by James Kahn
“Eepeep, meep eek squee...”
Threepio translated for his friends: “Honorable Elders, we have this night received a perilous, wondrous gift. The gift of freedom. This golden god...”—here Threepio paused in his translation just long enough to savor the moment; then went on—”... This golden god, whose return to us has been prophesied since the First Tree, tells us now he will not be our Master, tells us we are free to choose as we will—that we must choose; as all living things must choose their own destiny. He has come, Honorable Elders, and he will go; no longer may we be slaves to his divine guidance. We are free.
“Yet how must we comport ourselves? Is an Ewok’s love of the wood any less because he can leave it? No—his love is more, because he can leave it, yet he stays. So is it with the voice of the Golden One: we can close our eyes; yet we listen.
“His friends tell us of a Force, a great living spirit, of which we are all part, even as the leaves are things separate yet part of the tree.
“We know this spirit, Honorable Elders, though we call it not the Force. The friends of the Golden One tell us this Force is in great jeopardy, here and everywhere. When the fire reaches the forest, who is safe? Not even the Great Tree of which all things are part; nor its leaves, nor its roots, nor its birds. All are in peril, forever and ever.
“It is a brave thing to confront such a fire, Honorable Elders. Many will die, that the forest lives on.
“But the Ewoks are brave.”
The little bear-creature fixed his gaze on the others in the hut. Not a word was spoken; nonetheless, the communication was intense. After a minute like this, he concluded his statement.
“Honorable Elders, we must aid this noble party not less for the trees, but more for the sake of the leaves on the trees. These Rebels are like the Ewoks, who are like the leaves. Battered by the wind, eaten without thought by the tumult of locusts that inhabit the world—yet do we throw ourselves on smoldering fires, that another may know the warmth of light; yet do we make a soft bed of ourselves, that another may know rest; yet do we swirl in the wind that assails us, to send the fear of chaos into the hearts of our enemies; yet do we change color, even as the season calls upon us to change. So must we help our Leafbrothers, these Rebels—for so has come a season of change upon us.”
He stood, still, before them, the small fire dancing in his eye. For a timeless moment, all the world seemed still.
The Elders were moved. Without saying another word, they nodded in agreement. Perhaps they were telepathic.
In any case, Chief Chirpa stood and, without preface, made a brief pronouncement.
All at once drums began to beat throughout the entire village. The Elders jumped up—no longer at all so serious—and ran across the tent to hug the Rebels. Teebo even began to hug Artoo, but thought better of it as the little droid backed off with a low warning whistle. Teebo scurried over to hop playfully on the Wookiee’s back instead.
Han smiled uncertainly. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Leia answered out the side of her mouth, “But it doesn’t look too bad.”
Luke, like the others, was sharing the joyous occasion—whatever it meant—with a pleasant smile and diffuse good will, when suddenly a dark cloud filled his heart, hovered there, nestled a clammy chill into the corners of his soul. He wiped its traces from his visage, made his face a mask. Nobody noticed.
Threepio finally nodded his understanding to Wicket, who was explaining the situation to him. He turned, with an expansive gesture, to the Rebels. “We are now part of the tribe.”
“Just what I’ve always wanted,” said Solo.
Threepio continued talking to the others, trying to ignore the sarcastic Star Captain. “The Chief has vowed to help us in any way to rid their land of the evil ones.”
“Well, short help is better than no help, I always say,” Solo chuckled.
Threepio was once again rapidly overheating his circuits toward the Corellian ingrate. “Teebo says his chief scouts, Wicket and Paploo, will show us the fastest way to the shield generator.”
“Tell him thanks, Goldenrod.” He just loved irking Threepio. He couldn’t help himself.
Chewie let out a righteous bark, happy to be on the move again. One of the Ewoks thought he was asking for food, though, and brought the Wookiee a large slab of meat. Chewbacca didn’t refuse. He downed the meat in a single gulp, as several Ewoks gathered, watching in amazement. They were so incredulous at this feat, in fact, they began giggling furiously; and the laughter was so infectious, it started the Wookiee chortling. His gruff guffaws were really hilarious to the chuckling Ewoks, so—as was their custom--they jumped on him in a frenzy of tickling, which he returned threefold, until they all lay in a puddle, quite exhausted. Chewie wiped his eyes and grabbed another piece of meat, which he gnawed at a more leisurely pace.
Solo, meanwhile, began organizing the expedition. “How far is it? We’ll need some fresh supplies. There’s not much time, you know. Give me some of that, Chewie.”
Chewie snarled.
Luke drifted to the back of the hut and then slipped outside during the commotion. Out in the square, a great party was going on -dancing, squealing, tickling—but Luke avoided this, too. He wandered away from the bonfires, away from the gaiety, to a secluded walkway on the dark side of a colossal tree.
Leia followed him.
The sounds of the forest filled the soft night air, here. Crickets, skittering rodents, desolate breezes, anguished owls. The perfumes were a mixture of night-blooming jasmine, and pine; the harmonies were strictly ethereal. The sky was crystal black.
Luke stared at the brightest star in the heavens. It looked to be fired from deep within its core by raging elemental vapors. It was the Death Star.
He couldn’t take his eyes from it. Leia found him like that.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He smiled wearily. “Everything, I’m afraid. Or nothing, maybe. Maybe things are finally going to be as they were meant to be.”
He felt the presence of Darth Vader very near.
Leia took his hand. She felt so close to Luke, yet... she couldn’t say how. He seemed so lost now, so alone. So distant. She almost couldn’t feel his hand in hers. “What is it, Luke?”
He looked down at their intertwined fingers. “Leia... do you remember your mother? Your real mother?”
The question took her totally by surprise. She’d always felt so close to her adopted parents, it was as if they were her real parents. She almost never thought of her real mother—that was like a dream.
Yet now Luke’s question made her start. Flashes from her infancy assaulted her—distorted visions of running... a beautiful woman... hiding in a trunk. The fragments suddenly threatened to flood her with emotion.
“Yes,” she said, pausing to regain her composure. “Just a little bit. She died when I was very young.”
“What do you remember?” he pressed. “Tell me.”
“Just feelings, really... images.” She wanted to let it slide, it was so out of the blue, so far from her immediate concerns... but somehow so loud inside, all of a sudden.
“Tell me,” Luke repeated.
She felt surprised by his insistence, but decided to follow him with it, at least for the time being. She trusted him, even when he frightened her. “She was very beautiful,” Leia remembered aloud. “Gentle and kind—but sad.” She looked deeply into his eyes, seeking his intentions. “Why are you asking me this?”
He turned away, peering back up at the Death Star, as if he’d been on the verge of opening up; then something scared him, and he pulled it all in once more. “I have no memory of my mother,” he claimed. “I never knew her.”
“Luke, tell me what’s troubling you.” She wanted to help, she knew she could help.
He stared at her a long moment, estimating her abilities, gauging her need to know, her desire to know. She was strong. He felt it, unwaveringly. He could depend on her. They all could. “Vad
er is here... now. On this moon.”
She felt a chill, like a physical sensation, as if her blood had actually congealed. “How do you know?”
“I can feel his presence. He’s come for me.”
“But how could he know we were here? Was it the code, did we leave out some password?” She knew it was none of these things.
“No, it’s me. He can feel it when I’m near.” He held her by the shoulders. He wanted to tell her everything, but now as he tried, his will was starting to fail. “I must leave you, Leia. As long as I’m here, I endanger the whole group and our mission here.” His hands trembled. “I have to face Vader.”
Leia was fast becoming distraught, confused. Intimations were rushing at her like wild owls out of the night, their wings brushing her cheek, their talons catching her hair, their harsh whispers thrilling her ear: “Who? Who? Who?”
She shook her head hard. “I don’t understand, Luke. What do you mean, you have to face Vader?”
He pulled her to him, his manner suddenly gentle; abidingly calm. To say it, just to say it, in some basic way released him. “He’s my father, Leia.”
“Your father!?” She couldn’t believe it; yet of course it was true.
He held her steady, to be a rock for her. “Leia, I’ve found something else out. It’s not going to be easy for you to hear it, but you have to. You have to know before I leave here because I might not be back. And if I don’t make it, you’re the only hope for the Alliance.”
She looked away, she shook her head, she wouldn’t look at him. It was terribly disturbing, what Luke was saying, though she couldn’t imagine why. It was nonsense, of course; that was why. To call her the only hope for the Alliance if he should die—why, it was absurd. Absurd to think of Luke dying, and to think of her being the only hope.
Both thoughts were out of the question. She moved away from him, to deny his words; at least to give them distance, to let her breathe. Flashes of her mother came again, in this breathing space. Parting embraces, flesh torn from flesh...
“Don’t talk that way, Luke. You have to survive. I do what I can—we all do—but I’m of no importance. Without you... I can do nothing. It’s you, Luke. I’ve seen it. You have a power I don’t understand... and could never have.”
“You’re wrong, Leia.” He held her at arm’s length. “You have that power, too. The Force is strong in you. In time you’ll learn to use it as I have.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t hear this. He was lying. She had no power, the power was elsewhere, she could only help and succor and support. What was he saying? Was it possible?
He brought her closer still, held her face in his hands.
He looked so tender now, so giving. Was he giving her the power? Could she truly hold it? What was he saying? “Luke, what’s come over you?”
“Leia, the Force is strong in my family. My father has it, I have it, and... my sister has it.”
Leia stared full into his eyes again. Darkness whirled there. And truth. What she saw frightened her... but now, this time, she didn’t draw away. She stood close to him. She started to understand.
“Yes,” he whispered, seeing her comprehension. “Yes. It’s you, Leia.” He held her in his arms.
Leia closed her eyes tightly against his words, against her tears. To no avail. It all washed over her, now, and through her. “I know,” she nodded. Openly she wept.
“Then you know I must go to him.”
She stood back, her face hot, her mind swimming in a storm. “No, Luke, no. Run away, far away. If he can feel your presence, go away from this place.” She held his hands, put her cheek on his chest. “I wish I could go with you.”
He stroked the back of her head. “No, you don’t. You’ve never faltered. When Han and I and the others have doubted, you’ve always been strong. You’ve never turned away from your responsibility. I can’t say the same.” He thought of his premature flight from Dagobah, racing to risk everything before his training had been completed, almost destroying everything because of it. He looked down at the black, mechanical hand he had to show for it. How much more would be lost to his weakness? “Well,” he choked, “now we’re both going to fulfill our destinies.”
“Luke, why? Why must you confront him?”
He thought of all the reasons—to win, to lose, to join, to struggle, to kill, to weep, to walk away, to accuse, to ask why, to forgive, to not forgive, to die—but knew, in the end, there was only one reason, now and always. Only one reason that could ever matter. “There’s good in him, I’ve felt it. He won’t give me over to the Emperor. I can save him, I can turn him back to the good side.” His eyes became wild for just a moment, torn by doubts and passions. “I have to try, Leia. He’s our father.”
They held each other close. Tears streamed silently down her face.
“Goodbye, dear sister--lost, and found. Goodbye, sweet, sweet Leia.”
She cried openly, now—they both did—as Luke held her away and moved slowly back along the planking. He disappeared into the darkness of the tree-cave that led out of the village.
Leia watched him go, quietly weeping. She gave free vent to her feelings, did not try to stop the tears—tried, instead, to feel them, to feel the source they came from, the path they took, the murky corners they cleansed.
Memories poured through her, now, clues, suspicions, half-heard mutterings when they’d thought she was asleep. Luke, her brother! And Vader, her father. This was too much to assimilate all at once, it was information overload.
She was crying and trembling and whimpering all at once, when suddenly Han stepped up and embraced her from behind. He’d gone looking for her, and heard her voice, and came around just in time to see Luke leaving—but only now, when Leia jumped at his touch and he turned her around, did he realize she was sobbing.
His quizzical smile turned to concern, tempered by the heart-fear of the would-be lover. “Hey, what’s going on here?”
She stifled her sobs, wiped her eyes. “It’s nothing, Han. I just want to be alone for a while.”
She was hiding something, that much was plain, and that much was unacceptable. “It’s not nothing!” he said angrily. “I want to know what’s going on. Now you tell me what it is.” He shook her. He’d never felt like this before. He wanted to know, but he didn’t want to know what he thought he knew. It made him sick at heart to think of Leia... with Luke... he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what it was he didn’t want to imagine.
He’d never been out of control like this, he didn’t like it, he couldn’t stop it. He realized he was still shaking her, and stopped.
“I can’t, Han...” Her lip began to tremble again.
“You can’t! You can’t tell me? I thought we were closer than that, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe you’d rather tell Luke. Sometimes I—”
“Oh, Han!” she cried, and burst into tears once more. She buried herself in his embrace.
His anger turned slowly to confusion and dismay, as he found himself wrapping his arms around her, caressing her shoulders, comforting her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t understand, not an iota—didn’t understand her, or himself, or his topsy-turvy feelings, or women, or the universe. All he knew was that he’d just been furious, and now he was affectionate, protective, tender. Made no sense.
“Please... just hold me,” she whispered. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to be held.
He just held her.
Morning mist rose off dewy vegetation as the sun broke the horizon over Endor. The lush foliage of the forest’s edge had a moist, green odor; in that dawning moment the world was silent, as if holding its breath.
In violent contrast, the Imperial landing platform squatted over the ground. Harsh, metallic, octagonal, it seemed to cut like an insult into the verdant beauty of the place. The bushes at its perimeter were singed black from repeated shuttle landings; the flora beyond that was wilting—dying from refuse disposal, tra
mpling feet, chemical exhaust fumes. Like a blight was this outpost.
Uniformed troops walked continuously on the platform and in the area—loading, unloading, surveilling, guarding. Imperial Walkers were parked off to one side—square, armored, two-legged war machines, big enough for a squad of soldiers to stand inside, firing laser cannon in all directions. An Imperial shuttle took off for the Death Star, with a roar that made the trees cringe. Another walker emerged from the timber on the far side of the platform, returning from a patrol mission. Step by lumbering step, it approached the loading dock.
Darth Vader stood at the rail of the lower deck, staring mutely into the depths of the lovely forest. Soon. It was coming soon; he could feel it. Like a drum getting louder, his destiny approached. Dread was all around, but fear like this excited him, so he let it bubble quietly within. Dread was a tonic, it heightened his senses, honed a raw edge to his passions. Closer, it came.
Victory, too, he sensed. Mastery. But laced with something else... what was it? He couldn’t see it, quite. Always in motion, the future; difficult to see. Its apparitions tantalized him, swirling specters, always changing. Smoky was his future, thunderous with conquest and destruction.
Very close, now. Almost here.
He purred, in the pit of his throat, like a wild cat smelling game on the air.
Almost here.
The Imperial Walker docked at the opposite end of the deck, and opened its doors. A phalanx of stormtroopers marched out in tight circular formation. They lock-stepped toward Vader.
He turned around to face the oncoming troopers, his breathing even, his black robes hanging still in the windless morning. The stormtroopers stopped when they reached him, and at a word from their captain, parted to reveal a bound prisoner in their midst. It was Luke Skywalker.
The young Jedi gazed at Vader with complete calm, with many layers of vision.
The stormtrooper captain spoke to Lord Vader. “This is the Rebel that surrendered to us. Although he denies it, I believe there may be more of them, and I request permission to conduct a wider search of the area.” He extended his hand to the Dark Lord; in it, he held Luke’s lightsaber. “He was armed only with this.”
