The starry sky seemed very near the treetops to Luke as he and his friends were
carried into the Ewok village.  He wasn't even aware it was a village at first—the
tiny orange sparks of light in the distance he thought initially to be stars.  This was
particularly true when—dangling on his back, strapped to the pole as he was—the
fiery bright points flickered directly above him, between the trees.
    But then he found himself being hoisted up intricate stairways and hidden ramps
around the immense trunks; and gradually, the higher they went, the bigger and
cracklier the lights became.  When the group was hundreds of feet up in the trees,
Luke finally realized the lights were bonfires—among the treetops.
    They were finally taken out onto a rickety wooden walkway, far too far off the
ground to be able to see anything below them but the abysmal drop.  For one bleak
moment Luke was afraid they were simply going to be pitched over the brink to test
their knowledge of forest lore.  But the Ewoks had something else in mind.
    The narrow platform ended midway between two trees.  The first creature in
line grabbed hold of a long vine and swung across to the far trunk—which Luke could
see, by twisting his head around, had a large cavelike opening carved into its titanic
surface.  Vines were quickly tossed back and forth across the chasm, until soon a
kind of lattice was constructed—and Luke found himself being pulled across it, on his
back, still tied to the wooden poles.  He looked down once, into nothingness.  It
was an unwelcome sensation.
    On the other side they rested on a shaky, narrow platform until everyone was
across.  Then the diminutive monkey-bears dismantled the webbing of vines and
proceeded into the tree with their captives.  It was totally black inside, but Luke had
the impression it was more of a tunnel through the wood than an actual cavern.  The
impression of dense, solid walls was everywhere, like a burrow in a mountain.
When they emerged, fifty yards beyond, they were in the village square.
    It was a series of wooden platforms, planks, and walkways connecting an
extensive cluster of enormous trees.  Supported by this scaffolding was a village of
huts, constructed of an odd combination of stiffened leather, daub and wattle, thatched
roofs, mud floors.  Small campfires burned before many of the huts—the sparks
were caught by an elaborate system of hanging vines, which funneled them to a
smothering point.  And everywhere, were hundreds of Ewoks.
    Cooks, tanners, guards, grandfathers.  Mother Ewoks gathered up squealing
babies at the sight of the prisoners and scurried into their huts or pointed or murmured.
Dinner smoke filled the air; children played games; minstrels played strange, resonant
music on hollow logs, windy reeds.
    There was vast blackness below, vaster still, above; but here in this tiny village
suspended between the two, Luke felt warmth and light, and special peace.
    The entourage of captors and captives stopped before the largest hut.  Luke,
Chewie, and Artoo were leaned, on their poles, against a nearby tree.  Han was tied
to a spit, and balanced above a pile of kindling that looked suspiciously like a
barbecue pit.  Dozens of Ewoks gathered around, chattering curiously in animated
squeals.
    Teebo emerged from the large structure.  He was slightly bigger than most of
the others, and undeniably fiercer.  His fur was a pattern of light and dark gray
stripes.  Instead of the usual leathery hood, he wore a horned animal half-skull atop
his head, which he'd further adorned with feathers.  He carried a stone hatchet, and
even for someone as small as an Ewok, he walked with a definite swagger.
    He examined the group cursorily, then seemed to make some kind of
pronouncement.  At that, a member of the hunting party stepped forward—Paploo,
the mantled Ewok who seemed to have taken a more protective view toward the
prisoners.
    Teebo conferred with Paploo for a short time.  The discussion soon turned into
a heated disagreement, however, with Paploo apparently taking the Rebels' side, and
Teebo seemingly dismissing whatever considerations arose.  The rest of the tribe
stood around watching the debate with great interest, occasionally shouting comments
or squeaking excitedly.
    Threepio, whose litter/throne had been set down in a place of honor near the
stake to which Solo was tied, followed the ongoing argument with rapt fascination.
He began to translate once or twice for Luke and the others—but stopped after only a
few words, since the debaters were talking so fast, he didn't want to lose the gist of
what was being said.  Consequently, he didn't transmit any more information than
the names of the Ewoks involved.
    Han looked over at Luke with a dubious frown.  "I don't like the looks of this."
    Chewie growled his wholehearted agreement.
    Suddenly Logray exited from the large hut, silencing everyone with his presence.
Shorter than Teebo, he was nonetheless clearly the object of greater general respect.
He, too, wore a half-skull on his head—some kind of great bird skull, a single feather
tied to its crest.  His fur was striped tan, though, and his face wise.  He carried no
weapon; only a pouch at his side, and a staff topped by the spine of a once-powerful
enemy.
    One by one, he carefully appraised the captives, smelling Han, testing the fabric
of Luke's clothing between his fingers.  Teebo and Paploo babbled their opposing
points of view at him, but he seemed supremely uninterested, so they soon stopped.
    When Logray came to Chewbacca, he became fascinated, and poked at the
Wookiee with his staff of growled dangerously at the tiny bear-man.  Logray needed
no further coaching and did a quick back-step—at the same time reaching into his
pouch and sprinkling some herbs in Chewie's direction.
    "Careful, Chewie," Han cautioned from across the square.  "He must be the
head honcho."
    "No," Threepio corrected, "actually I believe he's their Medicine Man."
    Luke was about to intervene, then decided to wait.  It would be better if this
serious little community came to its own conclusions about them, in its own way.
The Ewoks seemed curiously grounded for a people so airborne.
    Logray wandered over to examine Artoo-Detoo, a most wondrous creature.  He
sniffed, tapped, and stroke the droid's metal shell, then scrunched up his face in a look
of consternation.  After a few moments of thought, he ordered the small robot cut
down.
    The crowd murmured excitedly and backed off a few feet.  Artoo's vine binders
were slashed by two knife-wielding guards, causing the droid to slide down his pole
and crash unceremoniously to the ground.
    The guards set him upright.  Artoo was instantly furious.  He zeroed in on
Teebo as the source of his ignominy, and beeping a blue streak, began to chase the
terrified Ewok in circles.  The crowd roared—some cheering on Teebo, some
squeaking encouragement to the deranged droid.
    Finally Artoo got close enough to Teebo to zing him with an electric charge.
The shocked Ewok jumped into the air, squealed raucously, and ran away as fast as
his stubby little legs could carry him.  Wicket slipped surreptitiously into the big hut,
as the onlookers screeched their indignation or delight.
    Threepio was incensed.  "Artoo, stop that!  You're only going to make matters
worse."
    Artoo scooted over directly in front of the golden droid, and began beeping a
vehement tirade.  "Wreee op doo rhee vrrr gk gdk dk whoo dop dhop vree doo
dweet…"
    This outburst miffed Threepio substantially.  With a haughty tilt he sat up
straight in his throne.  "That's no way to speak to someone in my position."
    Luke was afraid the situation was well on its way to getting out of control.  He
called with the barest hint of impatience to his faithful droid.  "Threepio, I think it's
time you spoke on our behalf."
    Threepio—rather ungraciously, actually—turned to the assemblage of fuzzy
creatures and made a short speech, pointing from time to time to his friends tied to the
stakes.
    Logray became visibly upset by this.  He waved his staff, stamped his feet,
shrieked at the golden droid for a full minute.  At the conclusion of his statement, he
nodded to several attentive fellows, who nodded back and began filling the pit under
Han with firewood.
    "Well, what did he say?" Han shouted with some concern.
    Threepio wilted with chagrin.  "I'm rather embarrassed, Captain Solo, but it
appears you are to be the main course at a banquet in my honor.  He is quite
offended that I should suggest otherwise."
    Before another word could be said, log-drums began beating in ominous
syncopation.  As one, all the furry heads turned toward the mouth of the large hut.
Out of it came Wicket; and behind him, Chief Chirpa.
    Chirpa was gray of fur, strong of will.  On his head he bore a garland woven of
leaves, teeth, and the horns of great animals he'd bested in the hunt.  In his right
hand he carried a staff fashioned from the longbone of a flying reptile; in his left he
held an iguana, who was his pet and advisor.
    He surveyed the scene in the square at a glance, then turned to wait for the guest
who was only now emerging from the large hut behind him.
    The guest was the beautiful young Princess of Alderaan.
    "Leia!" Luke and Han shouted together.
    "Rahrhah!"
    "Boo dEEdwee!"
    "Your Highness!"
    With a gasp she rushed toward her friends, but a phalanx of Ewoks blocked her
way with spears.  She turned to Chief Chirpa, then to her robot interpreter.
    "Threepio, tell them these are my friends.  They must be set free."
    Threepio looked at Chirpa and Logray.  "Eep sqee rheeow," he said with much
civility.  "Sqeeow roah meep meeb eerah."
    Chirpa and Logray shook their heads with a motion that was unequivocably
negative.  Logray chattered an order at his helpers, who resumed vigorously piling
wood under Solo.
    Han exchanged helpless looks with Leia.  "Somehow I have a feeling that
didn't do us much good."
    "Luke, what can we do?" Leia urged.  She hadn't expected this at all.  She'd
expected a guide back to her ship, or at worst a short supper and lodging for the night.
She definitely didn't understand these creatures.  "Luke?" she questioned.
    Han was about to offer a suggestion when he paused, briefly taken aback by
Leia's sudden intense faith in Luke.  It was something he hadn't really noted before;
he merely noted it now.
    Before he could speak up with his plan, though, Luke chimed in.  "Threepio,
tell them if they don't do as you wish, you'll become angry and use your magic."
    "But Master Luke, what magic?" the droid protested.  "I couldn't—"
    "Tell them!" Luke ordered, uncharacteristically raising his voice.  There were
times when Threepio could test even the patience of a Jedi.
    The interpreter-droid turned to the large audience, and spoke with great dignity.
"Eemeeblee screesh oahr aish sh sheestee meep eep eep."
    The Ewoks seemed greatly disturbed by this proclamation.  They all backed up
several steps, except for Logray, who took two steps forward.  He shouted something
at Threepio—something that sounded very in the nature of challenge.
    Luke closed his eyes with absolute concentration.  Threepio began rattling on in
a terribly unsettled manner, as if he'd been caught falsifying his own program.
"They don't believe me, Master Luke, just as I told you…"
    Luke wasn't listening to the droid, though; he was visualizing him.  Seeing him
sitting shiny and golden on his throne of twigs, nodding this way and that, prattling on
about the most inconsequential of matters, sitting there in the black void of Luke's
consciousness…and slowly beginning to rise.
    Slowly, Threepio began to rise.
    At first, he didn't notice; at first, nobody did.  Threepio just went right on
talking, as his entire litter steadily elevated off the ground.  "…told you, I told you, I
told you they wouldn't.  I don't know why you—wha—wait a minute…what's
happening here?…"
    Threepio and the Ewoks all realized what was happening at just about the same
moment.  The Ewoks silently fell back in terror from the floating throne.  Threepio
now began to spin, as if he were on a revolving stool.  Graceful, majestic spinning.
    "Help," he whispered.  "Artoo, help me."
    Chief Chirpa shouted orders to his cowering minions.  Quickly they ran forward
and released the bound prisoners.  Leia, Han, and Luke enfolded each other in a long,
powerful embrace.  It seemed, to all of them, a strange setting in which to gain the
first victory of this campaign against the Empire.
    Luke was aware of a plaintive beeping behind him, and turned to see Artoo
staring up at a still-spinning Threepio.  Luke lowered the golden droid slowly to the
ground.
    "Thanks, Threepio," the young Jedi patted him gratefully on the shoulder.
    Threepio, still a bit shaken, stood with a wobbly, amazed smile.
"Why—why—I didn't know I had it in me."

    The hut of Chief Chirpa was large, by Ewok standards—though Chewbacca,
sitting cross-legged, nearly scraped the ceiling with his head.  The Wookiee hunched
along one side of the dwelling with his Rebel comrades, while the Chief and ten
Elders sat on the other side facing them.  In the center, between the two groups, a
small fire warmed the night air, casting ephemeral shadows on the earthen walls.
    Outside, the entire village awaited the decisions this council would arrive at.  It
was a pensive, clear night, charged with high moment.  Though it was quite late, not
an Ewok slept.
    Inside, Threepio was speaking.  Positive and negative feedback loops had
already substantially increased his fluency in this squeaky language; he was now in
the midst of an animated history of the Galactic Civil War—replete with pantomime,
elocution, explosive sound effects, and editorial commentary.  He even mimicked an
Imperial walker at one point.
    The Ewok Elders listened carefully, occasionally murmuring comments to each
other.  It was a fascinating story, and they were thoroughly absorbed—at times,
horrified; at times, outraged.  Logray conferred with Chief Chirpa once or twice, and
several times asked Threepio questions, to which the golden droid responded quite
movingly—once Artoo even whistled, probably for emphasis.
    In the end, though, after a rather brief discussion among the Elders, the Chief
shook his head negatively, with an expression of rueful dissatisfaction.  He spoke
finally to Threepio, and Threepio interpreted for his friends.
    "Chief Chirpa says it's a very moving story," the droid explained.  "But it really
has nothing to do with Ewoks."
    A deep and pressing silence filled the small chamber.  Only the fire softly
crackled its bright but darkling soliloquy.
    It was finally Solo—of all people—who opened his mouth to speak for the group.
For the Alliance.
    "Tell them this, Goldenrod—" he smiled at the droid, with conscious affection
for the first time.  "Tell them it's hard to translate a rebellion, so maybe a translator
shouldn't tell the story.  So I'll tell 'em."
    "They shouldn't help us 'cause we're asking 'em to.  They shouldn't even help
us 'cause it's in their own interest to—even though it is, you know—just for one
example, the Empire's tappin' a lot of energy out of this moon to generate its deflector
shield, and that's a lot of energy you guys are gonna be without come winter, and I
mean you're gonna be hurtin'…but never mind that.  Tell 'em, Threepio."
    Threepio told them.  Han went on.
    "But that's not why they should help us.  That's why I used to do stuff, because
it was in my interest.  But not anymore.  Well, not so much, anyway.  Mostly I do
things for my friends, now—'cause what else is so important?  Money?  Power?
Jabba had that, and you know what happened to him.  Okay, okay, the point is—your
friends are…your friends.  You know?"
    This was one of the most inarticulate pleas Leia had ever heard, but it made her
eyes fill with tears.  The Ewoks, on the other hand, remained silent, impassive.
Teebo and the stoic little fellow named Paploo traded a few muttered words; the rest
were motionless, their expressions unreadable.
    After another protracted pause, Luke cleared his throat.  "I realize this concept
may be abstract—may be difficult to draw these connections," he started slowly, "but
it's terribly important for the entire galaxy, for our Rebel force to destroy the Imperial
presence here on Endor.  Look up, there, through the smoke hole in the roof.  Just
through that tiny hole, you can count a hundred stars.  In the whole sky there are
millions, and billions more you can't even see.  And they all have planets, and
moons, and happy people just like you.  And the Empire is destroying all that.  You
can…you could get dizzy just lying on your back and staring up at all the starshine.
You could almost…explode, it's so beautiful sometimes.  And you're part of the
beauty, it's all part of the same Force.  And the Empire is trying to turn out the
lights."
    It took a while for Threepio to finish translating this—he wanted to get all the
words just right.  When he did eventually stop talking, there was an extensive
squeaking among the Elders, rising and falling in volume, ceasing and then resuming
again.
    Leia knew what Luke was trying to say, but she feared greatly that the Ewoks
wouldn't see the connection.  It was connected intimately, though, if she could only
bridge the gap for them.  She thought of her experience in the forest earlier—her
sense of oneness with the trees, whose outstretched limbs seemed to touch the very
stars; the stars, whose light filtered down like cascading magic.  She felt the power
of the magic within her, and it resonated around the hut, from being to being, flowing
through her again, making her stronger, still; until she felt one with these Ewoks,
nearly—felt as if she understood them, knew them; conspired with them, in the
primary sense of the word: they breathed together.
    The debate wound down, leaving finally another quiet moment in the hut.
Leia's respirations quieted, too, in resonance; and with an air of confident serenity,
she made her appeal to the council.
    "Do it because of the trees," she said.
    That's all she said.  Everyone expected more, but there was no more; only this
short, oblique outburst.
    Wicket had been observing these proceedings with increasing concern, from the
sidelines.  On several occasions it was apparent he was restraining himself with great
difficulty from entering the council's discourse—but now he jumped to his feet, paced
the width of the hut several times, finally faced the Elders, and began his own
impassioned speech.
    "Eep eep, meep eek squee…"
    Threepio translated for his friends:  "Honorable Elders, we have this night
received a perilous, wondrous gift.  The gift of freedom.  This golden
god…"—here Threepio paused in his translation just long enough to savor the
moment; then went on—"…This golden god, whose return to us has been prophesied
since the First Tree, tells us now he will not be our Master, tells us we are free to
choose as we will—that we must choose; as all living things must choose their own
destiny.  He has come, Honorable Elders, and he will go; no longer may we be slaves
to his diving guidance.  We are free.
    "Yet how must we comport ourselves?  Is an Ewok's love of the wood any less
because he can leave it?  No—his love is more, because he can leave it, yet he stays.
So is it with the voice of the Golden One: we can close our eyes; yet we listen.
    "His friends tell us of a Force, a great living spirit, of which we are all part, even
as the leaves are things separate yet part of the tree.  We know this spirit, Honorable
Elders, though we call it not the Force.  The friends of the Golden One tell us this
Force is in great jeopardy, here and everywhere.  When the fire reaches the forest,
who is safe?  Not even the Great Tree of which all things are part; nor its leaves, nor
its roots, not its birds.  All are in peril, forever and ever.
    "It is a brave thing to confront such a fire.  Honorable Elders.  Many will die,
that the forest lives on.
    "But the Ewoks are brave."
    The little bear-creature fixed his gaze on the others in the hut.  Not a word was
spoken; nonetheless, the communication was intense.  After a minute like this, he
concluded his statement.
    "Honorable Elders, we must aid this noble party not less for the trees, but more
for the sake of the leaves on the trees.  These Rebels are like the Ewoks, who are like
the leaves.  Battered by the wind, eaten without thought by the tumult of locusts that
inhabit the world—yet do we throw ourselves on smoldering fires, that another may
know the warmth of light; yet do we make a soft bed of ourselves, that another may
know rest; yet do we swirl in the wind that assails us, to send the fear of chaos into the
hearts of our enemies; yet do we change color, even as the season calls upon us to
change.  So must we help our Leafbrothers, these Rebels—for so has come a season
of change upon us."
    He stood, still, before them, the small fire dancing in his eye.  For a timeless
moment, all the world seemed still.
    The Elders were moved.  Without saying another word, they nodded in
agreement.  Perhaps they were telepathic.
    In any case, Chief Chirpa stood and, without preface, made a brief
pronouncement.
    All at once drums began to beat throughout the entire village.  The Elders
jumped up—no longer at all so serious—and ran across the tent to hug the Rebels.
Teebo even began to hug Artoo, but thought better of it as the little droid backed off
with a low warning whistle.  Teebo scurried over to hop playfully on the Wookiee's
back instead.
    Han smiled uncertainly.  "What's going on?"
    "I'm not sure," Leia answered out the side of her mouth, "but it doesn't look too
bad."
    Luke, like the others, was sharing the joyous occasion—whatever it meant—with
a pleasant smile and diffuse good will, when suddenly a dark cloud filled her heart,
hovered there, nestled a clammy chill into the corners of his soul.  He wiped its
traces from his visage, made his face a mask.  Nobody noticed.
    Threepio finally nodded his understanding to Wicket, who was explaining the
situation to him.  He turned, with an expansive gesture, to the Rebels.  "We are now
part of the tribe."
    "Just what I've always wanted," said Solo.
    Threepio continued talking to the others, trying to ignore the sarcastic Star
Captain.  "The Chief has vowed to help us in any way to rid their land of the evil
ones."
    "Well, short help is better than no help, I always say," Solo chuckled.
    Threepio was once again rapidly overheating his circuits toward the Corellian
ingrate.  "Teebo says his chief scouts, Wicket and Paploo, will show us the fastest
way to the shield generator."
    "Tell him thanks, Goldenrod."  He just loved irking Threepio.  He couldn't
help himself.
    Chewie let out a righteous bark, happy to be on the move again.  One of the
Ewoks thought he was asking for food, though, and brought the Wookiee a large slab
of meat.  Chewbacca didn't refuse.  He downed the meat in a single gulp, as several
Ewoks gathered, watching in amazement.  They were so incredulous at this feat, in
fact, they began giggling furiously; and the laughter was so infectious, it started the
Wookiee chortling.  His gruff guffaws were really hilarious to the chuckling Ewoks,
so—as was their custom—they jumped on him in a frenzy of tickling, which he
returned threefold, until they all lay in a puddle, quite exhausted.  Chewie wiped his
eyes and grabbed another piece of meat, which he gnawed at a more leisurely pace.
    Solo, meanwhile, began organizing the expedition.  "How far is it?  We'll need
some fresh supplies.  There's not much time, you know.  Give me some of that,
Chewie…"
    Chewie snarled.
    Luke drifted to the back of the hut and then slipped outside during the
commotion.  Out in the square, a great party was going on—dancing, squealing,
tickling—but Luke avoided this, too.  He wandered away from the bonfires, away
from the gaiety, to a secluded walkway on the dark side of a colossal tree.
    Leia followed him.
    The sounds of the forest filled the soft night air, here.  Crickets, skittering
rodents, desolate breezes, anguished owls.  The perfumes were a mixture of
night-blooming jasmine, and pine; the harmonies were strictly ethereal.  The sky was
crystal black.
    Luke stared at the brightest star in the heavens.  It looked to be fired from deep
within its core by raging elemental vapors.  It was the Death Star.
    He couldn't take his eyes from it.  Leia found him like that.
    "What's wrong?" she whispered.
    He smiled wearily.  "Everything, I'm afraid.  Or nothing, maybe.  Maybe
things are finally going to be as they were meant to be."
    He felt the presence of Darth Vader very near.
    Leia took his hand.  She felt so close to Luke, yet…she couldn't say how.  He
seemed so lost now, so alone.  So distant.  She almost couldn't felt his hand in hers.
"What is it, Luke?"
    He looked down at their intertwined fingers.  "Leia…do you remember your
mother?  Your real mother?"
    The question took her totally by surprise.  She'd always felt so close to her
adopted parents, it was as if they were her real parents.  She almost never thought of
her real mother—that was like a dream.
    Yet now Luke's question made her start.  Flashes from her infancy assaulted
her—distorted visions of running…a beautiful woman…hiding in a trunk.  The
fragments suddenly threatened to flood her with emotion.
    "Yes," she said, pausing to regain her composure.  "Just a little bit.  She died
when I was very young."
    "What do you remember?" he pressed.  "Tell me."
    "Just feelings, really…images."  She wanted to let it slide, it was so out of the
blue, so far from her immediate concerns…but somehow so loud inside, all of a
sudden.
    "Tell me," Luke repeated.
    She felt surprised by his insistence, but decided to follow him with it, at least for
the time being.  She trusted him, even when he frightened her.  "She was very
beautiful," Leia remembered aloud.  "Gentle and kind—but sad."  She looked
deeply into his eyes, seeking his intentions.  "Why are you asking me this?"
    He turned away, peering back up at the Death Star, as if he'd been on the verge
of opening up; then something scared him, and he pulled it all in once more.  "I have
no memory of my mother," he claimed.  "I never knew her."
    "Luke, tell me what's troubling you."  She wanted to help, she knew she could
help.
    He stared at her a long moment, estimating her abilities, gauging her need to
know, her desire to know.  She was strong.  He felt it, unwaveringly.  He could
depend on her.  They all could.  "Vader is here…now.  On this moon."
    She felt a chill, like a physical sensation, as if her blood had actually congealed.
"How do you know?"
    "I can feel his presence.  He's come for me."
    "But how could he know we were here?  Was it the code, did we leave out some
password?"  She knew it was none of these things.
    "No, it's me.  He can feel it when I'm near."  He held her by the shoulders.
He wanted to tell her everything, but now as he tried, his will was starting to fail.
"I must leave you, Leia.  As long as I'm here, I endanger the whole group and our
mission here."  His hands trembled.  "I have to face Vader."
    Leia was fast becoming distraught, confused.  Intimations were rushing at her
like wild owls out of the night, their wings brushing her cheek, their talons catching
her hail, their harsh whispers thrilling her ear:  "Who?  Who?  Who?"
    She shook her head hard.  "I don't understand, Luke.  What do you mean, you
have to face Vader?"
    He pulled her to him, his manner suddenly gentle; abidingly calm.  To say it,
just to say it, in some basic way released him.  "He's my father, Leia."
    "Your father!?"  She couldn't believe it; yet of course it was true.
    He held her steady, to be a rock for her.  "Leia, I've found something else out.
It's not going to be easy for you to hear it, but you have to.  You have to known
before I leave here because I might not be back.  And if I don't make it, you're the
only hope for the Alliance."
    She looked away, she shook her head, she wouldn't look at him.  It was terribly
disturbing, what Luke was saying, though she couldn't imagine why.  It was
nonsense, of course; that was why.  To call her the only hope for the Alliance if he
should die—why, it was absurd.  Absurd to think of Luke dying, and to think of her
being the only hope.
 Both thoughts were out of the question.  She moved away from him, to deny his
words; at least to give them distance, to let her breathe.  Flashes of her mother came
again, in this breathing space.  Parting embraces, flesh torn from flesh…
    "Don't talk that way, Luke.  You have to survive.  I do what I can—we all
do—but I'm of no importance.  Without you…I can do nothing.  It's you, Luke.
I've seen it.  You have a power I don't understand…and could never have."
    "You're wrong, Leia."  He held her at arm's length.  "You have that power, too.
The Force is strong in you.  In time you'll learn to use it as I have."
    She shook her head.  She couldn't hear this.  He was lying.  She had no
power, the power was elsewhere, she could only help and succor and support.  What
was he saying?  Was it possible?
    He brought her closer still, held her face in his hands.
    He looked so tender now, so giving.  Was he giving her the power?  Could she
truly hold it?  What was he saying?  "Luke, what's come over you?"
    "Leia, the Force is strong in my family.  My father has it.  I have it, and …my
sister has it."
    Leia stared full into his eyes again.  Darkness whirled there.  And truth.
What she saw frightened her…but now, this time, she didn't draw away.  She stood
close to him.  She started to understand.
    "Yes," he whispered, seeing her comprehension.  "Yes.  It's you, Leia."  He
held her in his arms.
    Leia closed her eyes tightly against his words, against her tears.  To no avail.
It all washed over her, now, and through her.  "I know," she nodded.  Openly she
wept.
    "Then you know I must go to him."
    She stood back, her face hot, her mind swimming in a storm.  "No, Luke, no.
Run away, far away.  If he can feel your presence, go away from this place."  She
held his hands, put her cheek on his chest.  "I wish I could go with you."
    He stroked the back of her head.  "No, you don't.  You've never faltered.
When Han and I and the others have doubted, you've always been strong.  You've
never turned away from your responsibility.  I can't say the same."  He thought of
his premature flight from Dagobah, racing to risk everything before his training had
been complete, almost destroying everything because of it.  He looked down at the
black, mechanical hand he had to show for it.  How much more would be lost to his
weakness?  "Well," he choked, "now we're both going to fulfill our destinies."
    "Luke, why?  Why must you confront him?"
    He thought of all the reasons—to win, to lose, to join, to struggle, to kill, to weep,
to walk away, to accuse, to ask why, to forgive, to not forgive, to die—but knew, in
the end, there was only one reason, now and always.  Only one reason that could
ever matter.  "There's good in him, I've felt it.  He won't give me over to the
Emperor.  I can save him, I can turn him back to the good side."  His eyes became
wild for just a moment, turn by doubts and passions.  "I have to try, Leia.  He's our
father."
    They held each other close.  Tears streamed silently down her face.
    "Goodbye, dear sister—lost, and found.  Goodbye, sweet, sweet Leia."
    She cried openly, now—they both did—as Luke held her away and moved
slowly back along the planking.  He disappeared into the darkness of the tree-cave
that led out of the village.
    Leia watched him go, quietly weeping.  She gave free vent to her feelings, did
not try to stop the tears—tried, instead, to feel them, to feel the source they came from,
the path they took, the murky corners they cleansed.
    Memories poured through her, now, clues, suspicions, half-heard mutterings
when they'd thought she was asleep.  Luke, her brother!  And Vader, her father.
This was too much to assimilate all at once, it was information overload.
    She was crying and trembling and whimpering all at once, when suddenly Han
stepped up and embraced her from behind.  He'd gone looking for her, and heard her
voice, and came around just in time to see Luke leaving—but only now, when Leia
jumped at his touch and he turned her around, did he realize she was sobbing.
    His quizzical smile turned to concern, tempered by the heart-fear of the would-be
lover.  "Hey, what's going on here?"
    She stifled her sobs, wiped her eyes.  "It's nothing, Han.  I just want to be
alone for a while."
    She was hiding something, that much was plain, and that much was unacceptable.
"It's not nothing!" he said angrily.  "I want to know what's going on.  Now you tell
me what it is."  He shook her.  He'd never felt like this before.  He wanted to
know, but he didn't want to know what he thought he knew.  It made him sick at
heart to think of Leia…with Luke…he couldn't even bring himself to imagine what it
was he didn't want to imagine.
    He'd never been out of control like this, he didn't like it, he couldn't stop it.  He
realized he was still shaking her, and stopped.
    "I can't, Han…"  Her lip began to tremble again.
    "You can't!  You can't tell me?  I thought we were closer than that, but I guess
I was wrong.  Maybe you'd rather tell Luke.  Sometimes I—"
    "Oh, Han!" she cried, and burst into tears once more.  She buried herself in his
embrace.
    His anger turned slowly to confusion and dismay, as he found himself wrapping
his arms around her, caressing her shoulders, comforting her.  "I'm sorry," he
whispered into her hair.  "I'm sorry."  He didn't understand, not an iota—didn't
understand her, or himself, or his topsy-turvy feelings, or women, or the universe.
All he knew was that he'd just been furious, and now he was affectionate, protective,
tender.  Made no sense.
    "Please…just hold me," she whispered.  She didn't want to talk.  She just
wanted to be held.
    He just held her.

    Morning mist rose off dewy vegetation as the sun broke the horizon over Endor.
The lush foliage of the forest's edge had a moist, green odor; in that dawning moment
the world was silent, as if holding its breath.
    In violent contrast, the Imperial landing platform squatted over the ground.
Harsh, metallic, octagonal, it seemed to cut like an insult into the verdant beauty of
the place.  The bushes at its perimeter were singed black from repeated shuttle
landings; the flora beyond that was wilting—dying from refuse disposal, trampling
feet, chemical exhaust fumes.  Like a blight was this outpost.
    Uniformed troops walked continuously on the platform and in the area—loading,
unloading, surveilling, guarding.  Imperial walkers were parked off to one
side—square, armored, two-legged war machines, big enough for a squad of soldiers
to stand inside, firing laser cannon in all directions.  An Imperial shuttle took off for
the Death Star, with a roar that made the trees cringe.  Another walker emerged from
the timber on the far side of the platform, returning from a patrol mission.  Step by
lumbering step, it approached the loading dock.
    Darth Vader stood at the rail of the lower deck, staring mutely into the depths of
the lovely forest.  Soon.  It was coming soon; he could feel it.  Like a drum getting
louder, his destiny approached.  Dread was all around, but fear like this excited him,
so he let it bubble quietly within.  Dread was a tonic, it heightened his senses, honed
a raw edge to his passions.  Closer, it came.
    Victory, too he sensed.  Mastery.  But laced with something else…what was it?
He couldn't see it, quite.  Always in motion, the future; difficult to see.  Its
apparitions tantalized him, swirling specters, always changing.  Smoky was his
future, thunderous with conquest and destruction.
    Very close, now.  Almost here.
    He purred in the pit of his throat, like a wild cat smelling game on the air.
    Almost here.
    The Imperial walker docked at the opposite end of the deck, and opened its doors.
A phalanx of stormtroopers marched out in tight circular formation.  They
lock-stepped toward Vader.
    He turned around to face the oncoming troopers, his breathing even, his black
robes hanging still in the windless morning.  The stormtroopers stopped when they
reached him, and at a word from their captain, parted to reveal a bound prisoner in
their midst.  It was Luke Skywalker.
    The young Jedi gazed at Vader with complete calm, with many layers of vision.
    The stormtrooper captain spoke to Lord Vader.  "This is the Rebel that
surrendered to us.  Although he denies it, I believe there may be more of them, and I
request permission to conduct a wider search of the area."  He extended his hand to
the Dark Lord; in it, he held Luke's lightsaber.  "He was armed only with this."
    Vader looked at the lightsaber a moment, then slowly took it from the captain's
hand.  "Leave us.  Conduct your search, and bring his companions to me."
    The officer and his troops withdrew back to the walker.
    Luke and Vader were left standing along facing each other, in the emerald
tranquillity of the ageless forest.  The mist was beginning to burn off.  Long day
ahead.