by Ken Liu
She leaned back, satisfied, and began her tale.
Everyone knows the officially sanctioned version of Luke Skywalker, last of the Jedi Knights, guardian of the galaxy, trusted operative of General Leia Organa, greatest pilot of the New Republic, mighty wielder of the emerald lightsaber, harbinger of victory in his X-wing with five red stripes.…I could go on and on.
Indeed, stories about him have spun so out of control that it’s impossible to separate myth from facts. Well, that’s where I come in.
Now, having had a good education and a career as a professional in the Empire, I know a bit more than the average smuggler about how political power works. It’s all about theater and plots and backroom intrigue. You can’t trust anything the talking holoheads on the newscasts tell you.
The truth is hidden out of sight, and you have to study a variety of sources and really use your brain to figure out what they don’t want you to know.
Almost everything you think you know about Luke Skywalker is a lie.
Even his name was an invention. Orphaned as a child, back on Tatooine he was known as Luke Clodplodder. Brought up by his moisture-farming uncle and aunt, Luke grew into a lazy youth with severe delusions about his skills as a skyhopper pilot and mechanic—
“That’s a bit harsh,” muttered the hooded man. But Redy heard him.
“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll present you my evidence. Biggs Darklighter, who grew up with Clodplodder on Tatooine, was often cited as the source of Luke’s exploits as a skyhopper pilot in Beggar’s Canyon. But several Imperial Academy instructors have told me that Biggs was among the worst students they’d ever had at the academy, and his praise for young Clodplodder’s piloting skills must be treated as the exaggerated tall tales of a similarly incompetent pilot.”
“Tall tales, eh? You don’t say,” said the hooded man.
“I do say,” said Redy, taking a big gulp of her extra-foamy drink and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “As for his skills as a mechanic, we know from multiple sources that he often went to Tosche Station on Tatooine for power converters—”
“Those things can be tricky—”
“Not unless the kid was lazy! Any real mechanic can tell you that power converters for moisture-farming equipment are designed to be rugged and easy to repair in the field. Buying new power converters once a year as they wear out may be excusable, but having to go multiple times a month meant that he was either incapable of fixing them or merely using them as an excuse to go to town to waste time with his similarly lazy friends.”
The hooded man chuckled. “I guess I knew someone who would agree with you on that. Sorry to interrupt. Please continue.”
Clodplodder might not have possessed any worthwhile skills to a civilized pair of eyes, but he did have two critical qualities that could be useful to an unscrupulous mind: he was good-looking and smooth talking.
After his uncle and aunt disappeared mysteriously, he left Tatooine. (My bet is that the uncle and aunt, like many poor farmers, could only make ends meet by dodging Imperial taxes. Eventually, the tax assessors hounding them became too much to bear, and they just packed up and skipped town. Lazy Luke probably got left behind because his relatives thought him a liability.)
The exact manner in which he left was never made clear in the official records, but by talking to many traders, fugitives, former Imperial troopers, and others who weren’t paid or intimidated by the New Republic’s propagandists, here’s what I’ve been able to determine: Clodplodder joined a gang of criminals.
The head of the gang was Benny “Wiseman” O’Kenoby, an old con man who was the brains of the band. Other members included Hansel “Lightning Hands” Shooter, a seasoned Corellian smuggler and habitual liar who never kept a bargain, and Chewie “Shaggy” Baccarat, a Wookiee with a gambling addiction who served as the group’s muscle and means of intimidation.
How did Luke “Babyface” Clodplodder fit in? He was the one who charmed the gang’s victims and ensnared them in various schemes.
I know the New Republic doesn’t like to mention it, but the Empire, for all its faults—and there were many—did try to keep this sort of petty criminal who preyed on the innocent in check. Once the Rebellion started, chaos reigned everywhere, and the O’Kenoby gang, riding around the galaxy in the Century Turkey, a rattling piece of junk held together with gum and wires, just had a field day.
They flew from planet to planet, working whatever opportunities they found. They cheated at podraces; faked odds at fathier tracks; ran gambling rackets so that whenever the house seemed to be losing, Chewie pounded his chest and growled at the unfortunate player. They took money for smuggling jobs and never delivered the goods, choosing instead to sell them to the highest bidder. There was no dishonest way to make a living that they didn’t try at least once.
It was Benny O’Kenoby, the wily leader, who came up with their longest-running scheme. They claimed that Clodplodder had learned the secrets of the Jedi, that mysterious ancient cult, and could wield supernatural powers. They’d fly to some backwater planet, set up shop in remote villages where the inhabitants lacked quality entertainment, and put on shows that demonstrated Clodplodder’s supposed abilities.
O’Kenoby and Shooter would go from house to house and tell tall tales about Luke to drum up interest. The Wookiee would parade around their little makeshift stage with painted advertisement boards sandwiching his body, and growl and moan for attention. Luke would sit on the stage and smile at the ladies, trying to entice them to come see the circus.
Their show had a few parts. There was Luke’s “Jedi mind trick,” a basic hypnosis gag that was much less impressive than any street busker’s act on Coruscant. They had Luke juggle lit welding torches, which they painted and decorated to look like lightsabers. They had Luke fake-wrestle the Wookiee, and the Wookiee would jump around and slam into things, pretending Luke had thrown him with “the Force.”
Since Luke grew up in a rural settlement just like the ones his victims lived in, he knew exactly how to get the bored and unsophisticated villagers to bring out their credit chips.
But their most famous act was the one where they blindfolded Luke and gave him a welding torch and had hover droids shoot blaster bolts at him. Relying on his supernatural “Force” powers, Luke would deflect every blast without looking. It was a big crowd-pleaser.
“Sorry to interrupt again,” said the hooded man, “but how did they pull that last one off?”
“Glad you asked,” said Redy. She dipped a Naboo sardine fritter in lava sauce, dropped it into her mouth, and generously offered the plate to the rest of us as she chomped. The woman with the monkey-lizard boots took one, tentatively licked it, and blanched. I declined. The Togruta took two.
Redy swallowed and went on. “All you had to do was program the droids to shoot at the brightest moving objects. Those things were easy to hack because they were sold for civilian use and didn’t have any of the security protocols found on military equipment. Then, as Luke posed and waved that welding torch around randomly, the droids would shoot at the bright arc from the ‘lightsaber.’ It only looked like he was anticipating the blasts. Any twelve-year-old who paid attention in school could have pulled that off.”
“I see.” The hooded man nodded. “Please, go on. I’m fascinated.”
After the main show, the gang would encourage everyone to line up so Clodplodder could use “Force” powers to heal the sick, tell fortunes, prepare love potions, and so on, all for a “reasonable” fee. Chewie growled and glared at anyone who dared to express a hint of skepticism or didn’t get in line quickly enough. It was half con, half robbery.
Eventually, enough victims complained that the authorities caught up to them. Although the O’Kenoby gang mostly stuck to preying on remote settlements, the Rebel Alliance wanted to make an example out of them to show that it could maintain order and keep people safe from crime, just like the Empire. Benny and his gang were arrested and taken to the rebel base
on Yavin 4. A big show trial was planned, and Princess Leia Organa, one of the bigwigs in the Alliance, asked specifically to run it herself.
That was when the gang pulled off its biggest con. What I’m about to tell you is so secret that not even all the top leaders of the New Republic know the details.
In short, to avoid a lengthy prison sentence, Benny O’Kenoby offered to put his gang’s skills in the service of the Rebel Alliance.
“Listen,” he said. “I know the Rebellion isn’t going so well. People are losing faith in you, and the Empire is striking hard at your bases.”
“Why are you telling me this?” the princess asked, all wary and suspicious-like.
“What you need is a good show to restore faith in your cause, and nobody knows showmanship better than this group,” said Shooter.
“We do have a good show planned,” said Leia. “We’re going to try you in open court, publicize your crimes, and then make you work hard to pay back your victims—”
“No, no, no,” interrupted Clodplodder. (And Chewie growled for emphasis.) “That’s not a good use of your valuable and limited resources. Why try us as small-time crooks when we can do so much more for you?”
“Um, how do you know so much about what was said back then?” asked the hooded man. “Were you there?”
“Of course not,” snapped Redy. “Obviously, I’m taking some poetic license for a better story.”
“Ah,” said the hooded man. “Poetic license. Right.”
“I had to piece together what happened from rumors and clues gathered over many years and across many systems, and the reconstruction required filling in the blanks with some speculation.” Redy sounded a bit defensive. “But I’m pretty sure I know what happened. It takes a trained mind to make the necessary leaps of logic and connect the dots from the barest hints, you get me?”
We gestured for her to go on.
Curious, the princess decided to listen to what the gang had to say, but the plan that O’Kenoby and his band came up with was so preposterous that she summarily sent everyone back to their prison cells.
But she didn’t follow through with her original plan for a show trial, either.
As the Rebel Alliance’s situation worsened every day, the princess returned to talk with the gang from time to time. The more she thought about their plan, the less absurd it seemed.
And to further convince her, Shooter and Clodplodder both practiced their considerable charms on the princess, and in the end, Shooter actually managed to get the princess to fall in love with him. To this day I can’t imagine how he pulled that off.
Also, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, Shooter—or “General Solo,” as we know him—basically owes his entire so-called career to Princess Leia. He was never any use as a leader or fighter at all. All these tales of his derring-do were just stories the New Republic government made up later to make Leia’s spouse seem more impressive and glamorous. Come on! A smuggler with a heart of gold? The layabout who suddenly finds his courage and leadership abilities because of the love of a princess? Really? Even holodramas wouldn’t use such a hackneyed and ridiculous plot.
“I’ve always found the Han Solo legend a bit hard to believe myself,” my Togruta seatmate chimed in. “I heard rumors that he used to be a bit of a rogue and would shoot first—”
“Exactly,” interrupted Redy. “But the official version from the New Republic government was purged of anything that would make him seem less than heroic. All this just goes to show you that governments are the biggest con artists of them all.”
Although a few faces in the circle of benches had been showing signs of skepticism at the rest of Redy’s tale, everyone nodded at this sentiment, including me. Empire, Rebel Alliance, New Republic, First Order—the one thing you learn trying to scrape out a living in space is that governments can’t be trusted. Nine times out of ten, they are the problem.
“Leia really is an extraordinary individual,” said the hooded man. His tone was placid, wistful. “She’s certainly the smartest one in that family.”
Redy gave him an odd look. “Speaking of governments and con jobs…”
The Empire was running a con of its own at the time. To demoralize the rebels, Imperial disinformation specialists had been spreading rumors for years that the Empire was constructing a battle station called the Death Star, which was supposed to have the power to destroy an entire planet.
Sorry, but I have to go on a tangent here. Again, as an engineer, let me tell you the Death Star is completely implausible. First, I’ve done the math, and there’s just no way that known technology could generate that kind of power. None whatsoever. Handwavium from mystical “kyber crystals” just doesn’t cut it. (I’m not even going to go into all the ways the purported design of the space station makes no engineering sense, either. You wouldn’t be able to afford the number of drinks it would take for me to walk you through those.)
Second, you can’t possibly construct a working superweapon like that without conducting tests. I don’t care what kind of engineers and scientists you have working for you, it’s just not possible. And yet, before Alderaan, there were no verified tests of the Death Star at all. Not a single one. I know that conspiracy nuts like to claim that the mining accident on Jedha was a covered-up test, but I’ve looked into the evidence, and all they’ve got is a lot of unscientific speculation, not proof.
The point is this: the Death Star was a political trick to ensure the loyalty of the moffs during that crucial phase of the war, when it was uncertain whether the Empire or the Rebel Alliance would prevail. And despite how farfetched the whole thing was, for a few years it served its propaganda purpose.
But you could keep up a lie for only so long before people started to doubt, and to shore up the lie, the Empire staged the destruction of Alderaan.
“Staged!” I exclaimed. “I had friends there. The whole world was blown up. I don’t care what your engineering sense tells you. That was real!”
“I didn’t say what happened to Alderaan wasn’t real,” Redy said. “I’m not some Imperial apologist. The massacre of the people of Alderaan, who didn’t even have any weapons, was one of the greatest crimes committed by the Emperor. But it wasn’t done with some super-secret battle station.”
“But I saw the holos,” said one of the listeners in the circle. “The Empire publicized it as a demonstration of power.” We all nodded, shuddering at the memory of the footage.
“Again, you have to focus on the details,” said Redy. “If you examined the footage carefully—which I’ve done frame by frame—you would notice that some of the shots showed just a brilliant ball of sparks while others showed an expanding ring of superheated material in space. How could the same event have two different filmed versions? Clearly faked.”
“So what really happened?” asked the hooded man, his voice tense.
“Listen, the massacre of Alderaan was real, and so was the destruction of the planet. My personal theory is that it was done with a carefully placed series of proton torpedoes directed along tectonic-plate fault lines. I’ve run the computer simulations, and it is entirely possible. Again, the math doesn’t lie. The Empire decided that killing millions on that day wasn’t enough. It had to turn it into a bigger lie for political intimidation. That is true evil.”
We all nodded again. As men and women living beyond the borders of the law, we might have had our differences with the New Republic, but we all agreed that the Empire was cruel beyond measure.
After a moment of silence to mourn the victims of Alderaan, I asked, “What happened next?”
The destruction of Alderaan was the catalyst that finally made up Princess Leia’s mind to work with the O’Kenoby gang. Her home planet had been destroyed and her people massacred by the Empire just to make a point, to make a lie last longer. It was intolerable. The Rebel Alliance had to strike back.
O’Kenoby, Shooter, Chewie, and Clodplodder had told her all along that they could help her do somethin
g about the Death Star. The conspiracy between Leia and the con men was at once cynical and audacious and ridiculous and theatrical. In other words, it was perfect.
First, the conspirators found in the history archives records of an Old Republic general named Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had disappeared years earlier during the Clone Wars. They claimed that Benny O’Kenoby was actually the same person and let it be known that Kenobi had come out of retirement. Then they said Kenobi had confronted Lord Darth Vader, the Emperor’s right-hand man, in an old-fashioned duel and was killed. This gave the Rebel Alliance a hero and a martyr at once, someone who could go toe to toe with the greatest warrior of the Empire. O’Kenoby took a good chunk of credits from the Rebel Alliance and disappeared. Score one point for the rebels.
Next, they made up a story about how the O’Kenoby gang had been on a daring raid on the actual Death Star to rescue Princess Leia, who had been imprisoned because she had managed to steal the plans for the battle station and hidden them in an astromech droid.
To make everyone sound more heroic, they gave the gang members new names, and that’s how we ended up with “Luke Skywalker,” “Han Solo,” and “Chewbacca.” Even their ship, the Century Turkey, got a new paint job and was renamed the Millennium Falcon.
Notice how in their story, the princess played such a critical role? Master spy! Secret agent! You’ll never find a politician who can turn down a chance to claim credit, even if it’s for a fake accomplishment. This gave the Rebel Alliance another victory that they trumpeted to show everyone just how well they were doing. Since there was no actual Death Star, the Empire had no way to disprove the rumors. Score another point for the rebels.
But it was the final step that revealed their pure genius. Luke Clodplodder, now known as Luke Skywalker, suggested that they destroy the Death Star.
