by George Lucas
“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 wingman 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 uselessl
y into his pickup, the wingman 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 excitment. “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.
&
nbsp; 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.
EPISODE V
STAR WARS:
The Empire Strikes Back
Donald F. Glut
Based on a story by George Lucas
INTRODUCTION
FROM THE OUTSET I CONCEIVED STAR Wars as a series of six films, or two trilogies. The first film, Star Wars: A New Hope, was episode IV and it was structured to stand on its own as a complete and emotionally satisfying experience. The success of Star Wars enabled me to move forward and make the next episode of the saga, The Empire Strikes Back.
As the middle act in a three act play, Empire was by its nature a challenging story for a single film. When I wrote the original Star Wars screenplay, I knew that Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker’s father; the audience did not. I always felt that this revelation, when and if I got the chance to make it, would be shocking, but I never expected the level of emotional attachment that audiences had developed for Luke as a symbol of goodness, and Vader as the embodiment of evil. In Empire, I had to make this disturbing revelation at the conclusion of the film, and then leave audiences hanging for three years before the story could be resolved in the next episode. And still, the film had to stand on its own.
