Star Wars: The Last Jedi

by Lucasfilm Press

  Rose’s hand went to cover her medallion. It was her last link to her sister, not something she could barter away. Finn spoke up for her. “No. You’ve got our word that you’re gonna get paid. That should be enough.”

  “Guys, I want to keep helping,” DJ said. “But no something, n-no doing.”

  Sizing up the Destroyers in the armada, Rose thought of her sister. Paige would have been upset if Rose held on to the medallion when she might have saved the Resistance. Paige had died for more than a piece of jewelry.

  Rose yanked the medallion off the chain and threw it to the thief. “Do it,” she said.

  LUKE would have melted into the night but for the flaming torch he held. It lit his way up the cliff to the giant tree, where he would do what he should have done long before.

  Before he entered the trunk, he felt a presence from the past appear behind him. “Master Yoda,” Luke said.

  Small and green, with pointy ears, playful eyes, and wisps of white hair, the wizened old goblin leaned on a walking stick and grinned. “Young Skywalker,” he croaked, as if decades hadn’t passed since he’d last seen Luke on Dagobah.

  Luke knew such time didn’t amount to much in Yoda’s lifespan, but to Luke it seemed like an eternity. And during that eternity Luke had come to a grim realization. Yoda and Obi-Wan might have forged him into a weapon to fight the Emperor and Darth Vader, yet they had failed to equip him with the knowledge to stamp out the darkness for good. Their belief in the return of the Jedi had led Luke to err in his teaching and produce another Darth Vader in Kylo Ren.

  “I’m ending all of this. I’m going to burn it down. Don’t try to stop me,” Luke said, holding his torch high.

  Yoda didn’t try anything. He shuffled aside, putting up no defense at all.

  Luke stepped toward the tree, grappling with what he was about to do. A single lick of flame would burn down millennia of scholarship. The history of the Jedi, their secret lore and ancient wisdom, would be gone. Not because some evil emperor or dark lord had destroyed them, but because he, Luke Skywalker, had decided such knowledge was best not learned.

  He had been preparing himself to do this for years. Yet now he couldn’t.

  Yoda snuffed in annoyance, just as he had on Dagobah when Luke failed one of his lessons. He lifted a gnarled finger toward the tree. Lightning shot forth and hit the trunk to do what Luke could not.

  The library began to burn.

  Guilt suddenly seized Luke’s heart. What had his old master done? He dropped his torch and tried to smother the fire with his robes while Yoda cackled. “Yee-hee-hee—ending this all I am—ho-ho-ho-ho! Oh, Skywalker, missed you I have!”

  Luke rushed toward the hollow in a vain effort to salvage what he could. But the fire roared at him, preventing him from entering.

  He retreated from the blaze. There was nothing he could do. And if Yoda had permitted it, perhaps Luke hadn’t been so wrong in his decision after all. “So it is time, for the Jedi Order to end.”

  “Time it is,” Yoda said, “for you to look past a shelf of old books.”

  “But the sacred texts…” Branches fell from the tree and the fire blazed like a funeral pyre, consuming everything within. Luke hadn’t expected to regret the library’s loss, but regret it he did.

  “Read them have you? Page-turners they were not,” Yoda said.

  Luke peered down at the diminutive creature. Was he truly the ghost of the Jedi Master who had once led the Council and gone into hiding to save the Order? Or was he just a figment of Luke’s imagination?

  “Skywalker, Skywalker,” Yoda said with a heavy sigh, “still looking to the horizon. Never here. Never now. The need in front of your nose.” He dinged his walking stick on the bridge of Luke’s nose. “Wisdom the books held, and goodness the Jedi Order has, but these are not what the girl Rey needed. Needed a master, she did.”

  Luke was loath to admit it, but the tiny Jedi Master had a point. Luke had been so stubborn—so set in his ways about ending the Jedi for good—that he hadn’t allowed himself to become a mentor to her like Yoda had been to him.

  “The Jedi failed. I…failed, Master Yoda,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment. “I was weak. Unwise. I can’t be what she needs me to be.”

  “Heeded my words not, did you? ‘Pass on what you have learned,’” Yoda said, repeating the words he had uttered on his deathbed. “Wisdom, yes. But folly also. Strength and mastery, hmph, but weakness and failure—yes! Failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Learned this you have not.”

  Yoda might as well have been talking about himself. Was the Jedi Order’s failure to stop the rise of the Empire why Yoda had fled to a swamp planet rather than return to confront the Emperor? If Yoda, with his talent in the Force, had led the fight from the outset, he could have reestablished the Jedi and saved the galaxy so much pain.

  Yet Yoda had not incited more war. He had retreated in defeat. Wars not make one great, he’d told Luke when they’d first met. His exile had allowed the galaxy—in the guise of young Luke Skywalker—to come to him.

  Luke had followed Yoda’s example by secluding himself on Ahch-To. He had accepted failure and defeat, but what he hadn’t accepted was the idea of forgiving himself. He’d made mistakes in teaching Ben Solo, yet that didn’t mean what he had taught was wrong, or even that Rey would follow in Ben’s path. Good teachers were not tyrants. They could not control how the students used the knowledge they were taught. Teachers could only pass on what they themselves had learned. For hadn’t Yoda taught him, despite knowing the sins of his father, Anakin Skywalker? The Jedi Master had never given up on the hope that every student, no matter their background, could apply what they learned to bring light into the universe.

  “We are what they grow beyond.” Nine centuries of wrinkles furrowed Yoda’s brow. “That is the true burden of all masters.”

  The heat from the flames scorched Luke’s skin, but he did not move away. When the morning came and the fires had died, Luke watched the smoke curl and vanish from the husk of the tree.

  He stood alone.

  KYLO REN inspected the capsule that TIE fighters had ferried into the Mega-Destroyer’s hangar. It was labeled ESCAPE POD CLASS A940—MILLENNIUM FALCON above scribbling that read Property of Han Solo—please return!

  It amused Ren that nothing could be returned to Han Solo anymore.

  The hatch opened in a cloud of vapor and Rey emerged. Ren took her arm and helped her forward. She tensed but did not wrest her arm free. He let it go on his own.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “As you are now a prisoner of the First Order, regulations require we do a brisk search.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” Rey said.

  Two stormtroopers stepped forward and shackled her hands with binders. Then they patted her down and searched the contents of her satchel. A lightsaber was produced.

  Ren smirked. “Nothing?”

  “You mentioned to me that was yours.”

  “Yes, I believe I did.” Ren took the lightsaber from the trooper with a smile. “Come with me, Rey from Jakku.”

  He escorted her to the turbolift, with the troopers marching in lockstep behind her. When the lift doors hissed opened, he gestured Rey inside and motioned the troopers to leave. Entering the turbolift, Ren keyed in a special code on the floor selector. The doors closed and the lift rose.

  “Snoke?” Rey asked.

  Ren said nothing and examined the lightsaber. He had been searching for it for years. His grandfather had built it, yet Obi-Wan Kenobi had stolen it and passed it down to Luke. Now it was his.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Rey said. “I feel the conflict in you, growing since you killed Han. It’s tearing you apart.”

  He laughed. “Is that why you came? To tell me about my conflict?”

  “No. Look at me.” Her voice softened. “Ben.”

  He looked at her. She stood confident, seemingly unafraid. What had Luke taught her? Surely not much,
in the few days she’d been with him.

  “When we touched, I saw your future,” Rey said. “Just the shape of it, but solid and clear. You will not bow before Snoke. You will turn. I’ll help you. I saw it. It’s your destiny.”

  “You’re wrong. When we touched, I saw something, too. Not your future—your past. And because of what I saw, I know that when the moment comes, you’ll be the one to turn. You’ll stand with me, Rey.” He saved his strongest venom for last. “I saw who your parents are.”

  It hit her like he’d wanted it to—a shock to her heart. Dread quashed the confidence in her eyes. He almost felt sad for her.

  Almost.

  The doors parted. Ren led the girl out into the cavernous hall. The Praetorian Guards maintained their positions, four to each side of the throne occupied by the Supreme Leader. Ren dropped to a knee before him.

  “Well done, my good apprentice. My faith in you is restored.” Snoke blessed Ren with a grin as his gaze locked on Rey. “Young Rey, welcome.”

  Kylo Ren sensed nothing from the girl but fear.

  The conspirators waylaid Vice Admiral Holdo in the hangar. She was clearly surprised that Poe wasn’t in custody, and he didn’t waste the moment. He informed her that Rose and Finn were trying to disable the Supremacy’s hyperspace tracker.

  “They’re doing what?”

  “They’re trying to save us!” Poe said. “This is our best hope of escape. You have to give Finn and Rose all the time you can.”

  Holdo grew livid. “They’ve bet the survival of the Resistance on bad odds, just to be heroes—and you with them?” She addressed the crew running around the converted cargo shuttles. “We need to get clear of this cruiser. Load the transports!”

  The hangar doors opened in preparation for launch. C’ai Threnalli glanced at Poe, giving him the signal.

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Poe told Holdo. He didn’t want to do what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? He drew his blaster and turned it on the vice admiral, as did Threnalli, Lieutenant Connix, and the rest of the group. “Admiral Holdo, I’m relieving you of your duty, for the survival of the ship, its crew, and the Resistance.”

  Holdo lifted her hands, glowering at Poe. Her staff also surrendered. “I hope you understand what you’re doing, Dameron,” she said.

  Poe turned to Threnalli. “I’m going to the bridge. If they move, stun ’em.”

  As he raced out of the hangar, the implications of what he had done began to sink in.

  He had just staged a mutiny.

  Finn held his breath while the Libertine drifted toward the Mega-Destroyer Supremacy. At any moment they might be blasted into space debris. DJ didn’t seem to be worried. Before they had emerged from hyperspace, he had inserted a tool into the yacht’s controls that he claimed would make the ship invisible from the First Order’s scopes. But Finn had heard so many stories about overhyped cloaking devices, none of which actually worked, that he doubted this one would. If cloaking your ship was easy as DJ made it out to be, everybody would own one of these magical gadgets. Yet Finn didn’t raise a stink when a flight of TIEs zoomed past the Libertine without pause. Maybe DJ’s tool wasn’t as unrealistic as it seemed.

  Finn breathed more easily once the yacht penetrated the Supremacy’s shields. DJ might not have been the Master Codebreaker Maz had recommended, but he was no slouch. He hacked into the Mega-Destroyer’s deflector shield timer and programmed a gap in the coverage so they could slip through it. Finn recalled how Han Solo had infiltrated Starkiller Base by exploiting a similar timing gap in the shields, but Han had crashed his beloved Millennium Falcon on the planet below. Fortunately, they weren’t accelerating at a speed that would cause that kind of mishap. Rose glided the Libertine into the Supremacy’s exhaust nozzle and docked against a maintenance hatch, all without seeming to attract the First Order’s notice.

  Their crazy plan was working—so far.

  Disembarking from the yacht, BB-8 took point and rolled down the repair shaft, mapping and scanning the area. Finn crawled after the droid with Rose and DJ, though Rose soon halted before a ventilation duct that was covered in lint. She started to pry loose the grill. “Our way in.”

  Once the grill was freed, they wormed through the duct and out into a hot room that smelled of soap. Officers’ uniforms advanced on a conveyer belt, where a droid with iron-hot limbs steam-pressed the clothes into neatly folded packets.

  Finn shot Rose a quizzical look. “The laundry room?”

  “Time to dress the part, gentlemen,” she said.

  It made sense. They wouldn’t have to sneak around as much if they looked like they belonged here. “Remember to tuck in your shirts,” Finn said. “The First Order doesn’t tolerate wrinkles.”

  They took clothing packets in their sizes and changed behind the cleaning tubs. Finn missed the roominess of Poe’s flight jacket, which he had stowed back on the yacht. The drab uniform he now wore was starch stiff and itched. The cap gave him a headache and the belt squeezed his guts. Why did the First Order have a knack for making things uncomfortable?

  For BB-8’s disguise, Finn found a black waste bucket and turned it over on top of the astromech. If no one looked too close, BB-8 could be mistaken for a mouse droid.

  To reach the engineering section where Rose could disable the tracker, they had to board a turbolift at the other end of an operations center. So they held their chins high and strode through a warren of computer consoles, holographic displays, and targeting systems. First Order officers patrolled the stations, barking commands at analysts. One lieutenant put a datapad in front of Rose. “Captain, could you okay this?”

  She gave the lieutenant’s datapad a once-over, then snapped “okay” and walked onward with Finn and DJ, as if she were on more important business. BB-8 received more attention from the mouse droids zipping about, yet other than some inquisitive beeps, none sounded an alert.

  As they neared the turbolifts, one of the senior-ranking officers cast a curious glance at them. “This isn’t working,” whispered DJ.

  Finn kept his gaze forward. “Almost there.”

  Arriving at the lifts, Rose summoned a car with a button. The doors opened and they all went inside to join a half dozen stormtroopers. The senior officer began to hurry toward them. Rose had trouble with the controls. Two stormtroopers looked at each other. Sweat pooled under Finn’s tight collar. Was this how everything was going to end? The officer had gotten within a few steps when the lift doors finally shut and the car moved.

  Levels whooshed past the windows. No one spoke. But a trooper turned his helmet toward Finn and stared at him. DJ dangled his hand near his holster. Finn had to do something or the thief might get trigger-happy.

  Finn shot the trooper a dirty look. “Is there a problem, soldier?”

  “Eff-Enn-Two-One-Eight-Seven?” The trooper’s comm filter couldn’t suppress his surprise, nor could the vacant expression of his helmet.

  Finn recognized the voice. The trooper was an old batch buddy who’d given him a run for top shot at target practice. But Finn played dumb.

  “You don’t remember me.” The trooper sounded disappointed. “Nine-Two-Six, from induct camp, batch eight. But I remember you.”

  The other troopers started to glance at Finn and their comrade. Rose exchanged nervous looks with DJ, who was ready to draw.

  Finn leaned closer to the trooper and whispered, “Nine-Two-Six. Please…don’t.”

  “Sorry, Two-One-Eight-Seven,” the trooper said. “I know I’m not supposed to initiate contact with officers. But look at you! Never took you for captain material. Batch eight, hey-ho!” He slapped Finn’s rear, like all the cadets used to do in training to motivate each other.

  Rose shooed DJ’s hand away from his blaster. The car halted and the doors opened.

  Finn slapped his old buddy back. “Batch eight,” he said in solidarity.

  Everyone exited the turbolift. The troopers marched off in one direction, and Finn, Rose
, DJ, and BB-8 went in the other. Only when they had turned down a hallway did they relax.

  Finn drew some satisfaction from knowing the First Order’s arrogance was what had saved them. Matters outside of combat and battle strategy were withheld from stormtroopers. Finn’s batch buddy obviously never got the memo that the First Order had declared Finn a traitor.

  That horrible training cycle Finn had spent mopping the Mega-Destroyer’s floors finally came to good use. He led them on a run through a maze of corridors to a locked blast door. “This is it. The tracker’s right behind this door.”

  DJ crouched over the entry console. He retrieved Rose’s medallion from his pocket and pressed it into the console. Before Rose could protest, sparks flew, and the console short-circuited.

  “Haysian smelt makes the best conductor,” DJ said. He tossed the medallion to Rose. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said.

  Finn reconsidered the thief. Perhaps DJ wasn’t as greedy as he’d thought.

  As DJ continued to fiddle with the console, Rose waited beside Finn. “Good time to figure out how we get back to the fleet.”

  “I know where the nearest escape pods are,” Finn said.

  Rose snickered. “Of course you do.”

  Finn cringed. She’d never let him live that one down.

  DJ punched buttons on the console. “Almost there…”

  Poe’s voice crackled over BB-8’s speaker. “Beebee-Ate, tell me something good.”

  The droid ejected a comlink, which Finn caught. “Poe, we’re almost there. Have the cruiser prepped for lightspeed.”

  “Yeah, I’m on it, pal,” Poe said. “You just hurry.”

  “Now or never!” Finn said to DJ.

  The thief looked at them. “Now,” he said, and the blast doors slid open.

  The room beyond was jam-packed with astronavigational systems. A series of circuit breakers was installed on the back wall. Flipping those breakers would cut power to the tracker. Their crazy plan was seconds from being a success.

  But it all proved to be little more than a tantalizing glimpse. A squad of stormtroopers clattered through adjoining doors, led by the senior officer who had spotted them in the operations center.