Trilogy

by George Lucas

  Vader had no patience for such petty filth. He passed them without a nod, though many of them would have paid dearly for a felicitous glance from the high Dark Lord.

  When he reached the elevator to the Emperor’s tower, he found the door closed. Red-robed, heavily armed royal guards flanked the shaft, seemingly unaware of Vader’s presence. Out of the shadow, an officer stepped forward, directly in Lord Vader’s path, preventing his further approach.

  “You may not enter,” the officer said evenly.

  Vader did not waste words. He raised his hand, fingers outstretched, toward the officer’s throat. Ineffably, the officer began to choke. His knees started buckling, his face turned ashen.

  Gasping for air, he spoke again. “It is the … Emperor’s … command.”

  Like a spring, Vader released the man from his remote grip. The officer, breathing again, sank to the floor, trembling. He rubbed his neck gently.

  “I will await his convenience,” Vader said. He turned and looked out the view window. Leaf-green Endor glowed there, floating in black space, almost as if it were radiant from some internal source of energy. He felt its pull like a magnet, like a vacuum, like a torch in the dead night.

  * * *

  Han and Chewie crouched opposite each other in the forest clearing, being quiet, being near. The rest of the strike squad relaxed—as much as was possible—spread out around them in groups of twos and threes. They all waited.

  Even Threepio was silent. He sat beside Artoo, polishing his fingers for lack of anything better to do. The others checked their watches, or their weapons, as the afternoon sunlight ticked away.

  Artoo sat, unmoving except for the little radar screen that stuck out the top of his blue and silver dome, revolving, scanning the forest. He exuded the calm patience of a utilized function, a program being run.

  Suddenly, he beeped.

  Threepio ceased his obsessive polishing and looked apprehensively into the forest. “Someone’s coming,” he translated.

  The rest of the squad faced out; weapons were raised. A twig cracked beyond the western perimeter. No one breathed.

  With a weary stride, Luke stepped out of the foliage, into the clearing. All relaxed, lowered their guns. Luke was too tired to care. He plopped down on the hard dirt beside Solo and lay back with an exhausted groan.

  “Hard day, huh kid?” Han commented.

  Luke sat up on one elbow, smiling. It seemed like an awful lot of effort and noise just to nail a couple of Imperial scouts; and they hadn’t even gotten to the really tough part yet. But Han could still maintain his light tone. It was a state of grace, his particular brand of charm. Luke hoped it never vanished from the universe. “Wait’ll we get to that generator,” he retorted in kind.

  Solo looked around, into the forest Luke had just come from. “Where’s Leia?”

  Luke’s face suddenly turned to one of concern. “She didn’t come back?”

  “I thought she was with you.” Han’s voice marginally rose in pitch and volume.

  “We got split up,” Luke explained. He exchanged a grim look with Solo, then both of them slowly stood. “We better look for her.”

  “Don’t you want to rest a while?” Han suggested. He could see the fatigue in Luke’s face and wanted to spare him for the coming confrontation, which would surely take more strength than any of them had.

  “I want to find Leia,” he said softly.

  Han nodded, without argument. He signaled to the Rebel officer who was second in command of the strike squad. The officer ran up and saluted.

  “Take the squad ahead,” ordered Solo. “We’ll rendezvous at the shield generator at 0–30.”

  The officer saluted again and immediately organized the troops. Within a minute they were filing silently into the forest, greatly relieved to be moving at last.

  Luke, Chewbacca, General Solo, and the two droids faced in the opposite direction. Artoo led the way, his revolving scanner sensing for all the parameters that described his mistress; and the others followed him into the woods.

  * * *

  The first thing Leia was aware of was her left elbow. It was wet. It was lying in a pool of water, getting quite soaked.

  She moved the elbow out of the water with a little splash, revealing something else: pain—pain in her entire arm when it moved. For the time being, she decided to keep it still.

  The next thing to enter her consciousness were sounds. The splash her elbow had made, the rustle of leaves, an occasional bird chirp. Forest sounds. With a grunt, she took a short breath and noted the grunting sound.

  Smells began to fill her nostrils next: humid mossy smells, leafy oxygen smells, the odor of a distant honey, the vapor of rare flowers.

  Taste came with smell—the taste of blood on her tongue. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, to localize where the blood was coming from; but she couldn’t. Instead, the attempt only brought the recognition of new pains—in her head, in her neck, in her back. She started to move her arms again, but this entailed a whole catalogue of new pains; so once again, she rested.

  Next she allowed temperature to waft into her sensorium. Sun warmed the fingers of her right hand, while the palm, in shadow, stayed cool. A breeze drafted the back of her legs. Her left hand, pressed against the skin of her belly, was warm.

  She felt … awake.

  Slowly—reticent actually to witness the damage, since seeing things made them real, and seeing her own broken body was not a reality she wanted to acknowledge—slowly, she opened her eyes. Things were blurry here at ground level. Hazy browns and grays in the foreground, becoming progressively brighter and greener in the distance. Slowly, things came into focus.

  Slowly, she saw the Ewok.

  A strange, small, furry creature, he stood three feet from Leia’s face and no more than three feet tall. He had large, dark, curious, brownish eyes, and stubby little finger-paws. Completely covered, head to foot, with soft, brown fur, he looked like nothing so much as the stuffed baby Wookiee doll Leia remembered playing with as a child. In fact, when she first saw the creature standing before her, she thought it merely a dream, a childhood memory rising out of her addled brain.

  But this wasn’t a dream. It was an Ewok. And his name was Wicket.

  Nor was he exclusively cute—for as Leia focused further, she could see a knife strapped to his waist. It was all he wore, save for a thin leather mantle only covering his head.

  They watched each other, unmoving, for a long minute. The Ewok seemed puzzled by the princess; uncertain of what she was, or what she intended. At the moment, Leia intended to see if she could sit up.

  She sat up, with a groan.

  The sound apparently frightened the little fluffball; he rapidly stumbled backward, tripped, and fell. “Eeeeep!” he squeaked.

  Leia scrutinized herself closely, looking for signs of serious damage. Her clothes were torn; she had cuts, bruises, and scrapes everywhere—but nothing seemed to be broken or irreparable. On the other hand, she had no idea where she was. She groaned again.

  That did it for the Ewok. He jumped up, grabbed a four-foot-long spear, and held it defensively in her direction. Warily, he circled, poking the pointed javelin at her, clearly more fearful than aggressive.

  “Hey, cut that out.” Leia brushed the weapon away with annoyance. That was all she needed now—to be skewered by a teddy bear. More gently, she added: “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Gingerly, she stood up, testing her legs. The Ewok backed away with caution.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Leia tried to put reassurance into her voice. “I just want to see what happened to my bike here.” She knew the more she talked in this tone, the more at ease it would put the little creature. Moreover, she knew if she was talking, she was doing okay.

  Her legs were a little unsteady, but she was able to walk slowly over to the charred remains of the speeder, now lying in a half-melted pile at the base of the partially blackened tree.

  Her movement wa
s away from the Ewok, who, like a skittish puppy, took this as a safe sign and followed her to the wreckage. Leia picked the Imperial scout’s laser pistol off the ground; it was all that was left of him.

  “I think I got off at the right time,” she muttered.

  The Ewok appraised the scene with his big, shiny eyes, nodded, shook his head, and squeaked vociferously for several seconds.

  Leia looked all around her at the dense forest, then sat down, with a sigh, on a fallen log. She was at eyelevel with the Ewok, now, and they once again regarded each other, a little bewildered, a little concerned. “Trouble is, I’m sort of stuck here,” she confided. “And I don’t even know where here is.”

  She put her head in her hands, partly to mull over the situation, partly to rub some of the soreness from her temples. Wicket sat down beside her and mimicked her posture exactly—head in paws, elbows on knees—then let out a little sympathetic Ewok sigh.

  Leia laughed appreciatively and scratched the small creature’s furry head, between the ears. He purred like a kitten.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a comlink on you by any chance?” Big joke—but she hoped maybe talking about it would give her an idea. The Ewok blinked a few times—but he only gave her a mystified look. Leia smiled. “No, I guess not.”

  Suddenly Wicket froze; his ears twitched, and he sniffed the air. He tilted his head in an attitude of keen attention.

  “What is it?” Leia whispered. Something was obviously amiss. Then she heard it: a quiet snap in the bushes beyond, a tentative rustling.

  All at once the Ewok let out a loud, terrified screech. Leia drew her pistol, jumping behind the log; Wicket scurried beside her and squeezed under it. A long silence followed. Tense, uncertain, Leia trained her senses on the near underbrush. Ready to fight.

  For all her readiness, she hadn’t expected the laser bolt to come from where it did—high, off to the right. It exploded in front of the log with a shower of light and pine needles. She returned the fire quickly—two short blasts—then just as quickly sensed something behind her. Slowly she swiveled, to find an Imperial scout standing over her, his weapon leveled at her head. He reached out his hand for the pistol she held.

  “I’ll take that,” he ordered.

  Without warning, a furry hand came out from under the log and jabbed the scout in the leg with a knife. The man howled in pain, began jumping about on one foot.

  Leia dove for his fallen laser pistol. She rolled, fired, and hit the scout squarely in the chest, flash-burning his heart.

  Quickly the forest was quiet once more, the noise and light swallowed up as if they had never been. Leia lay still where she was, panting softly, waiting for another attack. None came.

  Wicket poked his fuzzy head up from under the log, and looked around. “Eeep rrp scrp ooooh,” he mumbled in a tone of awe.

  Leia hopped up, ran all about the area, crouched, turned her head from side to side. It seemed safe for the time being. She motioned to her chubby new friend. “Come on, we’d better get out of here.”

  As they moved into the thick flora, Wicket took the lead. Leia was unsure at first, but he shrieked urgently at her and tugged her sleeve. So she relinquished control to the odd little beast and followed him.

  She cast her mind adrift for a while, letting her feet carry her nimbly along among the gargantuan trees. She was struck, suddenly, not by the smallness of the Ewok who guided her, but by her own smallness next to these trees. They were ten thousand years old, some of them, and tall beyond sight. They were temples to the life-force she championed; they reached out to the rest of the universe. She felt herself part of their greatness, but also dwarfed by it.

  And lonely. She felt lonely here, in this forest of giants. All her life she’d lived among giants of her own people: her father, the great Senator Organa; her mother, then Minister of Education; her peers and friends, giants all …

  But these trees. They were like mighty exclamation points, announcing their own preeminence. They were here! They were older than time! They would be here long after Leia was gone, after the Rebellion, after the Empire …

  And then she didn’t feel lonely again, but felt a part again, of these magnificent, poised beings. A part of them across time and space, connected by the vibrant, vital force, of which …

  It was confusing. A part, and apart. She couldn’t grasp it. She felt large and small, brave and timid. She felt like a tiny, creative spark, dancing about in the fires of life … dancing behind a furtive, pudgy, midget bear, who kept beckoning her deeper into the woods.

  It was this, then, that the Alliance was fighting to preserve—furry creatures in mammoth forests helping scared, brave princesses to safety. Leia wished her parents were alive, so she could tell them.

  * * *

  Lord Vader stepped out of the elevator and stood at the entrance to the throne room. The light-cables hummed either side of the shaft, casting an eerie glow on the royal guards who waited there. He marched resolutely down the walkway, up the stairs, and paused subserviently behind the throne. He kneeled, motionless.

  Almost immediately, he heard the Emperor’s voice. “Rise. Rise and speak, my friend.”

  Vader rose, as the throne swiveled around, and the Emperor faced him.

  They made eye contact from light-years and a soul’s breath away. Across that abyss, Vader responded. “My master, a small Rebel force has penetrated the shield and landed on Endor.”

  “Yes, I know.” There was no hint of surprise in his tone; rather, fulfillment.

  Vader noted this, then went on. “My son is with them.”

  The Emperor’s brow furrowed less than a millimeter. His voice remained cool, unruffled, slightly curious. “Are you sure?”

  “I felt him, my master.” It was almost a taunt. He knew the Emperor was frightened of young Skywalker, afraid of his power. Only together could Vader and the Emperor hope to pull the Jedi Knight over to the dark side. He said it again, emphasizing his own singularity. “I felt him.”

  “Strange, that I have not,” the Emperor murmured, his eyes becoming slits. They both knew the Force wasn’t all-powerful—and no one was infallible with its use. It had everything to do with awareness, with vision. Certainly, Vader and his son were more closely linked than was the Emperor with young Skywalker—but, in addition, the Emperor was now aware of a cross-current he hadn’t read before, a buckle in the Force he couldn’t quite understand. “I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader.”

  “They are clear, my master.” He knew his son’s presence, it galled him and fueled him and lured him and howled in a voice of its own.

  “Then you must go to the Sanctuary Moon and wait for him,” Emperor Palpatine said simply. As long as things were clear, things were clear.

  “He will come to me?” Vader asked skeptically. This was not what he felt. He felt drawn.

  “Of his own free will,” the Emperor assured him. It must be of his own free will, else all was lost. A spirit could not be coerced into corruption, it had to be seduced. It had to participate actively. It had to crave. Luke Skywalker knew these things, and still he circled the black fire, like a cat. Destinies could never be read with absolute certainty—but Skywalker would come, that was clear. “I have foreseen it. His compassion for you will be his undoing.” Compassion had always been the weak belly of the Jedi, and forever would be. It was the ultimate vulnerability. The Emperor had none. “The boy will come to you, and you will then bring him before me.”

  Vader bowed low. “As you wish.”

  With casual malice, the Emperor dismissed the Dark Lord. With grim anticipation, Vader strode out of the throne room, to board the shuttle for Endor.

  * * *

  Luke, Chewie, Han, and Threepio picked their way methodically through the undergrowth behind Artoo, whose antenna continued to revolve. It was remarkable the way the little droid was able to blaze a trail over jungle terrain like this, but he did it without fuss, the miniature cutting tools o
n his walkers and dome slicing neatly through anything too dense to push out of the way.

  Artoo suddenly stopped, causing some consternation on the part of his followers. His radar screen spun faster, he clicked and whirred to himself, then darted forward with an excited announcement. “Vrrr dEEP dWP booooo dWEE op!”

  Threepio raced behind him. “Artoo says the rocket bikes are right up—oh, dear.”

  They broke into the clearing just ahead of the others, but all stopped in a clump on entering. The charred debris of three speeder bikes was strewn around the area—not to mention the remains of some. Imperial scouts.

  They spread out to inspect the rubble. Little of note was evident, except a torn piece of Leia’s jacket. Han held it soberly, thinking.

  Threepio spoke quietly. “Artoo’s sensors find no other trace of Princess Leia.”

  “I hope she’s nowhere near here, now,” Han said to the trees. He didn’t want to imagine her loss. After all that had happened, he simply couldn’t believe it would end this way for her.

  “Looks like she ran into two of them,” Luke said, just to say something. None of them wanted to draw any conclusions.

  “She seems to have done all right,” Han responded somewhat tersely. He was addressing Luke, but speaking to himself.

  Only Chewbacca seemed uninterested in the clearing in which they were standing. He stood facing the dense foliage beyond, then wrinkled his nose, sniffing.

  “Rahrr!” he shouted, plunging into the thicket. The others rushed after him.

  Artoo whistled softly, nervously.

  “Picking up what?” Threepio snapped. “Try to be more specific, would you?”

  The trees became significantly taller as the group pushed on. Not that it was possible to see any higher, but the girth of the trunks was increasingly massive. The rest of the forest was thinning a bit in the process, making passage easier, but giving them the distinct sense that they were shrinking. It was an ominous feeling.