will no longer be of any concern to
us. After today's demonstration no one will
dare to oppose Imperial decree, not even the
Senate.'
 Organa looked at him with contempt. 'Force
will not keep the Empire together. Force has
never kept anything together for very long.
The more you tighten your grip, the more
systems will slip through your fingers. You're
a foolish man, Governor. Foolish men often
choke to death on their own delusions.'
 Tarkin smiled a death's-head smile, his face
a parchment skull's. 'It will be interesting
to see what manner of passing Lord Vader has
in mind for you. I am certain it will be
worthy of you - and of him.
 'But before you leave us, we must demonstrate
the power of this station once and for all, in
a conclusive fashion. In a way, you have
determined the choice of subject for this
demonstration. Since you have proven reluctant
to supply us with the location of the rebel
stronghold, I have deemed it appropriate to
select as an alternate subject your home
planet of Alderaan.'
 'No! You can't! Alderaan is a peaceful world,
with no standing armies. You can't...'
 Tarkin's eyes gleamed. 'You would prefer
another target? A military target, perhaps?
We're agreeable ... name the system.' He
shrugged elaborately. 'I grow tired of such
games. For the last time, where is the main
rebel base?'
 A voice announced over a hidden speaker that
they had approached within antigrav range of
Alderaan - approximately six planetary
diameters. That was enough to accomplish what
all of Vader's infernal devices had failed to.
 'Dantooine,' she whispered, staring at the
deck, all pretense at defiance gone now.
'They're on Dantooine.'
 Tarkin let out a slow sigh of satisfaction,
then turned to the black figure nearby.
'There, you see, Lord Vader? She can be
reasonable. One needs only frame the question
properly to elicit the desired response.' He
directed his attention to the other officers.
'After concluding our little test here we
shall make haste to move on to Dantooine. You
may proceed with the operation, gentlemen.'
 It took several seconds for Tarkin's words,
so casually uttered, to penetrate. 'What!'
Organa finally gasped.
 'Dantooine,' Tarkin explained, examining his
fingers, 'is too far from the centers of
Imperial population to serve as the subject of
an effective demonstration. You will
understand that for reports of our power to
spread rapidly through the Empire we require
an obstreperous world more centrally located.
Have no fear, though. We will deal with your
rebel friends on Dantooine as soon as
possible.'
 'But you said...' Organa started to protest.
 'The only words which have meaning are the
last ones spoken,' Tarkin declared cuttingly.
'We will proceed with the destruction of
Alderaan as planned. Then you will enjoy
watching with us as we obliterate the
Dantooine center of this stupid and futile
rebellion.'
 He gestured to the two soldiers flanking her.
'Escort her to the principal observation level
and,' he smiled, 'make certain she is provided
with an unobstructed view.'
                       
                       
                       
                   = VIII =
                       
                       
                       
 SOLO was busily checking readouts from gauges
and dials in the hold area. Occasionally he
would pass a small box across various sensors,
study the result, and cluck with pleasure.
 'You can stop worrying about your Imperial
friends,' he told Luke and Ben. 'They'll never
be able to track us now. Told you I'd lose
them.'
 Kenobi might have nodded briefly in response,
but he was engaged in explaining something to
Luke.
 'Don't everybody thank me at once,' Solo
grunted, slightly miffed. 'Anyway, navigation
computer calculates our arrival in Alderaan
orbit at oh-two-hundred. I'm afraid after this
little adventure I'll have to forge a new
registration.'
 He returned to his checking, passing in front
of a small circular table. The top was covered
with small squares lit from beneath, while
computer monitors were set into each side.
Tiny three-dimensional figures were projected
above the tabletop from various squares.
 Chewbacca sat hunched over one side of the
table, his chin resting in massive hands. His
great eyes glowing and facial whiskers
wrinkled upward, he gave every sign of being
well pleased with himself.
 At least, he did until Artoo Detoo reached up
with a stubby clawed limb across from him and
tapped his own computer monitor. One of the
figures walked abruptly across the board to a
new square and stopped there.
 An expression of puzzlement, then anger
crossed the Wookiee's face as he studied the
new configuration. Glaring up and over the
table, he vented a stream of abusive gibberish
on the inoffensive machine. Artoo could only
beep in reply, but Threepio soon interceded on
behalf of his less eloquent companion and
began arguing with the hulking anthropoid.
 'He executed a fair move. Screaming about it
won't help you.'
 Attracted by the commotion, Solo looked back
over his shoulder, frowning slightly. 'Let him
have it. Your friend's way ahead anyhow. It's
not wise to upset a Wookiee.'
 'I can sympathize with that opinion, sir,'
Threepio countered, 'but there is principle at
stake here. There are certain standards any
sentient creature must hold to. If one
compromises them for any reason, including
intimidation, then one is abrogating his right
to be called intelligent.'
 'I hope you'll both remember that,' Solo
advised him, 'when Chewbacca is pulling the
arms off you and your little friend.'
 'Besides that, however,' Threepio continued
without missing a beat, 'being greedy or
taking advantage of someone in a weakened
position is a clear sign of poor
sportsmanship.'
 That elicited a beep of outrage from Artoo,
and the two robots were soon engaged in
violent electronic argument while Chewbacca
continued jabbering at each in turn,
occasionally waving at them though the
translucent pieces waiting patiently on the
board.
 Oblivious to the altercation, Luke stood
frozen in the middle of the hold. He held an
activated lightsaber in position over his
head. A low hum came from the ancient
instrument while Luke lunged and parried under
Ben Kenobi's instructive gaze. As Solo glanced
from time to time at Luke's awkward movements,
his lean features were sprinkled with
smugness.
 'No, Luke, your cuts should flow, not be so
choppy,' Kenobi instructed gently. 'Remember,
the force is omnipresent. It envelops you as
it radiates from you. A Jedi warrior can
actually feel the force as a physical thing.'
 'It is an energy field, then?' Luke inquired.
 'It is an energy field and something more,'
Kenobi went on, almost mystically. 'An aura
that at once controls and obeys. It is a
nothingness that can accomplish miracles.' He
looked thoughtful for a moment.
 'No one, not even the Jedi scientists, were
able to truly define the Force. Possibly no
one ever will. Sometimes there is as much
magic as science in the explanations of the
force. Yet what is a magician but a practicing
theorist? Now, let's try again.'
 The old man was hefting a silvery globe about
the size of a man's fist. It was covered with
fine antennae, some as delicate as those of a
moth. He flipped it toward Luke and watched as
it halted a couple of meters away from the
boy's face.
 Luke readied himself as the ball circled him
slowly, turning to face it as it assumed a new
position. Abruptly it executed a lightning-
swift lunge, only to freeze about a meter
away. Luke failed to succumb to the feint, and
the ball soon backed off.
 Moving slowly to one side in an effort to get
around the ball's fore sensors, Luke drew the
saber back preparatory to striking. As he did
so the ball darted in behind him. A thin
pencil of red light jumped from one of the
antennae to the back of Luke's thigh, knocking
him to the deck even as he was bringing his
saber around - too late.
 Rubbing at his tingling, sleeping leg, Luke
tried to ignore the burst of accusing laughter
from Solo. 'Hocus-pocus religions and archaic
weapons are no substitute for a good blaster
at your side,' the pilot sneered.
 'You don't believe in the Force?' asked Luke,
struggling back to his feet. The numbing
effect of the beam wore off quickly.
 'I've been from one end of this galaxy to the
other,' the pilot boasted, 'and I've seen a
lot of strange things. Too many to believe
there couldn't be something like this "Force."
Too many to think that there could be some
such controlling one's actions. I determine my
destiny - not some half-mystical energy
field.' He gestured toward Kenobi. 'I wouldn't
follow him so blindly, if I were you. He's a
clever old man full of simple tricks and
mischief. He might be using you for his own
ends.'
 Kenobi only smiled gently, then turned back
to face Luke. 'I suggest you try it again,
Luke,' he said soothingly. 'You must try to
divorce your actions from conscious control.
Try not to focus on anything concrete,
visually or mentally. You must let your mind
drift, drift; only then can you use the Force.
You have to enter a state in which you act on
what you sense, not on what you think
beforehand. You must cease cogitation, relax,
stop thinking ... let yourself drift... free
... free ..."
 The old man's voice had dropped to a
mesmerizing buzz. As he finished, the chrome
bulb darted at Luke. Dazed by Kenobi's
hypnotic tone, Luke didn't see it charge. It's
doubtful he saw much of anything with clarity.
But as the ball neared, he whirled with
amazing speed, the saber arcing up and out in
a peculiar fashion. The red beam that the
globe emitted was neatly deflected to one
side. Its humming stopped and the ball bounced
to the deck, all animation gone.
 Blinking as if coming awake from a short nap,
Luke stared in absolute astonishment at the
inert remote.
 'You see, you can do it,' Kenobi told him.
'One can teach only so much. Now you must
learn to admit the Force when you want it, so
that you can learn to control it consciously.'
 Moving to one side, Kenobi took a large
helmet from behind a locker and walked over to
Luke. Placing the helmet over his head
effectively eliminated the boy's vision.
 'I can't see,' Luke muttered, turning around
and forcing Kenobi to step back out of range
of the dangerously wavering saber. 'How can I
fight?'
 'With the Force,' old Ben explained. 'You
didn't really "see" the seeker when it went
for your legs the last time, and yet you
parried its beam. Try to let that sensation
flow within you again.'
 'I can't do it,' Luke moaned. 'I'll get hit
again.'
 'Not if you let yourself trust you,' Kenobi
insisted, none too convincingly for Luke.
'This is the only way to be certain you're
relying wholly on the Force.'
 Noticing that the skeptical Corellian had
turned to watch, Kenobi hesitated momentarily.
It did Luke no good to have the self-assured
pilot laugh every time a mistake was made. But
coddling the boy would do him no good either,
and there was no time for it anyway. Throw him
in and hope he floats, Ben instructed himself
firmly.
 Bending over the chrome globe, he touched a
control at its side. Then he tossed it
straight up. It arched toward Luke. Braking in
midfall, the ball plummeted stonelike toward
the deck. Luke swung the saber at it. While it
was a commendable try, it wasn't nearly fast
enough. Once again the little antenna glowed.
This time the crimson needle hit Luke square
on the seat of his pants. Though it wasn't an
incapacitating blow, it felt like one; and
Luke let out a yelp of pain as he spun, trying
to strike his invisible tormentor.
 'Relax!' old Ben urged him. 'Be free. You're
trying to use your eyes and ears. Stop
predicting and use the rest of your mind.'
 Suddenly the youth stopped, wavering
slightly. The seeker was still behind him.
Changing direction again, it made another dive
and fired.
 Simultaneously the lightsaber jerked around,
as accurate as it was awkward in its motion,
to deflect the bolt. This time the ball didn't
fall motionless to the deck. Instead it backed
up three meters and remained there, hovering.
 Aware that the drone of the seeker remote no
longer assaulted his ears, a cautious Luke
peeked out from under the helmet. Sweat and
exhaustion competed for space on his face.
 'Did I-?'
 'I told you you could,' Kenobi informed him
with pleasure. 'Once you start to trust your
inner self there'll be no stopping you. I told
you there was much of your father in you.'
 'I'd call it luck,' snorted Solo as he
concluded his examination of the readouts.
 'In my experience there is no such thing as
luck, my young friend - only highly favorable
adjustments of multiple factors to incline
events in one's favor.'
 'Call it what you like,' the Corellian
sniffed indifferently, 'but good against a
mechanical remote is one thing. Good against a
living menace is another.'
 As he was speaking a small telltale light on
the far side of the hold had begun flashing.
Chewbacca noticed it and called out to him.
 Solo glanced at the board, then informed his
passengers, 'We're coming up on Alderaan.
We'll be slowing down shortly and going back
under lightspeed. Come on, Chewie.'
 Rising from the game table, the Wookiee
followed his partner toward the cockpit. Luke
watched them depart, but his mind wasn't on
their imminent arrival at Alderaan. It was
burning with something else, something that
seemed to grow and mature at the back of his
brain as he dwelt on it.
 'You know,' he murmured, 'I did feel
something. I could almost "see" the outlines
of the remote.' He gestured at the hovering
device behind him.
 Kenobi's voice when he replied was solemn.
'Luke, you've taken the first step into a
larger universe.'
 Dozens of humming, buzzing instruments lent
the freighter's cockpit the air of a busy
hive. Solo and Chewbacca had their attention
locked on the most vital of those instruments.
 'Steady ... stand by, Chewie.' Solo adjusted
several manual compensators. 'Ready to go
sublight ... ready ... cut us in, Chewie.'
 The Wookiee turned something on the console
before him. At the same time Solo pulled back
on a comparatively large lever. Abruptly the
long streaks of Doppler-distorted starlight
slowed to hyphen shapes, then finally to
familiar bolts of fire. A gauge on the console
registered zero.
 Gigantic chunks of glowing stone appeared out
of the nothingness, barely shunted aside by
the ship's deflectors. The strain caused the
Millennium Falcon to begin shuddering
violently.
 'What the-?' a thoroughly startled Solo
muttered. Next to him, Chewbacca offered no
comment of his own as he flipped off several
controls and activated others. Only the fact
that the cautious Solo always emerged from
supralight travel with his deflectors up -
just in case any of many unfriendly folks
might be waiting for him- had saved the
freighter from instant destruction.
 Luke fought to keep his balance as he made
his way into the cockpit. 'What's going on?'
 'We're back in normal space,' Solo informed
him, 'but we've come out in the middle of the
worst asteriod storm I've ever seen. It's not
on any of our charts.' He peered hard at
several indicators. 'According to the galactic
atlas, our position is correct. Only one thing
is missing: Alderaan.'
 'Missing? But - that's crazy!'
 'I won't argue with you,' the Corellian
replied grimly, 'but look for yourself.' He
gestured out the port. 'I've triple-checked
the coordinates, and there's nothing wrong
with the nav 'puter. We ought to be standing
out one planetary diameter from the surface.
The planet's glow should be filling the
cockpit, but - there's nothing out there.
Nothing but debris.' He paused. 'Judging from
the level of wild energy outside and the
amount of solid waste, I'd guess that
Alderaan's been ... blown away. Totally.'
 'Destroyed,' Luke whispered, overwhelmed at
the specter raised by such an unimaginable
disaster. 'But - how?'
 'The Empire,' a voice declared firmly. Ben
Kenobi had come in behind Luke, and his
attention was held by the emptiness ahead as
well as the import behind it.
 'No.' Solo was shaking his head slowly. In
his own way even he was stunned by the
enormity of what the old man was suggesting.
That a human agency had been responsible for
the annihilation of an entire population, of a
planet itself...
 'No ... the entire Imperial fleet couldn't
have done this.' It would take a thousand
ships massing a lot more firepower than has
ever existed.'
 'I wonder if we should get out of here,' Luke
was murmuring, trying to see around the rims
of the port. 'If by some chance it was the
Empire
 'I don't know what's happened here,' an angry
Solo cursed, 'but I'll tell you one thing. The
Empire isn't-'
 Muffled alarms began humming loudly as a
synchronous light flashed on the control
console. Solo bent to the appropriate
instrumentation.
 'Another ship,' he announced. 'Can't judge
the type yet.'
 'A survivor, maybe - someone who might know
what happened,' Luke ventured hopefully.
 Ben Kenobi's next words shattered more than
that hope. 'That's an Imperial fighter.'
 Chewbacca suddenly gave an angry bark. A huge
flower of destruction blossomed outside the
port, battering the freighter violently. A
tiny, double-winged ball raced past the
cockpit port.
 'It followed us!' Luke shouted.
 'From Tatooine? It couldn't have,' objected a
disbelieving Solo. 'Not in hyperspace.'
 Kenobi was studying the configuration the
tracking screen displayed. 'You're quite
right, Han. It's the short-range TIE fighter.'
 'But where did it come from?' the Corellian
wanted to know. 'There are no Imperial bases
near here. It couldn't have been a TIE job.'
 'You saw it pass.'
 'I know. It looked like a TIE fighter - but
what about a base?'
 'It's leaving in a big hurry,' Luke noted,
studying the tracker. 'No matter where it's
going, if it identifies us we're in big
trouble.'
 'Not if I can help it,' Solo declared.
'Chewie, jam its transmission. Lay in a
pursuit course.'
 'It would be best to let it go,' Kenobi
ventured thoughtfully. 'It's already too far
out of range.'
 'Not for long.'
 Several minutes followed, during which the
cockpit was filled with a tense silence. All
eyes were on the tracking screen and viewport.
 At first the Imperial fighter tried a complex
evasive course, to no avail. The surprisingly
maneuverable freighter hung tight on its tail,
continuing to make up the distance between
them. Seeing that he couldn't shake his
pursuers, the fighter pilot had obviously
opened up his tiny engine all the way.
 Ahead, one of the multitude of stars was
becoming steadily brighter. Luke frowned. They
were moving fast, but not nearly fast enough
for any heavenly object to brighten so
rapidly. Something here didn't make sense.
 'Impossible for a fighter that small to be
this deep in space on its own,' Solo observed.
 'It must have gotten lost, been part of a
convoy or something,' Luke hypothesized.
 Solo's comment was gleeful. 'Well, he won't
be around long enough to tell anyone about us.
We'll be on top of him in a minute or two.'
 The star ahead continued to brighten, its
glow evidently coming from within. It assumed
a circular outline.
 'He's heading for that small moon,' Luke
murmured.
 'The Empire must have an outpost there,' Solo
admitted. 'Although, according to the atlas,
Alderaan had no moons.' He shrugged it off.
'Galactic topography was never one of my best
subjects. I'm only interested in worlds and
moons with customers on them. But I think I
can get him before he gets there; he's almost
in range.'
 They drew steadily nearer. Gradually craters
and mountains on the moon became visible. Yet
there was something extremely odd about them.
The craters were far too regular in outline,
the mountains far too vertical, canyons and
valleys impossibly straight and regularized.
Nothing as capricious as volcanic action had
formed those features.
 'That's no moon,' Kenobi breathed softly.
'That's a space station.'
 'But it's too big to be a space station,'
Solo objected. 'The size of it! It can't be
artificial - it can't!'
 'I have a very strange feeling about this,'
was Luke's comment.
 Abruptly the usually calm Kenobi was
shouting. 'Turn the ship around! Let's get out
of here!'
 'Yes, I think you're right, old man. Full
reverse, Chewie.'
 The Wookiee started adjusting controls, and
the freighter seemed to slow, arcing around in
a broad curve. The tiny fighter leaped
instantly toward the monstrous station until
it was swallowed up by its overpowering bulk.
 Chewbacca chattered something at Solo as the
ship shook and strained against unseen forces.
 'Lock in auxiliary power!' Solo ordered.
 Gauges began to whine in protest, and by ones
and twos every instrument on the control
console sequentially went berserk. Try as he
might, Solo couldn't keep the surface of the
gargantuan station from looming steadily
larger, larger - until it became the heavens.
 Luke stared wildly at secondary installations
as big as mountains, dish antennae larger than
all of Mos Eisley. 'Why are we still moving
toward it?'
 'Too late,' Kenobi whispered softly. A glance
at Solo confirmed his concern.
 'We're caught in a tractor beam - strongest
one I ever saw. It's dragging us in,' the
pilot muttered.
 'You mean, there's nothing you can do?' Luke
asked, feeling unbelievably helpless.
 Solo studied the overloaded sensor readouts
and shook his head. 'Not against this kind of
power. I'm on full power myself, kid, and it's
not shifting out of course a fraction of a
degree. It's no use. I'm going to have to shut
down or we'll melt our engines. But they're
not going to suck me up like so much dust
without a fight!'
 He started to vacate the pilot's chair, but
was restrained by an aged yet powerful hand on
his shoulder. An expression of concern was on
the old man's face - and yet, a suggestion of
something somewhat less funereal.
 'If it's a fight you cannot win - well, my
boy, there are always alternatives to fighting
...'
 The true size of the battle station became
apparent as the freighter was pulled closer
and closer. Running around the station's
equator was an artificial cluster of metal
mountains, docking ports stretching beckoning
fingers nearly two kilometers above the
surface.
 Now only a minuscule speck against the gray
bulk of the station, the Millennium Falcon was
sucked toward one of those steel pseudopods
and finally swallowed by it. A lake of metal
closed off the entryway, and the freighter
vanished as if it had never existed.
 
 Vader stared at the motley array of stars
displayed on the conference-room map while
Tarkin and Admiral Motti conferred nearby.
Interestingly, the first use of the most
powerful destructive machine ever constructed
had seemingly had no influence at all on that
map, which in itself represented only a tiny
fraction of this section of one modest-sized
galaxy.
 It would take a microbreakdown of a portion
of this map to reveal a slight reduction in
spatial mass, caused by the disappearance of
Alderaan. Alderaan, with its many cities,
farms, factories, and towns - and traitors,
Vader reminded himself.
 Despite his advances and intricate
technological methods of annihilation, the
actions of mankind remained unnoticeable to an
uncaring, unimaginably vast universe. If
Vader's grandest plans ever came to pass, all
that would change.
 He was well aware that despite all their
intelligence and drive, the vastness and
wonder were lost on the two men who continued
to chatter monkeylike behind him. Tarkin and
Motti were talented and ambitious, but they
saw things only on the scale of human
pettiness. It was a pity, Vader thought, that
they did not possess the scope to match their
abilities.
 Still, neither man was a Dark Lord. As such,
little more could be expected of them. These
two were useful now. and dangerous, but
someday they, like Alderaan, would have to be
swept aside. For now he could not afford to
ignore them. And while he would have preferred
the company of equals, he had to admit
reluctantly that at this point, he had no
equals.
 Nonetheless, he turned to them and insinuated
himself into their conversation. 'The defense
systems on Alderaan, despite the Senator's
protestations to the contrary, were as strong
as any in the Empire. I should conclude that
our demonstration was as impressive as it was
thorough.'
 Tarkin turned to him, nodding. The Senate is
being informed of our action at this very
moment. Soon we will be able to announce the
extermination of the Alliance itself, as soon
as we have dealt with their main military
base. Now that their main source of munitions,
Alderaan, has been eliminated, the rest of
those systems with secessionist inclinations
will fall in line quickly enough, you'll see.'
 Tarkin turned as an Imperial officer entered
the chamber. 'Yes, what is it, Cass?'
 The unlucky officer wore the expression of
the mouse chosen to bell the cat. 'Governor,
the advance scouts have reached and
circumnavigated Dantooine. They have found the
remains of a rebel base ... which they
estimate has been deserted for some time.
Years, possibly. They are proceeding with an
extensive survey of the remainder of the
system.'
 Tarkin turned apoplectic, his face darkening
to a fine pomegranate fury. 'She lied! She
lied to us!'
 No one could see, but it seemed that Vader
must have smiled behind his mask. 'Then we are
even in the first exchange of "truths." I told
you she would never betray the rebellion -
unless she thought her confession could
somehow destroy us in the process.'
 'Terminate her immediately!' The Governor was
barely able to form words.
 'Calm yourself, Tarkin,' Vader advised him.
'You would throw away our only link to the
real rebel base so casually? She can still be
of value to us.'
 'Fagh! You just said it yourself, Vader:
we'll get nothing more out of her. I'll find
that hidden fortress if I have to destroy
every star system in this sector. I'll-
 A quiet yet demanding beep interrupted him.
 'Yes, what is it?' he inquired irritably.
 A voice reported over an unseen speaker.
'Sirs, we've captured a small freighter that
was entering the remains of Alderaan. A
standard check indicates that its markings
apparently match that of the ship which
blasted its way out of the quarantine at Mos
Eisley, Tatooine system, and went hyper before
the Imperial blockade craft there could close
on it.'
 Tarkin looked puzzled. 'Mos Eisley? Tatooine?
What is this? What's this all about, Vader?'
 'It means, Tarkin, that the last of our
unresolved difficulties is about to be
eliminated. Someone apparently received the
missing data tapes, learned who transcribed
them, and was trying to return them to her. We
may be able to facilitate their meeting with
the Senator.'
 Tarkin started to say something, hesitated,
then nodded in understanding. 'How convenient.
I leave this matter in your hands, Vader.'
 The Dark Lord bowed slightly, a gesture which
Tarkin acknowledged with a perfunctory salute.
Then he spun and strode from the room, leaving
Motti looking from man to man in confusion.
 
 The freighter sat listlessly in the docking
hangar of the huge bay. Thirty armed Imperial
troopers stood before the lowered main ramp
leading into the ship. They snapped to
attention when Vader and a Commander
approached. Vader halted at the base of the
ramp, studying the vessel as an officer and
several soldiers came forward.
 'There was no reply to our repeated signals,
sir, so we activated the ramp from outside.
We've made no contact with anyone aboard
either by communicator or in person,' the
officer reported.
 'Send your men in,' Vader ordered.
 Turning, the officer relayed the command to a
noncom, who barked orders. A number of the
heavily armored soldiers made their way up the
ramp and entered the outer hold. They advanced
with appreciable caution.
 Inside, two men covered a third as he
advanced. Moving in groups of three in this
fashion, they rapidly spread through the ship.
Corridors rang hollowly under metal-shod feet,
and doors slid aside willingly as they were
activated.
 'Empty,' the Sergeant in charge finally
declared in surprise. 'Check the cockpit.'
 Several troopers made their way forward and
slid the portal aside, only to discover the
pilot's chairs as vacant as the rest of the
freighter. The controls were deactivated and
all systems shut down. Only a single light on
the console winked on and off fitfully. The
Sergeant moved forward, recognized the source
of the light, and activated the appropriate
controls. A printout appeared on a nearby
screen. He studied it intently, then turned to
convey the information to his superior, who
was waiting by the main hatch.
 That worthy listened carefully before he
turned and called down to the Commander and
Vader. 'There is no one aboard; the ship is
completely deserted, sirs. According to the
ship's log, her crew abandoned ship
immediately after lift-off, then set her on
automatics for Alderaan.'
 'Possibly a decoy,' the Commander ventured
aloud. 'Then they should still be on
Tatooine!'
 'Possibly,' Vader admitted reluctantly.
 'Several of the escape pods have been
jettisoned,' the officer went on.
 'Did you find any droids on board?' Vader
called.
 'No, sir - nothing. If there were any, they
must have abandoned the ship along with the
organic crew.'
 Vader hesitated before replying. When he did
so, uncertainty was evident in his voice.
'This doesn't feel right. Send a fully
equipped scanning team on board. I want every
centimeter of that ship checked out. See to it
as soon as possible.' With that, he whirled
and stalked from the hangar, pursued by the
infuriating feeling that he was overlooking
something of vital importance.
 The rest of the assembled soldiers were
dismissed by the officer. On board the
freighter, a last lone figure left off
examining the space beneath the cockpit
consoles and ran to join his comrades. He was
anxious to be off this ghost ship and back in
the comfortable surroundings of the barracks.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the once
more empty freighter.
 Below, the muffled sounds of the officer
giving final orders faded, leaving the
interior in complete quiet. The quivering of a
portion of the floor was the only movement on
board.
 Abruptly the quivering became a sharp
upheaval. Two metal panels popped upward,
followed by a pair of tousled heads. Han Solo
and Luke looked around quickly, then managed
to relax a little when it became clear that
the ship was as empty as it sounded.
 'Lucky you'd built these compartments,' Luke
commented.
 Solo was not as cheerily confident. 'Where
did you think I kept smuggled goods - in the
main hold? I admit I never expected to smuggle
myself in them.' He started violently at a
sudden sound, but it was only another of the
panels shifting aside.
 'This is ridiculous. It isn't going to work.
Even if I could take off and get past the
closed hatch' - he jabbed a thumb upward -
'we'd never get past that tractor beam.'
 Another panel opened, revealing the face of
an elderly imp. 'You leave that to me.'
 'I was afraid you'd say something like that,'
muttered Solo. 'You're a damn fool, old man.'
 Kenobi grinned at him. 'What does that say of
the man who allows himself to be hired by a
fool?'
 Solo muttered something under his breath as
they pulled themselves clear of the
compartments, Chewbacca doing so with a good
deal of grunting and twisting.
 Two technicians had arrived at the base of
the ramp. They reported to the two bored
soldiers guarding it.
 'The ship's all yours,' one of the troopers
told them. 'If the scanners pick up anything,
report it immediately.'
 The men nodded, then strained to lug their
heavy equipment up the ramp. As soon as they
disappeared inside, a loud crash was heard.
Both guards whirled, then heard a voice call,
'Hey, down there, could you give us a hand
with this?'
 One trooper looked at his companion, who
shrugged. They both started up the ramp,
muttering at the inefficiency of mere techni
cians. A second crashing sound reverberated,
but now there was no one left to hear it.
 But the absence of the two troopers was
noticed, soon thereafter. A gantry officer
passing the window of a small command office
near the freighter entrance glanced out,
frowning when he saw no sign of the guards.
Concerned but not alarmed, he moved to a
comlink and spoke into it as he continued to
stare at the ship.
 'THX-1138, why aren't you at your post? THX-
1138, do you copy?'
 The speaker gave back only static.
 'THX-1138, why don't you reply?' The officer
was beginning to panic when an armored figure
descended the ramp and waved toward him.
Pointing to the portion of his helmet covering
his right ear, the figured tapped it to
indicate the comlink inside wasn't working.
 Shaking his head in disgust, the gantry
officer gave his busy aide an annoyed look as
he made for the door. 'Take over here. We've
got another bad transmitter. I'm going to see
what I can do.' He activated the door, took a
step forward as it slid aside - and stumbled
backward in a state of shock.
 Filling the door completely was a towering
hairy form. Chewbacca leaned inward and with a
bone splintering howl flattened the benumbed
officer with one swipe of a pan-sized fist.
 The aide was already on his feet and reaching
for his sidearm when a narrow energy beam
passed completely through him, piercing his
heart. Solo flipped up the faceplate of his
trooper helmet, then slid it back into place
as he followed the Wookiee into the room.
Kenobi and the droids squeezed in behind him,
with Luke, also clad in the armor of a
luckless Imperial soldier, bringing up the
rear.
 Luke was looking around nervously as he shut
the door behind them. 'Between his howling and
your blasting everything in sight, it's a
wonder the entire station doesn't know we're
here.'
 'Bring 'em on,' Solo demanded, unreasonably
enthused by their success so far. 'I prefer a
straight fight to all this sneaking around.'
 'Maybe you're in a hurry to die,' Luke
snapped, 'but I'm not. All this sneaking
around has kept us alive.'
 The Corellian gave Luke a sour eye but said
nothing.
 They watched as Kenobi operated an incredibly
complex computer console with the ease and
confidence of one long accustomed to handling
intricate machinery. A screen lit up promptly
with a map of sections of the battle station.
The old man leaned forward, scrutinizing the
display carefully.
 Meanwhile, Threepio and Artoo had been going
over an equally complicated control panel
nearby. Artoo suddenly froze and began
whistling wildly at something he had found.
Solo and Luke, their momentary disagreement
over tactics forgotten, rushed over to where
the robots were standing. Chewbacca busied
himself hanging the gantry officer up by his
toes.
 'Plug him in,' Kenobi suggested, looking over
from his place before the larger readout. 'He
should be able to draw information from the
entire station network. Let's see if he can
find out where the tractor-beam power unit is
located.'
 'Why not just disconnect the beam from here,
sir?' Luke wanted to know.
 It was Solo who replied derisively, 'What,
and have them lock it right back on us before
we can get a ship's length outside the docking
bay?'
 Luke looked crestfallen. 'Oh. I hadn't
thought of that.'
 'We have to break the tractor at its power
source in order to execute a clean escape,
Luke,' old Ben chided gently as Artoo punched
a claw arm into the open computer socket he
had discovered. Immediately a galaxy of lights
came to life on the panel in front of him and
the room was filled with the hum of machinery
working at high speed.
 Several minutes passed while the little droid
sucked up information like a metal sponge.
Then the hum slowed and he turned to beep
something back at them.
 'He's found it, sir!' Threepio announced
excitedly.
 'The tractor beam is coupled to the main
reactors at seven locations. Most of the
pertinent data is restricted, but he'll try to
pull the critical information through to the
monitor.'
 Kenobi turned his attention from the larger
screen to a small readout near Artoo. Data
began to race across it too fast for Luke to
see, but apparently Kenobi somehow made
something of the schematic blur. 'I don't
think there's any way you boys can help with
this,' he told them. 'I must go alone.'
 'That suits me fine,' said Solo readily.
'I've already done more than I bargained for
on this trip. But I think putting that tractor
beam out of commission's going to take more
than your magic, old man.'
 Luke wasn't put off so easily. 'I want to go
with you.'
 'Don't be impatient, young Luke. This
requires skills you haven't yet mastered. Stay
and watch over the droids and wait for my
signal. They must be delivered to the rebel
forces or many more worlds will meet the same
fate as Alderaan. Trust in the force, Luke -
and wait.'
 With a last look at the flow of information
on the monitor, Kenobi adjusted the lightsaber
at his waist. Stepping to the door, he slid it
aside, looked once left, once right, and
disappeared down a long, glowing hallway.
 As soon as he was gone Chewbacca growled and
Solo nodded agreement. 'You said it, Chewie!'
He turned to Luke. 'Where'd you dig up that
old fossil?'
 'Ben Kenobi - General Kenobi - is a great
man,' Luke protested loftily.
 'Great at getting us into trouble,' Solo
snorted. 'General, my afterburners! He's not
going to get us out of here.'
 'You got any better ideas?' Luke shot back
challengingly.
 'Anything would be better than just waiting
here for them to come and pick us up. If we-
 A hysterical whistling and hooting came from
the computer console. Luke hurried over to
Artoo Detoo. The little droid was all but
hopping about on stubby legs.
 'What now?' Luke asked Threepio.
 The taller robot looked puzzled himself. 'I'm
afraid I don't understand either, sir. He
says, "I found her," and keeps repeating,
"She's here, she's here!'"
 'Who? Who has he found?'
 Artoo turned a flat blinking face toward Luke
and whistled frantically.
 'Princess Leia,' Threepio announced after
listening carefully. 'Senator Organa - they
seem to be one and the same. I believe she may
be the person in the message he was carrying.'
 That three-dimensional portrait of
indescribable beauty coalesced in Luke's mind
again. 'The Princess? She's here?'
 Attracted by the commotion, Solo wandered
over. 'Princess? What's going on?'
 'Where? Where is she?' Luke demanded
breathlessly, ignoring Solo completely.
 Artoo whistled on while Threepio translated.
'Level five, detention block AA-23. According
to the information, she is scheduled for slow
termination.'
 'No! We've got to do something.'
 'What are you three blabbering about?' an
exasperated Solo demanded.
 'She's the one who programmed the message
into Artoo Detoo,' Luke explained hurriedly,
'the one we were trying to deliver to
Alderaan. We've got to help her.'
 'Now, just a minute,' Solo cautioned him.
'This is going awful fast for me. Don't get
any funny ideas. When I said I didn't have any
"better ideas" I meant it. The old man said to
wait here. I don't like it, but I'm not going
off on some crazy maze through this place.'
 'But Ben didn't know she was here,' Luke half
pleaded, half argued. 'I'm sure that if he
knew he would have changed his plans.'
 Anxiety turned to thougtfulness. 'Now, if we
could just figure a way to get into that
detention block
 Solo shook his head and stepped back. 'Huh-uh
- I'm not going into any Imperial detention
blocks.'
 'If we don't do something, they're going to
execute her. A minute ago you said you didn't
just want to sit here and wait to be captured.
Now all you want to do is stay. Which is it,
Han?'
 The Corellian looked troubled - and confused.
'Marching into a detention area's not what I
had in mind. We're likely to end up there
anyway - why rush it?'
 'But they're going to execute her!'
 'Better her than me.'
 'Where's your sense of chivalry, Han?'
 Solo considered. 'Near as I can recall, I
traded it for a ten-carat chrysopaz and three
bottles of good brandy about five years ago on
Commenor.'
 'I've seen her,' Luke persisted desperately.
'She's beautiful.'
 'So's life.'
 'She's a rich and powerful Senator,' Luke
pressed, hoping an appeal to Solo's baser
instincts might be more effective. 'If we
could save her, the reward could be
substantial.'
 'Uh ... rich?' Then Solo looked disdainful.
'Wait a minute ... Reward, from whom? From the
government on Alderaan?' He made a sweeping
gesture toward the hangar and by implication
the space where Alderaan had once orbited.
 Luke thought furiously. 'If she's being held
here and is scheduled to be executed, that
means she must be dangerous in some way to
whoever destroyed Alderaan, to whoever had
this station built. You can bet it had
something to do with the Empire instituting a
reign of full repression.
 'I'll tell you who'll pay for her rescue, and
for the information she holds. The Senate, the
rebel Alliance, and every concern that did
business with Alderaan. She could be the sole
surviving heir of the off-world wealth of the
entire system! The reward could be more wealth
than you can imagine.'
 'I don't know ... I can imagine quite a bit.'
He glanced at Chewbacca, who grunted a terse
reply. Solo shrugged back at the big Wookiee.
'All right, we'll give it a try. But you'd
better be right about that reward. What's your
plan, kid?'
 Luke was momentarily taken aback. All his
energies up till now had been concentrated on
persuading Solo and Chewbacca to aid in a
rescue attempt. That accomplished, Luke became
aware he had no idea how to proceed. He had
grown used to old Ben and Solo giving
directions. Now the next move was up to him.
 His eyes were caught by several metal
circlets dangling from the belt of Solo's
armor. 'Give me those binders and tell
Chewbacca to come over here.'
 Solo handed Luke the thin but quite
unbreakable cuffs and relayed the request to
Chewbacca. The Wookiee lumbered over and stood
waiting next to Luke.
 'Now, I'm going to put these on you,' Luke
began, starting to move behind the Wookiee
with the cuffs, 'and-
 Chewbacca made a sound low in his throat, and
Luke jumped in spite of himself. 'Now,' he
began again, 'Han is going to put these on you
and ..." He sheepishly handed the binders to
Solo, uncomfortably aware of the enormous
anthropoid's glowing eyes on him.
 Solo sounded amused as he moved forward.
'Don't worry, Chewie. I think I know what he
has in mind.'
 The cuffs barely fit around the thick wrists.
Despite his partner's seeming confidence in
the plan, the Wookiee wore a worried,
frightened look as the restraints were
activated.
 'Luke, sir.' Luke looked over at Threepio.
'Pardon me for asking, but, ah - what should
Artoo and I do if someone discovers us here in
your absence?'
 'Hope they don't have blasters,' Solo
replied.
 Threepio's tone indicated he didn't find the
answer humorous. 'That isn't very reassuring.'
 Solo and Luke were too engrossed in their
coming expedition to pay much attention to the
worried robot. They adjusted their helmets.
Then, with Chewbacca wearing a half-real
downcast expression, they started off along
the corridor where Ben Kenobi had disappeared.
                       
                       
                       
                  =    IX   =
                       
                       
                       
 AS they traveled farther and deeper into the
bowels of the gigantic station, they found it
increasingly difficult to maintain an air of
casual indifference. Fortunately, those who
might have sensed some nervousness on the part
of the two armored troopers would regard it as
only natural, considering their huge,
dangerous Wookiee captive. Chewbacca also made
it impossible for the two young men to be as
inconspicuous as they would have liked.
 The farther they traveled, the heavier the
traffic became. Other soldiers, bureaucrats,
technicians, and mechanicals bustled around
them. Intent on their own assignments, they
ignored the trio completely, only a few of the
humans sparing the Wookiee a curious glance.
Chewbacca's morose expression and the seeming
confidence of his captors reassured the
inquisitive.
 Eventually they reached a wide bank of
elevators. Luke breathed a sigh of relief. The
computer-controlled transport ought to be
capable of taking them just about anywhere on
the station in response to a verbal command.
 There was a nervous second when a minor
official raced to get aboard. Solo gestured
sharply, and the other, without voicing a
protest, shifted to the next elevator tube in
line.
 Luke studied the operating panel, then tried
to sound at once knowledgeable and important
as he spoke into the pickup grid.
 Instead, he sounded nervous and scared, but
the elevator was a pure-response mechanism,
not programmed to differentiate the
appropriateness of emotions conveyed vocally.
So the door slid shut and they were on their
way. After what felt like hours but was in
reality only minutes, the door opened and they
stepped out into the security area.
 It had been Luke's hope they would discover
something like the old-fashioned barred cells
of the kind used on Tatooine in towns like Mos
Eisley. Instead, they saw only narrow ramps
bordering a bottomless ventilation shaft.
These walkways, several levels of them, ran
parallel to smooth curving walls which held
faceless detention cells. Alert-looking guards
and energy gates seemed to be everywhere they
looked.
 Uncomfortably aware that the longer they
stood frozen in place, the sooner someone was
bound to come over and ask unanswerable
questions, Luke searched frantically for a
course of action.
 'This isn't going to work,' Solo whispered,
leaning toward him.
 'Why didn't you say so before?' a frustrated,
frightened Luke shot back.
 'I think I did. I-'
 'Shssh!'
 Solo shut up as Luke's worst fears were
realized. A tall, grim-looking officer
approached them. He frowned as he examined the
silent Chewbacca.
 'Where are you two going with this - thing?'
 Chewbacca snarled at the remark, and Solo
quieted him with a hasty jab in the ribs. A
panicky Luke found himself replying almost
instinctively. 'Prisoner transfer from block
TS-138.'
 The officer looked puzzled. 'I wasn't
notified. I'll have to clear it.'
 Turning, the man walked to a small console
nearby and began entering his request. Luke
and Han hurriedly surveyed the situation,
their gaze traveling from alarms, energy
gates, and remote photosensors to the three
other guards stationed in the area.
 Solo nodded to Luke as he unfastened
Chewbacca's cuffs. Then he whispered something
to the Wookiee. An ear-splitting howl shook
the corridor as Chewbacca threw up both hands,
grabbing Solo's rifle from him.
 'Look out!' a seemingly terrified Solo
shouted. 'It's loose. It'll rip us all apart!'
 Both he and Luke had darted clear of the
rampaging Wookiee, pulled out their pistols,
and were blasting away at him. Their reaction
was excellent, their enthusiasm undeniable,
and their aim execrable. Not a single shot
came close to the dodging Wookiee. Instead,
they blasted automatic cameras, energy-rate
controls, and the three dumbfounded guards.
 At this point it occurred to the officer in
charge that the abominable aim of the two
soldiers was a bit too selectively efficient.
He was preparing to jab the general alarm when
a burst from Luke's pistol caught him in the
midsection and he fell without a word to the
gray deck.
 Solo rushed to the open comlink speaker,
which was screeching anxious questions about
what was going on. Apparently there were audio
as well as visual links between this detention
station and elsewhere.
 Ignoring the barrage of alternate threats and
queries, he checked the readout set in the
panel nearby. 'We've got to find out which
cell this Princess of yours is in. There must
be a dozen levels and- Here it is. Cell 2187.
Go on - Chewie and I'll hold them here.'
 Luke nodded once and was racing down the
narrow walkway.
 After gesturing for the Wookiee to take up a
position where he could cover the elevators,
Solo took a deep breath and responded to the
unceasing calls from the comlink.
 'Everything's under control,' he said into
the pickup, sounding reasonably official.
'Situation normal.'
 'It didn't sound like that,' a voice snapped
back in a no-nonsense tone. 'What happened?'
 'Uh, well, one of the guards experienced a
weapon malfunction,' Solo stammered, his
temporary officialese lapsing into
nervousness. 'No problem now - we're all fine,
thanks. How about you?'
 'We're sending a squad up,' the voice
announced suddenly.
 Han could almost smell the suspicion at the
other end. What to say? He spoke more
eloquently with the business end of a pistol.
 'Negative - negative. We have an energy leak.
Give us a few minutes to lock it down. Large
leak - very dangerous.'
 'Weapon malfunction, energy leak ... Who is
this? What's your operating- ?'
 Pointing his pistol at the panels, Solo blew
the instrumentation to silent scraps. 'It was
a dumb conversation anyway,' he murmured.
Turning, he shouted down the corridor, 'Hurry
it up, Luke! We're going to have company.'
 Luke heard, but he was absorbed in running
from one cell to the next and studying the
numbers glowing above each doorway. The cell
2187, it appeared, did not exist. But it did,
and he found it just as he was about to give
up and try the next level down.
 For a long moment he examined the featureless
convex metal wall. Turning his pistol to
maximum and hoping it wouldn't melt in his
hand before it broke through, he opened fire
on the door. When the weapon became too hot to
hold, he tossed it from hand to hand. As he
did so the smoke had time to clear, and he saw
with some surprise that the door had been
blown away.
 Peering through the smoke with an
uncomprehending look on her face was the young
woman whose portrait Artoo Detoo had projected
in a garage on Tatooine several centuries ago,
or so it seemed.
 She was even more beautiful than her image,
Luke decided, staring dazedly at her. 'You're
even - more beautiful - than I-
 Her look of confusion and uncertainty was
replaced by first puzzlement and then
impatience. 'Aren't you a little short for a
storm trooper?' she finally commented.
 'What? Oh - the uniform.' He removed the
helmet, regaining a little composure at the
same time. 'I've come to rescue you. I'm Luke
Skywalker.'
 'I beg your pardon?' she said politely.
 'I said, I've come to rescue you. Ben Kenobi
is with me. We've got your two droids-
 The uncertainty was instantly replaced by
hope at the mention of the oldster's name.
'Ben Kenobi!' She looked around Luke, ignoring
him as she searched for the Jedi. 'Where is
he? Obi-Wan!'
 
 Governor Tarkin watched as Darth Vader paced
rapidly back and forth in the otherwise empty
conference room. Finally the Dark Lord paused,
glancing around as though a great bell only he
could hear had rung somewhere close by.
 'He is here,' Vader stated unemotionally.
 Tarkin looked startled. 'Obi-Wan Kenobi!
That's impossible. What makes you think so?'
 'A stirring in the Force, of a kind I've felt
only in the presence of my old master. It is
unmistakable.'
 'Surely - surely he must be dead by now.'
 Vader hesitated, his assurance suddenly gone.
'Perhaps ... It is gone now. It was only a
brief sensation.'
 'The Jedi are extinct,' declared Tarkin
positively. 'Their fire was quenched decades
ago. You, my friend, are all that's left of
their ways.'
 A comlink buzzed softly for attention. 'Yes?'
Tarkin acknowledged.
 'We have an emergency alert in detention
block AA-23.'
 'The Princess!' Tarkin yelped, jumping to his
feet. Vader whirled, trying to stare through
the walls.
 'I knew it - Obi-Wan is here. I knew I could
not mistake a stirring in the force of such
power.'
 'Put all sections on alert,' Tarkin ordered
through the comlink. Then he turned to stare
at Vader. 'If you're right, he must not be
allowed to escape.'
 'Escape may not be Obi-Wan Kenobi's
intention,' Vader replied, struggling to
control his emotions. 'He is the last of the
Jedi - and the greatest. The danger he
presents to us must not be underestimated -
yet only I can deal with him.' His head
snapped around to stare fixedly at Tarkin.
'Alone.'
 
 Luke and Leia had started back up the
corridor when a series of blinding explosions
ripped the walkway ahead of them. Several
troopers had tried coming through the
elevator, only to be crisped one after another
by Chewbacca. Disdaining the elevators, they
had blasted a gaping hole through a wall. The
opening was too large for Solo and the Wookie
to cover completely. In twos and threes, the
Imperials were working their way into the
detention block.
 Retreating down the walkway, Han and
Chewbacca encountered Luke and the Princess.
'We can't go back that way!' Solo told them,
his face flushed with excitement and worry.
 'No, it looks like you've managed to cut off
our only escape route,' Leia agreed readily.
'This is a detention area, you know. They
don't build them with multiple exits.'
 Breathing heavily, Solo turned to look her up
and down. 'Begging your forgiveness, Your
Highness,' he said sarcastically, 'but maybe
you'd prefer it back in your cell?' She looked
away, her face impassive.
 'There's  got  to be another way  out,'  Luke
muttered,  pulling  a small  transmitter  unit
from  his  belt  and carefully  adjusting  the
frequency: 'See Threepio... See Threepio!'
  A familiar voice responded with gratifying
 speed. 'Yes, sir?'
 'We've  been  cut  off here.  Are  there  any
other  ways  out  of  the  detention  area   -
anything at all?'
 Static crackled over the tiny grid as Solo
and Chewbacca kept the Imperial troops bottled
up at the other end of the walkway.
 'What was that...? I didn't copy.'
 Back in the gantry office Artoo Detoo beeped
and whistled frantically as Threepio adjusted
controls, fighting to clear the awkward
transmission. 'I said, all systems have been
alerted to your presence, sir. The main entry
seems to be the only way in or out of the cell
block.' He pressed instruments, and the view
on the nearby readouts changed steadily. 'All
ether information on your section is
restricted.'
 Someone began banging on the locked door to
the office - evenly at first and then, when no
response was forthcoming from within, more
insistently.
 'Oh, no!' Threepio groaned.
 The smoke in the cell corridor was now so
intense that it was difficult for Solo and
Chewbacca to pick their targets. That was
fortunate inasmuch as they were now badly
outnumbered and the smoke confused the
Imperials' fire with equal thoroughness.
 Every so often one of the soldiers would
attempt to move closer, only to stand exposed
as he penetrated the smoke. Under the accurate
fire of the two smugglers, he would rapidly
join the accumulating mass of motionless
figures on the rampway flooring.
 Energy bolts continued to ricochet wildly
through the block as Luke moved close to Solo.
 'There isn't any other way out,' he yelled
over the deafening roar of concentrated fire.
 'Well, they're closing in on us. What do we
do now?'
 'This is some rescue,' an irritated voice
complained from behind them. Both men turned
to see a thoroughly disgusted Princess eyeing
them with regal disapproval. 'When you came in
here, didn't you have a plan for getting out?'
 Solo nodded toward Luke. 'He's the brains,
sweetheart.'
 Luke managed an embarrassed grin and shrugged
helplessly. He turned to help return fire, but
before he could do so, the Princess had
snatched the pistol from his hand.
 'Hey!'
 Luke stared as she moved along the wall,
finally locating a small grate nearby. She
pointed the pistol at it and fired.
 Solo gazed at her in disbelief. 'What do you
think you're doing?'
 'It looks like it's up to me to save our
skins. Get into that garbage chute, flyboy!'
 While the others looked on in amazement, she
jumped feet first into the opening and
disappeared. Chewbacca rumbled threateningly,
but Solo slowly shook his head.
 'No, Chewie, I don't want you to rip her
apart. I'm not sure about her yet. Either I'm
beginning to like her, or I'm going to kill
her myself.' The Wookiee snorted something
else, and Solo yelled back at him, 'Go on in,
you furry oaf! I don't care what you smell.
This is no time to go dainty on me.'
 Shoving the reluctant Wookiee toward the tiny
opening, Solo helped jam the massive bulk
through. As soon as he disappeared, the
Corellian followed him in. Luke fired off a
last series of blasts, more in the hope of
creating a covering smoke than hitting
anything, slid into the chute, and was gone.
 Not wanting to incur further losses in such a
confined space, the pursuing soldiers had
momentarily halted to await the arrival of
reinforcements and heavier weapons. Besides,
they had their quarry trapped, and despite
their dedication, none of them were anxious to
die needlessly.
 The chamber Luke tumbled into was dimly lit.
Not that the light was needed to discern its
contents. He smelled the decay long before he
was dumped into it. Unadorned except for the
concealed illuminants, the garbage room was at
least a quarter full of slimy muck, much of
which had already achieved a state of
decomposition sufficient to wrinkle Luke's
nose.
 Solo was stumbling around the edge of the
room, slipping and sinking up to his knees in
the uncertain footing in an attempt to locate
an exit. All he found was a small, thick
hatchway which he grunted and heaved to pry
open. The hatchcover refused to budge.
 'The garbage chute was a wonderful idea,' he
told the Princess sardonically, wiping the
sweat from his forehead. 'What an incredible
smell you've discovered. Unfortunately, we
can't ride out of here on a drifting odor, and
there doesn't seem to be any other exit.
Unless I can get this hatch open.'
 Stepping back, he pulled his pistol and fired
at the cover. The bolt promptly went howling
around the room as everyone sought cover in
the garbage. A last glance and the bolt
detonated almost on top of them.
 Looking less dignified by the moment, Leia
was the first to emerge from the pungent
cover. 'Put that thing away,' she told Solo
grimly, 'or you're going to get us all
killed.'
 'Yes, Your Worship,' Solo muttered in snide
supplication. He made no move to reholster his
weapon as he glanced back up toward the open
chute above. 'It won't take long for them to
figure out what happened to us. We had things
well under control - until you led us down
here.'
 'Sure you did,' she shot back, brushing
refuse from her hair and shoulders. 'Oh, well,
it could be worse-'
 As if in reply, a piercing, horrible moaning
filled the room. It seemed to come from
somewhere beneath them. Chewbacca let out a
terrified yowl of his own and tried to flatten
himself against a wall. Luke drew his own
pistol and peered hard at various clumps of
debris, but saw nothing.
 'What was that?' Solo asked.
 'I'm not too sure.' Luke suddenly jumped,
looking down and behind him. 'Something just
moved past me, I think. Watch out-
 With shocking suddenness Luke disappeared
straight down into the garbage.
 'It's got Luke!' the Princess shouted. 'It
took him under!' Solo looked around
frantically for something to shoot at.
 As abruptly as he had vanished, Luke
reappeared - and so did part of something
else. A thick whitish tentacle was wrapped
tight around his throat.
 'Shoot it, kill it!' Luke screamed.
 'Shoot it! I can't even see it,' Solo
protested.
 Once again Luke was sucked under by whatever
that gruesome appendage was attached to. Solo
stared helplessly around the multicolored
surface.
 There was a distant rumble of heavy
machinery, and two opposing walls of the
chamber moved inward several centimeters. The
rumble ceased and then it was quiet again.
Luke appeared unexpectedly close to Solo,
scrabbling his way clear of the suffocating
mess and rubbing at the welt on his neck.
 'What happened to it?' Leia wondered, eyeing
the quiescent garbage warily.
 Luke looked genuinely puzzled. 'I don't know.
It had me - and then I was free. It just let
me go and disappeared. Maybe I didn't smell
bad enough for it.'
 'I've got a very bad feeling about this,'
Solo murmured.
 Again the distant rumble filled the room;
again the walls began their inward march. Only
this time neither sound nor movement showed
any sign of stopping.
 'Don't just stand there gaping at each
other!' the Princess urged them. Try to brace
them with something.'
 Even with the thick poles and old metal beams
Chewbacca could handle, they were unable to
find anything capable of slowing the walls'
advance. It seemed as if the stronger the
object was that they placed against the walls,
the easier it was snapped.
 Luke pulled out his comlink, simultaneously
trying to talk and will the walls to retreat.
Threepio ... come in, Threepio!' A decent
pause produced no response, causing Luke to
look worriedly at his companions.
 'I don't know why he doesn't answer.' He
tried again. 'See Threepio, come in. Do you
read?'
 
 'See Threepio,' the muted voice continued to
call, 'come in, See Threepio.' It was Luke's
voice and it issued softly in between buzzings
from the small hand comlink resting on the
deserted computer console. Save for the
intermittent pleading, the gantry office was
silent.
 A tremendous explosion drowned out the
muffled pleadings. It blew the office door
clean across the room, sending metal fragments
flying in all directions. Several of them
struck the comlink, sending it flying to the
floor and cutting off Luke's voice in mid-
transmission.
 In the wake of the minor cataclysm four armed
and ready troopers entered through the blown
portal. Initial study indicated the office was
deserted - until a dim, frightened voice was
heard coming from one of the tall supply
cabinets near the back of the room.
 'Help, help! Let us out!'
 Several of the troopers bent to inspect the
immobile bodies of the gantry officer and his
aide while others opened the noisy cabinet.
Two robots, one tall and humanoid, the other
purely mechanical and three-legged, stepped
out into the office. The taller one gave the
impression of being half unbalanced with fear.
 They're madmen, I tell you, madmen!' He
gestured urgently toward the doorway. 'I think
they said something about heading for the
prison level. They just left. If you hurry,
you might catch them. That way, that way!'
 Two of the troopers inside joined those
waiting in the hallway in hustling off down
the corridor. That left two guards to watch
over the office. They totally ignored the
robots as they discussed what might have taken
place.
 'All the excitement has overloaded the
circuitry in my companion here,' Threepio
explained carefully. 'If you don't mind, I'd
like to take him down to Maintenance.'
 'Hmmm?' One of the guards looked up
indifferently and nodded to the robot.
Threepio and Artoo hurried out the door
without looking back. As they departed it
occurred to the guard that the taller of the
two droids was of a type he had never seen
before. He shrugged. That was not surprising
on a station of this size.
 That was too close,' Threepio muttered as
they scurried down an empty corridor. 'Now
we'll have to find another information-control
console and plug you back in, or everything is
lost.'
 
 The garbage chamber grew remorselessly
smaller, the smoothly fitting metal walls
moving toward one another with stolid
precision. Larger pieces of refuse performed a
concerto of snapping and popping that was
rising toward a final shuddering crescendo.
 Chewbacca whined pitifully as he fought with
all his incredible strength and weight to hold
back one of the walls, looking like a hirsute
Tantalus approaching his final summit.
 'One thing's for sure,' Solo noted unhappily.
'We're all going to be much thinner. This
could prove popular for slimming. The only
trouble is its permanence.'
 Luke paused for breath, shaking the innocent
comlink angrily. 'What could have happened to
Threepio?'
 Try the hatch again,' advised Leia. 'It's our
only hope.'
 Solo shielded his eyes and did so. The
ineffectual blast echoed mockingly through the
narrowing chamber.
 
 The service bay was unoccupied, everyone
apparently having been drawn away by the
commotion elsewhere. After a cautious survey
of the room Threepio beckoned for Artoo to
follow. Together they commenced a hurried
search of the many service panels. Artoo let
out a beep, and Threepio rushed to him. He
waited impatiently as the smaller unit plugged
the receptive arm carefully into the open
socket.
 A superfast flurry of electronics spewed in
undisciplined fashion from the grid of the
little droid. Threepio made cautioning
motions.
 'Wait a minute, slow down!' The sounds
dropped to a crawl. 'That's better. They're
where? They what? Oh, no! They'll only come
out of there as a liquid!'
 
 Less than a meter of life was left to the
trapped occupants of the garbage room. Leia
and Solo had been forced to turn sideways, had
ended up facing each other. For the first time
the haughtiness was gone from the Princess's
face. Reaching out, she took Solo's hand,
clutching it convulsively as she felt the
first touch of the closing walls.
 Luke had fallen and was lying on his side,
fighting to keep his head above the rising
ooze. He nearly choked on a mouthful of
compressed sludge when his comlink began
buzzing for attention.
 Threepio!'
 'Are you there, sir?' the droid replied.
'We've had some minor problems. You would not
believe-
 'Shut up, Threepio!' Luke screamed into the
unit. 'And shut down all the refuse units on
the detention level or immediately below it.
Do you copy? Shut down the refuse-
 Moments later Threepio grabbed at his head in
pain as a terrific screeching and yelling
sounded over the comlink.
 'No, shut them all down!' he implored Artoo.
'Hurry! Oh, listen to them - they're dying,
Artoo! I curse this metal body of mine. I was
not fast enough. It was my fault. My poor
master - all of them ... no, no, no!'
 The screaming and yelling, however, continued
far beyond what seemed like a reasonable
interval. In fact, they were shouts of relief.
 The chamber walls had reversed direction
automatically with Artoo's shutdown and were
moving apart again.
 'Artoo, Threepio,' Luke hollered into the
comlink, 'it's all right, we're all right! Do
you read me? We're okay - you did just fine.'
 Brushing distastefully at the clinging slime,
he made his way as rapidly as possible toward
the hatchcover. Bending, he scraped
accumulated detritus away, noting the number
thus revealed.
 'Open the pressure-maintenance hatch on unit
366-117891.'
 'Yes, sir,' came Threepio's acknowledgment.
 They may have been the happiest words Luke
had ever heard.
                       
                       
                       
                     = X =
                       
                       
                       
 LINED with power cables and circuitry
conduits that rose from the depths and
vanished into the heavens, the service trench
appeared to be hundreds of kilometers deep.
The narrow catwalk running around one side
looked like a starched thread glued on a
glowing ocean. It was barely wide enough for
one man to traverse.
 One man edged his way along that treacherous
walkway now, his gaze intent on something
ahead of him instead of the awesome metal
abyss below. The clacking sounds of enormous
switching devices resounded like captive
leviathans in the vast open space, tireless
and never sleeping.
 Two thick cables joined beneath an overlay
panel. It was locked, but after careful
inspection of sides, top and bottom, Ben
Kenobi pressed the panel cover in a particular
fashion causing it to spring aside. A blinking
computer terminal was revealed beneath.
 With equal care he performed several
adjustments to the terminal. His actions were
rewarded when several indicator lights on the
board changed from red to blue.
 Without warning, a secondary door close
behind him opened. Hurriedly reclosing the
panel cover, the old man slipped deeper into
the shadows. A detachment of troopers had
appeared in the portal, and the officer in
charge moved to within a couple of meters of
the motionless, hidden figure.
 'Secure this area until the alert has been
cancelled.'
 As they began to disperse, Kenobi became one
with the dark.
 
 Chewbacca grunted and wheezed, and barely
succeeded in forcing his thick torso through
the hatchway opening with Luke's and Solo's
help. That accomplished, Luke turned to take
stock of their surroundings.
 The hallway they had emerged into showed dust
on the floor. It gave the impression of not
having been used since the station had been
built. Probably it was only a repair access
corridor. He had no idea where they were.
 Something hit the wall behind them with a
massive thunk, and Luke yelled for everyone to
watch out as a long, gelatinous limb worked
its way through the hatch and flailed
hopefully about in the open corridor. Solo
aimed his pistol at it as Leia tried to slip
past the half-paralyzed Chewbacca.
 'Somebody get this big hairy walking carpet
out of my way.' Suddenly she noticed what Solo
was preparing to do. 'No, wait! It'll be
heard!'
 Solo ignored her and fired at the hatchway.
The burst of energy was rewarded with a
distant roar as an avalanche of weakened wall
and beaming all but buried the creature in the
chamber beyond.
 Magnified by the narrow corridor, the sounds
continued to roll and echo for long minutes
afterward. Luke shook his head in disgust,
realizing that someone like Solo who spoke
with the mouth of a gun might not always act
sensibly. Until now he had sort of looked up
to the Corellian. But the senseless gesture of
firing at the hatchway brought them, for the
first time in Luke's mind, to the same level.
 The Princess's actions were more surprising
than Solo's, however. 'Listen,' she began,
staring up at him, 'I don't know where you
came from, but I'm grateful.' Almost as an
afterthought she glanced back at Luke, adding,
'To the both of you.' Her attention turned
back to Solo. 'But from now on you do as I
tell you.'
 Solo gaped at her. This time the smug smile
wouldn't come. 'Look, Your Holiness,' he was
finally able to stammer, 'let's get something
straight. I take orders only from one person -
me.'
 'It's a wonder you're still alive,' she shot
back smoothly. A quick look down the corridor
and she had started determinedly off in the
other direction.
 Solo looked at Luke, started to say
something, then hesitated and simply shook his
head slowly. 'No reward is worth this. I don't
know if there's enough credit in the universe
to pay for putting up with her... Hey, slow
down!'
 Leia had started around a bend in the
corridor, and they ran swiftly to catch up
with her.
 
 The half dozen troops milling around the
entrance to the power trench were more
interested in discussing the peculiar
disturbance in the detention block than in
paying attention to their present boring duty.
So engrossed were they in speculation as to
the cause of the trouble that they failed to
notice the fey wraith behind them. It moved
from shadow to shadow like a night-stalking
ferret, freezing when one of the troopers
seemed to turn slightly in its direction,
moving on again as if walking on air.
 Several minutes later one of the troopers
frowned inside his armor, turning to where he
thought he had sensed a movement near the
opening to the main passageway. There was
nothing but an indefinable something which the
ghost-like Kenobi had left behind. Acutely
uncomfortable yet understandably unwilling to
confess to hallucinations, the trooper turned
back to the more prosaic conversation of his
fellows.
 
 Someone finally discovered the two
unconscious guards tied in the service lockers
on board the captured freighter. Both men
remained comatose despite all efforts to
revive them.
 Under the direction of several bickering
officers, troopers carried their two armorless
comrades down the ramp and toward the nearest
hospital bay. On the way they passed two forms
hidden by a small open service panel. Threepio
and Artoo went unnoticed, despite their
proximity to the hangar.
 As soon as the troops had passed. Artoo
finished removing a socket cover and hurriedly
shoved his sensor arm into the opening. Lights
commenced a wild flashing on his face and
smoke started issuing from several seams in
the small droid before a frantic Threepio
could pull the arm free.
 Immediately the smoke vanished, the
undisciplined blinking faded to normalcy.
Artoo emitted a few wilted beeps, successfully
giving the impression of a human who had
expected a glass of mild wine and instead
unwittingly downed several gulps of something
180 proof.
 'Well, next time watch where you stick your
sensors,' Threepio chastised his companion.
'You could have fried your insides.' He eyed
the socket. 'That's a power outlet, stupid,
not an information terminal.'
 Artoo whistled a mournful apology. Together
they hunted for the proper outlet.
 
 Luke, Solo, Chewbacca, and the Princess
reached the end of an empty hallway. It dead-
ended before a large window which overlooked a
hangar, giving them a sweeping, tantalizing
view of the freighter just below.
 Pulling out his comlink and looking around
them with increasing nervousness, Luke spoke
into the pickup. 'See Threepio... do you
copy?'
 There was a threatening pause, then, 'I read
you, sir. We had to abandon the region around
the office.'
 'Are you both safe?'
 'For the moment, though I'm not sanguine
about my old age. We're in the main hangar,
across from the ship.'
 Luke looked toward the bay window in
surprise. 'I can't see you across the bay - we
must be right above you. Stand by. We'll join
you as soon as we can.' He clicked off,
smiling suddenly at Threepio's reference to
his 'old age.' Sometimes the tall droid was
more human than people.
 'Wonder if the old man was able to knock out
the tractor,' Solo was muttering as he
surveyed the scene below. A dozen or so
troopers were moving in and out of the
freighter.
 'Getting back to the ship's going to be like
flying through the five Fire Rings of Fornax.'
 Leia Organa turned long enough to glance in
surprise from the ship to Solo. 'You came here
in that wreck? You're braver than I thought.'
 At once praised and insulted, Solo wasn't
sure how to react. He settled for giving her a
dirty look as they started back down the
hallway, Chewbacca bringing up the rear.
 Rounding a corner, the three humans came to
an abrupt halt. So did the twenty Imperial
troopers marching toward them. Reacting
naturally - which is to say, without thinking
- Solo drew his pistol and charged the
platoon, yelling and howling in several
languages at the top of his lungs.
 Startled by the totally unexpected assault
and wrongly assuming their attacker knew what
he was doing, the troopers started to back
away. Several wild shots from the Corellian's
pistol initiated complete panic. Ranks and
composure shattered, the troopers broke and
fled down the passage.
 Drunk with his own prowess, Solo continued
the chase, turning to shout back at Luke, 'Get
to the ship. I'll take care of these!'
 'Are you out of your mind?' Luke yelled at
him. 'Where do you think you're going?'
 But Solo had already rounded a far bend in
the corridor and didn't hear. Not that it
would have made any difference.
 Upset at his partner's disappearance,
Chewbacca let out a thunderous if unsettled
howl and rushed down the hallway after him.
That left Luke and Leia standing alone in the
empty corridor.
 'Maybe I was too hard on your friend,' she
confessed reluctantly. 'He certainly is
courageous.'
 'He certainly is an idiot!' a furious Luke
countered tightly. 'I don't know what good
it'll do us if he gets himself killed.' Muted
alarms suddenly sounded from the bay below and
behind them.
 'That's done it,' Luke growled disgustedly.
'Let's go.' Together they started off in
search of a way down to a hangar-deck level.
 
 Solo continued his rout of all opposition,
running at top speed down the long hallway,
yelling and brandishing his pistol.
Occasionally he got off a shot whose effect
was more valuable psychologically than
tactically.
 Half the troops had already scattered down
various subpassages and corridors. The ten
troopers he continued to harry still raced
headlong away from him, returning his fire
only indifferently. Then they came up against
a dead end, which forced them to turn and
confront their opponents.
 Seeing that the ten had halted, Solo likewise
slowed. Gradually he came to a complete stop.
Corellian and Imperials regarded one another
silently. Several of the troopers were
staring, not at Han but past him.
 It suddenly occurred to Solo that he was very
much alone, and the same thought was beginning
to seep into the minds of the guards he was
confronting. Embarrassment gave way rapidly to
anger. Rifles and pistols started to come up.
Solo took a step backward, fired one shot,
then turned and ran like hell.
 Chewbacca heard the whistle and crump of
energy weapons firing as he lumbered lightly
down the corridor. There was something odd
about them, though: they sounded as if they
were coming closer instead of moving away.
 He was debating what to do when Solo came
tearing around a corner and nearly ran him
down. Seeing ten troopers in pursuit, the
Wookiee decided to reserve his questions for a
less confused moment. He turned and followed
Solo back up the hallway.
 
 Luke grabbed the Princess and pulled her back
into a recess. She was about to retort angrily
at his brusqueness when the sound of marching
feet caused her to shrink back into the
darkness with him.
 A squad of soldiers hurried past, responding
to the alarms that continued to ring steadily.
Luke looked out at the retreating backs and
tried to catch his breath. 'Our only hope of
reaching the ship is from the other side of
the hangar. They already know someone's here.'
He started back down the corridor, motioning
for her to follow.
 Two guards appeared at the far end of the
passageway, paused, and pointed directly at
them. Turning, Luke and Leia began running
back the way they had come. A larger squad of
troopers rounded the far bend and came racing
toward them.
 Blocked ahead and behind, they hunted
frantically for another way out. Then Leia
spotted the cramped subhallway and gestured to
it.
 Luke fired at the nearest of their pursuers
and joined her in running down the narrow
passage. It looked like a minor service
corridor. Behind them, pursuit sounded
deafeningly loud in the confining space. But
at least it minimized the amount of fire the
troops could concentrate on them.
 A thick hatchway appeared ahead. The lighting
beyond turned dimmer, raising Luke's hopes. If
they could lock the hatch even for a few
moments and lose themselves somewhere beyond,
they might have a chance of shaking their
immediate tormentors.
 But the hatch stayed open, showing no
inclination to close automatically. Luke was
about to let out a shout of triumph when the
ground suddenly vanished ahead of him. His
toes hanging over nothingness, he flailed to
regain his balance, succeeding just in time to
nearly go over the edge of the retracted
catwalk anyway as the Princess plowed into him
from behind.
 The catwalk had been reduced to a stub
protruding into empty air. A cool draft
caressed Luke's face as he studied walls that
soared to unseen heights overhead and plunged
to fathomless depths below. The service shaft
was employed in circulating and recycling the
atmosphere of the station.
 At the moment Luke was too frightened and
concerned to be angry with the Princess for
nearly sending them over the edge. Besides,
other dangers competed for his attention. A
burst of energy exploded above their heads,
sending metal slivers flying.
 'I think we made a wrong turn,' he murmured,
firing back at the advancing troops and
illuminating the narrow corridor behind them
with destruction.
 An open hatchway showed on the other side of
the chasm. It might as well have been a light-
year away. Hunting along the rim of the
doorway, Leia located a switch and hit it
quickly. The hatch door behind them slid shut
with a resounding boom. At least that cut off
fire from the rapidly nearing soldiers. It
also left the two fugitives balanced
precariously on a small section of catwalk
barely a meter square. If the remaining
section were to unexpectedly withdraw into the
wall, they would see more of the battle
station's interior than either wished.
 Gesturing for the Princess to move aside as
much as possible. Luke shielded his eyes and
aimed the pistol at the hatch controls. A
brief burst of energy melted them flush with
the wall, insuring that no one could open it
easily from the other side. Then he turned his
attention to the vast cavity blocking their
path to the opposite portal. It beckoned
invitingly - a small yellow rectangle of
freedom.
 Only the soft rush of air from below sounded
until Luke commented, 'This is a shield-rated
door, but it won't hold them back very long.'
 'We've got to get across there somehow,' Leia
agreed, once more examining the metal
bordering the sealed doorway. 'Find the
controls for extending the bridge.'
 Some desperate searching produced nothing,
while an ominous pounding and hissing sounded
from behind the frozen door. A small spot of
white appeared in the center of the metal,
then began to spread and smoke.
 'They're coming through!' Luke groaned.
 The Princess turned carefully to stare across
the gap. 'This must be a single-unit bridge,
with the controls only on the other side.'
 Reaching up to the point at the panel holding
the unreachable controls, Luke's hand caught
on something at his waist. A frustrated glance
downward revealed the cause - and engendered a
bit of practical insanity.
 The cable coiled tightly in small loops was
thin and fragile seeming, but it was general
military-issue line and would have supported
Chewbacca's weight easily. It certainly ought
to hold Leia and himself. Pulling the cable
free of the waist catch, he gauged its length,
matching it against the width of the abyss.
This should span the distance with plenty to
spare.
 'What now?' the Princess inquired curiously.
 Luke didn't reply. Instead, he removed a
small but heavy power unit from the utility
belt of his armor and tied one end of the
cable around it. Making sure the wrapping was
secure, he stepped as close to the edge of
their uncertain perch as he dared.
 Whirling the weighted end of the cord in
increasing circles, he let it arc across the
gorge. It struck an outcropping of cylindrical
conduits on the other side and fell downward.
With forced patience he pulled the loose line
back in, then recoiled it for another try.
 Once again the weighted end orbited in ever
greater circles, and again he flung it across
the gap. He could feel the rising heat behind
him as he let it go, heat from the melting
metal doorway.
 This time the heavy end looped around an
outcropping of pipes above, wrapped itself
several times around, and slipped, battery end
down, into a crack between them. Leaning
backward, he tugged and pulled on the cable,
pulling on it at the same time as he tried to
rest all his weight on it. The cable showed no
sign of parting.
 Wrapping the other end of the line several
times around his waist and right arm, he
reached out and pulled the Princess close to
him with the other. The hatch door behind them
was now a molten white, and liquid metal was
running steadily from its borders.
 Something warm and pleasant touched Luke's
lips, alerting every nerve in his body. He
looked down in shock at the Princess, his
mouth still tingling from the kiss.
 'Just for luck,' she murmured with a slight,
almost embarrassed smile as she put her arms
around him. 'We're going to need it.'
 Gripping the thin cable as tightly as
possible with his left hand, Luke put his
right over it, took a deep breath, and jumped
out into air. If he had miscalculated the
degree of arc in their swing, they would miss
the open hatch and slam into the metal wall to
either side or below it. If that happened he
doubted he could maintain his grip on the
rope.
 The heart-halting transit was accomplished in
less time than that thought. In a moment Luke
was on the other side, scrambling on his knees
to make sure they didn't fall back into the
pit. Leia released her hold on him with
admirable timing. She rolled forward and into
the open hatchway, climbing gracefully to her
feet as Luke fought to untangle himself from
the cable.
 A distant whine became a loud hiss, then a
groan as the hatch door on the other side gave
way. It collapsed inward and tumbled into the
depths. If it touched bottom, Luke didn't hear
it.
 A few bolts struck the wall nearby. Luke
turned his own weapon on the unsuccessful
troopers and returned the fire even as Leia
was pulling him into the passageway behind.
 Once clear of the door he hit the activating
switch. It shut tightly behind them. They
would have several minutes, at least, without
having to worry about being shot in the back.
On the other hand, Luke didn't have the
slightest idea where they were, and he found
himself wondering what had happened to Han and
Chewbacca.
 
 Solo and his Wookiee partner had succeeded in
shaking a portion of their pursuers. But it
seemed that whenever they slipped free of
several soldiers, more appeared to take their
place. No question about it: the word was out
on them.
 Ahead, a series of shield doors was beginning
to close.
 'Hurry, Chewie!' Solo urged.
 Chewbacca grunted once, breathing like an
over-used engine. Despite his immense
strength, the Wookiee was not built for long
distance sprinting. Only his enormous stride
had enabled him to keep pace with the lithe
Corellian. Chewbacca left a couple of hairs in
one of the doors, but both slipped inside just
before the five layers slammed shut.
 'That ought to hold them for a while,' Solo
crowed with delight. The Wookiee growled
something at him, but his partner fairly
fluoresced with confidence.
 'Of course I can find the ship from here -
Corellians can't get lost.' There came another
growl, slightly accusing this time. Solo
shrugged. 'Tocneppil doesn't count; he wasn't
a Corellian. Besides, I was drunk.'
 
 Ben Kenobi ducked into the shadows of a
narrow passageway, seeming to become part of
the metal itself as a large cluster of
troopers hurried past him. Pausing to make
certain they had all passed, he checked the
corridor ahead before starting down it. But he
failed to see the dark silhouette which
eclipsed the light far behind him.
 
 Kenobi had avoided one patrol after another,
slowly working his way back toward the docking
bay holding the freighter. Just another two
turns and he should be at the hangar. What he
would do then would be determined by how
inconspicuous his charges had been.
 That young Luke, the adventurous Corellian
and his partner, and the two robots had been
involved in something other than quiet napping
he already suspected from the amount of
activity he had observed while making his way
back from the power trench. Surely all those
troops hadn't been out hunting just for him!
 But something else was troubling them,
judging from the references he had overheard
concerning a certain important prisoner, now
escaped. That discovery had puzzled him, until
he considered the restless natures of both
Luke and Han Solo. Undoubtedly they were
involved in some fashion.
 Ben sensed something directly ahead and
slowed cautiously. It had a most familiar feel
to it, a half-remembered mental odor he could
not quite place.
 Then the figure stepped out in front of him,
blocking his entry to the hangar not five
meters away. The outline and size of the
figure completed the momentary puzzle. It was
the maturity of the mind he had sensed that
had temporarily confused him. His hand moved
naturally to the hilt of his deactivated
saber.
 'I have been waiting a long time, Obi-Wan
Kenobi,' Darth Vader intoned solemnly. 'We
meet again at last. The circle has been
completed.' Kenobi sensed satisfaction beneath
the hideous mask. 'The presence I sensed
earlier could only have been you.'
 Kenobi regarded the great form blocking his
retreat and nodded slowly. He gave the
impression of being more curious than
impressed. 'You still have much to learn.'
 'You were once my teacher,' Vader admitted,
'and I learned much from you. But the time of
learning has long passed, and I am the master
now.'
 The logic that had constituted the missing
link in his brilliant pupil remained as absent
as before. There would be no reasoning here,
Kenobi knew. Igniting his saber, he assumed
the pose of warrior-ready, a movement
accomplished with the ease and elegance of a
dancer.
 Rather roughly, Vader imitated the movement.
Several minutes followed without motion as the
two men remained staring at each other, as if
waiting for some proper, as yet unspoken
signal.
 Kenobi blinked once, shook his head, and
tried to clear his eyes, which had begun to
water slightly. Sweat beaded up on his
forehead, and his eyelids fluttered again.
 'Your powers are weak,' Vader noted
emotionlessly. 'Old man, you should never have
come back. It will make your end less peaceful
than you might have wished.'
 'You sense only a part of the Force, Darth,'
Kenobi murmured with the assurance of one to
whom death is merely another sensation, like
sleeping or making love or touching a candle.
'As always, you perceive its reality as little
as a utensil perceives the taste of food.'
 Executing a move of incredible swiftness for
one so old, Kenobi lunged at the massive
shape. Vader blocked the stab with equal
speed, riposting with a counterslash that
Kenobi barely parried. Another parry and
Kenobi countered again, using this opportunity
to move around the towering Dark Lord.
 They continued to trade blows, with the old
man now backing toward the hangar. Once, his
saber and Vader's locked, the interaction of
the two energy fields producing a violent
sparking and flashing. A low buzzing sound
rose from the straining power units as each
saber sought to override the other.
 
 Threepio peeked around the entrance to the
docking bay, worriedly counting the number of
troopers milling around the deserted
freighter.
 'Where could they be? Oh, oh.'
 He ducked back out of sight just as one of
the guards glanced in his direction. A second,
more cautious appraisal was more rewarding. It
revealed Han Solo and Chewbacca hugging the
wall of another tunnel on the far side of the
bay.
 Solo also was nonplussed at the number of
guards. He muttered, 'Didn't we just leave
this party?'
 Chewbacca grunted, and both turned, only to
relax and lower their weapons at the sight of
Luke and the Princess.
 'What kept you?' Solo quipped mirthlessly.
 'We ran into,' Leia explained, panting
heavily, 'some old friends.'
 Luke was staring at the freighter. 'Is the
ship all right?'
 'Seems okay,' was Solo's analysis. 'It
doesn't look like they've removed anything or
disturbed her engines. The problem's going to
be getting to it.'
 Leia suddenly pointed to one of the opposite
tunnels. 'Look!'
 Illuminated by the flare from contacting
energy fields, Ben Kenobi and Darth Vader were
backing toward the bay. The fight attracted
the attention of others beside the Senator.
Every one of the guards moved in for a better
view of the Olympian conflict.
 'Now's our chance,' Solo observed, starting
forward.
 All seven of the troopers guarding the ship
broke and rushed toward the combatants, going
to the Dark Lord's aid. Threepio barely ducked
aside as they ran past him. Turning back into
the alcove, he yelled to his companion.
 'Unplug yourself, Artoo. We're leaving.' As
soon as the Artoo unit slipped his sensor arm
free of the socket, the two droids began to
slowly edge out into the open bay.
 Kenobi heard the approaching commotion and
spared a glance back into the hangar. The
squad of troopers bearing down on him was
enough to show that he was trapped.
 Vader took immediate advantage of the
momentary distraction to bring his saber over
and down. Kenobi somehow managed to deflect
the sweeping blow, at once parrying and
turning a complete circle.
 'You still have your skill, but your power
fades. Prepare to meet the Force, Obi-Wan.'
 Kenobi gauged the shrinking distance between
the oncoming troops and himself, then turned a
pitying gaze on Vader. 'This is a fight you
cannot win, Darth. Your power has matured
since I taught you, but I too have grown much
since our parting. If my blade finds its mark,
you will cease to exist. But if you cut me
down, I will only become more powerful. Heed
my words.'
 'Your philosophies no longer confuse me, old
man,' Vader growled contemptuously. 'I am the
master now.'
 Once again he lunged forward, feinting, and
then slashing in a deadly downward arc with
the saber. It struck home, cutting the old man
cleanly in half. There was a brief flash as
Kenobi's cloak fluttered to the deck in two
neat sections.
 But Ben Kenobi was not in it. Wary of some
trick, Vader poked at the empty cloak sections
with the saber. There was no sign of the old
man. He had vanished as though he had never
existed.
 The guards slowed their approach and joined
Vader in examining the place where Kenobi had
stood seconds before. Several of them
muttered, and even the awesome presence of the
Sith Lord couldn't keep a few of them from
feeling a little afraid.
 
 Once the guards had turned and dashed for the
far tunnel, Solo and the others started for
the starship - until Luke saw Kenobi cut in
two. Instantly he shifted direction and was
moving toward the guards.
 'Ben!' he screamed, firing wildly toward the
troops. Solo cursed, but turned to fire in
support of Luke.
 One of the energy bolts struck the safety
release on the tunnel blast door. The
emergency hold broken, the heavy door fairly
exploded downward. Both the guards and Vader
leaped clear - the guards into the bay and
Vader backward, to the opposite side of the
door.
 Solo had turned and started for the entrance
to the ship, but he paused as he saw Luke
running toward the guards.
 'It's too late!' Leia yelled at him. 'It's
over.'
 'No!' Luke half shouted, half sobbed.
 A familiar, yet different voice rang in his
ears - Ben's voice. 'Luke ... listen!' was all
it said.
 Bewildered, Luke turned to hunt for the
source of that admonition. He only saw Leia
beckoning to him as she followed Artoo and
Threepio up the ramp.
 'Come on! There's no time.'
 Hesitating, his mind still on that imagined
voice (or was it imagined?), a confused Luke
took aim and felled several soldiers before
he, too, whirled and retreated into the
freighter.
                       
                       
                       
                    = XI =
                       
                       
                       
 DAZED, Luke staggered toward the front of the
ship. He barely noticed the sound of energy
bolts, too weak to penetrate the ship's
deflectors, exploding harmlessly outside. His
own safety was currently of little concern to
him. With misty eyes he stared as Chewbacca
and Solo adjusted controls.
 'I hope that old man managed to knock out
that tractor beam,' the Corellian was saying,
'or this is going to be a very short ride.'
 Ignoring him, Luke returned to the hold area
and slumped into a seat, his head falling into
his hands. Leia Organa regarded him quietly
for a while, then removed her cloak. Moving to
him, she placed it gently around his
shoulders.
 'There wasn't anything you could have done,'
she whispered comfortingly. 'It was all over
in an instant.'
 'I can't believe he's gone,' came Luke's
reply, his voice a ghost of a whisper. 'I
can't.'
 Solo shifted a lever, staring nervously
ahead. But the massive bay door was
constructed to respond to the approach of any
vessel. The safety feature now served to
facilitate their escape as the freighter
slipped quickly past the still-opening door
and out into free space.
 'Nothing,' Solo sighed, studying several
readouts with profound satisfaction. 'Not so
much as an erg of come-hither. He did it, all
right.'
 Chewbacca rumbled something, and the pilot's
attention shifted to another series of gauges.
'Right, Chewie. I forget, for a moment, that
there are other ways of persuading us to
return.' His teeth flashed in a grin of
determination. 'But the only way they'll get
us back in that traveling tomb is in pieces.
Take over.'
 Whirling, he ran out of the cockpit. 'Come
with me, kid,' he shouted at Luke as he
entered the hold. 'We're not out of this yet.'
 Luke didn't respond, didn't move, and Leia
turned an angry face to Solo. 'Leave him
alone. Can't you see what the old man meant to
him?'
 An explosion jarred the ship, nearly tumbling
Solo to the deck.
 'So what? The old man gave himself to give us
a chance to get away. You want to waste that,
Luke? You want Kenobi to have wasted himself?'
 Luke's head came up and he stared with vacant
eyes at the Corellian. No, not quite vacant...
There was something too old and unpleasant
shining blindly in the back of them. Without a
word, he threw off the cloak and joined Solo.
 Giving him a reassuring smile, Solo gestured
down a narrow accessway. Luke looked in the
indicated direction, smiled grimly, and rushed
down it as Solo started down the opposing
passage.
 Luke found himself in a large rotating bubble
protruding from the side of the ship. A long,
wicked-looking tube whose purpose was
instantly apparent projected from the apex of
the transparent hemisphere. Luke settled
himself into the seat and commenced a rapid
study of the controls. Activator here, firing
grip here ... He had fired such weapons a
thousand times before - in his dreams.
 Forward, Chewbacca and Leia were searching
the speckled pit outside for the attacking
fighters represented by firepricks on several
screens. Chewbacca suddenly growled throatily
and pulled back on several controls as Leia
let out a yelp.
 'Here they come.'
 The starfield wheeled around Luke as an
Imperial TIE fighter raced toward him and then
swung overhead to vanish into the distance.
Within the tiny cockpit its pilot frowned as
the supposedly battered freighter darted out
of range. Adjusting his own controls, he swung
up and over in a high arc intended to take him
on a fresh intercept course with the escaping
ship.
 Solo fired at another fighter, and its pilot
nearly slammed his engine through its
mountings as he fought to avoid the powerful
energy bolts. As he did so, his hurried
maneuver brought him under and around to the
other side of the freighter. Even as he was
lowering the glare reflector over his eyes,
Luke opened up on the racing fighter.
 Chewbacca was alternating his attention
between the instruments and the tracking
screens, while Leia strained to separate
distant stars from nearby assassins.
 Two fighters dove simultaneously on the
twisting, spiraling freighter, trying to line
their weapons on the unexpectedly flexible
craft. Solo fired at the descending globes,
and Luke followed with his own weapon a second
later. Both fired on the starship and then
shot past.
 'They're coming in too fast,' Luke yelled
into his comlink.
 Another enemy bolt struck the freighter
forward and was barely shunted aside by its
deflectors. The cockpit shuddered violently,
and gauges whined in protest at the quantity
of energy they were being asked to monitor and
compensate for.
 Chewbacca muttered something to Leia, and she
murmured a soft reply as if she almost
understood.
 Another fighter unloosed a barrage on the
freighter, only this time the bolt pierced an
overloaded screen and actually struck the side
of the ship. Though partially deflected, it
still carried enough power to blow out a large
control panel in the main passageway, sending
a rain of sparks and smoke in all directions.
Artoo Detoo started stolidly toward the
miniature inferno as the ship lurched crazily,
throwing the less stable Threepio into a
cabinet full of component chips.
 A warning light began to wink for attention
in the cockpit. Chewbacca muttered to Leia,
who stared at him worriedly and wished for the
gift of Wookiee-gab.
 Then a fighter floated down on the damaged
freighter, right into Luke's sights. His mouth
moving silently, Luke fired at it. The
incredibly agile little vessel darted out of
his range, but as it passed beneath them Solo
picked it up instantly, and commenced a steady
following fire. Without warning the fighter
erupted in an incredible flash of multicolored
light, throwing a billion bits of superheated
metal to every section of the cosmos.
 Solo whirled and gave Luke a victory wave,
which the younger man gleefully returned. Then
they turned back to their weapons as yet
another fighter stormed over the freighter's
hull, firing at its transmitter dish.
 In the middle of the main passageway, angry
flames raged around a stubby cylindrical
shape. A fine white powdery spray issued from
Artoo Detoo's head. Wherever it touched, the
fire retreated sharply.
 Luke tried to relax, to become a part of the
weapon. Almost without being aware of it, he
was firing at a retreating Imperial. When he
blinked, it was to see the flaming fragments
of the enemy craft forming a perfect ball of
light outside the turret. It was his turn to
spin and flash the Corellian a grin of
triumph.
 In the cockpit, Leia paid close attention to
scattered readouts as well as searching the
sky for additional ships. She directed her
voice toward an open mike.
 'There are still two more of them out there.
Looks like we've lost the lateral monitors and
the starboard deflector shield.'
 'Don't worry,' Solo told her, with as much
hope as confidence, 'she'll hold together.' He
gave the walls a pleading stare. 'You hear me,
ship? Hold together! Chewie, try to keep them
on our port side. If we-'
 He was forced to break off as a TIE fighter
seemed to materialize out of nowhere, energy
bolts reaching out from it toward him. Its
companion craft came up on the freighter's
other side and Luke found himself firing
steadily at it, ignoring the immensely
powerful energy it threw at him. At the last
possible instant before it passed out of
range, he swung the weapon's nozzle minutely,
his finger tightening convulsively on the fire
control. The Imperial fighter turned into a
rapidly expanding cloud of phosphorescing
dust. The other fighter apparently considered
the shrunken odds, turned, and retreated at
top speed.
 'We've made it!' Leia shouted, turning to
give the startled Wookiee an unexpected hug.
He growled at her - very softly.
 
 Darth Vader strode into the control room
where Governor Tarkin stood staring at a huge,
brilliantly lit screen. It displayed a sea of
stars, but it was not the spectacular view
which absorbed the Governor's thoughts at the
moment. He barely glanced around as Vader
entered.
 'Are they away?' the Dark Lord demanded.
 'They've just completed the jump to
hyperspace. No doubt they are at this very
moment congratulating themselves on their
daring and success.' Now Tarkin turned to face
Vader, a hint of warning in his tone.
 'I'm taking an awful chance, on your
insistence, Vader. This had better work. Are
you certain the homing beacon is secure aboard
their ship?'
 Vader exuded confidence beneath the
reflective black mask. 'There is nothing to
fear. This will be a day long remembered. It
already has been witness to the final
extinction of the Jedi. Soon it will see the
end of the Alliance and the rebellion.'
 
 Solo switched places with Chewbacca, the
Wookiee grateful for the opportunity to
relinquish the controls. As the Corellian
moved aft to check the extent of the damage, a
determined-looking Leia passed him in the
corridor.
 'What do you think, sweetheart?' Solo
inquired, well pleased with himself. 'Not a
bad bit of rescuing. You know, sometimes I
amaze even myself.'
 'That doesn't sound too hard,' she admitted
readily. 'The important thing is not my
safety, but the fact that the information in
the R-2 droid is still intact.'
 'What's that droid carrying that's so
important, anyway?'
 Leia considered the blazing starfield
forward. 'Complete technical schematics of the
battle station. I only hope that when the data
is analyzed, a weakness can be found. Until
then, until the station itself is destroyed,
we must go on. This war isn't over yet.'
 'It is for me,' objected the pilot. 'I'm not
on this mission for your revolution. Economics
interest me, not politics. There's business to
be done under any government. And I'm not
doing it for you, Princess. I expect to be
well paid for risking my ship and my hide.'
 'You needn't worry about your reward,' she
assured him sadly, turning to leave. 'If money
is what you love ... that's what you will
receive.'
 On leaving the cockpit she saw Luke coming
forward, and she spoke softly to him in
passing. 'Your friend is indeed a mercenary. I
wonder if he really cares about anything - or
anybody.'
 Luke stared after her until she disappeared
into the main hold area, then whispered, 'I do
... I care.' Then he moved into the cockpit
and sat in the seat Chewbacca had just
vacated.
 'What do you think of her, Han?'
 Solo didn't hesitate. 'I try not to.'
 Luke probably hadn't intended his response to
be audible, but Solo overheard his murmur of
'Good' none the less.
 'Still,' Solo ventured thoughtfully, 'she's
got a lot of spirit to go with her sass. I
don't know, do you think it's possible for a
Princess and a guy like me...?'
 'No,' Luke cut him off sharply. He turned and
looked away.
 Solo smiled at the younger man's jealousy,
uncertain in his own mind whether he had added
the comment to bait his naive friend - or
because it was the truth.
 
 Yavin was not a habitable world. The huge gas
giant was patterned with pastel high-altitude
cloud formations. Here and there the softly
lambent atmosphere was molded by cyclonic
storms composed of six-hundred-kilometer-per-
hour winds which boiled rolling gases up from
the Yavinesque troposphere. It was a world of
lingering beauty and quick death for any who
might try to penetrate to its comparatively
small core of frozen liquids.
 Several of the giant planet's numerous moons,
however, were planet-sized themselves, and of
these, three could support human-old life.
Particularly inviting was the satellite
designated by the system's discoverers as
number four. It shone like an emerald in
Yavin's necklace of moons, rich with plant and
animal life. But it was not listed among those
worlds supporting human settlement. Yavin was
located too far from the settled regions of
the galaxy.
 Perhaps the latter reason, or both, or a
combination of causes still unknown had been
responsible for whatever race had once risen
from satellite four's jungles, only to
disappear quietly long before the first human
explorer set foot on the tiny world. Little
was known of them save that they left a number
of impressive monuments, and that they were
one of the many races which had aspired to the
stars only to have their desperate reach fall
short.
 Now all that remained were the mounds and
foliage-clad clumps formed by jungle-covered
buildings. But though they had sunk back into
the dust, their artifacts and their world
continued to serve an important purpose.
 Strange cries and barely perceptible moans
sounded from every tree and copse; hoots and
growls and strange mutterings issued from
creatures content to remain concealed in the
dense undergrowth. Whenever dawn broke over
moon the fourth, heralding one of its long
days, an especially feral chorus of shrieks
and weirdly modulated screams would resound
through the thick mist.
 Even stranger sounds surged continually from
one particular place. Here lay the most
impressive of those edifices which a vanished
race had raised toward the heavens. It was a
temple, a roughly pyramidal structure so
colossal that it seemed impossible it could
have been built without the aid of modern
gravitonic construction techniques. Yet all
evidence pointed only to simple machines, hand
technology - and, perhaps, devices alien and
long lost.
 While the science of this moon's inhabitants
had led them to a dead end as far as offworld
travel was concerned, they had produced
several discoveries which in certain ways
surpassed similar Imperial accomplishments -
one of which involved a still unexplained
method of cutting and transporting gargantuan
blocks of stone from the crust of the moon.
 From these monstrous blocks of solid rock,
the massive temple had been constructed. The
jungle had scaled even its soaring crest,
clothing it in rich green and brown. Only near
its base, in the temple front, did the jungle
slide away completely, to reveal a long, dark
entrance cut by its builders and enlarged to
suit the needs of the structure's present
occupants.
 A tiny machine, its smooth metal sides and
silvery hue incongruous amidst the all-
pervasive green, appeared in the forest. It
hummed like a fat, swollen beetle as it
conveyed its cluster of passengers toward the
open temple base. Crossing a considerable
clearing, it was soon swallowed up by the dark
maw in the front of the massive structure,
leaving the jungle once more in the paws and
claws of invisible squallers and screechers.
 The original builders would never have
recognized the interior of their temple.
Seamed metal had replaced rock, and poured
paneling did service for chamber division in
place of wood. Nor would they have been able
to see the buried layers excavated into the
rock below, layers which contained hangar upon
hangar linked by powerful elevators.
 A landspeeder came to a gradual stop within
the temple, whose first level was the
uppermost of those ship-filled hangars. Its
engine died obediently as the vehicle settled
to the ground. A noisy cluster of humans
waiting nearby ceased their conversation and
rushed toward the craft.
 Fortunately Leia Organa quickly emerged from
the speeder, or the man who reached it first
might have pulled her bodily from it, so great
was his delight at the sight of her. He
settled for giving her a smothering hug as his
companion called their own greetings.
 'You're safe! We'd feared you'd been killed.'
Abruptly he composed himself, stepped away
from her, and executed a formal bow. 'When we
heard about Alderaan, we were afraid that you
were ... lost along with the rest of the
population.'
 'All that is past history, Commander
Willard,' she said. 'We have a future to live
for. Alderaan and its people are gone.' Her
voice turned bitter cold, frightening in so
delicate-looking a person. 'We must see that
such does not happen again.
 'We don't have time for our sorrows,
Commander,' she continued briskly. 'The battle
station has surely tracked us here.'
 Solo started to protest, but she shut him up
with logic and a stern look.
 'That's the only explanation for the ease of
our escape. They sent only four TIE fighters
after us. They could as easily have launched a
hundred.'
 Solo had no reply for that, but continued to
fume silently. Then Leia gestured at Artoo
Detoo.
 'You must use the information locked in this
R-2 droid to form a plan of attack. It's our
only hope. The station itself is more powerful
than anyone suspected.' Her voice dropped. 'If
the data does not yield a weakness, there will
be no stopping them.'
 Luke was then treated to a sight unique in
his experience, unique in most men's. Several
rebel technicians walked up to Artoo Detoo,
positioned themselves around him, and gently
hoisted him in their arms. This was the first,
and probably the last time he would ever see a
robot being carried respectfully by men.
 
 Theoretically, no weapon could penetrate the
exceptionally dense stone of the ancient
temple, but Luke had seen the shattered
remains of Alderaan and knew that for those in
the incredible battle station the entire moon
would present simply another abstract problem
in mass-energy conversion.
 Little Artoo Detoo rested comfortably in a
place of honor, his body radiating computer
and data-bank hookups like a metal hairdo. On
an array of screens and readouts nearby the
technical information stored on the
submicroscopic record tape within the robot's
brain was being played out. Hours of it -
diagrams, charts, statistics.
 First the rush of material was slowed and
digested by more sophisticated computer minds.
Then the most critical information was turned
over to human analysts for detailed
evaluation.
 All the while See Threepio stood close to
Artoo, marveling at how so much complex data
could be stored in the mind of so simple a
droid.
 
 The central briefing room was located deep
within the bowels of the temple. The long, low-
ceiling auditorium was dominated by a raised
dais and huge electronic display screen at its
far end. Pilots, navigators, and a sprinkling
of Artoo units filled the seats. Impatient,
and feeling very out of place, Han Solo and
Chewbacca stood as far away from the stage,
with its assemblage of officers and Senators,
as possible. Solo scanned the crowd, searching
for Luke. Despite some common sense
entreaties, the crazy kid had gone and joined
the regular pilots. He didn't see Luke, but he
recognized the Princess as she talked somberly
with some bemedaled oldster.
 When a tall, dignified gentleman with too
many deaths on his soul moved to stand by the
far side of the screen, Solo turned his
attention to him, as did everyone else in the
room. As soon as an expectant silence had
gripped the crowd, General Jan Dodonna
adjusted the tiny mike on his chest and
indicated the small group seated close to him.
 'You all know these people,' he intoned with
quiet power. 'They are the Senators and
Generals whose worlds have given us support,
whether open or covert. They have come to be
with us in what may well prove to be the
decisive moment.' He let his gaze touch many
in the crowd, and none who were so favored
remained unmoved.
 'The Imperial battle station you now all have
heard of is approaching from the far side of
Yavin and its sun. That gives us a little
extra time, but it must be stopped - once and
for all - before it can reach this moon,
before it can bring its weaponry to bear on us
as it did on Alderaan.' A murmur ran through
the crowd at the mention of that world, so
callously obliterated.
 'The station,' Dodonna went on, 'is heavily
shielded and mounts more firepower than half
the Imperial fleet. But its defenses were
designed to fend off large-scale, capital ship
assaults. A small, one-or two-man fighter
should be able to slip through its defensive
screens.'
 A slim, supple man who resembled an older
version of Han Solo rose. Dodonna acknowledged
his presence. 'What is it, Red Leader?'
 The man gestured toward the display screen,
which showed a computer portrait of the battle
station. 'Pardon me for asking, sir, but what
good are our snub fighters going to be against
that?'
 Dodonna considered. 'Well, the Empire doesn't
think a one-man fighter is any threat to
anything except another small ship, like a TIE
fighter, or they would have provided tighter
screens. Apparently they're convinced that
their defensive weaponry can fend off any
light attacks.
 'But an analysis of the plans provided by
Princess Leia has revealed what we think is a
weakness in the station's design. A big ship
couldn't get near it, but an X- or Y-wing
fighter might.
 'It's a small thermal exhaust port. Its size
belies its importance, as it appears to be an
unshielded shaft that runs directly into the
main reactor system powering the station.
Since this serves as an emergency outlet for
waste heat in the event of reactor over
production, its usefulness would be eliminated
by particle shielding. A direct hit would
initiate a chain reaction that would destroy
the station.'
 Mutterings of disbelief ran through the room.
The more experienced the pilot, the greater
his expressed disbelief.
 'I didn't say your approach would be easy,'
Dodonna admonished them. He gestured at the
screen. 'You must maneuver straight in down
this shaft, level off in the trench, and skim
the surface to - this point. The target is
only two meters across. It will take a precise
hit at exactly ninety degrees to reach the
reactor systematization. And only a direct hit
will start the complete reaction.
 'I said the port wasn't particle-shielded.
However, it is completely ray-shielded. That
means no energy beams. You'll have to use
proton torpedoes.'
 A few of the pilots laughed humorlessly. One
of them was a teenaged fighter jockey seated
next to Luke who bore the unlikely name of
Wedge Antilles. Artoo Detoo was there also,
seated next to another Artoo unit who emitted
a long whistle of hopelessness.
 'A two-meter target at maximum speed - with a
torpedo, yet,' Antilles snorted. 'That's
impossible even for the computer.'
 'But it's not impossible,' protested Luke. 'I
used to bulls-eye womp-rats in my T-16 back
home. They're not much bigger than two
meters.'
 'Is that so?' the rakishly uniformed youth
noted derisively. 'Tell me, when you were
going after your particular varmint, were
there a thousand other, what did you call it,
"womp-rats" armed with power rifles firing up
at you?' He shook his head sadly.
 'With all that firepower on the station
directed at us, this will take a little more
than barnyard marksmanship, believe me.'
 As if to confirm Antilles' pessimism, Dodonna
indicated a string of lights on the ever-
changing schematic. 'Take special note of
these emplacements. There's a heavy
concentration of firepower on the latitudinal
axes, as well as several dense circum-polar
clusters.
 'Also, their field generators will probably
create a lot of distortion, especially in and
around the trench. I figure that
maneuverability in that sector will be less
than point three.' This produced more murmurs
and a few groans from the assembly.
 'Remember,' the General went on, 'you must
achieve a direct hit. Yellow squadron will
cover for Red on the first run. Green will
cover Blue on the second. Any questions?'
 A muted buzz filled the room. One man stood,
lean and handsome - too much so, it seemed, to
be ready to throw away his life for something
as abstract as freedom.
 'What if both runs fail? What happens after
that?'
 Dodonna smiled tightly. 'There won't be any
after that.' The man nodded slowly,
understandingly, and sat down. 'Anyone else?'
Silence now, pregnant with expectation.
 'Then man your ships, and may the Force be
with you.'
 Like oil draining from a shallow pot, the
seated ranks of men, women, and machines rose
and flowed toward the exits.
 
 Elevators hummed busily, lifting more and
more deadly shapes from buried depths to the
staging area in the primary temple hangar as
Luke, Threepio, and Artoo Detoo walked toward
the hangar entrance.
 Neither the bustling flight crews, nor the
pilots performing final checkouts, nor the
massive sparks thrown off as power couplings
were disconnected captured Luke's attention at
the moment. Instead, it was held by the
activity of two far more familiar figures.
 Solo and Chewbacca were loading a pile of
small strongboxes onto an armored landspeeder.
They were completely absorbed with this
activity, ignoring the preparations going on
all around them.
 Solo glanced up briefly as Luke and the
robots approached, then returned to his
loading. Luke simply watched sadly,
conflicting emotions careening confusedly off
one another inside him. Solo was cocky,
reckless, intolerant, and smug. He was also
brave to a fault, instructive, and unfailingly
cheery. The combination made for a confusing
friend - but a friend nonetheless.
 'You got your reward,' Luke finally observed,
indicating the boxes. Solo nodded once. 'And
you're leaving, then?'
 'That's right, kid. I've got some old debts
to pay off, and even if I didn't, I don't
think I'd be fool enough to stick around
here.' He eyed Luke appraisingly. 'You're
pretty good in a scrap, kid. Why don't you
come with us? I could use you.'
 The mercenary gleam in Solo's eyes only made
Luke mad. 'Why don't you look around you and
see something besides yourself for a change?
You know what's going to happen here, what
they're up against. They could use a good
pilot. But you're turning your back on them.'
 Solo didn't appear upset at Luke's tirade.
'What good's a reward if you're not around to
spend it? Attacking that battle station isn't
my idea of courage - more like suicide.'
 'Yeah ... Take care of yourself, Han,' Luke
said quietly, turning to leave. 'But I guess
that's what you're best at, isn't it?' He
started back into the hangar depths, flanked
by the two droids.
 Solo stared after him, hesitated, then
called, 'Hey, Luke ... may the Force be with
you.' Luke looked back to see Solo wink at
him. He waved - sort of. Then he was swallowed
up by moving mechanics and machinery.
 Solo returned to his work, lifted a box - and
stopped, to see Chewbacca gazing fixedly at
him.
 'What are you staring at, gruesome? I know
what I'm doing. Get back to work!'
 Slowly, still eyeing his partner, the Wookiee
returned to the task of loading the heavy
crates.
 Sorrowful thoughts of Solo vanished when Luke
saw the petite, slim figure standing by his
ship - the ship he had been granted.
 'Are you sure this is what you want?'
Princess Leia asked him. 'It could be a deadly
reward.'
 Luke's eyes were filled with the sleek,
venomous metal shape. 'More than anything.'
 'Then what's wrong?'
 Luke looked back at her and shrugged. 'It's
Han. I thought he'd change his mind. I thought
he'd join us.'
 'A man must follow his own path,' she told
him, sounding now like a Senator. 'No one can
choose it for him. Han Solo's priorities
differ from ours. I wish it were otherwise,
but I can't find it in my heart to condemn
him.' She stood on tiptoes, gave him a quick,
almost embarrassed kiss, and turned to go.
'May the Force be with you.'
 'I only wish,' Luke murmured to himself as he
started back to his ship, 'Ben were here.'
 So intent was he on thoughts of Kenobi, the
Princess, and Han that he didn't notice the
larger figure which tightly locked on to his
arm. He turned, his initial anger gone
instantly in astonishment as he recognized the
figure.
 'Luke!' the slightly older man exclaimed. 'I
don't believe it! How'd you get here? Are you
going out with us?'
 'Biggs!' Luke embraced his friend warmly. 'Of
course I'll be up there with you.' His smile
faded slightly. 'I haven't got a choice,
anymore.' Then he brightened again. 'Listen,
have I got some stories to tell you ..."
 The steady whooping and laughing the two made
was in marked contrast to the solemnity with
which the other men and women in the hangar
went about their business. The commotion
attracted the attention of an older, war-worn
man known to the younger pilots only as Blue
Leader.
 His face wrinkled with curiosity as he
approached the two younger men. It was a face
scorched by the same fire that flickered in
his eyes, a blaze kindled not by revolutionary
fervor but by years of living through and
witnessing far too much injustice. Behind that
fatherly visage a raging demon fought to
escape. Soon, very soon, he would be free to
let it loose.
 Now he was interested in these two young men,
who in a few hours were likely to be particles
of frozen meat floating about Yavin. One of
them he recognized.
 'Aren't you Luke Skywalker? Have you been
checked out on the IncomT-65?'
 'Sir,' Biggs put in before his friend could
reply, 'Luke's the best bush pilot in the
outer-rim territories.'
 The older man patted Luke reassuringly on the
back as they studied his waiting ship.
'Something to be proud of. I've got over a
thousand hours in an Incom sky hopper myself.'
He paused a moment before going on.
 'I met your father once when I was just a
boy, Luke. He was a great pilot. You'll do all
right out there. If you've got half your
father's skill, you'll do a damn sight better
than all right.'
 'Thank you, sir. I'll try.'
 'There's not much difference control-wise
between an X-wing T-65,' Blue Leader went on,
'and a skyhopper.' His smile turned ferocious.
'Except the payload's of a somewhat different
nature.'
 He left them and hurried toward his own ship.
Luke had a hundred questions to ask him, and
no time for even one.
 'I've got to get aboard my own boat, Luke.
Listen, you'll tell me your stories when we
come back. All right?'
 'All right. I told you I'd make it here
someday, Biggs.'
 'You did.' His friend was moving toward a
cluster of waiting fighters, adjusting his
flight suit. 'It's going to be like old times,
Luke. We're a couple of shooting stars that
can't be stopped!'
 Luke laughed. They used to reassure
themselves with that cry when they piloted
starships of sandhills and dead logs behind
the flaking, pitted buildings of Anchorhead...
years and years ago.
 Once more Luke turned toward his ship,
admiring its deadly lines. Despite Blue
Leader's assurances, he had to admit that it
didn't look much like an Incom skyhopper.
Artoo Detoo was being snuggled into the R-2
socket behind the fighter cockpit. A forlorn
metal figure stood below, watching the
operation and shuffling nervously about.
 'Hold on tight,' See Threepio was cautioning
the smaller robot. 'You've got to come back.
If you don't come back, who am I going to have
to yell at?' For Threepio, that query amounted
to an overwhelming outburst of emotion.
 Artoo beeped confidently down at his friend,
however, as Luke mounted the cockpit entry.
Farther down the hangar he saw Blue Leader
already set in his acceleration chair and
signaling to his ground crew. Another roar was
added to the monstrous din filling the hangar
area as ship after ship activated its engines.
In that enclosed rectangle of temple the
steady thunder was overpowering.
 Slipping into the cockpit seat, Luke studied
the various controls as ground attendants
began wiring him via cords and umbilicals into
the ship. His confidence increased steadily.
The instrumentation was necessarily simplified
and, as Blue Leader had indicated, much like
his old skyhopper.
 Something patted his helmet, and he glanced
left to see the crew chief leaning close. He
had to shout to be heard above the deafening
howl of multiple engines. 'That R-2 unit of
yours seems a little beat up. Do you want a
new one?'
 Luke glanced briefly back at the secured
droid before replying. Artoo Detoo looked like
a permanent piece of the fighter.
 'Not on your life. That droid and I have been
through a lot together. All secure, Artoo?'
The droid replied with a reassuring beep.
 As the ground chief jumped clear, Luke
commenced the final checkout of all
instruments. It slowly occurred to him what he
and the others were about to attempt. Not that
his personal feelings could override his
decision to join them. He was no longer an
individual, functioning solely to satisfy his
personal needs. Something now bound him to
every other man and woman in this hangar.
 All around him, scattered scenes of good-bye
were taking place -some serious, some kidding,
all with the true emotion of the moment masked
by efficiency. Luke turned away from where one
pilot left a mechanic, possibly a sister or
wife, or just a friend, with a sharp,
passionate kiss.
 He wondered how many of them had their own
little debts to settle with the Empire.
Something crackled in his helmet. In response,
he touched a small lever. The ship began to
roll forward, slowly but with increasing
speed, toward the gaping mouth of the temple.
                       
                       
                       
                    = XII =
                       
                       
                       
    


 LEIA Organa sat silently before the huge
display screen on which Yavin and its moons
were displayed. A large red dot moved steadily
toward the fourth of those satellites. Dodonna
and several other field commanders of the
Alliance stood behind her, their eyes also
intent on the screen. Tiny green flecks began
to appear around the fourth moon, to coalesce
into small clouds like hovering emerald gnats.
 Dodonna put a hand on her shoulder. It was
comforting. 'The red represents the progress
of the Imperial battle station as it moves
deeper into Yavin's system.'
 'Our ships are all away,' a Commander behind
him declared.
 A single man stood alone in the cylindrical
hold, secured to the top of a rapier-thin
tower. Staring through fixed-mount electro-
binoculars, he was the sole visible
representative of the vast technology buried
in the green purgatory below.
 Muted cries, moans, and primeval gurglings
drifted up to him from the highest treetops.
Some were frightening, some less so, but none
were as indicative of power held in check as
the four silvery starships which burst into
view above the observer. Keeping a tight
formation, they exploded through humid air to
vanish in seconds into the morning cloud cover
far above. Sound-shadows rattled the trees
moments later, in a forlorn attempt to catch
up to the engines which had produced them.
 Slowly assuming attack formations combining X-
and Y-wing ships, the various fighters began
to move outward from the moon, out past the
oceanic atmosphere of giant Yavin, out to meet
the technologic executioner.
 The man who had observed the byplay between
Biggs and Luke now lowered his glare visor and
adjusted his half-automatic, half-manual
gunsights as he checked the ships to either
side of him.
 'Blue boys,' he addressed his intership
pickup, 'this is Blue Leader. Adjust your
selectors and check in. Approaching target at
one point three...'
 Ahead, the bright sphere of what looked like
one of Yavin's moons but wasn't began to glow
with increasing brightness. It shone with an
eerie metallic glow utterly unlike that of any
natural satellite. As he watched the giant
battle station make its way around the rim of
Yavin, Blue Leader's thoughts traveled back
over the years. Over the uncountable
injustices, the innocents taken away for
interrogation and never heard from again - the
whole multitude of evils incurred by an
increasingly corrupt and indifferent Imperial
government. All those terrors and agonies were
concentrated, magnified, represented by the
single bloated feat of engineering they were
approaching now.
 'This is it, boys,' he said to the mike.
'Blue Two, you're too far out. Close it up,
Wedge.'
 The young pilot Luke had encountered in the
temple briefing room glanced to starboard,
then back to his instruments. He executed a
slight adjustment, frowning. 'Sorry, boss. My
ranger seems to be a few points off. I'll have
to go on manual.'
 'Check, Blue Two. Watch yourself. All ships,
stand by to lock S-foils in attack mode.'
 One after another, from Luke and Biggs, Wedge
and the other members of Blue assault
squadron, the replies came back. 'Standing
by...'
 'Execute,' Blue Leader commanded, when John
D. and Piggy had indicated they were in
readiness.
 The double wings on the X-wing fighters split
apart, like narrow seeds. Each fighter now
displayed four wings, its wing-mounted
armament and quadruple engines now deployed
for maximum firepower and maneuverability.
 Ahead, the Imperial station continued to
grow. Surface features became visible as each
pilot recognized docking bays, broadcast
antennae, and other man-made mountains and
canyons.
 As he neared that threatening black sphere
for the second time, Luke's breathing grew
faster. Automatic life-support machinery
detected the respiratory shift and compensated
properly.
 Something began to buffet his ship, almost as
if he were back in his skyhopper again,
wrestling with the unpredictable winds of
Tatooine. He experienced a bad moment of
uncertainty until the calming voice of Blue
Leader sounded in his ears.
 'We're passing through their outer shields.
Hold tight. Lock down freeze-floating controls
and switch your own deflectors on, double
front.'
 The shaking and buffeting continued,
worsened. Not knowing how to compensate, Luke
did exactly what he should have: remained in
control and followed orders. Then the
turbulence was gone and the deathly cold
peacefulness of space had returned.
 'That's it, we're through,' Blue Leader told
them quietly. 'Keep all channels silent until
we're on top of them. It doesn't look like
they're expecting much resistance.'
 Though half the great station remained in
shadow, they were now near enough for Luke to
be able to discern individual lights on its
surface. A ship that could show phases
matching a moon ... once again he marveled at
the misplaced ingenuity and effort which had
gone into its construction. Thousands of
lights scattered across its curving expanse
gave it the appearance of a floating city.
 Some of Luke's comrades, since this was their
first sight of the station, were even more
impressed. 'Look at the size of that thing!'
Wedge Antilles gasped over his open pickup.
 'Cut the chatter, Blue Two,' Blue Leader
ordered. 'Accelerate to attack velocity.'
 Grim determination showed in Luke's
expression as he flipped several switches
above his head and began adjusting his
computer target readout. Artoo Detoo re-
examined the nearing station and thought
untranslatable electronic thoughts.
 Blue Leader compared the station with the
location of their proposed target area. 'Red
Leader,' he called toward the pickup, 'this is
Blue Leader. We're in position; you can go
right in. The exhaust shaft is farther to the
north. We'll keep 'em busy down here.'
 Red Leader was the physical opposite of
Luke's squadron commander. He resembled the
popular notion of a credit accountant -short,
slim, shy of face. His skills and dedication,
however, easily matched those of his
counterpart and old friend.
 'We're starting for the target shaft now,
Dutch. Stand by to take over if anything
happens.'
 'Check, Red Leader,' came the other's reply.
'We're going to cross their equatorial axis
and try to draw their main fire. May the Force
be with you.'
 From the approaching swarm, two squads of
fighters broke clear. The X-wing ships dove
directly for the bulge of the station, far
below, while the Y-ships curved down and
northward over its surface.
 Within the station, alarm sirens began a
mournful, clangorous wail as slow-to-react
personnel realized that the impregnable
fortress was actually under organized attack.
Admiral Motti and his tacticians had expected
the Rebels' resistance to be centered around a
massive defense of the moon itself. They were
completely unprepared for an offensive
response consisting of dozens of tiny snub
ships.
 Imperial efficiency was in the process of
compensating for this strategic oversight.
Soldiers scrambled to man enormous defensive-
weapons emplacements. Servodrivers thrummed as
powerful motors aligned the huge devices for
firing. Soon a web of annihilation began to
envelop the station as energy weapons,
electrical bolts, and explosive solids ripped
out at the oncoming rebel craft.
 'This is Blue Five,' Luke announced to his
mike as he nose dived his ship in a radical
attempt to confuse any electronic predictors
below. The gray surface of the battle station
streaked past his ports. 'I'm going in.'
 'I'm right behind you, Blue Five,' a voice
recognizable as Biggs's sounded in his ears.
 The target in Luke's sights was as stable as
that of the Imperial defenders was evasive.
Bolts flew from the tiny vessel's weapons. One
started a huge fire on the dim surface below,
which would burn until the crew of the station
could shut off the flow of air to the damaged
section.
 Luke's glee turned to terror as he realized
he couldn't swerve his craft in time to avoid
passing through the fireball of unknown
composition. 'Pull out, Luke, pull out!' Biggs
was screaming at him.
 But despite commands to shift course, the
automatic pressors wouldn't allow the
necessary centrifugal force. His fighter
plunged into the expanding ball of superheated
gases.
 Then he was through and clear, on the other
side. A rapid check of his controls enabled
him to relax. Passage through the intense heat
had been insufficient to damage anything vital
- though all four wings bore streaks of black,
carbonized testimony to the nearness of his
escape.
 Hell-flowers bloomed outside his ship as he
swung it up and around in a sharp curve. 'You
all right, Luke?' came Biggs's concerned
query.
 'I got a little toasted, but I'm okay.'
 A different, stern voice sounded. 'Blue
Five,' warned the squadron leader, 'you'd
better give yourself more lead time or you're
going to destroy yourself as well as the
Imperial construction.'
 'Yes, sir. I've got the hang of it now. Like
you said, it's not exactly like flying a sky
hopper.'
 Energy bolts and sun-bright beams continued
to create a chromatic maze in the space above
the station as the rebel fighters crisscrossed
back and forth over its surface, firing at
whatever looked like a decent target. Two of
the tiny craft concentrated on a power
terminal. It blew up, throwing lightning-sized
electric arcs from the station's innards.
 Inside, troopers, mechanicals, and equipment
were blown in all directions by subsidiary
explosions as the effects of the blast
traveled back down various conduits and
cables. Where the explosion had hulled the
station, escaping atmosphere sucked helpless
soldiers and droids out into a bottomless
black tomb.
 Moving from position to position, a figure of
dark calm amid the chaos, was Darth Vader. A
harried Commander rushed up to him and
reported breathlessly.
 'Lord Vader, we count at least thirty of
them, of two types. They are so small and
quick the fixed guns cannot follow them
accurately. They continuously evade the
predictors.'
 'Get all TIE crews to their fighters. We'll
have to go out after them and destroy them
ship by ship.'
 Within numerous hangars red lights began
flashing and an insistent alarm started to
ring. Ground crews worked frantically to ready
ships as flight-suited Imperial pilots grabbed
for helmets and packs.
 'Luke,' requested Blue Leader as he skimmed
smoothly through a rain of fire, 'let me know
when you're off the block.'
 'I'm on my way now.'
 'Watch yourself,' the voice urged over the
cockpit speaker. 'There's a lot of fire coming
from the starboard side of that deflection
tower.'
 'I'm on it, don't worry,' Luke responded
confidently. Putting his fighter into a
twisting dive, he sliced once more across
metal horizons. Antennae and small protruding
emplacements burst into transitory flame as
bolts from his wing tips struck with deadly
accuracy.
 He grinned as he pulled up and away from the
surface as intense lines of energy passed
through space recently vacated. Darned if it
wasn't like hunting womp-rats back home in the
crumbling canyons of Tatooine's wastes.
 Biggs followed Luke on a similar run, even as
Imperial pilots prepared to lift clear of the
station. Within the many docking bays
technical crews rushed hurriedly to unlock
power cables and conclude desperate final
checks.
 More care was taken in preparing a particular
craft nearest one of the bay ports, the one
into which Darth Vader barely succeeded in
squeezing his huge frame. Once set in the seat
he slid a second set of eye shields across his
face.
 The atmosphere of the war room back in the
temple was one of nervous expectancy.
Occasional blinks and buzzes from the main
battle screen sounded louder than the soft
sussuration of hopeful people trying to
reassure one another. Near a far corner of the
mass of flickering lights a technician leaned
a little closer to his own readouts before
speaking into the pickup suspended near his
mouth.
 'Squad leaders - attention; squad leaders -
attention! We've picked up a new set of
signals from the other side of the station.
Enemy fighters coming your way.'
 Luke received the report at the same time as
everyone else. He began hunting the sky for
the predicted Imperial craft, his gaze
dropping to his instrumentation. 'My scope's
negative. I don't see anything.'
 'Maintain visual scanning,' Blue Leader
directed. 'With all this energy flying,
they'll be on top of you before your scope can
pick them up. Remember, they can jam every
instrument on your ship except your eyes.'
 Luke turned again, and this time saw an
Imperial already pursuing an X-wing - an X-
wing with a number Luke quickly recognized.
 'Biggs!' he shouted. 'You've picked one up.
On your tail... watch it!'
 'I can't see it,' came his friend's panicked
response. 'Where is he? I can't see it.'
 Luke watched helplessly as Biggs's ship shot
away from the station surface and out into
clear space, closely followed by the Imperial.
The enemy vessel fired steadily at him, each
successive bolt seeming to pass a little
closer to Biggs's hull.
 'He's on me tight,' the voice sounded in
Luke's cockpit. 'I can't shake him.'
 Twisting, spinning, Biggs looped back toward
the battle station, but the pilot trailing him
was persistent and showed no sign of
relinquishing pursuit.
 'Hang on, Biggs,' Luke called, wrenching his
ship around so steeply that straining gyros
whined. 'I'm coming in.'
 So absorbed in his pursuit of Biggs was the
Imperial pilot that he didn't see Luke, who
rotated his own ship, flipped out of the
concealing gray below and dropped in behind
him.
 Electronic crosshairs lined up according to
the computer-readout instructions, and Luke
fired repeatedly. There was a small explosion
in space - tiny compared with the enormous
energies being put out by the emplacements on
the surface of the battle station. But the
explosion was of particular significance to
three people: Luke, Biggs, and, most
particularly, to the pilot of the TIE fighter,
who was vaporized with his ship.
 'Got him!' Luke murmured.
 'I've got one! I've got one!' came a less
restrained cry of triumph over the open
intercom. Luke identified the voice as
belonging to a young pilot known as John D.
Yes, that was Blue Six chasing another
Imperial fighter across the metal landscape.
Bolts jumped from the X-wing in steady
succession until the TIE fighter blew in half,
sending leaflike glittering metal fragments
flying in all directions.
 'Good shooting, Blue Six,' the squadron
leader commented. Then he added quickly,
'Watch out, you've got one on your tail.'
 Within the fighter's cockpit the gleeful
smile on the young man's face vanished
instantly as he looked around, unable to spot
his pursuer. Something flared brightly nearby,
so close that his starboard port burst. Then
something hit even closer and the interior of
the now open cockpit became a mass of flames.
 'I'm hit, I'm hit!'
 That was all he had time to scream before
oblivion took him from behind. Far above and
to one side Blue Leader saw John D.'s ship
expand in a fiery ball. His lips may have
whitened slightly. Otherwise he might as well
never have seen the X-wing explode, for all
the reaction he displayed. He had more
important things to do.
 On the fourth moon of Yavin a spacious screen
chose that moment to flicker and die, much as
John D. had. Worried technicians began rushing
in all directions. One turned a drawn face to
Leia, the expectant Commanders, and one tall,
bronzed robot.
 'The high-band receiver has failed. It will
take some time to fix...'
 'Do the best you can,' Leia snapped. 'Switch
to audio only.'
 Someone overheard, and in seconds the room
was filled with the sounds of distant battle,
interspersed with the voices of those
involved.
 'Tighten it up, Blue Two, tighten it up,'
Blue Leader was saying. 'Watch those towers.'
 'Heavy fire, Boss,' came the voice of Wedge
Antilles, 'twenty-three degrees.'
 'I see it. Pull in, pull in. We're picking up
some interference.'
 'I can't believe it,' Biggs was stammering.
'I've never seen such firepower!'
 'Pull in, Blue Five. Pull in.' A pause, then,
'Luke, do you read me? Luke?'
 'I'm all right, Chief,' came Luke's reply.
'I've got a target. I'm going to check it
out.'
 'There's too much action down there, Luke,'
Biggs told him. 'Get out. Do you read me,
Luke? Pull out.'
 'Break off, Luke,' ordered the deeper tones
of Blue Leader. 'We've hit too much
interference here. Luke, I repeat, break off!
I can't see him. Blue Two, can you see Blue
Five?'
 'Negative,' Wedge replied quickly. 'There's a
fire zone here you wouldn't believe. My
scanner's jammed. Blue Five, where are you?
Luke, are you all right?'
 'He's gone,' Biggs started to report
solemnly. Then his voice rose. 'No, wait...
there he is! Looks like a little fin damage,
but the kid's fine.'
 Relief swept the war room, and it was most
noticeable in the face of the slightest, most
beautiful Senator present.
 On the battle station, troopers worn half to
death or deafened by the concussion of the big
guns were replaced by fresh crews. None of
them had time to wonder how the battle was
going, and at the moment none of them much
cared, a malady shared by common soldiers
since the dawn of history.
 Luke skimmed daringly low over the station's
surface, his attention riveted on a distant
metal projection.
 'Stick close, Blue Five,' the squadron
commander directed him. 'Where are you going?'
 'I've picked up what looks like a lateral
stabilizer,' Luke replied. 'I'm going to try
for it.'
 'Watch yourself, Blue Five. Heavy fire in
your area.'
 Luke ignored the warning as he headed the
fighter straight toward the oddly shaped
protuberance. His determination was rewarded
when, after saturating it with fire, he saw it
erupt in a spectacular ball of superhot gas.
 'Got it!' he exclaimed. 'Continuing south for
another one.'
 Within the rebel temple-fortress, Leia
listened intently. She seemed simultaneously
angry and frightened. Finally she turned to
Threepio and muttered, 'Why is Luke taking so
many chances?' The tall droid didn't reply.
 'Watch your back, Luke,' Biggs's voice
sounded over the speakers, 'watch your back!
Fighters above you, coming in.'
 Leia strained to see what she could only
hear. She wasn't alone. 'Help him, Artoo,'
Threepio was whispering to himself, 'and keep
holding on.'
 Luke continued his dive even as he looked
back and spotted the object of Biggs's concern
close on his tail. Reluctantly he pulled up
and away from the station surface, abandoning
his target. His tormentor was good, however,
and continued closing on him.
 'I can't shake him,' he reported.
 Something cut across the sky toward both
ships. 'I'm on him, Luke,' shouted Wedge
Antilles. 'Hold on.'
 Luke didn't have to for very long. Wedge's
gunnery was precise, and the TIE fighter
vanished brightly shortly thereafter.
 'Thanks, Wedge,' Luke murmured, breathing a
little more easily.
 'Good shooting, Wedge.' That was Biggs again.
'Blue Four, I'm going in. Cover me, Porkins.'
 'I'm right with you, Blue Three,' came the
other pilot's assurance.
 Biggs leveled them off, then let go with full
weaponry. No one ever decided exactly what it
was he hit, but the small tower that blew up
under his energy bolts was obviously more
important than it looked.
 A series of sequential explosions hopscotched
across a large section of the battle station's
surface, leaping from one terminal to the
next. Biggs had already shot past the area of
disturbance, but his companion, following
slightly behind, received a full dose of
whatever energy was running wild down there.
 'I've got a problem,' Porkins announced. 'My
converter's running wild.' That was an
understatement. Every instrument on his
control panels had abruptly gone berserk.
 'Eject - eject, Blue Four,' advised Biggs.
'Blue Four, do you read?'
 'I'm okay,' Porkins replied. 'I can hold her.
Give me a little room to run, Biggs.'
 'You're too low,' his companion yelled. 'Pull
up, pull up!'
 With his instrumentation not providing proper
information, and at the altitude he was
traveling, Porkins's ship was simple for one
of the big, clumsy gun emplacements to track.
It did as its designers had intended it
should. Porkins's demise was as glorious as it
was abrupt.
 It was comparatively quiet near the pole of
the battle station. So intense and vicious had
been Blue and Green squadron's assault on the
equator that Imperial resistance had
concentrated there. Red Leader surveyed the
false peace with mournful satisfaction, know
ing it wouldn't last for long.
 'Blue Leader, this is Red Leader,' he
announced into his mike. 'We're starting our
attack run. The exhaust port is located and
marked. No flak, no enemy fighters up here -
yet. Looks like we'll get at least one smooth
run at it.'
 'I copy, Red Leader,' the voice of his
counterpart responded. 'We'll try to keep them
busy down here.'
 Three Y-wing fighters dropped out of the
stars, diving toward the battle-station
surface. At the last possible minute they
swerved to dip into a deep artificial canyon,
one of many streaking the northern pole of the
Death Star. Metal ramparts raced past on three
sides of them.
 Red Leader hunted around, noticed the
temporary absence of Imperial fighters. He
adjusted a control and addressed his squadron.
 'This is it, boys. Remember, when you think
you're close, go in closer before you drop
that rock. Switch all power to front deflector
screens - never mind what they throw at you
from the side. We can't worry about that now.'
 Imperial crews lining the trench rudely awoke
to the fact that their heretofore ignored
section of the station was coming under
attack. They reacted speedily, and soon energy
bolts were racing at the attacking ships in a
steadily increasing volume. Occasionally one
would explode near one of the onrushing Y-
wings, jostling it without real damage.
 'A little aggressive, aren't they,' Red Two
reported over his mike.
 Red Leader reacted quietly. 'How many guns do
you think, Red Five?'
 Red Five, known casually to most of the rebel
pilots as Pops, somehow managed to make an
estimate of the trench's defenses while
simultaneously piloting his fighter through
the growing hail of fire. His helmet was
battered almost to the point of uselessness
from the effects of more battles than anyone
had a right to survive.
 'I'd say about twenty emplacements,' he
finally decided, 'some in the surface and some
on the towers.'
 Red Leader acknowledged the information with
a grunt as he pulled his computer-targeting
visor down in front of his face. Explosions
continued to rock the fighter. 'Switch to
targeting computers,' he declared.
 'Red Two,' came one reply, 'computer locked
in and I'm getting a signal.' The young
pilot's rising excitement marked his reply.
 But the senior pilot among all the rebels,
Red Five, was expectantly cool and confident -
though it didn't sound like it from what he
murmured half to himself: 'No doubt about it,
this is going to be some trick.'
 Unexpectedly, all defensive fire from the
surrounding emplacements ceased. An eerie
quiet clung to the trench as the surface
continued to blur past the skimming Y-wings.
 'What's this?' Red Two blurted, looking
around worriedly. 'They stopped. Why?'
 'I don't like it,' growled Red Leader. But
there was nothing to confuse their approach
now, no energy bolts to avoid.
 It was Pops who was first to properly
evaluate this seeming aberration on the
enemy's part. 'Stabilize your rear deflectors
now. Watch for enemy fighters.'
 'You pinned it, Pops,' Red Leader admitted,
studying a readout. 'Here they come. Three
marks at two-ten.'
 A mechanical voice continued to recite the
shrinking distance to their target, but it
wasn't shrinking fast enough. 'We're sitting
ducks down here,' he observed nervously.
 'We'll just have to ride it out,' the old man
told them all. 'We can't defend ourselves and
go for the target at the same time.' He fought
down old reflexes as his own screen revealed
three TIE fighters in precision formation
diving almost vertically down toward them.
 'Three-eight-one-oh-four,' Darth Vader
announced as he calmly adjusted his controls.
The stars whipped past behind him. 'I'll take
them myself. Cover me.'
 Red Two was the first to die, the young pilot
never knowing what hit him, never seeing his
executioner. Despite his experience, Red
Leader was on the verge of panic when he saw
his wingman dissolve in flame.
 'We're trapped down here. No way to maneuver
- trench walls are too close. We've got to
loosen it up somehow. Got-
 'Stay on target,' admonished an older voice.
'Stay on target.'
 Red Leader took Pops's words like tonic, but
it was all he could do to ignore the closing
TIE fighters as the two remaining Y-wings
continued to streak toward the target.
 Above them, Vader permitted himself a moment
of undisciplined pleasure as he readjusted his
targeting 'puter. The rebel craft continued to
travel a straight, unevasive course. Again
Vader touched finger to fire control.
 Something screeched in Red Leader's helmet,
and fire started to consume his
instrumentation. 'It's no good,' he yelled
into his pickup, 'I'm hit. I'm hit...!'
 A second Y-wing exploded in a ball of
vaporized metal, scattering a few solid shards
of debris across the trench. This second loss
proved too much even for Red Five to take. He
manipulated controls, and his ship commenced
rising in a slow curve out of the trench.
Behind him, the lead Imperial fighter moved to
follow.
 'Red Five to Blue Leader,' he reported.
'Aborting run under heavy fire. TIE fighters
dropped on us out of nowhere. I can't - wait-
 Astern, a silent, remorseless enemy was
touching a deadly button once more. The first
bolts struck just as Pops had risen high
enough to commence evasive action. But he had
pulled clear a few seconds too late.
 One energy beam seared his port engine,
igniting gas within. The engine blew apart,
taking controls and stabilizing elements with
it. Unable to compensate, the out-of-control Y-
wing began a long, graceful plunge toward the
station surface.
 'Are you all right, Red Five?' a troubled
voice called over the intership system.
 'Lost Tiree ... lost Dutch,' Pops explained
slowly, tiredly. 'They drop in behind you, and
you can't maneuver in the trench. Sorry ...
it's your baby now. So long, Dave-'
 It was the last message of many from a
veteran.
 Blue Leader forced a crispness he didn't feel
into his voice as he tried to shunt aside the
death of his old friend. 'Blue boys, this is
Blue Leader. Rendezvous at mark six point one.
All wings report in.'
 'Blue Leader, this is Blue Ten. I copy.'
 'Blue Two here,' Wedge acknowledged. 'Coming
toward you, Blue Leader.'
 Luke was also waiting his turn to report when
something beeped on his control board. A
glance backward confirmed the electronic
warning as he spotted an Imperial fighter
slipping in behind him.
 'This is Blue Five,' he declared, his ship
wobbling as he tried to lose the TIE fighter.
'I have a problem here. Be right with you.'
 He sent his ship into a steep dive toward the
metal surface, then cut sharply up to avoid a
burst of defensive fire from emplacements
below. Neither maneuver shook his pursuit.
 'I see you, Luke,' came a reassuring call
from Biggs. 'Stay with it.'
 Luke looked above, below, and to the sides,
but there was no sign of his friend.
Meanwhile, energy bolts from his trailing
assailant were passing uncomfortably close.
 'Blast it, Biggs, where are you?'
 Something appeared, not to the sides or
behind, but almost directly in front of him.
It was bright and moving incredibly fast, and
then it was firing just above him. Taken
completely by surprise, the Imperial fighter
came apart just as its pilot realized what had
happened.
 Luke turned for the rendezvous mark as Biggs
shot past overhead. 'Good move, Biggs. Fooled
me, too.'
 'I'm just getting started,' his friend
announced as he twisted his ship violently to
avoid the fire from below. He hove into view
over Luke's shoulder and executed a victory
roll. 'Just point me at the target.'
 Back alongside Yavin's indifferent bulk,
Dodonna finished an intense discussion with
several of his principal advisors, then moved
to the long-range transmitter.
 'Blue Leader, this is Base One. Double-check
your own attack prior to commencement. Have
your wingmen hold back and cover for you. Keep
half your group out of range to make the next
run.'
 'Copy, Base One,' the response came. 'Blue
Ten, Blue Twelve, join with me.'
 Two ships leveled off to flank the squadron
commander. Blue Leader checked them out.
Satisfied that they were positioned properly
for the attack run, he set the group to follow
in case they should fail.
 'Blue Five, this is Blue Leader, Luke, take
Blue Two and Three with you. Hold up here out
of their fire and wait for my signal to start
your own run.'
 'Copy, Blue Leader,' Luke acknowledged,
trying to slow his heart slightly. 'May the
force be with you. Biggs, Wedge, let's close
it up.' Together, the three fighters assumed a
tight formation high above the firefight still
raging between other rebel craft of Green and
Yellow squadrons and the imperial gunners
below.
 The horizon flip-flopped ahead of Blue Leader
as he commenced his approach to the station
surface. 'Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, stay back
until we spot those fighters, then cover me.'
 All three X-wings reached the surface,
leveled off, then arced into the trench. His
wingmen dropped farther and farther behind
until Blue Leader was seemingly alone in the
vast gray chasm.
 No defensive fire greeted him as he raced
toward the distant target. He found himself
looking around nervously, checking and
rechecking the same instruments.
 'This doesn't look right,' he found himself
muttering.
 Blue Ten sounded equally concerned. 'You
should be able to pick up the target by now.'
 'I know. The disruption down here is
unbelievable. I think my instruments are off.
Is this the right trench?'
 Suddenly, intense streaks of light began to
shoot close by as the trench defenses opened
up. Near misses shook the attackers. At the
far end of the trench a huge tower dominated
the metal ridge, vomiting enormous amounts of
energy at the nearing ships.
 'It's not going to be easy with that tower up
there,' Blue Leader declared grimly. 'Stand by
to close up a little when I tell you.'
 Abruptly the energy bolts ceased and all was
silent and dark in the trench once again.
'This is it,' Blue Leader announced, trying to
locate the attack from above that had to be
coming. 'Keep your eyes open for those
fighters.'
 'All short- and long-range scopes are blank,'
Blue Ten reported tensely. 'Too much
interference here. Blue Five, can you see them
from where you are?'
 Luke's attention was riveted to the surface
of the station. 'No sign of- Wait!' Three
rapidly moving points of light caught his eye.
'There they are. Coming in point three five.'
 Blue Ten turned and looked in the indicated
direction. Sun bounced off stabilizing fins as
the TIE fighters looped downward. 'I see
them.'
 'It's the right trench, all right,' Blue
Leader exclaimed as his tracking scope
suddenly began a steady beeping. He adjusted
his targeting instrumentation, pulling his
visor down over his eyes. 'I'm almost in
range. Targets ready ... coming up. Just hold
them off me for a few seconds - keep 'em
busy.'
 But Darth Vader was already setting his own
fire control as he dropped like a stone toward
the trench. 'Close up the formation. I'll take
them myself.'
 Blue Twelve went first, both engines blown. A
slight deviation in flight path and his ship
slammed into the trench wall. Blue Ten slowed
and accelerated, bobbed drunkenly, but could
do little within the confines of those metal
walls.
 'I can't hold them long. You'd better fire
while you can, Blue Leader - we're closing on
you.'
 The squadron commander was wholly absorbed in
lining up two circles within his targeting
visor. 'We're almost home. Steady, steady
 Blue Ten glanced around frantically. 'They're
right behind me!'
 Blue Leader was amazed at how calm he was.
The targeting device was partly responsible,
enabling him to concentrate on tiny, abstract
images to the exclusion of all else, helping
him to shut out the rest of the inimical
universe.
 'Almost there, almost there ...' he
whispered. Then the two circles matched,
turned red, and a steady buzzing sounded in
his helmet. 'Torpedoes away, torpedoes away.'
 Immediately after, Blue Ten let his own
missiles loose. Both fighters pulled up
sharply, just clearing the end of the trench
as several explosions billowed in their wake.
 'It's a hit! We've done it!' Blue Ten shouted
hysterically.
 Blue Leader's reply was thick with
disappointment. 'No, we haven't. They didn't
go in. They just exploded on the surface
outside the shaft.'
 Disappointment killed them, too, as they
neglected to watch behind them. Three pursuing
Imperial fighters continued up out of the
fading light from the torpedo explosions. Blue
Ten fell to Vader's precision fire, then the
Dark Lord changed course slightly to fall in
behind the squadron commander.
 'I'll take the last one,' he announced
coldly. 'You two go back.'
 Luke was trying to pick the assault team out
of the glowing gases below when Blue Leader's
voice sounded over the communicator.
 'Blue Five, this is Blue Leader. Move into
position, Luke. Start your attack run - stay
low and wait until you're right on top of it.
It's not going to be easy.'
 'Are you all right?'
 'They're on top of me - but I'll shake them.'
 'Blue Five to Blue pack,' Luke ordered,
'let's go!' The three ships peeled off and
plunged toward the trench sector.
 Meanwhile Vader finally succeeded in hitting
his quarry, a glancing bolt that nonetheless
started small, intense explosions in one
engine. Its R-2 unit scrambled back toward the
damaged wing and struggled to repair the
crippled power plant.
 'R-2, shut off the main feed to number-one
starboard engine,' Blue Leader directed
quietly, staring resignedly at instruments
which were running impossibilities. 'Hang on
tight, this could get rough.'
 Luke saw that Blue Leader was in trouble.
'We're right above you, Blue Leader,' he
declared. 'Turn to point oh five, and we'll
cover for you.'
 'I've lost my upper starboard engine,' came
the reply.
 'We'll come down for you.'
 'Negative, negative. Stay there and get set
up for your attack run.'
 'You're sure you're all right?'
 'I think so ... Stand by for a minute.'
 Actually, it was somewhat less than a minute
before Blue Leader's gyrating X-wing plowed
into the surface of the station.
 Luke watched the huge explosion dissipate
below him, knowing without question its cause,
sensing fully for the first time the
helplessness of his situation. 'We just lost
Blue Leader,' he murmured absently, not
particularly caring if his mike picked up the
somber announcement.
 On Yavin Four, Leia Organa rose from her
chair and nervously began pacing the room.
Normally perfect nails were now jagged and
uneven from nervous chewing. It was the only
indication of physical unease. The anxiety
visible in her expression was far more
revealing of her feelings, an anxiety and
worry that filled the war room on the
announcement of Blue Leader's death.
 'Can they go on?' she finally asked Dodonna.
 The general replied with gentle resolve.
'They must.'
 'But we've lost so many. Without Blue or Red
Leader, how will they regroup?'
 Dodonna was about to reply, but held his
words as more critical ones sounded over the
speakers.
 'Close it up, Wedge,' Luke was saying,
thousands of kilometers away. 'Biggs, where
are you?'
 'Coming in right behind you.'
 Wedge replied soon after. 'Okay. Boss, we're
in position.'
 Dodonna's gaze went to Leia. He looked
concerned.
 The three X-wings moved close together high
above the battle station's surface. Luke
studied his instruments and fought irritably
with one control that appeared to be
malfunctioning.
 Someone's voice sounded in his ears. It was a
young-old voice, a familiar voice: calm,
content, confident, and reassuring - a voice
he had listened to intently on the desert of
Tatooine and in the guts of the station below,
once upon a time.
 'Trust your feelings, Luke,' was all the
Kenobi-like voice said.
 Luke tapped his helmet, unsure whether he had
heard anything or not. This was no time for
introspection. The steely horizon of the
station tilted behind him.
 'Wedge, Biggs, we're going in,' he told his
wingmen. 'We'll go in full speed. Never mind
finding the trench and then accelerating.
Maybe that will keep those fighters far enough
behind us.'
 'We'll stay far enough back to cover you,'
Biggs declared. 'At that speed will you be
able to pull out in time?'
 'Are you kidding?' Luke sneered playfully as
they began their dive toward the surface.
'It'll be just like Beggars Canyon back home.'
 'I'm right with you, Boss,' noted Wedge,
emphasizing the title for the first time.
'Let's go ...'
 At high speed the three slim fighters charged
the glowing surface, pulling out after the
last moment. Luke skimmed so close over the
station hull that the tip of one wing grazed a
protruding antenna, sending metal splinters
flying. Instantly they were enveloped in a
meshwork of energy bolts and explosive
projectiles. It intensified as they dropped
down into the trench.
 'We seem to have upset them,' Biggs chortled,
treating the deadly display of energy as
though it were all a show being put on for
their amusement.
 'This is fine,' Luke commented, surprised at
the clear view ahead. 'I can see everything.'
 Wedge wasn't quite as confident as he studied
his own readouts. 'My scope shows the tower,
but I can't make out the exhaust port. It must
be awfully small. Are you sure the computer
can target it?'
 'It better,' Biggs muttered.
 Luke didn't offer an evaluation - he was too
busy holding a course through the turbulence
produced by exploding bolts. Then, as if on
command, the defensive fire ceased. He glanced
around and up for signs of the expected TIE
fighters, but saw nothing.
 His hand went to drop the targeting visor
into position, and for just a moment he
hesitated. Then he swung it down in front of
his eyes. 'Watch yourselves,' he ordered his
companions.
 'What about the tower?' Wedge asked
worriedly.
 'You worry about those fighters,' Luke
snapped. 'I'll worry about the tower.'
 They rushed on, closing on the target every
second. Wedge stared upward, and his gaze
suddenly froze. 'Here they come - oh point
three.'
 Vader was setting his controls when one of
his wingmen broke attack silence. 'They're
making their approach too fast - they'll never
get out in time.'
 'Stay with them,' Vader commanded.
 'They're going too fast to get a fix,' his
other pilot announced with certainty.
 Vader studied several readouts and found that
his sensors confirmed the other estimates.
'They'll still have to slow down before they
reach that tower.'
 Luke contemplated the view in his targeting
visor. 'Almost home.' Seconds passed and the
twin circlets achieved congruence. His finger
convulsed on the firing control. 'Torpedoes
away! Pull up, pull up.'
 Two powerful explosions rocked the trench,
striking harmlessly far to one side of the
minute opening. Three TIE fighters shot out of
the rapidly dissipating fireball, closing on
the retreating rebels. 'Take them,' Vader
ordered softly.
 Luke detected the pursuit at the same time as
his companions. 'Wedge, Biggs, split up - it's
the only way we'll shake them.'
 The three ships dropped toward the station,
then abruptly raced off in three different
directions. All three TIE fighters turned and
followed Luke.
 Vader fired on the crazily dodging ship,
missed, and frowned to himself. 'The Force is
strong with this one. Strange. I'll take him
myself.'
 Luke darted between defensive towers and wove
a tight path around projecting docking bays,
all to no avail. A single remaining TIE
fighter stayed close behind. An energy bolt
nicked one wing, close by an engine. It
started to spark irregularly, threateningly.
Luke fought to compensate and retain full
control.
 Still trying to shake his persistent
assailant, he dropped back into a trench
again. 'I'm hit,' he announced, 'but not bad.
Artoo, see what you can do with it.'
 The tiny droid unlocked himself and moved to
work on the damaged engine as energy bolts
flashed by dangerously close. 'Hang on back
there,' Luke counseled the Artoo unit as he
worked a path around projecting towers, the
fighter spinning and twisting tightly through
the topography of the station.
 Fire remained intense as Luke randomly
changed direction and speed. A series of
indicators on the control panel slowly changed
color; three vital gauges relaxed and returned
to where they belonged.
 'I think you've got it, Artoo,' Luke told him
gratefully. 'I think -there, that's it. Just
try to lock it down so it can't work loose
again.'
 Artoo beeped in reply while Luke studied the
whirling panorama behind and above them. 'I
think we've lost those fighters, too. Blue
group, this is Blue Five. Are you clear?' He
manipulated several controls and the X-wing
shot out of the trench, still followed by
emplacement fire.
 'I'm up here waiting, Boss,' Wedge announced
from his position high above the station. 'I
can't see you.'
 'I'm on my way. Blue Three, are you clear?
Biggs?'
 'I've had some trouble,' his friend
explained, 'but I think I lost him.'
 Something showed again, damnably, on Biggs's
screen. A glance behind showed the TIE fighter
that had been chasing him for the past several
minutes dropping in once more behind him. He
swung down toward the station again.
 'Nope, not yet,' Biggs told the others. 'Hold
on, Luke. I'll be right there.'
 A thin, mechanical voice sounded over the
speakers. 'Hang on, Artoo, hang on!' Back at
the temple headquarters, Threepio turned away
from the curious human faces which had turned
to stare at him.
 As Luke soared high above the station another
X-wing swung in close to him. He recognized
Wedge's ship and began hunting around
anxiously for his friend.
 'We're goin' in, Biggs - join up. Biggs, are
you all right? Biggs!' There was no sign of
the other fighter. 'Wedge, do you see him
anywhere?'
 Within the transparent canopy of the fighter
bobbing close by, a helmeted head shook
slowly. 'Nothing,' Wedge told him over the
communicator. 'Wait a little longer. He'll
show.'
 Luke looked around, worried, studied several
instruments, then came to a decision. 'We
can't wait; we've got to go now. I don't think
he made it.'
 'Hey, you guys,' a cheerful voice demanded to
know, 'what are you waiting for?'
 Luke turned sharply to his right, in time to
see another ship racing past and slowing
slightly ahead of him. 'Don't ever give up on
old Biggs,' the intercom directed as the
figure in the X-wing ahead looked back at
them.
 
 Within the central control room of the battle
station, a harried officer rushed up to a
figure studying the great battle screen and
waved a handful of printouts at him.
 'Sir, we've completed an analysis of their
attack plan. There is a danger. Should we
break off the engagement or make plans to
evacuate? Your ship is standing by.'
 Governor Tarkin turned an incredulous gaze on
the officer, who shrank back. 'Evacuate!' he
roared. 'At our moment of triumph? We are
about to destroy the last remnants of the
Alliance, and you call for evacuation? You
overestimate their chances badly ... Now, get
out!'
 Overwhelmed by the Governor's fury, the
subdued officer turned and retreated from the
room.
 
 'We're going in,' Luke declared as he
commenced his dive toward the surface. Wedge
and Biggs followed just aft.
 'Let's go - Luke,' a voice he had heard
before sounded inside his head. Again he
tapped his helmet and looked around. It
sounded as if the speaker were standing just
behind him. But there was nothing, only silent
metal and nonverbal instrumentation. Puzzled,
Luke turned back to his controls.
 Once more, energy bolts reached out for them,
passing harmlessly on both sides as the
surface of the battle station charged up into
his face. But the defensive fire wasn't the
cause of the renewed trembling Luke suddenly
experienced. Several critical gauges were
beginning their swing back into the danger
zone again.
 He leaned toward the pickup. 'Artoo, those
stabilizing elements must have broken loose
again. See if you can't lock it back down -
I've got to have full control.'
 Ignoring the bumpy ride, the energy beams and
explosions lighting space around him, the
little robot moved to repair the damage.
 Additional, tireless explosions continued to
buffet the three fighters as they dropped into
the trench. Biggs and Wedge dropped behind to
cover for Luke as he reached to pull down the
targeting visor.
 For the second time a peculiar hesitation
swept through him. His hand was slower yet as
he finally pulled the device down in front of
his eyes, almost as if the nerves were in
conflict with one another. As expected, the
energy beams stopped as if on signal and he
was barreling down the trench unchallenged.
 'Here we go again,' Wedge declared as he
spotted three Imperial fighters dropping down
on them.
 Biggs and Wedge began crossing behind Luke,
trying to draw the coming fire away from him
and confuse their pursuers. One TIE fighter
ignored the maneuvers, continuing to gain
inexorably on the rebel ships.
 Luke stared into the targeting device - then
reached up slowly to move it aside. For a long
minute he pondered the deactivated instrument,
staring at it as if hypnotized. Then he slid
it sharply back in front of his face and
studied the tiny screen as it displayed the
shifting relationship of the X-wing to the
nearing exhaust port.
 'Hurry, Luke,' Biggs called out as he
wrenched his ship in time to narrowly avoid a
powerful beam. They're coming in faster this
time. We can't hold them much longer.'
 With inhuman precision, Darth Vader depressed
the fire control of his fighter again. A loud,
desperate shout sounded over the speakers,
blending into a final agonized scream of flesh
and metal as Biggs's fighter burst into a
billion glowing splinters that rained down on
the bottom of the trench.
 Wedge heard the explosion over his speakers
and hunted frantically behind him for the
trailing enemy ships. 'We lost Biggs,' he
yelled toward his own pickup.
 Luke didn't reply immediately. His eyes were
watering, and he angrily wiped them clear.
They were blurring his view of the targeting
readout.
 'We're a couple of shooting stars, Biggs,' he
whispered huskily, 'and we'll never be
stopped.' His ship rocked slightly from a near
miss and he directed his words to his
remaining wingman, biting down hard on the end
of each sentence.
 'Close it up, Wedge. You can't do any more
good back there. Artoo, try to give me a
little more power on our rear reflectors.'
 The Artoo unit hurried to comply as Wedge
pulled up alongside Luke's ship. The trailing
TIE fighters also increased their speed.
 'I'm on the leader,' Vader informed his
soldiers. 'Take the other one.'
 Luke flew just in front of Wedge, slightly to
port side. Energy bolts from the pursuing
Imperials began to streak close about them.
Both men crossed each other's path repeatedly,
striving to present as confusing a target as
possible.
 Wedge was fighting with his controls when
several small flashes and sparks lit his
control board. One small panel exploded,
leaving molten slag behind. Somehow he managed
to retain control of the ship.
 'I've got a bad malfunction, Luke. I can't
stay with you.'
 'Okay, Wedge, get clear.'
 Wedge mumbled a heartfelt 'Sorry' and peeled
up out of the trench.
 Vader, concentrating his attention on the one
ship remaining before him, fired.
 Luke didn't see the near-lethal explosion
which burst close behind him. Nor did he have
time to examine the smoking shell of twisted
metal which now rode alongside one engine. The
arms went limp on the little droid.
 
 All three TIE fighters continued to chase the
remaining X-wing down the trench. It was only
a matter of moments before one of them caught
the bobbing fighter with a crippling burst.
Except now there were only two Imperials
pursuing. The third had become an expanding
cylinder of decomposing debris, bits and
pieces of which slammed into the walls of the
canyon.
 Vader's remaining wingmart looked around in
panic for the source of the attack. The same
distortion fields that confused rebel
instrumentation now did likewise to the two
TIE fighters.
 Only when the freighter fully eclipsed the
sun forward did the new threat become visible.
It was a Corellian transport, far larger than
any fighter, and it was diving directly at the
trench. But it didn't move precisely like a
freighter, somehow.
 Whoever was piloting that vehicle must have
been unconscious or out of his mind, the
wingman decided. Wildly he adjusted controls
in an attempt to avoid the anticipated
collision. The freighter swept by just
overhead, but in missing it the wingman slid
too far to one side.
 A small explosion followed as two huge fins
of the paralleling TIE fighters intersected.
Screaming uselessly into his pickup, the wing
man fluttered toward the near trench wall. He
never touched it, his ship erupting in flame
before contact.
 To the other side, Darth Vader's fighter
began spinning helplessly. Unimpressed by the
Dark Lord's desperate glower, various controls
and instruments gave back readings which were
brutally truthful. Completely out of control,
the tiny ship continued spinning in the
opposite direction from the destroyed wingman
- out into the endless reaches of deep space.
 
 Whoever was at the controls of the supple
freighter was neither unconscious nor insane -
well, perhaps slightly touched, but fully in
command nonetheless. It soared high above the
trench, turning to run protectively above
Luke.
 'You're all clear now, kid,' a familiar voice
informed him. 'Now blow this thing so we can
all go home.'
 This pep talk was followed by a reinforcing
grunt which could only have been produced by a
particularly large Wookiee.
 Luke looked up through the canopy and smiled.
But his smile faded as he turned back to the
targeting visor. There was a tickling inside
his head.
 'Luke.. .trust me,' the tickle requested,
forming words for the third time. He stared
into the targeter. The emergency exhaust port
was sliding toward the firing circle again, as
it had once before - when he'd missed. He
hesitated, but only briefly this time, then
shoved the targeting screen aside. Closing his
eyes, he appeared to mumble to himself, as if
in internal conversation with something
unseen. With the confidence of a blind man in
familiar surroundings, Luke moved a thumb over
several controls, then touched one. Soon
after, a concerned voice filled the cockpit
from the open speakers.
 'Base One to Blue Five, your targeting device
is switched off. What's wrong?'
 
 'Nothing,' Luke murmured, barely audible.
'Nothing.'
 He blinked and cleared his eyes. Had he been
asleep? Looking around, he saw that he was out
of the trench and shooting back into open
space. A glance outside showed the familiar
shape of Han Solo's ship shadowing him.
Another, at the control board, indicated that
he had released his remaining torpedoes,
although he couldn't remember touching the
firing stud. Still, he must have.
 The cockpit speakers were alive with
excitement. 'You did it! You did it!' Wedge
was shouting over and over. 'I think they went
right in.'
 'Good shot kid.' Solo complimented him,
having to raise his voice to be heard over
Chewbacca's unrestrained howling.
 Distant, muted rumblings shook Luke's ship,
an omen of incipient success. He must have
fired the torpedoes, mustn't he? Gradually he
regained his composure.
 'Glad ... you were here to see it. Now let's
get some distance between us and that thing
before it goes. I hope Wedge was right.'
 Several X-wings, Y-wings, and one battered-
looking freighter accelerated away from the
battle station, racing toward the distant
curve of Yavin.
 Behind them small flashes of fading light
marked the receding station. Without warning,
something appeared in the sky in place of it
which was brighter than the glowing gas giant,
brighter than its far-off sun. For a few
seconds the eternal night became day. No one
dared look directly at it. Not even multiple
shields set on high could dim that awesome
flare.
 Space filled temporarily with trillions of
microscopic metal fragments, propelled past
the retreating ships by the liberated energy
of a small artificial sun. The collapsed
residue of the battle station would continue
to consume itself for several days, forming
for that brief span of time the most
impressive tombstone in this corner of the
cosmos.
                       
                       
                       
                   = XIII =
                       
                       
                       
 A CHEERING, gleeful throng of technicians,
mechanics, and other inhabitants of the
Alliance headquarters swarmed around each
fighter as it touched down and taxied into the
temple hangar. Several of the other surviving
pilots had already vacated their ships and
were waiting to greet Luke.
 On the opposite side of the fighter, the
crowd was far smaller and more restrained. It
consisted of a couple of technicians and one
tall, humanoid droid who watched worriedly as
the humans mounted the scorched fighter and
lifted a badly burned metal hulk from its
back.
 'Oh, my! Artoo?' Threepio pleaded, bending
close to the carbonized robot. 'Can you hear
me? Say something.' His unwinking gaze turned
to one of the techs. 'You can repair him,
can't you?'
 'We'll do our best.' The man studied the
vaporized metal, the dangling components.
'He's taken a terrible beating.'
 'You must repair him! Sir, if any of my
circuits or modules will help, I'll gladly
donate them...'
 They moved slowly away, oblivious to the
noise and excitement around them. Between
robots and the humans who repaired them there
existed a very special relationship. Each
partook a little of the other and sometimes
the dividing line between man and machine was
more blurred than many would admit.
 The center of the carnival atmosphere was
formed by three figures who battled to see who
could compliment the others the most. When it
came to congratulatory back-slapping, however,
Chewbacca won by default. There was laughter
as the Wookiee looked embarrassed at having
nearly flattened Luke in his eagerness to
greet him.
 'I knew you'd come back,' Luke was shouting,
'I just knew it! I would've been nothing but
dust if you hadn't sailed in like that, Han!'
 Solo had lost none of his smug self-
assurance. 'Well, I couldn't very well let a
flying farm boy go up against that station all
by himself. Besides, I was beginning to
realize what could happen, and I felt terrible
about it, Luke - leaving you to maybe take all
the credit and get all the reward.'
 As they laughed, a lithe figure, robes
flowing, rushed up to Luke in a very
unsenatorial fashion. 'You did it, Luke, you
did it!' Leia was shouting.
 She fell into his arms and hugged him as he
spun her around. Then she moved to Solo and
repeated the embrace. Expectantly, the
Corellian was not quite as embarrassed.
 Suddenly awed by the adulation of the crowd,
Luke turned away. He gave the tired fighter a
look of approval, then found his gaze
traveling upward, up to the ceiling high
overhead. For a second he thought he heard
something faintly like a gratified sigh, a
relaxing of muscles a crazy old man had once
performed in moments of pleasure. Of course,
it was probably the intruding hot wind of a
steaming jungle world, but Luke smiled anyway
at what he thought he saw up there.
 
 There were many rooms in the vast expanse of
the temple which had been converted for modern
service by the technicians of the Alliance.
Even in their desperate need, however, there
was something too clean and classically
beautiful about the ruins of the ancient
throne room for the architects to modify. They
had left it as it was, save for scouring it
clear of creeping jungle growth and debris.
 For the first time in thousands of years that
spacious chamber was full. Hundreds of rebel
troops and technicians stood assembled on the
old stone floor, gathered together for one
last time before dispersing to new posts and
distant homes. For the first time ever the
massed ranks of pressed uniforms and polished
semi-armor stood arrayed together in a fitting
show of Alliance might.
 The banners of the many worlds which had lent
support to the rebellion fluttered in the
gentle breeze formed inside. At the far end of
a long open aisle stood a vision gowned in
formal white, barred with chalcedony waves -
Leia Organa's signet of office.
 Several figures appeared at the far end of
the aisle. One, massive and hirsute, showed
signs of running for cover, but was urged on
down the open row by his companion. It took
several minutes for Luke, Han, Chewie, and
Threepio to cover the distance to the other
end.
 They stopped before Leia, and Luke recognized
General Dodonna among the other dignitaries
seated nearby. There was a pause and a
gleaming, familiar Artoo unit joined the
group, moving to stand next to a thoroughly
awestruck Threepio.
 Chewbacca shuffled nervously, giving every
indication of wishing he were someplace else.
Solo silenced him as Leia rose and came
forward. At the same time banners tilted in
unison and all those gathered in the great
hall turned to face the dais.
 She placed something heavy and golden around
Solo's neck, then Chewbacca's - having to
strain to do so - and finally around Luke's.
Then she made a signal to the crowd, and the
rigid discipline dissolved as every man,
woman, and mechanical present was permitted to
give full vent to their feelings.
 As he stood awash in the cheers and shouts,
Luke found that his mind was neither on his
possible future with the Alliance nor on the
chance of traveling adventurously with Han
Solo and Chewbacca. Instead, unlikely as Solo
had claimed it might be, he found his full
attention occupied by the radiant Leia Organa.
 She noticed his unabashed stare, but this
time she only smiled.