The sandstorm obscured everything—sight, breath, thought, motion.  The roar of it
alone was disorienting, sounding like it came from everywhere at once, as if the
universe were composed of noise, and this was its chaotic center.
    The seven heroes walked step by step through the murky gale, holding on to one
another so as not to get lost.  Artoo was first, following the signal of the homing
device, which sang to him in a language not garbled by the wind.  Threepio came
next, then Leia guiding Han, and finally Luke and Lando, supporting the hobbling
Wookiee.
    Artoo beeped loudly, and they all looked up: vague, dark shapes could be seen
through the typhoon.
    "I don't know," shouted Han.  "All I can see is a lot of blowing sand."
    "That's all any of us can see," Leia shouted back.
    "Then I guess I'm getting better."
    For a few steps, the dark shapes grew darker; and then out of the darkness, the
Millennium Falcon appeared, flanked by Luke's X-wing and a two-seater Y-wing.
As soon as the group huddled under the bulk of the Falcon, the wind died down to
something more describable as a severe weather condition.  Threepio hit a switch,
and the gangplank lowered with a hum.
    Solo turned to Skywalker.  "I've got to hand it to you, kid, you were pretty good
out there."
    Luke shrugged it off.  "I had a lot of help."  He started toward his X-wing.
    Han stopped him, his manner suddenly quieter, even serious.  "Thanks for
coming after me, Luke."
    Luke felt embarrassed for some reason.  He didn't know how to respond to
anything but a wisecrack from the old pirate.  "Think nothing of it," he finally said.
    "No, I'm thinkin' a lot about it.  That carbon freeze was the closest thing to
dead there is.  And it wasn't just sleepin', it was a big, wide awake Nothin'."
    A Nothing from which Luke and the others had saved him—put their own lives
in great peril at his expense, for no other reason than that…he was their friend.  This
was a new idea for the cocky Solo—at once terrible and wonderful.  There was
jeopardy in this turn of events.  It made him feel somehow blinder than before, but
visionary as well.  It was confusing.  Once, he was alone; now he was a part.
    That realization made him feel indebted, a feeling he'd always abhorred; only
now the debt was somehow a new kind of bond, a bond of brotherhood.  It was even
freeing, in a strange way.
    He was no longer so alone.
    No longer alone.
    Luke saw a difference had come over his friend, like a sea change.  It was a
gentle moment; he didn't want to disturb it.  So he only nodded.
    Chewie growled affectionately at the young Jedi warrior, mussing his hair like a
proud uncle.  And Leia warmly hugged him.
    They all had great love for Solo, but somehow it was easier to show it by being
demonstrative to Luke.
    "I'll see you back at the fleet," Luke called, moving toward his ship.
    "Why don't you leave that crate and come with us?" Solo nudged.
    "I have a promise I have to keep first…to an old fried."  A very old friend, he
smiled to himself in afterthought.
    "Well, hurry back," Leia urged.  "The entire Alliance should be assembled by
now."  She saw something in Luke's face; she couldn't put a name to it, but it scared
her, and simultaneously made her feel closer to him.  "Hurry back," she repeated.
    "I will," he promised.  "Come on, Artoo."
    Artoo rolled toward the X-wing, beeping a farewell to Threepio.
    "Good-bye, Artoo," Threepio called out fondly.  "May the maker bless you.
You will watch out for him, won't you, Master Luke?"
    But Luke and the little droid were already gone, on the far end of the flyer.
    The others stood without moving for a moment, trying to see their futures in the
swirling sand.
    Lando jarred them awake.  "Come on, let's get off this miserable dirt ball."
His luck here had been abominable; he hoped to fare better in the next game.  It
would be house rules for a while, he knew; but he might be able to load a few dice
along the way.
    Solo clapped him on the back.  "Guess I owe you some thanks, too, Lando."
    "Figured if I left you frozen like that you'd just give me bad luck the rest of my
life, so I might as well get you unfrozen sooner, as later."
    "He means 'you're welcome." Leia smiled.  "We all mean you're welcome."
She kissed Han on the cheek to say it personally one more time.
    They all headed up the ramp of the Falcon.  Solo paused just before going
inside and gave the ship a little pat.  "You're lookin' good, old girl.  I never thought
I'd live to see you again."
    He entered at last, closing the hatch behind him.
    Luke did the same in the X-wing.  He strapped himself into the cockpit, started
up the engines, felt the comfortable roar.  He looked at his damaged hand: wires
crossed aluminum bones like spokes in a puzzle.  He wondered what the solution
was.  Or the puzzle, for that matter.  He pulled a black glove over the exposed
infrastructure, set the X-wing's controls, and for the second time in his life, he
rocketed off his home planet, into the stars.

    The Super Star Destroyer rested in space above the half-completed Death Star
battle station and its green neighbor, Endor.  The Destroyer was a massive ship,
attended by numerous smaller warships of various kinds, which hovered or darted
around the great mother ship like children of different, ages and temperaments:
medium range fleet cruisers, bulky cargo vessels, TIE fighter escorts.
    The main bay of the Destroyer opened, space-silent.  An Imperial shuttle
emerged and accelerated toward the Death Star, accompanied by four squads of
fighters.
    Darth Vader watched their approach on the viewscreen in the control room of the
Death Star.  When docking was imminent, he marched out of the command center,
followed by Commander Jerjerrod and a phalanx of Imperial stormtroopers, and
headed toward the docking bay.  He was about to welcome his master.
    Vader's pulse and breathing were machine-regulated, so they could not quicken;
but something in his chest became more electric around his meetings with the
Emperor; he could not say how.  A feeling of fullness, unrestrained passion, wild
submission—all these things were in Vader's heart as he neared his Emperor.  These
things and more.
    When he entered the docking bay, thousands of Imperial troops snapped to
attention with a momentous clap.  The shuttle came to rest on the pod.  Its ramp
lowered like a dragon jaw, and the Emperor's royal guard ran down, red robes
flapping, as if they were licks of flame shooting out the mouth to herald the angry roar.
They poised themselves at watchful guard in two lethal rows beside the ramp.
Silence filled the great hall.  At the top of the ramp, the Emperor appeared.
    Slowly, he walked down.  A small man was he, shriveled with age and evil.
He supported his bent frame on a gnarled cane and covered himself with a long,
hooded robe—much like the robe of the Jedi, only black.  His shrouded face was so
thin of flesh it was nearly a skull; his piercing yellow eyes seemed to burn through all
at which they stared.
    When the Emperor reached the bottom of the ramp Commander Jerjerrod, his
generals, and Lord Vader all kneeled before him.  The Supreme Dark Ruler
beckoned to Vader, and began walking down the row of troops.
    "Rise, my friend.  I would talk with you."
    Vader rose, and accompanied his master.  They were followed in procession by
the Emperor's courtiers, the royal guard, Jerjerrod, and the Death Star elite guard,
with mixed reverence and fear.
    Vader felt complete at the Emperor's side.  Though the emptiness at his core
never left him, it became a glorious emptiness in the glare of the Emperor's cold light,
an exalted void that could encompass the universe.  And someday would encompass
the universe…when the Emperor was dead.
    For that was Vader's final dream.  When he'd learned all he could of the dark
power from this evil genius to take that power from, seize it and keep its cold light at
his own core—kill the Emperor and devour his darkness, and rule the universe.  Rule
with his son at his side.
    For that was his other dream—to reclaim his boy, to show Luke the majesty of
this shadow force: why it was so potent, why he'd chosen rightly to follow its path.
And Luke would come with him, he knew.  That seed was sown.  They would rule
together, father and son.
    His dream was very close to realization, he could feel it; it was near.  Each
event fell into place, as he'd nudged it, with Jedi subtlety; as he'd pressed, with
delicate dark strength.
    "The Death Star will be completed on schedule, my master," Vader breathed.
    "Yes, I know," replied the Emperor.  "You have done well, Lord Vader…and
now I sense you wish to continue your search for the young Skywalker."
    Vader smiled beneath his armored mask.  The Emperor always knew the sense
of what was in his heart; even if he didn't know the specifics.  "Yes, my master."
    "Patience, my friend," the Supreme Ruler cautioned.  "You always had
difficulty showing patience.  In time, he will seek you out…and when he does, you
must bring him before me.  He has grown strong.  Only together can we turn him to
the dark side of the Force."
    "Yes, my master."  Together, they would corrupt the boy—the child of the
father.  Great, dark glory.  For soon, the old Emperor would die—and though the
galaxy would bend from the horror of that loss, Vader would remain to rule, with
young Skywalker at his side.  As it was always meant to be.
    The Emperor raised his head a degree, scanning all the possible futures.
"Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen."
    He, like Vader, had plans of his own—plans of spiritual violation, the
manipulation of lives and destinies.  He chuckled to himself, savoring the nearness
of his conquest: the final seduction of the young Skywalker.

    Luke left his X-wing parked at the edge of the water and carefully picked his
way through the adjoining swamp.  A heavy mist hung in layers about him.  Jungle
steam.  A strange insect flew at him from out of a cluster of hanging vines, fluttered
madly about his head, and vanished.  In the undergrowth, something snarled.  Luke
concentrated momentarily.  The snarling stopped.  Luke walked on.
    He had terribly ambivalent feelings about this place.  Dagobah.  His place of
tests, of training to be a Jedi.  This was where he'd truly learned to use the Force, to
let it flow through him to whatever end he directed it.  So he'd learned how
caretaking he must be in order to use the Force well.  It was walking on light; but to
a Jedi it was as stable as an earthen floor.
    Dangerous creatures lurked in this swamp; but to a Jedi, none were evil.
Voracious quicksand mires waited, still as pools; tentacles mingled with the hanging
vines.  Luke knew them all, now, they were all part of the living planet, each integral
to the Force of which he, too, was a pulsing aspect.
    Yet there were dark things here, as well—unimaginably dark, reflections of the
dark corners of his soul.  He'd seen these things here.  He'd run from them, he'd
struggled with them; he'd even faced them.  He'd vanquished some of them.
    But some still cowered here.  These dark things.
    He climbed around a barricade of gnarled roots, slippery with moss.  On the
other side, a smooth, unimpeded path led straight in the direction he wanted to go; but
he did not take it.  Instead, he plunged once more into the undergrowth.
    High overhead, something black and flapping approached, then veered away.
Luke paid no attention.  He just kept walking.
    The jungle thinned a bit.  Beyond the next bog, Luke saw it—the small,
strangely-shaped dwelling, its odd little windows shedding a warm yellow light in the
damp rain-forest.  He skirted the mire, and crouching low, entered the cottage.
    Yoda stood smiling inside, his small green hand clutching his walking stick for
support.  "Waiting for you I was," he nodded.
    He motioned Luke to sit in a corner.  The boy was struck by how much more
frail Yoda's manner seemed—a tremor to the hand, a weakness to the voice.  It made
Luke afraid to speak, to betray his shock at the old master's condition.
    "That face you make," Yoda crinkled his tired brow cheerfully.  "Look I so bad
to young eyes?"
    He tried to conceal his woeful countenance, shifting his position in the cramped
space.  "No, Master…of course not."
    "I do, yes, I do!" the tiny Jedi Master chuckled gleefully.  "Sick I've become.
Yes.  Old and weak."  He pointed a crooked finger at his young pupil.  "When
nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not."
    The creature hobbled over to his bed, still chuckling and, with great effort, lay
down.  "Soon will I rest.  Yes, forever sleep.  Earned it, I have."
    Luke shook his head.  "You can't die, Master Yoda—I won't let you."
    "Trained well, and strong with the Force are you—but not that strong!  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," Luke insisted.  "I want to complete my training."  The
great teacher couldn't leave him now—there was too much, still, to understand.  And
he'd taken so much from Yoda already, and as yet given back nothing.  He had much
he wanted to share with the old creature.
    "No more training do you require," Yoda assured him.  "Already know you that
which you need."
    "Then I am a Jedi?" Luke pressed.  No.  He knew he was not, quite.
Something still lacked.
    Yoda wrinkled up his wizened features.  "Not yet.  One thing remains.
Vader…Vader you must confront.  Then, only then, a full Jedi you'll be.  And
confront him you will, sooner or later."
    Luke knew this would be his test, it could not be otherwise.  Every quest had it
focus, and Vader was inextricably at the core of Luke's struggle.  It was agonizing
for him to put the question to words; but after a long silence, he again spoke to the old
Jedi.  "Master Yoda—is Darth Vader my father?"
    Yoda's eyes filled with a weary compassion.  This boy was not yet a man
complete.  A sad smile creased his face, he seemed almost to grow smaller in his bed.
"A rest I need.  Yes.  A rest."
    Luke stared at the dwindling teacher, trying to give the old one strength, just by
the force of his love and will.  "Yoda, I must know," he whispered.
    "Your father he is," Yoda said simply.
    Luke closed his eyes, his mouth, his heart, to keep away the truth of what he
knew was true.
    "Told you, did he?" Yoda asked.
    Luke nodded, but did not speak.  He wanted to keep the moment frozen, to
shelter it here, to lock time and space in this room, so it could never escape into the
rest of the universe with this terrible knowledge, this unrelenting truth.
    A look of concern filled Yoda's face.  "Unexpected this is, and unfortunate—"
    "Unfortunate that I know the truth?"  A bitterness crept into Luke's voice, but
he couldn't decide if it was directed at Vader, Yoda, himself, or the universe at large.
    Yoda gathered himself up with an effort that seemed to take all his strength.
"Unfortunate that you rushed to face him—that incomplete your training was…that
not ready for the burden were you.  Obi-wan would have told you long ago, had I let
him…now a great weakness you carry.  Fear for you, I do.  Fear for you, yes."  A
great tension seemed to pass out of him and he closed his eyes.
    "Master Yoda, I am sorry." Luke trembled to see the potent Jedi so weak.
    "I know, but face Vader again you must, and sorry will not help."  He leaned
forward, and beckoned Luke close to him.  Luke crawled over to sit beside his
master.  Yoda continued, his voice increasingly frail.  "Remember, a Jedi's strength
flows from the Force.  When you rescued your friends, you had revenge in your
heart.  Beware of anger, fear, and aggression.  The dark side are they.  Easily they
flow, quick to join you in a fight.  Once you start down the dark path, forever will it
dominate your destiny."
    He lay back in bed, his breathing became shallow.  Luke waited quietly, afraid
to move, afraid to distract the old one an iota, lest it jar his attention even a fraction
from the business of just keeping the void at bay.
    After a few minutes, Yoda looked at the boy once more, and with a maximum
effort, smiled gently, the greatness of his spirit the only thing keeping his decrepit
body alive.  "Luke—of the Emperor beware.  Do not underestimate his powers, or
suffer your father's fate you will.  When gone I am…last of the Jedi will you be.
Luke, the Force is strong in your family.  Pass on what you…have…learned…"  He
began to falter, he closed his eyes.  "There…is…another…sky…"
    He caught his breath, and exhaled, his spirit passing from him like a sunny wind
blowing to another sky.  His body shivered once; and he disappeared.
    Luke sat beside the small, empty bed for over an hour, trying to fathom the depth
of this loss.  It was unfathomable.
    His first feeling was one of boundless grief.  For himself, for the universe.
How could such a one as Yoda be gone forever?  It felt like a black, bottomless hole
had filled his heart, where the part that was Yoda had lived.
    Luke had know the passing of old mentor before.  It was helplessly sad; and
inexorably, a part of his own growing.  Is this what coming of age was, then?
Watching beloved friends grow old and die?  Gaining a new measure of strength or
maturity from their powerful passages?
    A great weight of hopelessness settled upon him, just as all the lights in the little
cottage flickered out.  For several more minutes he sat there, feeling it was the end of
everything, that all the lights in the universe had flickered out.  The last Jedi, sitting
in a swamp, while the entire galaxy plotted the last war.
    A chill came over him, though, disturbing the nothingness into which his
consciousness had lapsed.  He shivered, looked around.  The gloom was
impenetrable.
    He crawled outside and stood up.  Here in the swamp, nothing had changed.
Vapor congealed, to drip from dangling roots back into the mire, in a cycle it had
repeated a million times, would repeated forever.  Perhaps there was his lesson.  If
so, it cut his sadness not a whit.
    Aimlessly he made his way back to where his ship rested.  Artoo rushed up,
beeping his excited greetings; but Luke was disconsolate, and could only ignore the
faithful little droid.  Artoo whistled a brief condolence, then remained respectfully
silent.
    Luke sat dejectedly on a log, put his head in his hands, and spoke softly to
himself.  "I can't do it.  I can't go on alone."
    A voice floated down to him on the dim mist.  "Yoda and I will be with you
always."  It was Ben's voice.
    Luke turned around swiftly to see the shimmering image of Obi-wan Kenobi
standing behind him.  "Ben!" he whispered.  There were so many things he wanted
to say, they rushed through his mind all in a whirl, like the churning, puffed cargo of a
ship in a maelstrom.  But one question rose quickly to the surface above all the
others.  "Why, Ben?  Why didn't you tell me?"
    It was not an empty question.  "I was going to tell you when you had completed
your training," the vision of Ben answered.  "But you found it necessary to rush off
unprepared.  I warned you about your impatience."  His voice was unchanged, a
hint of scolding, a hint of love.
    "You told me Darth Vader betrayed and murdered my father."  The bitterness
he'd felt earlier, with Yoda, had found its focus now on Ben.
    Ben absorbed the vitriol undefensively, then padded it with instruction.  "Your
father, Anakin, was seduced by the dark side of the Force—He ceased to be Anakin
Skywalker, and became Darth Vader.  When that happened, he betrayed everything
that Anakin Skywalker believed in.  The good man who was your father was
destroyed.  So what I told you was true…from a certain point of view."
    "A certain point of view!" Luke rasped derisively.  He felt betrayed—by life
more than anything else, though only poor Ben was available to take the brunt of his
conflict.
    "Luke," Ben spoke gently, "you're going to find that many of the truth we cling
to depend greatly on our point of view."
    Luke turned unresponsive.  He wanted to hold onto his fury, to guard it like a
treasure.  It was all he had, he would not let it be stolen from him, as everything else
had been stolen.  But already he felt it slipping, softened by Ben's compassionate
touch.
    "I don't blame you for being angry," Ben coaxed.  "If I was wrong in what I did,
it certainly wouldn't have been for the first time.  You see, what happened to your
father was my fault…"
    Luke looked up with sudden acute interest.  He'd never heard this and was
rapidly losing his anger to fascination and curiosity—for knowledge was an addictive
drug, and the more he had the more he wanted.
    As he sat on his stump, increasingly mesmerized, Artoo pedaled over, silent, just
to offer a comforting presence.
    "When I first encountered your father," Ben continued, "he was already a great
pilot.  But what amazed me was how strongly the Force was with him.  I took it
upon myself to train Anakin in the ways of the Jedi.  My mistake was thinking I
could be as good a teacher as Yoda.  I was not.  Such was my foolish pride.  The
Emperor sensed Anakin's power, and he lured him to the dark side."  He paused
sadly and looked directly into Luke's eyes, as if he were asking for the boy's
forgiveness.  "My pride had terrible consequences for the galaxy."
    Luke was entranced.  That Obi-wan's hubris could have caused his father's fall
was horrible.  Horrible because of what his father had needlessly become, horrible
because Obi-wan wasn't perfect, wasn't even a perfect Jedi, horrible because the dark
side could strike so close to him, could turn such right so wring.  Darth Vader must
yet have a spark of Anakin Skywalker deep inside.  "There is still good in him," he
declared.
    Ben shook his head remorsefully.  "I also thought he could be turned back to the
good side.  It couldn't be done.  He is more machine, now, than man—twisted, and
evil."
    Luke sensed the underlying meaning in Kenobi's statement, he heard the words
as a command.  He shook his head back at the vision.  "I can't kill my own father."
    "You should not think of that machine as your father."  It was the teacher
speaking again.  "When I saw what had become of him, I tried to dissuade him, to
draw him back from the dark side.  We fought…your father fell into a molten pit.
When your father clawed his way out of that fiery pool, the change had been burned
into him forever—he was Darth Vader, without a trace of Anakin Skywalker.
Irredeemably dark.  Scarred.  Kept alive only by machinery and his own black
will…"
    Luke looked down at his own mechanical right hand.  "I tried to stop him once.
I couldn't do it."  He would not challenge his father again.  He could not.
    "Vader humbled you when first you met him, Luke—but that experience was
part of your training.  It taught you, among other things, the value of patience.  Had
you not been so impatient to defeat Vader then, you could have finished your training
here with Yoda.  You would have been prepared."
    "But I had to help my friends."
    "And did you help them?  It was they who had to save you.  You achieved
little by rushing back prematurely, I fear."
    Luke's indignation melted, leaving only sadness in its wake.  "I found out Darth
Vader was my father," he whispered.
    "To be a Jedi, Luke, you must confront and then go beyond the dark side—the
side your father couldn't get past.  Impatience is the easiest door—for you, like your
father.  Only, your father was seduced by what he found on the other side of the door,
and you have held firm.  You're no longer so reckless now, Luke.  You are strong
and patient.  And you are ready for your final confrontation."
    Luke shook his head again, as the implications of the old Jedi's speech became
clear.  "I can't do it, Ben."
    Obi-wan Kenobi's shoulders slumped in defeat.  "Then the Emperor has already
won.  You were our only hope."
    Luke reached for alternatives.  "Yoda said I could train another to…"
    "The other he spoke of is your twin sister," the old man offered a dry smile.
"She will find it no easier than you to destroy Darth Vader."
    Luke was visibly jolted by this information.  He stood up to face this spirit.
"Sister?  I don't have a sister."
    Once again Obi-wan put a gentle inflection in his voice, to soothe the turmoil
brewing in his young friend's soul.  "To protect you both against the Emperor, you
were separated when you were born.  The Emperor knew, as I did, that one day, with
the Force on their side, Skywalker's offspring would be a threat to him.  For that
reason, your sister has remained safely anonymous."
    Luke resisted this knowledge at first.  He neither needed nor wanted a twin.
He was unique!  He had no missing parts—save the hand whose mechanical
replacement he now flexed tightly.  Pawn in a castle conspiracy?  Cribs mixed,
siblings switched and parted and whisked away to different secret lives?  Impossible.
He knew who he was!  He was Luke Skywalker, born to a Jedi-turned-Sithlord,
raised on a Tatooine sandfarm by Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, raised in a life without
frills, a hardworking honest pauper—because his mother…his mother…What was it
about his mother?  What had she said, who was she?  What had she told him?  He
turned his mind inward, to a place and time far from the damp soil of Dagobah, to his
mother's chamber, his mother and his…sister.  His sister…
    "Leia!  Leia is my sister," he exclaimed, nearly falling over the stump.
    "Your insight serves you well," Ben nodded.  He quickly became stern, though.
"Bury your feelings deep down, Luke.  They do you credit, but they could be made
to serve the Emperor."
    Luke tried to comprehend what his old teacher was saying.  So much
information, so fast, so vital…it almost made him swoon.
    Ben continued his narrative.  "When your father left, he didn't know your
mother was pregnant.  Your mother and I knew he would find out eventually, but we
wanted to keep you both as safe as possible, for as long as possible.  So I took you to
live with my brother Owen, on Tatooine…and your mother took Leia to live as the
daughter of Senator Organa, on Alderaan."
    Luke settled down to hear this tale, as Artoo nestled up beside him, humming in
a subaudible register to comfort.
    Ben, too, kept his voice even, so that the sounds could give solace when the
words did not.  "The Organa family was high-born and politically quite powerful in
that system.  Leia became a princess by virtue of lineage—no one knew she'd been
adopted, of course.  But it was a title without real power, since Alderaan had long
been a democracy.  Even so, the family continued to be politically powerful, and
Leia, following in her foster father's path, became a senator as well.  That's not all
she became, of course—she became the leader of her cell in the Alliance against the
corrupt Empire.  And because she had diplomatic immunity, she was a vital link for
getting information to the Rebel cause."
    "That's what she was doing when her path crossed yours—for her foster parents
had always told her to contact me on Tatooine, if her troubles became desperate."
    Luke tried sorting through his multiplicity of feelings—the love he'd always felt
for Leia, even from afar, now had a clear basis.  But suddenly he was feeling
protective toward her as well, like an older brother—even though, for all he knew, she
might have been his elder by several minutes.
    "But you can't let her get involved now, Ben," he insisted.  "Vader will destroy
her."  Vader.  Their father.  Perhaps Leia could resurrect the good in him.
    "She hasn't been trained in the ways of the Jedi the way you have, Luke—but the
Force is strong with her, as it is with all of your family.  That is why her path crossed
mine—because the Force in her must be nourished by a Jedi.  You're the last Jedi,
now, Luke…but she returned to us—to me—to learn, and grow.  Because it was her
destiny to learn and grow; and mine to teach."
    He went on more slowly, each word deliberate, each pause emphatic.  "You
cannot escape your destiny, Luke."  He locked his eyes on Luke's eyes, and put as
much of his spirit as he could into the gaze, to leave it forever imprinted on Luke's
mind.  "Keep your sister's identity secret, for if you fail she is truly our last hope.
Gaze on me now, Luke—the coming fight is yours alone, but much will depend on its
outcome, and it may be that you can draw some strength from my memory.  There is
no avoiding the battle, though—you can't escape your destiny.  You will have to face
Darth Vader again…"