Meanwhile, the Emperor has been quite busy.
Several more star systems have been brought under Imperial rule. Various troublesome political leaders have been assassinated. Vast stockpiles of weapons have been manufactured. And a few dark alliances have been made. For the Emperor is not just an emperor, but also a Sith Lord. He has used the dark side to rise to power, crush the Jedi Order, and expand the reach of the Empire far beyond that of the weak Old Republic.
True, he still has the Rebel Alliance to deal with. A paltry few thousand malcontents who dare to stand in the way of his plans to bring order to a whole galaxy!
But they will be dealt with soon enough.
That plan is already in motion. But it isn’t moving quite as fast as he had hoped. So he has sent his most trusted servant, Darth Vader, to sort things out….
AH, YOU’RE thinking that the flipping of a switch is a tiny, dull action that cannot matter in a galactic war.
Oh, no, the flipping of switches, the tightening of a bolt, even the filing of paperwork can be just as important as the firing of a gun. It is, in fact, these little things that allow the Emperor to rule a whole galaxy without ever stirring from his chair. He never does any of those things. And yet they get done.
Come, let us look at one of these little, tiny evil deeds getting done.
It starts on a Star Destroyer, one of the Empire’s tremendous—and terrifying—triangular spaceships.
The great ship has settled into orbit around the forest moon of Endor. From a docking bay in its belly, a small shuttle emerges, spreads its wings, and zips off toward another object in orbit around the moon—a metal mass so large it dwarfs even the Star Destroyer.
It is the Death Star1…a hideous combination of space station, antimatter reactor, and all-powerful weapon.
As big as it is, the Death Star is still growing, still under construction. Not quite a whole sphere yet. But growing every day. Just not growing fast enough to please the Emperor.
Inside the Death Star, countless operators oversee countless screens detailing the various operations of the space station. Much of the work doesn’t seem particularly evil: requisitioning the helmets for a certain squadron of stormtroopers to be moved from floor K39 to floor K47, for instance, or receiving a shipment of elevator propulsors.
But don’t be fooled. The end purpose of every action is to promote the Emperor’s dark desires. And, reader, we well know that Emperor Palpatine has some very, very dark desires.
They’re unspeakable. Unthinkable!
Yet when broken down into tiny pieces, they don’t seem so bad. So the helmet supervisor supervises the helmets and the elevator installer installs the propulsors.
And somewhere in the bowels of the giant space station, a flight controller receives a message from the incoming shuttle.
“Command station, this is shuttle ST three-twenty-one, code clearance blue. We’re starting our approach. Deactivate the security shield.”
“The deflector shield will be deactivated when we have confirmation of your code transmission,” replies the flight controller.
He waits for a signal from his screen, then flips the aforementioned switch, which sends another signal down to the forest moon. There, in the midst of a great forest, a generator the size of a small city is producing a shield around the Death Star.
When the signal is received, a sector of the shield cuts off temporarily to make way for the shuttle.
“You are clear to proceed,” the controller announces.
“We’re starting our approach,” replies the shuttle captain.
And now there’s a bustle in the control room. The flight controller rushes to tell the duty officer.
“Lord Vader’s shuttle has arrived.”
The officer turns on his heel and barks at a petty officer.
“Inform the commander that Lord Vader’s shuttle has arrived.”
“Yes, sir!” And off he goes.
Meanwhile, the flight controller sits back down. His work is done and he soon forgets all about it.
You were right, it wasn’t very exciting. Nonetheless, it is in this way that the Emperor’s evil schemes become a dark reality.
“LORD VADER’S shuttle has arrived, Commander Jerjerrod,” the petty officer announces a few moments later.
Moff Jerjerrod nods.
He already knew this, of course. He’s been waiting nervously all morning.
Jerjerrod isn’t much of a soldier. He’s an architect, a builder, a creator1—not a destroyer.
His job is to manage the construction of this…space station.
Jerjerrod prefers to think of it as a space station, not a “Death Star.”
He has told himself many times that it won’t really need to be used. Once built, it will provide a defense for the Empire simply by existing. It will symbolize the Empire’s power and deter attacks without ever firing a shot.
Of course, he told himself the same thing when he helped build the first Death Star…which the Empire used to destroy an entire world of innocent people.
But, he tells himself, this time there won’t be any need to demonstrate the planet-killing capabilities of this new Death Star.
So day after day he has slaved over plans, sweated over details, exhausted himself with the work of the biggest job in the galaxy.
And it hasn’t been easy. Budget cuts! Supply chain breakdowns! And always too many stormtroopers underfoot, yet never enough construction workers to get things done.
He’s been asking himself if he will dare to mention all this to Darth Vader. He’d really love to give the Emperor’s messenger a long list of complaints and demands.
If only he could get Vader to review the daily reports, to look at the numbers. Perhaps Vader might even take his side! Yes, he must show those reports to Vader!
Well…probably.
I mean, you know what Vader is like…the helmet…and the breathing…and the soulless black mask.
It’s all just a little bit intimidating for an architect turned commander whose only strength is the ability to read those endless reports.
ROWS OF STORMTROOPERS stand at attention in the docking bay. They are excited—nervous, even. For most this will be the first time they have seen Darth Vader.
He’s far more important than an officer. More than a general or admiral. Certainly more than a Death Star commander, think some, glancing contemptuously at Jerjerrod.
Vader is the right hand of the almighty Emperor. He is the second most powerful man in the galaxy.
And he is terrifying.
He stomps down the ramp from his shuttle with his black cape flying behind him. Even from a distance they can hear the steady wheezing growl of the machinery that keeps him alive, that makes him more than a man.
And even the least Force-sensitive amongst them can feel the power of the dark side as they behold his mask.
He does not just wear the mask. He is the mask and the mask is him.
It surrounds his whole head—or whatever is left of his head. Instead of a mouth, he has a permanent metal snarl. Instead of a nose, he has a few ugly ridges. And instead of eyes, he has two round black mirrors that reflect the fear of everyone who sees him.
The stormtroopers are safe behind their own masks. No one can see their fear as the deathly gaze of that black mask sweeps over their ranks.
How much worse must it be, then, for Jerjerrod, who has no helmet, no mask, nothing to hide behind? The deathly gaze has landed on him and does not let go.
With swift, tireless strides, Vader is zeroing in on him. And the horrid mask is really uncomfortably close now. Now it is looming over him! And it’s awfully hard to think when that awful mechanical wheezing is filling your ears and all you can see is the reflection of yourself cowering in those awful eyes.
Jerjerrod swallows hard. He wills himself to be strong, but is already abandoning his hopes of showing Vader the reports.
It is all he can do to croak out a formal welcome.
> “Lord Vader, this is an unexpected pleasure. We’re honored by your presence.”
“You may dispense with the pleasantries, Commander,” announces Vader. “I’m here to put you back on schedule.”
Now Jerjerrod is humiliated in front of the troops. He tries to defend himself.
“I assure you, Lord Vader, my men are working as fast as they can.”
“Perhaps I can find new ways to motivate them,” booms Vader.
Jerjerrod trembles inside, afraid even to think of Vader’s methods of motivation.
This is all going wrong. He takes the strongest stand he can.
“I tell you, this station will be operational as planned.”
“The Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation.”
“But he asks the impossible,” says Jerjerrod, his strong stand already becoming a whispery whine. “I need more men.”
“Then perhaps you can tell him when he arrives.”
“The Emperor’s coming here?”
“That is correct, Commander. And he is most displeased with your apparent lack of progress.”
“We shall double our efforts,” promises Jerjerrod, forgetting all about his list of complaints and demands, all about the reports.
“I hope so, Commander, for your sake. The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am.”
And thus we see how Vader gets things done.
How the Emperor runs his Empire.
And how fear makes a not particularly evil architect do the wholly evil deeds demanded by the dark side.
FAR AWAY, on the swamp planet of Dagobah, Yoda waits.
For hundreds of years, he taught Jedi younglings the value of patience.
But it has not been easy for him to practice it these last few years.
It is hard to be weak when you were once strong. Hard to move slowly when all around you is moving too fast.
The Force is out of balance. As the Emperor spreads fear across the galaxy, the dark side grows more and more powerful.
Yoda knows that it is Luke’s destiny, not his, to fight back. Yoda—once a warrior, once the leader of all those who stood against the dark side—can do nothing but wait.
And it has been a long, helpless wait. First he waited while Luke went to Bespin, then while Luke rejoined the rebels, then while Luke went on that insanely risky mission to Tatooine.
Using the Force, he has tried to keep watch over Luke, but he has only a sense of what his runaway pupil has been through.
Yet now he senses that Luke is finally returning. And he is relieved. Because he could not have waited much longer.
Already he has used the Force to prolong his life beyond what is natural. Beyond what is comfortable and almost beyond what is endurable. His small body has long ago worn out.
But he refuses to pass on.
Not until he can play his last part in this great galactic struggle.
All he has left are a few pieces of wisdom that might help Luke.
And now, the sound of an engine roars through the swamp, and Yoda knows the time has finally come. The wait is over.
“HMMM,” SAYS YODA. “That face you make. Look I so old to young eyes?”
“No…of course not,” says Luke, but of course Yoda does look old. Impossibly old. His green skin is pale and the wrinkles are much deeper than when Luke saw him last. And his long ears are now thin and drooping. And Luke can sense something of the pain inside his old master, though Yoda tries to keep it hidden.
“Sick have I become. Old and weak.” But Yoda chuckles. “When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not. Hmmm?”
Yoda hobbles across his tiny hut and climbs onto his bed, struggling even to pull up a blanket.
“Soon will I rest. Yes, forever sleep. Earned it, I have.”
“Master Yoda, you can’t die,” says Luke.
“Strong am I with the Force…but not that strong!” Yoda tells him. “Twilight is upon me and soon night must fall. That is the way of things…the way of the Force.”
“But I need your help. I’ve come back to complete the training,” says Luke, though he already knows he is too late for that.
“No more training do you require,” murmurs Yoda, sinking into the bed. “Already know you that which you need.”
“Then I am a Jedi,” murmurs Luke.
“Ohhh,” says Yoda, raising an eyebrow just as he did with hundreds of headstrong impatient younglings over the centuries. But this youngling is different than all of those. If this one fails his final test, then the whole galaxy must suffer.
“One thing remains,” Yoda tells him. “Vader. You must confront Vader. Then, only then, a Jedi will you be. And confront him you will.”
“Master Yoda…is Darth Vader my father?”
“Mmm…rest I need. Yes…rest,” mutters Yoda, trying to pretend that he didn’t hear the question. But he heard it. This is not what he had planned to discuss with Luke. This is dangerous knowledge he had hoped to hide from Luke forever.
But Luke is too close to the truth now.
“Yoda, I must know.”
The tired old Jedi rests a moment, gathers his strength, and at last answers Luke’s question. “Your father he is.”
Both feel this revelation as a blow, as if they had actually been struck by Vader himself.
Luke now knows that his worst fears are the actual truth. He can no longer cling to his hope that Vader was simply lying to him. And with hope gone, fear grows. And so does anger…anger that this secret was kept from him for so long.
Yoda never battled Vader face-to-face, but he feels defeated by him at last. Despite all of his efforts and all of Obi-Wan’s years of vigilance, Vader has gained a great power over Luke.
His whole life he has sought to banish fear and anger—but now, exhausted and dying, he feels both flicker to life.
Yoda sinks back. Closes his eyes. Seeks to control these dark emotions. After a long pause, he speaks again: “Told you, did he?”
“Yes.”
“Unexpected this is, and unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate that I know the truth?” snaps Luke.
“No,” says Yoda, finding enough strength to turn back to Luke, to face him as a master must face a pupil. “Unfortunate that you rushed to face him…that incomplete was your training. Not ready for the burden were you.”
“I’m sorry,” says Luke.
But he isn’t. And Yoda doesn’t truly expect him to be.
They both know the reasons for Luke’s actions. Luke rushed off to save his friends. He let his feelings come before his duty.
Now, in these last minutes of his long life, Yoda wonders if Luke might have been right. If, perhaps, one’s feelings are more important than one’s duty.
Perhaps…but also more dangerous. So very dangerous. He remembers what happened when Anakin Skywalker put his feelings before his duty—he turned to the dark side, became a tool of the Emperor, and set in motion the destruction of the Jedi.
“Remember, a Jedi’s strength flows from the Force. But beware…anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny.”
He draws a painful breath.
“Luke…Luke…do not…do not underestimate the powers of the Emperor, or suffer your father’s fate, you will.”
Yes, this was the lesson he had waited so long to teach Luke. And just one more thing. One last thing to tell Luke. One final duty for this Jedi who wanted peace yet spent so many years battling the servants of the dark side.
He has one last thing to say that might help to tip the balance toward the light.
“Luke, when gone am I…the last of the Jedi will you be. Luke, the Force runs strong in your family. Pass on what you have learned, Luke….There is…another…Sky…walker….”
And with that he is gone…his body vanishes, but Yoda does not quite disappear from the galaxy.
He is part of the Force now, as he always has been and
always will be.
LUKE IS CERTAINLY NOT in control of his feelings now.
Grief over Yoda’s death, confusion over his past and his future, fear of failure, and…anger.
Yes, anger. He is angry that Darth Vader is his father. Even though he knew it to be true, he had held out hope that Yoda would explain it all away.
But now it is confirmed. The great dark metal monster who attacked him with such ferocity, such hatred, is his own father.
Of course he is angry, and right now much of that anger is directed at his first master, Obi-Wan Kenobi—Old Ben Kenobi, the crazy hermit from over the dunes who turned out to be a wise and powerful wizard.
Kenobi was the one who set Luke on this path—and he did it with lies.
Kenobi told him that his father was a good man who was killed by Darth Vader. And now Luke knows that was a lie.
So he walks away from Yoda’s hut full of all the feelings that Yoda waited so long to warn him about.
There are many dangers in the swamps of Dagobah. Once, when Luke was here training with Yoda, he was alert to every one of them. Even when running at full speed, every step was chosen carefully.
But today he walks carelessly through the muck and mire. There’s so much in his head he cannot see what is around him.
He stops briefly to check on some repair work R2 is doing on the X-wing, but he can’t focus. He is overwhelmed. Unable to act or even think clearly.
Far away and yet nearby, Obi-Wan senses all this and knows he must help.
Like most Jedi, Obi-Wan became part of the Force when he died.
But Obi-Wan did something the others did not. Guided by the discoveries of his own master, Qui-Gon Jinn, Kenobi found a way to live after death and even return to walk briefly among the living. Not for himself, not for some greedy dream of immortality, but to continue the great fight against evil and tyranny.
It takes a great effort, a great will, but he collects himself, pulls together the pieces of his consciousness from the endless flowing energy of the Force, and appears before Luke.
Beware the Power of the Dark Side! Page 6