Trilogy

by George Lucas

  Inexplicably Luke found himself trusting the odd creature, but wasn’t at all sure that such a tiny individual could be of help on his important quest. “I don’t think so,” he replied gently. “You see, I’m looking for a great warrior.”

  “A great warrior?” The creature shook his head, the whitish hair flopping about his pointed ears. “Wars don’t make one great.”

  A strange phrase, Luke thought. But before he could answer, Luke saw the tiny hominid hobble over to the top of the salvaged supply cases. Shocked, he watched as the creature began to rummage through the articles Luke had brought with him from Hoth.

  “Get away from there,” he said, surprised at this sudden strange behavior.

  Moving across the ground, Artoo waddled toward the pile of cases, standing just about at optical sensor level with the creature. The droid squealed his disapproval as he scanned the creature that was carelessly digging through the supplies.

  The strange being grabbed the container holding the remains of Luke’s food and took a bite.

  “Hey, that’s my dinner!” Luke exclaimed.

  But no sooner had the creature taken his first bite than he spat out what he had tasted, his deeply lined face wrinkling like a prune. “Peewh!” he said, spitting. “Thank you, no. How get you so big eating food of this kind?” He looked Luke up and down.

  Before the astounded youth could reply, the creature flipped the food container in Luke’s direction, then dipped one of his small and delicate hands into another supply case.

  “Listen, friend,” Luke said, watching this bizarre scavenger, “we didn’t mean to land here. And if I could get my fighter out of this puddle I would, but I can’t. So—”

  “Can’t get your ship out? Have you tried? Have you tried?” the creature goaded.

  Luke had to admit to himself that he had not, but then the whole idea was patently ludicrous. He didn’t have the proper equipment to—

  Something in Luke’s case had attracted the creature’s interest. Luke finally reached the end of his patience when he saw the crazy little being snatch something out of the supply case. Knowing that survival depended on those supplies, he grabbed for the case. But the creature held on to his prize—a miniature power lamp that he gripped tightly in his blue-skinned hand. The little light came alive in the creature’s hand, throwing its radiance up into his delighted face, and he immediately began to examine his treasure.

  “Give me that!” Luke cried.

  The creature retreated from the approaching youth like a petulant child. “Mine! Mine! Or I’ll help you not.”

  Still clutching the lamp to his breast, the creature stepped backward, inadvertently bumping into Artoo-Detoo. Not remembering that the robot was at all animate, the being stood next to it as Luke approached.

  “I don’t want your help,” Luke said indignantly. “I want my lamp back. I’ll need it in this slimy mudhole.”

  Luke instantly realized he had issued an insult.

  “Mudhole? Slimy? My home this is!”

  As they argued, Artoo slowly reached out a mechanical arm. Suddenly his appendage grabbed the pilfered lamp and immediately the two little figures were engaged in a tug-of-war over the stolen prize. As they spun about in battle, Artoo beeped a few electronic, “give me that’s.”

  “Mine, mine. Give it back,” the creature cried. Abruptly, though, he seemed to give up the bizarre struggle and lightly poked the droid with one bluish finger.

  Artoo emitted a loud, startled squeal and immediately released the power lamp.

  The victor grinned at the glowing object in his tiny hands, gleefully repeating, “Mine, mine.”

  Luke was about fed up with these antics and advised the robot that the battle was over. “Okay, Artoo,” he said with a sigh, “let him have it. Now get out of here, little fellow. We’ve got things to do.”

  “No, no!” the creature pleaded excitedly. “I’ll stay and help you find your friend.”

  “I’m not looking for a friend,” Luke said. “I’m looking for a Jedi Master.”

  “Oh,” the creature’s eyes widened as he spoke, “a Jedi Master. Different altogether. Yoda, you seek, Yoda.”

  Mention of that name surprised Luke, but he felt skeptical. How could an elf like this know anything about a great teacher of the Jedi Knights? “You know him?”

  “Of course, yes,” the creature said proudly. “I’ll take you to him. But first we must eat. Good food. Come, come.”

  With that, the creature scurried out of Luke’s camp and into the shadows of the swamp. The tiny power lamp he carried was gradually dimming in the distance as Luke stood feeling baffled. At first he had no intention of pursuing the creature, but all at once he found himself diving into the fog after him.

  As Luke started off into the jungle, he heard Artoo whistling and beeping as if he would blow his circuits. Luke turned around to see the little droid standing forlornly next to the miniature fission furnace.

  “You’d better stay here and watch over the camp,” Luke instructed the robot.

  But Artoo only intensified his noisy output, running through the entire gamut of his electronic articulations.

  “Artoo, now settle down,” Luke called as he ran into the jungle. “I can take care of myself. I’ll be safe, okay?”

  Artoo’s electronic grumblings grew fainter as Luke hurried to catch up with the little guide. I must really be out of my mind, Luke thought, following this weird being into who-knows-what. But the creature had mentioned Yoda’s name, and Luke felt compelled to accept any help he could get to find the Jedi Master. He stumbled in the dark over thick weeds and twisting roots as he pursued the flickering light ahead.

  The creature was chattering gaily as he led the way through the swamp. “Heh … safe … heh … quite safe … yes, of course.” Then, in his odd little way, this mysterious being started to laugh.

  Two Imperial cruisers slowly moved across the surface of the great asteroid. The Millennium Falcon had to be hidden somewhere within—but where?

  As the ships skimmed the surface of the asteroid, they dropped bombs on its pock-marked terrain, trying to scare out the freighter. The shock waves from the explosives violently shook the spheroid, but still there was no sign of the Falcon. As it drifted above the asteroid, one of the Imperial Star Destroyers cast an eclipsing shadow across the tunnel entrance. Yet the ship’s scanners failed to note the curious hole in the bowllike wall. Within that hole, in a winding tunnel not detected by the minions of the powerful Empire, sat the freighter. It rattled and vibrated with every explosion that pounded the surface above.

  Inside, Chewbacca worked feverishly to repair the complex powertrain. He had scrambled into an overhead compartment to get at the wires that operated the hyperdrive system. But when he felt the first of the explosions, he popped his head out through the mass of wires and gave out a worried yelp.

  Princess Leia, who was welding a damaged valve, stopped her work and looked up. The bombs sounded very close.

  See-Threepio glanced up at Leia and nervously tilted his head. “Oh, my,” he said, “they’ve found us.”

  Everyone became quiet, as if fearing that the sound of their voices might somehow carry and betray their exact position. Again the ship was shaken by a blast, less intense than the last.

  “They’re moving away,” Leia said.

  Han saw through their tactic. “They’re just trying to see if they can stir up something,” he told her. “We’re safe if we stay put.”

  “Where have I heard that line before?” Leia said with an innocent air.

  Ignoring her sarcasm, Han moved past her as he went back to work. The passageway in the hold was so narrow that he couldn’t avoid brushing against her as he passed by—or could he?

  With mixed emotions the princess watched him for a moment as he continued to work on his ship. And then she turned back to her welding.

  See-Threepio ignored all this odd human behavior. He was too busy trying to communicate with the Falcon,
trying to find out what was wrong with its hyperdrive. Standing at the central control panel, Threepio was making uncharacteristic whistle and beep sounds. A moment later, the control panel whistled back.

  “Where is Artoo when I need him?” sighed the golden robot. The control panel’s response had been difficult for him to interpret. “I don’t know where your ship learned to communicate,” Threepio announced to Han, “but its dialect leaves something to be desired. I believe, sir, it says the power coupling on the negative axis has been polarized. I’m afraid you’ll have to replace it.”

  “Of course I’ll have to replace it,” Han snapped, then called up to Chewbacca, who was peering from the ceiling compartment. “Replace it!” he whispered.

  He noticed that Leia had finished her welding but was having trouble reengaging the valve, struggling with a lever that simply would not budge. He moved toward her and began offering to help, but she coldly turned her back to him and continued her battle with the valve.

  “Easy, Your Worship,” he said. “Only trying to help.”

  Still struggling with the lever, Leia asked quietly, “Would you please stop calling me that?”

  Han was surprised at the princess’s simple tone. He had expected a stinging retort or, at best, a cold silence. But her words were missing the mocking tone that he was accustomed to hearing. Was she finally bringing their relentless battle of wills to an end? “Sure,” he said gently.

  “You make things difficult sometimes,” Leia said as she shyly glanced at him.

  He had to agree. “I do, I really do.” But he added, “You could be a little nicer, too. Come on, admit it, sometimes you think I’m all right.”

  She let go of the lever and rubbed her sore hand. “Sometimes,” she said with a little smile, “maybe … occasionally, when you aren’t acting the scoundrel.”

  “Scoundrel?” he laughed, finding her choice of words endearing. “I like the sound of that.”

  Without another word, he reached for Leia’s hand and began to massage it.

  “Stop it,” Leia protested.

  Han continued to hold her hand. “Stop what?” he asked softly.

  Leia felt flustered, confused, embarrassed—a hundred things in that moment. But her sense of dignity prevailed. “Stop that!” she said regally. “My hands are dirty.”

  Han smiled at her feeble excuse, but held on to her hand and looked right into her eyes. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

  “Afraid?” She returned his direct gaze. “Of getting my hands dirty.”

  “That’s why you’re trembling?” he asked. He could see that she was affected by his closeness and by his touch, and her expression softened. Whereupon he reached out and took her other hand.

  “I think you like me because I’m a scoundrel,” he said. “I think you haven’t had enough scoundrels in your life.” As he spoke he slowly drew her near.

  Leia didn’t resist his gentle pull. Now, as she looked at him, she thought he had never seemed more handsome, but she was still the princess. “I happen to like nice men,” she chided in a whisper.

  “And I’m not nice?” Han asked, teasing.

  Chewbacca stuck his head out from the overhead compartment and watched the proceedings unnoticed.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “but you …”

  Before she could finish, Han Solo drew her to him and felt her body tremble as he pressed his lips to hers. It seemed forever, it seemed an eternity to share between them, as he gently bent her body back. This time she didn’t resist at all.

  When they parted, Leia needed a moment to catch her breath. She tried to regain her composure and work up a measure of indignation, but she found it difficult to talk.

  “Okay, hot shot,” she began. “I—”

  But then she stopped, and suddenly found herself kissing him, pulling him even closer than before.

  When their lips finally parted, Han held Leia in his arms as they looked at each other. For a long moment there was a peaceful kind of emotion between them. Then Leia began to draw away, her thoughts and feelings a turmoil. She averted her eyes and began to disengage herself from Han’s embrace. In the next second she turned and rushed from the cabin.

  Han silently looked after her as she left the room. He then became acutely aware of the very curious Wookiee whose head was poking from the ceiling.

  “Okay, Chewie!” he bellowed. “Give me a hand with this valve.”

  * * *

  The fog, dispersed by a torrent of rain, snaked around the swamp in diaphanous swirls. Scooting along amid the pounding rain was a single R2 droid looking for his master.

  Artoo-Detoo’s sensing devices were busily sending impulses to his electronic nerve ends. At the slightest sound, his auditory systems reacted—perhaps overreacted—and sent information to the robot’s nervous computer brain.

  It was too wet for Artoo in this murky jungle. He aimed his optical sensors in the direction of a strange little mud house on the edge of a dark lake. The robot, overtaken by an almost-human perception of loneliness, moved closer to the window of the tiny abode. Artoo extended his utility feet toward the window and peeked inside. He hoped no one inside noticed the slight shiver of his barrel-shaped form or heard his nervous little electronic whimper.

  Somehow Luke Skywalker managed to squeeze inside the miniature house, where everything within was perfectly scaled to its tiny resident. Luke sat cross-legged on the dried mud floor in the living room, careful not to bang his skull against the low ceiling. There was a table in front of him and he could see a few containers holding what appeared to be hand-written scrolls.

  The wrinkle-faced creature was in his kitchen, next to the living room, busily concocting an incredible meal. From where Luke sat he could see the little cook stirring steaming pots, chopping this, shredding that, scattering herbs over all, and scurrying back and forth to put platters on the table in front of the youth.

  Fascinated as he was by this bustling activity, Luke was growing very impatient. As the creature made one of his frantic runs into the living room area, Luke reminded his host, “I told you, I’m not hungry.”

  “Patience,” the creature said, as he scuttled back into the steamy kitchen. “It’s time to eat.”

  Luke tried to be polite. “Look,” he said, “it smells good. I’m sure it’s delicious. But I don’t know why we can’t see Yoda now.”

  “It’s the Jedi’s time to eat, too,” the creature answered.

  But Luke was eager to be on his way. “Will it take long to get there? How far is he?”

  “Not far, not far. Be patient. Soon you will see him. Why wish you become a Jedi?”

  “Because of my father, I guess,” Luke answered, as he reflected that he never really knew his father that well. In truth his deepest kinship with his father was through the lightsaber Ben had entrusted to him.

  Luke noticed the curious look in the creature’s eyes as he mentioned his father. “Oh, your father,” the being said, sitting down to begin his vast meal. “A powerful Jedi was he. Powerful Jedi.”

  The youth wondered if the creature were mocking him. “How could you know my father?” he asked a little angrily. “You don’t even know who I am.” He glanced around at the bizarre room and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing here …”

  Then he noticed that the creature had turned away from him and was talking to a corner of the room. This really is the final straw, Luke thought. Now this impossible creature is talking to thin air!

  “No good is this,” the creature was saying irritably. “This will not do. I cannot teach him. The boy has no patience!”

  Luke’s head spun in the direction the creature was facing. Cannot teach. No patience. Bewildered, he still saw no one there. Then the truth of the situation gradually became as plain to him as the deep lines on the little creature’s face. Already he was being tested—and by none other than Yoda himself!

  From the empty corner of the room, Luke heard the gentle, wise voi
ce of Ben Kenobi responding to Yoda. “He will learn patience,” Ben said.

  “Much anger in him,” the dwarfish Jedi teacher persisted. “Like in his father.”

  “We’ve discussed this before,” Kenobi said.

  Luke could no longer wait. “I can be a Jedi,” he interrupted. It meant more than anything else to him to become a part of the noble band that had championed the causes of justice and peace. “I’m ready, Ben … Ben …” The youth called to his invisible mentor, looking about the room in hopes of finding him. But all he saw was Yoda sitting across from him at the table.

  “Ready are you?” the skeptical Yoda asked. “What know you of ready? I have trained Jedi for eight hundred years. My own counsel I’ll keep on who is to be trained.”

  “Why not me?” Luke asked, insulted by Yoda’s insinuation.

  “To become a Jedi,” Yoda said gravely, “takes the deepest commitment, the most serious mind.”

  “He can do it,” Ben’s voice said in defense of the youth.

  Looking toward the invisible Kenobi, Yoda pointed at Luke. “This one I have watched a long time. All his life has he looked away … to the horizon, to the sky, to the future. Never his mind on where he was, on what he was doing. Adventure, excitement.” Yoda shot a glaring look at Luke. “A Jedi craves not these things!”

  Luke tried to defend his past. “I have followed my feelings.”

  “You are reckless!” the Jedi Master shouted.

  “He will learn,” came the soothing voice of Kenobi.

  “He’s too old,” Yoda argued. “Yes. Too old, too set in his ways to start the training.”

  Luke thought he heard a subtle softening in Yoda’s voice. Perhaps there was still a chance to sway him. “I’ve learned much,” Luke said. He couldn’t give up now. He had come too far, endured too much, lost too much for that.

  Yoda seemed to look right through Luke as he spoke those words, as if trying to determine how much he had learned. He turned to the invisible Kenobi again. “Will he finish what he begins?” Yoda asked.

  “We’ve come this far,” was the answer. “He is our only hope.”