Trilogy

by George Lucas

  “It’s a lovely outpost,” Leia marveled.

  “Yes, we’re proud of it,” Lando replied. “You’ll find the air quite special here … very stimulating.” He smiled at Leia meaningfully. “You could grow to like it.”

  Han didn’t miss Lando’s flirtatious glance—and he didn’t like it, either. “We don’t plan on staying that long,” he said brusquely.

  Leia raised an eyebrow and glanced mischievously at the now fuming Han Solo. “I find it most relaxing.”

  Lando chuckled, and led them from the veranda. They approached the dining hall with its massive closed doors and, as they paused in front of them, Chewbacca lifted his head and sniffed the air curiously. He turned and barked urgently at Han.

  “Not now, Chewie,” Han reproved, turning to Calrissian. “Lando, aren’t you afraid the Empire might eventually discover this little operation and shut you down?”

  “That’s always been the danger,” the administrator replied. “It’s loomed like a shadow over everything we’ve built here. But circumstances have developed which will insure security. You see, I’ve made a deal that will keep the Empire out of here forever.”

  With that the mighty doors slid open—and immediately Han understood just what that “deal” must have involved. At the far end of the huge banquet table stood the bounty hunter Boba Fett.

  Fett stood next to a chair that held the black essence of evil itself—Darth Vader. Slowly the Dark Lord rose to his full, menacing two-meter height.

  Han shot his meanest look at Lando.

  “Sorry, friend,” Lando said, sounding mildly apologetic. “I had no choice. They arrived right before you did.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Han snapped. In that instant, he cleared his blaster from its holster, aimed it directly at the figure in black, and began to pump laser bolts Vader’s way.

  But the man who may have been the fastest draw in the galaxy was not fast enough to surprise Vader. Before those bolts zipped halfway across the table, the Dark Lord had lifted a gauntlet-protected hand and effortlessly deflected them so they exploded against the wall in a harmless spray of flying white shards.

  Astounded by what he had just seen, Han tried firing again. But before he could discharge another laser blast, something—something unseen yet incredibly strong—yanked the weapon from his hand and sent it flying into Vader’s grip. The raven figure calmly placed the weapon on top of the dining table.

  Hissing through his obsidian mask, the Dark Lord addressed his would-be assailant. “We would be honored if you joined us.”

  Artoo-Detoo felt the rain plunking on top of his metal dome as he trudged through the muddy puddles of the bog. He was headed for the sanctuary of Yoda’s little hut, and soon his optical sensors picked up the golden glow shining through its windows. As he neared the inviting house, he felt a robot’s relief that at last he would get out of this annoying, persistent rain.

  But when he tried to pass through the entrance he discovered that his inflexible droid body just could not get in; he tried from one angle, then from another. At last the perception that he was simply the wrong shape to get in seeped into his computer mind.

  He could scarcely believe his sensors. As he peered into the house, he scanned a busy figure, bustling about the kitchen, stirring steaming pots, chopping this and that, running back and forth. But the figure in Yoda’s tiny kitchen, doing Yoda’s kitchen tasks, was not the Jedi Master—but his apprentice.

  Yoda, it appeared from Artoo’s scan, was simply sitting back observing his young pupil from the adjacent room, and quietly smiling. Then suddenly, in the midst of all his kitchen activity, Luke paused, as if a painful vision had appeared before him.

  Yoda noticed Luke’s troubled look. As he watched his student, three glow-ball seekers appeared from behind Yoda and noiselessly shot through the air to attack the young Jedi from behind. Instantly Luke turned to face them, a pot lid in one hand and a spoon in the other.

  The seekers sent one rocketing bolt after another directly at Luke. But, with astounding skill, he warded off every one. He knocked one of the seekers toward the open door where Artoo stood watching his master’s performance. But the faithful droid saw the shining ball too late to avoid the bolt it shot at him. The impact knocked the shrieking robot onto the ground with a clunk that nearly shook loose his electronic insides.

  Later that evening, after the student had successfully passed a number of his teacher’s tests, a weary Luke Skywalker finally fell asleep on the ground outside Yoda’s house. He slept fitfully, tossing and softly moaning. His concerned droid stood by him, reaching out an extension arm and covering Luke with the blanket that had slipped halfway off. But when Artoo started to roll away, Luke began to groan and shudder as if in the grip of some horrible nightmare.

  Inside the house, Yoda heard the groans and hurried to his doorway.

  Luke awoke from his sleep with a start. Dazed, he looked about him, then saw his teacher worriedly watching him from his house. “I can’t keep the vision out of my head,” Luke told Yoda. “My friends … they’re in trouble … and I feel that—”

  “Luke, you must not go,” Yoda warned.

  “But Han and Leia will die if I don’t.”

  “You don’t know that.” It was the whispered voice of Ben, who was beginning to materialize before them. The dark-robed figure stood, a shimmering image, and told Luke, “Even Yoda cannot see their fate.”

  But Luke was deeply worried about his friends and was determined to do something. “I can help them!” he insisted.

  “You’re not ready yet,” Ben said gently. “You still have much to learn.”

  “I feel the Force,” Luke said.

  “But you cannot control it. This is a dangerous stage for you, Luke. You are now most susceptible to the temptations of the dark side.”

  “Yes, yes,” Yoda added. “To Obi-Wan you listen, young one. The tree. Remember your failure at the tree! Heh?”

  Painfully, Luke remembered, though he felt he had gained a great deal of strength and understanding in that experience. “I’ve learned much since then. And I’ll return to finish. I promise that, master.”

  “You underestimate the Emperor,” Ben told him gravely. “It is you he wants. That is why your friends suffer.”

  “And that,” Luke said, “is why I must go.”

  Kenobi was firm. “I will not lose you to the Emperor as I once lost Vader.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Only a fully trained Jedi Knight, with the Force as his ally, will conquer Vader and his Emperor,” Ben emphasized. “If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path—as Vader did—you will become an agent of evil, and the galaxy will be plunged deeper into the abyss of hate and despair.”

  “Stopped they must be,” Yoda interjected. “Do you hear? On this all depends.”

  “You are the last Jedi, Luke. You are our only hope. Be patient.”

  “And sacrifice Han and Leia?” the youth asked incredulously.

  “If you honor what they fight for,” Yoda said, pausing for a long moment, “… yes!”

  Great anguish overcame Luke. He wasn’t certain that he could reconcile the advice of these two great mentors with his own feelings. His friends were in terrible danger, and of course he must save them. But his teachers thought he was not ready, that he might be too vulnerable to the powerful Vader and his Emperor, that he might bring harm to his friends and himself—and possibly be lost forever on the path of evil.

  Yet how could he fear these abstract things when Han and Leia were real and were suffering? How could he permit himself to fear possible danger to himself when his friends were presently in real danger of death?

  There was no longer any question in his mind as to what he had to do.

  It was dusk the next day on the bog planet when Artoo-Detoo settled himself into his nook behind the cockpit of Luke’s X-wing fighter.

  Yoda stood on one of the storage cases, watching Luke load the cases one
by one into the fighter’s underbelly as he worked in the glow of the X-wing’s lights.

  “I cannot protect you, Luke,” the voice of Ben Kenobi came, as his robed figure took solid form. “If you choose to face Vader, you will do it alone. Once you’ve made this decision, I cannot interfere.”

  “I understand,” Luke replied calmly. Then, turning to his droid, he said, “Artoo, fire up the power converters.”

  Artoo, who had already unfastened the power couplings on the ship, whistled happily, grateful to be leaving this dismal bog world, which was certainly no place for a droid.

  “Luke,” Ben advised, “use the Force only for knowledge and for defense, not as a weapon. Don’t give in to hate or anger. They lead the way to the dark side.”

  Luke nodded, only half-listening. His mind was on the long journey and on the difficult tasks ahead of him. He must save his friends, whose lives were in danger because of him. He climbed into the cockpit, then looked at his little Jedi Master.

  Yoda was deeply concerned about his apprentice. “Strong is Vader,” he warned ominously. “Clouded is your fate. Mind what you have learned. Notice everything, everything! It can save you.”

  “I will, Master Yoda,” Luke assured him. “I will and I’ll be back to finish what I have begun. I give you my word!”

  Artoo closed the cockpit and Luke started the engines.

  Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi watched the X-wing gear its engines and begin to move away for take-off.

  “Told you, I did,” Yoda said sorrowfully, as the sleek fighter craft began to lift into the misty heavens. “Reckless is he. Now things are going to worse.”

  “That boy is our last hope,” Ben Kenobi said, his voice heavy with emotion.

  “No,” Kenobi’s former teacher corrected with a knowing gleam in his large eyes, “there is another.”

  Yoda lifted his head toward the darkening sky where Luke’s ship was already a barely distinguishable point of light among the flickering stars.

  XII

  CHEWBACCA THOUGHT HE WAS GOING mad!

  The prison cell was flooded with hot, blinding light that seared his sensitive Wookiee eyes. Not even his huge hands and hairy arms, thrust up over his face, could entirely protect him from the glare. And to add to his misery, a high-pitched whistle blared into the cubicle, tormenting his keen sense of hearing. He roared in agony, but his guttural roars were drowned out by the piercing, screeching noise.

  The Wookiee paced back and forth within the confines of the cell. Moaning pitifully, he pounded at the thick walls in desperation, wanting someone, anyone, to come and free him. While he pounded, the whistle that had nearly exploded his eardrums suddenly stopped and the deluge of light flickered and went out.

  Chewbacca staggered back a step with the sudden absence of torture, and then moved to one of the cell walls to try to detect whether anyone was approaching to release him. But the thick walls revealed nothing and, maddened to a fury, Chewbacca slammed a giant fist against the wall.

  But the wall stood undamaged and as impenetrable as before, and Chewbacca realized it would take more than Wookiee brute strength to topple it. Despairing of his chances of breaking through the cell to freedom, Chewbacca shuffled toward the bed, where the box of 3PO parts had been placed.

  Idly at first, and then with more interest, the Wookiee began poking through the box. It dawned on him that it might be possible to repair the disjointed droid. Not only would doing so pass the time, but it might be helpful to have Threepio back in working condition.

  He picked up the golden head and gazed into its darkened eyes. He held the head and barked a few soliloquizing words as if to prepare the robot for the joy of re-entry into activity—or for the disappointment of Chewbacca’s possible failure to reconstruct him properly.

  Then, quite delicately for a creature of his size and strength, the giant Wookiee placed the staring head atop the bronzed torso. Tentatively he began experimenting with Threepio’s tangle of wires and circuits. His mechanical skills had previously only been tested in repairs on the Millennium Falcon, so he wasn’t at all certain he could complete the delicate task. Chewbacca jiggled and fiddled with the wires, baffled by this intricate mechanism, when suddenly Threepio’s eyes lit up.

  A whine came from inside the robot. It sounded vaguely like Threepio’s normal voice, but was so low and so slow that the words were unintelligible.

  “Imm-peeeeer-eee-all-storr-mmm-trppp …”

  Bewildered, Chewbacca scratched his furry head and studied the broken robot intently. An idea came to him and he tried switching one wire to another plug. Instantly Threepio began speaking in his normal voice. What he had to say sounded like words from a bad dream.

  “Chewbacca!” the head of See-Threepio cried. “Watch out, there are Imperial stormtroopers hidden in—” He paused, as if reliving the whole traumatic experience, and then he cried, “Oh, no! I’ve been shot!”

  Chewbacca shook his head in sympathy. All he could do at this point was try to put the rest of See-Threepio back together again.

  Quite possibly it was the first time Han Solo had ever screamed. Never had he endured such excruciating torment. He was strapped to a platform that angled away from the floor at approximately forty-five degrees. While he was strapped there, electric currents of searing power shot through his body at short intervals, each jolt more painfully powerful than the last. He squirmed to free himself but his agony was so severe that it was all he could do just to remain conscious.

  Standing near the torture rack, Darth Vader silently watched Han Solo’s ordeal. Seeming neither pleased nor displeased, he watched until he had seen enough, and then the Dark Lord turned his back on the writhing figure and left the cell, the door sliding behind him to muffle Solo’s anguished screams.

  Outside the torture chamber, Boba Fett waited for Lord Vader with Lando Calrissian and the administrator’s aide.

  With obvious disdain, Vader turned to Fett. “Bounty hunter,” Vader addressed the man in the black-marked silver helmet, “if you are waiting for your reward, you will wait until I have Skywalker.”

  The self-assured Boba Fett appeared unruffled by this news. “I am in no hurry, Lord Vader. My concern is that Captain Solo not be damaged. The reward from Jabba the Hut is double if he’s alive.”

  “His pain is considerable, bounty hunter,” Vader hissed, “but he will not be harmed.”

  “What about Leia and the Wookiee?” Lando asked with some concern.

  “You will find them well enough,” Vader answered. “But,” he added with unmistakable finality, “they must never again leave this city.”

  “That was never a condition of our agreement,” Calrissian urged. “Nor was giving Han to this bounty hunter.”

  “Perhaps you think you’re being treated unfairly,” Vader said sarcastically.

  “No,” Lando said, glancing at his aide.

  “Good,” Vader continued, adding a veiled threat. “It would be most unfortunate if I had to leave a permanent garrison here.”

  Bowing his head reverently, Lando Calrissian waited until Darth Vader had turned and swept into a waiting elevator with the silver-armored bounty hunter. Then, taking his aide with him, the administrator of Cloud City strode swiftly down a white-walled corridor.

  “This deal’s becoming worse all the time,” Lando complained.

  “Maybe you should have tried to negotiate with him,” the aide suggested.

  Lando looked at his aide grimly. He was beginning to realize that the deal with Darth Vader was giving nothing to him. And, beyond that, it was bringing harm to people he might have called friends. Finally, he said, low enough not to be heard by any of Vader’s spies, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  See-Threepio was at last beginning to feel something like his old self.

  The Wookiee had been busily working on reconnecting the droid’s many wires and internal circuits, and just now was beginning to figure out how to attach the limbs. So far he had reattached the head
to the torso and had successfully completed connecting an arm. The rest of Threepio’s parts still lay on the table with wires and circuits hanging out of the severed joints.

  But, though the Wookiee was diligently working to complete his task, the golden droid began to complain vociferously. “Well, something’s not right,” he fussed, “because now I can’t see.”

  The patient Wookiee barked, and adjusted a wire in Threepio’s neck. At last the robot could see again and he breathed a little mechanical sigh of relief. “There now, that’s better.”

  But it wasn’t much better. When he cast his newly activated sensor gaze toward where his chest should be he saw—his back! “Wait—Oh, my. What have you done? I’m backwards!” Threepio sputtered. “You flea-bitten furball! Only an overgrown mophead like you would be stupid enough to put my head—”

  The Wookiee growled menacingly. He had forgotten what a complainer this droid was. And this cell was too small for him to listen to any more of that! Before Threepio knew what was happening to him, the Wookiee lumbered over and pulled a wire. Instantly the grumbling ceased, and the room became quiet again.

  Then there was a familiar scent nearing the cell.

  The Wookiee sniffed the air and hurried to the door.

  The cell door buzzed open and a ragged, exhausted Han Solo was shoved in by two Imperial stormtroopers. The troopers left and Chewbacca quickly moved to his friend, embracing him with relief. Han’s face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. It seemed that he was on the verge of collapse, and Chewbacca barked his concern to his long-time companion.

  “No,” Han said wearily, “I’m all right. I’m all right.”

  The door opened once again, and Princess Leia was thrown into the cell by the stormtroopers. She was still dressed in her elegant cloak but, like Han, she looked tired and disheveled.

  When the stormtroopers left and the door slid shut behind them, Chewbacca helped Leia over to Han. The two gazed at one another with great emotion, then reached out and tightly embraced. After a moment they kissed tenderly.