Splinter of the Mind's Eye: Star Wars

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Luke … what’s wrong?”

  He took a couple of unsteady steps. “What?”

  “We were worried, Master Luke. You …” Threepio broke off as Luke turned away to stare eastward.

  “He’s coming,” he murmured. “He’s near, very near.”

  “Luke, boy, you’d better start making some sense,” Halla said. “Who’s coming?”

  “There was a stirring,” Luke whispered. “A profound disturbance in the Force. I’ve felt it before, weakly. I felt it most strongly when Ben Kenobi was killed.”

  Princess Leia inhaled in terror, her eyes widening. “No, not him again, not here.”

  “Something blacker than night stirs the Force, Leia,” Luke said. “This Governor Essada must have contacted him, sent him here. He’d be especially interested in locating you and me.”

  “Who would?” Halla half-shouted in frustration.

  Leia’s hands trembled. She fought to still them. “Lord Darth Vader,” she whispered.

  A Del Rey® Book

  Published by The Random House Publishing Group

  Copyright © 1978 by The Star Wars Corporation

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  www.delreybooks.com

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 77-28428

  eISBN: 978-0-307-79546-5

  Cover art by Ralph McQuarrie

  v3.1

  For Dad & Mom Oxley, Louis & Ellie;

  with all my love,

  which would fill several universes …

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  About the Author

  Also by this Author

  Introduction to the Star Wars Expanded Universe

  Excerpt from Star Wars: The Thrawn Trilogy: Heir to the Empire

  Introduction to the Old Republic Era

  Introduction to the Rise of the Empire Era

  Introduction to the Rebellion Era

  Introduction to the New Republic Era

  Introduction to the New Jedi Order Era

  Introduction to the Legacy Era

  Star Wars Novels Timeline

  Introduction

  It wasn’t long after I began writing Star Wars that I realized the story was more than a single film could hold. As the saga of Skywalkers and Jedi Knights unfolded, I began to see it as a tale that could take at least nine films to tell—three trilogies—and I realized, in making my way through the back story and after story, that I was really setting out to write the middle story.

  After Star Wars was released, it became apparent that my story—however many films it took to tell—was only one of thousands that could be told about the characters who inhabit its galaxy. But these were not stories that I was destined to tell. Instead they would spring from the imagination of other writers, inspired by the glimpse of a galaxy that Star Wars provided. Today it is an amazing, if unexpected, legacy of Star Wars that so many gifted writers are contributing new stories to the Saga. This legacy began with Splinter of the Mind’s Eye, published less than a year after the release of Star Wars. Written by Alan Dean Foster, a well-known and talented science-fiction author, Splinter was promoted as a “futher adventure” of Luke Skywalker. It hit the bookstores just as I was preparing to write my own “further adventure” of Luke, in the form of a script entitled The Empire Strikes Back.

  It seems only fitting, after all these years, that Splinter would be republished as I prepare once again to write another further adventure set a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away …

  I

  HOW beautiful was the universe, Luke thought. How beautifully flowing, glorious and aglow like the robe of a queen. Ice-black clean in its emptiness and solitude, so unlike the motley collage of spinning dust motes men called their worlds, where the human bacteria throve and multiplied and slaughtered one another. All so that one might say he stood a little higher than his fellows.

  In depressed moments he felt sure there was no really happy living matter on any of those worlds. Only a plethora of destructive human diseases which fought and raged constantly against one another, a sequence of cancerous civilizations which fed on its own body, never healing yet somehow not quite dying.

  A particularly virulent strain of one of those cancers had killed his own mother and father, then his Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen. It had also taken from him the man he had learned to respect more than any other, the elderly Jedi knight Ben Kenobi.

  Although he had seen Kenobi struck by the lightsaber of Darth Vader on board the now obliterated Imperial Deathstar battle station, he could not be certain the old wizard was truly dead. Vader’s saber had left only empty air in its wake. That Ben Kenobi had departed this plane of existence was unarguable. What no one could tell was what level of existence he had passed into. Maybe death and …

  Maybe not.

  There were times when Luke experienced an agreeably crawly sensation, as if someone were lurking just behind him. That unseen presence occasionally seemed to move arms and legs for him, or to supply suggestions and thoughts when his own mind was helplessly blank. Blank as that of the former farm boy of Tatooine’s desert world.

  Unseen spirits or not, Luke reflected grimly, if there was one thing he was sure of it was that the callow youth he had once been was dead and dry as dust. In the Rebel Alliance of worlds struggling against the corrupt rule of the Imperial government he held no formal title. But no one taunted him or called him farm boy—not since he had helped destroy the bloated battle station secretly built by Governor Moff Tarkin and his henchman Darth Vader.

  Luke had no experience with titles, hence no use for them. When the Rebel leaders offered him any reward within their ability to grant, he had asked only to be permitted to continue piloting a fighter in the Alliance’s service. Some thought his request unduly modest, but one shrewd general disagreed, explaining how Luke might be more valuable to the Rebellion without a title or commission which, the veteran pointed out to his colleagues, would serve only to make the youth a prime target for Imperial assassination. So Luke remained the pilot he’d always wanted to be, perfecting his flying skills and always, unceasingly, wrestling with the Force Ben Kenobi had enabled him to begin to understand.

  No time for meditating now, he reminded himself as he studied the instruments of his X-wing fighter. A glance forward showed the brilliant pulsing sunball of Circarpous Major, its devastating radiance stopped down to viewable intensity by the phototropic material of the transparent port itself.

  “Everything okay back there, Artoo?” he called into his pickup. A cheerful beep from the stubby ’droid locked in position behind the cockpit assured Luke that it was.

  Their destination was the fourth planet out from this star. Like so many others, the Circarpousians were appalled by the atrocities perpetrated by the Empire, but too paralyzed by fear to openly join the Rebel Alliance. Over the years, a burgeoning underground movement had arisen on Circarpous, an underground needing only enough aid and
encouragement from the Alliance to rise and swing their world to the cause of freedom.

  From the tiny, hidden Rebel station on the outermost planet of the system, Luke and the Princess were racing to a critically important meeting with the heads of that underground, to offer the necessary promise of support. He checked his console chronometer. They would arrive in plenty of time to reassure the highly nervous underground chiefs.

  Leaning slightly forward and glancing to starboard, he could admire the sleek Y-wing fighter cruising alongside. Two figures sat silhouetted by instrument lights within its cockpit. One was the gleaming golden shape of See Threepio, Artoo’s ’droid companion.

  The other … whenever he looked at her, the other caused emotions to boil within him like soup too long on the fire, no matter if she was separated from him by near vacuum as at present or by only an arm’s length in a conference room. It was for and because of that individual, Princess and Senator Leia Organa of the now-vaporized world of Alderaan, that Luke had originally become involved in the Rebellion. First her portrait and then her person had initiated the irreversible metamorphosis from farm boy to fighter pilot. Now the two of them were the official emissaries from the ruling council of the Rebel government to the vacillating underground on Circarpous.

  Sending her on so dangerous a mission, Luke had thought from the first, was a risk. But a second system was ready to commit itself to the Alliance, if it was announced that Circarpous had also joined. At the same time, if that second system would declare its defiance of the Empire, then the Circarpousian underground would undoubtedly come over to the side of the Rebellion. So not one, but two systems waited on the outcome of this mission. And if it failed, Luke knew, both systems would probably lose heart and withhold their desperately needed aid. They had to succeed.

  Luke had no doubts, as he silently adjusted his ship’s altitude a quarter of a degree to the plane of the solar ecliptic, about the outcome of their mission. He couldn’t imagine anyone who could not be persuaded by Princess Leia. She could convince him of anything. Luke treasured those moments when she forgot her station and titles. He dreamed of a time when she might forget them forever.

  A beep from behind woke Luke from his day-dreaming, wiped the smile from his face. They were preparing to pass close by Circarpous V, and Artoo was reminding him of it. A vast, cloud-shrouded globe, the planet was listed in Luke’s library as being mostly unexplored, save for a single early Imperial scouting expedition. According to the computer readout, it was also known to the Circarpousians as Mimban, and … His intership communicator dinged for attention.

  “I’m receiving you, Princess.”

  Her reply was filled with irritation. “My port engine is beginning to generate unequal radiation pulses.” Even when bothered, to him that voice was as naturally sweet and pleasing as sugar-laden fruit.

  “How bad?” he inquired, frowning worriedly.

  “Bad enough, Luke.” The words sounded strained. “I’m losing control already, and the inequality’s getting worse. I don’t think I’m going to be able to compensate. We’ll have to stop at the first base down below on Mimban and have the problem corrected.”

  Luke opened his mouth to reply, did so after hesitating briefly. “You can’t possibly make it safely to Circarpous IV?”

  “I don’t think so, Luke. I might make near-orbit, but then we’d have to deal with official repair systems and couldn’t set down as planned. We’d miss the meeting, and we can’t miss it. Resistance groups from all over the Circarpous system are going to be there. If I don’t arrive, they’ll panic. We’ll have one Stang of a time getting them to surface again. And the Circarpous worlds are vital to the Rebellion, Luke.”

  “I still don’t think …” he began.

  “Don’t make me make it an order, Luke.”

  Biting back his initial response, he hurriedly began a check of visual readout charts and records. “According to my information tapes, Mimban doesn’t have a repair station, Leia. In fact,” he added with a glance at the murky green-white sphere below and to one side, “Mimban might not even have an emergency standby station.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Luke. I have to make the conference, and I’m going down while I still have some real control. Surely, in a system as populous as this one, any world with a breathable atmosphere’s going to be equipped with facilities for emergency repair. Your data must be old or else you’re searching the wrong tapes.” A pause, then, “You can prove it by shifting your communicator monitor to frequency oh-four-six-one.”

  Luke adjusted the requisite controls. Instantly a steady whine filled the small cabin.

  “Sound familiar?” she asked him.

  “That’s a directional landing beacon, all right,” he replied, confused. Several further queries, however, revealed no records of a station on Mimban. “But there’s still nothing in the listings on either Imperial or Alliance tapes. If we …” He broke off as a puff of gas glowed brightly from the Princess’ Y-wing, expanded brightly and vanished. “Leia! Princess Leia!”

  Her small ship was already curving away from him. “Lost lateral controls completely now, Luke! I’ve got to go down!”

  Luke rushed to match her glide path. “I don’t deny the presence of the beacon. Maybe we’ll be lucky! Try to shift power to your port controls!”

  “I’m doing the best I can.” A brief silence, followed by, “Stop moving around, Threepio, and watch your ventral manipulators!”

  A contrite, metallic, “Sorry, Princess Leia,” sounded from her cabin companion, the bronzed human-cyborg relations ’droid See Threepio. “But what if Master Luke is correct and there is no station below? We could find ourselves marooned forever on this empty world, without companionship, without knowledge tapes, without … without lubricants!”

  “You heard the beacon, didn’t you?” Luke saw a small explosion whereupon the Y-wing dove surfaceward at an abruptly sharper angle. For a few moments only static answered his frantic calls. Then the interference cleared. “Close, Luke. I lost my starboard dorsal engine completely. I cut port dorsal ninety percent to balance guidance systems.”

  “I know. I’ve cut power to slow with you.”

  In the Y-wing’s tiny cabin Threepio sighed, gripped the walls around him more firmly. “Try to set us down gently, please, Princess. Rough landings do terrible things to my internal gyros.”

  “They’re not so good on my insides either,” the Princess shot back, lips clenched tightly as she fought the sluggish controls. “Besides, you’ve nothing to worry about. ’Droids can’t get spacesick.”

  Threepio could have argued otherwise, but remained silent as the Y-wing commenced a stomach-turning roll downward. Luke had to react rapidly to follow. There was one tiny positive sign: the beacon signal was not imaginary. It was really there, beeping steadily when he adjusted the controls on his board so that the signal was audible. Maybe Leia was right.

  But he still didn’t feel confident. “Artoo, let me know if you spot anything unusual on our way down. Keep all your sensory plug-ins on full power.” A reassuring whistle filled the cockpit.

  They were at two hundred kilometers and descending when Luke jumped in his seat. Something began pushing at his mind. A stirring in the Force. He tried to relax, to let it fill and flow over and through him just as old Ben had instructed him.

  His sensitivity was far from perfectly attuned and he sincerely doubted he would ever attain half the command of the Force that Kenobi had possessed … though the old man had expressed great confidence in Luke’s potential. Still, he knew enough to categorize that subtle tingling. It sparked an almost palpable feeling of unease in him, and it came from something (or several somethings) on the surface below. Yet he wasn’t sure. Not that he could do anything about it now. The only concern of the moment was hoping the Princess’ ship could set down safely.

  But the sooner they left Mimban, the better he’d feel.

  Despite her own problems, the Princess was taking the time to rela
y coordinate information to him. As if he couldn’t plot her own course by himself. Instead, he tried to identify something he’d just spotted below them as they entered the outer atmosphere. Something funny in the clouds here … he couldn’t decide just what.

  He voiced his new concern to the Princess.

  “Luke, you’re worrying too much. You’ll worry yourself to death at an early age. And that would be a waste of …”

  He never did find out what worrying himself to death would be a waste of because at that moment they entered troposphere for the first time and the immediate reaction of both ships to the thicker air and air to ships was anything but normal.

  It seemed as if they’d suddenly plunged from a cloud-dotted but unexceptional-appearing sky into an ocean of liquid electricity. Gigantic multicolored bolts of energy erupted from empty air, contacted the hulls of the two ships and fomented instrumental chaos where order had reigned seconds before. Instead of the blue or yellow-tinged canopy they’d expected to sail through, the atmosphere around them was drenched with bizarre, perambulating energies so wild and frenzied they bordered on the animate. Behind Luke, Artoo Detoo beeped nervously.

  Luke fought his own instrumentation. It flaunted a farrago of electronic nonsense at him. The madly bucking X-wing was held in the grip of unidentified forces powerful enough to toss it about like a plaything. The chromatic storm vanished behind him as if he’d suddenly emerged from a waterspout, but his controls continued to exhibit what were probably permanent manifestations of the electronically addled.

  A quick verbal survey revealed what he most feared: the Princess’ fighter was nowhere in sight. Trying to control his drunken ship with one hand on the manual controls, Luke activated the communicator with the other.

  “Leia! Leia, are you …?”