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 indicted 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 stuck the freighter forward and was barely 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 Wookie-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 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 Wookie 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 at 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 Wookie 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 na?ve 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 form 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 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 thought 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 hanger linked by
powerful elevators.
    A landspeeder came to a gradual stop within the temple, whose first level was
the uppermost of the 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 materials 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 know 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 overproduction, its usefulness would be eliminated by particle shielding.  A
direct hit would initiate a chain reaction that will 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 degree 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-17 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 not of these emplacements.  There's a
heavy concentration of firepower on the latitudinal axes, was well as several dense
circumpolar 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 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 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, lifting 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 Wookie 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 pilot 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 Incom T-
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
skyhopper 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 no 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 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 fighter, adjusting
his flight suit.  "It's going to be like old time, 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 level.
The ship began to roll forward, slowly but with increasing speed, toward the gaping
mouth of the temple.