Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

by James Kahn

  That smile, again, like a knife. Luke held silent, struggling to regain his composure.

  The Emperor tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne, recalling. “There was one called... Yoda. An aged Master Jed... Ah, I see by your countenance I have hit a chord, a resonant chord indeed. Yoda, then.”

  Luke flashed with anger at himself, now, to have revealed so much, unwillingly, unwittingly. Anger and self-doubt. He strove to calm himself--to see all, to show nothing; only to be.

  “This Yoda,” the Emperor mused. “Lives he still?”

  Luke focused on the emptiness of space beyond the window behind the Emperor’s chair. The deep void, where nothing was.

  Nothing. He filled his mind with this black nothing. Opaque, save for the occasional flickering of starlight that filtered through the ether.

  “Ah,” cried Emperor Palpatine. “He lives not. Very good, young Skywalker, you almost hid this from me. But you could not. And you can not. Your deepest flickerings are to me apparent. Your nakedest soul. That is my first lesson to you.” He beamed.

  Luke wilted—but a moment. In the very faltering, he found strength. Thus had Ben and Yoda both instructed him: when you are attacked, fall. Let your opponent’s power buffet you as a strong wind topples the grass. In time, he will expend himself, and you will still be upright.

  The Emperor watched Luke’s face with cunning. “I’m sure Yoda taught you to use the Force with great skill.”

  The taunt had its desired effect—Luke’s face flushed, his muscles flexed.

  He saw the Emperor actually lick his lips at the sight of Luke’s reaction. Lick his lips and laugh from the bottom of his throat, the bottom of his soul.

  Luke paused, for he saw something else, as well; something he hadn’t seen before in the Emperor. Fear.

  Luke saw fear in the Emperor—fear of Luke. Fear of Luke’s power, fear that this power could be turned on him—on the Emperor—in the same way Vader had turned it on Obi-Wan Kenobi. Luke saw this fear in the Emperor—and he knew, now, the odds had shifted slightly. He had glimpsed the Emperor’s nakedest self.

  With sudden absolute calm, Luke stood upright. He stared directly into the malign ruler’s hood.

  Palpatine said nothing for a few moments, returning the young Jedi’s gaze, assessing his strengths and weaknesses. He sat back at last, pleased with this first confrontation. “I look forward to completing your training, young Skywalker. In time, you will call me Master.”

  For the first time, Luke felt steady enough to speak. “You’re gravely mistaken. You will not convert me as you did my father.”

  “No, my young Jedi,” the Emperor leaned forward, gloating, “you will find that it is you who are mistaken... about a great many things.”

  Palpatine suddenly stood, came down from his throne, walked up very close to Luke, stared venomously into the boy’s eyes. At last, Luke saw the entire face within the hood: eyes, sunken like tombs; the flesh decayed beneath skin weathered by virulent storms, lined by holocaust; the grin, a death’s-grin; the breath, corrupt.

  Vader extended a gloved hand toward the Emperor, holding out Luke’s lightsaber. The Emperor took it with a slow sort of glee, then walked with it across the room to the huge circular view-window. The Death Star had been revolving slowly, so the Sanctuary Moon was now visible at the window’s curving margin.

  Palpatine looked at Endor, then back at the lightsaber in his hand. “Ah, yes, a Jedi’s weapon. Much like your father’s.” He faced Luke directly. “By now you must know your father can never be turned from the dark side. So will it be with you.”

  “Never. Soon I will die, and you with me.” Luke was confident of that now. He allowed himself the luxury of a boast.

  The Emperor laughed, a vile laugh. “Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack of your Rebel fleet.” Luke had a thick, reeling moment, then steadied himself. The Emperor went on. “I assure you, we are quite safe from your friends here.”

  Vader walked toward the Emperor, stood at his side, looking at Luke.

  Luke felt increasingly raw. “Your overconfidence is your weak­ness,” he challenged them.

  “Your faith in your friends is yours.” The Emperor began smiling; but then his mouth turned down, his voice grew angry. “Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design. Your friends up there on the Sanctuary Moon—they’re walking into a trap. And so is your Rebel fleet!”

  Luke’s face twitched visibly. The Emperor saw this, and really began to foam. “It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator. It is quite safe from your pitiful little band—an entire legion of my troops awaits them there.”

  Luke’s eyes darted from the Emperor, to Vader, and finally to the lightsaber in the Emperor’s hand. His mind quivered with alternatives; suddenly everything was out of control again. He could count on nothing but himself. And on himself, his hold was tenuous.

  The Emperor kept rattling on imperiously. “I’m afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your fleet arrives. And that is only the beginning of my surprise—but of course I don’t wish to spoil it for you.”

  The situation was degenerating fast, from Luke’s perspective. Defeat after defeat was being piled on his head. How much could he take? And now another surprise coming? There seemed to be no end to the rank deeds Palpatine could carry out against the galaxy. Slowly, infinitesimally, Luke raised his hand in the direction of the lightsaber.

  The Emperor continued. “From here, young Skywalker, you will witness the final destruction of the Alliance—and the end of your insignificant rebellion.”

  Luke was in torment. He raised his hand further. He realized both Palpatine and Vader were watching him. He lowered his hand, lowered his level of anger, tried to restore his previous calm, to find his center to see what it was he needed to do.

  The Emperor smiled, a thin dry smile. He offered the lightsaber to Luke. “You want this, don’t you? The hate is swelling in you, now. Very good, take your Jedi weapon. Use it. I am unarmed. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment you make yourself more my servant.”

  His rasping laughter echoed off the walls like desert wind. Vader continued staring at Luke.

  Luke tried to hide his agony. “No, never.” He thought desperately of Ben and Yoda. They were part of the Force, now, part of the energy that shaped it. Was it possible for them to distort the Emperor’s vision by their presence? No one was infallible, Ben had told him—surely the Emperor couldn’t see everything, couldn’t know every future, twist every reality to suit his gluttony. Ben, thought Luke, if ever I needed your guidance, it is now. Where can I take this, that it will not lead me to ruin?

  As if in answer, the Emperor leered, and put the lightsaber down on the control chair near Luke’s hand. “It is unavoidable,” the Emperor said quietly. “It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now... mine.”

  Luke had never felt so lost.

  Han, Chewie, Leia, and a dozen commandos made their way down the labyrinthine corridors toward the area where the shield generator room was marked on the stolen map. Yellow lights illuminated the low rafters, casting long shadows at each inter­section. At the first three turnings, all remained quiet; they saw no guard or worker.

  At the fourth cross-corridor, six Imperial stormtroopers stood a wary watch.

  There was no way around; the section had to be traversed. Han and Leia looked at each other and shrugged; there was nothing for it but to fight.

  With pistols drawn, they barged into the entryway. Almost as if they’d been expecting an attack, the guards instantly crouched and began firing their own weapons. A barrage of laserbolts followed, ricocheting from girder to floor. Two stormtroopers were hit immediately. A third lost his gun; pinned behind a refrigerator console, he was unable to do much but stay low.

  Two more stood behind a fire door, though, and blasted each commando who tried to get through. Four went down. The guards were virt
ually impregnable behind their vulcanized shield—but virtually didn’t account for Wookiees.

  Chewbacca rushed the door, physically dislodging it on top of the two stormtroopers. They were crushed.

  Leia shot the sixth guard as he stood to draw a bead on Chewie. The trooper who’d been crouching beneath the refrigeration unit suddenly bolted, to go for help. Han raced after him a few long strides and brought him down with a flying tackle. He was out cold.

  They checked themselves over, accounted for casualties. Not too bad—but it had been noisy. They’d have to hurry now, before a general alarm was set. The power center that controlled the shield generator was very near. And there would be no second chances.

  The Rebel fleet broke out of hyperspace with an awesome roar. Amid glistening streamers of light, battalion after battalion emerged in formation, to fire off toward the Death Star and its Sanctuary Moon hovering brightly in the close distance. Soon the entire navy was bearing down on its target, the Millennium Falcon in the lead.

  Lando was worried from the moment they came out of hyper-space. He checked his screen, reversed polarities, queried the computer.

  The copilot was perplexed, as well. “Zhng ahzi gngnohzh. Dzhy lyhz!”

  “But how could that be?” Lando demanded. “We’ve got to be able to get some kind of reading on the shield, up or down.” Who was conning whom on this raid?

  Nien Nunb pointed at the control panel, shaking his head. “Dzhmbd.”

  “Jammed? How could they be jamming us if they don’t know we’re... coming.”

  He grimaced at the onrushing Death Star, as the implications of what he’d just said sank in. This was not a surprise attack, after all. It was a spider web.

  He hit the switch on his comlink. “Break off the attack! The shield’s still up!”

  Red Leader’s voice shouted back over the headphones. “I get no reading, are you sure?”

  “Pull up!” Lando commanded. “All craft pull up!”

  He banked hard to the left, the fighters of the Red Squad veering close on his tail.

  Some didn’t make it. Three flanking X-wings nicked the invisible deflector shield, spinning out of control, exploding in flames along the shield surface. None of the others paused to look back.

  On the Rebel Star Cruiser bridge, alarms were screaming, lights flashing, klaxons blaring, as the mammoth space cruiser abruptly altered its momentum, trying to change course in time to avoid collision with the shield. Officers were running from battle stations to navigation controls; other ships in the fleet could be seen through the view-screens, careening wildly in a hundred directions, some slowing, some speeding up.

  Admiral Ackbar spoke urgently but quietly into the comlink. “Take evasive action. Green Group steer course for Holding Sector. MG-7 Blue group—”

  A Mon Calamari controller, across the bridge, called out to Ackbar with grave excitement. “Admiral, we have enemy ships at Sector RT-23 and PB-4.”

  The large central view-screen was coming alive. It was no longer just the Death Star and the green moon behind it, floating isolated in space. Now the massive Imperial fleet could be seen flying in perfect, regimental formation, out from behind Endor in two behemoth flanking waves—heading to surround the Rebel fleet from both sides, like the pincers of a deadly scorpion.

  And the shield barricaded the Alliance in front. They had nowhere to go.

  Ackbar spoke desperately into the comlink. “It’s a trap. Prepare for attack.”

  An anonymous fighter pilot’s voice came back over the radio. “Fighters coming in! Here we go!”

  The attack began. The battle was joined.

  TIE fighters, first—they were much faster than the bulky Imperial Cruisers, so they were the first to make contact with the Rebel invaders. Savage dogfights ensued, and soon the black sky was aglow with ruby explosions.

  An aide approached Ackbar. “We’ve added power to the forward shield, Admiral.”

  “Good. Double power on the main battery, and—

  Suddenly the Star Cruiser was rocked by thermonuclear fire­works outside the observation window.

  “Gold Wing is hit hard!” another officer shouted, stumbling up to the bridge.

  “Give them cover!” Ackbar ordered. “We must have time!” He spoke again into the comlink, as yet another detonation rumbled the frigate. “All ships, stand your position. Wait for my command to return!”

  It was far too late for Lando and his attack squadrons to heed that order, though. They were already way ahead of the pack, heading straight for the oncoming Imperial fleet.

  Wedge Antilles, Luke’s old buddy from the first campaign, led the X-wings that accompanied the Falcon. As they drew near the Imperial defenders, his voice came over the comlink, calm and experienced. “Lock X-foils in attack positions.”

  The wings split like dragonfly gossamers, poised for increased maneuvering and power.

  “All wings report in,” said Lando.

  “Red Leader standing by,” Wedge replied.

  “Green Leader standing by.”

  “Blue Leader standing by.”

  “Gray Leader—”

  This last transmission was interrupted by a display of pyrotech­nics that completely disintegrated Gray Wing.

  “Here they come,” Wedge commented.

  “Accelerate to attack speed,” Lando ordered. “Draw fire away from our cruisers as long as possible.”

  “Copy, Gold Leader,” Wedge responded. “We’re moving to point three across the axis—

  “Two of them coming in at twenty degrees—” someone advised.

  “I see them,” noted Wedge. “Cut left, I’ll take the leader.”

  “Watch yourself, Wedge, three from above.”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “I’m on it, Red Leader.”

  “There’s too many of them—”

  “You’re taking a lot of fire, back off—

  “Red Four, watch out!”

  “I’m hit!”

  The X-wing spun, sparking, across the starfield, out of power, into the void.

  “You’ve picked one up, watch it!” Red Six yelled at Wedge.

  “My scope’s negative, where is he?”

  “Red Six, a squadron of fighters has broken through—

  “They’re heading for the Medical Frigate! After them!”

  “Go ahead,” Lando agreed. “I’m going in. There’re four marks at point three five. Cover me!”

  “Right behind you, Gold Leader. Red Two, Red Three, pull in—

  “Hang on, back there.”

  “Close up formations, Blue Group.”

  “Good shooting, Red Two.”

  “Not bad,” said Lando. “I’ll take out the other three...”

  Calrissian steered the Falcon into the complete flip, as his crew fired at the Imperial fighters from the belly guns. Two were direct hits, the third a glancing blow that caused the TIE fighter to tumble into another of its own squads. The heavens were absolutely thick with them, but the Falcon was faster by half than anything else that flew.

  Within a matter of minutes, the battlefield was a diffuse red glow, spotted with puffs of smoke, blazing fireballs, whirling spark showers, spinning debris, rumbling implosions, shafts of light, tumbling machinery, space-frozen corpses, wells of blackness, electron storms.

  It was a grim and dazzling spectacle. And only beginning.

  Nien Nunb made a guttural aside to Lando.

  “You’re right,” the pilot frowned. “Only their fighters are attack­ing. What are those Star Destroyers waiting for?” Looked like the Emperor was trying to get the Rebels to buy some real estate he wasn’t intending to sell.

  “Dzhng zhng,” the copilot warned, as another squadron of TIE fighters swooped down from above.

  “I see “em. We’re sure in the middle of it, now.” He took a second to glance at Endor, floating peacefully off to his right. “Come on, Han old buddy, don’t let me down.”

  Han pressed the button on hi
s wrist-unit and covered his head: the reinforced door to the main control room blew into melted pieces. The Rebel squad stormed through the gaping portal.

  The stormtroopers inside seemed taken completely by surprise. A few were injured by the exploding door; the rest gawked in dismay as the Rebels rushed them with guns drawn. Han took the lead, Leia right behind; Chewie covered the rear.

  They herded all the personnel into one corner of the bunker. Three commandos guarded them there, three more covered the exits. The rest began placing the explosive charges.

  Leia studied one of the screens on the control panel. “Hurry, Han, look! The fleet’s being attacked!”

  Solo looked over at the screen. “Blast it! With the shield still up, they’re backed against the wall.”

  “That is correct,” came a voice from the rear of the room. “Just as you are.”

  Han and Leia spun around to find dozens of Imperial guns trained on them; an entire legion had been hiding in the wall compart­ments of the bunker. Now, in a single moment, the Rebels were surrounded—nowhere to run, far too many stormtroopers to fight. Completely surrounded.

  More Imperial troops charged through the door, roughly disarm­ing the stunned commandos.

  Han, Chewie, and Leia exchanged helpless, hopeless looks. They’d been the Rebellion’s last chance.

  They’d failed.

  Some distance from the main area of battle, coasting safely in the center of the blanket of ships that constituted the Imperial fleet, was the flagship Super Star Destroyer. On the bridge, Admiral Piett watched the war through the enormous observation window--curious, as if viewing an elaborate demonstration, or an enter­tainment.

  Two fleet captains stood behind him, respectfully silent; also learning the elegant designs of their Emperor.

  “Have the fleet hold here,” Admiral Piett ordered.

  The first captain hurried to carry out the order. The second stepped up to the window, beside the admiral. “We aren’t going to attack?”