EPISODE IV

A NEW HOPE

by

George Lucas

THE BALLANTINE PUBLISHING GROUP

NEW YORK

CONTENTS

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... 3

Prologue 4

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Prologue

ANOTHER galaxy, another time.

The Old Republic was the Republic of legend, greater than  distance  or
time. No need to note where it was or whence it came, only to  know  that...
it was the Republic.

Once, under the wise rule of the Senate and the protection of the  Jedi
Knights, the Republic throve and grew. But as often happens when wealth  and
power pass beyond the admirable and attain the awesome,  then  appear  those
evil ones who have greed to match.

So it was with the Republic at its height. Like the greatest of  trees,
able to withstand any external  attack,  the  Republic  rotted  from  within
though the danger was not visible from outside.

Aided and abetted by  restless,  power-hungry  individuals  within  the
government, and the  massive  organs  of  commerce,  the  ambitious  Senator
Palpatine caused himself  to  be  elected  President  of  the  Republic.  He
promised to reunite the disaffected among the  people  and  to  restore  the
remembered glory of the Republic.

Once secure in office he declared  himself  Emperor,  shutting  himself
away from the populace. Soon he was controlled by the  very  assistants  and
boot-lickers he had appointed to high office, and the cries  of  the  people
for justice did not reach his ears.

Having exterminated through treachery and deception the  Jedi  Knights,
guardians of justice in the galaxy, the Imperial governors  and  bureaucrats
prepared to institute a reign of terror among the disheartened worlds of the
galaxy. Many used the imperial forces  and  the  name  of  the  increasingly
isolated Emperor to further their own personal ambitions.

But a small number of systems rebelled at these new outrages. Declaring
themselves opposed to the New Order they began the great battle  to  restore
the Old Republic .

From the beginning they were vastly outnumbered by the systems held  in
thrall by the Emperor. In those first dark days it seemed certain the bright
flame of resistance would be extinguished before it could cast the light  of
new truth across a galaxy of oppressed and beaten peoples...

From the First

Saga Journal of the Whills

"They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Naturally they  became
heroes."

Leia Organa of Alderaan, Senator

= I =

IT was a vast, shining globe and it cast a light of lambent topaz  into
space-but it was not a sun. Thus, the planet had fooled men for a long time.
Not until entering close orbit around it did its  discoverers  realize  that
this was a world in a binary system and not a third sun itself.

At first it seemed certain nothing could exist on such a planet,  least
of all humans. Yet both massive G1 and G2 stars orbited a common center with
peculiar regularity, and Tatooine circled them far enough out to permit  the
development of a rather stable, if exquisitely hot, climate. Mostly this was
a dry desert of a world, whose unusual starlike yellow glow was  the  result
of double sunlight striking sodium-rich sands and flats. That same  sunlight
suddenly shone on the thin skin of a metallic shape falling  crazily  toward
the atmosphere.

The erratic course the galactic cruiser was traveling was  intentional,
not the product of injury but of  a  desperate  desire  to  avoid  it.  Long
streaks of intense energy slid close past its hull,  a  multihued  storm  of
destruction like a school of rainbow remoras fighting to  attach  themselves
to a larger, unwilling host.

One of those probing, questing beams succeeded in touching the  fleeing
ship, striking its principal solar  fin.  Gemlike  fragments  of  metal  and
plastic erupted into space as the end of the fin disintegrated.  The  vessel
seemed to shudder.

The source of those multiple energy beams  suddenly  hove  into  view-a
lumbering Imperial cruiser, its massive outline  bristling  cactuslike  with
dozens of heavy weapons emplacements. Light ceased arching from those spines
now as the cruiser moved in close. Intermittent explosions  and  flashes  of
light could be seen in those portions of the smaller ship  which  had  taken
hits. In the absolute cold of space, the cruiser snuggled up  alongside  its
wounded prey.

Another distant explosion shook the ship-but it certainly  didn't  feel
distant to Artoo Detoo or See Threepio. The concussion bounced  them  around
the narrow corridor like bearings in an old motor.

To look at these two, one would have supposed that the tall, human-like
machine, Threepio, was the master and  the  stubby,  tripodal  robot,  Artoo
Detoo, an inferior. But while Threepio might have  sniffed  disdainfully  at
the suggestion, they were in fact equal in everything save  loquacity.  Here
Threepio was clearly-and necessarily-the superior.

Still another explosion rattled the  corridor,  throwing  Threepio  off
balance. His shorter companion had the better of it during such moments with
his squat, cylindrical body's low center of gravity well balanced on  thick,
clawed legs.

Artoo glanced up at Threepio,  who  was  steadying  himself  against  a
corridor wall. Lights blinked enigmatically around a single  mechanical  eye
as the smaller robot studied the battered casing of his friend. A patina  of
metal and fibrous dust coated the usually gleaming bronze finish, and  there
were some visible dents-all the result of the pounding the rebel  ship  they
were on had been taking.

Accompanying the last attack was a persistent deep hum which  even  the
loudest explosion had not been able to drown  out.  Then,  for  no  apparent
reason, the basso thrumming abruptly ceased, and  the  only  sounds  in  the
otherwise deserted corridor came from the eerie dry-twig crackle of shorting
relays or the pops of dying circuitry. Explosions began to echo through  the
ship once more, but they were far away from the corridor.

Threepio turned his smooth, humanlike head to one side.  Metallic  ears
listened  intently.   The   imitation   of   a   human   pose   was   hardly
necessary-Threepio's auditory sensors  were  fully  omnidirectional-but  the
slim robot had been programmed to blend perfectly among human company.  This
programming extended even to mimicry of human gestures.

"Did you hear that?" he inquired rhetorically of his patient companion,
referring to the throbbing sound. "They've shut down the  main  reactor  and
the drive." His voice was as full of disbelief and concern as  that  of  any
human. One metallic palm rubbed dolefully at a patch of  dull  gray  on  his
side, where a broken hull brace had fallen and  scored  the  bronze  finish.
Threepio was a fastidious machine, and such things troubled him.

"Madness, this is madness." He shook his head slowly. "This time  we'll
be destroyed for sure."

Artoo did  not  comment  immediately.  Barrel  torso  tilted  backward,
powerful legs gripping the deck,  the  meter-high  robot  was  engrossed  in
studying the roof overhead. Though he did not have  a  head  to  cock  in  a
listening posture like his friend, Artoo still  somehow  managed  to  convey
that impression. A series of short beeps and chirps issued from his speaker.
To even a sensitive human ear they would have been just so much static,  but
to Threepio they formed words as clear and pure as direct current.

"Yes, I suppose they  did  have  to  shut  the  drive  down,"  Threepio
admitted, "but what are we going to do now? We can't enter  atmosphere  with
our main stablizer fin destroyed. I can't  believe  we're  simply  going  to
surrender."

A small band of armed humans suddenly  appeared,  rifles  held  at  the
ready. Their expressions were as worry-wrinkled as their uniforms, and  they
carried about them the aura of men prepared to die.

Threepio watched silently until they had vanished around a far bend  in
the passageway, then looked back at Artoo. The smaller robot hadn't  shifted
from his position of listening. Threepio's gaze turned upward also though he
knew Artoo's senses were slightly sharper than his own.

"What is it, Artoo?" A short burst of beeping came in response. Another
moment, and there was no need for highly attuned sensors. For  a  minute  or
two more, the corridor remained deathly silent. Then a faint scrape,  scrape
could be heard, like a cat at a door, from  somewhere  above.  That  strange
noise was produced by heavy footsteps and the movement  of  bulky  equipment
somewhere on the ship's hull.

When several muffled explosions sounded,  Threepio  murmured,  "They've
broken in somewhere above us. There's no escape for the Captain this  time."
Turning, he peered down at Artoo. "I think we'd better-"

The shriek of overstressed metal filled the air before he could finish,
and the far end of the passageway was  lit  by  a  blinding  actinic  flash.
Somewhere down there the little cluster of armed  crew  who  had  passed  by
minutes before had encountered the ship's attackers.

Threepio turned his face and delicate photoreceptors away-just in  time
to avoid the fragments of metal that flew down the corridor. At the far  end
a gaping hole appeared in the roof, and  reflective  forms  like  big  metal
beads began dropping to the corridor floor. Both robots knew that no machine
could match the fluidity with which those shapes moved and instantly assumed
fighting postures. The new arrivals were humans in armor, not mechanicals.

One of them looked straight at Threepio-no, not at  him,  the  panicked
robot thought frantically, but past him. The figure shifted  its  big  rifle
around in armored hands-too late. A beam of intense light struck  the  head,
sending pieces of armor, bone, and flesh flying in all directions.

Half the invading Imperial troops turned and began  returning  fire  up
the corridor-aiming past the two robots.

"Quick-this way!" Threepio  ordered,  intending  to  retreat  from  the
Imperials. Artoo turned with him. They had taken only a couple of steps when
they saw the rebel crewmen in position ahead, firing down the  corridor.  In
seconds the passageway was filled with  smoke  and  crisscrossing  beams  of
energy.

Red, green and blue bolts ricocheted off polished sections of wall  and
floor or ripped long gashes in metal surfaces. Screams of injured and  dying
humans-a peculiarly  unrobotic  sound,  Threepio  thought-echoed  piercingly
above the inorganic destruction.

One beam struck near the robot's feet at the same time as a second  one
burst the wall directly behind him, exposing sparking circuitry and rows  of
conduits. The force of the twin blast tumbled  Threepio  into  the  shredded
cables, where a dozen different currents turned him into a jerking, twisting
display.

Strange sensations coursed through his metal nerve-ends. They caused no
pain, only confusion. Every time he moved and tried to  free  himself  there
was another violent crackling as a fresh cluster of componentry  broke.  The
noise and man-made lightning remained constant  around  him  as  the  battle
continued to rage.

Smoke began to fill the corridor. Artoo Detoo bustled about  trying  to
help free his friend. The little robot evidenced a  phlegmatic  indifference
to the ravening energies filling the passageway. He was built  so  low  that
most of the beams passed over him anyhow.

"Help!" Threepio yelled, suddenly frightened at a new message  from  an
internal sensor. "I  think  something  is  melting.  Free  my  left  leg-the
trouble's near the pelvic servomotor." Typically, his tone  turned  abruptly
from pleading to berating.

"This is all your fault!" he shouted  angrily.  "I  should  have  known
better than to trust the logic of  a  half-sized  thermocapsulary  dehousing
assister. I don't know why you insisted we leave our  assigned  stations  to
come down this stupid access corridor. Not that it matters  now.  The  whole
ship must be-" Artoo Detoo cut him off in midspeech with some angry beepings
and hoots of his own, though he continued to cut and pull with precision  at
the tangled high-voltage cables.

"Is that so?"  Threepio  sneered  in  reply.  "The  same  to  you,  you
little...!"

An exceptionally violent explosion shook the passage, drowning him out.
A lung-searing miasma of carbonized  component  filled  the  air,  obscuring
everything.

Two meters tall. Bipedal. Flowing black robes trailing from the  figure
and a face forever masked by a functional  if  bizarre  black  metal  breath
screen-a Dark Lord of the Sith was  an  awesome,  threatening  shape  as  it
strode through the corridors of the rebel ship.

Fear followed the footsteps of all the Dark Lords. The  cloud  of  evil
which clung tight about this particular one  was  intense  enough  to  cause
hardened Imperial troops to back away, menacing enough to set them muttering
nervously  among  themselves.  Once-resolute  rebel  crew   members   ceased
resisting, broke and ran in panic at the  sight  of  the  black  armor-armor
which, though black as it was, was  not  nearly  as  dark  as  the  thoughts
drifting through the mind within.

One purpose, one thought, one obsession dominated  that  mind  now.  It
burned in the brain of Darth Vader as he turned down another  passageway  in
the broken fighter. There smoke was beginning to clear, though the sounds of
faraway fighting still resounded through the hull. The battle here had ended
and moved on.

Only a robot was left to stir freely in the wake  of  the  Dark  Lord's
passing. See Threepio finally stepped clear of the last  restraining  cable.
Somewhere behind him human screams could  be  heard  from  where  relentless
Imperial troops were mopping up the last remnants of rebel resistance.

Threepio glanced down and saw only scarred deck. As he  looked  around,
his voice was full of concern. "Artoo Detoo-where are you?" The smoke seemed
to part just a bit more. Threepio found himself staring up the passageway.

Artoo Detoo, it seemed, was there. But he wasn't looking in  Threepio's
direction. Instead, the little robot  appeared  frozen  in  an  attitude  of
attention. Leaning  over  him  was-it  was  difficult  for  even  Threepio's
electronic photoreceptors to penetrate the clinging,  acidic  smoke-a  human
figure. It was young, slim, and by abstruse human standards  of  aesthetics,
Threepio mused, of a calm beauty. One small hand seemed to  be  moving  over
the front of Artoo's torso.

Threepio started toward them as the haze thickened once more. But  when
he reached the end  of  the  corridor,  only  Artoo  stood  there,  waiting.
Threepio peered past him, uncertain. Robots  were  occasionally  subject  to
electronic hallucinations-but why should he hallucinate a human?

He shrugged... Then again, why not, especially when one considered  the
confusing circumstances of the past hour and the dose of raw current he  had
recently absorbed. He shouldn't be surprised at  anything  his  concatenated
internal circuits conjured up.

"Where have you been?" Threepio finally asked. "Hiding, I suppose."  He
decided not to mention the maybe-human. If it had been a  hallucination,  he
wasn't going to give Artoo the satisfaction  of  knowing  how  badly  recent
events had unsettled his logic circuits.

"They'll be coming back  this  way,"  he  went  on,  nodding  down  the
corridor and not giving the small automaton a chance to reply, "looking  for
human survivors. What are we going to do now? They won't trust the  word  of
rebel-owned machines that we don't know anything of value. We'll be sent  to
the spice mines of Kessel or taken apart for  spare  components  for  other,
less deserving robots. That's if they don't consider  us  potential  program
traps and blow us apart on sight. If we  don't..."  But  Artoo  had  already
turned and was ambling quickly back down the passageway.

"Wait, where are you going? Haven't you been listening to me?" Uttering
curses in several languages, some purely mechanical, Threepio raced  fluidly
after his friend. The Artoo unit, he thought to himself, could be  downright
close-circuited when it wanted to.

Outside the galactic cruiser's control center the corridor was  crowded
with sullen prisoners gathered by Imperial troops. Some  lay  wounded,  some
dying. Several officers had been separated from the enlisted ranks and stood
in a small group by themselves, bestowing belligerent looks and  threats  on
the silent knot of troops holding them at bay.

As if on command, everyone-Imperial troops  as  well  as  rebels-became
silent as a massive caped form came into view from  behind  a  turn  in  the
passage. Two of the heretofore resolute, obstinate rebel officers  began  to
shake. Stopping before one of the  men,  the  towering  figure  reached  out
wordlessly. A massive hand closed around the man's neck and lifted  him  off
the deck. The rebel officer's eyes bulged, but he kept his silence.

An Imperial officer, his armored helmet shoved back to reveal a  recent
scar where an energy beam had penetrated his shielding, scrambled  down  out
of the fighter's control room, shaking  his  head  briskly.  "Nothing,  sir.
Information retrieval system's been wiped clean."

Darth Vader acknowledged this news with a barely perceptible  nod.  The
impenetrable mask turned to regard the officer he was torturing.  Metal-clad
fingers contracted. Reaching up, the prisoner desperately tried to pry  them
loose, but to no avail.

"Where is the data you intercepted?" Vader rumbled  dangerously.  "What
have you done with the information tapes?"

"We-intercepted-no information," the dangling officer  gurgled,  barely
able to breathe. From somewhere deep within,  he  dredged  up  a  squeal  of
outrage. "This is a... councilor vessel... Did you not see  our...  exterior
markings? We're on a... diplomatic... mission."

"Chaos take your mission!" Vader growled. "Where are those  tapes?"  He
squeezed harder, the threat in his grip implicit.

When he finally  replied,  the  officer's  voice  was  a  bare,  choked
whisper. "Only... the Commander knows."

"This ship carries the system crest of Alderaan,"  Vader  growled,  the
gargoylelike breath mask leaning close. "Is  any  of  the  royal  family  on
board? Who are you carrying?"  Thick  fingers  tightened  further,  and  the
officer's struggles became more  and  more  frantic.  His  last  words  were
muffled and choked past intelligibility.

Vader was not pleased. Even though the figure went limp with an  awful,
unquestionable  finality,  that  hand  continued  to  tighten,  producing  a
chilling snapping and popping of bone, like a dog padding on  plastic.  Then
with a disgusted wheeze Vader finally threw the doll-form of  the  dead  man
against a far wall. Several Imperial troops ducked out of the  way  just  in
time to avoid the grisly missile.

The massive form whirled unexpectedly,  and  Imperial  officers  shrank
under that baleful sculptured stare. "Start tearing this ship apart piece by
piece, component by component, until  you  find  those  tapes.  As  for  the
passengers, if any, I want them alive." He  paused  a  moment,  then  added,
"Quickly!"

Officers and  men  nearly  fell  over  themselves  in  their  haste  to
leave-not necessarily to carry out Vader's orders,  but  simply  to  retreat
from that malevolent presence.

Artoo Detoo finally came to a halt in an empty corridor devoid of smoke
and the signs of battle. A worried, confused Threepio pulled up behind him.

"You've led us through half the ship, and to what...?"  He  broke  off,
staring in disbelief as the squat robot reached up with one clawed limb  and
snapped the seal on a lifeboat hatch. Immediately a red warning  light  came
on and a low hooting sounded in the corridor.

Threepio looked wildly in all directions, but the  passageway  remained
empty. When he looked back, Artoo was  already  working  his  way  into  the
cramped boat pod. It was just large enough to hold several humans,  and  its
design was not laid out to accommodate mechanicals. Artoo had  some  trouble
negotiating the awkward little compartment.

"Hey," a startled Threepio called, admonishing, "you're  not  permitted
in there! It's restricted to humans only. We just might be able to  convince
the Imperials that we're not rebel programmed and are too valuable to  break
up, but if someone sees you in there we haven't got a chance. Come on out."

Somehow Artoo had succeeded in wedging his body into position in  front
of the miniature control board. He cocked his  body  slightly  and  threw  a
stream of loud beeps and whistles at his reluctant companion.

Threepio listened. He couldn't frown, but he managed  to  give  a  good
impression of doing so. "Mission...  what  mission?  What  are  you  talking
about? You sound like you haven't got an integrated logic terminal  left  in
your brain. No...  no  more  adventures.  I'll  take  my  chances  with  the
Imperials-and I'm not getting in there."

An angry electronic twang came from the Artoo unit.

"Don't call me a mindless philosopher,"  Threepio  snapped  back,  "you
overweight, unstreamlined glob of grease!"

Threepio was concocting an additional rejoinder when an explosion  blew
out the back wall of the corridor. Dust and metal  debris  whooshed  through
the narrow subpassageway,  followed  instantly  by  a  series  of  secondary
explosions. Flames began jumping hungrily from the  exposed  interior  wall,
reflecting off Threepio's isolated patches of polished skin.

Muttering the electronic equivalent  of  consigning  his  soul  to  the
unknown, the lanky robot jumped into the life  pod.  "I'm  going  to  regret
this," he muttered more audibly as Artoo activated the  safety  door  behind
him. The smaller robot flipped a series of switches, snapped back  a  cover,
and pressed three buttons  in  a  certain  sequence.  With  the  thunder  of
explosive latches the life pod ejected from the crippled fighter.

When  word  came  over  the  communicators  that  the  last  pocket  of
resistance on the rebel ship had  been  cleaned  out,  the  Captain  of  the
Imperial cruiser relaxed considerably. He was listening with pleasure to the
proceedings on the captured vessel when one of his  chief  gunnery  officers
called to him. Moving to the man's position, the  Captain  stared  into  the
circular viewscreen and saw a tiny dot dropping away toward the fiery  world
below.

"There goes another pod, sir. Instructions?" The officer's hand hovered
over a computerized energy battery.

Casually, confident in  the  firepower  and  total  control  under  his
command, the Captain studied the nearby readouts monitoring the pod. All  of
them read blank.

"Hold your fire,  Lieutenant  Hija.  Instruments  show  no  life  forms
aboard. The pod's release mechanism must have short-circuited or received  a
false instruction. Don't waste your power." He turned away, to  listen  with
satisfaction to the reports of captured men and  material  coming  from  the
rebel ship.

Glare from exploding panels and erupting  circuitry  reflected  crazily
off the armor of the lead storm trooper as he surveyed the passageway ahead.
He was about to turn and call for those behind to follow him forward when he
noticed something moving off to one side. It appeared to be  crouching  back
in a small, dark alcove. Holding  his  pistol  ready,  he  moved  cautiously
forward and peered into the recess.

A small, shivering figure clad in flowing white hugged the back of  the
recess and stared up at the man. Now he could see  that  he  faced  a  young
woman, and her physical description fit that of the one individual the  Dark
Lord was most interested in. The trooper grinned behind his helmet. A  lucky
encounter for him. He would be commended.

Within the armor his head turned slightly, directing his voice  to  the
tiny condenser microphone. "Here she is," he called  to  those  behind  him.
"Set for stun forc-"

He never finished the sentence, just as  he  would  never  receive  the
hoped-for commendation. Once his attention  turned  from  the  girl  to  his
communicator her shivering vanished with startling speed. The energy  pistol
she had held out of sight behind her came up and around as  she  burst  from
her hiding place.

The trooper who had been unlucky enough to find  her  fell  first,  his
head a mass of melted bone and metal. The same fate met the  second  armored
form coming up fast behind him. Then a bright green energy pole touched  the
woman's side and she slumped instantly to the deck, the pistol still  locked
in her small palm.

Metal-encased shapes clustered around  her.  One  whose  arm  bore  the
insignia of a lower officer knelt  and  turned  her  over.  He  studied  the
paralyzed form with a practiced eye.

"She'll  be  all  right,"  he  finally  declared,  looking  up  at  his
subordinates. "Report to Lord Vader."

Threepio stared, mesmerized, out of the small viewport set in the front
of the tiny escape pod as the hot yellow eye of Tatooine  began  to  swallow
them up. Somewhere behind them,  he  knew,  the  crippled  fighter  and  the
Imperial cruiser were receding to imperceptibility.

That was fine with him. If they landed near a civilized city, he  would
seek elegant employment in a halcyon atmosphere,  something  more  befitting
his status and training. These past months had gifted him with entirely  too
much excitement and unpredictability for a mere machine.

Artoo's seemingly random manipulation  of  the  pod  controls  promised
anything  but  a  smooth  landing,  however.  Threepio  regarded  his  squat
companion with concern.

"Are you sure you know how to pilot this thing?"

Artoo replied with a noncommittal whistle that did nothing to alter the
taller robot's jangled state of mind.

= II =

IT was an old settlers' saying that you could burn your eyes out faster
by staring straight and hard at the sun-scorched flatlands of Tatooine  than
by looking directly at its two huge suns themselves,  so  powerful  was  the
penetrating glare reflected from those endless wastes.  Despite  the  glare,
life could and did exist in the flatlands formed by long-evaporated seabeds.
One thing made it possible: the reintroduction of water.

For human purposes, however, the water of Tatooine was only  marginally
accessible. The atmosphere yielded its moisture with reluctance. It  had  to
be coaxed down out of the hard blue sky-coaxed, forced, yanked down  to  the
parched surface.

Two figures whose concern was obtaining that moisture were standing  on
a slight rise of one of those inhospitable flats. One of the pair was  stiff
and metallic-a sand-pitted vaporator sunk securely  through  sand  and  into
deeper rock. The figure next to it was a good deal more animated, though  no
less sunweathered.

Luke Skywalker was twice the age of  the  ten-year-old  vaporator,  but
much less secure. At the moment he was swearing  softly  at  a  recalcitrant
valve adjuster on the temperamental device. From time to time he resorted to
some unsubtle pounding in place  of  using  the  appropriate  tool.  Neither
method worked very well. Luke was sure  that  the  lubricants  used  on  the
vaporators went out of their way to attract sand, beckoning  seductively  to
small abrasive particles with  an  oily  gleam.  He  wiped  sweat  from  his
forehead and leaned back for a moment. The most  prepossessing  thing  about
the young man was his name. A light breeze tugged at  his  shaggy  hair  and
baggy work tunic as he regarded the device. No point in staying angry at it,
he counseled himself. It's only an unintelligent machine.

As Luke considered his predicament, a third figure  appeared,  scooting
out from behind the vaporator to fumble awkwardly at  the  damaged  section.
Only three of the Treadwell model robot's six  arms  were  functioning,  and
these had seen more wear than the boots on Luke's feet.  The  machine  moved
with unsteady, stop-and-start motions.

Luke gazed at it sadly, then inclined his head to study the sky.  Still
no sign of a cloud, and he knew there never would  be  unless  he  got  that
vaporator working. He was about to try once  again  when  a  small,  intense
gleam of light caught his eye. Quickly he slipped the carefully cleaned  set
of macrobinoculars from his utility belt and focused the lenses skyward.

For long moments he stared, wishing all the while that he  had  a  real
telescope instead of the binocs. As he stared, vaporators, the heat, and the
day's remaining chores were forgotten. Clipping the binoculars back onto his
belt, Luke turned and dashed for the landspeeder. Halfway to the vehicle  he
thought to call behind him.

"Hurry up," he shouted impatiently. "What are you waiting for?  Get  it
in gear."

The  Treadwell  started  toward  him,  hesitated,  and  then  commenced
spinning in a tight circle, smoke belching from every  joint.  Luke  shouted
further instructions, then finally gave up in disgust when he realized  that
it would take more than words to motivate the Treadwell again.

For a moment Luke hesitated  at  leaving  the  machine  behind-but,  he
argued to himself, its vital components were obviously shot.  So  he  jumped
into the landspeeder, causing the recently  repaired  repulsion  floater  to
list  alarmingly  to  one  side  until  he  was  able  to  equalize   weight
distribution by  sliding  behind  the  controls.  Maintaining  its  altitude
slightly above the sandy ground, the light-duty transport  vehicle  steadied
itself like a boat in a heavy sea. Luke gunned the engine, which  whined  in
protest, and sand erupted behind the floater as he aimed  the  craft  toward
the distant town of Anchorhead.

Behind him, a pitiful beacon of black  smoke  from  the  burning  robot
continued to rise into the clear desert air. It wouldn't be there when  Luke
returned. There were scavengers of metal as well as flesh in the wide wastes
of Tatooine.

Metal and stone structures bleached white by the glaze of twin Tatoo  I
and II huddled together tightly, for company as much as for protection. They
formed the nexus of the widespread farming community of Anchorhead.

Presently the dusty, unpaved streets were quiet,  deserted.  Sand-flies
buzzed lazily in the cracked eaves of pourstone buildings. A dog  barked  in
the distance, the sole sign of habitation until a lone  old  woman  appeared
and started across the street. Her  metallic  sun  shawl  was  pulled  tight
around her.

Something made her look up, tired eyes squinting into the distance. The
sound suddenly leaped in volume as a shining rectangular shape came  roaring
around a far corner. Her eyes popped  as  the  vehicle  bore  down  on  her,
showing no sign of altering its path. She had to scramble to get out of  its
way.

Panting and waving an angry fist after the landspeeder, she raised  her
voice over the sound of its passage. "Won't you  kids  ever  learn  to  slow
down!"

Luke might have seen her, but he certainly didn't  hear  her.  In  both
cases his attention was focused elsewhere as he pulled up behind a low, long
concrete station. Various coils and rods jutted  from  its  top  and  sides.
Tatooine's relentless sand waves broke in frozen yellow  spume  against  the
station's walls. No one had bothered to clear them away. There was no point.
They would only return again the following day.

Luke slammed the front door aside and shouted, "Hey!"

A rugged young man in mechanic's dress sat sprawled in a  chair  behind
the station's unkempt control desk. Sunscreen oil had  kept  his  skin  from
burning. The skin of the girl on his lap had  been  equally  protected,  and
there was a great deal more of the protected  area  in  view.  Somehow  even
dried sweat looked good on her.

"Hey, everybody!" Luke yelled again,  having  elicited  something  less
than an overwhelming  response  with  his  first  cry.  He  ran  toward  the
instrument room at the rear of the station while the mechanic, half  asleep,
ran a hand across his face and mumbled, "Did I  hear  a  young  noise  blast
through here?"

The girl on  his  lap  stretched  sensuously,  her  well-worn  clothing
tugging in various intriguing directions. Her voice  was  casually  throaty.
"Oh," she yawned, "that was just Wormie on one of his rampages."

Deak and Windy looked up from the computer-assisted pool game  as  Luke
burst into the room. They  were  dressed  much  like  Luke,  although  their
clothing was of better fit and somewhat less exercised.

All three youths contrasted strikingly with the burly, handsome  player
at the far side of the table. From neatly clipped hair to his  precision-cut
uniform he stood out in the room like an Oriental poppy in a  sea  of  oats.
Behind the three humans a soft hum  came  from  where  a  repair  robot  was
working patiently on a broken piece of station equipment.

"Shape it up, you guys," Luke yelled excitedly.  Then  he  noticed  the
older man in  the  uniform.  The  subject  of  his  suddenly  startled  gaze
recognized him simultaneously.

"Biggs!"

The man's face twisted in a half grin. "Hello, Luke."  Then  they  were
embracing each other warmly.

Luke finally stood away, openly admiring the other's uniform. "I didn't
know you were back. When did you get in?"

The confidence in the other's voice  bordered  the  realm  of  smugness
without quite entering it. "Just a little while ago. I  wanted  to  surprise
you, hotshot." He indicated the room. "I thought you'd be  here  with  these
other two nightcrawlers." Deak and Windy both smiled.  "I  certainly  didn't
expect you to be out working." He laughed easily, a laugh few  people  found
resistible.

"The academy didn't change you much," Luke commented. "But you're  back
so soon." His expression grew concerned. "Hey, what happened-didn't you  get
your commission?"

There was something evasive about Biggs as he replied, looking slightly
away, "Of course I got  it.  Signed  to  serve  aboard  the  freighter  Rand
Ecliptic just last week. First Mate Biggs Darklighter, at your service."  He
performed a twisting salute, half serious and half  humorous,  then  grinned
that overbearing yet ingratiating grin again.

"I just came back to say good-bye to  all  you  unfortunate  landlocked
simpletons." They all laughed,  until  Luke  suddenly  remembered  what  had
brought him here in such a hurry.

"I almost forgot," he told  them,  his  initial  excitement  returning,
"There's a battle going on right here in our system. Come and look."

Deak looked disappointed. "Not another one of your epic battles,  Luke.
Haven't you dreamed up enough of them? Forget it."

"Forget it, hell-I'm serious. It's a battle, all right."

With words and shoves he managed to cajole the occupants of the station
out into the strong sunlight. Camie in particular looked disgusted.

"This had better be worth it, Luke," she warned him, shading  her  eyes
against the glare.

Luke already had his macrobinoculars out and was searching the heavens.
It took only a moment for him to fix on a particular spot. "I told you,"  he
insisted. "There they are."

Biggs moved alongside him and reached for the binoculars as the  others
strained  unaided  eyes.  A  slight  readjustment   provided   just   enough
magnification for Biggs to make out two  silvery  specks  against  the  dark
blue.

"That's no battle,  hotshot,"  he  decided,  lowering  the  binocs  and
regarding his friend gently. "They're just sitting  there.  Two  ships,  all
right-probably a barge loading a freighter, since  Tatooine  hasn't  got  an
orbital station."

"There was a lot of firing-earlier," Luke added. His initial enthusiasm
was beginning to falter under the withering assurance of his older friend.

Camie grabbed the binoculars away from  Biggs,  banging  them  slightly
against a support pillar in the  process.  Luke  took  them  away  from  her
quickly, inspecting the casing for damage. "Take it easy with those."

"Don't worry so much, Wormie," she sneered. Luke  took  a  step  toward
her, then halted as the huskier mechanic easily interposed  himself  between
them and favored Luke with a warning smile. Luke  considered,  shrugged  the
incident away.

"I keep telling you, Luke," the mechanic said, with the air  of  a  man
tired of repeating the same story to no avail, "the rebellion is a long  way
from here. I doubt if the Empire would fight to keep  this  system.  Believe
me, Tatooine is a big hunk of nothing."

His audience began to fade back into  the  station  before  Luke  could
mutter a reply. Fixer had his arm around Camie, and the  two  of  them  were
chuckling over Luke's ineptitude. Even Deak and Windy were  murmuring  among
themselves-about him, Luke was certain.

He followed them, but not without a last glance  back  and  up  to  the
distant specks. One thing he was sure of were the flashes of  light  he  had
seen between the two ships. They hadn't been caused by the suns of  Tatooine
reflecting off metal.

The binding that locked the girl's hands behind her back was  primitive
and effective. The constant attention the squad of  heavily  armed  troopers
favored her with might have been out of place for one small  female,  except
for the fact that their lives depended on her being delivered safely.

When she deliberately slowed her pace, however, it became apparent that
her captors did not mind mistreating  her  a  little.  One  of  the  armored
figures shoved her brutally in the small of the back, and she  nearly  fell.
Turning, she gave the offending soldier a vicious look. But  she  could  not
tell if it had any effect, since the man's face was completely hidden by his
armored helmet.

The hallway they eventually emerged into was still smoking  around  the
edges of the smoldering cavity blasted through the hull of  the  fighter.  A
portable accessway had been sealed to it and a circlet of  light  showed  at
the far end of the tunnel, bridging space between the rebel  craft  and  the
cruiser. A  shadow  moved  over  her  as  she  turned  from  inspecting  the
accessway, startling her despite her usually unshakable self-control.

Above her towered the threatening bulk of Darth Vader, red eyes glaring
behind the hideous breath mask. A muscle twitched in one smooth  cheek,  but
other than that the girl didn't react. Nor was there the slightest shake  in
her voice.

"Darth Vader... I should have known. Only you would be so  bold-and  so
stupid. Well, the Imperial Senate will not sit still  for  this.  When  they
hear that you have attacked a diplomatic miss-"

"Senator Leia Organa," Vader rumbled softly, though strongly enough  to
override her protests. His pleasure at finding her was evident in the way he
savored every syllable.

"Don't play games with me, Your Highness," he continued ominously. "You
aren't on any mercy  mission  this  time.  You  passed  directly  through  a
restricted system, ignoring numerous warnings  and  completely  disregarding
orders to turn about-until it no longer mattered."

The huge metal skull dipped close. "I know that  several  transmissions
were beamed to this vessel by spies within that system. When we traced those
transmissions back to the individuals with whom they  originated,  they  had
the poor grace to kill themselves before they could be questioned. I want to
know what happened to the data they sent you."

Neither Vader's words nor his inimical presence appeared  to  have  any
effect on the girl.  "I  don't  know  what  you're  blathering  about,"  she
snapped, looking away from him. "I'm a member of the Senate on a  diplomatic
mission to-"

"To your part of the rebel alliance," Vader declared, cutting  her  off
accusingly. "You're also a traitor." His gaze  went  to  a  nearby  officer.
"Take her away."

She succeeded in reaching him  with  her  spit,  which  hissed  against
still-hot battle  armor.  He  wiped  the  offensive  matter  away  silently,
watching her with interest as she was marched through the accessway into the
cruiser.

A tall,  slim  soldier  wearing  the  sign  of  an  Imperial  Commander
attracted Vader's attention as he came up  next  to  him.  "Holding  her  is
dangerous," he ventured, likewise looking after  her  as  she  was  escorted
toward the cruiser. "If word of this does get out, there will be much unrest
in the Senate. It will generate sympathy  for  the  rebels."  The  Commander
looked up at the unreadable metal face, then added in an off-handed  manner,
"She should be destroyed immediately."

"No. My first duty is to locate that hidden fortress of theirs,"  Vader
replied easily. "All the rebel spies have been eliminated-by our hand or  by
their own. Therefore she is now my only key to discovering its  location.  I
intend to make full use of her. If necessary, I will use her up-but  I  will
learn the location of the rebel base."

The Commander pursed his lips, shook his head slightly, perhaps  a  bit
sympathetically, as he considered the woman. "She'll die  before  she  gives
you any information."

Vader's reply was chilling in its indifference. "Leave that to me."  He
considered a moment, then went on. "Send out a  wide-band  distress  signal.
Indicate that the Senator's ship encountered an unexpected meteorite cluster
it could not avoid. Readings indicate that the shift shields were overridden
and the ship was hulled to the point of vacating ninety-five percent of  its
atmosphere. Inform her father and the Senate that all aboard were killed."

A cluster of tired-looking troops  marched  purposefully  up  to  their
Commander and the Dark Lord. Vader eyed them expectantly.

"The data tapes in question are  not  aboard  the  ship.  There  is  no
valuable information in the ship's storage banks and  no  evidence  of  bank
erasure,"  the  officer  in  charge  recited  mechanically.  "Nor  were  any
transmissions directed outward from the ship from the time we made  contact.
A malfunctioning lifeboat pod was ejected during the fighting,  but  it  was
confirmed at the time that no life forms were on board."

Vader appeared thoughtful. "It could have been a  malfunctioning  pod,"
he mused, "that might also have contained the  tapes.  Tapes  are  not  life
forms. In all probability any native finding them would be ignorant of their
importance and would likely clear them for his own use. Still...

"Send down a detachment to retrieve them, or to make certain  they  are
not in the pod," he finally ordered the Commander and attentive officer. "Be
as subtle as possible; there is no need to attract attention, even  on  this
miserable outpost world."

As the officer and troops departed, Vader turned his gaze back  to  the
Commander. "Vaporize this fighter-we don't want to leave  anything.  As  for
the pod, I cannot take the chance it was a simple malfunction. The  data  it
might contain could prove too damaging. See to this  personally,  Commander.
If those data tapes exist, they  must  be  retrieved  or  destroyed  at  all
costs." Then he added with satisfaction, "With  that  accomplished  and  the
Senator in our hands, we will see the end of this absurd rebellion."

"It shall be as you direct, Lord Vader,"  the  Commander  acknowledged.
Both men entered the accessway to the cruiser.

"What a forsaken place this is!"

Threepio turned cautiously to look back  at  where  the  pod  lay  half
buried in sand. His internal  gyros  were  still  unsteady  from  the  rough
landing. Landing! Mere application of the term  unduly  flattered  his  dull
associate.

On the other hand, he supposed he ought to be grateful  they  had  come
down in one piece. Although, he mused as he studied the barren landscape, he
still wasn't sure they were better off here than they would  have  been  had
they remained on the captured cruiser. High sandstone  mesas  dominated  the
skyline to one side. Every other direction showed  only  endless  series  of
marching dunes like long yellow teeth stretching for kilometer on  kilometer
into the distance. Sand ocean blended into sky-glare until it was impossible
to distinguish where one ended and the other began.

A faint cloud of minute dust particles rose in their wake  as  the  two
robots marched away from the pod. That vehicle, its intended function  fully
discharged, was now quite useless. Neither robot had been designed for pedal
locomotion on this kind of terrain, so they had to fight  their  way  across
the unstable surface.

"We seem to have been made to suffer," Threepio  moaned  in  self-pity.
"It's a rotten existence." Something  squeaked  in  his  right  leg  and  he
winced. "I've got to rest before I fall apart. My  internals  still  haven't
recovered from that headlong crash you called a landing."

He paused, but Artoo Detoo did not. The little automaton had  performed
a sharp turn and was now ambling slowly but steadily in the direction of the
nearest outjut of mesa.

"Hey," Threepio yelled. Artoo ignored the call and continued  striding.
"Where do you think you're going?"

Now Artoo paused,  emitting  a  stream  of  electronic  explanation  as
Threepio exhaustedly walked over to join him.

"Well, I'm not going  that  way,"  Threepio  declared  when  Artoo  had
concluded his explanation. "It's too rocky." He gestured  in  the  direction
they had been walking, at an angle away from the cliffs. "This way  is  much
easier." A metal hand waved disparagingly at the high mesas. "What makes you
think there are any settlements that way, anyhow?"

A long whistle issued from the depths of Artoo.

"Don't get technical with me," Threepio warned. "I've  had  just  about
enough of your decisions."

Artoo beeped once.

"All right, go  your  way,"  Threepio  announced  grandly.  "You'll  be
sandlogged within a day, you nearsighted scrap pile." He gave the Artoo unit
a contemptuous shove, sending the smaller robot tumbling down a slight dune.
As it struggled at the bottom to  regain  its  feet,  Threepio  started  off
toward the blurred, glaring horizon, glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't
let me catch you following me, begging for help," he  warned,  "because  you
won't get it."

Below the crest of the dune, the Artoo unit righted itself.  It  paused
briefly to clean its single electronic eye with an auxiliary  arm.  Then  it
produced an electronic squeal which was almost, though not  quite,  a  human
expression of rage. Humming quietly to itself then, it  turned  and  trudged
off toward the sandstone ridges as if nothing had happened.

Several hours later  a  straining  Threepio,  his  internal  thermostat
overloaded and edging dangerously toward overheat shutdown, struggled up the
top of what he hoped  was  the  last  towering  dune.  Nearby,  pillars  and
buttresses of bleached calcium, the bones of some enormous beast, formed  an
unpromising landmark. Reaching  the  crest  of  the  dune,  Threepio  peered
anxiously ahead. Instead of the hoped-for greenery of human civilization  he
saw only several dozen more dunes, identical in form and promise to the  one
he now stood upon. The farthest rose even higher than the one  he  presently
surmounted.

Threepio turned and looked back toward the now far-off  rocky  plateau,
which was beginning to grow indistinct with distance  and  heat  distortion.
"You malfunctioning little twerp," he muttered, unable even now to admit  to
himself that perhaps, just possibly, the Artoo unit might have  been  right.
"This is all your fault. You tricked me into going this way, but  you'll  do
no better."

Nor would he if he didn't continue on. So he took a  step  forward  and
heard something  grind  dully  within  a  leg  joint.  Sitting  down  in  an
electronic funk, he began picking sand from his encrusted joints.

He could continue on his present course, he told himself. Or  he  could
confess to an error in judgment and try to catch up again with Artoo  Detoo.
Neither prospect held much appeal for him.

But there was a third  choice.  He  could  sit  here,  shining  in  the
sunlight, until  his  joints  locked,  his  internals  overheated,  and  the
ultraviolet burned out his photoreceptors. He would become another  monument
to the destructive power of the binary, like  the  colossal  organism  whose
picked corpse he had just encountered.

Already his receptors were beginning to go, he reflected. It seemed  he
saw something moving in the distance. Heat  distortion,  probably.  No-no-it
was definitely light on metal, and it  was  moving  toward  him.  His  hopes
soared. Ignoring the warnings from his damaged leg, he rose and began waving
frantically.

It was, he saw now, definitely a vehicle, though of a  type  unfamiliar
to him. But a vehicle it was, and that implied intelligence and technology.

He neglected in his excitement to  consider  the  possibility  that  it
might not be of human origin.

"So I cut off my power, shut down the afterburners, and dropped in  low
on Deak's tail," Luke finished, waving his arms wildly. He  and  Biggs  were
walking in the shade outside the power station. Sounds of metal being worked
came from somewhere  within,  where  Fixer  had  finally  joined  his  robot
assistant in performing repairs.

"I was so close to him," Luke continued excitedly,  "I  thought  I  was
going to fry my instrumentation. As it was, I busted up the skyhopper pretty
bad." That recollection inspired a frown.

"Uncle Owen was pretty upset. He  grounded  me  for  the  rest  of  the
season." Luke's depression was  brief.  Memory  of  his  feat  overrode  its
immorality.

"You should have been there, Biggs!"

"You ought to take it a little easier," his friend cautioned. "You  may
be the hottest bush pilot this side of Mos Eisley, Luke,  but  those  little
skyhoppers can  be  dangerous.  They  move  awfully  fast  for  tropospheric
craft-faster than they need to. Keep playing  engine  jockey  with  one  and
someday, whammo!" He slammed one fist violently into his open palm.  "You're
going to be nothing more than a dark spot on  the  damp  side  of  a  canyon
wall."

"Look who's talking," Luke retorted. "Now that you've  been  on  a  few
big, automatic starships you're beginning to sound  like  my  uncle.  You've
gotten soft in the cities." He swung spiritedly at Biggs,  who  blocked  the
movement easily, making a halfhearted gesture of counterattack.

Biggs's easygoing  smugness  dissolved  into  something  warmer.  "I've
missed you, kid."

Luke looked away, embarrassed. "Things haven't exactly  been  the  same
since you left, either, Biggs. It's been so-" Luke hunted for the right word
and finally finished helplessly, "so quiet." His gaze  traveled  across  the
sandy, deserted streets of Anchorhead. "It's always been quiet, really."

Biggs grew silent, thinking. He glanced around.  They  were  alone  out
here. Everyone else was back inside the comparative coolness  of  the  power
station. As he leaned close Luke sensed an  unaccustomed  solemness  in  his
friend's tone.

"Luke, I didn't come back just to say goodbye, or to crow over everyone
because I got through the Academy." Again he seemed to hesitate,  unsure  of
himself. Then he blurted out rapidly, not giving himself a  chance  to  back
down, "But I want somebody to know. I can't tell my parents."

Gaping at Biggs, Luke could only gulp, "Know what? What are you talking
about?"

"I'm talking about the talking that's been going on at the  Academy-and
other places, Luke. Strong talking.  I  made  some  new  friends,  outsystem
friends. We agreed about the way certain things are  developing,  and-"  his
voice dropped  conspiratorially-  "when  we  reach  one  of  the  peripheral
systems, we're going to jump ship and join the Alliance."

Luke stared back at his  friend,  tried  to  picture  Biggs-fun-loving,
happy-go-lucky, live-for-today Biggs-as  a  patriot  afire  with  rebellious
fervor.

"You're going to join the rebellion?" he started.  "You've  got  to  be
kidding. How?"

"Damp down, will you?" the bigger  man  cautioned,  glancing  furtively
back toward the power station. "You've got a mouth like a crater."

"I'm sorry," Luke whispered rapidly. "I'm quiet-listen how quiet I  am.
You can barely hear me-"

Biggs cut him off and continued. "A friend of mine from the Academy has
a friend on Bestine who might enable us to make contact with an armed  rebel
unit."

"A friend of a-You're crazy," Luke announced with  conviction,  certain
his friend had gone mad. "You could wander around forever trying to  find  a
real rebel outpost. Most of them are only myths. This twice  removed  friend
could be an imperial agent. You'd end up  on  Kessel,  or  worse.  If  rebel
outposts were so easy to find, the Empire would have wiped  them  out  years
ago."

"I know it's a long shot," Biggs  admitted  reluctantly.  "If  I  don't
contact  them,  then"-a  peculiar  light   came   into   Biggs's   eyes,   a
conglomeration of newfound maturity and... something else- "I'll do  what  I
can, on my own."

He stared intensely at his friend. "Luke, I'm not going to wait for the
Empire to conscript me into its service. In spite of what you hear over  the
official information channels, the rebellion is growing,  spreading.  And  I
want to be on the right side-the side  I  believe  in."  His  voice  altered
unpleasantly, and Luke wondered what he saw in his mind's eye.

"You should have heard some of the stories I've heard, Luke, learned of
some of the outrages I've learned about. The Empire may have been great  and
beautiful once, but the people in charge now-" He shook  his  head  sharply.
"It's rotten, Luke, rotten."

"And I can't do a damn  thing,"  Luke  muttered  morosely.  "I'm  stuck
here." He kicked futilely at the ever-present sand of Anchorhead.

"I thought you were going to enter the Academy soon,"  Biggs  observed.
"If that's so, then you'll have your chance to get off this sandpile."

Luke  snorted  derisively.  "Not  likely.  I   had   to   withdraw   my
application." He looked away,  unable  to  meet  his  friend's  disbelieving
stare. "I had to. There's been a lot of unrest among  the  sandpeople  since
you left, Biggs. They've even raided the outskirts of Anchorhead."

Biggs shook his head, disregarding the excuse. "Your uncle  could  hold
off a whole colony of raiders with one blaster."

"From the house, sure," Luke agreed,  "but  Uncle  Owen's  finally  got
enough vaporators installed and running to make the farm pay off big. But he
can't guard all that land by himself, and he says he needs me for  one  more
season. I can't run out on him now."

Biggs sighed sadly. "I feel for you, Luke. Someday you're going to have
to learn to separate  what  seems  to  be  important  from  what  really  is
important." He gestured around them.

"What good is all your uncle's work if it's taken over by  the  Empire?
I've heard that they're starting to imperialize commerce in all the outlying
systems. It won't be long before your uncle and everyone  else  on  Tatooine
are just tenants slaving for the greater glory of the Empire."

"That couldn't happen here," Luke objected with a confidence he  didn't
quite feel. "You've said it  yourself-the  Empire  won't  bother  with  this
rock."

"Things change, Luke. Only the threat of rebellion keeps many in  power
from doing certain  unmentionable  things.  If  that  threat  is  completely
removed-well, there are two things men have  never  been  able  to  satisfy:
their curiosity  and  their  greed.  There  isn't  much  the  high  Imperial
bureaucrats are curious about."

Both men stood silent. A  sandwhirl  traversed  the  street  in  silent
majesty, collapsing against a wall to  send  newborn  baby  zephyrs  in  all
directions.

"I wish I was going with you," Luke finally murmured.  He  glanced  up.
"Will you be around long?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I'm leaving in the morning to rendezvous with
the Ecliptic."

"Then I guess... I won't be seeing you again."

"Maybe someday," Biggs declared. He brightened, grinning that disarming
grin. "I'll keep a look out for you, hotshot. Try not to run into any canyon
walls in the meantime."

"I'll be at the Academy the  season  after,"  Luke  insisted,  more  to
encourage himself than Biggs. "After that, who knows where I'll end up?"  He
sounded determined. "I won't be drafted into the starfleet, that's for sure.
Take care of yourself. You'll... always be the best friend I've got."  There
was no need for a handshake. These two had long since passed beyond that.

"So long, then, Luke," Biggs said simply. He turned and re-entered  the
power station.

Luke watched him disappear  through  the  door,  his  own  thoughts  as
chaotic and frenetic as one of Tatooine's spontaneous dust storms.

There were any number of extraordinary features  unique  to  Tatooine's
surface. Outstanding  among  them  were  the  mysterious  mists  which  rose
regularly from the ground at the points where desert sands washed up against
unyielding cliffs and mesas.

Fog in a steaming desert seemed as out of place as cactus on a glacier,
but it existed nonetheless. Meteorologists and geologists argued its  origin
among themselves, muttering hard-to-believe theories about  water  suspended
in sandstone veins beneath the sand and incomprehensible chemical  reactions
which made water rise when the ground cooled, then  fall  underground  again
with the double sunrise. It was all very backward and very real.

Neither the mist nor the  alien  moans  of  nocturnal  desert  dwellers
troubled Artoo Detoo, however, as he made  his  careful  way  up  the  rocky
arroyo, hunting for the easiest pathway to the mesa top. His squarish, broad
footpads made clicking sounds loud in the evening light  as  sand  underfoot
gave way gradually to gravel.

For a moment, he paused. He seemed to  detect  a  noise-like  metal  on
rock-ahead of him, instead of rock  on  rock.  The  sound  wasn't  repeated,
though, and he quickly resumed his ambling ascent.

Up the arroyo, too far up to be seen  from  below,  a  pebble  trickled
loose from the stone wall. The tiny figure which had accidentally  dislodged
the pebble retreated mouselike into shadow.  Two  glowing  points  of  light
showed under overlapping folds of brown cape  a  meter  from  the  narrowing
canyon wall.

Only the reaction of the unsuspecting robot indicated the  presence  of
the whining beam as it struck him.  For  a  moment  Artoo  Detoo  fluoresced
eerily in the dimming light. There was a  single  short  electronic  squeak.
Then the tripodal support unbalanced and the  tiny  automaton  toppled  over
onto its back, the lights on its front blinking on and off erratically  from
the effects of the paralyzing beam.

Three travesties of men scurried out from behind  concealing  boulders.
Their motions were more indicative of rodent than humankind, and they  stood
little taller than the Artoo unit. When they saw that the  single  burst  of
enervating energy had immobilized the robot, they holstered  their  peculiar
weapons. Nevertheless, they approached the listless machine cautiously, with
the trepidation of hereditary cowards.

Their  cloaks  were  thickly  coated  with  dust  and  sand.  Unhealthy
red-yellow pupils glowed catlike from the depths  of  their  hoods  as  they
studied their captive. The  jawas  conversed  in  low  guttural  croaks  and
scrambled analogs of human speech. If, as anthropologists hypothesized, they
had  ever  been  human,  they  had  long  since  degenerated  past  anything
resembling the human race.

Several more jawas appeared. Together  they  succeeded  in  alternately
hoisting and dragging the robot back down the arroyo.

At the bottom of the canyon-like some monstrous prehistoric beast-was a
sandcrawler as enormous as its owners and operators were tiny. Several dozen
meters high, the vehicle towered above the ground on  multiple  treads  that
were taller than a tall man. Its metal epidermis  was  battered  and  pitted
from withstanding untold sandstorms.

On reaching the crawler, the jawas resumed jabbering among  themselves.
Artoo Detoo could hear them but failed to comprehend anything. He  need  not
have been embarrassed at his failure. If they so wished,  only  jawas  could
understand other jawas, for they employed a randomly variable language  that
drove linguists mad.

One of them removed a small disk from a belt pouch and sealed it to the
Artoo unit's flank. A large tube protruded from one side of  the  gargantuan
vehicle. They rolled him over to it and then moved clear. There was a  brief
moan, the whoosh of a powerful vacuum, and the small robot was  sucked  into
the bowels of the sandcrawler as neatly as a pea up a straw.  This  part  of
the job completed, the jawas engaged in another bout of jabbering, following
which they scurried into the crawler via tubes  and  ladders,  for  all  the
world like a nest of mice returning to their holes.

None too gently, the suction tube deposited Artoo in a  small  cubical.
In addition to varied piles of broken  instruments  and  outright  scrap,  a
dozen or so robots of differing shapes and sizes populated the prison. A few
were locked in electronic conversation. Others muddled aimlessly about.  But
when Artoo tumbled into the chamber, one voice burst out in surprise.

"Artoo Detoo-it's you, it's you!" called an excited Threepio  from  the
near darkness. He made his way over to the still immobilized repair unit and
embraced it most unmechanically. Spotting the small disk sealed onto Artoo's
side, Threepio turned his gaze thoughtfully down to his own chest,  where  a
similar device had likewise been attached.

Massive gears, poorly lubricated, started to move. With a groaning  and
grinding, the  monster  sandcrawler  turned  and  lumbered  with  relentless
patience into the desert night.

= III =

THE burnished conference table was as soulless and  unyielding  as  the
mood of the eight Imperial Senators and officers ranged around it.  Imperial
troopers stood guard at the entrance to the chamber, which  was  sparse  and
coldly lit from lights in the table and walls. One of the  youngest  of  the
eight was declaiming. He exhibited the attitude of one who had  climbed  far
and fast by methods best not examined too closely. General Tagge did possess
a certain twisted genius, but it was only  partly  that  ability  which  had
lifted him to his present exalted position. Other noisome talents had proven
equally efficacious.

Though his uniform was as neatly molded and his body as clean  as  that
of anyone else in the room, none of the remaining seven cared to touch  him.
A certain sliminess clung cloyingly to him, a sensation inferred rather than
tactile. Despite this, many respected him. Or feared him.

"I tell you, he's gone too far this time," the  General  was  insisting
vehemently. "This Sith Lord inflicted on us at the  urging  of  the  Emperor
will be our undoing. Until the  battle  station  is  fully  operational,  we
remain vulnerable.

"Some of you  still  don't  seem  to  realize  how  well  equipped  and
organized the Rebel Alliance is. Their vessels are excellent,  their  pilots
better. And they are propelled by something more powerful than mere engines:
this perverse, reactionary fanaticism of theirs. They're more dangerous than
most of you realize."

An older officer, with facial scars so deeply engraved  that  even  the
best cosmetic surgery could not fully repair them, shifted nervously in  his
chair. "Dangerous to your starfleet, General Tagge, but not to  this  battle
station." Wizened eyes hopped from man to man, traveling around  the  table.
"I happen to think Lord Vader knows what  he's  doing.  The  rebellion  will
continue only as long as those cowards have a sanctuary, a place where their
pilots can relax and their machines can be repaired."

Tagge objected. "I  beg  to  differ  with  you,  Romodi.  I  think  the
construction of this station has more to do with Governor Tarkin's  bid  for
personal power and recognition than with any justifiable military  strategy.
Within the Senate the rebels will continue  to  increase  their  support  as
long-"

The sound of the single doorway sliding aside and the  guards  snapping
to attention cut him of. His head turned as did everyone else's.

Two individuals as different in  appearance  as  they  were  united  in
objectives had entered the  chamber.  The  nearest  to  Tagge  was  a  thin,
hatchet-faced man with hair and form borrowed from  an  old  broom  and  the
expression of a quiescent  piranha.  The  Grand  Moff  Tarkin,  Governor  of
numerous outlying Imperial territories, was dwarfed by  the  broad,  armored
bulk of Lord Darth Vader.

Tagge, unintimidated but subdued, slowly resumed  his  seat  as  Tarkin
assumed his place at the end of the conference table. Vader  stood  next  to
him, a dominating presence behind the Governor's chair. For a minute  Tarkin
stared directly at Tagge, then glanced away as if he had seen nothing. Tagge
fumed but remained silent.

As  Tarkin's  gaze  roved  around  the  table  a  razor-thin  smile  of
satisfaction remained frozen in his features. "The Imperial Senate  will  no
longer be of any concern to us, gentlemen. I have just  received  word  that
the Emperor has permanently dissolved that misguided body."

A ripple of astonishment ran through the assembly. "The last remnants,"
Tarkin continued, "of the Old Republic have finally been swept away."

"This is impossible," Tagge interjected. "How will the Emperor maintain
control of the Imperial bureaucracy?"

"Senatorial representation has not been formally  abolished,  you  must
understand," Tarkin explained. "It has merely been superseded for  the-"  he
smiled a bit more- "duration of the emergency. Regional Governors  will  now
have direct control and a free hand in administering their territories. This
means that the Imperial presence can at last be brought to bear properly  on
the  vacillating  worlds  of  the  Empire.  From  now  on,  fear  will  keep
potentially traitorous local governments  in  line.  Fear  of  the  Imperial
fleet-and fear of this battle station."

"And what of the existing rebellion?" Tagge wanted to know.

"If the rebels somehow managed to gain access to a  complete  technical
schema of this battle station, it is remotely possible that  they  might  be
able to locate a weakness susceptible to minor exploitation." Tarkin's smile
shifted to a smirk. "Of course, we all know how well guarded, how  carefully
protected, such vital data is. It could not possibly fall into rebel hands."

"The technical data to which  you  are  obliquely  referring,"  rumbled
Darth Vader angrily, "will soon be back in our hands. If-"

Tarkin shook the Dark Lord off, something no  one  else  at  the  table
would have dared to do. "It is immaterial.  Any  attack  made  against  this
station  by  the  rebels  would  be  a  suicidal   gesture,   suicidal   and
useless-regardless of any information they managed  to  obtain.  After  many
long years of secretive construction," he declared  with  evident  pleasure,
"this station has become the decisive force in this part  of  the  universe.
Events in this region of the galaxy will no longer be determined by fate, by
decree, or by any other agency. They will be decided by this station!"

A huge metal-clad hand gestured slightly, and one of the filled cups on
the table drifted responsively into it. With a slightly admonishing tone the
Dark Lord continued. "Don't become too proud of  this  technological  terror
you've spawned, Tarkin. The ability to destroy a  city,  a  world,  a  whole
system is still insignificant when set against the Force."

"The Force," Tagge  sneered.  "Don't  try  to  frighten  us  with  your
sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient mythology has
not helped you to  conjure  up  those  stolen  tapes,  or  gifted  you  with
clairvoyance sufficient to locate the rebels'  hidden  fortress.  Why,  it's
enough to make one laugh fit to-"

Tagge's eyes abruptly bulged and his hands went to  his  throat  as  he
began to turn a disconcerting shade of blue.

"I find," Vader ventured mildly, "this lack of faith disturbing."

"Enough of this," Tarkin snapped, distressed. "Vader, release him. This
bickering among ourselves is pointless."

Vader shrugged as if it were of no consequence. Tagge  slumped  in  his
seat, rubbing his throat, his wary gaze never leaving the dark giant.

"Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the rebel fortress  by
the time this station is  certified  operational,"  Tarkin  declared.  "That
known, we will proceed to it and destroy it utterly, crushing this  pathetic
rebellion in one swift stroke."

"As the Emperor wills it," Vader added, not without sarcasm, "so  shall
it be."

If any  of  the  powerful  men  seated  around  the  table  found  this
disrespectful tone objectionable,  a  glance  at  Tagge  was  sufficient  to
dissuade them from mentioning it.

The dim prison reeked of rancid oil and stale lubricants,  a  veritable
metallic charnel house. Threepio endured the discomfiting atmosphere as best
he could. It was a constant battle to avoid being thrown by every unexpected
bounce into the walls or into a fellow machine.

To conserve power-and also to avoid the  steady  stream  of  complaints
from his taller companion-Artoo Detoo had shut down all exterior  functions.
He lay inert among a pile of secondary parts, sublimely unconcerned  at  the
moment as to their fate.

"Will this never end?" Threepio was moaning  as  another  violent  jolt
roughly jostled the inhabitants of the prison. He had already formulated and
discarded half a hundred horrible ends.  He  was  certain  only  that  their
eventual disposition was sure to be worse than anything he could imagine.

Then, quite without warning, something more unsettling  than  even  the
most battering bump took  place.  The  sandcrawler's  whine  died,  and  the
vehicle came to a halt-almost as if  in  response  to  Threepio's  query.  A
nervous buzz rose from those mechanicals who still retained a  semblance  of
sentience as they speculated on their present location and probable fate.

At least Threepio was no longer ignorant of his  captors  or  of  their
likely motives. Local captives had explained the nature of  the  quasi-human
mechanic  migrants,  the  jawas.  Traveling   in   their   enormous   mobile
fortress-homes, they scoured the most inhospitable regions  of  Tatooine  in
search of valuable minerals-and salvageable machinery. They had  never  been
seen outside of their protective  cloaks  and  sandmasks,  so  no  one  knew
exactly what they looked like. But they were reputed to  be  extraordinarily
ugly. Threepio did not have to be convinced.

Leaning over his still-motionless companion, he began a steady  shaking
of the barrel-like torso. Epidermal sensors  were  activated  on  the  Artoo
unit, and the lights  on  the  front  side  of  the  little  robot  began  a
sequential awakening.

"Wake up, wake up," Threepio urged.  "We've  stopped  someplace."  Like
several of the other, more imaginative robots, his eyes were warily scanning
metal walls, expecting a hidden panel to slide aside at  any  moment  and  a
giant mechanical arm to come probing and fumbling for him.

"No doubt about it, we're  doomed,"  he  recited  mournfully  as  Artoo
righted himself, returning to full activation. "Do you think they'll melt us
down?" He became silent for several minutes, then added, "It's this  waiting
that gets to me."

Abruptly the far wall of the chamber slid aside and the blinding  white
glare of  a  Tatooine  morning  rushed  in  on  them.  Threepio's  sensitive
photoreceptors were hard pressed  to  adjust  in  time  to  prevent  serious
damage.

Several of the  repulsive-looking  jawas  scrambled  agilely  into  the
chamber, still dressed in the same swathings and filth Threepio had observed
on them before. Using hand weapons of an unknown design, they prodded at the
machines. Certain of them. Threepio noted with a  mental  swallow,  did  not
stir.

Ignoring the immobile ones, the jawas herded  those  still  capable  of
movement  outside,  Artoo  and  Threepio  among  them.  Both  robots   found
themselves part of an uneven mechanical line.

Shielding his eyes against the glare, Threepio saw that  five  of  them
were arranged alongside the huge sandcrawler. Thoughts  of  escape  did  not
enter his mind. Such a concept was utterly alien to a mechanical.  The  more
intelligent a robot was, the more abhorrent  and  unthinkable  the  concept.
Besides, had he tried to escape, built-in sensors would  have  detected  the
critical logic malfunction and melted every circuit in his brain.

Instead, he studied the small domes and vaporators that  indicated  the
presence of a larger underground human homestead. Though he  was  unfamiliar
with this type of construction, all signs pointed to a modest, if  isolated,
habitation. Thoughts of being dismembered  for  parts  or  slaving  in  some
high-temperature mine slowly faded. His spirits rose correspondingly.

"Maybe this won't be so bad after all," he murmured hopefully.  "If  we
can convince these bipedal vermin to unload  us  here,  we  may  enter  into
sensible human service again instead of being melted into slag."

Artoo's sole reply was  a  noncommittal  chirp.  Both  machines  became
silent as the jawas commenced scurrying around them, striving to  straighten
one poor machine with a badly bent spine, to disguise a dent or scrape  with
liquid and dust.

As two of them bustled about, working on his sandcoated skin,  Threepio
fought to stifle an expression of disgust.  One  of  his  many  human-analog
functions was the ability to react naturally to offensive odors.  Apparently
hygiene was unknown among the jawas. But he was certain no good  would  come
of pointing this out to them.

Small insects drifted in clouds about  the  faces  of  the  jawas,  who
ignored them. Apparently the tiny individualized plagues  were  regarded  as
just a different sort of appendage, like an extra arm or leg.

So intent was Threepio on his observation that he failed to notice  the
two figures moving toward them from the region of the  largest  dome.  Artoo
had to nudge him slightly before he looked up.

The  first  man  wore  an  air  of  grim,   semiperpetual   exhaustion,
sandblasted into his face by too  many  years  of  arguing  with  a  hostile
environment. His graying hair was  frozen  in  tangled  twists  like  gypsum
helicites. Dust frosted his face, clothes,  hands,  and  thoughts.  But  the
body, if not the spirit, was still powerful.

Proportionately dwarfed by his uncle's wrestlerlike body,  Luke  strode
slump-shouldered in his shadow, his present attitude one of dejection rather
than exhaustion. He had a great deal on his mind, and it had very little  to
do with farming. Mostly it involved the rest of his life, and the commitment
made by his best friend who had recently departed beyond the blue sky  above
to enter a harsher, yet more rewarding career.

The bigger man stopped before the assembly and entered into a  peculiar
squeaky dialogue with the jawa in charge. When they  wished  it,  the  jawas
could be understood.

Luke stood nearby, listening  indifferently.  Then  he  shuffled  along
behind his uncle as the latter began inspecting the five  machines,  pausing
only to mutter an occasional word or two to his nephew. It was hard  to  pay
attention, even though he knew he ought to be learning.

"Luke-oh, Luke!" a voice called.

Turning away from the conversation, which consisted of  the  lead  jawa
extolling  the  unmatched  virtues  of  all  five  machines  and  his  uncle
countering with  derision,  Luke  walked  over  to  the  near  edge  of  the
subterranean courtyard and peered down.

A stout woman with the expression  of  a  misplaced  sparrow  was  busy
working among decorative plants. She looked up at him.  "Be  sure  and  tell
Owen that if he buys a translator to make sure it speaks Bocce, Luke."

Turning, Luke looked back over his  shoulder  and  studied  the  motley
collection of tired machines. "It  looks  like  we  don't  have  much  of  a
choice," he called back down to her, "but I'll remind him anyway."

She nodded up at him and he turned to rejoin his uncle.

Apparently Owen Lars had already come to a decision, having settled  on
a small semi-agricultural robot. This one was  similar  in  shape  to  Artoo
Detoo, save that its multiple subsidiary arms  were  tipped  with  different
functions. At an order it had stepped out of the line and was wobbling along
behind Owen and the temporarily subdued jawa.

Proceeding to the end of the line, the farmer's  eyes  narrowed  as  he
concentrated on the sand-scoured but still flashy bronze finish of the tall,
humanoid Threepio.

"I presume you function," he  grumbled  at  the  robot.  "Do  you  know
customs and protocol?"

"Do I know protocol?" Threepio echoed as the farmer looked him  up  and
down. Threepio was determined to embarrass the jawa when it came to  selling
his abilities. "Do I know protocol! Why, it's my primary function. I am also
well-"

"Don't need a protocol droid," the farmer snapped dryly.

"I don't blame you, sir," Threepio rapidly agreed. "I couldn't be  more
in agreement. What could be more of a wasteful  luxury  in  a  climate  like
this? For someone of your interests,  sir,  a  protocol  droid  would  be  a
useless waste of money. No, sir-versatility  is  my  middle  name.  See  Vee
Threepio-Vee for versatility-at your service. I've been programmed for  over
thirty secondary functions that require only..."

"I need," the farmer broke in, demonstrating  imperious  disregard  for
Threepio's as yet unenumerated secondary  functions,  "a  droid  that  knows
something about the binary language of independently  programmable  moisture
vaporators."

"Vaporators! We are  both  in  luck,"  Threepio  countered.  "My  first
post-primary assignment was in programming binary load lifters. Very similar
in construction and memory-function to your  vaporators.  You  could  almost
say..."

Luke tapped his uncle on the shoulder and whispered  something  in  his
ear. His uncle nodded, then looked back at the attentive Threepio again.

"Do you speak Bocce?"

"Of course, sir," Threepio replied,  confident  for  a  change  with  a
wholly honest answer. "It's like a second language to me. I'm as  fluent  in
Bocce as-"

The farmer appeared  determined  never  to  allow  him  to  conclude  a
sentence. "Shut up." Owen Lars looked down at the jawa. Til take  this  one,
too."

"Shutting up, sir," responded Threepio quickly, hard put to conceal his
glee at being selected.

"Take them down to the garage, Luke," his uncle instructed him. "I want
you to have both of them cleaned up by suppertime."

Luke looked askance at his uncle. "But I was going into Tosche  station
to pick up some new power converters and..."

"Don't lie to me, Luke," his uncle warned him sternly.  "I  don't  mind
you wasting time with your idle friends, but only after you've finished your
chores. Now hop to it-and before supper, mind."

Downcast, Luke directed his words irritably to Threepio and  the  small
agricultural robot. He knew better than to argue with his uncle.

"Follow me, you two." They started for the garage as Owen entered  into
price negotiations with the jawa.

Other jawas were leading the three remaining  machines  back  into  the
sandcrawler when something let out an almost pathetic beep. Luke  turned  to
see an Artoo unit  breaking  formation  and  starting  toward  him.  It  was
immediately restrained by a jawa wielding a control  device  that  activated
the disk sealed on the machine's front plate.

Luke studied the rebellious droid curiously. Threepio  started  to  say
something, considered the circumstances and thought better of  it.  Instead,
he remained silent, staring straight ahead.

A minute later, something pinged sharply nearby.  Glancing  down,  Luke
saw that a head plate had popped off the top of the  agricultural  droid.  A
grinding noise was coming from  within.  A  second  later  the  machine  was
throwing internal components all over the sandy ground.

Leaning close, Luke peered  inside  the  expectorating  mechanical.  He
called out, "Uncle Owen! The servomotor-central on this cultivator  unit  is
shot. Look..." He reached in, tried to adjust the device,  and  pulled  away
hurriedly when it began a wild sparking. The odor of crisped insulation  and
corroded circuitry filled the clear desert air with a pungency  redolent  of
mechanized death.

Owen Lars glared down at the nervous jawa. "What kind of junk  are  you
trying to push on us?"

The jawa responded loudly, indignantly, while simultaneously  taking  a
couple of precautionary steps away from the big  human.  He  was  distressed
that the man was between him and the soothing safety of the sandcrawler.

Meanwhile, Artoo Detoo had scuttled out of the group of machines  being
led back toward the mobile fortress.  Doing  so  turned  out  to  be  simple
enough, since all the jawas had their  attention  focused  on  the  argument
between their leader and Luke's uncle.

Lacking sufficient armature for  wild  gesticulation,  the  Artoo  unit
suddenly let out a high whistle, then broke it off when it was  apparent  he
had gained Threepio's attention.

Tapping  Luke  gently  on  the  shoulder,  the  tall  droid   whispered
conspiratorially into his ear. "If I might say so,  young  sir,  that  Artoo
unit is a real bargain. In top condition. I don't  believe  these  creatures
have any idea what good shape he's really in. Don't let  all  the  sand  and
dust deceive you."

Luke  was  in  the  habit  of  making  instant  decisions-for  good  or
bad-anyway. "Uncle Owen!" he called.

Breaking off the argument without taking his attention from  the  jawa,
his uncle glanced quickly at him. Luke  gestured  toward  Artoo  Detoo.  "We
don't want  any  trouble.  What  about  swapping  this-"  he  indicated  the
burned-out agricultural droid- "for that one?"

The older man studied the Artoo unit  professionally,  then  considered
the jawas. Though inherently cowards, the tiny desert  scavengers  could  be
pushed too far. The sandcrawler could flatten the homestead-at the  risk  of
inciting the human community to lethal vengeance.

Faced with a no-win situation for either side if he pressed  too  hard,
Owen resumed the argument for show's sake before gruffly assenting. The head
jawa consented reluctantly to the trade, and both sides  breathed  a  mental
sigh of relief that hostilities had been avoided. While the jawa  bowed  and
whined with impatient greed, Owen paid him off.

Meanwhile, Luke had led the two robots toward an  opening  in  the  dry
ground. A few seconds later they were striding down a  ramp  kept  clear  of
drifting sand by electrostatic repellers.

"Don't you ever forget this," Threepio muttered to Artoo  leaning  over
the smaller machine. "Why I stick my neck out for you,  when  all  you  ever
bring me is trouble, is beyond my capacity to comprehend."

The passage widened into the garage proper, which  was  cluttered  with
tools and sections of farming machinery. Many looked heavily used,  some  to
the point of collapse. But the lights were comforting to  both  droids,  and
there was a homeliness to the chamber which hinted  at  a  tranquillity  not
experienced by either machine for a long time. Near the center of the garage
was a large tub, and the aroma drifting from it  made  Threepio's  principal
olfactory sensors twitch.

Luke grinned, noting the robot's reaction.  "Yes,  it's  a  lubrication
bath." He eyed the tall bronze robot appraisingly. "And from  the  looks  of
it, you could use about a week's submergence. But we can't  afford  that  so
you'll have to settle for an afternoon." Then Luke turned his  attention  to
Artoo Detoo, walking up to him and  flipping  open  a  panel  that  shielded
numerous gauges.

"As for you," he continued, with a whistle of surprise, "I  don't  know
how you've kept running. Not surprising, knowing the  jawas'  reluctance  to
part with any erg-fraction they don't have to. It's recharge time for  you."
He gestured toward a large power unit.

Artoo Detoo followed Luke's gesture, then beeped once and waddled  over
to the boxy construction. Finding the proper cord, he automatically  flipped
open a panel and plugged the triple prongs into his face.

Threepio had walked over to the large cistern, which was filled  almost
full with aromatic cleansing  oil.  With  a  remarkably  humanlike  sigh  he
lowered himself slowly into the tank.

"You two behave yourselves," Luke cautioned them as he moved to a small
two-man skyhopper. A powerful little suborbital spacecraft, it rested in the
hangar section of the garage- workshop. "I've got work of my own to do."

Unfortunately, Luke's energies  were  still  focused  on  his  farewell
encounter with Biggs, so that hours later he had finished few of his chores.
Thinking about his friend's departure, Luke was  running  a  caressing  hand
over the damaged port fin of  the  'hopper-the  fin  he  had  damaged  while
running down an imaginary Tie fighter in the wrenching twists and turns of a
narrow canyon. That was  when  the  projecting  ledge  had  clipped  him  as
effectively as an energy beam.

Abruptly something came to a boil within him. With atypical violence he
threw a power wrench across a worktable nearby. "It  just  isn't  fair!"  he
declared to no one in particular. His voice dropped  disconsolately.  "Biggs
is right. I'll never get out of here. He's planning  rebellion  against  the
Empire, and I'm trapped on a blight of a farm."

"I beg your pardon, sir."

Luke spun, startled, but it was only  the  tall  droid,  Threepio.  The
contrast in the robot was striking compared with  Luke's  initial  sight  of
him. Bronze-colored alloy gleamed in the  overhead  lights  of  the  garage,
cleaned of pits and dust by the powerful oils.

"Is there anything I might do to help?" the robot asked solicitously.

Luke studied the machine, and as he did so some of  his  anger  drained
away. There was no point in yelling cryptically at a robot.

"I doubt it," he replied, "unless you can alter time and speed  up  the
harvest. Or else teleport me off this sandpile under Uncle Owen's nose."

Sarcasm was difficult for even  an  extremely  sophisticated  robot  to
detect so  Threepio  considered  the  question  objectively  before  finally
replying, "I don't think so, sir. I'm only a third-degree droid and not very
knowledgeable about such  things  as  transatomic  physics."  Suddenly,  the
events of the past couple of days seemed to catch up with him all  at  once.
"As a matter of fact, young sir," Threepio went on while looking around  him
with fresh vision, "I'm not even sure which planet I'm on."

Luke chuckled sardonically and assumed a mocking pose.  "If  there's  a
bright center to this universe, you're on the world farthest from it."

"Yes, Luke sir."

The youth shook his head irritably. "Never  mind  the  "sir"-it's  just
Luke. And this world is called Tatooine."

Threepio nodded slightly. "Thank you, Luke s-Luke. I am  See  Threepio,
human-droid relations specialist." He  jerked  a  casual  metal  thumb  back
toward the recharge unit. "That is my companion, Artoo Detoo."

"Pleased to meet you, Threepio," Luke said easily.  "You  too,  Artoo."
Walking across the garage, he checked a gauge on the smaller machine's front
panel, then gave a grunt of satisfaction. As he began unplugging the  charge
cord he saw something which made him frown and lean close.

"Something wrong, Luke?" Threepio inquired.

Luke went to a nearby tool wall and selected a small many-armed device.
"I don't know yet, Threepio."

Returning to the recharger, Luke bent over Artoo and began scraping  at
several bumps in the small droid's top with a chromed pick. Occasionally  he
jerked back sharply as bits of corrosion were flicked into the  air  by  the
tiny tool.

Threepio watched, interested, as Luke worked. "There's a lot of strange
carbon scoring here of a type I'm not familiar with. Looks like you've  both
seen a lot of action out of the ordinary."

"Indeed, sir," Threepio admitted, forgetting  to  drop  the  honorific.
This time Luke was too absorbed elsewhere to  correct  him.  "Sometimes  I'm
amazed we're in as good shape as we are." He added as an afterthought, while
still shying away from  the  thrust  of  Luke's  question.  "What  with  the
rebellion and all."

Despite his caution, it seemed to Threepio  that  he  must  have  given
something away, for an almost jawa-like blaze appeared in Luke's eyes.  "You
know about the rebellion against the Empire?" he demanded.

"In  a  way."  Threepio  confessed  reluctantly.  "The  rebellion   was
responsible for our coming into your service. We are refugees, you see."  He
did not add from where.

Not that Luke appeared to care. "Refugees!  Then  I  did  see  a  space
battle!" He rambled on rapidly, excited. "Tell me where you've  been-in  how
many encounters. How is  the  rebellion  going?  Does  the  Empire  take  it
seriously? Have you seen many ships destroyed?"

"A bit slower, please, sir," Threepio pleaded.  "You  misinterpret  our
status. We were innocent bystanders. Our involvement with the rebellion  was
of the most marginal nature.

"As to battles, we were in several, I think. It is  difficult  to  tell
when one is not directly in contact with the actual  battle  machinery."  He
shrugged neatly. "Beyond that, there is not much to say. Remember, sir, I am
little more than a cosmeticized interpreter and not  very  good  at  telling
stories or relating histories, and  even  less  proficient  at  embellishing
them. I am a very literal machine."

Luke turned away, disappointed, and returned to his cleaning  of  Artoo
Detoo. Additional scraping turned up something puzzling enough to demand his
full attention. A small metal fragment was tightly lodged  between  two  bar
conduits that would normally form a linkage. Setting down the delicate pick,
Luke switched to a larger instrument.

"Well, my little friend," he murmured, "you've got something jammed  in
here real good." As he pushed and pried Luke directed half his attention  to
Threepio. "Were you on a star freighter or was it-"

Metal gave way with a powerful crack, and the recoil sent Luke tumbling
head over heels. Getting to  his  feet,  he  started  to  curse-then  froze,
motionless.

The  front  of  the  Artoo  unit  had  begun   to   glow,   exuding   a
three-dimensional image less than one-third of a meter square but  precisely
defined. The portrait formed within the box  was  so  exquisite  that  in  a
couple of minutes Luke discovered  he  was  out  of  breath-because  he  had
forgotten to breathe.

Despite a  superficial  sharpness,  the  image  flickered  and  jiggled
unsteadily, as if the recording had been made and installed with haste. Luke
stared at the atmosphere of the garage and started to form a  question.  But
it was never finished. The lips on the figure moved, and the  girl  spoke-or
rather, seemed to speak. Luke knew the  aural  accompaniment  was  generated
somewhere within Artoo Detoo's squat torso.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the voice implored huskily, "help me! You're my  only
remaining hope." A burst of static dissolved the face momentarily.  Then  it
coalesced again, and once more the voice repeated, "Obi-Wan  Kenobi,  you're
my only remaining hope."

With a raspy hum the hologram continued. Luke sat perfectly still for a
long moment, considering what he was seeing, then he  blinked  and  directed
his words to the Artoo unit.

"What's this all about, Artoo Detoo?"

The stubby droid shifted slightly, the cubish  portrait  shifting  with
him, and beeped what sounded vaguely like a sheepish reply.

Threepio appeared as mystified as Luke. "What  is  that?"  he  inquired
sharply, gesturing at the speaking portrait and  then  at  Luke.  "You  were
asked a question. What and who is that, and how are you  originating  it-and
why?"

The Artoo unit generated a beep of surprise, for all the  world  as  if
just noticing the hologram. This was  followed  by  a  whistling  stream  of
information.

Threepio digested the data, tried to frown,  couldn't,  and  strove  to
convey his own confusion via  the  tone  of  his  voice.  "He  insists  it's
nothing, sir. Merely a malfunction-old data. A tape that  should  have  been
erased but was missed. He insists we pay it no mind."

That was like telling Luke to ignore a cache of  Durindfires  he  might
stumble over in the desert. "Who is she?" he demanded, staring enraptured at
the hologram. "She's beautiful."

"I really don't know who she is," Threepio confessed honestly. "I think
she might have been a passenger on our last voyage. From what I recall,  she
was a personage of some importance. This might have something to do with the
fact that our Captain was attach© to-"

Luke cut him off, savoring the way sensuous lips  formed  and  reformed
the sentence fragment. "Is there any more to this recording? It sounds  like
it's incomplete." Getting to his feet, Luke reached out for the Artoo unit.

The robot moved backward and produced whistles of such frantic  concern
that Luke hesitated and held off reaching for the internal controls.

Threepio was shocked. "Behave yourself, Artoo,"  he  finally  chastised
his companion. "You're going to get us into trouble." He had visions of  the
both of them being packed up as uncooperative and shipped back to the jawas,
which was enough to make him imitate a shudder.

"It's all right-he's our master now." Threepio indicated Luke. "You can
trust him. I feel that he has our best interests in mind."

Detoo appeared to hesitate, uncertain. Then he whistled  and  beeped  a
long complexity at his friend.

"Well?" Luke prompted impatiently.

Threepio paused before replying. "He says that he is  the  property  of
one Obi-Wan Kenobi, a resident of this world. Of this very region, in  fact.
The sentence fragment we are hearing is part of a private  message  intended
for this person."

Threepio shook his head slowly. "Quite frankly, sir, I don't know  what
he's talking about. Our last master was Captain Colton. I never heard  Artoo
mention a prior master. I've certainly never heard of an Obi-Wan Kenobi. But
with all we've been through," he concluded apologetically, "I'm  afraid  his
logic circuits have gotten a bit scrambled. He's become decidedly  eccentric
at times." And while Luke considered this turn of events, Threepio took  the
opportunity to throw Artoo a furious look of warning.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Luke recited thoughtfully.  His  expression  suddenly
brightened. "Say... I wonder if he could be referring to old Ben Kenobi."

"Begging your pardon," Threepio gulped, astonished beyond measure, "but
you actually know of such a person?"

"Not exactly," he admitted in a  more  subdued  voice.  "I  don't  know
anyone named Obi-Wan-but old Ben lives somewhere out on the  fringe  of  the
Western Dune Sea. He's kind of a local character-a hermit. Uncle Owen and  a
few of the other farmers say he's a sorcerer.

"He comes around once in a while to trade things. I hardly ever talk to
him, though. My uncle usually runs him off." He paused and glanced across at
the small robot again. "But I never heard that old Ben owned a droid of  any
kind. At least, none that I ever heard tell of."

Luke's gaze was drawn irresistibly back to the hologram. "I wonder  who
she is. She must be important-especially if what you told  me  just  now  is
true, Threepio. She sounds and looks as if she's in some  kind  of  trouble.
Maybe the message is important. We ought to hear the rest of it."

He reached again for the  Artoo's  internal  controls,  and  the  robot
scurried backward again, squeaking a blue streak.

"He says there's a restraining separator bolt that's circuiting out his
self-motivation components." Threepio translated. "He suggests that  if  you
move the bolt he might be able  to  repeat  the  entire  message,"  Threepio
finished uncertainly. When Luke continued to stare at the portrait, Threepio
added, more loudly, "Sir!"

Luke shook himself. "What... Oh, yes." He considered the request.  Then
he moved and peered into the open panel. This time Artoo didn't retreat.

"I see it, I think. Well, I guess you're too small to run away from  me
if I take this off. I wonder what someone would be sending a message to  old
Ben for."

Selecting the proper tool, Luke reached down into the exposed circuitry
and popped the restraining bolt free. The first noticeable  result  of  this
action was that the portrait disappeared.

Luke stood back. "There, now." There was an uncomfortable pause  during
which the hologram showed no sign of returning. "Where  did  she  go?"  Luke
finally prompted. "Make her  come  back.  Play  the  entire  message,  Artoo
Detoo."

An innocent-sounding  beep  came  from  the  robot.  Threepio  appeared
embarrassed and nervous as he translated. "He said, 'What message?' "

Threepio's attention  turned  half  angrily  to  his  companion.  "What
message? You know what message! The one you just played a  fragment  of  for
us. The one you're hauling  around  inside  your  recalcitrant,  rust-ridden
innards, you stubborn hunk of junk!"

Artoo sat and hummed softly to himself.

"I'm sorry, sir," Threepio said slowly, "but he shows signs  of  having
developed an alarming flutter in his obedience-rational module.  Perhaps  if
we-"

A voice from down a corridor interrupted him. "Luke... oh, Luke-come to
dinner!"

Luke hesitated, then rose and turned  away  from  the  puzzling  little
droid. "Okay," he called, "I'm coming, Aunt Beru!" He lowered his  voice  as
he spoke to Threepio. "See what you can do with him.  I'll  be  back  soon."
Tossing the just-removed restraining bolt on the workbench, he hurried  from
the chamber.

As soon as  the  human  was  gone,  Threepio  whirled  on  his  shorter
companion. "You'd better consider playing that whole recording for him,"  he
growled, with a suggestive nod toward a  workbench  laden  with  dismembered
machine parts. "Otherwise he's liable to take up that  cleaning  pick  again
and go digging for it. He might not be too careful what he cuts  through  if
he believes you're deliberately withholding something from him."

A plaintive beep came from Artoo.

"No," Threepio responded, "I don't think he likes you at all."

A second beep failed to alter the stern  tone  in  the  taller  robot's
voice. "No, I don't like you, either."

= IV =

LUKE"S Aunt Beru  was  filling  a  pitcher  with  blue  liquid  from  a
refrigerated container. Behind her, in the dining area,  a  steady  buzz  of
conversation reached to the kitchen.

She sighed sadly. The mealtime discussions between her husband and Luke
had grown steadily more acrimonious as the boy's restlessness pulled him  in
directions other than farming. Directions for which Owen, a  stolid  man  of
the soil if there ever was one, had absolutely no sympathy.

Returning the bulk container to the refrigerator unit, she  placed  the
pitcher on a tray and hurried back to  the  dining  room.  Beru  was  not  a
brilliant woman, but she  possessed  an  instinctive  understanding  of  her
important position in this household. She functioned like the  damping  rods
in a nuclear reactor. As long as  she  was  present,  Owen  and  Luke  would
continue to generate a lot of heat, but if she was out of their presence for
too long-boom!

Condenser units built into the bottom of each plate kept  the  food  on
the dining-room table hot as she hurried in. Immediately, both  men  lowered
their voices to something civilized and shifted the subject. Beru  pretended
not to notice the change.

"I think that Artoo unit might have been stolen, Uncle Owen," Luke  was
saying, as if that had been the topic of conversation all along.

His uncle helped himself to the milk pitcher, mumbling his reply around
a mouthful of food. "The jawas have a tendency to pick  up  anything  that's
not tied down, Luke, but remember, they're basically  afraid  of  their  own
shadows. To resort to outright theft, they'd have  to  have  considered  the
consequences of being  pursued  and  punished.  Theoretically,  their  minds
shouldn't be capable of that. What makes you think the droid is stolen?"

"For one thing, it's in awfully good shape for a discard. It  generated
a hologram recording while I was cleaning-" Luke tried to conceal his horror
at the slip. He added hastily, "But that's not important. The reason I think
it might be stolen is because it claims to be the  property  of  someone  it
calls Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Maybe something in the food, or perhaps the milk, caused  Luke's  uncle
to gag. Then again, it might have been an expression of disgust,  which  was
Owen's way of indicating his opinion of  that  peculiar  personage.  In  any
case, he continued eating without looking up at his nephew.

Luke pretended the display of graphic dislike had  never  happened.  "I
thought," he continued determinedly, "it might have meant old Ben. The first
name is different, but the last is identical."

When his uncle steadfastly maintained his silence,  Luke  prompted  him
directly. "Do you know who he's talking about, Uncle Owen?"

Surprisingly, his uncle looked uncomfortable instead  of  angry.  "It's
nothing," he mumbled, still not meeting Luke's gaze. "A  name  from  another
time." He squirmed nervously in  his  seat.  "A  name  that  can  only  mean
trouble."

Luke refused to heed the implied warning and pressed on. "Is it someone
related to old Ben, then? I didn't know he had any relatives."

"You stay away from that old wizard, you hear me!" his uncle  exploded,
awkwardly substituting threat for reason.

"Owen..." Aunt Beru started to interject gently, but the big farmer cut
her off sternly.

"Now, this is important, Beru." He turned his  attention  back  to  his
nephew. "I've told you about Kenobi before.  He's  a  crazy  old  man;  he's
dangerous and full of mischief, and he's best left well alone."

Beru's pleading gaze caused him to  quiet  somewhat.  "That  droid  has
nothing to do with  him.  Couldn't  have,"  he  grumbled  half  to  himself.
"Recording-huh! Well, tomorrow I want you to take the unit  into  Anchorhead
and have its memory flushed."

Snorting, Owen bent to his half-eaten meal  with  determination.  "That
will be the end of this foolishness. I don't care where that machine  thinks
it came from. I paid hard credit for it, and it belongs to us now."

"But suppose it does belong to someone else," Luke wondered.  "What  if
this Obi-Wan person comes looking for his droid?"

An expression between sorrow and a sneer  crossed  his  uncle's  seamed
face at the remembrance. "He won't. I don't think that man  exists  anymore.
He died about the same time as your father." A huge mouthful of hot food was
shoveled inward. "Now forget about it."

"Then it was a real person," Luke murmured, staring down at his  plate.
He added slowly, "Did he know my father?"

"I said forget about it," Owen snapped. "Your  only  worry  as  far  as
those two droids are concerned is  having  them  ready  for  work  tomorrow.
Remember, the last of our savings is tied up in  those  two.  Wouldn't  even
have bought them if it wasn't so near harvest." He  shook  a  spoon  at  his
nephew. "In the morning I want you to have them working with the  irrigation
units up on the south ridge.

"You know," Luke replied distantly, "I think these droids are going  to
work out fine. In fact, I-" He hesitated, shooting his uncle a surreptitious
glare. "I was thinking about our agreement about me staying on  for  another
season."

His uncle failed to react, so Luke rushed on before his  nerve  failed.
"If these new droids do work out, I want to transmit my application to enter
the Academy for next year."

Owen scowled, trying to hide his displeasure with food. "You mean,  you
want to transmit the application next year-after the harvest."

"You have more than enough droids now, and they're in  good  condition.
They'll last."

"Droids, yes," his uncle agreed, "but droids can't replace a man, Luke.
You know that. The harvest is when I need you the most. It's  just  for  one
more season after this one." He looked away, bluster and anger gone now.

Luke toyed with his food, not eating, saying nothing.

"Listen," his uncle told him, "for the first time we've  got  a  chance
for a real fortune. We'll make enough to hire  some  extra  hands  for  next
time. Not droids-people. Then you can go to the Academy."  He  fumbled  over
words, unaccustomed to pleading. "I need  you  here,  Luke.  You  understand
that, don't you?"

"It's another year," his nephew objected sullenly. "Another year."

How many times had he heard  that  before?  How  many  times  had  they
repeated this identical charade with the same result?

Convinced once more that Luke had come round to his  way  of  thinking,
Owen shrugged the objection off. "Time will pass before you know it."

Abruptly Luke rose, shoving his barely touched  plate  of  food  aside.
"That's what you said last year when Biggs left." He spun and half ran  from
the room.

"Where are you going, Luke?" his aunt yelled worriedly after him.

Luke's reply was bleak, bitter. "Looks like I'm going nowhere." Then he
added, out of consideration for his aunt's sensibilities, "I have to  finish
cleaning those droids if they're going to be ready to work tomorrow."

Silence hung in the air of the dining room after Luke departed. Husband
and wife ate mechanically. Eventually Aunt Beru  stopped  shoving  her  food
around her plate, looked up, and pointed out  earnestly,  "Owen,  you  can't
keep him here forever. Most of his friends are gone, the people he  grew  up
with. The Academy means so much to him."

Listlessly her husband replied, "I'll make it up to him  next  year.  I
promise. We'll have money-or maybe, the year after that."

"Luke's just not a farmer, Owen," she continued firmly. "He never  will
be, no matter how hard you try to make him one." She shook her head  slowly.
"He's got too much of his father in him."

For the first time all evening Owen Lars looked thoughtful as  well  as
concerned as he gazed down the passage Luke  had  taken.  "That's  what  I'm
afraid of," he whispered.

Luke had gone topside. He stood on the sand watching the double  sunset
as first one and then the other of Tatooine's twin suns sank  slowly  behind
the distant range of dunes. In the  fading  light  the  sands  turned  gold,
russet, and flaming red-orange before advancing night put the bright  colors
to sleep for another day. Soon,  for  the  first  time,  those  sands  would
blossom with food plants. This former wasteland would  see  an  eruption  of
green.

The thought ought to have sent a thrill of anticipation  through  Luke.
He should have been as flushed with excitement as his uncle was whenever  he
described the  coming  harvest.  Instead,  Luke  felt  nothing  but  a  vast
indifferent emptiness. Not even the prospect of having a lot  of  money  for
the first time in his life excited him. What was there to do with  money  in
Anchorhead-anywhere on Tatooine, for that matter?

Part of him, an increasingly large part,  was  growing  more  and  more
restless at remaining unfulfilled. This  was  not  an  uncommon  feeling  in
youths his age, but for reasons Luke did not understand it was much stronger
in him than in any of his friends.

As the night cold came creeping over the  sand  and  up  his  legs,  he
brushed the grit from his trousers and  descended  into  the  garage.  Maybe
working on the droids would bury some of the remorse a little deeper in  his
mind. A quick survey of the chamber showed no movement. Neither of  the  new
machines was in sight. Frowning slightly, Luke took a small control box from
his belt and activated a couple of switches set into the plastic.

A low hum came from the box. The caller produced the taller of the  two
robots, Threepio. In fact, he gave a yell of surprise as he jumped up behind
the skyhopper.

Luke started toward him, openly puzzled.  "What  are  you  hiding  back
there for?"

The robot came stumbling around the prow of the craft, his attitude one
of desperation. It occurred to Luke then that  despite  his  activating  the
caller, the Artoo unit was still nowhere to be seen.

The reason for his absence-or  something  related  to  it-came  pouring
unbidden from Threepio. "It wasn't my fault," the robot begged  frantically.
"Please don't deactivate me! I told him not to go, but he's faulty. He  must
be malfunctioning. Something has totally boiled his logic circuits. He  kept
babbling on about some sort of mission, sir. I  never  heard  a  robot  with
delusions of grandeur before. Such  things  shouldn't  even  be  within  the
cogitative theory units of one that's as basic as an Artoo unit, and..."

"You mean...?" Luke started to gape.

"Yes, sir... he's gone."

"And I removed his restraining coupling myself," Luke muttered  slowly.
Already he could visualize his uncle's face. The last of their savings  tied
up in these droids, he had said.

Racing out of the garage, Luke hunted for non-existent reasons why  the
Artoo unit should go berserk. Threepio followed on his heels.

From a small  ridge  which  formed  the  highest  point  close  by  the
homestead, Luke had a panoramic view of the surrounding desert. Bringing out
the precious macrobinoculars, he scanned the rapidly darkening horizons  for
something small, metallic, three-legged, and out of its mechanical mind.

Threepio fought his way up through the sand to stand beside Luke. "That
Artoo unit has always caused nothing but trouble,"  he  groaned.  "Astromech
droids are becoming too iconoclastic even for me to understand, sometimes."

The binoculars finally came down, and Luke commented  matter-of-factly,
"Well, he's nowhere in sight." He kicked  furiously  at  the  ground.  "Damn
it-how could I have been so stupid, letting it trick me into  removing  that
restrainer! Uncle Owen's going to kill me."

"Begging your pardon, sir," ventured a  hopeful  Threepio,  visions  of
jawas dancing in his head, "But can't we go after him?"

Luke turned. Studiously he examined the wall of black advancing  toward
them. "Not at night. It's too dangerous with all the raiders around. I'm not
too concerned about the jawas, but sandpeople... no, not in the dark.  We'll
have to wait until morning to try to track him."

A shout rose from the homestead below.  "Luke-Luke,  are  you  finished
with those droids yet? I'm turning down the power for the night."

"All right!" Luke responded, sidestepping the question. I'll be down in
a few minutes, Uncle Owen!" Turning, he took one last look at  the  vanished
horizon. "Boy, am I in for it!" he muttered. "That little droid's  going  to
get me in a lot of trouble."

"Oh,  he  excels  at  that,  sir."   Threepio   confirmed   with   mock
cheerfulness. Luke threw him a sour  look,  and  together  they  turned  and
descended into the garage.

"Luke... Luke!" Still rubbing the morning sleep  from  his  eyes,  Owen
glanced from side to side, loosening his neck muscles. "Where could that boy
be loafing now?" he wondered aloud at the lack of  response.  There  was  no
sign of movement in the homestead, and he had already checked above.

"Luke!" he yelled again. Luke, Luke, Luke... the name echoed  teasingly
back at him from the homestead walls. Turning angrily, he stalked back  into
the kitchen, where Beru was preparing breakfast.

"Have you seen Luke this morning?" he  asked  as  softly  as  he  could
manage.

She glanced briefly at him, then returned to her cooking. "Yes. He said
he had some things to do before he started  out  to  the  south  ridge  this
morning, so he left early."

"Before breakfast?" Owen frowned worriedly. "That's not like  him.  Did
he take the new droids with him?"

"I think so. I'm sure I saw at least one of them with him."

"Well," Owen mused, uncomfortable  but  with  nothing  to  really  hang
imprecations on, "he'd better have those ridge units repaired by  midday  or
there'll be hell to pay."

An unseen  face  shielded  by  smooth  white  metal  emerged  from  the
half-buried life pod that now formed the backbone of a dune slightly  higher
than its neighbors. The voice sounded efficient, but tired.

"Nothing," the inspecting trooper muttered to his  several  companions.
"No tapes, and no sign of habitation."

Powerful handguns lowered at the information that the pod was deserted.
One of the armored men turned, calling  out  to  an  officer  standing  some
distance away. "This is definitely the pod that cleared the rebel ship, sir,
but there's nothing on board."

"Yet it set down intact," the officer was  murmuring  to  himself.  "It
could have done so on automatics, but if it was  a  true  malfunction,  then
they shouldn't have been engaged." Something didn't make sense.

"Here's why there's nothing on board and no hint of life, sir," a voice
declared.

The officer turned and strode several paces to  where  another  trooper
was kneeling in the sand. He held up an object for the officer's inspection.
It shone in the sun.

"Droid plating," the officer observed after a quick glance at the metal
fragment. Superior and underling exchanged a significant glance. Then  their
eyes turned simultaneously to the high mesas off to the north.

Gravel and fine sand formed a gritty fog beneath the landspeeder as  it
slid across  the  rippling  wasteland  of  Tatooine  on  humming  repulsors.
Occasionally the craft would jog slightly as it encountered a dip or  slight
rise, to return to its smooth passage  as  its  pilot  compensated  for  the
change in terrain.

Luke leaned back in the seat, luxuriating in unaccustomed relaxation as
Threepio skillfully directed the powerful landcraft around dunes  and  rocky
outcrops. "You handle a landspeeder pretty well, for a  machine,"  he  noted
admiringly.

"Thank you, sir," a gratified Threepio responded, his eyes never moving
from the landscape ahead. "I was not lying to  your  uncle  when  I  claimed
versatility as my middle name. In fact, on occasion I have been called  upon
to perform unexpected functions in circumstances which would  have  appalled
my designers."

Something pinged behind them, then pinged again.

Luke frowned and popped the speeder canopy. A few moments of digging in
the motor casing eliminated the metallic bark.

"How's that?" he yelled forward.

Threepio signaled that the adjustment  was  satisfactory.  Luke  turned
back into the cockpit and closed the canopy over  them  again.  Silently  he
brushed his wind-whipped hair back out of his eyes as his attention returned
to the dry desert ahead of them.

"Old Ben Kenobi is supposed to live out in this general direction. Even
though nobody knows exactly where, I don't see how  that  Artoo  unit  could
have come this far so quickly." His expression was downcast. "We  must  have
missed him back in the dunes some where. He could be anywhere out here.  And
Uncle Owen must be wondering why I haven't called in from the south ridge by
now."

Threepio considered a moment, then ventured, "Would it  help,  sir,  if
you told him that it was my fault?"

Luke appeared to brighten at the  suggestion.  "Sure...  he  needs  you
twice as much now. Probably he'll only deactivate you for a day  or  so,  or
give you a partial memory flush."

Deactivate? Memory flush? Threepio added hastily, "On second  thoughts,
sir, Artoo would still be around  if  you  hadn't  removed  his  restraining
module."

But something more important than fixing responsibility for the  little
robot's disappearance was on Luke's mind at the moment. "Wait a minute,"  he
advised Threepio as he stared fixedly  at  the  instrument  panel.  "There's
something dead ahead on the metal scanner.  Can't  distinguish  outlines  at
this distance, but judging by size alone, it could be our  wandering  droid.
Hit it."

The landspeeder jumped forward as Threepio engaged the accelerator, but
its occupants were totally unaware that other  eyes  were  watching  as  the
craft increased its speed.

Those eyes were not organic, but then, they weren't wholly  mechanical,
either. No one could say for certain, because no  one  had  ever  made  that
intimate a study of the Tusken Raiders-known less  formally  to  the  margin
farmers of Tatooine simply as the sandpeople.

The Tuskens didn't  permit  close  study  of  themselves,  discouraging
potential observers by methods as effective as they were uncivilized. A  few
xenologists  thought  they  must  be  related  to  the  jawas.  Even   fewer
hypothesized that the jawas were actually the mature form of the sandpeople,
but this theory was discounted by the majority of serious scientists.

Both races affected tight clothing to shield them from Tatooine's  twin
dose of solar radiation, but there most comparisons ended. Instead of  heavy
woven  cloaks  like  the  jawas  wore,  the  sandpeople  wrapped  themselves
mummylike in endless swathings and bandages and loose bits of cloth.

Where the jawas feared everything, a Tusken Raider feared  little.  The
sandpeople were larger, stronger, and far more aggressive.  Fortunately  for
the human colonists of Tatooine, they were not very numerous and elected  to
pursue their nomadic existence in some of Tatooine's most desolate  regions.
Contact between human and Tusken, therefore, was infrequent and uneasy,  and
they murdered no more than a handful of humans per  year.  Since  the  human
population had claimed its share of Tuskens, not always with reason, a peace
of a sort existed  between  the  two-as  long  as  neither  side  gained  an
advantage.

One of the pair felt  that  that  unstable  condition  had  temporarily
shifted in his favor, and he was about to take full advantage of  it  as  he
raised his rifle toward the  landspeeder.  But  his  companion  grabbed  the
weapon and shoved down on it before it  could  be  fired.  This  set  off  a
violent argument between the two. And, as they traded vociferous opinions in
a language consisting mostly of consonants, the landspeeder sped on its way.

Either because the speeder had passed  out  of  range  or  because  the
second Tusken had convinced the other, the two broke off the discussion  and
scrambled down the back side of the high ridge. Snuffling and a shifting  of
weight took place at the ridge bottom as the  two  Banthas  stirred  at  the
approach of their masters. Each was as  large  as  a  small  dinosaur,  with
bright eyes and long, thick fur. They hissed anxiously as the two sandpeople
approached, then mounted them from knee to saddle.

With a kick the Banthas rose. Moving slowly but with enormous  strides,
the two massive horned creatures swept down the back of  the  rugged  bluff,
urged on by their anxious, equally outrageous mahouts.

"It's him, all right," Luke declared with mixed anger and  satisfaction
as the tiny tripodal form came into view. The speeder banked and swung  down
onto the floor of a huge sandstone canyon. Luke slipped his rifle  out  from
behind the seat and swung it over his shoulder. "Come round in front of him,
Threepio," he instructed.

"With pleasure, sir."

The Artoo unit obviously noted their approach,  but  made  no  move  to
escape; it could hardly have outrun the  landspeeder  anyway.  Artoo  simply
halted as soon as it detected them and waited until the craft  swung  around
in a smooth arc. Threepio came to a sharp halt, sending up a  low  cloud  of
sand on the smaller robot's right. Then the  whine  from  the  landspeeder's
engine dropped to a low idling hum as Threepio put it  in  parking  mode.  A
last sigh and the craft stopped completely.

After finishing a cautious survey of the canyon, Luke led his companion
out onto the gravelly surface and  up  to  Artoo  Detoo.  "Just  where,"  he
inquired sharply, "did you think you were going?"

A feeble whistle issued from the apologetic robot, but it was  Threepio
and not the recalcitrant rover who was abruptly doing most of the talking.

"Master Luke here is now your rightful owner, Artoo. How could you just
amble away from him like this? Now that he's found you, let's have  no  more
of this 'Obi-Wan Kenobi' gibberish. I don't know where you picked that up-or
that melodramatic hologram, either."

Artoo started to beep in protest, but Threepio's  indignation  was  too
great to permit excuses. "And don't talk to me about your mission. What rot!
You're fortunate Master Luke doesn't blast you into a million  pieces  right
here and now."

"Not much  chance  of  that,"  admitted  Luke,  a  bit  overwhelmed  by
Threepio's casual vindictiveness. "Come on-it's getting late." He  eyed  the
rapidly rising suns. "I just hope we can get back before Uncle  Owen  really
lets go."

"If you don't  mind  my  saying  so,"  Threepio  suggested,  apparently
unwilling that the Artoo unit should get off so easily, "I think  you  ought
to deactivate the little fugitive until you've gotten him safely back in the
garage."

"No. He's not going to try anything." Luke studied the  softly  beeping
droid sternly. "I hope he's learned his lesson. There's no need to-"

Without warning the Artoo unit suddenly leaped off the  ground-no  mean
feat considering the weakness of the spring mechanisms in  his  three  thick
legs. His cylindrical body was twisting and spinning as he let out a frantic
symphony of whistles, hoots, and electronic exclamations.

Luke was tired, not alarmed. "What is it? What's wrong with  him  now?"
He was beginning to see how Threepio's patience could be worn thin.  He  had
had about enough of this addled instrument himself.

Undoubtedly the Artoo unit  had  acquired  the  holo  of  the  girl  by
accident, then used it to entice Luke into removing his restraining  module.
Threepio probably had the right attitude. Still, once Luke got its  circuits
realigned and its  logic  couplings  cleaned,  it  would  make  a  perfectly
serviceable farm unit. Only... if that was the case, then why  was  Threepio
looking around so anxiously?

"Oh my, sir. Artoo claims there are several creatures of  unknown  type
approaching from the southeast."

That could be another attempt by  Artoo  to  distract  them,  but  Luke
couldn't take the chance. Instantly he had his rifle off  his  shoulder  and
had activated the energy cell. He examined  the  horizon  in  the  indicated
direction and saw nothing. But  then,  sandpeople  were  experts  at  making
themselves unseeable.

Luke suddenly realized exactly how far out they were, how  much  ground
the landspeeder had covered that morning.  "I've  never  been  out  in  this
direction this far from the farm before," he informed Threepio.  "There  are
some awfully strange things living out here.  Not  all  of  them  have  been
classified. It's better to treat  anything  as  dangerous  until  determined
otherwise. Of course,  if  it's  something  utterly  new..."  His  curiosity
prodded him. In any case, this was  probably  just  another  ruse  of  Artoo
Detoo's. "Let's take a look," he decided.

Moving cautiously forward and keeping his rifle ready, he led  Threepio
toward the crest of a nearby high dune. At the same time he took care not to
let Artoo out of his sight.

Once  at  the  top  he  lay  flat  and  traded  his   rifle   for   the
macro-binoculars. Below, another canyon spread out before them, rising to  a
wind-weathered wall of rust and ocher. Advancing the  binocs  slowly  across
the  canyon  floor,  he  settled  unexpectedly  on  two   tethered   shapes.
Banthas-and riderless!

"Did you say something, sir?" wheezed Threepio,  struggling  up  behind
Luke.  His  locomotors  were  not  designed  for  such  outer  climbing  and
scrambling.

"Banthas, all right," Luke whispered over his shoulder, not considering
in the excitement of the moment that Threepio might not know a Bantha from a
panda.

He looked back into the eyepieces, refocusing slightly.  "Wait...  it's
sandpeople, sure. I see one of them."

Something dark suddenly blocked his sight. For a moment he thought that
a rock might have moved in front of him. Irritably he dropped the binoculars
and reached out  to  move  the  blinding  object  aside.  His  hand  touched
something like soft metal.

It was a bandaged leg about as big around as both of  Luke's  together.
Shocked, he looked up... and up. The towering figure glaring down at him was
no jawa. It had seemingly erupted straight from the sand.

Threepio took a startled step backward and found no footing.  As  gyros
whined in protest the tall robot tumbled backward down the side of the dune.
Frozen in place, Luke heard steadily fading bangs and  rattles  as  Threepio
bounced down the steep slope behind him.

As the moment of confrontation passed, the Tusken let out a  terrifying
grunt of fury and  pleasure  and  brought  down  his  heavy  gaderffii.  The
double-edged ax would have cleaved Luke's skull neatly in two,  except  that
he threw the rifle up in a gesture more  instinctive  than  calculated.  His
weapon  deflected  the  blow,  but  would  never  do  so  again.  Made  from
cannibalized freighter plating the huge ax shattered  the  barrel  and  made
metallic confetti of the gun's delicate insides.

Luke scrambled backward and found himself against  a  steep  drop.  The
Raider stalked him slowly, weapon held high over its rag-enclosed  head.  It
uttered a gruesome, chuckling laugh, the sound made all the more inhuman  by
the distortion effect of its gridlike sandfilter.

Luke tried to view his situation objectively, as he had been instructed
to do in survival school. Trouble was, his mouth was  dry,  his  hands  were
shaking, and he was paralyzed with fear. With the Raider in front of him and
a probably fatal drop behind, something else in his mind took over and opted
for the least painful response. He fainted.

None of the Raiders noticed  Artoo  Detoo  as  the  tiny  robot  forced
himself into a small alcove in the rocks near the landspeeder. One  of  them
was carrying the inert form of Luke. He dumped the unconscious  youth  in  a
heap next to the speeder, then joined his fellows  as  they  began  swarming
over the open craft.

Supplies and spare parts were thrown in all directions.  From  time  to
time the plundering would be interrupted as  several  of  them  quibbled  or
fought over a particularly choice bit of booty.

Unexpectedly, distribution of the landspeeder's  contents  ceased,  and
with frightening speed the Raiders became part of the  desertscape,  looking
in all directions.

A lost breeze idled absently down the canyon.  Far  off  to  the  west,
something howled. A rolling, booming drone ricocheted off canyon  walls  and
crawled nervously up and down a gorgon scale.

The sandpeople remained poised a moment longer. Then they were uttering
loud grunts and moans of fright as they rushed to get away from  the  highly
visible landspeeder.

The shivering  howl  sounded  again,  nearer  this  time.  By  now  the
sandpeople were halfway to their waiting Banthas, that were likewise  lowing
tensely and tugging at their tethers.

Although the sound held no meaning for Artoo Detoo,  the  little  droid
tried to squeeze himself even deeper into the almost-cave. The booming  howl
came closer. Judging by  the  way  the  sandpeople  had  reacted,  something
monstrous beyond imagining had to be  behind  that  rolling  cry.  Something
monstrous and murder-bent which might not  have  the  sense  to  distinguish
between edible organics and inedible machines.

Not even the dust of their passing remained to mark  where  the  Tusken
Raiders had only minutes  before  been  dismembering  the  interior  of  the
landspeeder. Artoo Detoo shut  down  all  but  vital  functions,  trying  to
minimize noise and light as a swishing sound grew gradually audible.  Moving
toward the landspeeder, the creature appeared above  the  top  of  a  nearby
dune...

= V =

IT was tall, but hardly monstrous. Artoo frowned inwardly as he checked
ocular circuitry and reactivated his innards.

The monster looked very much like an old man. He was clad in  a  shabby
cloak  and  loose  robes  hung  with  a  few  small   straps,   packs,   and
unrecognizable instruments. Artoo searched the human's wake but detected  no
evidence of a  pursuing  nightmare.  Nor  did  the  man  appear  threatened.
Actually, Artoo thought, he looked kind of pleased.

It was impossible to tell where the odd  arrival's  overlapping  attire
ended and his skin began. That aged visage  blended  into  the  sand-stroked
cloth, and his beard appeared but an extension of the loose threads covering
his upper chest.

Hints of extreme climates other  than  desert,  of  ultimate  cold  and
humidity, were etched into that seamed face. A questing beak of nose, like a
high rock, protruded outward from a flashflood of wrinkles  and  scars.  The
eyes bordering it were a liquid crystal-azure. The man smiled  through  sand
and dust and beard, squinting at  the  sight  of  the  crumpled  form  lying
quietly alongside the landspeeder.

Convinced that the sandpeople had  been  the  victims  of  an  auditory
delusion of some kind-conveniently ignoring the fact that he had experienced
it also-and likewise assured that this stranger meant Luke  no  harm,  Artoo
shifted his position slightly, trying to obtain a  better  view.  The  sound
produced by a tiny  pebble  he  dislodged  was  barely  perceptible  to  his
electronic sensors, but the man whirled as if shot. He  stared  straight  at
Artoo's alcove, still smiling gently.

"Hello there," he called in a deep, surprisingly cheerful voice.  "Come
here, my little friend. No need to be afraid."

Something forthright and reassuring was in that voice. In any case, the
association of an unknown human was preferable to remaining isolated in this
wasteland. Waddling out into the sunlight, Artoo made his way over to  where
Luke lay sprawled. The  robot's  barrellike  body  inclined  forward  as  he
examined the limp form. Whistles and beeps of concern came from within.

Walking over, the old man bent beside Luke and reached out to touch his
forehead, then his temple. Shortly, the unconscious youth was  stirring  and
mumbling like a dreaming sleeper.

"Don't worry," the human told Artoo, "he'll be all right."

As  if  to  confirm  this  opinion,   Luke   blinked,   stared   upward
uncomprehendingly, and muttered, "What happened?"

"Rest easy, son," the man instructed him as he sat back on  his  heels.
"You've had a busy day." Again the boyish grin. "You're  mighty  lucky  your
head's still attached to the rest of you."

Luke looked around, his  gaze  coming  to  rest  on  the  elderly  face
hovering above him. Recognition did wonders for his condition.

"Ben... it's got to be!" A sudden  remembrance  made  him  look  around
fearfully. But there was no sign of sandpeople. Slowly he raised his body to
a sitting position. "Ben Kenobi... am I glad to see you!"

Rising, the old man surveyed  the  canyon  floor  and  rolling  rimwall
above. One foot played with the sand. "The Jundland wastes  are  not  to  be
traveled lightly. It's  the  misguided  traveler  who  tempts  the  Tuskens'
hospitality." His gaze went back to his patient. "Tell me, young  man,  what
brings you out this far into nowhere?"

Luke indicated Artoo Detoo. "This little droid. For a while  I  thought
he"d gone crazy, claiming he was searching for a former master. Now I  don't
think so. I've never seen such devotion in a droid-misguided  or  otherwise.
There seems to be no stopping him; he even resorted to tricking me."

Luke's gaze shifted upward. "He claims to be the  property  of  someone
called Obi-Wan  Kenobi."  Luke  watched  closely,  but  the  man  showed  no
reaction. "Is that a relative of yours?  My  uncle  thinks  he  was  a  real
person. Or is it just some unimportant bit of scrambled information that got
shifted into his primary performance bank?"

An introspective frown did remarkable things to that sandblasted  face.
Kenobi appeared to ponder the question, scratching absently at  his  scruffy
beard. "Obi-Wan Kenobi!" he  recited.  "Obi-Wan...  now,  that's  a  name  I
haven't heard in a long time. A long time. Most curious."

"My uncle said he was dead." Luke supplied helpfully.

"Oh, he's not dead," Kenobi corrected him easily. "Not yet, not yet."

Luke climbed excitedly to his feet,  all  thoughts  of  Tusken  Raiders
forgotten now. "You know him, then?"

A smile of perverse youthfulness split that collage  of  wrinkled  skin
and beard. "Of course I know him: he's me. Just as you  probably  suspected,
Luke. I haven't gone by the name Obi-Wan,  though,  since  before  you  were
born."

"Then," Luke essayed, gesturing at Artoo Detoo, "this droid does belong
to you, as he claims."

"Now, that's the peculiar part," an openly  puzzled  Kenobi  confessed,
regarding the silent robot. "I can't seem to remember owning a droid,  least
of all a modern Artoo unit. Most interesting, most interesting."

Something drew the old man's  gaze  suddenly  to  the  brow  of  nearby
cliffs. "I think it's best  we  make  use  of  your  landspeeder  some.  The
sandpeople are easily startled, but they'll soon return in greater  numbers.
A landspeeder's not a prize readily conceded, and after all,  jawas  they're
not."

Placing both hands over his mouth in a peculiar fashion, Kenobi inhaled
deeply and let out an unearthly howl that made Luke  jump.  "That  ought  to
keep any laggards running for a while  yet,"  the  old  man  concluded  with
satisfaction.

"That's a krayt dragon call!" Luke gaped in astonishment. "How did  you
do that?"

"I'll show you sometime, son. It's not too hard. Just takes  the  right
attitude, a set of well-used vocal cords, and a lot of  wind.  Now,  if  you
were an imperial bureaucrat, I could teach you right off, but  you're  not."
He scanned the cliff-spine again. "And I don't think this  is  the  time  or
place for it."

"I won't argue that." Luke was rubbing at the back of his head.  "Let's
get started."

That was when Artoo let out a pathetic beep and whirled. Luke  couldn't
interpret the electronic squeal, but he  suddenly  comprehended  the  reason
behind it. "Threepio." Luke exclaimed, worriedly. Artoo was  already  moving
as fast as possible away from the landspeeder. "Come on, Ben."

The little robot led them to the edge of a large  sandpit.  It  stopped
there, pointing downward and squeaking mournfully. Luke saw where Artoo  was
pointing, then started cautiously down  the  smooth,  shifting  slope  while
Kenobi followed effortlessly.

Threepio lay in the sand at the base of the slope  down  which  he  had
rolled and tumbled. His casing was dented and badly  mangled,  One  arm  lay
broken and bent a short distance away.

"Threepio!" Luke called. There  was  no  response.  Shaking  the  droid
failed to activate anything. Opening a  plate  on  the  robot's  back,  Luke
flipped a hidden switch on and off several times in succession.  A  low  hum
started, stopped, started again, and then dropped to a normal purr.

Using his remaining arm, Threepio rolled over and sat up. "Where am I?"
he murmured, as his photoreceptors continued to clear.  Then  he  recognized
Luke. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I must have taken a bad step."

"You're lucky any of your main circuits are  still  operational,"  Luke
informed him. He looked significantly toward the top of the hill.  "Can  you
stand? We've got to get out of here before the sandpeople return."

Servomotors whined in protest  until  Threepio  ceased  struggling.  "I
don't think I can make it. You go on, Master Luke. It doesn't make sense  to
risk yourself on my account. I'm finished."

"No, you're not,"  Luke  shot  back,  unaccountably  affected  by  this
recently  encountered  machine.  But  then,  Threepio  was  not  the   usual
uncommunicative, agrifunctional device Luke was accustomed to dealing  with.
"What kind of talk is that?"

"Logical," Threepio informed him.

Luke shook his head angrily. "Defeatist."

With Luke and Ben Kenobi's aid, the battered droid somehow  managed  to
struggle erect. Little Artoo watched from the pit's rim.

Hesitating part way up the slope, Kenobi sniffed the air  suspiciously.
"Quickly, son. They're on the move again."

Trying to watch the surrounding rocks and his footsteps simultaneously,
Luke fought to drag Threepio clear of the pit.

The decor of Ben  Kenobi's  well-concealed  cave  was  Spartan  without
appearing uncomfortable. It would not have suited most people, reflecting as
it did its owner's peculiarly eclectic tastes. The living area  radiated  an
aura of lean comfort with more importance attached to mental  comforts  than
those of the awkward human body.

They had succeeded in vacating the canyon  before  the  Tusken  Raiders
could return in force. Under Kenobi's direction, Luke left  a  trail  behind
them so confusing that not even a hypernasal jawa could have followed it.

Luke spent several hours ignoring the  temptations  of  Kenobi's  cave.
Instead he remained in the corner  which  was  equipped  as  a  compact  yet
complete repair shop, working to fix Threepio's severed arm.

Fortunately, the automatic overload disconnects had given way under the
severe strain, sealing electronic nerves and ganglia  without  real  damage.
Repair was merely a matter of reattaching the limb  to  the  shoulder,  then
activating the self-reseals. Had the arm been broken in  mid-"bone"  instead
of at a joint, such repairs would have been impossible  save  at  a  factory
shop.

While Luke was thus occupied, Kenobi's attention  was  concentrated  on
Artoo Detoo. The squat droid sat passively on the cool  cavern  floor  while
the old man fiddled with its metal insides. Finally the man sat back with  a
"Humph!" of satisfaction and closed the open panels in the  robot's  rounded
head. "Now let's see if we can figure out what you are,  my  little  friend,
and where you came from."

Luke was almost finished anyway, and Kenobi's words were sufficient  to
pull him away from the repair area. "I saw part of the message,"  he  began,
"and I..."

Once more the striking portrait was being projected  into  empty  space
from the front of the little  robot.  Luke  broke  off,  enraptured  by  its
enigmatic beauty once again.

"Yes, I think that's got it," Kenobi murmured contemplatively.

The image continued to flicker, indicating a tape hastily prepared. But
it was much sharper, better defined now, Luke  noted  with  admiration.  One
thing was apparent: Kenobi was skilled in subjects more specific than desert
scavenging.

"General Obi-Wan Kenobi," the mellifluous voice was saying, "I  present
myself in the name of the world family of Alderaan and of  the  Alliance  to
Restore the Republic. I break your solitude at the  bidding  of  my  father,
Bail Organa, Viceroy and First Chairman of the Alderaan system."

Kenobi absorbed this extraordinary declamation while Luke's eyes bugged
big enough to fall from his face.

"Years ago, General," the voice continued, "you served the Old Republic
in the Clone Wars. Now my father begs you  to  aid  us  again  in  our  most
desperate hour. He would have you join him on Alderaan. You must go to him.

"I regret that I am unable to present my father's  request  to  you  in
person. My mission to meet personally with you has failed. Hence I have been
forced to resort to this secondary method of communication.

"Information vital to the survival of the Alliance has been secured  in
the mind of this Detoo droid. My father will know  how  to  retrieve  it.  I
plead with you to see this unit safely delivered to Alderaan."

She paused, and when she continued, her words  were  hurried  and  less
laced with formality. "You must help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  You  are  my  last
hope. I will be captured by agents of the Empire. They  will  learn  nothing
from me. Everything to be learned lies locked in the memory  cells  of  this
droid. Do not fail us, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do not fail me."

A small cloud of tridimensional static replaced the delicate  portrait,
then it vanished entirely. Artoo Detoo gazed up expectantly at Kenobi.

Luke's mind was as muddy as a pond laced  with  petroleum.  Unanchored,
his thoughts and eyes turned  for  stability  to  the  quiet  figure  seated
nearby.

The old man. The crazy wizard. The desert bum and all-around  character
whom his uncle and everyone else had known of for  as  long  as  Luke  could
recall.

If the breathless, anxiety-ridden message the unknown  woman  had  just
spoken into the cool air of the cave had affected Kenobi in any way he  gave
no hint of it. Instead, he leaned back against  the  rock  wall  and  tugged
thoughtfully at his beard, puffing slowly  on  a  water  pipe  of  free-form
tarnished chrome.

Luke visualized that simple yet lovely  portrait.  "She's  so-so-"  His
farming background didn't provide him with  the  requisite  words.  Suddenly
something in the message caused him to stare disbelievingly at the  oldster.
"General Kenobi, you fought in the Clone Wars? But... that was so long ago."

"Um, yes," Kenobi acknowledged, as casually as he might have  discussed
the recipe for shang stew. "I guess it was a while back. I was a Jedi Knight
once. Like," he added, watching the youth appraisingly, "your father."

"A Jedi Knight," Luke echoed. Then he looked confused. "But  my  father
didn't fight in the Clone Wars. He was no knight-just a navigator on a space
freighter."

Kenobi's smile enfolded the pipe's mouthpiece. "Or so  your  uncle  has
told you." His attention was suddenly focused elsewhere. "Owen  Lars  didn't
agree with your father's ideas, opinions, or with his philosophy of life. He
believed that your father should have stayed here on Tatooine and not gotten
involved in..." Again the seemingly indifferent shrug. "Well, he thought  he
should have remained here and minded his farming."

Luke said nothing, his body tense as  the  old  man  related  bits  and
pieces of a personal history  Luke  had  viewed  only  through  his  uncle's
distortions.

"Owen was always afraid  that  your  father's  adventurous  life  might
influence you, might pull you away  from  Anchorhead."  He  shook  his  head
slowly, regretfully at the remembrance. "I'm afraid there wasn't much of the
farmer in your father."

Luke turned away. He returned to cleaning the last  particles  of  sand
from Threepio's healing  armature.  "I  wish  I'd  known  him,"  he  finally
whispered.

"He was the best pilot I ever knew,"  Kenobi  went  on,  "and  a  smart
fighter. The Force... the instinct was strong in him." For  a  brief  second
Kenobi actually appeared old. "He was also a good friend."

Suddenly the boyish twinkle returned to those piercing eyes along  with
the old man's natural humor. "I understand you're quite  a  pilot  yourself.
Piloting and navigation aren't hereditary, but a number of the  things  that
can combine to make  a  good  small-ship  pilot  are.  Those  you  may  have
inherited. Still, even a duck has to be taught to swim."

"What's a duck?" Luke asked curiously.

"Never mind. In many ways, you know, you are much  like  your  father."
Kenobi's unabashed look of evaluation made Luke nervous.  "You've  grown  up
quite a bit since the last time I saw you."

Having no reply for that, Luke waited silently as Kenobi sank back into
deep contemplation. After a while the  old  man  stirred,  evidently  having
reached an important decision.

"All this reminds me," he declared with deceptive casualness,  "I  have
something here for you." He rose and walked over to a  bulky,  old-fashioned
chest and started rummaging through it. All sorts of intriguing  items  were
removed and shoved around, only to be placed back in the bin. A few of  them
Luke recognized. As Kenobi was obviously intent on something  important,  he
forbore inquiring about any of the other tantalizing flotsam.

"When you were old enough," Kenobi was saying, "your father wanted  you
to have this... if I can ever find the blasted device. I tried to give it to
you once before, but your uncle wouldn't allow it. He believed you might get
some crazy ideas from it and end up following old Obi-Wan on some idealistic
crusade.

"You see, Luke, that's where your father and your uncle Owen disagreed.
Lars is not a man to let idealism  interfere  with  business,  whereas  your
father didn't think the question even worth discussing. His decision on such
matters came like his piloting-instinctively."

Luke nodded. He finished picking out the last of the  grit  and  looked
around for one remaining component to snap back into Threepio's  open  chest
plate. Locating the restraining module, he opened the receiving  latches  in
the machine and set about locking it back in  place.  Threepio  watched  the
process and appeared to wince ever so perceptibly.

Luke stared into those metal and  plastic  photoreceptors  for  a  long
moment. Then he set the module pointedly on the  workbench  and  closed  the
droid up. Threepio said nothing.

A grunt came from behind them, and Luke turned to see a pleased  Kenobi
walking over. He handed Luke a small, innocuous-looking  device,  which  the
youth studied with interest.

It consisted primarily of a short, thick  handgrip  with  a  couple  of
small switches set into the grip. Above this small post was a circular metal
disk barely larger in diameter than his spread palm. A number of unfamiliar,
jewellike components were built into both handle and  disk,  including  what
looked like the smallest power cell Luke had ever seen. The reverse side  of
the disk was polished to a mirror brightness. But it was the power cell that
puzzled Luke the most. Whatever the thing was, it required a great  deal  of
energy, according to the rating form of the cell.

Despite the claim that it had belonged to his father, the gizmo  looked
newly manufactured. Kenobi had obviously kept it carefully. Only a number of
minute scratches on the handgrip hinted at previous usage.

"Sir?" came a familiar voice Luke hadn't heard in a while.

"What?" Luke was startled out of his examination.

"If you'll not be needing me," Threepio declared, "I  think  I'll  shut
down for a bit. It will help the armature nerves to knit, and  I'm  due  for
some internal self-cleansing anyhow."

"Sure, go ahead," Luke said absently, returning to his fascinated study
of the whatever-it-was. Behind him, Threepio became silent, the glow  fading
temporarily from his eyes. Luke noticed that Kenobi was  watching  him  with
interest. "What is it?" he finally asked, unable despite his best efforts to
identify the device.

"Your father's lightsaber," Kenobi told him. "At  one  time  they  were
widely used. Still are, in certain galactic quarters."

Luke examined the controls on the handle, then  tentatively  touched  a
brightly colored button up near the mirrored pommel. Instantly the disk  put
forth a blue-white beam as thick around as his thumb. It was  dense  to  the
point of opacity and a little over a meter in length. It did not  fade,  but
remained as brilliant and intense at its far end as it did next to the disk.
Strangely, Luke felt no heat from it, though he  was  very  careful  not  to
touch it. He knew what a lightsaber could do, though he had never  seen  one
before. It could drill a hole  right  through  the  rock  wall  of  Kenobi's
cave-or through a human being.

"This was the formal weapon of a Jedi Knight," explained  Kenobi.  "Not
as clumsy or random as a blaster. More skill than simple sight was  required
for its use. An elegant weapon. It was a symbol as well. Anyone  can  use  a
blaster or fusioncutter-but to use a lightsaber well was a mark of someone a
cut above the ordinary." He was pacing the floor of the cave as he spoke.

"For over a thousand generations, Luke, the Jedi Knights were the  most
powerful, most respected force in the galaxy. They served as  the  guardians
and guarantors of peace and justice in the Old Republic."

When Luke failed to ask what had happened to them since, Kenobi  looked
up to see that the youth was staring vacantly into  space,  having  absorbed
little if any of the oldster's instruction. Some men would have chided  Luke
for not paying attention. Not Kenobi. More sensitive than  most,  he  waited
patiently until the silence weighed strong enough on Luke for him to  resume
speaking.

"How," he asked slowly, "did my father die?"

Kenobi hesitated, and Luke sensed that the old man had no wish to  talk
about this particular matter. Unlike Owen Lars, however, Kenobi  was  unable
to take refuge in a comfortable lie.

"He was betrayed and murdered," Kenobi declared solemnly,  "by  a  very
young Jedi named Darth Vader." He was not looking at  Luke.  "A  boy  I  was
training. One of my brightest disciples... one of my greatest failures."

Kenobi resumed his pacing. "Vader used the training I gave him and  the
Force within him for evil, to help the later corrupt Emperors. With the Jedi
knights disbanded, disorganized, or dead, there were few  to  oppose  Vader.
Today they are all but extinct."

An indecipherable expression crossed Kenobi's face. "In many ways  they
were too good, too trusting for their own health. They put too much trust in
the stability of the Republic, failing to realize that while the body  might
be sound, the head was growing diseased  and  feeble,  leaving  it  open  to
manipulation by such as the Emperor.

"I wish I knew what Vader was after. Sometimes I have the feeling he is
marking time in preparation for some incomprehensible abomination.  Such  is
the destiny of one who masters the force and is consumed by its dark side."

Luke's face twisted in confusion. "A  force?  That's  the  second  time
you've mentioned a 'force'."

Kenobi nodded. "I forget sometimes in whose presence I babble.  Let  us
say simply that the force is something a Jedi must deal with. While  it  has
never been properly explained, scientists have theorized  it  is  an  energy
field generated by living things. Early man  suspected  its  existence,  yet
remained in ignorance of its potential for millennia.

"Only certain individuals could recognize the force for  what  it  was.
They were mercilessly labeled: charlatans, fakers, mystics-and  worse.  Even
fewer could make use of  it.  As  it  was  usually  beyond  their  primitive
controls, it frequently was too powerful for them. They  were  misunderstood
by their fellows-and worse."

Kenobi made a wide, all-encompassing gesture with both arms. "The force
surrounds each and every one of us. Some men believe it directs our actions,
and not the other way around. Knowledge of the force and how  to  manipulate
it was what gave the Jedi his special power."

The arms came down and Kenobi stared at Luke until the youth  began  to
fidget uncomfortably. When he spoke again it was in  a  tone  so  crisp  and
unaged that Luke jumped in spite of himself. "You must learn the ways of the
force also, Luke-if you are to come with me to Alderaan."

"Alderaan!" Luke hopped off the repair seat, looking  dazed.  "I'm  not
going to Alderaan. I don't even know where Alderaan is." Vaporators, droids,
harvest-abruptly the surroundings seemed to close in on  him,  the  formerly
intriguing furnishings and alien artifacts now just a mite  frightening.  He
looked around wildly, trying to avoid the piercing gaze of Ben Kenobi... old
Ben... crazy Ben... General Obi-Wan...

"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 Raiders 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 bent 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.

Staring blankly back at  him,  the  officer  replied,  as  if  it  were
self-evident. "I don't need to see your identification."  His  reaction  was
the opposite of Kenobi's: his voice was normal, but his expression peculiar.

"These  aren't  the  droids  you're  looking  for,"  Kenobi  told   him
pleasantly.

"These aren't the droids we're looking for."

"He can go about his business."

"You can go about your business,"  the  metal-masked  officer  informed
Luke.

The expression of relief that spread across Luke's face ought  to  have
been as revealing as his previous nervousness, but the Imperial ignored it.

"Move along," Kenobi whispered.

"Move along," the officer instructed Luke.

Unable to decide whether he should salute, nod, or give thanks  to  the
man, Luke settled  for  nudging  the  accelerator.  The  land-speeder  moved
forward, drawing away from the circle of troops. As they prepared to round a
corner, Luke risked a glance backward.

The officer who had inspected them appeared to be arguing with  several
comrades, though at this distance Luke couldn't be sure.

He peered up at his tall companion and started to say something. Kenobi
only shook his head  slowly  and  smiled.  Swallowing  his  curiosity,  Luke
concentrated on guiding the speeder through steadily narrowing streets.

Kenobi seemed to have some idea where they were  headed.  Luke  studied
the run-down structures and  equally  unwholesome-looking  individuals  they
were passing. They  had  entered  the  oldest  section  of  Mos  Eisley  and
consequently the one where the old vices flourished most strongly.

Kenobi pointed and Luke pulled the landspeeder  up  in  front  of  what
appeared to be one of the original spaceport's first block  houses.  It  had
been converted into a cantina whose clientele was suggested by  the  diverse
nature of transport parked outside. Some of them Luke recognized, others  he
had only heard rumors of. The cantina itself, he knew from the design of the
building, must lie partially underground.

As the dusty but still sleek craft pulled into an  open  spot,  a  jawa
materialized from nowhere and began running covetous hands  over  the  metal
sides. Luke leaned out and barked something  harsh  at  the  subhuman  which
caused it to scurry away.

"I can't abide those jawas,"  murmured  Threepio  with  lofty  disdain.
"Disgusting creatures."

Luke's mind was too full of their narrow escape for him to  comment  on
Threepio's sentiments. "I still can't understand how we got by those troops.
I thought we were as good as dead."

"The Force is in the mind, Luke, and can sometimes be used to influence
others. It's a powerful ally. But as you come to know the  Force,  you  will
discover that it can also be a danger."

Nodding without really understanding, Luke indicated the rundown though
obviously popular cantina. "Do you really think we can  find  a  pilot  here
capable of taking us all the way to Alderaan?"

Kenobi was exiting from the speeder. "Most  of  the  good,  independent
freighter pilots frequent this place, though many can  afford  better.  They
can talk freely here. You should have learned by now, Luke,  not  to  equate
ability with appearance." Luke saw the old man's shabby  clothing  anew  and
felt ashamed. "Watch yourself, though. This place can be rough."

Luke found himself squinting as they entered the cantina. It was darker
inside than he would have liked. Perhaps the regular habitues of this  place
were unaccustomed to the light of day, or didn't wish to be seen clearly. It
didn't occur  to  Luke  that  the  dim  interior  in  combination  with  the
brilliantly lit entrance permitted everyone  inside  to  see  each  newcomer
before he could see them.

Moving inward, Luke was astonished at the variety of beings making  use
of the bar. There were one-eyed creatures and thousand-eyed, creatures  with
scales, creatures with fur, and some with skin that  seemed  to  ripple  and
change consistency according to their feelings of the moment.

Hovering near the  bar  itself  was  a  towering  insectoid  that  Luke
glimpsed only as a threatening shadow. It contrasted with two of the tallest
women Luke had ever seen. They were among the  most  normal-looking  of  the
outrageous assemblage of humans that mixed freely among alien  counterparts.
Tentacles, claws, and hands were wrapped around drinking utensils of various
sizes and shapes. Conversation was  a  steady  babble  of  human  and  alien
tongues.

Leaning close, Kenobi gestured toward the far end of the bar.  A  small
knot of rough-looking humans lounged there, drinking, laughing, and  trading
stories of dubious origin.

"Corellians-pirates, most likely."

"I thought we were looking for an independent  freighter  captain  with
his own ship for hire," Luke whispered back.

"So we are, young Luke, so we are," agreed Kenobi. "And  there's  bound
to be one or two adequate for our needs among that group. It's just that  in
Corellian terminology the distinction between who owns what cargo  tends  to
get a little muddled from time to time. Wait here."

Luke nodded and watched as Kenobi worked his way through the crowd. The
Correllians' suspicion at his approach vanished as soon as he  engaged  them
in conversation.

Something grabbed Luke's shoulder and spun him around.

"Hey." Looking around and struggling to regain his composure, he  found
himself staring up at an enormous, scruffy-looking human. Luke  saw  by  the
man's clothing that he must be the bartender,  if  not  the  owner  of  this
cantina.

"We don't serve their kind in here," the glaring form growled.

"What?" Luke replied dumbly. He still hadn't recovered from his  sudden
submergence into  the  cultures  of  several  dozen  races.  It  was  rather
different from the poolroom  behind  the  Anchorhead  power  station.  "Your
droids," the bartender explained impatiently, gesturing with a thick  thumb.
Luke peered in the indicated direction, to see Artoo and  Threepio  standing
quietly nearby. "They'll have to wait outside. We don't serve them in  here.
I only carry stuff for organics, not," he concluded with  an  expression  of
distaste, "mechanicals."

Luke didn't like the idea of kicking Threepio and  Artoo  out,  but  he
didn't know how else to deal with the problem. The bartender  didn't  appear
to be the sort who would readily respond  to  reason,  and  when  he  looked
around for old Ben, Luke saw that he was locked in  deep  conversation  with
one of the Corellians.

Meanwhile, the  discussion  had  attracted  the  attention  of  several
especially gruesome- looking types  who  happened  to  be  clustered  within
hearing range. All were regarding Luke and the two  droids  in  a  decidedly
unfriendly fashion.

"Yes, of course," Luke said, realizing this wasn't the time or place to
force the issue of droid rights. "I'm sorry." He looked  over  at  Threepio.
"You'd better stay outside with the speeder. We don't want  any  trouble  in
here."

"I heartily agree with you, sir," Threepio  said,  his  gaze  traveling
past Luke and the bartender to take in the unfriendly stares at the bar.  "I
don't feel the need for  lubrication  at  the  moment  anyway."  With  Artoo
waddling in his wake, the tall robot hastily headed for the exit.

That finished things as far as the bartender was  concerned,  but  Luke
now found himself the subject of some unwanted attention. He abruptly became
aware of his isolation and felt as if at one time or another  every  eye  in
the place rested a moment on him,  that  things  human  and  otherwise  were
smirking and making comments about him behind his back.

Trying to maintain an air of quiet confidence, he returned his gaze  to
old Ben, and started when he saw what the oldster was talking  to  now.  The
Corellian was gone. In  its  place  Kenobi  was  chatting  with  a  towering
anthropoid that showed a mouthful of teeth when it smiled.

Luke had heard about Wookiees, but he had never expected  to  see  one,
much less meet one. Despite an almost comical quasi-monkey face, the Wookiee
was anything  but  gentle-looking.  Only  the  large,  glowing  yellow  eyes
softened its otherwise awesome appearance. The  massive  torso  was  covered
entirely with soft, thick russet fur. Less appealing cover  consisted  of  a
pair of chromed bandoliers which held lethal projectiles of a  type  unknown
to Luke. Other than these, the Wookiees wore little.

Not, Luke knew, that anyone would  laugh  at  the  creature's  mode  of
dress. He saw that other denizens of the bar eddied and swirled  around  the
huge form without ever coming too close. All but old Ben-Ben who was talking
to the Wookiee in its own language, quarreling and  hooting  softly  like  a
native.

In the course of the conversation the old man had occasion  to  gesture
in Luke's direction. Once the huge anthropoid stared directly  at  Luke  and
let out a horrifying howling laugh.

Disgruntled by the role he was evidently  playing  in  the  discussion,
Luke turned away and pretended to ignore the whole conversation. He might be
acting unfairly toward the creature, but he doubted that spine-quaking laugh
was meant in gentle good-fellowship.

For the life of him he couldn't understand what  Ben  wanted  with  the
monster, or why he was spending his time in guttural  conversation  with  it
instead of with the now-vanished Corellians. So he sat and sipped his  drink
in splendid silence, his eyes roving over the crowd in hopes  of  meeting  a
responsive gaze that held no belligerence.

Suddenly, something shoved him roughly from behind, so hard  he  almost
fell. He turned angrily, but his fury spent itself in astonishment. He found
himself confronted by a large squarish  monstrosity  of  multiple  eyes  and
indeterminate origin.

"Negola dewaghi wooldugger?" the apparition bubbled challengingly.

Luke had never seen its like before; he knew neither  its  species  nor
its language. The gabbling might have been  an  invitation  to  a  fight,  a
request to share a drink, or a marriage  proposal.  Despite  his  ignorance,
however, Luke could tell by the way the creature bobbed and wove  unsteadily
on its podal supports that it had imbibed too much of whatever it considered
a pleasing intoxicant.

Not knowing what else to do, Luke tried turning back to his  own  drink
while studiously ignoring the creature.  As  he  did  so,  a  thing-a  cross
between a capybara and a small baboon-bounced over to stand (or squat)  next
to the quivering many-eye. A short, grubby-looking human also approached and
put a companionable arm around the snuffling mass.

"He doesn't like you," the stubby human informed Luke in a surprisingly
deep voice.

"I'm sorry  about  that,"  Luke  admitted,  wishing  heartily  he  were
somewhere else.

"I don't like you,  either,"  the  smiling  little  man  went  on  with
brotherly negativity.

"I said I was sorry about it."

Whether from  the  conversation  it  was  having  with  the  rodentlike
creature or the overdose of booze, the apartment house for wayward  eyeballs
was obviously growing agitated. It  leaned  forward,  almost  toppling  into
Luke, and spewed a stream of unintelligible gibberish at him. Luke felt  the
eyes of a crowd on him as he grew increasingly more nervous.

" 'Sorry,' " the human mimicked derisively, clearly deep into  his  own
cups. "Are you insulting us? You  just  better  watch  yourself.  We're  all
wanted." He indicated his drunken companions. "I have the death sentence  on
me in twelve different systems."

"I'll be careful, then," Luke muttered.

The little man was smiling broadly. "You'll be dead."

At this the rodent let out a loud grunt. It was either a  signal  or  a
warning, because everything human or otherwise which had been leaning up  at
the bar immediately backed away, leaving a clear space around Luke  and  his
antagonists.

Trying to salvage the situation, Luke essayed a wan smile.  That  faded
rapidly when he saw that the three were  readying  hand  weapons.  Not  only
couldn't he have countered all three of them, he had no idea what  a  couple
of the lethal-looking devices did.

"This little one isn't worth the trouble,"  a  calm  voice  said.  Luke
looked up, startled. He hadn't heard Kenobi come up  alongside  him.  "Come,
let me buy you all something

By way of reply the bulky monster chittered hideously and swung  out  a
massive limb. It caught an unprepared Luke across the temple  and  sent  him
spinning across the room, crashing through tables and shattering a large jug
filled with a foul-smelling liquid.

The crowd edged back farther, a few grunts and  warning  snorts  coming
from some of them as the drunken monstrosity pulled a wicked- looking pistol
from its service pouch. He started to wave it in Kenobi's direction.

That spurred the heretofore neutral bartender to life. He came charging
clumsily around the end of the bar, waving his hands frantically  but  still
taking care to stay out of range.

"No blasters, no blasters! Not in my place!"

The  rodent  thing  chattered   threateningly   at   him,   while   the
weapon-wielding many-eye spared him a warning grunt.

In the split second when the gun and its owner's attention was off him,
the old man's hand had moved to the disk slung at his side. The short  human
started to yell as a fiery blue-white light appeared in the dimness  of  the
cantina.

He never finished the yell. It turned into a blink. When the blink  was
finished, the man found himself lying prone against  the  bar,  moaning  and
whimpering as he stared at the stump of an arm.

In between the start of his yell and the conclusion of the  blink,  the
rodent-thing had been cleft cleanly in half down the middle, its two  halves
falling in opposite directions. The giant multiocular creature  still  stood
staring, dazed, at the old human who was poised motionless  before  it,  the
shining lightsaber held over his head in a peculiar fashion. The  creature's
chrome pistol fired once, blowing a hole in the door. Then the torso  peeled
away as neatly as had the body of the rodent, its  two  cauterized  sections
falling in opposite directions to lie motionless on the cool stone.

Only then did the suggestion of a sigh escape from  Kenobi;  only  then
did his body appear to relax. Bringing the lightsaber down,  he  flipped  it
carefully  upward  in  a  reflex  saluting  motion  which  ended  with   the
deactivated weapon resting innocuously on his hip.

That final movement broke the total  quiet  which  had  enshrouded  the
room. Conversation resumed, as did the movement of  bodies  in  chairs,  the
scraping of mugs and pitchers and other drinking devices on  tabletops.  The
bartender and several assistants appeared to drag the unsightly corpses  out
of the room, while the mutilated human vanished wordlessly into  the  crowd,
cradling the stump of his gun arm and counting himself fortunate.

To all appearances the cantina had returned to its former  state,  with
one small exception. Ben Kenobi was given a respectful amount  of  space  at
the bar.

Luke barely heard the renewed conversation. He was still shaken by  the
speed of the fight and by the old man's unimagined abilities.  As  his  mind
cleared and he moved to rejoin Kenobi, he could overhear bits  and  snatches
of the talk around him. Much of it centered on admiration for the  cleanness
and finality of the fight.

"You're hurt, Luke," Kenobi observed solicitously.

Luke felt the bruise where the big creature had struck him.  "I..."  he
started to say, but old Ben cut him off. As  if  nothing  had  happened,  he
indicated the great hairy mass which was shouldering  its  way  through  the
crowd toward them.

"This is Chewbacca," he explained when the anthropoid had  joined  them
at the bar. "He's first mate on a ship that might suit our needs. He'll take
us to her captain-owner now.

"This way," the Wookiee grunted-at least,  it  sounded  something  like
that to Luke. In  any  case,  the  huge  creature's  follow-me  gesture  was
unmistakable. They started to wend  their  way  deeper  into  the  bar,  the
Wookiee parting the crowd like a gravel storm cutting canyonettes.

Out in front of the cantina,  Threepio  paced  nervously  next  to  the
landspeeder. Apparently unconcerned, Artoo Detoo  was  engaged  in  animated
electronic conversation with a bright red R-2 unit belonging to  another  of
the cantina's patrons.

"What could be taking them so long? They went to hire  one  ship-not  a
fleet."

Abruptly Threepio paused, beckoning silently for Artoo to be quiet. Two
Imperial troopers had appeared on the scene. They were  met  by  an  unkempt
human who had emerged almost simultaneously from the depths of the cantina.

"I do not like the looks of this," the tall droid murmured.

Luke had appropriated someone else's drink from a waiter's tray as they
made their way to the rear of the cantina. He gulped at it  with  the  giddy
air of one who feels himself under divine protection. That safe he was  not,
but in the company of  Kenobi  and  the  giant  Wookiee  he  began  to  feel
confident that no one in the bar would assault him with so much as  a  dirty
look.

In a rear booth they encountered a  sharp-featured  young  man  perhaps
five years older than Luke, perhaps a dozen-it was  difficult  to  tell.  He
displayed the openness of the utterly confident-or the insanely reckless. At
their approach the man sent the humanoid wench who had been wriggling on his
lap on her way with a whispered something which left  a  wide,  if  inhuman,
grin on her face.

The Wookiee Chewbacca rumbled something at the man, and  he  nodded  in
response, glancing up at the newcomers pleasantly.

"You're pretty handy with that saber, old man. Not often does  one  see
that kind of swordplay in this part of the  Empire  anymore."  He  downed  a
prodigious portion of whatever filled his mug. "I'm Han Solo, captain of the
Millennium Falcon." Suddenly he became all business. "Chewie tells me you're
looking for passage to the Alderaan system?"

"That's right, son. If it's on a fast  ship,"  Kenobi  told  him.  Solo
didn't bridle at the "son."

"Fast ship? You mean you've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?"

Kenobi appeared amused. "Should I?"

"It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less  than  twelve  standard
timeparts!" Solo told him indignantly. "I've outrun Imperial  starships  and
Corellian cruisers. I think she's fast enough for you, old man." His outrage
subsided rapidly. "What's your cargo?"

"Only passengers. Myself, the boy, and two droids-no questions asked."

"No questions." Solo regarded his mug, finally looked up. "Is it  local
trouble?"

"Let's just say we'd like to avoid any Imperial entanglements,"  Kenobi
replied easily.

"These days that can be a real trick. It'll cost you a  little  extra."
He did some mental figuring. "All in all, about ten thousand.  In  advance."
He added with a smile, "And no questions asked."

Luke gaped at the pilot. "Ten thousand! We could  almost  buy  our  own
ship for that."

Solo shrugged. "Maybe you could and maybe you couldn't.  In  any  case,
could you fly it?"

"You bet I could," Luke shot back, rising. "I'm not such  a  bad  pilot
myself. I don't-"

Again the firm hand on his arm. "We haven't that much with us,"  Kenobi
explained. "But we could pay you two thousand now, plus another fifteen when
we reach Alderaan."

Solo leaned forward uncertainly. "Fifteen... You can  really  get  your
hands on that kind of money?"

"I promise it-from the government on Alderaan  itself.  At  the  worst,
you'll have earned an honest fee: two thousand."

But Solo seemed not to hear the last. "Seventeen thousand... All right,
I'll chance it. You've got yourselves  a  ship.  As  for  avoiding  Imperial
entanglements, you'd better twist out of here or even the Millennium  Falcon
won't be any help to you." He nodded toward the cantina entrance, and  added
quickly, "Docking bay ninety-four, first thing in the morning."

Four Imperial troopers, their eyes darting rapidly from table to  booth
to bar, had entered the cantina. There was muttering from among  the  crowd,
but whenever the eyes of one of the heavily armed troopers went hunting  for
the mutterers, the words died with sullen speed.

Moving to the bar, the officer in charge asked the bartender  a  couple
of brief questions. The big man hesitated a moment, then  pointed  toward  a
place near the back of the room. As he did so, his  eyes  widened  slightly.
Those of the officer were unreadable.

The booth he was pointing to was empty.

= VII =

LUKE and Ben were securing Artoo Detoo in the back of the speeder while
Threepio kept a lookout for any additional troops.

"If Solo's ship is as fast as his boasting, we should  be  all  right,"
the old man observed with satisfaction.

"But two thousand-and fifteen more when we reach Alderaan!"

"It's not the fifteen that worries me;  it's  the  first  two,"  Kenobi
explained. "I'm afraid you'll have to sell your speeder."

Luke let his gaze rove over the landspeeder, but the thrill it had once
given him was gone-gone along with other things best not dwelt on.

"It's all right," he assured Kenobi listlessly.  "I  don't  think  I'll
need it again."

From their vantage point in another booth, Solo and  Chewbacca  watched
as the Imperials strode through the bar. Two of them gave  the  Corellian  a
lingering glance. Chewbacca growled once and the two soldiers hurried  their
pace somewhat.

Solo grinned  sardonically,  turning  to  his  partner.  "Chewie,  this
charter could save our necks. Seventeen thousand!"  He  shook  his  head  in
amazement. "Those two must really be desperate. I wonder what they're wanted
for. But I agreed, no questions. They're paying enough  for  it.  Let's  get
going-the Falcon won't check itself out."

"Going somewhere, Solo?"

The Corellian couldn't identify the voice, coming as it did through  an
electronic translator. But there was no problem recognizing the  speaker  or
the gun it held stuck in Solo's side.

The creature was roughly  man-sized  and  bipedal,  but  its  head  was
something out of  delirium  by  way  of  an  upset  stomach.  It  had  huge,
dull-faceted eyes, bulbous on a pea-green face.  A  ridge  of  short  spines
crested the high skull,  while  nostrils  and  mouth  were  contained  in  a
tapirlike snout.

"As a matter of fact," Solo replied slowly, "I was just on  my  way  to
see your boss. You can tell Jabba I've got the money I owe him."

"That's what you said yesterday-and last week-and  the  week  prior  to
that. It's too late, Solo. I'm not going back to Jabba with another  one  of
your stories."

"But I've really got the money this time!" Solo protested.

"Fine. I'll take it now, please."

Solo sat down slowly. Jabba's  minions  were  apt  to  be  cursed  with
nervous trigger fingers. The alien took the seat across from him, the muzzle
of the ugly little pistol never straying from Solo's chest.

"I haven't got it here with me. Tell Jabba-"

"It's too late, I think. Jabba would rather have your ship."

"Over my dead body," Solo said unamiably.

The alien was not impressed. "If you insist. Will you come outside with
me, or must I finish it here?"

"I don't think they'd like another killing in here," Solo pointed out.

Something which might have  been  a  laugh  came  from  the  creature's
translator. "They'd hardly notice. Get up, Solo. I've been  looking  forward
to this for a long time. You've embarrassed me in front of Jabba  with  your
pious excuses for the last time."

"I think you're right."

Light and noise filled the little corner of the cantina,  and  when  it
had faded, all that remained of the unctuous alien was a smoking, slimy spot
on the stone floor.

Solo brought his hand and the smoking weapon it held out  from  beneath
the table, drawing bemused stares from several of the cantina's patrons  and
clucking sounds from  its  more  knowledgeable  ones.  They  had  known  the
creature had committed its fatal mistake in allowing Solo the chance to  get
his hands under cover.

"It'll take a lot more than the likes of you to finish  me  off.  Jabba
the Hutt always did skimp when it came to hiring his hands."

Leaving the booth, Solo flipped the bartender a handful of coins as  he
and Chewbacca moved off. "Sorry for the mess. I always was a rotten host."

Heavily armed troopers hurried down the narrow alleyway, glowering from
time to time at the darkly clad beings who hawked exotic  goods  from  dingy
little stalls. Here in Mos Eisley's inner regions the walls  were  high  and
narrow, turning the passageway into a tunnel.

No one stared angrily back at them;  no  one  shouted  imprecations  or
mouthed obscenities. These armored figures moved with the authority  of  the
Empire, their sidearms boldly displayed  and  activated.  All  around,  men,
not-men, and mechanicals were crouched  in  waste-littered  doorways.  Among
accumulations of garbage and filth they exchanged information and  concluded
transactions of dubious legality.

A hot wind moaned down the  alleyway  and  the  troopers  closed  their
formation. Their precision and order masked a fear  of  such  claustrophobic
quarters.

One paused to check a door, only to  discover  it  tightly  locked  and
bolted. A sand-encrusted human shambling nearby visited a half-mad  harangue
on the trooper. Shrugging inwardly, the soldier gave the crazy human a  sour
eye before moving on down the alley to join up again with his fellows.

As soon as they were well past, the  door  slid  open  a  crack  and  a
metallic face peered  out.  Below  Threepio's  leg,  a  squat  barrel  shape
struggled for a view.

"I would rather have gone with Master Luke than  stay  here  with  you.
Still, orders are orders. I don't quite know what all the trouble is  about,
but I'm sure it must be your fault."

Artoo responded with a near impossibility: a sniggering beep.

"You watch your language," the taller machine warned.

The number of old landspeeders and  other  powered  transports  in  the
dusty lot which were still capable of motion could be counted on the fingers
of one hand. But that was not the concern of Luke  and  Ben  as  they  stood
bargaining with the tall, slightly insectoid owner. They were  here  not  to
buy, but to sell.

None of the passersby favored the hagglers with so much  as  a  curious
glance. Similar transactions which were the  business  of  no  one  but  the
transactors took place half a thousand times daily in Mos Eisley.

Eventually there were no more pleas or  threats  to  be  exchanged.  As
though doling out vials of his own blood, the owner finalized  the  sale  by
passing a number of small metal shapes  to  Luke.  Luke  and  the  insectoid
traded formal good-byes and then they parted, each convinced he  had  gotten
the better of the deal.

"He says it's the best he can do. Since the XP-38 came out,  they  just
aren't in demand anymore," Luke sighed.

"Don't look so discouraged," Kenobi chided him. "What  you've  obtained
will be sufficient. I've enough to cover the rest."

Leaving the main street, they turned down an alleyway and walked past a
small robot herding  along  a  clutch  of  creatures  resembling  attenuated
anteaters. As they rounded the corner Luke strained for a forlorn glimpse of
the old landspeeder-his last link with his former life. Then  there  was  no
more time for looking back.

Something short and dark that might have been human underneath all  its
wrappings stepped out of the, shadows as they moved away from the corner. It
continued staring after them as they disappeared down a bend in the walkway.

The docking-bay entrance to  the  small  saucer-shaped  spacecraft  was
completely ringed by half a dozen men and aliens, of which the  former  were
by half the most grotesque. A great mobile tub of muscle and suet topped  by
a shaggy scarred skull surveyed  the  semicircle  of  armed  assassins  with
satisfaction. Moving forward from the center of  the  crescent,  he  shouted
toward the ship.

"Come on out. Solo! We've got you surrounded."

"If so, you're facing the wrong way," came a calm voice.

Jabba the  Hutt  jumped-in  itself  a  remarkable  sight.  His  lackeys
likewise whirled-to see Han Solo and Chewbacca standing behind them.

"You see, I've been waiting for you, Jabba."

"I expected you would be," the  Hutt  admitted,  at  once  pleased  and
alarmed by the fact that neither Solo nor the big  Wookiee  appeared  to  be
armed.

"I'm not the type to run," Solo said.

"Run? Run from what!" Jabba countered. The absence of  visible  weapons
bothered Jabba more than he cared to admit to himself. There  was  something
peculiar here, and it would be better  to  make  no  hasty  moves  until  he
discovered what was amiss.

"Han, my boy, there are times when you disappoint me. I merely wish  to
know why you haven't paid me... as you should have long ago. And why did you
have to fry poor Greedo like that? After all you and  I  have  been  through
together."

Solo grinned tightly. "Shove it, Jabba. There isn't enough sentiment in
your body to warm an orphaned bacterium. As for Greedo, you sent him to kill
me."

"Why, Han," Jabba protested in surprise. "Why would I do  that?  You're
the best smuggler in the business. You're too valuable to  fry.  Greedo  was
only relaying my natural concern at your delays. He  wasn't  going  to  kill
you."

"I think he thought he was. Next time don't send  one  of  those  hired
twerps. If you've got something to say, come see me yourself."

Jabba shook his head and his jowls shook-lazy,  fleshy  echoes  of  his
mock sorrow. "Han, Han-if only you hadn't  had  to  dump  that  shipment  of
spice! You understand... I just can't make an exception. Where would I be if
every pilot who smuggled for me dumped his shipment at the first sign of  an
Imperial warship? And then simply  showed  empty  pockets  when  I  demanded
recompense? It's not good business. I can be generous and forgiving-but  not
to the point of bankruptcy."

"You know, even I get boarded sometimes, Jabba. Did you think I  dumped
that spice because I got tired of its smell? I wanted to deliver it as  much
as you wanted to receive it. I had no choice." Again the sardonic smile. "As
you say, I'm too valuable to fry. But I've got a charter now and I  can  pay
you back, plus a little extra. I just need some more time. I can give you  a
thousand on account, the rest in three weeks."

The gross form seemed to consider, then directed his next words not  to
Solo but to his  hirelings.  "Put  your  blasters  away."  His  gaze  and  a
predatory smile turned to the wary Corellian.

"Han, my boy, I'm only doing this because you're the best and I'll need
you again sometime. So, out of the greatness of  my  soul  and  a  forgiving
heart-and for an extra, say, twenty percent-I'll  give  you  a  little  more
time." The voice nearly cracked with restraint. "But this is the last  time.
If you disappoint me again, if you trample my  generosity  in  your  mocking
laughter, I'll put a price on your head so large you won't  be  able  to  go
near a civilized system for the rest of your life, because on every one your
name and face will be known to men who'll  gladly  cut  your  guts  out  for
one-tenth of what I'll promise them."

"I'm glad we both have  my  best  interests  at  heart,"  replied  Solo
pleasantly as he and Chewbacca started past the staring eyes of  the  Hutt's
hired guns. "Don't worry, Jabba, I'll pay you. But not because you  threaten
me. I'll pay you because... it's my pleasure."

"They're starting to  search  the  spaceport  central,"  the  Commander
declared, having to alternately run a couple of steps and then walk to  keep
pace with the long strides of Darth Vader. The Dark Lord was deep in thought
as he strode down one of the battle station's  main  corridors,  trailed  by
several aides.

"The reports are just starting to come  in,"  the  Commander  went  on.
"It's only a matter of time before we have those droids."

"Send in more men if you have  to.  Never  mind  the  protests  of  the
planetary Governor-I must have those droids. It's  her  hope  of  that  data
being used against us that is the pillar  of  her  resistance  to  the  mind
probes."

"I understand, Lord Vader. Until then  we  must  waste  our  time  with
Governor Tarkin's foolish plan to break her."

"There's docking bay ninety-four," Luke told Kenobi and the robots  who
had  rejoined  them,  "and  there's  Chewbacca.  He  seems   excited   about
something."

Indeed, the big Wookiee was waving over the  heads  of  the  crowd  and
jabbering loudly in their  direction.  Speeding  their  pace,  none  of  the
foursome noticed the small, dark-clad thing that had followed them from  the
transporter lot.

The creature moved into the doorway and pulled a tiny transmitter  from
a pouch concealed by its multifold robes. The transmitter looked far too new
and modern to be in the grasp of so decrepit a specimen, yet its manipulator
was speaking into it with steady assurance.

Docking bay ninety-four, Luke noted, was  no  different  in  appearance
from a host of other grandiosely named docking bays scattered throughout Mos
Eisley. It consisted mostly of an  entrance  rampway  and  an  enormous  pit
gouged from the rocky soil. This served as clearance radii for  the  effects
of the simple antigrav drive which  boosted  all  spacecraft  clear  of  the
gravitational field of the planet.

The mathematics of spacedrive were simple enough even to Luke. Antigrav
could operate only  when  there  was  a  sufficient  gravity  well  to  push
against-like that of a planet-whereas  supralight  travel  could  only  take
place when a ship was clear of that same gravity. Hence  the  necessity  for
the dual-drive system on any extrasystem craft.

The pit which formed docking bay ninety-four was as  shabbily  cut  and
run-down as the majority of Mos Eisley. Its sloping sides were crumbling  in
places instead of being smoothly fashioned as they  were  on  more  populous
worlds. Luke felt it formed the perfect setting for the spacecraft Chewbacca
was leading them toward.

That battered ellipsoid which could only  loosely  be  labeled  a  ship
appeared to have  been  pieced  together  out  of  old  hull  fragments  and
components discarded as unusable by other craft.  The  wonder  of  it,  Luke
mused, was that the thing actually held its shape. Trying  to  picture  this
vehicle as spaceworthy would have caused him to  collapse  in  hysteria-were
the situation not so serious. But to think of traveling to Alderaan in  this
pathetic...

"What a piece of  junk,"  he  finally  murmured,  unable  to  hide  his
feelings any longer. They were walking up the rampway toward the open  port.
"This thing couldn't possibly make it into hyperspace."

Kenobi didn't comment, but merely gestured toward  the  port,  where  a
figure was coming to meet them.

Either Solo had supernaturally acute hearing, or else he  was  used  to
the reaction the sight of the  Millennium  Falcon  produced  in  prospective
passengers. "She may not look like much,"  he  confessed  as  he  approached
them, "but she's all go. I've  added  a  few  unique  modifications  to  her
myself. In addition to piloting, I like to tinker. She'll  make  point  five
factors beyond lightspeed."

Luke scratched his head as he tried to reassess the craft  in  view  of
its owner's claims. Either the Corellian was the biggest liar this  side  of
the galactic center, or there was more to this vessel than met the eye. Luke
thought back once more to  old  Ben's  admonition  never  to  trust  surface
impressions, and decided to reserve judgment on the ship and its pilot until
after he had watched them in operation.

Chewbacca had lingered behind  at  the  docking-bay  entrance.  Now  he
rushed up the ramp, a hairy whirlwind, and blabbered excitedly at Solo.  The
pilot regarded him coolly, nodding from time to time, then  barked  a  brief
reply. The Wookiee charged into the ship, pausing only to urge  everyone  to
follow.

"We seem to be a bit rushed," Solo explained cryptically, "so if you'll
hurry aboard, we'll be off."

Luke was about to  venture  some  questions,  but  Kenobi  was  already
prodding him up the ramp. The droids followed.

Inside, Luke was slightly startled to see the  bulky  Chewbacca  squirm
and fight his way into a pilot's chair  which,  despite  modifications,  was
still overwhelmed by his massive form.  The  Wookiee  flipped  several  tiny
switches with digits seemingly too  big  for  the  task.  Those  great  paws
drifted with surprising grace over the controls.

A deep throbbing started somewhere within the ship as the engines  were
activated. Luke and Ben began strapping themselves into the vacant seats  in
the main passageway.

Outside the docking-bay entrance a long, leathery snout protruded  from
dark folds of cloth, and somewhere in the depths  to  either  side  of  that
imposing proboscis, eyes stared intently. They turned, along with  the  rest
of the head, as a squad of eight Imperial  troops  rushed  up.  Perhaps  not
surprisingly, they headed straight for the enigmatic  figure  who  whispered
something to the lead trooper and gestured to the docking bay.

The information must have been provocative.  Activating  their  weapons
and raising them to firing position, the troops charged en  masse  down  the
docking-bay entrance.

A glint of light on moving metal caught Solo's eyes  as  the  unwelcome
outlines of the first troops showed themselves.  Solo  thought  it  unlikely
they would pause  to  engage  in  casual  conversation.  His  suspicion  was
confirmed before he could open his mouth  to  protest  their  intrusion,  as
several dropped to their knees and opened  fire  on  him  Solo  ducked  back
inside, turning to yell forward.

"Chewie-deflector shields, quick! Get us out of here!" A  throaty  roar
of acknowledgment came back to him.

Drawing his own pistol, Solo managed to snap off  a  couple  of  bursts
from the comparative safety of the hatchway. Seeing that  their  quarry  was
neither helpless nor comatose, the exposed troops dove for cover.

The low throbbing rose to a whine, then to a deafening howl  as  Solo's
hand came  down  on  the  quick-release  button.  Immediately  the  overhead
hatchcover slammed shut.

As the retreating troops raced out of  the  docking-bay  entrance,  the
ground was trembling steadily. They ran smack into a second squad, which had
just arrived in response to the rapidly spreading emergency call. One of the
soldiers, gesticulating wildly,  tried  to  explain  to  the  newly  arrived
ranking officer what had happened back in the bay.

As soon as the panting trooper had finished, the officer whipped out  a
compact communicator and shouted into it, "Flight deck... they're trying  to
escape! Send everything you've got after this ship."

All across Mos Eisley,  alarms  began  to  sound,  spreading  out  from
docking bay ninety-four in concentric circles of concern.

Several soldiers scouring one alleyway reacted to the citywide alarm at
the same time as they saw the small freighter lift gracefully into the clear
blue sky above Mos Eisley. It shrank  to  a  pinpoint  before  any  of  them
thought to bring a weapon to bear.

Luke and Ben were already undoing their  acceleration  straps  as  Solo
walked past them, moving toward the  cockpit  with  the  easy,  loose-limbed
stride of the experienced spacer. Once forward, he fell rather than  sat  in
the pilot's seat and immediately began checking readouts and gauges. In  the
seat next to him Chewbacca was growling and grunting  like  a  poorly  tuned
speeder engine. He turned from studying his own instruments long  enough  to
jab a massive finger at the tracking screen.

Solo gave it a quick glance, then turned irritably to his own panel. "I
know, I know... looks like two, maybe three destroyers.  Somebody  certainly
dislikes our passengers. Sure picked ourselves a hot one this time.  Try  to
hold them off somehow until I can finish the programming for the  supralight
jump. Angle the deflectors for maximum shielding."

With those instructions he ceased conversing with the  huge  Wookie  as
his hands flew over the computer input terminals. Solo  did  not  even  turn
around when a small cylindrical shape appeared in the  doorway  behind  him.
Artoo Detoo beeped a few remarks, then scurried away.

Rear scanners showed  the  baleful  lemon  eye  of  Tatooine  shrinking
rapidly behind them. It wasn't rapid enough to eliminate the three points of
light that indicated the presence of the pursuing Imperial warships.

Although Solo had ignored Artoo, he turned to acknowledge the  entrance
of his human passengers. "We've  got  two  more  coming  in  from  different
angles,"  he  told  them,  scrutinizing  the  remorseless   instrumentation.
"They're going to try to box up before we can jump. Five ships...  What  did
you two do to attract that kind of company?"

"Can't you outrun them?" Luke asked sarcastically, ignoring the pilot's
question. "I thought you said this thing was fast."

"Watch your mouth, kid, or you'll find yourself floating home.  There's
too many of 'em, for one thing. But, we'll be safe enough  once  we've  made
the jump into hyperspace." He grinned knowingly. "Can't nobody track another
ship accurately at supralight speeds. Plus, I know a few tricks  that  ought
to lose any persistent stick-tights. I wish  I'd  known  you  boys  were  so
popular."

"Why?" Luke said challengingly. "Would you have refused to take us?"

"Not necessarily," the Corellian replied, refusing to be baited. "But I
sure's hell would've boosted your fare."

Luke had a retort poised on his lips. It was wiped out as he  threw  up
his arms to ward off a brilliant red flash which gave  black  space  outside
the viewport the temporary aspect of the surface of a sun. Kenobi, Solo, and
even Chewbacca did likewise, since the proximity  of  the  explosion  nearly
overrode the phototropic shielding.

"Here's where the situation gets interesting," Solo muttered.

"How long before you  can  make  the  jump?"  Kenobi  inquired  easily,
apparently unconcerned that at any second they all might cease to exist.

"We're still within the gravitational influence of Tatooine," came  the
cool response. "It will be a few minutes yet before the navigation  computer
can compensate and effect an accurate jump. I could override  its  decision,
but the hyperdrive would likely shred itself. That would give me a nice hold
full of scrap metal in addition to you four."

"A few minutes," Luke blurted, staring at the  screens.  "At  the  rate
they're gaining..."

"Traveling through hyperspace isn't like dusting crops, boy. Ever tried
calculating a hyperspace jump?" Luke had to shake his head.  "It's  no  mean
trick. Be nice if we rushed it and passed right through a star or some other
friendly spatial phenom like a black hole. That  would  end  our  trip  real
quick."

Fresh explosions continued to flare close by despite  Chewbacca's  best
efforts at evasion. On Solo's console a red warning light began to flash for
attention.

"What's that?" Luke wondered nervously.

"We're losing a deflector shield," Solo informed him with the air of  a
man about to have a tooth pulled. "Better strap yourselves  back  in.  We're
almost ready to make the jump. It could get bad if we take a  near-burst  at
the wrong moment."

Back in the main hold area Threepio was already locked tightly into his
seat by metal arms stronger then any acceleration straps. Artoo swayed  back
and forth under the concussion  produced  by  increasingly  powerful  energy
bursts against the ships deflectors.

"Was  this  trip  really  necessary?"  the  tall  robot   muttered   in
desperation. "I'd forgotten how much I hate space travel." He broke  off  as
Luke and Ben appeared and began strapping themselves back into their chairs.

Oddly, Luke was thinking of a dog he had once owned when  an  immensely
powerful something wrenched at the ship's hull with the strength of a fallen
angel.

Admiral Motti entered the quiet conference room, his face  streaked  by
the linear lights lining the walls. His gaze went to the spot where Governor
Tarkin stood before the curved viewscreen, and he  bowed  slightly.  Despite
the evidence of the small green gem of a world entered  in  the  screen,  he
formally announced, "We have entered the  Alderaan  system.  We  await  your
order."

The door signaled and Tarkin made  a  falsely  gentle  gesture  to  the
admiral. "Wait a moment yet, Motti."

The door slid aside and Leia  Organa  entered,  flanked  by  two  armed
guards, followed by Darth Vader.

"I am-" Tarkin began.

"I know who you  are,"  she  spat,  "Governor  Tarkin.  I  should  have
expected to find you holding Vader's leash.  I  thought  I  recognized  your
unique stench when I was first brought on board."

"Charming to the last," Tarkin declared in a fashion which suggested he
was anything but charmed. "You don't know how hard I found it  to  sign  the
order for your termination." His expression changed to one of  mock  sorrow.
"Of course, had  you  cooperated  in  our  investigation,  things  might  be
otherwise.  Lord  Vader  has  informed  me  that  your  resistance  to   our
traditional methods of inquiry-"

"Torture, you mean," she countered a trifle shakily.

"Let us not bandy semantics," Tarkin smiled.

"I'm surprised you had the  courage  to  take  the  responsibility  for
issuing the order on yourself."

Tarkin sighed reluctantly. "I am a dedicated man, and the  pleasures  I
reserve for myself are few. One of them is  that  before  your  execution  I
should like you to be my guest at a small ceremony.  It  will  certify  this
battle station's operational status while at the same time ushering in a new
era of Imperial technical supremacy. This station is the final link  in  the
new-forged Imperial chain  which  will  bind  the  million  systems  of  the
galactic Empire together once and for  all.  Your  petty  Alliance  will  no
longer be of any concern to us. After today's demonstration no one will dare
to oppose Imperial decree, not even the Senate."

Organa looked at him with contempt. "Force will  not  keep  the  Empire
together. Force has never kept anything together for very long. The more you
tighten your grip, the more systems will slip through your fingers. You're a
foolish man, Governor. Foolish  men  often  choke  to  death  on  their  own
delusions."

Tarkin smiled a death's-head smile, his face a parchment  skull's.  "It
will be interesting to see what manner of passing Lord Vader has in mind for
you. I am certain it will be worthy of you-and of him.

"But before you leave us, we must demonstrate the power of this station
once and for all, in a conclusive fashion. In a way, you have determined the
choice of subject for this demonstration. Since you have proven reluctant to
supply us with the location of  the  rebel  stronghold,  I  have  deemed  it
appropriate to select as an alternate subject your home planet of Alderaan."

"No! You can't! Alderaan is a peaceful world, with no standing  armies.
You can't..."

Tarkin's eyes gleamed. "You would prefer  another  target?  A  military
target,  perhaps?  We're  agreeable...  name  the   system."   He   shrugged
elaborately. "I grow tired of such games. For the last time,  where  is  the
main rebel base?"

A voice announced over a hidden speaker that they had approached within
antigrav range of Alderaan-approximately six planetary diameters.  That  was
enough to accomplish what all of Vader's infernal devices had failed to.

"Dantooine," she whispered,  staring  at  the  deck,  all  pretense  at
defiance gone now. "They're on Dantooine."

Tarkin let out a slow sigh of satisfaction, then turned  to  the  black
figure nearby. "There, you see, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable. One needs
only frame the  question  properly  to  elicit  the  desired  response."  He
directed his attention to the other officers. "After concluding  our  little
test here we shall make haste to move on to Dantooine. You may proceed  with
the operation, gentlemen."

It took several seconds for Tarkin's words,  so  casually  uttered,  to
penetrate. "What!" Organa finally gasped.

"Dantooine," Tarkin explained, examining his fingers, "is too far  from
the centers of Imperial population to serve as the subject of  an  effective
demonstration. You will understand that for reports of our power  to  spread
rapidly through the Empire we require an obstreperous world  more  centrally
located. Have no fear, though. We will  deal  with  your  rebel  friends  on
Dantooine as soon as possible."

"But you said..." Organa started to protest.

"The only words which have meaning are the last  ones  spoken,"  Tarkin
declared cuttingly. "We will proceed with the  destruction  of  Alderaan  as
planned. Then you will enjoy watching with us as we obliterate the Dantooine
center of this stupid and futile rebellion."

He gestured to the two  soldiers  flanking  her.  "Escort  her  to  the
principal observation level and," he smiled, "make certain she  is  provided
with an unobstructed view."

= VIII =

SOLO was busily checking readouts from gauges and  dials  in  the  hold
area. Occasionally he would pass a small box across various  sensors,  study
the result, and cluck with pleasure.

"You can stop worrying about your Imperial friends," he told  Luke  and
Ben. "They'll never be able to track us now. Told you I'd lose them."

Kenobi might have nodded briefly in response, but  he  was  engaged  in
explaining something to Luke.

"Don't everybody thank me at  once,"  Solo  grunted,  slightly  miffed.
"Anyway, navigation computer calculates our arrival  in  Alderaan  orbit  at
oh-two-hundred. I'm afraid after this little adventure I'll have to forge  a
new registration."

He returned to his checking, passing  in  front  of  a  small  circular
table. The top was covered  with  small  squares  lit  from  beneath,  while
computer monitors were set into each side.  Tiny  three-dimensional  figures
were projected above the tabletop from various squares.

Chewbacca sat hunched over one side of the table, his chin  resting  in
massive hands. His great eyes glowing and facial whiskers  wrinkled  upward,
he gave every sign of being well pleased with himself.

At least, he did until Artoo Detoo reached up with a stubby clawed limb
across from him and tapped his own computer  monitor.  One  of  the  figures
walked abruptly across the board to a new square and stopped there.

An expression of puzzlement, then anger crossed the Wookiee's  face  as
he studied the new configuration. Glaring up and over the table, he vented a
stream of abusive gibberish on the inoffensive  machine.  Artoo  could  only
beep in reply, but Threepio soon interceded on behalf of his  less  eloquent
companion and began arguing with the hulking anthropoid.

"He executed a fair move. Screaming about it won't help you."

Attracted by  the  commotion,  Solo  looked  back  over  his  shoulder,
frowning slightly. "Let him have it. Your friend's way  ahead  anyhow.  It's
not wise to upset a Wookiee."

"I can sympathize with that opinion,  sir,"  Threepio  countered,  "but
there is principle at stake here. There are certain standards  any  sentient
creature must hold to. If one compromises them  for  any  reason,  including
intimidation, then one is abrogating his right to be called intelligent."

"I hope you'll both remember that," Solo advised him,  "when  Chewbacca
is pulling the arms off you and your little friend."

"Besides that, however," Threepio continued  without  missing  a  beat,
"being greedy or taking advantage of someone in a  weakened  position  is  a
clear sign of poor sportsmanship."

That elicited a beep of outrage from Artoo, and  the  two  robots  were
soon engaged  in  violent  electronic  argument  while  Chewbacca  continued
jabbering  at  each  in  turn,  occasionally  waving  at  them  though   the
translucent pieces waiting patiently on the board.

Oblivious to the altercation, Luke stood frozen in the  middle  of  the
hold. He held an activated lightsaber in position over his head. A  low  hum
came from the ancient instrument while Luke lunged  and  parried  under  Ben
Kenobi's instructive gaze. As Solo glanced  from  time  to  time  at  Luke's
awkward movements, his lean features were sprinkled with smugness.

"No, Luke, your cuts should flow, not be so choppy," Kenobi  instructed
gently. "Remember, the force is omnipresent. It envelops you as it  radiates
from you. A Jedi warrior can actually feel the force as a physical thing."

"It is an energy field, then?" Luke inquired.

"It is an energy field and something  more,"  Kenobi  went  on,  almost
mystically. "An aura that at once controls and obeys. It  is  a  nothingness
that can accomplish miracles." He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"No one, not even the Jedi scientists, were able to  truly  define  the
Force. Possibly no one ever will.  Sometimes  there  is  as  much  magic  as
science in the explanations of the force. Yet  what  is  a  magician  but  a
practicing theorist? Now, let's try again."

The old man was hefting a silvery globe about the size of a man's fist.
It was covered with fine antennae, some as delicate as those of a  moth.  He
flipped it toward Luke and watched as it halted a couple of meters away from
the boy's face.

Luke readied himself as the ball circled him slowly, turning to face it
as it assumed a new position. Abruptly it executed a lightning-swift  lunge,
only to freeze about a meter away. Luke failed to succumb to the feint,  and
the ball soon backed off.

Moving slowly to one side in an effort to get around  the  ball's  fore
sensors, Luke drew the saber back preparatory to striking. As he did so  the
ball darted in behind him. A thin pencil of red light jumped from one of the
antennae to the back of Luke's thigh, knocking him to the deck  even  as  he
was bringing his saber around-too late.

Rubbing at his tingling, sleeping leg, Luke tried to ignore  the  burst
of accusing laughter from Solo. "Hocus-pocus religions and  archaic  weapons
are no substitute for a good blaster at your side," the pilot sneered.

"You don't believe in the Force?" asked Luke, struggling  back  to  his
feet. The numbing effect of the beam wore off quickly.

"I've been from one end  of  this  galaxy  to  the  other,"  the  pilot
boasted, "and I've seen a lot of strange things. Too many to  believe  there
couldn't be something like this 'Force.' Too many to think that there  could
be some such controlling one's actions.  I  determine  my  destiny-not  some
half-mystical energy field." He gestured toward Kenobi. "I  wouldn't  follow
him so blindly, if I were you. He's a clever old man full of  simple  tricks
and mischief. He might be using you for his own ends."

Kenobi only smiled gently, then turned back to face  Luke.  "I  suggest
you try it again, Luke," he said soothingly. "You must try to  divorce  your
actions from conscious control. Try  not  to  focus  on  anything  concrete,
visually or mentally. You must let your mind drift, drift; only then can you
use the Force. You have to enter a state in which you act on what you sense,
not on what you think beforehand. You must  cease  cogitation,  relax,  stop
thinking... let yourself drift... free... free..."

The old man's voice had dropped to a mesmerizing buzz. As he  finished,
the chrome bulb darted at Luke. Dazed by Kenobi's hypnotic tone, Luke didn't
see it charge. It's doubtful he saw much of anything with  clarity.  But  as
the ball neared, he whirled with amazing speed, the saber arcing up and  out
in a peculiar fashion. The red  beam  that  the  globe  emitted  was  neatly
deflected to one side. Its humming stopped and the ball bounced to the deck,
all animation gone.

Blinking as if coming awake from a short nap, Luke stared  in  absolute
astonishment at the inert remote.

"You see, you can do it," Kenobi told him. "One can teach only so much.
Now you must learn to admit the Force when you want  it,  so  that  you  can
learn to control it consciously."

Moving to one side, Kenobi took a large helmet from behind a locker and
walked over to Luke. Placing the helmet over his head effectively eliminated
the boy's vision.

"I can't see," Luke muttered, turning around and forcing Kenobi to step
back out of range of the dangerously wavering saber. "How can I fight?"

"With the Force," old Ben  explained.  "You  didn't  really  'see'  the
seeker when it went for your legs the last time, and  yet  you  parried  its
beam. Try to let that sensation flow within you again."

"I can't do it," Luke moaned. "I'll get hit again."

"Not if  you  let  yourself  trust  you,"  Kenobi  insisted,  none  too
convincingly for Luke. "This is the only way to be  certain  you're  relying
wholly on the Force."

Noticing that the skeptical  Corellian  had  turned  to  watch,  Kenobi
hesitated momentarily. It did Luke no good to have  the  self-assured  pilot
laugh every time a mistake was made. But coddling the boy would  do  him  no
good either, and there was no time for it anyway. Throw him in and  hope  he
floats, Ben instructed himself firmly.

Bending over the chrome globe, he touched a control at its  side.  Then
he tossed it straight up. It arched toward Luke.  Braking  in  midfall,  the
ball plummeted stonelike toward the deck. Luke swung the saber at it.  While
it was a commendable try, it wasn't  nearly  fast  enough.  Once  again  the
little antenna glowed. This time the crimson needle hit Luke square  on  the
seat of his pants. Though it wasn't an incapacitating  blow,  it  felt  like
one; and Luke let out a yelp of pain  as  he  spun,  trying  to  strike  his
invisible tormentor.

"Relax!" old Ben urged him. "Be free. You're trying to  use  your  eyes
and ears. Stop predicting and use the rest of your mind."

Suddenly the youth stopped, wavering slightly.  The  seeker  was  still
behind him. Changing direction again, it made another dive and fired.

Simultaneously the lightsaber jerked around,  as  accurate  as  it  was
awkward in its motion, to deflect the bolt. This time the ball  didn't  fall
motionless to the deck. Instead it  backed  up  three  meters  and  remained
there, hovering.

Aware that the drone of the seeker remote no longer assaulted his ears,
a cautious Luke peeked out from  under  the  helmet.  Sweat  and  exhaustion
competed for space on his face.

"Did I-?"

"I told you you could," Kenobi informed him with  pleasure.  "Once  you
start to trust your inner self there'll be no stopping you. I told you there
was much of your father in you."

"I'd call it luck," snorted Solo as he concluded his examination of the
readouts.

"In my experience there is no such thing as luck, my young  friend-only
highly favorable adjustments of multiple factors to incline events in  one's
favor."

"Call it what you like," the Corellian sniffed indifferently, "but good
against a mechanical remote is one thing. Good against a  living  menace  is
another."

As he was speaking a small telltale light on the far side of  the  hold
had begun flashing. Chewbacca noticed it and called out to him.

Solo glanced at the board, then informed his passengers, "We're  coming
up on  Alderaan.  We'll  be  slowing  down  shortly  and  going  back  under
lightspeed. Come on, Chewie."

Rising from the game table, the Wookiee followed his partner toward the
cockpit. Luke watched them depart, but his mind  wasn't  on  their  imminent
arrival at Alderaan. It was burning  with  something  else,  something  that
seemed to grow and mature at the back of his brain as he dwelt on it.

"You know," he murmured, "I did feel something. I  could  almost  'see'
the outlines of the remote." He gestured at the hovering device behind him.

Kenobi's voice when he replied was  solemn.  "Luke,  you've  taken  the
first step into a larger universe."

Dozens of humming, buzzing instruments lent the freighter's cockpit the
air of a busy hive. Solo and Chewbacca had their  attention  locked  on  the
most vital of those instruments.

"Steady...  stand   by,   Chewie."   Solo   adjusted   several   manual
compensators. "Ready to go sublight... ready... cut us in, Chewie."

The Wookiee turned something on the console before  him.  At  the  same
time Solo pulled back on a comparatively  large  lever.  Abruptly  the  long
streaks of Doppler-distorted starlight slowed to hyphen shapes, then finally
to familiar bolts of fire. A gauge on the console registered zero.

Gigantic chunks of glowing  stone  appeared  out  of  the  nothingness,
barely shunted aside  by  the  ship's  deflectors.  The  strain  caused  the
Millennium Falcon to begin shuddering violently.

"What  the-?"  a  thoroughly  startled  Solo  muttered.  Next  to  him,
Chewbacca offered no comment of his own as he flipped off  several  controls
and activated others. Only the fact that the cautious  Solo  always  emerged
from supralight travel with his deflectors  up-just  in  case  any  of  many
unfriendly folks might be waiting  for  him-had  saved  the  freighter  from
instant destruction.

Luke fought to keep his balance as he made his way  into  the  cockpit.
"What's going on?"

"We're back in normal space," Solo informed him, "but we've come out in
the middle of the worst asteriod storm I've ever seen. It's not  on  any  of
our charts." He  peered  hard  at  several  indicators.  "According  to  the
galactic atlas,  our  position  is  correct.  Only  one  thing  is  missing:
Alderaan."

"Missing? But-that's crazy!"

"I won't argue with you," the Corellian replied grimly, "but  look  for
yourself." He gestured out the port. "I've triple-checked  the  coordinates,
and there's nothing wrong with the nav 'puter. We ought to be  standing  out
one planetary diameter from the surface. The planet's glow should be filling
the cockpit, but-There's nothing out there. Nothing but debris." He  paused.
"Judging from the level of wild energy  outside  and  the  amount  of  solid
waste, I'd guess that Alderaan's been... blown away. Totally."

"Destroyed," Luke whispered, overwhelmed at the specter raised by  such
an unimaginable disaster. "But-how?"

"The Empire," a voice declared firmly. Ben Kenobi had  come  in  behind
Luke, and his attention was held by the  emptiness  ahead  as  well  as  the
import behind it.

"No." Solo was shaking his head slowly. In his  own  way  even  he  was
stunned by the enormity of what the old man was  suggesting.  That  a  human
agency had been responsible for the annihilation of an entire population, of
a planet itself...

"No... the entire Imperial fleet couldn't have done this. It would take
a thousand ships massing a lot more firepower than has ever existed."

"I wonder if we should get out of here," Luke was murmuring, trying  to
see around the rims of the port. "If by some chance it was the Empire

"I don't know what's happened here," an angry Solo  cursed,  "but  I'll
tell you one thing. The Empire isn't-"

Muffled alarms began humming loudly as a synchronous light  flashed  on
the control console. Solo bent to the appropriate instrumentation.

"Another ship," he announced. "Can't judge the type yet."

"A survivor, maybe-someone who might know what happened," Luke ventured
hopefully.

Ben Kenobi's next words shattered  more  than  that  hope.  "That's  an
Imperial fighter."

Chewbacca suddenly gave an angry bark. A  huge  flower  of  destruction
blossomed outside the port,  battering  the  freighter  violently.  A  tiny,
double-winged ball raced past the cockpit port.

"It followed us!" Luke shouted.

"From Tatooine? It couldn't have," objected a disbelieving  Solo.  "Not
in hyperspace."

Kenobi was studying the configuration the  tracking  screen  displayed.
"You're quite right, Han. It's the short-range TIE fighter."

"But where did it come from?" the Corellian wanted to know. "There  are
no Imperial bases near here. It couldn't have been a TIE job."

"You saw it pass."

"I know. It looked like a TIE fighter-but what about a base?"

"It's leaving in a big hurry," Luke noted, studying  the  tracker.  "No
matter where it's going, if it identifies us we're in big trouble."

"Not if I can help it," Solo declared. "Chewie, jam  its  transmission.
Lay in a pursuit course."

"It would be best to let it go," Kenobi  ventured  thoughtfully.  "It's
already too far out of range."

"Not for long."

Several minutes followed, during which the cockpit was  filled  with  a
tense silence. All eyes were on the tracking screen and viewport.

At first the Imperial fighter tried a complex  evasive  course,  to  no
avail. The surprisingly maneuverable  freighter  hung  tight  on  its  tail,
continuing to make up the distance between them.  Seeing  that  he  couldn't
shake his pursuers, the fighter pilot  had  obviously  opened  up  his  tiny
engine all the way.

Ahead, one of the multitude of stars was  becoming  steadily  brighter.
Luke frowned. They were moving fast, but not  nearly  fast  enough  for  any
heavenly object to brighten so rapidly. Something here didn't make sense.

"Impossible for a fighter that small to be this deep in  space  on  its
own," Solo observed.

"It must have gotten lost, been part of a convoy  or  something,"  Luke
hypothesized.

Solo's comment was gleeful. "Well, he won't be around  long  enough  to
tell anyone about us. We'll be on top of him in a minute or two."

The star ahead continued to brighten, its glow  evidently  coming  from
within. It assumed a circular outline.

"He's heading for that small moon," Luke murmured.

"The Empire must have an  outpost  there,"  Solo  admitted.  "Although,
according to the  atlas,  Alderaan  had  no  moons."  He  shrugged  it  off.
"Galactic topography was never one of my best subjects. I'm only  interested
in worlds and moons with customers on them. But I think I can get him before
he gets there; he's almost in range."

They drew steadily nearer. Gradually craters and mountains on the  moon
became visible. Yet there  was  something  extremely  odd  about  them.  The
craters were far too regular in outline, the  mountains  far  too  vertical,
canyons  and  valleys  impossibly  straight  and  regularized.  Nothing   as
capricious as volcanic action had formed those features.

"That's no moon," Kenobi breathed softly. "That's a space station."

"But it's too big to be a space station," Solo objected. "The  size  of
it! It can't be artificial-it can't!"

"I have a very strange feeling about this," was Luke's comment.

Abruptly the usually calm Kenobi was shouting. "Turn the  ship  around!
Let's get out of here!"

"Yes, I think you're right, old man. Full reverse, Chewie."

The Wookiee started adjusting controls, and  the  freighter  seemed  to
slow, arcing around in a broad curve.  The  tiny  fighter  leaped  instantly
toward the monstrous station until it was swallowed up by  its  overpowering
bulk.

Chewbacca chattered something at Solo as the ship  shook  and  strained
against unseen forces.

"Lock in auxiliary power!" Solo ordered.

Gauges began to whine in protest, and by ones and twos every instrument
on the control console sequentially went berserk.  Try  as  he  might,  Solo
couldn't keep the surface of the gargantuan station  from  looming  steadily
larger, larger-until it became the heavens.

Luke stared wildly at secondary installations as big as mountains, dish
antennae larger than all of Mos Eisley. "Why are we still moving toward it?"

"Too late," Kenobi whispered softly. A glance  at  Solo  confirmed  his
concern.

"We're caught in a tractor beam-strongest one I ever saw. It's dragging
us in," the pilot muttered.

"You  mean,  there's  nothing  you  can  do?"   Luke   asked,   feeling
unbelievably helpless.

Solo studied the overloaded sensor readouts and shook  his  head.  "Not
against this kind of power. I'm on full power  myself,  kid,  and  it's  not
shifting out of course a fraction of a degree. It's no  use.  I'm  going  to
have to shut down or we'll melt our engines. But they're not going  to  suck
me up like so much dust without a fight!"

He started to vacate the pilot's chair, but was restrained by  an  aged
yet powerful hand on his shoulder. An expression of concern was on  the  old
man's face-and yet, a suggestion of something somewhat less funereal.

"If it's a  fight  you  cannot  win-well,  my  boy,  there  are  always
alternatives to fighting..."

The true size of the battle station became apparent  as  the  freighter
was pulled closer and closer. Running around the station's  equator  was  an
artificial cluster of metal mountains, docking  ports  stretching  beckoning
fingers nearly two kilometers above the surface.

Now only a minuscule speck against the gray bulk of  the  station,  the
Millennium Falcon was sucked  toward  one  of  those  steel  pseudopods  and
finally swallowed by it. A lake of metal closed off the  entryway,  and  the
freighter vanished as if it had never existed.

Vader  stared  at  the  motley  array  of  stars   displayed   on   the
conference-room  map  while  Tarkin  and  Admiral  Motti  conferred  nearby.
Interestingly, the first use of the most powerful destructive  machine  ever
constructed had seemingly had no influence at all  on  that  map,  which  in
itself represented only a tiny fraction of this section of one  modest-sized
galaxy.

It would take a microbreakdown of a portion of this  map  to  reveal  a
slight reduction in spatial mass, caused by the disappearance  of  Alderaan.
Alderaan, with its many cities, farms, factories,  and  towns-and  traitors,
Vader reminded himself.

Despite  his  advances   and   intricate   technological   methods   of
annihilation, the actions of mankind remained unnoticeable to  an  uncaring,
unimaginably vast universe. If Vader's grandest plans ever came to pass, all
that would change.

He was well aware that despite all their intelligence  and  drive,  the
vastness and wonder were lost on  the  two  men  who  continued  to  chatter
monkeylike behind him. Tarkin and Motti were  talented  and  ambitious,  but
they saw things only on the scale of human pettiness. It was a  pity,  Vader
thought, that they did not possess the scope to match their abilities.

Still, neither man was a Dark Lord.  As  such,  little  more  could  be
expected of them. These two were useful  now.  and  dangerous,  but  someday
they, like Alderaan, would have to be swept aside.  For  now  he  could  not
afford to ignore them. And while he would  have  preferred  the  company  of
equals, he had to admit reluctantly that at this point, he had no equals.

Nonetheless, he turned  to  them  and  insinuated  himself  into  their
conversation. "The  defense  systems  on  Alderaan,  despite  the  Senator's
protestations to the contrary, were as strong as any in the Empire. I should
conclude that our demonstration was as impressive as it was thorough."

Tarkin turned to him, nodding. "The Senate is  being  informed  of  our
action  at  this  very  moment.  Soon  we  will  be  able  to  announce  the
extermination of the Alliance itself, as soon as we have  dealt  with  their
main military base. Now that their main source of munitions,  Alderaan,  has
been eliminated, the rest of those systems  with  secessionist  inclinations
will fall in line quickly enough, you'll see."

Tarkin turned as an Imperial officer entered the chamber. "Yes, what is
it, Cass?"

The unlucky officer wore the expression of the mouse chosen to bell the
cat.  "Governor,  the  advance  scouts  have  reached  and   circumnavigated
Dantooine. They have found  the  remains  of  a  rebel  base...  which  they
estimate has  been  deserted  for  some  time.  Years,  possibly.  They  are
proceeding with an extensive survey of the remainder of the system."

Tarkin turned apoplectic, his face  darkening  to  a  fine  pomegranate
fury. "She lied! She lied to us!"

No one could see, but it seemed that Vader must have smiled behind  his
mask. "Then we are even in the first exchange of 'truths.' I  told  you  she
would never betray the rebellion-unless she  thought  her  confession  could
somehow destroy us in the process."

"Terminate her immediately!" The  Governor  was  barely  able  to  form
words.

"Calm yourself, Tarkin," Vader advised him. "You would throw  away  our
only link to the real rebel base so casually? She can still be of  value  to
us."

"Fagh! You just said it yourself, Vader: we'll get nothing more out  of
her. I'll find that hidden fortress if I have to destroy every  star  system
in this sector. I'll-"

A quiet yet demanding beep interrupted him.

"Yes, what is it?" he inquired irritably.

A voice reported over an unseen speaker. "Sirs, we've captured a  small
freighter that was entering  the  remains  of  Alderaan.  A  standard  check
indicates that its markings apparently match that of the ship which  blasted
its way out of the quarantine at Mos Eisley, Tatooine system, and went hyper
before the Imperial blockade craft there could close on it."

Tarkin looked puzzled. "Mos Eisley? Tatooine? What is this? What's this
all about, Vader?"

"It means, Tarkin, that the last  of  our  unresolved  difficulties  is
about to be eliminated. Someone apparently received the missing data  tapes,
learned who transcribed them, and was trying to return them to her.  We  may
be able to facilitate their meeting with the Senator."

Tarkin  started  to  say   something,   hesitated,   then   nodded   in
understanding. "How convenient. I leave this matter in your hands, Vader."

The Dark Lord bowed slightly, a gesture which Tarkin acknowledged  with
a perfunctory salute. Then he spun and strode from the room,  leaving  Motti
looking from man to man in confusion.

The freighter sat listlessly in the docking hangar  of  the  huge  bay.
Thirty armed Imperial troopers stood before the lowered  main  ramp  leading
into the ship.  They  snapped  to  attention  when  Vader  and  a  Commander
approached. Vader halted at the base of the ramp, studying the vessel as  an
officer and several soldiers came forward.

"There was no reply to our repeated signals, sir, so we  activated  the
ramp from outside. We've made  no  contact  with  anyone  aboard  either  by
communicator or in person," the officer reported.

"Send your men in," Vader ordered.

Turning, the officer relayed  the  command  to  a  noncom,  who  barked
orders. A number of the heavily armored soldiers made their way up the  ramp
and entered the outer hold. They advanced with appreciable caution.

Inside, two men covered a third as he advanced.  Moving  in  groups  of
three in this fashion, they rapidly spread through the ship. Corridors  rang
hollowly under metal-shod feet, and doors slid aside willingly as they  were
activated.

"Empty," the Sergeant in charge finally declared  in  surprise.  "Check
the cockpit."

Several troopers made their way forward and slid the portal aside, only
to discover the pilot's chairs as vacant as the rest of the  freighter.  The
controls were deactivated and all systems shut down. Only a single light  on
the console  winked  on  and  off  fitfully.  The  Sergeant  moved  forward,
recognized the source of the light, and activated the appropriate  controls.
A printout appeared on a nearby screen. He studied it intently, then  turned
to convey the information to his superior,  who  was  waiting  by  the  main
hatch.

That worthy listened carefully before he turned and called down to  the
Commander and Vader. "There  is  no  one  aboard;  the  ship  is  completely
deserted, sirs. According  to  the  ship's  log,  her  crew  abandoned  ship
immediately after lift-off, then set her on automatics for Alderaan."

"Possibly a decoy," the Commander ventured  aloud.  "Then  they  should
still be on Tatooine!"

"Possibly," Vader admitted reluctantly.

"Several of the escape pods have been jettisoned," the officer went on.

"Did you find any droids on board?" Vader called.

"No, sir-nothing. If there were any, they must have abandoned the  ship
along with the organic crew."

Vader hesitated before  replying.  When  he  did  so,  uncertainty  was
evident in his voice. "This  doesn't  feel  right.  Send  a  fully  equipped
scanning team on board. I want every centimeter of that  ship  checked  out.
See to it as soon as possible." With that, he whirled and stalked  from  the
hangar, pursued by the infuriating feeling that he was overlooking something
of vital importance.

The rest of the assembled soldiers were dismissed by  the  officer.  On
board the freighter, a last lone figure left off examining the space beneath
the cockpit consoles and ran to join his comrades. He was anxious to be  off
this ghost ship and back in the comfortable surroundings  of  the  barracks.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the once more empty freighter.

Below, the muffled sounds of the officer  giving  final  orders  faded,
leaving the interior in complete quiet. The quivering of a  portion  of  the
floor was the only movement on board.

Abruptly the quivering became a sharp upheaval. Two metal panels popped
upward, followed by a pair of tousled heads. Han Solo and Luke looked around
quickly, then managed to relax a little when it became clear that  the  ship
was as empty as it sounded.

"Lucky you'd built these compartments," Luke commented.

Solo was not as  cheerily  confident.  "Where  did  you  think  I  kept
smuggled goods-in the main hold? I admit I never expected to smuggle  myself
in them." He started violently at a sudden sound, but it was only another of
the panels shifting aside.

"This is ridiculous. It isn't going to work. Even if I could  take  off
and get past the closed hatch"-he jabbed a thumb upward-"we'd never get past
that tractor beam."

Another panel opened, revealing the face of an elderly imp. "You  leave
that to me."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," muttered Solo. "You're  a
damn fool, old man."

Kenobi grinned at him. "What does  that  say  of  the  man  who  allows
himself to be hired by a fool?"

Solo muttered something under his  breath  as  they  pulled  themselves
clear of the compartments, Chewbacca doing so with a good deal  of  grunting
and twisting.

Two technicians had arrived at the base of the ramp. They  reported  to
the two bored soldiers guarding it.

"The ship's all yours," one of the troopers told them. "If the scanners
pick up anything, report it immediately."

The men nodded, then strained to lug their heavy equipment up the ramp.
As soon as they disappeared inside, a loud  crash  was  heard.  Both  guards
whirled, then heard a voice call, "Hey, down there, could you give us a hand
with this?"

One trooper looked at his companion, who shrugged. They both started up
the ramp, muttering at  the  inefficiency  of  mere  technicians.  A  second
crashing sound reverberated, but now there was no one left to hear it.

But the absence of the two troopers was  noticed,  soon  thereafter.  A
gantry officer passing the  window  of  a  small  command  office  near  the
freighter entrance glanced out, frowning when he saw no sign of the  guards.
Concerned but not alarmed, he moved to a comlink and spoke  into  it  as  he
continued to stare at the ship.

"THX-1138, why aren't you at your post? THX- 1138, do you copy?"

The speaker gave back only static.

"THX-1138, why don't you reply?" The officer  was  beginning  to  panic
when an armored figure descended the ramp and waved toward him. Pointing  to
the portion of his helmet covering his right ear, the figured tapped  it  to
indicate the comlink inside wasn't working.

Shaking his head in disgust, the gantry officer gave his busy  aide  an
annoyed look as he made for the door. "Take over here. We've got another bad
transmitter. I'm going to see what I can do." He activated the door, took  a
step forward as it slid aside-and stumbled backward in a state of shock.

Filling the door completely was a towering hairy form. Chewbacca leaned
inward and with a bone splintering howl flattened the benumbed officer  with
one swipe of a pan-sized fist.

The aide was already on his feet and reaching for his  sidearm  when  a
narrow energy beam passed completely through him, piercing his  heart.  Solo
flipped up the faceplate of his trooper helmet, then slid it back into place
as he followed the Wookiee into the room. Kenobi and the droids squeezed  in
behind him, with Luke, also  clad  in  the  armor  of  a  luckless  Imperial
soldier, bringing up the rear.

Luke was looking around nervously as he  shut  the  door  behind  them.
"Between his howling and your blasting everything in sight,  it's  a  wonder
the entire station doesn't know we're here."

"Bring 'em on," Solo demanded, unreasonably enthused by  their  success
so far. "I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around."

"Maybe you're in a hurry to die," Luke snapped, "but I'm not. All  this
sneaking around has kept us alive."

The Corellian gave Luke a sour eye but said nothing.

They watched as Kenobi operated an incredibly complex computer  console
with the ease and confidence of one long accustomed  to  handling  intricate
machinery. A screen lit up promptly with a map of  sections  of  the  battle
station. The old man leaned forward, scrutinizing the display carefully.

Meanwhile,  Threepio  and  Artoo  had  been  going  over   an   equally
complicated control panel nearby. Artoo suddenly froze and  began  whistling
wildly  at  something  he  had  found.  Solo  and  Luke,   their   momentary
disagreement over tactics forgotten, rushed over to where  the  robots  were
standing. Chewbacca busied himself hanging the  gantry  officer  up  by  his
toes.

"Plug him in," Kenobi suggested, looking over from his place before the
larger readout. "He should be able  to  draw  information  from  the  entire
station network. Let's see if he can find out where the  tractor-beam  power
unit is located."

"Why not just disconnect the beam from here, sir?" Luke wanted to know.

It was Solo who replied derisively, "What, and have them lock it  right
back on us before we can get a ship's length outside the docking bay?"

Luke looked crestfallen. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

"We have to break the tractor at its power source in order to execute a
clean escape, Luke," old Ben chided gently as Artoo punched a claw arm  into
the open computer socket he had discovered. Immediately a galaxy  of  lights
came to life on the panel in front of him and the room was filled  with  the
hum of machinery working at high speed.

Several minutes passed while the little  droid  sucked  up  information
like a metal sponge. Then the hum slowed and he  turned  to  beep  something
back at them.

"He's found it, sir!" Threepio announced excitedly.

"The tractor beam is coupled to the main reactors at  seven  locations.
Most of the pertinent data is restricted, but he'll try to pull the critical
information through to the monitor."

Kenobi turned his attention from the larger screen to a  small  readout
near Artoo. Data began to race across it too  fast  for  Luke  to  see,  but
apparently Kenobi somehow made something of the  schematic  blur.  "I  don't
think there's any way you boys can help with this," he told them. "I must go
alone."

"That suits me fine," said Solo readily. "I've already done more than I
bargained for on this trip. But I think putting that  tractor  beam  out  of
commission's going to take more than your magic, old man."

Luke wasn't put off so easily. "I want to go with you."

"Don't be impatient, young Luke. This requires skills you  haven't  yet
mastered. Stay and watch over the droids and wait for my signal.  They  must
be delivered to the rebel forces or many more worlds will meet the same fate
as Alderaan. Trust in the force, Luke-and wait."

With a last look at the flow of  information  on  the  monitor,  Kenobi
adjusted the lightsaber at his waist. Stepping  to  the  door,  he  slid  it
aside, looked once left, once right, and disappeared down  a  long,  glowing
hallway.

As soon as he was gone Chewbacca growled  and  Solo  nodded  agreement.
"You said it, Chewie!" He turned to Luke.  "Where'd  you  dig  up  that  old
fossil?"

"Ben Kenobi-General Kenobi-is a great man," Luke protested loftily.

"Great  at  getting  us  into  trouble,"  Solo  snorted.  "General,  my
afterburners! He's not going to get us out of here."

"You got any better ideas?" Luke shot back challengingly.

"Anything would be better than just waiting here for them to  come  and
pick us up. If we-"

A hysterical whistling and hooting came from the computer console. Luke
hurried over to Artoo Detoo. The little droid was all but hopping  about  on
stubby legs.

"What now?" Luke asked Threepio.

The taller robot looked puzzled himself. "I'm afraid I don't understand
either, sir. He says, 'I found her,' and keeps repeating, 'She's here, she's
here!' "

"Who? Who has he found?"

Artoo turned a flat blinking face toward Luke and whistled frantically.

"Princess Leia," Threepio announced after listening carefully. "Senator
Organa-they seem to be one and the same. I believe she may be the person  in
the message he was carrying."

That three-dimensional portrait of indescribable  beauty  coalesced  in
Luke's mind again. "The Princess? She's here?"

Attracted by the commotion, Solo wandered over. "Princess? What's going
on?"

"Where? Where  is  she?"  Luke  demanded  breathlessly,  ignoring  Solo
completely.

Artoo whistled on while Threepio  translated.  "Level  five,  detention
block AA-23. According  to  the  information,  she  is  scheduled  for  slow
termination."

"No! We've got to do something."

"What are you three blabbering about?" an exasperated Solo demanded.

"She's the one who programmed  the  message  into  Artoo  Detoo,"  Luke
explained hurriedly, "the one we were trying to deliver to  Alderaan.  We've
got to help her."

"Now, just a minute," Solo cautioned him. "This is going awful fast for
me. Don't get any funny ideas. When I said I didn't have any 'better  ideas'
I meant it. The old man said to wait here. I don't  like  it,  but  I'm  not
going off on some crazy maze through this place."

"But Ben didn't know she was here," Luke  half  pleaded,  half  argued.
"I'm sure that if he knew he would have changed his plans."

Anxiety turned to thoughtfulness. "Now, if we could just figure  a  way
to get into that detention block."

Solo shook his head and stepped back. "Huh-uh-I'm not  going  into  any
Imperial detention blocks."

"If we don't do something, they're going to execute her. A  minute  ago
you said you didn't just want to sit here and wait to be captured.  Now  all
you want to do is stay. Which is it, Han?"

The Corellian looked troubled-and confused. "Marching into a  detention
area's not what I had in mind. We're likely to end up there anyway-why  rush
it?"

"But they're going to execute her!"

"Better her than me."

"Where's your sense of chivalry, Han?"

Solo considered. "Near as I can recall, I traded  it  for  a  ten-carat
chrysopaz and  three  bottles  of  good  brandy  about  five  years  ago  on
Commenor."

"I've seen her," Luke persisted desperately. "She's beautiful."

"So's life."

"She's a rich and powerful Senator," Luke pressed, hoping an appeal  to
Solo's baser instincts might be more effective. "If we could save  her,  the
reward could be substantial."

"Uh... rich?" Then Solo looked disdainful. "Wait  a  minute...  Reward,
from whom? From the government on Alderaan?"  He  made  a  sweeping  gesture
toward the hangar and by implication  the  space  where  Alderaan  had  once
orbited.

Luke thought furiously. "If she's being held here and is  scheduled  to
be executed, that means she  must  be  dangerous  in  some  way  to  whoever
destroyed Alderaan, to whoever had this station built. You can  bet  it  had
something to do with the Empire instituting a reign of full repression.

"I'll tell you who'll pay for her rescue, and for the  information  she
holds. The Senate, the rebel Alliance, and every concern that  did  business
with Alderaan. She could be the sole surviving heir of the off-world  wealth
of the entire system! The reward could be more wealth than you can imagine."

"I don't know... I can imagine quite a bit." He glanced  at  Chewbacca,
who grunted a terse reply. Solo shrugged  back  at  the  big  Wookiee.  "All
right, we'll give it a try. But you'd better be  right  about  that  reward.
What's your plan, kid?"

Luke was momentarily taken aback. All his energies up till now had been
concentrated on persuading Solo and Chewbacca to aid in  a  rescue  attempt.
That accomplished, Luke became aware he had no idea how to proceed.  He  had
grown used to old Ben and Solo giving directions. Now the next move  was  up
to him.

His eyes were caught by several metal circlets dangling from  the  belt
of Solo's armor. "Give me those binders and  tell  Chewbacca  to  come  over
here."

Solo handed Luke the thin but quite unbreakable cuffs and  relayed  the
request to Chewbacca. The Wookiee lumbered over and stood  waiting  next  to
Luke.

"Now, I'm going to put these on you,"  Luke  began,  starting  to  move
behind the Wookiee with the cuffs, "and-"

Chewbacca made a sound low in his throat, and Luke jumped in  spite  of
himself. "Now," he began again, "Han is going to put these on you and..." He
sheepishly handed the binders to Solo, uncomfortably aware of  the  enormous
anthropoid's glowing eyes on him.

Solo sounded amused as he moved forward. "Don't worry, Chewie. I  think
I know what he has in mind."

The cuffs barely fit around the thick  wrists.  Despite  his  partner's
seeming confidence in the plan, the Wookiee wore a worried, frightened  look
as the restraints were activated.

"Luke, sir." Luke looked over at Threepio. "Pardon me for asking,  but,
ah-what should Artoo and I do if someone discovers us here in your absence?"

"Hope they don't have blasters," Solo replied.

Threepio's tone indicated he didn't find  the  answer  humorous.  "That
isn't very reassuring."

Solo and Luke were too engrossed in their coming expedition to pay much
attention to the worried robot. They  adjusted  their  helmets.  Then,  with
Chewbacca wearing a half-real downcast expression, they  started  off  along
the corridor where Ben Kenobi had disappeared.

= IX =

AS they traveled farther and deeper into the  bowels  of  the  gigantic
station, they found it increasingly difficult to maintain an air  of  casual
indifference. Fortunately, those who might have sensed some  nervousness  on
the part of the two armored  troopers  would  regard  it  as  only  natural,
considering their huge, dangerous Wookiee captive. Chewbacca  also  made  it
impossible for the two young men to be as inconspicuous as they  would  have
liked.

The farther they  traveled,  the  heavier  the  traffic  became.  Other
soldiers, bureaucrats, technicians, and  mechanicals  bustled  around  them.
Intent on their own assignments, they ignored the trio  completely,  only  a
few of the humans sparing the Wookiee a curious glance.  Chewbacca's  morose
expression  and  the  seeming  confidence  of  his  captors  reassured   the
inquisitive.

Eventually they reached a wide bank of elevators. Luke breathed a  sigh
of relief. The computer-controlled transport ought to be capable  of  taking
them just about anywhere on the station in response to a verbal command.

There was a nervous second when a minor official raced to  get  aboard.
Solo gestured sharply, and the other, without voicing a protest, shifted  to
the next elevator tube in line.

Luke  studied  the  operating  panel,  then  tried  to  sound  at  once
knowledgeable and important as he spoke into the pickup grid.

Instead, he  sounded  nervous  and  scared,  but  the  elevator  was  a
pure-response mechanism, not programmed to differentiate the appropriateness
of emotions conveyed vocally. So the door slid shut and they were  on  their
way. After what felt like hours but was in reality only  minutes,  the  door
opened and they stepped out into the security area.

It had  been  Luke's  hope  they  would  discover  something  like  the
old-fashioned barred cells of the kind used on Tatooine in  towns  like  Mos
Eisley.  Instead,  they  saw  only  narrow  ramps  bordering  a   bottomless
ventilation shaft. These walkways, several levels of them, ran  parallel  to
smooth curving walls which  held  faceless  detention  cells.  Alert-looking
guards and energy gates seemed to be everywhere they looked.

Uncomfortably aware that the longer they stood  frozen  in  place,  the
sooner someone was bound to come over and ask unanswerable  questions,  Luke
searched frantically for a course of action.

"This isn't going to work," Solo whispered, leaning toward him.

"Why didn't you say so before?"  a  frustrated,  frightened  Luke  shot
back.

"I think I did. I-"

"Shssh!"

Solo shut up as Luke's worst fears were realized. A tall,  grim-looking
officer approached them. He frowned as he examined the silent Chewbacca.

"Where are you two going with this-thing?"

Chewbacca snarled at the remark, and Solo quieted him with a hasty  jab
in the ribs. A panicky Luke found  himself  replying  almost  instinctively.
"Prisoner transfer from block TS-138."

The officer looked puzzled. "I wasn't notified. I'll have to clear it."

Turning, the man walked to a small console nearby  and  began  entering
his request. Luke and Han  hurriedly  surveyed  the  situation,  their  gaze
traveling from alarms, energy gates, and remote photosensors  to  the  three
other guards stationed in the area.

Solo nodded to  Luke  as  he  unfastened  Chewbacca's  cuffs.  Then  he
whispered something to the Wookiee. An ear-splitting howl shook the corridor
as Chewbacca threw up both hands, grabbing Solo's rifle from him.

"Look out!" a seemingly terrified Solo shouted. "It's loose. It'll  rip
us all apart!"

Both he and Luke had darted clear of the rampaging Wookiee, pulled  out
their pistols, and were blasting away at him. Their reaction was  excellent,
their enthusiasm undeniable, and their aim execrable. Not a single shot came
close to the dodging  Wookiee.  Instead,  they  blasted  automatic  cameras,
energy-rate controls, and the three dumbfounded guards.

At this point it occurred to the officer in charge that the  abominable
aim of the two  soldiers  was  a  bit  too  selectively  efficient.  He  was
preparing to jab the general alarm when a burst from  Luke's  pistol  caught
him in the midsection and he fell without a word to the gray deck.

Solo rushed to the open comlink speaker, which was  screeching  anxious
questions about what was going on. Apparently there were audio  as  well  as
visual links between this detention station and elsewhere.

Ignoring the barrage of alternate threats and queries, he  checked  the
readout set in the panel nearby. "We've got to  find  out  which  cell  this
Princess of yours is in. There must be a dozen levels and- Here it is.  Cell
2187. Go on-Chewie and I'll hold them here."

Luke nodded once and was racing down the narrow walkway.

After gesturing for the Wookiee to take up a position  where  he  could
cover the elevators, Solo took a deep breath and responded to the  unceasing
calls from the comlink.

"Everything's  under  control,"  he  said  into  the  pickup,  sounding
reasonably official. "Situation normal."

"It didn't sound like that," a voice  snapped  back  in  a  no-nonsense
tone. "What happened?"

"Uh, well, one of the guards experienced a  weapon  malfunction,"  Solo
stammered, his temporary officialese lapsing into nervousness.  "No  problem
now-we're all fine, thanks. How about you?"

"We're sending a squad up," the voice announced suddenly.

Han could almost smell the suspicion at the other end. What to say?  He
spoke more eloquently with the business end of a pistol.

"Negative-negative. We have an energy leak. Give us a  few  minutes  to
lock it down. Large leak-very dangerous."

"Weapon  malfunction,  energy  leak...  Who  is   this?   What's   your
operating-?"

Pointing his pistol at the panels, Solo  blew  the  instrumentation  to
silent scraps. "It was a dumb conversation anyway," he murmured. Turning, he
shouted down the corridor, "Hurry it up, Luke! We're going to have company."

Luke heard, but he was absorbed in running from one cell  to  the  next
and studying the numbers glowing above  each  doorway.  The  cell  2187,  it
appeared, did not exist. But it did, and he found it just as he was about to
give up and try the next level down.

For a long moment  he  examined  the  featureless  convex  metal  wall.
Turning his pistol to maximum and hoping it wouldn't melt in his hand before
it broke through, he opened fire on the door. When the weapon became too hot
to hold, he tossed it from hand to hand. As he did so the smoke had time  to
clear, and he saw with some surprise that the door had been blown away.

Peering through the smoke with an uncomprehending look on her face  was
the young woman whose portrait Artoo Detoo had  projected  in  a  garage  on
Tatooine several centuries ago, or so it seemed.

She was even more beautiful  than  her  image,  Luke  decided,  staring
dazedly at her. "You're even-more beautiful-than I-"

Her look of confusion and uncertainty was replaced by first  puzzlement
and then impatience. "Aren't you a little short for a  storm  trooper?"  she
finally commented.

"What? Oh-the uniform." He  removed  the  helmet,  regaining  a  little
composure at the same time. "I've come to rescue you. I'm Luke Skywalker."

"I beg your pardon?" she said politely.

"I said, I've come to rescue you. Ben Kenobi is with me. We've got your
two droids-"

The uncertainty was instantly replaced by hope at the  mention  of  the
oldster's name. "Ben Kenobi!" She looked around Luke, ignoring  him  as  she
searched for the Jedi. "Where is he? Obi-Wan!"

Governor Tarkin watched as Darth Vader paced rapidly back and forth  in
the otherwise empty conference room. Finally the Dark Lord paused,  glancing
around as though a great bell only he could hear had  rung  somewhere  close
by.

"He is here," Vader stated unemotionally.

Tarkin looked startled. "Obi-Wan Kenobi! That's impossible. What  makes
you think so?"

"A stirring in the Force, of a kind I've felt only in the  presence  of
my old master. It is unmistakable."

"Surely-surely he must be dead by now."

Vader hesitated, his assurance suddenly gone. "Perhaps...  It  is  gone
now. It was only a brief sensation."

"The Jedi are extinct," declared Tarkin  positively.  "Their  fire  was
quenched decades ago. You, my friend, are all that's left of their ways."

A comlink buzzed softly for attention. "Yes?" Tarkin acknowledged.

"We have an emergency alert in detention block AA-23."

"The Princess!" Tarkin yelped, jumping  to  his  feet.  Vader  whirled,
trying to stare through the walls.

"I knew it-Obi-Wan is here. I knew I could not mistake  a  stirring  in
the force of such power."

"Put all sections on alert," Tarkin ordered through the  comlink.  Then
he turned to stare at Vader. "If you're right, he must  not  be  allowed  to
escape."

"Escape  may  not  be  Obi-Wan  Kenobi's  intention,"  Vader   replied,
struggling to control his emotions. "He is the  last  of  the  Jedi-and  the
greatest. The danger he presents to us must not be underestimated-yet only I
can deal with him." His head snapped around  to  stare  fixedly  at  Tarkin.
"Alone."

Luke and Leia had started  back  up  the  corridor  when  a  series  of
blinding explosions ripped the walkway ahead of them. Several  troopers  had
tried coming through the elevator, only to be crisped one after  another  by
Chewbacca. Disdaining the elevators, they had blasted a gaping hole  through
a wall. The opening  was  too  large  for  Solo  and  the  Wookie  to  cover
completely. In twos and threes, the Imperials were working  their  way  into
the detention block.

Retreating down the walkway, Han and Chewbacca encountered Luke and the
Princess. "We can't go back that way!" Solo told them, his face flushed with
excitement and worry.

"No, it looks like you've managed to cut off our  only  escape  route,"
Leia agreed readily. "This is a detention area, you know. They  don't  build
them with multiple exits."

Breathing heavily, Solo turned to look her up and down.  "Begging  your
forgiveness, Your Highness," he said sarcastically, "but maybe you'd  prefer
it back in your cell?" She looked away, her face impassive.

"There's got to be another way out," Luke  muttered,  pulling  a  small
transmitter unit from his belt and carefully adjusting the  frequency:  "See
Threepio... See Threepio!"

A familiar voice responded with gratifying speed. "Yes, sir?"

"We've been cut off here. Are there any other ways out of the detention
area-anything at all?"

Static crackled over the tiny grid  as  Solo  and  Chewbacca  kept  the
Imperial troops bottled up at the other end of the walkway.

"What was that...? I didn't copy."

Back in the gantry office Artoo Detoo beeped and  whistled  frantically
as Threepio adjusted controls, fighting to clear the  awkward  transmission.
"I said, all systems have been alerted to your presence, sir. The main entry
seems to be the  only  way  in  or  out  of  the  cell  block."  He  pressed
instruments, and the view on the  nearby  readouts  changed  steadily.  "All
ether information on your section is restricted."

Someone began banging on the locked door to the office-evenly at  first
and then, when no response was forthcoming from within, more insistently.

"Oh, no!" Threepio groaned.

The smoke in the cell corridor was now so intense that it was difficult
for Solo and Chewbacca to pick their targets. That was fortunate inasmuch as
they were now badly outnumbered and the smoke confused the  Imperials'  fire
with equal thoroughness.

Every so often one of the soldiers would attempt to move  closer,  only
to stand exposed as he penetrated the smoke. Under the accurate fire of  the
two smugglers, he would rapidly join the  accumulating  mass  of  motionless
figures on the rampway flooring.

Energy bolts continued to ricochet wildly through  the  block  as  Luke
moved close to Solo.

"There isn't any other way out," he yelled over the deafening  roar  of
concentrated fire.

"Well, they're closing in on us. What do we do now?"

"This is some rescue," an irritated voice complained from behind  them.
Both men turned to see a thoroughly  disgusted  Princess  eyeing  them  with
regal disapproval. "When you came in  here,  didn't  you  have  a  plan  for
getting out?"

Solo nodded toward Luke. "He's the brains, sweetheart."

Luke managed an embarrassed grin and shrugged helplessly. He turned  to
help return fire, but before he could do so, the Princess had  snatched  the
pistol from his hand.

"Hey!"

Luke stared as she moved along the wall, finally locating a small grate
nearby. She pointed the pistol at it and fired.

Solo gazed at her in disbelief. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It looks like it's up to me to save our skins. Get into  that  garbage
chute, flyboy!"

While the others looked on in amazement, she jumped feet first into the
opening and disappeared. Chewbacca rumbled threateningly,  but  Solo  slowly
shook his head.

"No, Chewie, I don't want you to rip her apart. I'm not sure about  her
yet. Either I'm beginning to like her, or I'm going to kill her myself." The
Wookiee snorted something else, and Solo yelled back at him, "Go on in,  you
furry oaf! I don't care what you smell. This is no time to go dainty on me."

Shoving the reluctant Wookiee toward the tiny opening, Solo helped  jam
the massive bulk through. As soon as he disappeared, the Corellian  followed
him in. Luke fired off a last series of blasts, more in the hope of creating
a covering smoke than hitting anything, slid into the chute, and was gone.

Not wanting to incur further losses  in  such  a  confined  space,  the
pursuing  soldiers  had  momentarily  halted  to  await   the   arrival   of
reinforcements and heavier weapons. Besides, they had their quarry  trapped,
and despite their dedication, none of them were anxious to die needlessly.

The chamber Luke tumbled into was dimly lit. Not  that  the  light  was
needed to discern its contents. He smelled the  decay  long  before  he  was
dumped into it. Unadorned except for the concealed illuminants, the  garbage
room was at least a quarter full of slimy muck, much of  which  had  already
achieved a state of decomposition sufficient to wrinkle Luke's nose.

Solo was stumbling around the edge of the room, slipping and sinking up
to his knees in the uncertain footing in an attempt to locate an  exit.  All
he found was a small, thick hatchway which he  grunted  and  heaved  to  pry
open. The hatchcover refused to budge.

"The garbage  chute  was  a  wonderful  idea,"  he  told  the  Princess
sardonically, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "What an incredible  smell
you've discovered. Unfortunately, we can't ride out of here  on  a  drifting
odor, and there doesn't seem to be any other exit. Unless  I  can  get  this
hatch open."

Stepping back, he pulled his pistol and fired at the  cover.  The  bolt
promptly went howling around the  room  as  everyone  sought  cover  in  the
garbage. A last glance and the bolt detonated almost on top of them.

Looking less dignified by the moment, Leia was the first to emerge from
the pungent cover. "Put that thing away," she told Solo grimly,  "or  you're
going to get us all killed."

"Yes, Your Worship," Solo muttered in snide supplication.  He  made  no
move to reholster his weapon as he glanced back up  toward  the  open  chute
above. "It won't take long for them to figure out what happened  to  us.  We
had things well under control-until you led us down here."

"Sure you did," she shot  back,  brushing  refuse  from  her  hair  and
shoulders. "Oh, well, it could be worse-"

As if in reply, a piercing, horrible moaning filled the room. It seemed
to come from somewhere beneath them. Chewbacca let out a terrified  yowl  of
his own and tried to flatten himself against  a  wall.  Luke  drew  his  own
pistol and peered hard at various clumps of debris, but saw nothing.

"What was that?" Solo asked.

"I'm not too sure." Luke suddenly jumped, looking down and behind  him.
"Something just moved past me, I think. Watch out-"

With shocking  suddenness  Luke  disappeared  straight  down  into  the
garbage.

"It's got Luke!" the Princess shouted. "It took him under!" Solo looked
around frantically for something to shoot at.

As abruptly as he had vanished, Luke  reappeared-and  so  did  part  of
something else. A thick  whitish  tentacle  was  wrapped  tight  around  his
throat.

"Shoot it, kill it!" Luke screamed.

"Shoot it! I can't even see it," Solo protested.

Once again Luke was sucked under by whatever  that  gruesome  appendage
was attached to. Solo stared helplessly around the multicolored surface.

There was a distant rumble of heavy machinery, and two  opposing  walls
of the chamber moved inward several centimeters. The rumble ceased and  then
it was quiet again. Luke appeared unexpectedly close to Solo, scrabbling his
way clear of the suffocating mess and rubbing at the welt on his neck.

"What happened to it?" Leia  wondered,  eyeing  the  quiescent  garbage
warily.

Luke looked genuinely puzzled. "I don't know. It had me-and then I  was
free. It just let me go and disappeared. Maybe I didn't smell bad enough for
it."

"I've got a very bad feeling about this," Solo murmured.

Again the distant rumble filled the room; again the walls  began  their
inward march. Only this time neither sound nor movement showed any  sign  of
stopping.

"Don't just stand there gaping at each other!" the Princess urged them.
"Try to brace them with something."

Even with the thick poles and old metal beams Chewbacca  could  handle,
they were unable to find anything capable of slowing the walls' advance.  It
seemed as if the stronger the object was that they placed against the walls,
the easier it was snapped.

Luke pulled out his comlink, simultaneously trying to talk and will the
walls to retreat. Threepio... come in, Threepio!" A decent pause produced no
response, causing Luke to look worriedly at his companions.

"I don't know why he doesn't answer." He tried  again.  "See  Threepio,
come in. Do you read?"

"See Threepio," the muted  voice  continued  to  call,  "come  in,  See
Threepio." It was Luke's voice and it issued softly in between buzzings from
the small hand comlink resting on the deserted computer  console.  Save  for
the intermittent pleading, the gantry office was silent.

A tremendous explosion drowned out the muffled pleadings. It  blew  the
office door clean across the room, sending metal  fragments  flying  in  all
directions. Several of them struck the comlink, sending  it  flying  to  the
floor and cutting off Luke's voice in mid-transmission.

In the wake of the  minor  cataclysm  four  armed  and  ready  troopers
entered through the blown portal. Initial study  indicated  the  office  was
deserted-until a dim, frightened voice was heard coming from one of the tall
supply cabinets near the back of the room.

"Help, help! Let us out!"

Several of the troopers bent to inspect  the  immobile  bodies  of  the
gantry officer and his aide while  others  opened  the  noisy  cabinet.  Two
robots, one tall and humanoid, the other purely mechanical and three-legged,
stepped out into the office. The taller one gave  the  impression  of  being
half unbalanced with fear.

"They're madmen, I tell you, madmen!" He gestured urgently  toward  the
doorway. "I think they said something about heading for  the  prison  level.
They just left. If you hurry, you might catch them. That way, that way!"

Two of the troopers inside joined  those  waiting  in  the  hallway  in
hustling off down the corridor. That left  two  guards  to  watch  over  the
office. They totally ignored the robots as they discussed  what  might  have
taken place.

"All the excitement has overloaded the circuitry in my companion here,"
Threepio explained carefully. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take him  down
to Maintenance."

"Hmmm?" One of the guards looked up indifferently  and  nodded  to  the
robot. Threepio and Artoo hurried out the door without looking back. As they
departed it occurred to the guard that the taller of the two droids was of a
type he had never seen before. He shrugged. That was  not  surprising  on  a
station of this size.

"That was too close," Threepio muttered as they scurried down an  empty
corridor. "Now we'll have to find another  information-control  console  and
plug you back in, or everything is lost."

The garbage chamber grew remorselessly smaller,  the  smoothly  fitting
metal walls moving toward one another with stolid precision.  Larger  pieces
of refuse performed a concerto of  snapping  and  popping  that  was  rising
toward a final shuddering crescendo.

Chewbacca whined  pitifully  as  he  fought  with  all  his  incredible
strength and weight to hold back one of the walls, looking  like  a  hirsute
Tantalus approaching his final summit.

"One thing's for sure," Solo noted unhappily. "We're all  going  to  be
much thinner. This could prove popular for slimming. The only trouble is its
permanence."

Luke paused for breath, shaking the  innocent  comlink  angrily.  "What
could have happened to Threepio?"

"Try the hatch again," advised Leia. "It's our only hope."

Solo shielded his  eyes  and  did  so.  The  ineffectual  blast  echoed
mockingly through the narrowing chamber.

The service bay was unoccupied, everyone apparently having  been  drawn
away by the commotion  elsewhere.  After  a  cautious  survey  of  the  room
Threepio beckoned for Artoo to follow. Together  they  commenced  a  hurried
search of the many service panels. Artoo let out a beep, and Threepio rushed
to him. He waited impatiently as the smaller unit plugged the receptive  arm
carefully into the open socket.

A superfast flurry of electronics spewed in undisciplined fashion  from
the grid of the little droid. Threepio made cautioning motions.

"Wait a minute, slow down!" The sounds  dropped  to  a  crawl.  "That's
better. They're where? They what? Oh, no! They'll only come out of there  as
a liquid!"

Less than a meter of life was left to  the  trapped  occupants  of  the
garbage room. Leia and Solo had been forced to turn sideways, had  ended  up
facing each other. For the first time the  haughtiness  was  gone  from  the
Princess's  face.  Reaching  out,  she  took  Solo's  hand,   clutching   it
convulsively as she felt the first touch of the closing walls.

Luke had fallen and was lying on his side, fighting to  keep  his  head
above the rising ooze. He nearly choked on a mouthful of  compressed  sludge
when his comlink began buzzing for attention.

"Threepio!"

"Are you  there,  sir?"  the  droid  replied.  "We've  had  some  minor
problems. You would not believe-"

"Shut up, Threepio!" Luke screamed into the unit. "And  shut  down  all
the refuse units on the detention level or  immediately  below  it.  Do  you
copy? Shut down the refuse-"

Moments later Threepio grabbed at  his  head  in  pain  as  a  terrific
screeching and yelling sounded over the comlink.

"No, shut them all down!" he implored  Artoo.  "Hurry!  Oh,  listen  to
them-they're dying, Artoo! I curse this metal body of mine. I was  not  fast
enough. It was my fault. My poor master-all of them... no, no, no!"

The screaming and yelling, however, continued far  beyond  what  seemed
like a reasonable interval. In fact, they were shouts of relief.

The chamber walls had reversed  direction  automatically  with  Artoo's
shutdown and were moving apart again.

"Artoo, Threepio," Luke hollered into the  comlink,  "it's  all  right,
we're all right! Do you read me? We're okay-you did just fine."

Brushing distastefully at the  clinging  slime,  he  made  his  way  as
rapidly as possible toward the hatchcover. Bending, he  scraped  accumulated
detritus away, noting the number thus revealed.

"Open the pressure-maintenance hatch on unit 366-117891."

"Yes, sir," came Threepio's acknowledgment.

They may have been the happiest words Luke had ever heard.

= X =

LINED with power cables and  circuitry  conduits  that  rose  from  the
depths and vanished into the heavens, the  service  trench  appeared  to  be
hundreds of kilometers deep. The narrow  catwalk  running  around  one  side
looked like a starched thread glued on a glowing ocean. It was  barely  wide
enough for one man to traverse.

One man edged his way along that  treacherous  walkway  now,  his  gaze
intent on something ahead of him instead of the awesome metal  abyss  below.
The clacking sounds of enormous switching  devices  resounded  like  captive
leviathans in the vast open space, tireless and never sleeping.

Two thick cables joined beneath an overlay panel. It  was  locked,  but
after careful inspection of sides, top and bottom, Ben  Kenobi  pressed  the
panel cover in a particular fashion causing it to spring aside.  A  blinking
computer terminal was revealed beneath.

With equal care he performed several adjustments to the  terminal.  His
actions were rewarded when several indicator lights  on  the  board  changed
from red to blue.

Without warning, a secondary door close behind  him  opened.  Hurriedly
reclosing the panel cover, the old man slipped deeper into  the  shadows.  A
detachment of troopers had appeared in the portal, and the officer in charge
moved to within a couple of meters of the motionless, hidden figure.

"Secure this area until the alert has been cancelled."

As they began to disperse, Kenobi became one with the dark.

Chewbacca grunted and wheezed, and  barely  succeeded  in  forcing  his
thick torso through the hatchway opening with Luke's and Solo's  help.  That
accomplished, Luke turned to take stock of their surroundings.

The hallway they had emerged into showed dust on the floor. It gave the
impression of not having  been  used  since  the  station  had  been  built.
Probably it was only a repair access corridor. He had  no  idea  where  they
were.

Something hit the wall behind them  with  a  massive  thunk,  and  Luke
yelled for everyone to watch out as a long, gelatinous limb worked  its  way
through the hatch and flailed hopefully about in  the  open  corridor.  Solo
aimed his pistol at it  as  Leia  tried  to  slip  past  the  half-paralyzed
Chewbacca.

"Somebody get this big hairy walking carpet out of  my  way."  Suddenly
she noticed what Solo was preparing to do. "No, wait! It'll be heard!"

Solo ignored her and fired at the hatchway. The  burst  of  energy  was
rewarded with a distant roar as an avalanche of weakened  wall  and  beaming
all but buried the creature in the chamber beyond.

Magnified by the narrow corridor, the sounds continued to roll and echo
for long minutes afterward. Luke shook his head in disgust,  realizing  that
someone like Solo who spoke with the mouth of a gun  might  not  always  act
sensibly. Until now he had sort of looked  up  to  the  Corellian.  But  the
senseless gesture of firing at the hatchway brought them, for the first time
in Luke's mind, to the same level.

The Princess's actions  were  more  surprising  than  Solo's,  however.
"Listen," she began, staring up at him, "I don't know where you  came  from,
but I'm grateful." Almost as an  afterthought  she  glanced  back  at  Luke,
adding, "To the both of you." Her attention turned back to Solo.  "But  from
now on you do as I tell you."

Solo gaped at her. This time the smug smile wouldn't come. "Look,  Your
Holiness," he was finally able to stammer, "let's get something straight.  I
take orders only from one person-me."

"It's a wonder you're still alive," she shot  back  smoothly.  A  quick
look down the corridor and she had started determinedly  off  in  the  other
direction.

Solo looked at Luke, started  to  say  something,  then  hesitated  and
simply shook his head slowly. "No reward is worth  this.  I  don't  know  if
there's enough credit in the universe to pay for putting up with her... Hey,
slow down!"

Leia had started around a bend in the corridor, and they ran swiftly to
catch up with her.

The half dozen troops milling around the entrance to the  power  trench
were more interested in discussing the peculiar disturbance in the detention
block than in paying attention to their present boring  duty.  So  engrossed
were they in speculation as to the cause of the trouble that they failed  to
notice the fey wraith behind them. It moved from shadow  to  shadow  like  a
night-stalking ferret, freezing when one of  the  troopers  seemed  to  turn
slightly in its direction, moving on again as if walking on air.

Several minutes later one of the troopers  frowned  inside  his  armor,
turning to where he thought he had sensed a movement near the opening to the
main passageway. There was nothing but an indefinable  something  which  the
ghost-like Kenobi had left behind. Acutely uncomfortable yet  understandably
unwilling to confess to hallucinations, the trooper turned back to the  more
prosaic conversation of his fellows.

Someone finally discovered the  two  unconscious  guards  tied  in  the
service lockers on board the captured freighter. Both men remained  comatose
despite all efforts to revive them.

Under the direction of several  bickering  officers,  troopers  carried
their two armorless comrades down the ramp and toward the  nearest  hospital
bay. On the way they passed two forms hidden by a small open service  panel.
Threepio and Artoo went unnoticed, despite their proximity to the hangar.

As soon as the troops had passed.  Artoo  finished  removing  a  socket
cover and hurriedly shoved his sensor arm into the opening. Lights commenced
a wild flashing on his face and smoke started issuing from several seams  in
the small droid before a frantic Threepio could pull the arm free.

Immediately the smoke vanished, the  undisciplined  blinking  faded  to
normalcy.  Artoo  emitted  a  few  wilted  beeps,  successfully  giving  the
impression of a human who had expected a glass  of  mild  wine  and  instead
unwittingly downed several gulps of something 180 proof.

"Well,  next  time  watch  where  you  stick  your  sensors,"  Threepio
chastised his companion. "You could have fried your insides."  He  eyed  the
socket. "That's a power outlet, stupid, not an information terminal."

Artoo whistled a mournful apology. Together they hunted for the  proper
outlet.

Luke, Solo, Chewbacca, and the Princess reached the  end  of  an  empty
hallway. It dead- ended before a large window  which  overlooked  a  hangar,
giving them a sweeping, tantalizing view of the freighter just below.

Pulling out  his  comlink  and  looking  around  them  with  increasing
nervousness, Luke spoke into the pickup. "See Threepio... do you copy?"

There was a threatening pause, then,  "I  read  you,  sir.  We  had  to
abandon the region around the office."

"Are you both safe?"

"For the moment, though I'm not sanguine about my old age. We're in the
main hangar, across from the ship."

Luke looked toward the bay window in surprise. "I can't see you  across
the bay-we must be right above you. Stand by. We'll join you as soon  as  we
can." He clicked off, smiling suddenly at Threepio's reference to  his  "old
age." Sometimes the tall droid was more human than people.

"Wonder if the old man was able to knock out  the  tractor,"  Solo  was
muttering as he surveyed the scene below. A dozen or so troopers were moving
in and out of the freighter.

"Getting back to the ship's going to be like flying  through  the  five
Fire Rings of Fornax."

Leia Organa turned long enough to glance in surprise from the  ship  to
Solo. "You came here in that wreck? You're braver than I thought."

At once praised and insulted, Solo wasn't sure how to react. He settled
for giving her a dirty look as they started back down the hallway, Chewbacca
bringing up the rear.

Rounding a corner, the three humans came to an abrupt halt. So did  the
twenty Imperial troopers marching toward them. Reacting  naturally-which  is
to say, without thinking-Solo drew  his  pistol  and  charged  the  platoon,
yelling and howling in several languages at the top of his lungs.

Startled by the totally unexpected assault and wrongly  assuming  their
attacker knew what he was doing, the troopers started to back away.  Several
wild shots from the Corellian's pistol initiated complete panic.  Ranks  and
composure shattered, the troopers broke and fled down the passage.

Drunk with his own prowess, Solo continued the chase, turning to  shout
back at Luke, "Get to the ship. I'll take care of these!"

"Are you out of your mind?" Luke yelled at him.  "Where  do  you  think
you're going?"

But Solo had already rounded a far bend  in  the  corridor  and  didn't
hear. Not that it would have made any difference.

Upset at his partner's disappearance, Chewbacca let out a thunderous if
unsettled howl and rushed down the hallway after him.  That  left  Luke  and
Leia standing alone in the empty corridor.

"Maybe I was too hard on your friend," she confessed  reluctantly.  "He
certainly is courageous."

"He certainly is an idiot!" a furious Luke countered tightly. "I  don't
know what good it'll do us if he gets himself killed." Muted alarms suddenly
sounded from the bay below and behind them.

"That's done it," Luke growled disgustedly. "Let's go."  Together  they
started off in search of a way down to a hangar-deck level.

Solo continued his rout of all opposition, running at  top  speed  down
the long hallway, yelling and brandishing his pistol.  Occasionally  he  got
off a shot whose effect was more valuable psychologically than tactically.

Half the troops had already  scattered  down  various  subpassages  and
corridors. The ten troopers he continued to harry still raced headlong  away
from him, returning his fire only indifferently. Then they came up against a
dead end, which forced them to turn and confront their opponents.

Seeing that the ten had halted, Solo likewise slowed. Gradually he came
to a complete stop. Corellian and Imperials regarded one  another  silently.
Several of the troopers were staring, not at Han but past him.

It suddenly occurred to Solo that he was very much alone, and the  same
thought was  beginning  to  seep  into  the  minds  of  the  guards  he  was
confronting. Embarrassment gave way rapidly to  anger.  Rifles  and  pistols
started to come up. Solo took a step backward, fired one shot,  then  turned
and ran like hell.

Chewbacca heard the whistle and crump of energy weapons  firing  as  he
lumbered lightly down the corridor. There  was  something  odd  about  them,
though: they sounded as if they were coming closer instead of moving away.

He was debating what to do when Solo came tearing around a  corner  and
nearly ran him down. Seeing ten troopers in pursuit, the Wookiee decided  to
reserve his questions for a less confused moment.  He  turned  and  followed
Solo back up the hallway.

Luke grabbed the Princess and pulled her back into a  recess.  She  was
about to retort angrily at his brusqueness when the sound of  marching  feet
caused her to shrink back into the darkness with him.

A squad of  soldiers  hurried  past,  responding  to  the  alarms  that
continued to ring steadily. Luke looked out  at  the  retreating  backs  and
tried to catch his breath. "Our only hope of reaching the ship is  from  the
other side of the hangar. They already know someone's here." He started back
down the corridor, motioning for her to follow.

Two guards appeared at the far  end  of  the  passageway,  paused,  and
pointed directly at them. Turning, Luke and Leia began running back the  way
they had come. A larger squad of troopers rounded  the  far  bend  and  came
racing toward them.

Blocked ahead and behind, they hunted frantically for another way  out.
Then Leia spotted the cramped subhallway and gestured to it.

Luke fired at the nearest of their pursuers and joined her  in  running
down the narrow passage. It looked like a  minor  service  corridor.  Behind
them, pursuit sounded deafeningly loud in the confining space. But at  least
it minimized the amount of fire the troops could concentrate on them.

A thick hatchway appeared ahead. The  lighting  beyond  turned  dimmer,
raising Luke's hopes. If they could lock the hatch even for  a  few  moments
and lose themselves somewhere beyond, they might have a  chance  of  shaking
their immediate tormentors.

But  the  hatch  stayed  open,  showing   no   inclination   to   close
automatically. Luke was about to let out a shout of triumph when the  ground
suddenly vanished ahead of  him.  His  toes  hanging  over  nothingness,  he
flailed to regain his balance, succeeding just in time to nearly go over the
edge of the retracted catwalk anyway as the Princess plowed  into  him  from
behind.

The catwalk had been reduced to a stub protruding  into  empty  air.  A
cool draft caressed Luke's face as he studied walls that  soared  to  unseen
heights overhead and plunged to fathomless depths below. The  service  shaft
was employed in circulating and recycling the atmosphere of the station.

At the moment Luke was too frightened and concerned to  be  angry  with
the Princess for nearly sending them over the edge. Besides,  other  dangers
competed for his attention. A burst of energy exploded  above  their  heads,
sending metal slivers flying.

"I think we made a  wrong  turn,"  he  murmured,  firing  back  at  the
advancing troops and illuminating  the  narrow  corridor  behind  them  with
destruction.

An open hatchway showed on the other side of the  chasm.  It  might  as
well have been a light- year away. Hunting along the  rim  of  the  doorway,
Leia located a switch and hit it quickly. The hatch door  behind  them  slid
shut with a resounding boom. At least that cut off  fire  from  the  rapidly
nearing soldiers. It also left the two fugitives balanced precariously on  a
small section of catwalk barely a meter square.  If  the  remaining  section
were to unexpectedly withdraw into the wall, they  would  see  more  of  the
battle station's interior than either wished.

Gesturing for the Princess to move aside  as  much  as  possible.  Luke
shielded his eyes and aimed the pistol at the hatch controls. A brief  burst
of energy melted them flush with the wall, insuring that no one  could  open
it easily from the other side. Then he turned  his  attention  to  the  vast
cavity blocking their path to the opposite portal. It beckoned  invitingly-a
small yellow rectangle of freedom.

Only the soft rush of air from  below  sounded  until  Luke  commented,
"This is a shield-rated door, but it won't hold them back very long."

"We've got to  get  across  there  somehow,"  Leia  agreed,  once  more
examining the metal bordering the sealed doorway.  "Find  the  controls  for
extending the bridge."

Some desperate searching produced nothing, while  an  ominous  pounding
and hissing sounded from behind the frozen  door.  A  small  spot  of  white
appeared in the center of the metal, then began to spread and smoke.

"They're coming through!" Luke groaned.

The Princess turned carefully to stare across the gap. "This must be  a
single-unit bridge, with the controls only on the other side."

Reaching up to the point at the panel holding the unreachable controls,
Luke's hand caught on something at his waist. A frustrated  glance  downward
revealed the cause-and engendered a bit of practical insanity.

The cable coiled tightly in small loops was thin and  fragile  seeming,
but it was general military-issue line and would have supported  Chewbacca's
weight easily. It certainly ought to hold  Leia  and  himself.  Pulling  the
cable free of the waist catch, he gauged its length, matching it against the
width of the abyss. This should span the distance with plenty to spare.

"What now?" the Princess inquired curiously.

Luke didn't reply. Instead, he removed a small  but  heavy  power  unit
from the utility belt of his armor and tied one end of the cable around  it.
Making sure the wrapping was secure, he stepped as  close  to  the  edge  of
their uncertain perch as he dared.

Whirling the weighted end of the cord in increasing circles, he let  it
arc across the gorge. It struck an outcropping of  cylindrical  conduits  on
the other side and fell downward. With forced patience he pulled  the  loose
line back in, then recoiled it for another try.

Once again the weighted end orbited in ever greater circles, and  again
he flung it across the gap. He could feel the rising heat behind him  as  he
let it go, heat from the melting metal doorway.

This time the heavy end looped around an outcropping  of  pipes  above,
wrapped itself several times around, and slipped, battery end down,  into  a
crack between them. Leaning backward, he tugged and  pulled  on  the  cable,
pulling on it at the same time as he tried to rest all his weight on it. The
cable showed no sign of parting.

Wrapping the other end of the line several times around his  waist  and
right arm, he reached out and pulled the Princess  close  to  him  with  the
other. The hatch door behind them was now a molten white, and  liquid  metal
was running steadily from its borders.

Something warm and pleasant touched Luke's lips, alerting  every  nerve
in his body. He looked down in  shock  at  the  Princess,  his  mouth  still
tingling from the kiss.

"Just for luck," she murmured with a slight, almost  embarrassed  smile
as she put her arms around him. "We're going to need it."

Gripping the thin cable as tightly as possible with his left hand, Luke
put his right over it, took a deep breath, and jumped out into  air.  If  he
had miscalculated the degree of arc in their swing, they would miss the open
hatch and slam into the metal wall to either  side  or  below  it.  If  that
happened he doubted he could maintain his grip on the rope.

The heart-halting transit was  accomplished  in  less  time  than  that
thought. In a moment Luke was on the other side, scrambling on his knees  to
make sure they didn't fall back into the pit. Leia released her hold on  him
with admirable timing. She  rolled  forward  and  into  the  open  hatchway,
climbing gracefully to her feet as Luke fought to untangle himself from  the
cable.

A distant whine became a loud hiss, then a groan as the hatch  door  on
the other side gave way. It collapsed inward and tumbled into the depths. If
it touched bottom, Luke didn't hear it.

A few bolts struck the wall nearby. Luke turned his own weapon  on  the
unsuccessful troopers and returned the fire even as  Leia  was  pulling  him
into the passageway behind.

Once clear of the door he hit the activating switch.  It  shut  tightly
behind them. They would have several minutes, at least,  without  having  to
worry about being shot in the back. On the other hand, Luke didn't have  the
slightest idea where they were, and he  found  himself  wondering  what  had
happened to Han and Chewbacca.

Solo and his Wookiee partner had succeeded  in  shaking  a  portion  of
their pursuers. But it seemed that whenever they  slipped  free  of  several
soldiers, more appeared to take their place. No question about it: the  word
was out on them.

Ahead, a series of shield doors was beginning to close.

"Hurry, Chewie!" Solo urged.

Chewbacca grunted once, breathing like an over-used engine. Despite his
immense strength, the Wookiee was not built  for  long  distance  sprinting.
Only his enormous stride had  enabled  him  to  keep  pace  with  the  lithe
Corellian. Chewbacca left a couple of hairs in one of the  doors,  but  both
slipped inside just before the five layers slammed shut.

"That ought to hold them for a while," Solo crowed  with  delight.  The
Wookiee growled something at him, but his  partner  fairly  fluoresced  with
confidence.

"Of course I can find the ship from here-Corellians  can't  get  lost."
There came another  growl,  slightly  accusing  this  time.  Solo  shrugged.
"Tocneppil doesn't count; he wasn't a Corellian. Besides, I was drunk."

Ben Kenobi ducked into the shadows of a narrow passageway,  seeming  to
become part of the metal itself as a large cluster of troopers hurried  past
him. Pausing to make certain they had all passed, he  checked  the  corridor
ahead before starting down it. But he failed  to  see  the  dark  silhouette
which eclipsed the light far behind him.

Kenobi had avoided one patrol after another,  slowly  working  his  way
back toward the docking bay holding the freighter. Just  another  two  turns
and he should be at the hangar. What he would do then would be determined by
how inconspicuous his charges had been.

That young Luke, the adventurous Corellian and his partner, and the two
robots had been involved in something other than quiet  napping  he  already
suspected from the amount of activity he had observed while making  his  way
back from the power trench. Surely all those troops hadn't been out  hunting
just for him!

But something else was troubling them, judging from the  references  he
had overheard concerning a certain important  prisoner,  now  escaped.  That
discovery had puzzled him, until he considered the restless natures of  both
Luke and Han Solo. Undoubtedly they were involved in some fashion.

Ben sensed something directly ahead and slowed  cautiously.  It  had  a
most familiar feel to it, a half-remembered mental odor he could  not  quite
place.

Then the figure stepped out in front of him, blocking his entry to  the
hangar not five meters away. The outline and size of  the  figure  completed
the momentary puzzle. It was the maturity of the mind he had sensed that had
temporarily confused him. His hand  moved  naturally  to  the  hilt  of  his
deactivated saber.

"I have been waiting a long time, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Darth Vader  intoned
solemnly. "We meet again at last. The circle  has  been  completed."  Kenobi
sensed satisfaction beneath the hideous mask. "The presence I sensed earlier
could only have been you."

Kenobi regarded the great form blocking his retreat and nodded  slowly.
He gave the impression of being more curious than impressed. "You still have
much to learn."

"You were once my teacher," Vader admitted, "and I  learned  much  from
you. But the time of learning has long passed, and I am the master now."

The logic that had constituted the missing link in his brilliant  pupil
remained as absent as before. There would be no reasoning here, Kenobi knew.
Igniting his saber,  he  assumed  the  pose  of  warrior-ready,  a  movement
accomplished with the ease and elegance of a dancer.

Rather roughly, Vader imitated the movement. Several  minutes  followed
without motion as the two men remained staring at each other, as if  waiting
for some proper, as yet unspoken signal.

Kenobi blinked once, shook his head, and tried to clear his eyes, which
had begun to water slightly. Sweat  beaded  up  on  his  forehead,  and  his
eyelids fluttered again.

"Your powers are weak," Vader noted emotionlessly. "Old man, you should
never have come back. It will make your end less  peaceful  than  you  might
have wished."

"You sense only a part of the Force, Darth," Kenobi murmured  with  the
assurance of one to whom death is merely another sensation, like sleeping or
making love or touching a candle. "As always, you perceive  its  reality  as
little as a utensil perceives the taste of food."

Executing a move of incredible swiftness for one so old, Kenobi  lunged
at the massive shape. Vader blocked the stab  with  equal  speed,  riposting
with a counterslash that Kenobi barely parried.  Another  parry  and  Kenobi
countered again, using this opportunity to move  around  the  towering  Dark
Lord.

They continued to trade blows, with the old man now backing toward  the
hangar. Once, his saber and Vader's  locked,  the  interaction  of  the  two
energy fields producing a violent sparking and flashing. A low buzzing sound
rose from the straining power units as each saber  sought  to  override  the
other.

Threepio peeked around the  entrance  to  the  docking  bay,  worriedly
counting the number of troopers milling around the deserted freighter.

"Where could they be? Oh, oh."

He ducked back out of sight just as one of the guards  glanced  in  his
direction. A second, more cautious appraisal was more rewarding. It revealed
Han Solo and Chewbacca hugging the wall of another tunnel on the far side of
the bay.

Solo also was nonplussed at the number of guards. He muttered,  "Didn't
we just leave this party?"

Chewbacca grunted, and both turned,  only  to  relax  and  lower  their
weapons at the sight of Luke and the Princess.

"What kept you?" Solo quipped mirthlessly.

"We ran into," Leia explained, panting heavily, "some old friends."

Luke was staring at the freighter. "Is the ship all right?"

"Seems okay," was  Solo's  analysis.  "It  doesn't  look  like  they've
removed anything or disturbed her engines. The problem's going to be getting
to it."

Leia suddenly pointed to one of the opposite tunnels. "Look!"

Illuminated by the flare from contacting energy fields, Ben Kenobi  and
Darth Vader were backing toward the bay. The fight attracted  the  attention
of others beside the Senator. Every one of the guards moved in for a  better
view of the Olympian conflict.

"Now's our chance," Solo observed, starting forward.

All seven of the troopers guarding the ship broke and rushed toward the
combatants, going to the Dark Lord's aid. Threepio barely  ducked  aside  as
they ran past him. Turning back into the alcove, he yelled to his companion.

"Unplug yourself, Artoo. We're leaving." As  soon  as  the  Artoo  unit
slipped his sensor arm free of the socket, the two droids  began  to  slowly
edge out into the open bay.

Kenobi heard the approaching commotion and spared a  glance  back  into
the hangar. The squad of troopers bearing down on him  was  enough  to  show
that he was trapped.

Vader took immediate advantage of the momentary  distraction  to  bring
his saber over and down. Kenobi somehow  managed  to  deflect  the  sweeping
blow, at once parrying and turning a complete circle.

"You still have your skill, but your power fades. Prepare to  meet  the
Force, Obi-Wan."

Kenobi gauged the shrinking distance between the  oncoming  troops  and
himself, then turned a pitying gaze on Vader. "This is a  fight  you  cannot
win, Darth. Your power has matured since I taught you, but I too have  grown
much since our parting. If my blade finds its mark, you will cease to exist.
But if you cut me down, I will only become more powerful. Heed my words."

"Your philosophies no  longer  confuse  me,  old  man,"  Vader  growled
contemptuously. "I am the master now."

Once again he lunged forward, feinting, and then slashing in  a  deadly
downward arc with the saber. It struck home, cutting the old man cleanly  in
half. There was a brief flash as Kenobi's cloak fluttered to the deck in two
neat sections.

But Ben Kenobi was not in it. Wary of some trick, Vader  poked  at  the
empty cloak sections with the saber. There was no sign of the  old  man.  He
had vanished as though he had never existed.

The guards slowed their approach and  joined  Vader  in  examining  the
place where Kenobi had stood seconds before. Several of them  muttered,  and
even the awesome presence of the Sith Lord couldn't keep a few of them  from
feeling a little afraid.

Once the guards had turned and dashed for the far tunnel, Solo and  the
others started for the starship-until Luke saw Kenobi cut in two.  Instantly
he shifted direction and was moving toward the guards.

"Ben!" he screamed, firing wildly toward the troops. Solo  cursed,  but
turned to fire in support of Luke.

One of the energy bolts struck the safety release on the  tunnel  blast
door. The emergency hold broken, the heavy door  fairly  exploded  downward.
Both the guards and Vader leaped clear-the guards into  the  bay  and  Vader
backward, to the opposite side of the door.

Solo had turned and started for the entrance to the ship, but he paused
as he saw Luke running toward the guards.

"It's too late!" Leia yelled at him. "It's over."

"No!" Luke half shouted, half sobbed.

A familiar, yet different voice rang in his ears-Ben's voice.  "Luke...
listen!" was all it said.

Bewildered, Luke turned to hunt for the source of that  admonition.  He
only saw Leia beckoning to him as she followed Artoo  and  Threepio  up  the
ramp.

"Come on! there's no time."

Hesitating,  his  mind  still  on  that  imagined  voice  (or  was   it
imagined?), a confused Luke took aim and felled several soldiers before  he,
too, whirled and retreated into the freighter.

= XI =

DAZED, Luke staggered toward the front of the ship. He  barely  noticed
the sound of energy bolts, too weak  to  penetrate  the  ship's  deflectors,
exploding harmlessly outside. His own safety was currently of little concern
to him. With misty eyes he stared as Chewbacca and Solo adjusted controls.

"I hope that old man managed to  knock  out  that  tractor  beam,"  the
Corellian was saying, "or this is going to be a very short ride."

Ignoring him, Luke returned to the hold area and slumped into  a  seat,
his head falling into his hands. Leia Organa  regarded  him  quietly  for  a
while, then removed her cloak. Moving to him, she placed  it  gently  around
his shoulders.

"There  wasn't  anything  you   could   have   done,"   she   whispered
comfortingly. "It was all over in an instant."

"I can't believe he's gone," came Luke's reply, his voice a ghost of  a
whisper. "I can't."

Solo shifted a lever, staring nervously ahead. But the massive bay door
was constructed to respond to the approach of any vessel. The safety feature
now served to facilitate their escape as the freighter slipped quickly  past
the still-opening door and out into free space.

"Nothing,"  Solo  sighed,  studying  several  readouts  with   profound
satisfaction. "Not so much as an erg of come-hither. He did it, all right."

Chewbacca rumbled something,  and  the  pilot's  attention  shifted  to
another series of gauges. "Right, Chewie. I forget, for a moment, that there
are other ways of persuading us to return." His teeth flashed in a  grin  of
determination. "But the only way they'll get us back in that traveling  tomb
is in pieces. Take over."

Whirling, he ran out of the cockpit. "Come with me, kid," he shouted at
Luke as he entered the hold. "We're not out of this yet."

Luke didn't respond, didn't move, and Leia  turned  an  angry  face  to
Solo. "Leave him alone. Can't you see what the old man meant to him?"

An explosion jarred the ship, nearly tumbling Solo to the deck.

"So what? The old man gave himself to give us a chance to get away. You
want to waste that, Luke? You want Kenobi to have wasted himself?"

Luke's head came up and he stared with vacant eyes  at  the  Corellian.
No, not quite vacant... There was something too old and  unpleasant  shining
blindly in the back of them. Without a word, he  threw  off  the  cloak  and
joined Solo.

Giving him a reassuring smile, Solo gestured down a  narrow  accessway.
Luke looked in the indicated direction, smiled grimly, and rushed down it as
Solo started down the opposing passage.

Luke found himself in a large rotating bubble protruding from the  side
of the ship.  A  long,  wicked-looking  tube  whose  purpose  was  instantly
apparent projected from the apex of the transparent hemisphere. Luke settled
himself into the seat and commenced a rapid study of the controls. Activator
here, firing grip here...  He  had  fired  such  weapons  a  thousand  times
before-in his dreams.

Forward, Chewbacca and Leia were searching the speckled pit outside for
the  attacking  fighters  represented  by  firepricks  on  several  screens.
Chewbacca suddenly growled throatily and pulled back on several controls  as
Leia let out a yelp.

"Here they come."

The starfield wheeled around Luke as  an  Imperial  TIE  fighter  raced
toward him and then swung overhead to vanish into the distance.  Within  the
tiny cockpit its pilot frowned as the supposedly battered  freighter  darted
out of range. Adjusting his own controls, he swung up and over in a high arc
intended to take him on a fresh intercept course with the escaping ship.

Solo fired at another fighter, and its pilot nearly slammed his  engine
through its mountings as he fought to avoid the powerful energy bolts. As he
did so, his hurried maneuver brought him under and around to the other  side
of the freighter. Even as he was lowering the glare reflector over his eyes,
Luke opened up on the racing fighter.

Chewbacca was alternating his attention between the instruments and the
tracking screens, while Leia strained to separate distant stars from  nearby
assassins.

Two fighters dove simultaneously on the twisting, spiraling  freighter,
trying to line their weapons on the unexpectedly flexible craft. Solo  fired
at the descending globes, and Luke followed with his  own  weapon  a  second
later. Both fired on the starship and then shot past.

"They're coming in too fast," Luke yelled into his comlink.

Another enemy bolt struck the freighter forward and was barely  shunted
aside by its deflectors. The cockpit shuddered violently, and gauges  whined
in protest at the quantity of energy they were being asked  to  monitor  and
compensate for.

Chewbacca muttered something to Leia, and she murmured a soft reply  as
if she almost understood.

Another fighter unloosed a barrage on the freighter, only this time the
bolt pierced an overloaded screen and actually struck the side of the  ship.
Though partially deflected, it still carried enough  power  to  blow  out  a
large control panel in the main passageway, sending a  rain  of  sparks  and
smoke in all directions. Artoo Detoo started stolidly toward  the  miniature
inferno as the ship lurched crazily, throwing the less stable Threepio  into
a cabinet full of component chips.

A warning light began to wink for attention in the  cockpit.  Chewbacca
muttered to Leia, who stared at him worriedly and wished  for  the  gift  of
Wookiee-gab.

Then a fighter floated down on the damaged freighter, right into Luke's
sights. His mouth moving silently, Luke fired at it.  The  incredibly  agile
little vessel darted out of his range, but as it passed  beneath  them  Solo
picked it up instantly, and  commenced  a  steady  following  fire.  Without
warning the fighter erupted in an incredible flash  of  multicolored  light,
throwing a billion bits of superheated metal to every section of the cosmos.

Solo whirled and gave Luke  a  victory  wave,  which  the  younger  man
gleefully returned. Then they turned back to their weapons  as  yet  another
fighter stormed over the freighter's hull, firing at its transmitter dish.

In the middle of the main  passageway,  angry  flames  raged  around  a
stubby cylindrical shape. A fine  white  powdery  spray  issued  from  Artoo
Detoo's head. Wherever it touched, the fire retreated sharply.

Luke tried to relax, to become a part of  the  weapon.  Almost  without
being aware of it, he was firing at a retreating Imperial. When he  blinked,
it was to see the flaming fragments of the enemy  craft  forming  a  perfect
ball of light outside the turret. It was his turn  to  spin  and  flash  the
Corellian a grin of triumph.

In the cockpit, Leia paid close attention to scattered readouts as well
as searching the sky for additional ships. She directed her voice toward  an
open mike.

"There are still two more of them out there. Looks like we've lost  the
lateral monitors and the starboard deflector shield."

"Don't worry," Solo told her, with as much hope as confidence,  "she'll
hold together." He gave the walls a pleading stare. "You hear me, ship? Hold
together! Chewie, try to keep them on our port side. If we-"

He was forced to break off as a TIE fighter seemed to  materialize  out
of nowhere, energy bolts reaching out from  it  toward  him.  Its  companion
craft came up on the freighter's other side and Luke  found  himself  firing
steadily at it, ignoring the immensely powerful energy it threw at  him.  At
the last possible instant before it  passed  out  of  range,  he  swung  the
weapon's nozzle minutely, his finger tightening  convulsively  on  the  fire
control. The Imperial fighter turned  into  a  rapidly  expanding  cloud  of
phosphorescing dust. The other fighter apparently  considered  the  shrunken
odds, turned, and retreated at top speed.

"We've made it!" Leia shouted, turning to give the startled Wookiee  an
unexpected hug. He growled at her-very softly.

Darth Vader strode into the control room where  Governor  Tarkin  stood
staring at a huge, brilliantly lit screen. It displayed a sea of stars,  but
it was not the spectacular view which absorbed the  Governor's  thoughts  at
the moment. He barely glanced around as Vader entered.

"Are they away?" the Dark Lord demanded.

"They've just completed the jump to hyperspace. No doubt  they  are  at
this very moment congratulating themselves on their daring and success." Now
Tarkin turned to face Vader, a hint of warning in his tone.

"I'm taking an awful chance, on your insistence, Vader. This had better
work. Are you certain the homing beacon is secure aboard their ship?"

Vader exuded confidence beneath the reflective black  mask.  "There  is
nothing to fear. This will be a day long remembered.  It  already  has  been
witness to the final extinction of the Jedi. Soon it will see the end of the
Alliance and the rebellion."

Solo switched places with  Chewbacca,  the  Wookiee  grateful  for  the
opportunity to relinquish the controls. As the Corellian moved aft to  check
the extent of the damage,  a  determined-looking  Leia  passed  him  in  the
corridor.

"What do you think,  sweetheart?"  Solo  inquired,  well  pleased  with
himself. "Not a bad bit of  rescuing.  You  know,  sometimes  I  amaze  even
myself."

"That doesn't sound too hard," she  admitted  readily.  "The  important
thing is not my safety, but the fact that the information in the  R-2  droid
is still intact."

"What's that droid carrying that's so important, anyway?"

Leia considered the  blazing  starfield  forward.  "Complete  technical
schematics of the battle  station.  I  only  hope  that  when  the  data  is
analyzed, a weakness can be found. Until then, until the station  itself  is
destroyed, we must go on. This war isn't over yet."

"It is for me," objected the pilot. "I'm not on this mission  for  your
revolution. Economics interest me, not politics. There's business to be done
under any government. And I'm not doing it for you, Princess. I expect to be
well paid for risking my ship and my hide."

"You needn't worry about your reward," she assured him  sadly,  turning
to leave. "If money is what you love... that's what you will receive."

On leaving the cockpit she saw  Luke  coming  forward,  and  she  spoke
softly to him in passing. "Your friend is indeed a mercenary. I wonder if he
really cares about anything-or anybody."

Luke stared after her until she disappeared into the  main  hold  area,
then whispered, "I do... I care." Then he moved into the cockpit and sat  in
the seat Chewbacca had just vacated.

"What do you think of her, Han?"

Solo didn't hesitate. "I try not to."

Luke probably hadn't intended his response  to  be  audible,  but  Solo
overheard his murmur of "Good" none the less.

"Still," Solo ventured thoughtfully, "she's got a lot of spirit  to  go
with her sass. I don't know, do you think it's possible for a Princess and a
guy like me...?"

"No," Luke cut him off sharply. He turned and looked away.

Solo smiled at the younger man's jealousy, uncertain in  his  own  mind
whether he had added the comment to bait his naive friend-or because it  was
the truth.

Yavin was not a habitable world. The huge gas giant was patterned  with
pastel high-altitude cloud formations. Here and  there  the  softly  lambent
atmosphere    was    molded    by    cyclonic     storms     composed     of
six-hundred-kilometer-per- hour winds which boiled rolling gases up from the
Yavinesque troposphere. It was a world of lingering beauty and  quick  death
for any who might try to penetrate to its comparatively small core of frozen
liquids.

Several  of  the  giant  planet's   numerous   moons,   however,   were
planet-sized themselves, and of these, three could  support  humanoid  life.
Particularly  inviting  was  the  satellite  designated  by   the   system's
discoverers as number four. It shone like an emerald in Yavin's necklace  of
moons, rich with plant and animal life. But it was not  listed  among  those
worlds supporting human settlement. Yavin  was  located  too  far  from  the
settled regions of the galaxy.

Perhaps the latter reason, or both, or a combination  of  causes  still
unknown had been responsible for whatever race had once risen from satellite
four's jungles, only to  disappear  quietly  long  before  the  first  human
explorer set foot on the tiny world. Little was known of them save that they
left a number of impressive monuments, and that they were one  of  the  many
races which had aspired to the stars only to have their desperate reach fall
short.

Now all that remained were the mounds and foliage-clad clumps formed by
jungle-covered buildings. But though they had sunk back into the dust, their
artifacts and their world continued to serve an important purpose.

Strange cries and barely perceptible moans sounded from every tree  and
copse; hoots and growls and strange mutterings issued from creatures content
to remain concealed in the dense undergrowth. Whenever dawn broke over  moon
the fourth, heralding one of its long days, an especially  feral  chorus  of
shrieks and weirdly modulated screams would resound through the thick mist.

Even stranger sounds surged continually from one particular place. Here
lay the most impressive of those edifices which a vanished race  had  raised
toward the heavens. It was  a  temple,  a  roughly  pyramidal  structure  so
colossal that it seemed impossible it could have been built without the  aid
of modern gravitonic construction techniques. Yet all evidence pointed  only
to simple machines, hand technology-and, perhaps,  devices  alien  and  long
lost.

While the science of this moon's inhabitants had led them to a dead end
as  far  as  offworld  travel  was  concerned,  they  had  produced  several
discoveries   which   in   certain   ways   surpassed    similar    Imperial
accomplishments-one of which involved a still unexplained method of  cutting
and transporting gargantuan blocks of stone from the crust of the moon.

From these monstrous blocks of solid rock, the massive temple had  been
constructed. The jungle had scaled even its soaring crest,  clothing  it  in
rich green and brown. Only near its base,  in  the  temple  front,  did  the
jungle slide away completely, to reveal a long, dark  entrance  cut  by  its
builders  and  enlarged  to  suit  the  needs  of  the  structure's  present
occupants.

A tiny machine, its smooth metal  sides  and  silvery  hue  incongruous
amidst the all-pervasive green, appeared in the forest.  It  hummed  like  a
fat, swollen beetle as it conveyed its cluster of passengers toward the open
temple base. Crossing a considerable clearing, it was soon swallowed  up  by
the dark maw in the front of the massive structure, leaving the jungle  once
more in the paws and claws of invisible squallers and screechers.

The original builders would never have recognized the interior of their
temple. Seamed metal had replaced rock, and poured paneling did service  for
chamber division in place of wood. Nor would they have been able to see  the
buried layers excavated into the rock below, layers which  contained  hangar
upon hangar linked by powerful elevators.

A landspeeder came to a gradual stop within  the  temple,  whose  first
level was the uppermost  of  those  ship-filled  hangars.  Its  engine  died
obediently as the vehicle settled to the ground. A noisy cluster  of  humans
waiting nearby ceased their conversation and rushed toward the craft.

Fortunately Leia Organa quickly emerged from the speeder,  or  the  man
who reached it first might have pulled her bodily from it, so great was  his
delight at the sight of her. He settled for giving her a smothering  hug  as
his companion called their own greetings.

"You're safe! We'd feared you'd  been  killed."  Abruptly  he  composed
himself, stepped away from her, and executed a formal bow.  "When  we  heard
about Alderaan, we were afraid that you were... lost along with the rest  of
the population."

"All that is past history, Commander Willard," she  said.  "We  have  a
future to live for. Alderaan and its people  are  gone."  Her  voice  turned
bitter cold, frightening in so delicate-looking a person. "We must see  that
such does not happen again.

"We don't have time for our sorrows, Commander," she continued briskly.
"The battle station has surely tracked us here."

Solo started to protest, but she shut him up with  logic  and  a  stern
look.

"That's the only explanation for the ease of our escape. They sent only
four TIE fighters after us. They could as easily have launched a hundred."

Solo had no reply for that, but continued to fume silently.  Then  Leia
gestured at Artoo Detoo.

"You must use the information locked in this R-2 droid to form  a  plan
of attack. It's our only hope. The station  itself  is  more  powerful  than
anyone suspected." Her  voice  dropped.  "If  the  data  does  not  yield  a
weakness, there will be no stopping them."

Luke was then treated to a sight unique in his  experience,  unique  in
most men's. Several rebel technicians walked up to Artoo  Detoo,  positioned
themselves around him, and gently hoisted him in their arms.  This  was  the
first, and probably the last time he would ever see a  robot  being  carried
respectfully by men.

Theoretically, no weapon could penetrate the exceptionally dense  stone
of the ancient temple, but Luke had seen the shattered remains  of  Alderaan
and knew that for those in the incredible battle  station  the  entire  moon
would present simply another abstract problem in mass-energy conversion.

Little Artoo Detoo rested comfortably in a place  of  honor,  his  body
radiating computer and data-bank hookups like a metal hairdo. On an array of
screens  and  readouts  nearby  the  technical  information  stored  on  the
submicroscopic record tape within the robot's brain was  being  played  out.
Hours of it-diagrams, charts, statistics.

First  the  rush  of  material  was  slowed  and   digested   by   more
sophisticated computer minds. Then the most critical information was  turned
over to human analysts for detailed evaluation.

All the while See Threepio stood close to Artoo, marveling  at  how  so
much complex data could be stored in the mind of so simple a droid.

The central briefing room was located deep within  the  bowels  of  the
temple. The long, low-ceiling auditorium was dominated by a raised dais  and
huge electronic display screen at its far end.  Pilots,  navigators,  and  a
sprinkling of Artoo units filled the seats. Impatient, and feeling very  out
of place, Han Solo and Chewbacca stood as far away from the stage, with  its
assemblage of officers and Senators, as possible. Solo  scanned  the  crowd,
searching for Luke. Despite some common sense entreaties, the crazy kid  had
gone and joined the regular pilots. He didn't see Luke,  but  he  recognized
the Princess as she talked somberly with some bemedaled oldster.

When a tall, dignified gentleman with too many deaths on his soul moved
to stand by the far side of the screen, Solo turned his attention to him, as
did everyone else in the room. As soon as an expectant silence  had  gripped
the crowd, General Jan Dodonna adjusted the  tiny  mike  on  his  chest  and
indicated the small group seated close to him.

"You all know these people," he intoned with quiet power. "They are the
Senators and Generals whose worlds have given us support,  whether  open  or
covert. They have come to be with us in  what  may  well  prove  to  be  the
decisive moment." He let his gaze touch many in the crowd, and none who were
so favored remained unmoved.

"The Imperial battle station you now all have heard of  is  approaching
from the far side of Yavin and its sun. That gives us a little  extra  time,
but it must be stopped-once and for  all-before  it  can  reach  this  moon,
before it can bring its weaponry to bear on us as it  did  on  Alderaan."  A
murmur ran through the crowd at the mention  of  that  world,  so  callously
obliterated.

"The station," Dodonna went on, "is heavily shielded  and  mounts  more
firepower than half the Imperial fleet. But its defenses  were  designed  to
fend off large-scale, capital ship assaults. A small, one-or two-man fighter
should be able to slip through its defensive screens."

A slim, supple man who resembled an older version  of  Han  Solo  rose.
Dodonna acknowledged his presence. "What is it, Red Leader?"

The man gestured toward the display screen,  which  showed  a  computer
portrait of the battle station. "Pardon me for asking, sir,  but  what  good
are our snub fighters going to be against that?"

Dodonna considered. "Well, the Empire doesn't think a  one-man  fighter
is any threat to anything except another small ship, like a TIE fighter,  or
they would have provided tighter screens. Apparently they're convinced  that
their defensive weaponry can fend off any light attacks.

"But an analysis of the plans provided by Princess  Leia  has  revealed
what we think is a weakness in the station's design. A big ship couldn't get
near it, but an X- or Y-wing fighter might.

"It's a small thermal exhaust port. Its size belies its importance,  as
it appears to be an unshielded  shaft  that  runs  directly  into  the  main
reactor system powering the station.  Since  this  serves  as  an  emergency
outlet for  waste  heat  in  the  event  of  reactor  over  production,  its
usefulness would be eliminated by particle shielding.  A  direct  hit  would
initiate a chain reaction that would destroy the station."

Mutterings of disbelief ran through the room. The more experienced  the
pilot, the greater his expressed disbelief.

"I didn't say your approach would be easy," Dodonna admonished them. He
gestured at the screen. "You must maneuver  straight  in  down  this  shaft,
level off in the trench, and skim the surface to-this point. The  target  is
only two meters across. It will take a precise hit at exactly ninety degrees
to reach the reactor systematization. And only a direct hit will  start  the
complete reaction.

"I said the port wasn't particle-shielded. However,  it  is  completely
ray-shielded. That  means  no  energy  beams.  You'll  have  to  use  proton
torpedoes."

A few of the pilots laughed humorlessly. One of  them  was  a  teenaged
fighter jockey seated next to Luke who  bore  the  unlikely  name  of  Wedge
Antilles. Artoo Detoo was there also, seated next to another Artoo unit  who
emitted a long whistle of hopelessness.

"A two-meter target at maximum speed-with  a  torpedo,  yet,"  Antilles
snorted. "That's impossible even for the computer."

"But it's  not  impossible,"  protested  Luke.  "I  used  to  bulls-eye
womp-rats in my T-16 back home. They're not much bigger than two meters."

"Is that so?" the rakishly uniformed youth noted derisively. "Tell  me,
when you were going after your particular varmint,  were  there  a  thousand
other, what did you call it, 'womp-rats' armed with power rifles  firing  up
at you?" He shook his head sadly.

"With all that firepower on the station directed at us, this will  take
a little more than barnyard marksmanship, believe me."

As if to confirm Antilles' pessimism, Dodonna  indicated  a  string  of
lights on  the  ever-  changing  schematic.  "Take  special  note  of  these
emplacements. There's a heavy concentration of firepower on the  latitudinal
axes, as well as several dense circum-polar clusters.

"Also, their field generators will probably create a lot of distortion,
especially in and around the trench. I figure that maneuverability  in  that
sector will be less than point three." This produced more murmurs and a  few
groans from the assembly.

"Remember," the General went on, "you must achieve a direct hit. Yellow
squadron will cover for Red on the first run. Green will cover Blue  on  the
second. Any questions?"

A muted buzz filled the room. One man stood, lean and handsome-too much
so, it seemed, to be ready to throw away his life for something as  abstract
as freedom.

"What if both runs fail? What happens after that?"

Dodonna smiled tightly. "There won't be any after that." The man nodded
slowly, understandingly, and sat down. "Anyone else?" Silence now,  pregnant
with expectation.

"Then man your ships, and may the Force be with you."

Like oil draining from a shallow pot, the seated ranks of  men,  women,
and machines rose and flowed toward the exits.

Elevators hummed busily, lifting  more  and  more  deadly  shapes  from
buried depths to the staging area in the  primary  temple  hangar  as  Luke,
Threepio, and Artoo Detoo walked toward the hangar entrance.

Neither the bustling flight crews,  nor  the  pilots  performing  final
checkouts, nor the  massive  sparks  thrown  off  as  power  couplings  were
disconnected captured Luke's attention at the moment. Instead, it  was  held
by the activity of two far more familiar figures.

Solo and Chewbacca were loading a pile of  small  strongboxes  onto  an
armored landspeeder. They  were  completely  absorbed  with  this  activity,
ignoring the preparations going on all around them.

Solo glanced up  briefly  as  Luke  and  the  robots  approached,  then
returned to his loading. Luke simply  watched  sadly,  conflicting  emotions
careening confusedly off one another inside him. Solo was  cocky,  reckless,
intolerant, and smug. He  was  also  brave  to  a  fault,  instructive,  and
unfailingly cheery. The combination made for a confusing friend-but a friend
nonetheless.

"You got your reward," Luke finally  observed,  indicating  the  boxes.
Solo nodded once. "And you're leaving, then?"

"That's right, kid. I've got some old debts to pay off, and even  if  I
didn't, I don't think I'd be fool enough to stick around here." He eyed Luke
appraisingly. "You're pretty good in a scrap, kid. Why don't you  come  with
us? I could use you."

The mercenary gleam in Solo's eyes only made Luke mad. "Why  don't  you
look around you and see something besides yourself for a  change?  You  know
what's going to happen here, what they're up against. They could use a  good
pilot. But you're turning your back on them."

Solo didn't appear upset at Luke's tirade. "What  good's  a  reward  if
you're not around to spend it? Attacking that battle station isn't  my  idea
of courage-more like suicide."

"Yeah... Take care of yourself, Han," Luke  said  quietly,  turning  to
leave. "But I guess that's what you're best at, isn't it?" He  started  back
into the hangar depths, flanked by the two droids.

Solo stared after him, hesitated, then called, "Hey,  Luke...  may  the
Force be with you." Luke looked back to see Solo wink at him. He  waved-sort
of. Then he was swallowed up by moving mechanics and machinery.

Solo returned to his work, lifted a box-and stopped, to  see  Chewbacca
gazing fixedly at him.

"What are you staring at, gruesome? I know what I'm doing. Get back  to
work!"

Slowly, still eyeing his partner, the Wookiee returned to the  task  of
loading the heavy crates.

Sorrowful thoughts of Solo vanished when  Luke  saw  the  petite,  slim
figure standing by his ship-the ship he had been granted.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"  Princess  Leia  asked  him.  "It
could be a deadly reward."

Luke's eyes were filled with the sleek,  venomous  metal  shape.  "More
than anything."

"Then what's wrong?"

Luke looked back at her and shrugged. "It's Han. I thought he'd  change
his mind. I thought he'd join us."

"A man must follow his own path," she told him,  sounding  now  like  a
Senator. "No one can choose it for him. Han Solo's  priorities  differ  from
ours. I wish it were otherwise, but I can't find it in my heart  to  condemn
him." She stood on tiptoes, gave him a quick, almost embarrassed  kiss,  and
turned to go. "May the Force be with you."

"I only wish," Luke murmured to himself as he started back to his ship,
"Ben were here."

So intent was he on thoughts of Kenobi, the Princess, and Han  that  he
didn't notice the larger figure which tightly  locked  on  to  his  arm.  He
turned, his initial anger gone instantly in astonishment  as  he  recognized
the figure.

"Luke!" the slightly older man exclaimed. "I don't  believe  it!  How'd
you get here? Are you going out with us?"

"Biggs!" Luke embraced his friend warmly. "Of course I'll be  up  there
with you." His smile faded slightly. "I haven't got a choice, anymore." Then
he brightened again. "Listen, have I got some stories to tell you..."

The steady whooping and laughing the two made was in marked contrast to
the solemnity with which the other men and women in the  hangar  went  about
their business. The commotion attracted the attention of an older,  war-worn
man known to the younger pilots only as Blue Leader.

His face wrinkled with curiosity as he approached the two younger  men.
It was a face scorched by the same fire that flickered in his eyes, a  blaze
kindled not by revolutionary fervor but  by  years  of  living  through  and
witnessing far too much injustice. Behind  that  fatherly  visage  a  raging
demon fought to escape. Soon, very soon, he would be free to let it loose.

Now he was interested in these two young men, who in a few  hours  were
likely to be particles of frozen meat floating about Yavin. One of  them  he
recognized.

"Aren't  you  Luke  Skywalker?  Have  you  been  checked  out  on   the
IncomT-65?"

"Sir," Biggs put in before his friend could  reply,  "Luke's  the  best
bush pilot in the outer-rim territories."

The older man patted Luke reassuringly on the back as they studied  his
waiting ship. "Something to be proud of. I've got over a thousand  hours  in
an Incom sky hopper myself." He paused a moment before going on.

"I met your father once when I was just a boy, Luke.  He  was  a  great
pilot. You'll do all right out there.  If  you've  got  half  your  father's
skill, you'll do a damn sight better than all right."

"Thank you, sir. I'll try."

"There's not much difference control-wise between an X-wing T-65," Blue
Leader went on, "and a skyhopper." His smile turned ferocious.  "Except  the
payload's of a somewhat different nature."

He left them and hurried toward  his  own  ship.  Luke  had  a  hundred
questions to ask him, and no time for even one.

"I've got to get aboard my own boat, Luke. Listen, you'll tell me  your
stories when we come back. All right?"

"All right. I told you I'd make it here someday, Biggs."

"You did." His friend was moving toward a cluster of waiting  fighters,
adjusting his flight suit. "It's going to be like old times, Luke.  We're  a
couple of shooting stars that can't be stopped!"

Luke laughed. They used to reassure themselves with that cry when  they
piloted starships of sandhills and dead  logs  behind  the  flaking,  pitted
buildings of Anchorhead... years and years ago.

Once more Luke turned toward  his  ship,  admiring  its  deadly  lines.
Despite Blue Leader's assurances, he had to admit that it didn't  look  much
like an Incom skyhopper. Artoo Detoo was being snuggled into the R-2  socket
behind the fighter cockpit. A forlorn metal figure stood below, watching the
operation and shuffling nervously about.

"Hold on tight," See Threepio was cautioning the smaller robot. "You've
got to come back. If you don't come back, who am I going  to  have  to  yell
at?" For Threepio, that  query  amounted  to  an  overwhelming  outburst  of
emotion.

Artoo beeped confidently down at his friend, however, as  Luke  mounted
the cockpit entry. Farther down the hangar he saw Blue Leader already set in
his acceleration chair and signaling to his ground crew.  Another  roar  was
added to the monstrous din filling  the  hangar  area  as  ship  after  ship
activated its engines. In that  enclosed  rectangle  of  temple  the  steady
thunder was overpowering.

Slipping into the cockpit seat, Luke studied the  various  controls  as
ground attendants began wiring him via cords and umbilicals into  the  ship.
His confidence  increased  steadily.  The  instrumentation  was  necessarily
simplified and, as Blue Leader had indicated, much like his old skyhopper.

Something patted his helmet, and he glanced left to see the crew  chief
leaning close. He had to shout to be  heard  above  the  deafening  howl  of
multiple engines. "That R-2 unit of yours seems a little  beat  up.  Do  you
want a new one?"

Luke glanced briefly back at the secured droid before  replying.  Artoo
Detoo looked like a permanent piece of the fighter.

"Not on your life. That droid and I have been through a  lot  together.
All secure, Artoo?" The droid replied with a reassuring beep.

As the ground chief jumped clear, Luke commenced the final checkout  of
all instruments. It slowly occurred to him what he and the others were about
to attempt. Not that his personal feelings could override  his  decision  to
join them. He was no longer an individual, functioning solely to satisfy his
personal needs. Something now bound him to every other man and woman in this
hangar.

All around him, scattered scenes of  good-bye  were  taking  place-some
serious, some kidding, all with the true emotion of  the  moment  masked  by
efficiency. Luke turned away from where one pilot left a mechanic,  possibly
a sister or wife, or just a friend, with a sharp, passionate kiss.

He wondered how many of them had their own little debts to settle  with
the Empire. Something crackled in his helmet.  In  response,  he  touched  a
small lever. The ship began to roll  forward,  slowly  but  with  increasing
speed, toward the gaping mouth of the temple.

= XII =

LEIA Organa sat silently before the huge display screen on which  Yavin
and its moons were displayed. A large red  dot  moved  steadily  toward  the
fourth of those satellites. Dodonna and several other  field  commanders  of
the Alliance stood behind her, their eyes also intent on  the  screen.  Tiny
green flecks began to appear around the fourth moon, to coalesce into  small
clouds like hovering emerald gnats.

Dodonna put a hand  on  her  shoulder.  It  was  comforting.  "The  red
represents the progress of the Imperial battle station as  it  moves  deeper
into Yavin's system."

"Our ships are all away," a Commander behind him declared.

A single man stood alone in the cylindrical hold, secured to the top of
a rapier-thin tower. Staring through fixed-mount electro-binoculars, he  was
the sole visible representative of the vast technology buried in  the  green
purgatory below.

Muted cries, moans, and primeval gurglings drifted up to him  from  the
highest treetops. Some were frightening, some less  so,  but  none  were  as
indicative of power held in check as the four silvery starships which  burst
into view above the observer.  Keeping  a  tight  formation,  they  exploded
through humid air to vanish in seconds into  the  morning  cloud  cover  far
above. Sound-shadows rattled the trees moments later, in a  forlorn  attempt
to catch up to the engines which had produced them.

Slowly assuming attack formations combining X- and  Y-wing  ships,  the
various fighters began to move outward from the moon, out past  the  oceanic
atmosphere of giant Yavin, out to meet the technologic executioner.

The man who had observed the byplay between Biggs and Luke now  lowered
his glare visor and adjusted his half-automatic, half-manual gunsights as he
checked the ships to either side of him.

"Blue boys," he addressed his intership pickup, "this is  Blue  Leader.
Adjust your  selectors  and  check  in.  Approaching  target  at  one  point
three..."

Ahead, the bright sphere of what looked like one of Yavin's  moons  but
wasn't began to glow with increasing brightness.  It  shone  with  an  eerie
metallic glow utterly unlike that of any natural satellite.  As  he  watched
the giant battle station make its way around the rim of Yavin, Blue Leader's
thoughts traveled back over the years. Over the uncountable injustices,  the
innocents taken away for interrogation and never heard from again-the  whole
multitude of evils incurred  by  an  increasingly  corrupt  and  indifferent
Imperial government.  All  those  terrors  and  agonies  were  concentrated,
magnified, represented by the single bloated feat of engineering  they  were
approaching now.

"This is it, boys," he said to the mike. "Blue Two, you're too far out.
Close it up, Wedge."

The young pilot Luke  had  encountered  in  the  temple  briefing  room
glanced to starboard, then back to his instruments.  He  executed  a  slight
adjustment, frowning. "Sorry, boss. My ranger seems to be a few points  off.
I'll have to go on manual."

"Check, Blue Two. Watch yourself. All ships, stand by to  lock  S-foils
in attack mode."

One after another, from Luke and Biggs, Wedge and the other members  of
Blue assault squadron, the replies came back. "Standing by..."

"Execute," Blue Leader commanded, when John D. and Piggy had  indicated
they were in readiness.

The double wings on the X-wing fighters split apart, like narrow seeds.
Each fighter  now  displayed  four  wings,  its  wing-mounted  armament  and
quadruple engines now deployed for maximum firepower and maneuverability.

Ahead, the Imperial station continued to grow. Surface features  became
visible as each pilot recognized docking bays, broadcast antennae, and other
man-made mountains and canyons.

As he neared that threatening black sphere for the second time,  Luke's
breathing  grew  faster.  Automatic  life-support  machinery  detected   the
respiratory shift and compensated properly.

Something began to buffet his ship, almost as if he were  back  in  his
skyhopper again, wrestling with the  unpredictable  winds  of  Tatooine.  He
experienced a bad moment of uncertainty until  the  calming  voice  of  Blue
Leader sounded in his ears.

"We're passing through their  outer  shields.  Hold  tight.  Lock  down
freeze-floating controls and switch your own deflectors on, double front."

The shaking and buffeting  continued,  worsened.  Not  knowing  how  to
compensate, Luke did exactly what he should have: remained  in  control  and
followed  orders.  Then  the  turbulence  was  gone  and  the  deathly  cold
peacefulness of space had returned.

"That's it, we're through," Blue Leader told them  quietly.  "Keep  all
channels silent until we're on top of them. It  doesn't  look  like  they're
expecting much resistance."

Though half the great station remained in shadow, they  were  now  near
enough for Luke to be able to discern individual lights on  its  surface.  A
ship that could show phases matching a moon... once again he marveled at the
misplaced ingenuity  and  effort  which  had  gone  into  its  construction.
Thousands of lights  scattered  across  its  curving  expanse  gave  it  the
appearance of a floating city.

Some of Luke's comrades, since  this  was  their  first  sight  of  the
station, were even more impressed. "Look at the size of that  thing!"  Wedge
Antilles gasped over his open pickup.

"Cut the chatter, Blue Two," Blue Leader ordered. "Accelerate to attack
velocity."

Grim determination showed in Luke's expression as  he  flipped  several
switches above his head and began adjusting  his  computer  target  readout.
Artoo Detoo re-examined  the  nearing  station  and  thought  untranslatable
electronic thoughts.

Blue Leader compared the station with the location  of  their  proposed
target area. "Red Leader," he  called  toward  the  pickup,  "this  is  Blue
Leader. We're in position; you can go right in. The exhaust shaft is farther
to the north. We'll keep 'em busy down here."

Red Leader was the physical opposite of Luke's squadron  commander.  He
resembled the popular notion of a  credit  accountant-short,  slim,  shy  of
face. His skills and  dedication,  however,  easily  matched  those  of  his
counterpart and old friend.

"We're starting for the target shaft now, Dutch. Stand by to take  over
if anything happens."

"Check, Red Leader," came the other's  reply.  "We're  going  to  cross
their equatorial axis and try to draw their main fire. May the Force be with
you."

From the approaching swarm, two squads of  fighters  broke  clear.  The
X-wing ships dove directly for the bulge of the station,  far  below,  while
the Y-ships curved down and northward over its surface.

Within the station, alarm sirens began a mournful, clangorous  wail  as
slow-to-react personnel realized that the impregnable fortress was  actually
under organized attack. Admiral Motti and his tacticians  had  expected  the
Rebels' resistance to be centered around  a  massive  defense  of  the  moon
itself. They were completely unprepared for an offensive response consisting
of dozens of tiny snub ships.

Imperial efficiency  was  in  the  process  of  compensating  for  this
strategic oversight. Soldiers scrambled to man enormous  defensive-  weapons
emplacements. Servodrivers thrummed as  powerful  motors  aligned  the  huge
devices for firing. Soon a web of annihilation began to envelop the  station
as energy weapons, electrical bolts, and explosive solids ripped out at  the
oncoming rebel craft.

"This is Blue Five," Luke announced to his mike as he  nose  dived  his
ship in a radical attempt to confuse any electronic  predictors  below.  The
gray surface of the battle station streaked past his ports. "I'm going in."

"I'm right behind you, Blue Five,"  a  voice  recognizable  as  Biggs's
sounded in his ears.

The target in Luke's sights was as  stable  as  that  of  the  Imperial
defenders was evasive. Bolts  flew  from  the  tiny  vessel's  weapons.  One
started a huge fire on the dim surface below, which  would  burn  until  the
crew of the station could shut off the flow of air to the damaged section.

Luke's glee turned to terror as he  realized  he  couldn't  swerve  his
craft in time to avoid passing through the fireball of unknown  composition.
"Pull out, Luke, pull out!" Biggs was screaming at him.

But despite commands to shift course, the automatic  pressors  wouldn't
allow  the  necessary  centrifugal  force.  His  fighter  plunged  into  the
expanding ball of superheated gases.

Then he was through and clear, on the other side. A rapid check of  his
controls enabled him to relax. Passage through the  intense  heat  had  been
insufficient to damage anything vital-though all four wings bore streaks  of
black, carbonized testimony to the nearness of his escape.

Hell-flowers bloomed outside his ship as he swung it up and around in a
sharp curve. "You all right, Luke?" came Biggs's concerned query.

"I got a little toasted, but I'm okay."

A different, stern voice sounded.  "Blue  Five,"  warned  the  squadron
leader, "you'd better give yourself  more  lead  time  or  you're  going  to
destroy yourself as well as the Imperial construction."

"Yes, sir. I've got the hang of it now. Like you said, it's not exactly
like flying a sky hopper."

Energy bolts and sun-bright beams continued to create a chromatic  maze
in the space above the station as the rebel fighters crisscrossed  back  and
forth over its surface, firing at whatever looked like a decent target.  Two
of the tiny craft concentrated on a power terminal.  It  blew  up,  throwing
lightning-sized electric arcs from the station's innards.

Inside,  troopers,  mechanicals,  and  equipment  were  blown  in   all
directions by subsidiary explosions as the effects  of  the  blast  traveled
back down various conduits and cables. Where the explosion  had  hulled  the
station, escaping atmosphere sucked helpless soldiers and droids out into  a
bottomless black tomb.

Moving from position to position, a figure of dark calm amid the chaos,
was Darth  Vader.  A  harried  Commander  rushed  up  to  him  and  reported
breathlessly.

"Lord Vader, we count at least thirty of them, of two types.  They  are
so small and quick the  fixed  guns  cannot  follow  them  accurately.  They
continuously evade the predictors."

"Get all TIE crews to their fighters. We'll have to go out  after  them
and destroy them ship by ship."

Within numerous hangars red lights  began  flashing  and  an  insistent
alarm started to ring. Ground crews worked frantically  to  ready  ships  as
flight-suited Imperial pilots grabbed for helmets and packs.

"Luke," requested Blue Leader as he skimmed smoothly through a rain  of
fire, "let me know when you're off the block."

"I'm on my way now."

"Watch yourself," the voice urged over the cockpit speaker. "There's  a
lot of fire coming from the starboard side of that deflection tower."

"I'm on it, don't  worry,"  Luke  responded  confidently.  Putting  his
fighter into a twisting dive, he sliced once  more  across  metal  horizons.
Antennae and small protruding emplacements burst into  transitory  flame  as
bolts from his wing tips struck with deadly accuracy.

He grinned as he pulled up and away from the surface as  intense  lines
of energy passed through space recently vacated. Darned if  it  wasn't  like
hunting womp-rats back home in the crumbling canyons of Tatooine's wastes.

Biggs followed Luke on a similar run, even as Imperial pilots  prepared
to lift clear of the station. Within the many docking bays  technical  crews
rushed hurriedly to unlock power cables and conclude desperate final checks.

More care was taken in preparing a particular craft nearest one of  the
bay ports, the one into which Darth Vader barely succeeded in squeezing  his
huge frame. Once set in the seat he slid a second set of eye shields  across
his face.

The atmosphere of the war room back in the temple was  one  of  nervous
expectancy. Occasional blinks and buzzes from the main battle screen sounded
louder than the soft sussuration of hopeful people trying  to  reassure  one
another. Near a far corner of the mass of  flickering  lights  a  technician
leaned a little closer to his own readouts before speaking into  the  pickup
suspended near his mouth.

"Squad leaders-attention; squad leaders-attention! We've  picked  up  a
new set of signals from the other side of the station. Enemy fighters coming
your way."

Luke received the report at the same time as everyone  else.  He  began
hunting the sky for the predicted Imperial craft, his gaze dropping  to  his
instrumentation. "My scope's negative. I don't see anything."

"Maintain visual scanning," Blue Leader directed. "With all this energy
flying, they'll be on top of  you  before  your  scope  can  pick  them  up.
Remember, they can jam every instrument on your ship except your eyes."

Luke turned again, and this time saw an Imperial  already  pursuing  an
X-wing-an X-wing with a number Luke quickly recognized.

"Biggs!" he shouted. "You've picked one up. On your tail... watch it!"

"I can't see it," came his friend's panicked response. "Where is he?  I
can't see it."

Luke watched helplessly as Biggs's ship  shot  away  from  the  station
surface and out into clear space, closely  followed  by  the  Imperial.  The
enemy vessel fired steadily at him, each successive bolt seeming to  pass  a
little closer to Biggs's hull.

"He's on me tight," the voice sounded in Luke's cockpit. "I can't shake
him."

Twisting, spinning, Biggs looped back toward the  battle  station,  but
the pilot trailing him was persistent and showed no  sign  of  relinquishing
pursuit.

"Hang on, Biggs," Luke called, wrenching his  ship  around  so  steeply
that straining gyros whined. "I'm coming in."

So absorbed in his pursuit of Biggs was  the  Imperial  pilot  that  he
didn't see Luke, who rotated his own ship, flipped  out  of  the  concealing
gray below and dropped in behind him.

Electronic  crosshairs  lined  up  according  to  the  computer-readout
instructions, and Luke fired repeatedly. There  was  a  small  explosion  in
space-tiny compared  with  the  enormous  energies  being  put  out  by  the
emplacements on the surface of the battle station. But the explosion was  of
particular  significance  to  three   people:   Luke,   Biggs,   and,   most
particularly, to the pilot of the TIE fighter, who was  vaporized  with  his
ship.

"Got him!" Luke murmured.

"I've got one! I've got one!" came a less  restrained  cry  of  triumph
over the open intercom. Luke identified the voice as belonging  to  a  young
pilot known as John D. Yes, that  was  Blue  Six  chasing  another  Imperial
fighter across the metal landscape. Bolts jumped from the X-wing  in  steady
succession until the TIE fighter blew in half, sending  leaflike  glittering
metal fragments flying in all directions.

"Good shooting, Blue Six," the squadron leader commented. Then he added
quickly, "Watch out, you've got one on your tail."

Within the fighter's cockpit the gleeful smile on the young man's  face
vanished instantly  as  he  looked  around,  unable  to  spot  his  pursuer.
Something flared brightly nearby, so close that his  starboard  port  burst.
Then something hit even closer and the interior  of  the  now  open  cockpit
became a mass of flames.

"I'm hit, I'm hit!"

That was all he had time  to  scream  before  oblivion  took  him  from
behind. Far above and to one side Blue Leader saw John D.'s ship expand in a
fiery ball. His lips may have whitened slightly. Otherwise he might as  well
never have seen the X-wing explode, for all the reaction  he  displayed.  He
had more important things to do.

On the fourth moon of Yavin a spacious  screen  chose  that  moment  to
flicker and die, much as John D. had. Worried technicians began  rushing  in
all directions. One turned a drawn face to Leia, the  expectant  Commanders,
and one tall, bronzed robot.

"The high-band receiver has failed. It will take some time to fix..."

"Do the best you can," Leia snapped. "Switch to audio only."

Someone overheard, and in seconds the room was filled with  the  sounds
of distant battle, interspersed with the voices of those involved.

"Tighten it up, Blue Two, tighten  it  up,"  Blue  Leader  was  saying.
"Watch those towers."

"Heavy fire, Boss," came the voice  of  Wedge  Antilles,  "twenty-three
degrees."

"I see it. Pull in, pull in. We're picking up some interference."

"I can't believe it," Biggs  was  stammering.  "I've  never  seen  such
firepower!"

"Pull in, Blue Five. Pull in." A pause, then, "Luke, do  you  read  me?
Luke?"

"I'm all right, Chief," came Luke's reply.  "I've  got  a  target.  I'm
going to check it out."

"There's too much action down there, Luke," Biggs told him.  "Get  out.
Do you read me, Luke? Pull out."

"Break off, Luke," ordered the deeper tones of Blue Leader. "We've  hit
too much interference here. Luke, I repeat, break off! I can't see him. Blue
Two, can you see Blue Five?"

"Negative," Wedge replied  quickly.  "There's  a  fire  zone  here  you
wouldn't believe. My scanner's jammed. Blue Five, where are you?  Luke,  are
you all right?"

"He's gone," Biggs started to report solemnly.  Then  his  voice  rose.
"No, wait... there he is! Looks like a little  fin  damage,  but  the  kid's
fine."

Relief swept the war room, and it was most noticeable in  the  face  of
the slightest, most beautiful Senator present.

On the battle station, troopers worn half to death or deafened  by  the
concussion of the big guns were replaced by fresh crews. None  of  them  had
time to wonder how the battle was going, and at the moment none of them much
cared, a malady shared by common soldiers since the dawn of history.

Luke skimmed daringly low over the  station's  surface,  his  attention
riveted on a distant metal projection.

"Stick close, Blue Five," the squadron commander directed  him.  "Where
are you going?"

"I've picked up what looks like a lateral  stabilizer,"  Luke  replied.
"I'm going to try for it."

"Watch yourself, Blue Five. Heavy fire in your area."

Luke ignored the warning as he headed the fighter straight  toward  the
oddly shaped  protuberance.  His  determination  was  rewarded  when,  after
saturating it with fire, he saw it erupt in a spectacular ball  of  superhot
gas.

"Got it!" he exclaimed. "Continuing south for another one."

Within the rebel temple-fortress, Leia listened  intently.  She  seemed
simultaneously angry and frightened. Finally  she  turned  to  Threepio  and
muttered, "Why is Luke taking so many chances?" The tall droid didn't reply.

"Watch your back, Luke,"  Biggs's  voice  sounded  over  the  speakers,
"watch your back! Fighters above you, coming in."

Leia strained to see what she could only hear. She wasn't alone.  "Help
him, Artoo," Threepio was whispering to himself, "and keep holding on."

Luke continued his dive even as he looked back and spotted  the  object
of Biggs's concern close on his tail. Reluctantly he pulled up and away from
the station surface, abandoning his target. His tormentor was good, however,
and continued closing on him.

"I can't shake him," he reported.

Something cut across the sky toward both ships.  "I'm  on  him,  Luke,"
shouted Wedge Antilles. "Hold on."

Luke didn't have to for very long. Wedge's gunnery was precise, and the
TIE fighter vanished brightly shortly thereafter.

"Thanks, Wedge," Luke murmured, breathing a little more easily.

"Good shooting, Wedge." That was Biggs again. "Blue Four, I'm going in.
Cover me, Porkins."

"I'm right with you, Blue Three," came the other pilot's assurance.

Biggs leveled them off, then let go with full  weaponry.  No  one  ever
decided exactly what it was he hit, but the small tower that blew  up  under
his energy bolts was obviously more important than it looked.

A series of sequential explosions hopscotched across a large section of
the battle station's surface, leaping from one terminal to the  next.  Biggs
had already shot past the area of disturbance, but his companion,  following
slightly behind, received a full dose of whatever energy  was  running  wild
down there.

"I've got a problem," Porkins announced. "My converter's running wild."
That was an understatement. Every  instrument  on  his  control  panels  had
abruptly gone berserk.

"Eject-eject, Blue Four," advised Biggs. "Blue Four, do you read?"

"I'm okay," Porkins replied. "I can hold her. Give me a little room  to
run, Biggs."

"You're too low," his companion yelled. "Pull up, pull up!"

With his instrumentation not providing proper information, and  at  the
altitude he was traveling, Porkins's ship was simple for  one  of  the  big,
clumsy gun emplacements to track. It did as its designers  had  intended  it
should. Porkins's demise was as glorious as it was abrupt.

It was comparatively quiet near the pole  of  the  battle  station.  So
intense and vicious had been  Blue  and  Green  squadron's  assault  on  the
equator that Imperial resistance had concentrated there. Red Leader surveyed
the false peace with mournful satisfaction, knowing  it  wouldn't  last  for
long.

"Blue Leader, this is Red Leader," he announced into his  mike.  "We're
starting our attack run. The exhaust port is located and marked. No flak, no
enemy fighters up here-yet. Looks like we'll get at least one smooth run  at
it."

"I copy, Red Leader," the voice of his  counterpart  responded.  "We'll
try to keep them busy down here."

Three Y-wing fighters dropped out  of  the  stars,  diving  toward  the
battle-station surface. At the last possible minute they swerved to dip into
a deep artificial canyon, one of many streaking the  northern  pole  of  the
Death Star. Metal ramparts raced past on three sides of them.

Red Leader hunted around, noticed the  temporary  absence  of  Imperial
fighters. He adjusted a control and addressed his squadron.

"This is it, boys. Remember, when you think you're close, go in  closer
before you drop that rock. Switch all power to front deflector screens-never
mind what they throw at you from the side. We can't worry about that now."

Imperial crews lining the trench rudely awoke to the  fact  that  their
heretofore ignored section of the station  was  coming  under  attack.  They
reacted speedily, and soon energy bolts were racing at the  attacking  ships
in a steadily increasing volume. Occasionally one would explode near one  of
the onrushing Y- wings, jostling it without real damage.

"A little aggressive, aren't they," Red Two reported over his mike.

Red Leader reacted quietly. "How many guns do you think, Red Five?"

Red Five, known casually to most of the rebel pilots as  Pops,  somehow
managed to make an estimate of the trench's  defenses  while  simultaneously
piloting his fighter through the  growing  hail  of  fire.  His  helmet  was
battered almost to the point of uselessness from the effects of more battles
than anyone had a right to survive.

"I'd say about twenty emplacements," he finally decided, "some  in  the
surface and some on the towers."

Red Leader acknowledged the information with a grunt as he  pulled  his
computer-targeting visor down in front of his face. Explosions continued  to
rock the fighter. "Switch to targeting computers," he declared.

"Red Two," came one reply,  "computer  locked  in  and  I'm  getting  a
signal." The young pilot's rising excitement marked his reply.

But the senior pilot among all the rebels, Red  Five,  was  expectantly
cool and confident-though it didn't sound like it from what he murmured half
to himself: "No doubt about it, this is going to be some trick."

Unexpectedly, all defensive  fire  from  the  surrounding  emplacements
ceased. An eerie quiet clung to the trench as the surface continued to  blur
past the skimming Y-wings.

"What's  this?"  Red  Two  blurted,  looking  around  worriedly.  "They
stopped. Why?"

"I don't like it," growled Red Leader. But there was nothing to confuse
their approach now, no energy bolts to avoid.

It was Pops who was first to properly evaluate this seeming  aberration
on the enemy's part. "Stabilize your rear deflectors now.  Watch  for  enemy
fighters."

"You pinned it, Pops," Red Leader admitted, studying a  readout.  "Here
they come. Three marks at two-ten."

A mechanical voice continued to recite the shrinking distance to  their
target, but it wasn't shrinking  fast  enough.  "We're  sitting  ducks  down
here," he observed nervously.

"We'll just have to ride it out," the old man told them all. "We  can't
defend ourselves and go for the target at the same time." He fought down old
reflexes as  his  own  screen  revealed  three  TIE  fighters  in  precision
formation diving almost vertically down toward them.

"Three-eight-one-oh-four," Darth Vader announced as he calmly  adjusted
his controls. The stars whipped past behind him.  "I'll  take  them  myself.
Cover me."

Red Two was the first to die, the young pilot never  knowing  what  hit
him, never seeing his executioner. Despite his experience, Red Leader was on
the verge of panic when he saw his wingman dissolve in flame.

"We're trapped down here. No  way  to  maneuver-trench  walls  are  too
close. We've got to loosen it up somehow. Got-"

"Stay on target," admonished an older voice. "Stay on target."

Red Leader took Pops's words like tonic, but it was all he could do  to
ignore the closing TIE fighters as the two remaining  Y-wings  continued  to
streak toward the target.

Above them, Vader permitted himself a moment of undisciplined  pleasure
as he readjusted his targeting 'puter. The rebel craft continued to travel a
straight, unevasive course. Again Vader touched finger to fire control.

Something screeched in Red Leader's helmet, and fire started to consume
his instrumentation. "It's no good," he yelled into his  pickup,  "I'm  hit.
I'm hit...!"

A second Y-wing exploded in a ball of vaporized metal, scattering a few
solid shards of debris across the trench. This second loss proved  too  much
even for Red Five to take. He manipulated controls, and his  ship  commenced
rising in a slow curve out of the trench.  Behind  him,  the  lead  Imperial
fighter moved to follow.

"Red Five to Blue Leader," he reported. "Aborting run under heavy fire.
TIE fighters dropped on us out of nowhere. I can't-wait-"

Astern, a silent, remorseless enemy was touching a deadly  button  once
more. The first bolts struck just as Pops had risen high enough to  commence
evasive action. But he had pulled clear a few seconds too late.

One energy beam seared his port engine, igniting gas within. The engine
blew apart, taking controls and stabilizing  elements  with  it.  Unable  to
compensate, the out-of-control Y- wing began a long, graceful plunge  toward
the station surface.

"Are you all right,  Red  Five?"  a  troubled  voice  called  over  the
intership system.

"Lost Tiree... lost Dutch," Pops explained slowly, tiredly. "They  drop
in behind you, and you can't maneuver in the trench. Sorry... it's your baby
now. So long, Dave-"

It was the last message of many from a veteran.

Blue Leader forced a crispness he didn't feel  into  his  voice  as  he
tried to shunt aside the death of his old friend. "Blue boys, this  is  Blue
Leader. Rendezvous at mark six point one. All wings report in."

"Blue Leader, this is Blue Ten. I copy."

"Blue Two here," Wedge acknowledged. "Coming toward you, Blue Leader."

Luke was also waiting his turn to report when something beeped  on  his
control board. A glance backward confirmed  the  electronic  warning  as  he
spotted an Imperial fighter slipping in behind him.

"This is Blue Five," he declared, his ship wobbling as he tried to lose
the TIE fighter. "I have a problem here. Be right with you."

He sent his ship into a steep dive toward the metal surface,  then  cut
sharply up to avoid a burst  of  defensive  fire  from  emplacements  below.
Neither maneuver shook his pursuit.

"I see you, Luke," came a reassuring call from Biggs. "Stay with it."

Luke looked above, below, and to the sides, but there was  no  sign  of
his friend. Meanwhile, energy bolts from his trailing assailant were passing
uncomfortably close.

"Blast it, Biggs, where are you?"

Something appeared, not to the sides or behind, but almost directly  in
front of him. It was bright and moving incredibly  fast,  and  then  it  was
firing just above him. Taken completely by surprise,  the  Imperial  fighter
came apart just as its pilot realized what had happened.

Luke turned for the rendezvous mark as Biggs shot past overhead.  "Good
move, Biggs. Fooled me, too."

"I'm just getting started," his friend announced as he twisted his ship
violently to avoid the fire from  below.  He  hove  into  view  over  Luke's
shoulder and executed a victory roll. "Just point me at the target."

Back alongside Yavin's indifferent bulk, Dodonna  finished  an  intense
discussion with several  of  his  principal  advisors,  then  moved  to  the
long-range transmitter.

"Blue Leader, this is Base One. Double-check your own attack  prior  to
commencement. Have your wingmen hold back and cover for you. Keep half  your
group out of range to make the next run."

"Copy, Base One," the response came. "Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, join  with
me."

Two ships leveled off to flank  the  squadron  commander.  Blue  Leader
checked them out. Satisfied that  they  were  positioned  properly  for  the
attack run, he set the group to follow in case they should fail.

"Blue Five, this is Blue Leader, Luke, take Blue  Two  and  Three  with
you. Hold up here out of their fire and wait for my signal to start your own
run."

"Copy, Blue Leader,"  Luke  acknowledged,  trying  to  slow  his  heart
slightly. "May the force be with you. Biggs,  Wedge,  let's  close  it  up."
Together, the three fighters  assumed  a  tight  formation  high  above  the
firefight still raging  between  other  rebel  craft  of  Green  and  Yellow
squadrons and the imperial gunners below.

The horizon flip-flopped ahead of  Blue  Leader  as  he  commenced  his
approach to the station surface. "Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, stay back until  we
spot those fighters, then cover me."

All three X-wings reached the surface, leveled off, then arced into the
trench. His wingmen dropped farther and farther behind until Blue Leader was
seemingly alone in the vast gray chasm.

No defensive fire greeted him as he raced toward the distant target. He
found himself looking around nervously, checking  and  rechecking  the  same
instruments.

"This doesn't look right," he found himself muttering.

Blue Ten sounded equally concerned. "You should be able to pick up  the
target by now."

"I  know.  The  disruption  down  here  is  unbelievable.  I  think  my
instruments are off. Is this the right trench?"

Suddenly, intense streaks of light began  to  shoot  close  by  as  the
trench defenses opened up. Near misses shook the attackers. At the  far  end
of the trench a huge tower dominated  the  metal  ridge,  vomiting  enormous
amounts of energy at the nearing ships.

"It's not going to be easy with  that  tower  up  there,"  Blue  Leader
declared grimly. "Stand by to close up a little when I tell you."

Abruptly the energy bolts ceased and all was silent  and  dark  in  the
trench once again. "This is it," Blue Leader announced, trying to locate the
attack from above that had to be coming. "Keep  your  eyes  open  for  those
fighters."

"All short-  and  long-range  scopes  are  blank,"  Blue  Ten  reported
tensely. "Too much interference here. Blue Five, can you see them from where
you are?"

Luke's attention was riveted to the surface of the  station.  "No  sign
of-Wait!" Three rapidly moving points of light caught his eye.  "There  they
are. Coming in point three five."

Blue Ten turned and looked in the indicated direction. Sun bounced  off
stabilizing fins as the TIE fighters looped downward. "I see them."

"It's the right trench,  all  right,"  Blue  Leader  exclaimed  as  his
tracking scope suddenly began a steady beeping. He  adjusted  his  targeting
instrumentation, pulling his visor down over his eyes. "I'm almost in range.
Targets ready... coming up. Just hold them off me for a few seconds-keep 'em
busy."

But Darth Vader was already setting his own fire control as he  dropped
like a stone toward the trench. "Close up  the  formation.  I'll  take  them
myself."

Blue Twelve went first, both  engines  blown.  A  slight  deviation  in
flight path and his ship slammed into the trench wall. Blue Ten  slowed  and
accelerated, bobbed drunkenly, but could do little within  the  confines  of
those metal walls.

"I can't hold  them  long.  You'd  better  fire  while  you  can,  Blue
Leader-we're closing on you."

The squadron commander was wholly absorbed in  lining  up  two  circles
within his targeting visor. "We're almost home. Steady, steady..."

Blue Ten glanced around frantically. "They're right behind me!"

Blue Leader was amazed at how calm he was.  The  targeting  device  was
partly responsible, enabling him to concentrate on tiny, abstract images  to
the exclusion of all else, helping him to shut out the rest of the  inimical
universe.

"Almost there, almost there..." he  whispered.  Then  the  two  circles
matched, turned red, and a steady buzzing sounded in his helmet.  "Torpedoes
away, torpedoes away."

Immediately after, Blue Ten let his own missiles loose.  Both  fighters
pulled up sharply, just clearing the end of the trench as several explosions
billowed in their wake.

"It's a hit! We've done it!" Blue Ten shouted hysterically.

Blue Leader's reply was thick with  disappointment.  "No,  we  haven't.
They didn't go in. They just exploded on the surface outside the shaft."

Disappointment killed them, too, as  they  neglected  to  watch  behind
them. Three pursuing Imperial fighters continued up out of the fading  light
from the torpedo explosions. Blue Ten fell to Vader's precision  fire,  then
the Dark Lord changed  course  slightly  to  fall  in  behind  the  squadron
commander.

"I'll take the last one," he announced coldly. "You two go back."

Luke was trying to pick the assault team out of the glowing gases below
when Blue Leader's voice sounded over the communicator.

"Blue Five, this is Blue Leader. Move into position, Luke.  Start  your
attack run-stay low and wait until you're right on top of it. It's not going
to be easy."

"Are you all right?"

"They're on top of me-but I'll shake them."

"Blue Five to Blue pack," Luke ordered, "let's  go!"  The  three  ships
peeled off and plunged toward the trench sector.

Meanwhile Vader finally succeeded in hitting  his  quarry,  a  glancing
bolt that nonetheless started small, intense explosions in one  engine.  Its
R-2 unit scrambled back toward the damaged wing and struggled to repair  the
crippled power plant.

"R-2, shut off the main feed  to  number-one  starboard  engine,"  Blue
Leader directed  quietly,  staring  resignedly  at  instruments  which  were
running impossibilities. "Hang on tight, this could get rough."

Luke saw that Blue Leader was in trouble. "We're right above you,  Blue
Leader," he declared. "Turn to point oh five, and we'll cover for you."

"I've lost my upper starboard engine," came the reply.

"We'll come down for you."

"Negative, negative. Stay there and get set up for your attack run."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I think so... Stand by for a minute."

Actually, it was somewhat less  than  a  minute  before  Blue  Leader's
gyrating X-wing plowed into the surface of the station.

Luke watched the huge explosion dissipate below  him,  knowing  without
question its cause, sensing fully for the first time the helplessness of his
situation.  "We  just  lost  Blue  Leader,"  he   murmured   absently,   not
particularly caring if his mike picked up the somber announcement.

On Yavin Four, Leia Organa rose from  her  chair  and  nervously  began
pacing the room. Normally perfect nails were  now  jagged  and  uneven  from
nervous chewing. It was the only indication of physical unease. The  anxiety
visible in her expression was far more revealing of her feelings, an anxiety
and worry that filled the war room on  the  announcement  of  Blue  Leader's
death.

"Can they go on?" she finally asked Dodonna.

The general replied with gentle resolve. "They must."

"But we've lost so many. Without Blue or  Red  Leader,  how  will  they
regroup?"

Dodonna was about to reply, but held his words as  more  critical  ones
sounded over the speakers.

"Close it up, Wedge," Luke was saying, thousands  of  kilometers  away.
"Biggs, where are you?"

"Coming in right behind you."

Wedge replied soon after. "Okay. Boss, we're in position."

Dodonna's gaze went to Leia. He looked concerned.

The three X-wings moved close together high above the battle  station's
surface. Luke studied his instruments and fought irritably with one  control
that appeared to be malfunctioning.

Someone's voice sounded in his  ears.  It  was  a  young-old  voice,  a
familiar voice: calm, content, confident,  and  reassuring-a  voice  he  had
listened to intently on the desert of  Tatooine  and  in  the  guts  of  the
station below, once upon a time.

"Trust your feelings, Luke," was all the Kenobi-like voice said.

Luke tapped his helmet, unsure whether he had heard  anything  or  not.
This was no time for introspection. The steely horizon of the station tilted
behind him.

"Wedge, Biggs, we're going in," he told his wingmen. "We'll go in  full
speed. Never mind finding the trench and then accelerating. Maybe that  will
keep those fighters far enough behind us."

"We'll stay far enough back to cover you,"  Biggs  declared.  "At  that
speed will you be able to pull out in time?"

"Are you kidding?" Luke sneered playfully  as  they  began  their  dive
toward the surface. "It'll be just like Beggars Canyon back home."

"I'm right with you, Boss," noted Wedge, emphasizing the title for  the
first time. "Let's go..."

At high speed the three slim  fighters  charged  the  glowing  surface,
pulling out after the last moment. Luke skimmed so close  over  the  station
hull that the tip of one wing grazed a  protruding  antenna,  sending  metal
splinters flying. Instantly they were enveloped  in  a  meshwork  of  energy
bolts and explosive projectiles. It intensified as they  dropped  down  into
the trench.

"We seem to have upset  them,"  Biggs  chortled,  treating  the  deadly
display of energy as though it were all  a  show  being  put  on  for  their
amusement.

"This is fine," Luke commented, surprised at the clear view  ahead.  "I
can see everything."

Wedge wasn't quite as confident as he studied  his  own  readouts.  "My
scope shows the tower, but I can't make out the exhaust  port.  It  must  be
awfully small. Are you sure the computer can target it?"

"It better," Biggs muttered.

Luke didn't offer an  evaluation-he  was  too  busy  holding  a  course
through the turbulence produced by exploding bolts. Then, as if on  command,
the defensive fire ceased. He  glanced  around  and  up  for  signs  of  the
expected TIE fighters, but saw nothing.

His hand went to drop the targeting visor into position, and for just a
moment he hesitated. Then he swung it down in  front  of  his  eyes.  "Watch
yourselves," he ordered his companions.

"What about the tower?" Wedge asked worriedly.

"You worry about those fighters," Luke snapped. "I'll worry  about  the
tower."

They rushed on, closing  on  the  target  every  second.  Wedge  stared
upward, and his gaze suddenly froze. "Here they come-oh point three."

Vader was setting his controls when one of  his  wingmen  broke  attack
silence. "They're making their approach too fast-they'll never  get  out  in
time."

"Stay with them," Vader commanded.

"They're going too fast to get a fix," his other pilot  announced  with
certainty.

Vader studied several readouts and found that his sensors confirmed the
other estimates. "They'll still have to slow down  before  they  reach  that
tower."

Luke contemplated the view  in  his  targeting  visor.  "Almost  home."
Seconds passed  and  the  twin  circlets  achieved  congruence.  His  finger
convulsed on the firing control. "Torpedoes away! Pull up, pull up."

Two powerful explosions rocked the trench, striking harmlessly  far  to
one side of the minute opening. Three TIE fighters shot out of  the  rapidly
dissipating fireball, closing on the retreating rebels. "Take  them,"  Vader
ordered softly.

Luke detected the pursuit at the same time as his  companions.  "Wedge,
Biggs, split up-it's the only way we'll shake them."

The three ships dropped toward the station, then abruptly raced off  in
three different directions. All three TIE fighters turned and followed Luke.

Vader fired on  the  crazily  dodging  ship,  missed,  and  frowned  to
himself. "The Force is strong with this one. Strange. I'll take him myself."

Luke darted between defensive towers  and  wove  a  tight  path  around
projecting docking bays, all to no avail. A  single  remaining  TIE  fighter
stayed close behind. An energy bolt nicked one wing, close by an engine.  It
started to spark irregularly, threateningly. Luke fought to  compensate  and
retain full control.

Still trying to shake his persistent assailant, he dropped back into  a
trench again. "I'm hit," he announced, "but not bad. Artoo, see what you can
do with it."

The tiny droid unlocked himself and moved to work on the damaged engine
as energy bolts flashed by dangerously close. "Hang  on  back  there,"  Luke
counseled the Artoo unit as he worked a path around projecting  towers,  the
fighter spinning and twisting tightly through the topography of the station.

Fire remained intense as Luke randomly changed direction and  speed.  A
series of indicators on the control panel slowly changed color; three  vital
gauges relaxed and returned to where they belonged.

"I  think  you've  got  it,  Artoo,"  Luke  told  him  gratefully.   "I
think-there, that's it. Just try to lock it down  so  it  can't  work  loose
again."

Artoo beeped in reply while Luke studied the whirling  panorama  behind
and above them. "I think we've lost those fighters, too. Blue group, this is
Blue Five. Are you clear?" He manipulated several controls  and  the  X-wing
shot out of the trench, still followed by emplacement fire.

"I'm up here waiting, Boss," Wedge announced  from  his  position  high
above the station. "I can't see you."

"I'm on my way. Blue Three, are you clear? Biggs?"

"I've had some trouble," his friend explained,  "but  I  think  I  lost
him."

Something showed again, damnably, on Biggs's screen.  A  glance  behind
showed the TIE fighter that had  been  chasing  him  for  the  past  several
minutes dropping in once more behind him. He swung down toward  the  station
again.

"Nope, not yet," Biggs told the others. "Hold on, Luke. I'll  be  right
there."

A thin, mechanical voice sounded over the speakers.  "Hang  on,  Artoo,
hang on!" Back at the temple headquarters, Threepio  turned  away  from  the
curious human faces which had turned to stare at him.

As Luke soared high above the station another X-wing swung in close  to
him. He recognized Wedge's ship and began hunting around anxiously  for  his
friend.

"We're goin' in, Biggs-join up. Biggs, are you all right? Biggs!" There
was no sign of the other fighter. "Wedge, do you see him anywhere?"

Within the transparent canopy  of  the  fighter  bobbing  close  by,  a
helmeted head shook slowly. "Nothing," Wedge told him over the communicator.
"Wait a little longer. He'll show."

Luke looked around, worried, studied several instruments, then came  to
a decision. "We can't wait; we've got to go now. I don't think he made it."

"Hey, you guys," a cheerful voice  demanded  to  know,  "what  are  you
waiting for?"

Luke turned sharply to his right, in time to see  another  ship  racing
past and slowing slightly ahead of him. "Don't ever give up on  old  Biggs,"
the intercom directed as the figure in the X-wing ahead looked back at them.

Within the central control  room  of  the  battle  station,  a  harried
officer rushed up to a figure studying the great battle screen and  waved  a
handful of printouts at him.

"Sir, we've completed an analysis of their  attack  plan.  There  is  a
danger. Should we break off the engagement or make plans to  evacuate?  Your
ship is standing by."

Governor Tarkin turned an incredulous gaze on the officer,  who  shrank
back. "Evacuate!" he roared. "At our moment of  triumph?  We  are  about  to
destroy the last remnants of the Alliance, and you call for evacuation?  You
overestimate their chances badly... Now, get out!"

Overwhelmed by the Governor's fury,  the  subdued  officer  turned  and
retreated from the room.

"We're going in," Luke declared as he commenced  his  dive  toward  the
surface. Wedge and Biggs followed just aft.

"Let's go-Luke," a voice he had heard before sounded inside  his  head.
Again he tapped his helmet and looked around. It sounded as if  the  speaker
were standing just behind him. But there was nothing, only silent metal  and
nonverbal instrumentation. Puzzled, Luke turned back to his controls.

Once more, energy bolts reached out for  them,  passing  harmlessly  on
both sides as the surface of the battle station charged up  into  his  face.
But the defensive fire wasn't  the  cause  of  the  renewed  trembling  Luke
suddenly experienced. Several critical gauges  were  beginning  their  swing
back into the danger zone again.

He leaned toward the pickup. "Artoo, those  stabilizing  elements  must
have broken loose again. See if you can't lock it back down-I've got to have
full control."

Ignoring the bumpy ride, the energy beams and explosions lighting space
around him, the little robot moved to repair the damage.

Additional, tireless explosions continued to buffet the three  fighters
as they dropped into the trench. Biggs and Wedge dropped behind to cover for
Luke as he reached to pull down the targeting visor.

For the second time a peculiar hesitation swept through him.  His  hand
was slower yet as he finally pulled the device down in front  of  his  eyes,
almost as if the nerves were in conflict with one another. As expected,  the
energy beams stopped as if on signal and he was barreling  down  the  trench
unchallenged.

"Here we go  again,"  Wedge  declared  as  he  spotted  three  Imperial
fighters dropping down on them.

Biggs and Wedge began crossing behind Luke, trying to draw  the  coming
fire away from him and confuse their pursuers. One TIE fighter  ignored  the
maneuvers, continuing to gain inexorably on the rebel ships.

Luke stared into the targeting device-then reached up slowly to move it
aside. For a long minute he pondered the deactivated instrument, staring  at
it as if hypnotized. Then he slid it sharply back in front of his  face  and
studied the tiny screen as it displayed the  shifting  relationship  of  the
X-wing to the nearing exhaust port.

"Hurry, Luke," Biggs called out as he wrenched  his  ship  in  time  to
narrowly avoid a powerful beam. They're coming in faster this time. We can't
hold them much longer."

With inhuman precision, Darth Vader depressed the fire control  of  his
fighter again. A loud, desperate shout sounded over the  speakers,  blending
into a final agonized scream of flesh and metal  as  Biggs's  fighter  burst
into a billion glowing splinters that rained  down  on  the  bottom  of  the
trench.

Wedge heard the explosion over  his  speakers  and  hunted  frantically
behind him for the trailing enemy ships. "We lost Biggs," he  yelled  toward
his own pickup.

Luke didn't reply immediately. His eyes were watering, and  he  angrily
wiped them clear. They were blurring his view of the targeting readout.

"We're a couple of shooting stars, Biggs," he whispered  huskily,  "and
we'll never be stopped." His ship rocked slightly from a near  miss  and  he
directed his words to his remaining wingman, biting down hard on the end  of
each sentence.

"Close it up, Wedge. You can't do any more good back there. Artoo,  try
to give me a little more power on our rear reflectors."

The Artoo unit hurried to comply as Wedge pulled  up  alongside  Luke's
ship. The trailing TIE fighters also increased their speed.

"I'm on the leader," Vader informed his soldiers. "Take the other one."

Luke flew just in front of Wedge, slightly to port side.  Energy  bolts
from the pursuing Imperials began to  streak  close  about  them.  Both  men
crossed each other's path repeatedly, striving to  present  as  confusing  a
target as possible.

Wedge was fighting with his controls when  several  small  flashes  and
sparks lit his control board. One small panel exploded, leaving molten  slag
behind. Somehow he managed to retain control of the ship.

"I've got a bad malfunction, Luke. I can't stay with you."

"Okay, Wedge, get clear."

Wedge mumbled a heartfelt "Sorry" and peeled up out of the trench.

Vader, concentrating his attention on the  one  ship  remaining  before
him, fired.

Luke didn't see the near-lethal explosion which burst close behind him.
Nor did he have time to examine the smoking shell of twisted metal which now
rode alongside one engine. The arms went limp on the little droid.

All three TIE fighters continued to chase the remaining X-wing down the
trench. It was only a matter of  moments  before  one  of  them  caught  the
bobbing fighter with a crippling burst.  Except  now  there  were  only  two
Imperials  pursuing.  The  third  had  become  an  expanding   cylinder   of
decomposing debris, bits and pieces of which slammed into the walls  of  the
canyon.

Vader's remaining wingman looked around in panic for the source of  the
attack. The same distortion fields that confused rebel  instrumentation  now
did likewise to the two TIE fighters.

Only when the freighter fully eclipsed the  sun  forward  did  the  new
threat become visible. It was a Corellian transport,  far  larger  than  any
fighter, and it was diving directly  at  the  trench.  But  it  didn't  move
precisely like a freighter, somehow.

Whoever was piloting that vehicle must have been unconscious or out  of
his mind, the wingman decided. Wildly he adjusted controls in an attempt  to
avoid the anticipated collision. The freighter swept by just  overhead,  but
in missing it the wingman slid too far to one side.

A small explosion followed as two huge  fins  of  the  paralleling  TIE
fighters intersected. Screaming uselessly into  his  pickup,  the  wing  man
fluttered toward the near  trench  wall.  He  never  touched  it,  his  ship
erupting in flame before contact.

To the other side, Darth Vader's  fighter  began  spinning  helplessly.
Unimpressed by the  Dark  Lord's  desperate  glower,  various  controls  and
instruments gave back readings which were brutally truthful. Completely  out
of control, the tiny ship continued spinning in the opposite direction  from
the destroyed wingman-out into the endless reaches of deep space.

Whoever was at  the  controls  of  the  supple  freighter  was  neither
unconscious nor insane-well, perhaps slightly touched, but fully in  command
nonetheless. It soared high above the trench, turning  to  run  protectively
above Luke.

"You're all clear now, kid," a familiar voice informed him.  "Now  blow
this thing so we can all go home."

This pep talk was followed by a reinforcing grunt which could only have
been produced by a particularly large Wookiee.

Luke looked up through the canopy and smiled. But his smile faded as he
turned back to the targeting visor. There was a tickling inside his head.

"Luke...trust me," the tickle requested, forming words  for  the  third
time. He stared into the targeter. The emergency exhaust  port  was  sliding
toward the firing circle again, as it had once before-when he'd  missed.  He
hesitated, but only briefly this time,  then  shoved  the  targeting  screen
aside. Closing his eyes, he appeared to mumble to himself, as if in internal
conversation with something unseen. With the confidence of a  blind  man  in
familiar surroundings, Luke  moved  a  thumb  over  several  controls,  then
touched one. Soon after, a concerned voice filled the cockpit from the  open
speakers.

"Base One to Blue Five, your targeting device is switched  off.  What's
wrong?"

"Nothing," Luke murmured, barely audible. "Nothing."

He blinked and cleared his eyes. Had he been asleep? Looking around, he
saw that he was out of the trench and  shooting  back  into  open  space.  A
glance outside showed the familiar shape of Han Solo's ship  shadowing  him.
Another, at the control board, indicated that he had released his  remaining
torpedoes, although he couldn't remember touching the firing stud. Still, he
must have.

The cockpit speakers were alive with excitement. "You did it!  You  did
it!" Wedge was shouting over and over. "I think they went right in."

"Good shot kid." Solo complimented him, having to raise his voice to be
heard over Chewbacca's unrestrained howling.

Distant, muted rumblings  shook  Luke's  ship,  an  omen  of  incipient
success. He must have fired the torpedoes, mustn't he? Gradually he regained
his composure.

"Glad... you were here to see it. Now let's get some  distance  between
us and that thing before it goes. I hope Wedge was right."

Several  X-wings,   Y-wings,   and   one   battered-looking   freighter
accelerated away from the battle station, racing toward the distant curve of
Yavin.

Behind them small flashes of fading light marked the receding  station.
Without warning, something appeared in the sky in  place  of  it  which  was
brighter than the glowing gas giant, brighter than its far-off  sun.  For  a
few seconds the eternal night became day. No one dared look directly at  it.
Not even multiple shields set on high could dim that awesome flare.

Space filled temporarily with trillions of microscopic metal fragments,
propelled past the retreating ships by  the  liberated  energy  of  a  small
artificial sun. The collapsed residue of the battle station  would  continue
to consume itself for several days, forming for that brief span of time  the
most impressive tombstone in this corner of the cosmos.

= XIII =

A  CHEERING,  gleeful  throng  of  technicians,  mechanics,  and  other
inhabitants of the Alliance headquarters swarmed around each fighter  as  it
touched down and taxied  into  the  temple  hangar.  Several  of  the  other
surviving pilots had already vacated their ships and were waiting  to  greet
Luke.

On the opposite side of the fighter, the crowd was far smaller and more
restrained. It consisted of a couple of technicians and one  tall,  humanoid
droid who watched worriedly as the humans mounted the scorched  fighter  and
lifted a badly burned metal hulk from its back.

"Oh, my! Artoo?" Threepio pleaded,  bending  close  to  the  carbonized
robot. "Can you hear me? Say something." His unwinking gaze turned to one of
the techs. "You can repair him, can't you?"

"We'll do our best." The man studied the vaporized metal, the  dangling
components. "He's taken a terrible beating."

"You must repair him! Sir, if any of my circuits or modules will  help,
I'll gladly donate them..."

They moved slowly away, oblivious to the noise  and  excitement  around
them. Between robots and the humans who repaired them there existed  a  very
special relationship. Each partook a little of the other and  sometimes  the
dividing line between man and machine  was  more  blurred  than  many  would
admit.

The center of the carnival atmosphere was formed by three  figures  who
battled to see who could compliment the others the most.  When  it  came  to
congratulatory back-slapping, however, Chewbacca won by default.  There  was
laughter as the Wookiee looked embarrassed at having nearly  flattened  Luke
in his eagerness to greet him.

"I knew you'd come back,"  Luke  was  shouting,  "I  just  knew  it!  I
would've been nothing but dust if you hadn't sailed in like that, Han!"

Solo had lost none of his smug self- assurance. "Well, I couldn't  very
well let a flying farm boy go  up  against  that  station  all  by  himself.
Besides, I was beginning to realize what could happen, and I  felt  terrible
about it, Luke-leaving you to maybe take all the  credit  and  get  all  the
reward."

As they laughed, a lithe figure, robes flowing, rushed up to Luke in  a
very unsenatorial fashion.  "You  did  it,  Luke,  you  did  it!"  Leia  was
shouting.

She fell into his arms and hugged him as he spun her around.  Then  she
moved to Solo and repeated the embrace. Expectantly, the Corellian  was  not
quite as embarrassed.

Suddenly awed by the adulation of the crowd, Luke turned away. He  gave
the tired fighter a look of approval, then found his gaze traveling  upward,
up to the ceiling high overhead. For a second he thought he heard  something
faintly like a gratified sigh, a relaxing of muscles a  crazy  old  man  had
once performed in moments of  pleasure.  Of  course,  it  was  probably  the
intruding hot wind of a steaming jungle world, but  Luke  smiled  anyway  at
what he thought he saw up there.

There were many rooms in the vast expanse of the temple which had  been
converted for modern service by the technicians of  the  Alliance.  Even  in
their desperate need, however, there was something too clean and classically
beautiful about the ruins of the ancient throne room for the  architects  to
modify. They had left it as it was, save for scouring it clear  of  creeping
jungle growth and debris.

For the first time in thousands of  years  that  spacious  chamber  was
full. Hundreds of rebel troops and technicians stood assembled  on  the  old
stone floor, gathered together for one last time before  dispersing  to  new
posts and distant homes. For the first time ever the massed ranks of pressed
uniforms and polished semi-armor stood arrayed together in a fitting show of
Alliance might.

The banners of the many worlds which had lent support to the  rebellion
fluttered in the gentle breeze formed inside. At the far end of a long  open
aisle stood  a  vision  gowned  in  formal  white,  barred  with  chalcedony
waves-Leia Organa's signet of office.

Several figures appeared at the far end of the aisle. One, massive  and
hirsute, showed signs of running for cover, but was urged on down  the  open
row by his companion. It took several minutes for  Luke,  Han,  Chewie,  and
Threepio to cover the distance to the other end.

They stopped before Leia, and Luke recognized General Dodonna among the
other dignitaries seated nearby. There was a pause and a gleaming,  familiar
Artoo unit joined the group, moving to stand next to a thoroughly  awestruck
Threepio.

Chewbacca shuffled nervously, giving every  indication  of  wishing  he
were someplace else. Solo silenced him as Leia rose and came forward. At the
same time banners tilted in unison and all those gathered in the great  hall
turned to face the dais.

She  placed  something  heavy  and  golden  around  Solo's  neck,  then
Chewbacca's-having to strain to do so-and finally around  Luke's.  Then  she
made a signal to the crowd, and the rigid discipline dissolved as every man,
woman, and mechanical present was permitted  to  give  full  vent  to  their
feelings.

As he stood awash in the cheers and shouts, Luke found  that  his  mind
was neither on his possible future with the Alliance nor on  the  chance  of
traveling adventurously with Han Solo and Chewbacca.  Instead,  unlikely  as
Solo had claimed it might be, he found his full attention  occupied  by  the
radiant Leia Organa.

She noticed his unabashed stare, but this time she only smiled.