by George Lucas
“I’ve got to get back home,” he found himself muttering thickly. “It’s late. I’m in for it as it is.” Remembering something, he gestured toward the motionless bulk of Artoo Detoo. “You can keep the droid. He seems to want you to. I’ll think of something to tell my uncle—I hope,” he added forlornly.
“I need your help, Luke,” Kenobi explained, his manner a combination of sadness and steel. “I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. Can’t trust myself to finish it properly on my own. This mission is far too important.” He nodded toward Artoo Detoo. “You heard and saw the message.”
“But... I can’t get involved with anything like that,” protested Luke. “I’ve got work to do; we’ve got crops to bring in—even though Uncle Owen could always break down and hire a little extra help. I mean, one, I guess. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Not now. Besides, that’s all such a long way from here. The whole thing is really none of my business.”
“That sounds like your uncle talking,” Kenobi observed without rancor.
“Oh! My uncle Owen... How am I going to explain all this to him?”
The old man suppressed a smile, aware that Luke’s destiny had already been determined for him. It had been ordained five minutes before he had learned about the manner of his father’s death. It had been ordered before that when he had heard the complete message. It had been fixed in the nature of things when he had first viewed the pleading portrait of the beautiful Senator Organa awkwardly projected by the little droid. Kenobi shrugged inwardly. Likely it had been finalized even before the boy was born. Not that Ben believed in predestination, but he did believe in heredity—and in the force.
“Remember, Luke, the suffering of one man is the suffering of all. Distances are irrelevant to injustice. If not stopped soon enough, evil eventually reaches out to engulf all men, whether they have opposed it or ignored it.”
“I suppose,” Luke confessed nervously, “I could take you as far as Anchorhead. You can get transport from there to Mos Eisley, or wherever it is you want to go.”
“Very well,” agreed Kenobi. “That will do for a beginning. Then you must do what you feel is right.”
Luke turned away, now thoroughly confused. “Okay. Right now I don’t feel too good...”
The holding hole was deathly dim, with only the bare minimum of illumination provided. There was barely enough to see the black metal walls and the high ceiling overhead. The cell was designed to maximize a prisoner’s feelings of helplessness, and this it achieved well. So much so that the single occupant started tensely as a hum came from one end of the chamber. The metal door which began moving aside was as thick as her body—as if, she mused bitterly, they were afraid she might break through anything less massive with her bare hands.
Straining to see outside, the girl saw several imperial guards assume positions just outside the doorway. Eyeing them defiantly, Leia Organa backed up against the far wall.
Her determined expression collapsed as soon as a monstrous black form entered the room, gliding smoothly as if on treads. Vader’s presence crushed her spirit as thoroughly as an elephant would crush an eggshell. That villain was followed by an antiqued whip of a man who was only slightly less terrifying, despite his minuscule appearance alongside the Dark Lord.
Darth Vader made a gesture to someone outside. Something that hummed like a huge bee moved close and slipped inside the doorway. Leia choked on her own breath at the sight of the dark metal globe. It hung suspended on independent repulsors, a farrago of metal arms protruding from its sides. The arms were tipped with a multitude of delicate instruments.
Leia studied the contraption fearfully. She had heard rumors of such machines, but had never really believed that Imperial technicians would construct such a monstrosity. Incorporated into its soulless memory was every barbarity, every substantiated outrage known to mankind—and to several alien races as well.
Vader and Tarkin stood there quietly, giving her plenty of time to study the hovering nightmare. The Governor in particular did not delude himself into thinking that the mere presence of the device would shock her into giving up the information he needed. Not, he reflected, that the ensuing session would be especially unpleasant. There was always enlightenment and knowledge to be gained from such encounters, and the Senator promised to be a most interesting subject.
After a suitable interval had passed, he motioned to the machine. “Now, Senator Organa, Princess Organa, we will discuss the location of the principal rebel base.”
The machine moved slowly toward her, traveling on a rising hum. Its indifferent spherical form blocked out Vader, the Governor, the rest of the cell... the light...
Muffled sounds penetrated the cell walls and thick door, drifting out into the hallway beyond. They barely intruded on the peace and quiet of the walkway running past the sealed chamber. Even so, the guards stationed immediately outside managed to find excuses to edge a sufficient distance away to where those oddly modulated sounds could no longer be heard at all.
= VI =
“LOOK over there, Luke,” Kenobi ordered, pointing to the southwest. The landspeeder continued to race over the gravelly desert floor beneath them. “Smoke, I should think.”
Luke spared a glance at the indicated direction. “I don’t see anything, sir.”
“Let’s angle over that way anyhow. Someone may be in trouble.”
Luke turned the speeder. Before long the rising wisps of smoke that Kenobi had somehow detected earlier became visible to him also.
Topping a slight rise, the speeder dropped down a gentle slope into a broad, shallow canyon that was filled with twisted, burned shapes, some of them inorganic, some not. Dead in the center of this carnage and looking like a beached metal whale lay the shattered hulk of a jawa sandcrawler.
Luke brought the speeder to a halt. Kenobi followed him onto the sand, and together they began to examine the detritus of destruction.
Several slight depressions in the sand caught Luke’s attention. Walking a little faster, he came up next to them and studied them for a moment before calling back to Kenobi.
“Looks like the sandpeople did it, all right. Here’s Bantha tracks...” Luke noticed a gleam of metal half buried in the sand.
“And there’s a piece of one of those big double axes of theirs.” He shook his head in confusion. “But I never heard of the Raiders hitting something this big.” He leaned back, staring up at the towering, burned-out bulk of the sandcrawler.
Kenobi had passed him. He was examining the broad, huge footprints in the sand. “They didn’t,” he declared casually, “but they intended that we—and anyone else who might happen onto this—should think so.” Luke moved up alongside him.
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Look at these tracks carefully,” the older man directed him, pointing down at the nearest and then up at the others. “Notice anything funny about them?” Luke shook his head. “Whoever left here was riding Banthas side by side. Sandpeople always ride one Bantha behind another, single file, to hide their strength from any distant observers.”
Leaving Luke to gape at the parallel sets of tracks, Kenobi turned his attention to the sandcrawler. He pointed out where single weapons’ bursts had blasted away portals, treads, and support beams. “Look at the precision with which this firepower was applied. Sandpeople aren’t this accurate. In fact, no one on Tatooine fires and destroys with this kind of efficiency.” Turning, he examined the horizon. One of those nearby bluffs concealed a secret—and a threat. “Only Imperial troops would mount an attack on a sand-crawler with this kind of cold accuracy.”
Luke had walked over to one of the small, crumpled bodies and kicked it over onto its back. His face screwed up in distaste as he saw what remained of the pitiful creature.
“These are the same jawas who sold Uncle Owen and me Artoo and Threepio. I recognize this one’s cloak design. Why would Imperial troops be slaughtering jawas and sandpeople? They must have killed some Raider
s to get those Banthas.” His mind worked furiously, and he found himself growing unnaturally tense as he stared back at the landspeeder, past the rapidly deteriorating corpses of the jawas.
“But... if they tracked the droids to the jawas, then they had to learn first who they sold them to. That would lead them back to..." Luke was sprinting insanely for the landspeeder.
“Luke, wait... wait, Luke!” Kenobi called. “It’s too dangerous! You’d never...!”
Luke heard nothing except the roaring in his ears, felt nothing save the burning in his heart. He jumped into the speeder and was throwing the accelerator full over almost simultaneously. In an explosion of sand and gravel he left Kenobi and the two robots standing alone in the midst of smoldering bodies, framed by the still smoking wreck of the sandcrawler.
The smoke that Luke saw as he drew near the homestead was of a different consistency from that which had boiled out of the jawa machine. He barely remembered to shut down the landspeeder’s engine as he popped the cockpit canopy and threw himself out. Dark smoke was drifting steadily from holes in the ground.
Those holes had been his home, the only one he had ever known. They might as well have been throats of small volcanoes now. Again and again he tried to penetrate the surface entrances to the below-ground complex. Again and again the still-intense heat drove him back, coughing and choking.
Weakly he found himself stumbling clear, his eyes watering not entirely from the smoke. Half blinded, he staggered over to the exterior entrance to the garage. It too was burning. But perhaps they managed to escape in the other landspeeder.
“Aunt Beru... Uncle Owen!” It was difficult to make out much of anything through the eye-stinging haze. Two smoking shapes showed down the tunnel barely visible through tears and haze. They almost looked like—He squinted harder, wiping angrily at his uncooperative eyes.
No.
Then he was spinning away, falling to his stomach and burying his face in the sand so he wouldn’t have to look anymore.
The tridimensional solid screen filled one wall of the vast chamber from floor to ceiling. It showed a million star systems. A tiny portion of the galaxy, but an impressive display nonetheless when exhibited in such a fashion.
Below, far below, the huge shape of Darth Vader stood flanked on one side by Governor Tarkin and on the other by Admiral Motti and General Tagge, their private antagonisms forgotten in the awesomeness of this moment.
“The final checkout is complete,” Motti informed them. “All systems are operational.” He turned to the others. “What shall be the first course we set?”
Vader appeared not to have heard as he mumbled softly, half to himself, “She has a surprising amount of control. Her resistance to the interrogator is considerable.” He glanced down at Tarkin. “It will be some time before we can extract any useful information from her.”
“I’ve always found the methods you recommend rather quaint, Vader.”
“They are efficient,” the Dark Lord argued softly. “In the interests of accelerating the procedure, however, I am open to your suggestions.”
Tarkin looked thoughtful. “Such stubbornness can often be detoured by applying threats to something other than the one involved.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that I think it is time we demonstrated the full power of this station. We may do so in a fashion doubly useful.” He instructed the attentive Motti, “Tell your programmers to set course for the Alderaan system.”
Kenobi’s pride did not prevent him from wrapping an old scarf over nose and mouth to filter out a portion of the bonfire’s drifting putrid odor. Though possessed of olfactory sensory apparatus, Artoo Detoo and Threepio had no need of such a screen. Even Threepio, who was equipped to discriminate among aromatic aesthetics, could be artifically selective when he so desired.
Working together, the two droids helped Kenobi throw the last of the bodies onto the blazing pyre, then stood back and watched the dead continue to burn. Not that the desert scavengers wouldn’t have been equally efficient in picking the burned-out sandcrawler clean of flesh, but Kenobi retained values most modern men would have deemed archaic. He would consign no one to the bone-gnawers and gravel-maggots, not even a filthy jawa.
At a rising thrumming Kenobi turned from the residue of the noisome business to see the landspeeder approaching, now traveling at a sensible pace, far different from when it had left. It slowed and hovered nearby, but showed no signs of life.
Gesturing for the two robots to follow, Ben started toward the waiting craft. The canopy flipped open and up to reveal Luke sitting motionless in the pilot’s seat. He didn’t look up at Kenobi’s inquiring glance. That in itself was enough to tell the old man what had happened.
“I share your sorrow, Luke,” he finally ventured softly. “There was nothing you could have done. Had you been there, you’d be dead now, too, and the droid would be in the hands of the Imperials. Not even the Force—”
“Damn your Force!” Luke snarled with sudden violence. Now he turned and glared at Kenobi. There was a set to his jaw that belonged on a much older face.
“I’ll take you to the spaceport at Mos Eisley, Ben. I want to go with you—to Alderaan. There’s nothing left for me here now.” His eyes turned to look out across the desert, to focus on something beyond sand and rock and canyon walls. “I want to learn to be a Jedi, like my father. I want...” He paused, the words backing up like a logjam in his throat.
Kenobi slid into the cockpit, put a hand gently on the youth’s shoulder, then went forward to make room for the two robots. “I’ll do my best to see that you get what you want, Luke. For now, let’s go to Mos Eisley.”
Luke nodded and closed the canopy. The landspeeder moved away to the southeast, leaving behind the still-smoldering sand-crawler, the jawa funeral pyre, and the only life Luke had ever known.
Leaving the speeder parked near the edge of the sandstone bluff, Luke and Ben walked over and peered down at the tiny regularized bumps erupting from the sun-baked plain below. The haphazard collage of low-grade concrete, stone, and plastoid structures spread outward from a central power-and-water-distribution plant like the spokes of a wheel.
Actually the town was considerably larger than it appeared, since a good portion of it lay underground. Looking like bomb craters from this distance, the smooth circular depressions of launch stations pockmarked the cityscape.
A brisk gale was scouring the tired ground. It whipped the sand about Luke’s feet and legs as he adjusted his protective goggles.
“There it is,” Kenobi murmured, indicating the unimpressive collection of buildings, “Mos Eisley Spaceport—the ideal place for us to lose ourselves while we seek passage offplanet. Not a more wretched collection of villainy and disreputable types exists any where on Tatooine. The Empire has been alerted to us, so we must be very cautious, Luke. The population of Mos Eisley should disguise us well.”
Luke wore a determined look. Tm ready for anything, Obi-Wan.”
I wonder if you comprehend what that might entail, Luke, Kenobi thought. But he only nodded as he led the way back to the landspeeder.
Unlike Anchorhead, there were enough people in Mos Eisley to require movement in the heat of day. Built from the beginning with commerce in mind, even the oldest of the town’s buildings had been designed to provide protection from the twin suns. They looked primitive from the outside, and many were. But oftentimes walls and arches of old stone masked durasteel double walls with circulating coolant flowing freely between.
Luke was maneuvering the landspeeder through the town’s outskirts when several tall, gleaming forms appeared from nowhere and began to close a circle around him. For one panicked moment he considered gunning the engine and racing through the pedestrians and other vehicles. A startlingly firm grip on his arm both restrained and relaxed him. He glanced over to see Kenobi smiling, warning him.
So they continued at a normal town cruising speed, Luke hoping that the Imperial troops were be
nt on business elsewhere. No such luck. One of the troopers raised an armored hand. Luke had no choice but to respond. As he pulled the speeder over, he grew aware of the attention they were receiving from curious passersby. Worse yet, it seemed that the trooper’s attention was in fact reserved not for Kenobi or himself, but for the two unmoving robots seated in the speeder behind them.
“How long have you had these droids?” the trooper who had raised his hand barked. Polite formalities were to be dispensed with, it appeared.
Looking blank for a second, Luke finally came up with “Three or four seasons, I guess.”
“They’re up for sale, if you want them—and the price is right,” Kenobi put in, giving a wonderful impression of a desert finagler out to cajole a few quick credits from ignorant Imperials.
The trooper in charge did not deign to reply. He was absorbed in a thorough examination of the landspeeder’s underside.
“Did you come in from the south?” he asked.
“No... no,” Luke answered quickly, “we live in the west, near Bestine township.”
“Bestine?” the trooper murmured, walking around to study the speeder’s front. Luke forced himself to stare straight ahead. Finally the armored figure concluded his examination. He moved to stand ominously close to Luke and snapped, “Let me see your identification.”
Surely the man sensed his terror and nervousness by now, Luke thought wildly. His resolution of not long before to be ready to take on anything had already disintegrated under the unwinking stare of this professional soldier. He knew what would happen if they got a look at his formal ID, with the location of his homestead and the names of his nearest relatives on it. Something seemed to be buzzing inside his head; he felt faint.
Kenobi had leaned over and was talking easily to the trooper. “You don’t need to see his identification,” the old man informed the Imperial in an extremely peculiar voice.
