"So," the Dark Lord rumbled.  "You have come to me."
    "And you to me."
    "The Emperor is expecting you.  He believes you will turn to the dark side."
    "I know…Father."  It was momentous act for Luke—to address his father, as
his father.  But he'd done it, now, and kept himself under control, and the moment
was past.  It was done.  He felt stronger for it.  He felt potent.
    "So, you have finally accepted the truth," Vader gloated.
    "I have accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father."
    "That name no longer has meaning for me."  It was a name long ago.  A
different life, a different universe.  Could he truly once have been that man?
    "It is the name of your true self," Luke's gaze bore steadily down on the cloaked
figure.  "You have only forgotten.  I know there is good in you.  The Emperor
hasn't driven it fully away."  He molded with his voice, tried to form the potential
reality with the strength of his belief.  "That's why you could not destroy me.
That's why you won't take me to your Emperor now."
    Vader seemed almost to smile through his mask at his son's use of Jedi
voice-manipulation.  He looked down at the lightsaber the captain had given
him—Luke's lightsaber.  So the boy was truly a Jedi now.  A man grown.  He held
the lightsaber up.  "You have constructed another."
    "This one is mine," Luke said quietly.  "I no longer use yours."
    Vader ignited the blade, examined its humming brilliant light, like an admiring
craftsman.  "Your skills are complete.  Indeed, you are as powerful as the Emperor
has foreseen."
    They stood there for a moment, the lightsaber between them.  Sparks dove in
and out of the cutting edge: photons pushed to the brink by the energy pulsing
between these two warriors.
    "Come with me, Father."
    Vader shook his head.  "Ben once thought as you do—"
    "Don't blame Ben for your fall—" Luke took a step closer, then stopped.
    Vader did not move.  "You don't know the power of the dark side.  I must
obey my master."
    "I will not turn—you will be forced to destroy me."
    "If that is your destiny."  This was not his wish, but the boy was strong—if it
came, at last, to blows, yes, he would destroy Luke.  He could no long afford to hold
back, as he once had.
    "Search your feelings, Father.  You can't do this.  I feel the conflict within you.
Let go of your hate."
    But Vader hated no one; he only lusted too blindly.  "Someone has filled your
mind with foolish ideas, young one.  The Emperor will show you the true nature of
the Force.  He is your master, now."
    Vader signaled to a squad of distant stormtroopers as he extinguished Luke's
lightsaber.  The guards approached.  Luke and the Dark Lord faced one another for
a long, searching moment.  Vader spoke just before the guards arrived.
    "It is too late for me, Son."
    "Then my father is truly dead," answered Luke.  So what was to stop him from
killing the Evil One who stood before him now? he wondered.
    Noting, perhaps.

    The vast Rebel fleet hung poised in space, ready to strike.  It was hundreds of
light-years from the Death Star—but in hyperspace, all time was a moment, and the
deadliness of an attack was measured not in distance but in precision.
    Ships changed in formation from corner to side, creating a faceted diamond
shape to the armada—as if, like a cobra, the fleet was spreading its hood.
    The calculations required to launch such a meticulously coordinated offensive at
lightspeed made it necessary to fix on a stationary point—that it, stationary relative to
the point of reentry from hyperspace.  The point chosen by the Rebel command was
a small, blue planet of the Sullust system.  The armada was positioned around it, now,
this unblinking cerulean world.  It looked like the eye of the serpent.
    The Millennium Falcon finished its rounds of the fleet's perimeter, checking
final positions, then pulled into place beneath the flagship.  The time had come.
    Lando was at the controls of the Falcon.  Beside him, his copilot, Nien
Nunb—a jowled, mouse-eyed creature from Sullust—flipped switches, monitored
readouts, and made final preparations for the jump to hyperspace.
    Lando set his comlink to war channel.  Last hand of the night, his deal, a table
full of high rollers—his favorite kind of game.  With dry mouth, he made his
summary report to Ackbar of the command ship.  "Admiral, we're in position.  All
fighters are accounted for."
    Ackbar's voice crackled back over the headset.  "Proceed with the countdown.
All groups assume attack coordinates."
    Lando turned to his copilot with a quick smile.  "Don't worry, my friends are
down there, they'll have that shield down on time…"  He turned back to his
instruments, saying under his breath:  "Or this will be the shortest offensive of all
time."
    "Gzhung Zhgodio," the copilot commented.
    "All right," Lando grunted.  "Stand by, then."  He patted the control panel for
good luck, even though his deepest belief was that a good gambler made his own luck.
Still, that's what Han's job was this time, and Han had almost never let Lando down.
Just once—and that was a long time ago, in a star system far, far away.
    This time was different.  This time they were going to redefine luck, and call it
Lando.  He smiled, and patted the panel one more time…just right.
    Up on the bridge of the Star Cruiser command ship, Ackbar paused, looked
around at his generals: all was ready.
    "Are all groups in their attack coordinates?" he asked.  He knew they were.
    "Affirmative, Admiral."
    Ackbar gazed out his view-window meditatively at the starfield, for perhaps the
last reflective moment he would ever have.  He spoke finally into the comlink war
channel.  "All craft will begin the jump to hyperspace on my mark.  May the Force
be with us."
    He reached forward to the signal button.
    In the Falcon, Lando stared at the identical galactic with foreboding.  They
were doing what a guerrilla force must never do: engage the enemy like a traditional
army.  The Imperial army, fighting the Rebellion's guerrilla war, was always
losing—unless it won.  The Rebels, by contrast, were always winning—unless they
lost.  And now, here was the most dangerous situation—the Alliance drawn into the
open, to fight on the Empire's terms: if the Rebels lost this battle, they lost the war.
    Suddenly the signal light flashed on the control panel: Ackbar's mark.  The
attack was commenced.
    Lando pulled back the conversion switch and opened up the throttle.  Outside
the cockpit, the stars began streaking by.  The streaks grew brighter, and longer, as
the ships of the fleet roared, in large segments, at lightspeed, keeping pace first with
the very photons of the radiant stars in the vicinity, and then soaring through the warp
into hyperspace itself—and disappearing the flash of a muon.
    The blue crystal planet hovered in space alone, once again; staring, unseeing,
into the void.

    The strike squad crouched behind a woodsy ridge overlooking the Imperial
outpost.  Leia viewed the area through a small electronic scanner.
    Two shuttles were being off-loaded on the landing platform docking ramp.
Several walkers were parked nearby.  Troops stood around, helped with construction.
Took watch, carried supplies.  The massive shield generator hummed off to the side.
    Flattened down in the bushes on the ridge with the strike force were several
Ewoks, including Wicket, Paploo, Teebo, and Warwick.  The rest stayed lower,
behind the knoll, out of sight.
    Leia put down the scanner and scuttled back to the others.  "The entrance is on
the far side of that landing platform.  This isn't going to be easy."
    "Ahrck grah rahr hrowrowhr," Chewbacca agreed.
    "Oh, come on, Chewie," Han gave the Wookiee a pained look.  "We've gotten
into more heavily guarded places than that—"
    "Frowh rahgh rahrahraff vrawgh gr," Chewie countered with a dismissing
gesture.
    Han thought of a second.  "Well, the spice vaults of Gargon, for one."
    "Of course I'm right—now if I could just remember how I did it…" Han
scratched his head, poking his memory.
    Suddenly Paploo began chattering away, pointing, squealing.  He garbled
something to Wicket.
    "What's he saying, Threepio?" Leia asked.
    The golden droid exchanged a few terse sentences with Paploo; then Wicket
turned to Leia with a hopeful grin.
    Threepio, too, now looked at the Princess.  "Apparently Wicket know about a
back entrance to this installation."
    Han perked up at that.  "A back door?  That's it!  That's how we did it!"

    Four Imperial scouts kept watch over the entrance to the bunker that
half-emerged from the earth far to the rear of the main section of the shield generator
complex.  Their rocket bikes were parked nearby.
    In the undergrowth beyond, the Rebel strike squad lay in wait.
    "Grrr, rowf rrrhl brhnnn," Chewbacca observed slowly.
    "You're right, Chewie," Solo agreed, "with just those guards this should by
easier than breaking a Bantha."
    "It only takes one to sound the alarm," Leia cautioned.
    Han grinned, a bit overselfconfidently.  "Then we'll have to do this real
quietlike.  If Luke can just keep Vader off our backs, like you said he said he would,
this oughta be no sweat.  Just gotta hit those guards fast and quiet…"
    Threepio whispered to Teebo and Paploo, explaining the problem and the
objective.  The Ewoks babbled giddily a moment, then Paploo jumped up and raced
through the underbrush.
    Leia checked the instrument on her wrist.  "We're running out of time.  The
fleet's in hyperspace by now."
    Threepio muttered a question to Teebo and received a short reply.  "Oh, dear,"
Threepio replied, starting to rise, to look into the clearing beside the bunker.
    "Stay down!" rasped Solo.
    "What is it, Threepio?" Leia demanded.
    "I'm afraid our furry companion has gone and done something rush."  The
droid hoped he wasn't to be blamed for this.
    "What are you talking about?" Leia's voice cut with an edge of fear.
    "Oh, no.  Look."
    Paploo had scampered down through the bushes to where the scouts' bikes were
parked.  Now, with the sickening horror of inevitability, the Rebel leaders watched
the little ball of fur swing his pudgy body up onto one of the bikes, and begin flipping
switches at random.  Before anyone could do anything, the bike's engines ignited
with a rumbling roar.  The four scouts looked over in surprise.  Paploo grinned
madly, and continued flipping switches.
    Leia held her forehead.  "Oh, no, no, no."
    Chewie barked.  Han nodded.  "So much for our surprise attack."
    The Imperial scouts raced toward Paploo just as the forward drive engaged,
zooming the little teddy bear into the forest.  He had all he could do just to hang on
to the handlebar with his stubby paws.  Three of the guards jumped on their own
bikes, and sped off in pursuit of the hotrod Ewok.  The fourth scout stayed at his post,
near the door of the bunker.
    Leia was delighted, if a bit incredulous.
    "Not bad for a ball of fuzz," Han admired.  He nodded at Chewie, and the two
of them slipped down toward the bunker.
    Paploo, meanwhile, was sailing through the trees, more lucky than in control.
He was going at fairly low velocity for what the bike could do—but in Ewok-time,
Paploo was absolutely dizzy with speed and excitement.  It was terrifying; but he
loved it.  He could talk about this ride until the end of his life, and then his children
would tell their children, and it would get faster with each generation.
    For now, though, the Imperial scouts were already pulling in sight behind him.
When, a moment later, they began firing laser bolts at him, he decided he'd finally
had enough.  As he rounded the next tree, just out of their sight, he grabbed a vine
and swung up into the branches.  Several seconds later the three scouts tore by
underneath him, pressing their pursuit to the limit.  He giggled furiously.
    Back at the bunker, the laser scout was undone.  Subdued by Chewbacca, bound,
stripped of his suit, he was being carried into the woods now by two other members of
the strike team.  The rest of the squad silently crouched, forming a perimeter around
the entrance.
    Han stood at the door, checking the stolen code against the digits on the bunker's
control panel.  With natural speed he punched a series of buttons on the panel.
Silently, the door opened.
    Leia peeked inside.  No sigh of life.  She motioned the others, and entered the
bunker.  Han and Chewie followed close on her heels.  Soon the entire team was
huddled inside the otherwise empty steel corridor, leaving one lookout outside,
dressed in the unconscious scout's uniform.  Han pushed a series of buttons on the
inner panel, closing the door behind them.
    Leia thought briefly of Luke—she hoped he could detain Vader at least long
enough to allow her to destroy this shield generator; she hoped even more dearly he
could avoid such a confrontation altogether.  For she feared Vader was the stronger
of the two.
    Furtively she led the way down the dark and low-beamed tunnel.

    Vader's shuttle settled onto the docking bay of the Death Star, like a black,
wingless carrion-eating bird; like a nightmare insect. Luke and the Dark Lord
emerged from the snout of the beast with a small escort of stormtroopers, and walked
rapidly across the cavernous main bay to the Emperor's tower elevator.
    Royal guards awaited them there, flanking the shaft, bathed in a carmine glow.
They opened the elevator door.  Luke stepped forward.
    His mind was buzzing with what to do.  It was the Emperor he was being taken
to, now.  The Emperor!  If Luke could but focus, keep his mind clear to see what
must be done—and do it.
    A great noise filled his head, though, like an underground wind.
    He hoped Leia deactivated the deflector shield quickly, and destroyed the Death
Star—now, while all three of them were here.  Before anything else happened.  For
the closer Luke came to the Emperor, the more anything he feared would happen.  A
black storm raged inside him.  He wanted to kill the Emperor, but then what?
Confront Vader?  What would his father do?  And what if Luke faced his father first,
faced him and—destroyed him.  The thought was at once repugnant and compelling.
Destroy Vader—and then what.  For the first time, Luke had a brief murky image of
himself, standing on his father's body, holding his father's blazing power, and sitting
at the Emperor's right hand.
    He squeezed his eyes shut against this thought, but it left a cold sweat on his
brow, as if Death's hand had brushed him there and left its shallow imprint.
    The elevator door opened.  Luke and Vader walked out into the throne room
alone, across the unlit antechamber, up the grated stairs, to stand before the throne:
father and son, side by side, both dressed in black, one masked and one exposed,
beneath the gaze of the malignant Emperor.
    Vader bowed to his master.  The Emperor motioned him to rise, though; the
Dark Lord did his master's bidding.
    "Welcome, young Skywalker," the Evil One smiled graciously.  "I have been
expecting you."
    Luke stared back brazenly at the bent, hooded figure.  Defiantly.  The
Emperor's smile grew even softer, though; even more fatherly.  He looked at Luke's
manacles.
    "You no longer need these," he added with noblesse oblige—and made the
slightest motion with his finger in the direction of Luke's wrists.  At that, Luke's
binders simply fell away, clattering noisily to the floor.
    Luke looked at his own hands—free, now, to reach out for the Emperor's throat,
to crush his windpipe in an instant…
    Yet the Emperor seemed gentle.  Had he not just let Luke free?  But he was
devious, too, Luke knew.  Do not be fooled by appearances, Ben had told him.  The
Emperor was unarmed.  He could still strike.  But wasn't aggression part of the
dark side?  Mustn't he avoid that at all costs?  Or could he use darkness judiciously,
and then put it away?  He stared at his free hands…he could have ended it all right
there—or could he?  He had total freedom to choose what to do now; yet he could
not choose.  Choice, the double-edged sword.  He could kill the Emperor, he could
succumb to the Emperor's arguments.  He could kill Vader…and then he could even
become Vader.  Again this thought laughed at him like a broken clown, until he
pushed it back into a black corner of his brain.
    The Emperor sat before him, smiling.  The moment was convulsive with
possibilities…
    The moment passed.  He did nothing.
    "Tell me, young Skywalker," the Emperor said when he saw Luke's first struggle
had taken its course.  "Who has been involved in your training until now?"  The
smile was thin, open-mouthed, hollow.
    Luke was silent.  He would reveal nothing.
    "Oh, I know it was Obi-wan Kenobi at first," the wicked ruler continued, rubbing
his fingers together as if trying to remember.  Then pausing, his lips creased into a
sneer.  "Of course, we are familiar with the talent Obi-wan Kenobi had, when it
came to training Jedi."  He nodded politely in Vader's direction, indicating
Obi-wan's previous star pupil.  Vader stood without responding, without moving.
    Luke tensed with fury at the Emperor's defamation of Ben—though, of course,
to the Emperor it was praise.  And he bridled even more, knowing the Emperor was
so nearly right.  He tried to bring his anger under control, though, for it seemed to
please the malevolent dictator greatly.
    Palpatine noted the emotions on Luke's face and chuckled.  "So, in your early
training you have followed your father's path, it would seem.  But alas, Obi-wan is
now dead, I believe; his elder student, here, saw to that—" again, he made a hand
motion toward Vader.  "So tell me, young Skywalker—who continued your
training?"
    That smile, again, like a knife.  Luke held silent, struggling to regain his
composure.
    The Emperor tapped his fingers on the arm of the throne, recalling.  "There was
one called…Yoda.  An aged Master Jedi…Ah, I see by your countenance I have hit a
chord, a resonant chord indeed.  Yoda, then."
    Luke flashed with anger at himself, now, to have revealed so much, unwillingly,
unwittingly.  Anger and self-doubt.  He strove to calm himself—to see all, to show
nothing; only to be.
    "This Yoda," the Emperor mused.  "Lives he still?"
    Luke focused on the emptiness of space beyond the window behind the
Emperor's chair.  The deep void, where nothing was.  Nothing.  He filled his mind
with this black nothing.  Opaque, save for the occasional flickering of starlight that
filtered through the ether.
    "Ah," cried Emperor Palpatine.  "He lives not.  Very good, young Skywalker,
you almost hid this from me.  But you could not.  And you can not.  Your deepest
flickerings are to me apparent.  Your nakedest soul.  That is my first lesson to you."
He beamed.
    Luke wilted—but a moment.  In the very faltering, he found strength.  Thus
had Ben and Yoda both instructed him: when you are attacked, fall.  Let your
opponent's power buffet you as strong wind topples the grass.  In time, he will
expend himself, and you will still be upright.
    The Emperor watched Luke's face with cunning.  "I'm sure Yoda taught you to
use the Force with great skill."
    The taunt had its desired effect—Luke's face flushed, his muscles flexed.
    He saw the Emperor actually lick his lips at the sight of Luke's reaction.  Lick
his lips and laugh from the bottom of his throat, the bottom of his soul.
    Luke paused, for he saw something else, as well; something he hadn't seen
before in the Emperor.  Fear.
    Luke saw fear in the Emperor—fear of Luke.  Fear of Luke's power, fear that
this power could be turned on him—on the Emperor—in the same way Vader had
turned it on Obi-wan Kenobi.  Luke saw this fear in the Emperor—and he knew, now,
the odds had shifted slightly.  He had glimpsed the Emperor's nakedest self.
    With sudden absolute calm, Luke stood upright.  He stared directly intc the
malign ruler's hood.
    Palpatine said nothing for a few moments, returning the young Jedi's gaze,
assessing his strengths and weaknesses.  He sat back at last, pleased with this first
confrontation.  "I look forward to completing your training, young Skywalker.  In
time, you will call me Master."
    For the first time, Luke felt steady enough to speak.  "You're gravely mistaken.
You will not convert me as you did my father."
    "No, my young Jedi," the Emperor leaned forward, gloating, "you will find that
it is you who are mistaken…about a great many things."
    Palpatine suddenly stood, came down from his throne, walked up very close to
Luke, stared venomously into the boy's eyes.  At last, Luke saw the entire face
within the hood: eyes, sunken like tombs; the flesh decayed beneath skin weathered
by virulent storms, lined by holocaust; the grin, a death's-grin; the breath, corrupt.
    Vader extended a gloved hand toward the Emperor, holding out Luke's lightsaber.
The Emperor took it with a slow sort of glee, then walked with it across the room to
the huge circular view-window.  The Death Star had been revolving slowly, so the
Sanctuary Moon was now visible at the window's curving margin.
    Palpatine looked at Endor, then back at the lightsaber in his hand.  "Ah, yes, a
Jedi's weapon.  Much like your father's."  He faced Luke directly.  "By now you
must know your father can never be turned from the dark side.  So will it be with
you."
    "Never.  Soon I will die, and you with me." Luke was confident of that now.
He allowed himself the luxury of a boast.
    The Emperor laughed, a vile laugh.  "Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack
of your Rebel fleet."  Luke had a thick, reeling moment, then steadied himself.  The
Emperor went on.  "I assure you, we are quite safe from your friends here."
    Vader walked toward the Emperor, stood at his side, looking at Luke.
    Luke felt increasingly raw.  "Your overconfidence is your weakness," he
challenged them.
    "Your faith in your friends is yours."  The Emperor began smiling; but then his
mouth turned down, his voice grew angry.  "Everything that has transpired has done
so according to my design.  Your friends up there on the Sanctuary Moon—they're
walking into a trap.  And so is your Rebel fleet!"
    Luke's face twitched visibly.  The Emperor saw this, and really began to foam.
"It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator.  It is
quite safe from your pitiful little band—an entire legion of my troops awaits them
there.
    Luke's eyes darted from the Emperor, to Vader, and finally to the lightsaber in
the Emperor's hand.  His mind quivered with alternatives; suddenly everything was
out of control again.  He could count on nothing but himself.  And on himself, his
hold was tenuous.
    The Emperor kept rattling on imperiously.  "I'm afraid the deflector shield will
be quite operational when your fleet arrives.  And that is only the beginning of my
surprise—but of course I don't wish to spoil it for you."
    The situation was degenerating fast, from Luke's perspective.  Defeat after
defeat was being piled on his head.  How much could he take?  And now another
surprise coming?  There seemed to be no end to the rank deeds Palpatine could carry
out against the galaxy.  Slowly, infinitesimally, Luke raised his hand in the direction
of the lightsaber.
    The Emperor continued.  "From here, young Skywalker, you will witness the
final destruction of the Alliance—and the end of your insignificant rebellion."
    Luke was in torment.  He raised his hand further.  He realized both Palpatine
and Vader were watching him.  He lowered his hand, lowered his level of anger,
tried to restore his previous calm, to find his center to see what it was he needed to do.
    The Emperor smiled, a thin dry smile.  He offered the lightsaber to Luke.
"You want this, don't you?  The hate is swelling in you, now.  Very good, take your
Jedi weapon.  Use it.  I am unarmed.  Strike me down with it.  Give in your anger.
With each passing moment you make yourself more my servant."
    His rasping laughter echoed off the walls like desert wind.  Vader continued
staring at Luke.
    Luke tried to hide his agony.  "No, never."  He thought desperately of Ben and
Yoda.  They were part of the Force, now, part of the energy that shaped it.  Was it
possible for them to distort the Emperor's vision by their presence? No one was
infallible, Ben had told him—surely the Emperor couldn't see everything, couldn't
know every future, twist every reality to suit his gluttony.  Ben, thought Luke, if ever
I needed your guidance, it is now.  Where can I take this, that it will not lead me to
ruin?
    As if in answer, the Emperor leered, and put the lightsaber down on the control
chair near Luke's hand.  "It is unavoidable," the Emperor said quietly.  "It is your
destiny.  You, like your father, are now…mine."
    Luke had never felt so lost.

    Han, Chewie, Leia, and a dozen commandos made their way down the
labyrinthine corridors toward the area where the shield generator room was marked on
the stolen map.  Yellow lights illuminated the low rafters, casting long shadows at
each intersection.  At the first three turnings, all remained quiet; they saw no guard
or worker.
    At the fourth cross-corridor, six Imperial stormtroopers stood a wary watch.
    There was no way around; the section had to be traversed.  Han and Leia looked
at each other and shrugged; there was nothing for it but to fight.
    With pistols drawn, they barged into the entryway.  Almost as if they'd been
expecting an attack, the guards instantly crouched and began firing their own weapons.
A barrage of laserbolts followed, ricocheting from girder to floor.  Two
stormtroopers were hit immediately.  A third lost his gun; pinned behind a
refrigerator console, he was unable to do much but stay low.
    Two more stood behind a fire door, though, and blasted each commando who
tried to get through.  Four went down.  The guards were virtually impregnable
behind their vulcanized shield—but virtually didn't account for Wookiees.
    Chewbacca rushed the door, physically dislodging it on top of the two
stormtroopers.  They were crushed.
    Leia shot the sixth guard as he stood to draw a bead on Chewie.  The trooper
who'd been crouching beneath the refrigeration unit suddenly bolted, to go for help.
Han raced after him a few long strides and brought him down with a flying tackle.
He was out cold.
    They checked themselves over, accounted for casualties.  Not too bad—but it
had been noisy.  They'd have to hurry now, before a general alarm was set.  The
power center that controlled the shield generator was very near.  And there would be
no second chances.

    The Rebel fleet broke out of hyperspace with an awesome roar.  Amid
glistening streamers of light, battalion after battalion emerged in formation, to fire off
toward the Death Star and its Sanctuary Moon hovering brightly in the close distance.
Soon the entire navy was bearing down on its target, the Millennium Falcon in the
lead.
    Lando was worried from the moment they came out of hyperspace.  He checked
his screen, reversed polarities, queried the computer.
    The copilot was perplexed, as well.  "Zhnh ahzi gngnohzh.  Dzhy lyhz!"
    "But how could that be?" Lando demanded.  "We've got to be able to get some
kind of reading on the shield, up or down."  Who was conning whom on this raid?"
    Nien Nunb pointed at the control panel, shaking his head.  "Dzhmbd."
    "Jammed?  How could they be jamming us if they don't know
we're…coming."
    He grimaced at the onrushing Death Star, as the implications of what he'd just
said sank in.  This was not a surprise attack, after all.  It was a spider web.
    He hit the switch on his comlink.  "Break off the attack!  The shield's still up!"
    Red Leader's voice shouted back over the headphones.  "I get no reading, are
you sure?"
    "Pull up!" Lando commanded.  "All craft pull up!"
    He banked hard to the left, the fighters of the Red Squad veering close on his tail.
    Some didn't make it.  Three flanking X-wings nicked the invisible deflector
shield, spinning out of control, exploding in flames along the shield surface.  None
of the others paused to look back.
    On the Rebel Star Cruiser bridge, alarms were screaming, light flashing, klaxons
blaring, as the mammoth space cruiser abruptly altered its momentum, trying to
change course in time to avoid collision with the shield.  Officers were running from
battle stations to navigation controls; other ships in the fleet could be seen through the
view-screens, careening wildly in a hundred directions, some slowing, some speeding
up.
    Admiral Ackbar spoke urgently but quietly into the comlink.  "Take evasive
action.  Green Group steer course for Holding Sector.  MG-7 Blue Group—"
    A Mon Calamari controller, across the bridge, called out to Ackbar with grave
excitement.  "Admiral, we have enemy ships at Sector RT-23 and PB-4."
    The large central view-screen was coming alive.  It was no longer just the
Death Star and the green moon behind it, gloating isolated in space.  Now the
massive Imperial fleet could be seen flying in perfect, regimental formation, out from
behind Endor in two behemoth flanking waves—heading to surround the Rebel fleet
from both sides, like the pincers of a deadly scorpion.
    And the shield barricaded the Alliance in front.  They had nowhere to go.
    Ackbar spoke desperately into the comlink.  "It's a trap.  Prepare for attack."
    An anonymous fighter pilot's voice came back over the radio.  "Fighters
coming in!  Here we go!"
    The attack began.  The battle was joined.
    TIE fighters, first—they were much faster than the bulky Imperial cruisers, so
they were the first to make contact with the Rebel invaders.  Savage dogfights
ensued, and soon the black sky was aglow with ruby explosions.
    An aide approached Ackbar.  "We've added power to the forward shield,
Admiral."
    "Good.  Double power on the main battery, and—"
    Suddenly the Star Cruiser was rocked by thermonuclear fireworks outside the
observation window.
    "Gold Wing is hit hard!" another officer shouted, stumbling up to the bridge.
    "Give them cover!" Ackbar ordered.  "We must have time!"  He spoke again
into the comlink, as yet another detonation rumbled the frigate.  "All ships, stand
your position.  Wait for my command to return!"
    It was far too late for Lando and his attack squadrons to heed that order, though.
They were already way ahead of the pack, heading straight for the oncoming Imperial
fleet.
    Wedge Antilles, Luke's old buddy from the first campaign, let the X-wings that
accompanied the Falcon.  As they drew near the Imperial defenders, his voice came
over the comlink, calm and experienced.  "Lock X-foils in attack positions."
    The wings split like dragonfly gossamers, poised for increased maneuvering and
power.
    "All wings report in," said Lando.
    "Red Leader standing by," Wedge replied.
    "Green Leader standing by."
    "Blue Leader standing by."
    "Gray Leader—"
    This last transmission was interrupted by a display of pyrotechnics that
completely disintegrated Gray Wing.
    "Here they come," Wedge commented.
    "Accelerate to attack speed," Lando ordered.  "Draw fire away from our
cruisers as long as possible."
    "Copy, Gold Leader," Wedge responded.  "We're moving to point three across
the axis—"
    "Two of them coming in at twenty degrees—" someone advised.
    "I see them," noted Wedge.  "Cut left, I'll take the leader."
    "Watch yourself, Wedge, three from above."
    "Yeah, I—"
    "I'm on it, Red Leader."
    "There's too many of them—"
    "You're taking a lot of fire, back off—"
    "Red Four, watch out!"
    "I'm hit!"
    The X-wing spun, sparking, across the starfield, out of power, into the void.
    "You've picked one up, watch it!" Red Six yelled at Wedge.
    "My scope's negative, where is he?"
    "Red Six, a squadron of fighters has broken through—"
    "They're heading for the Medical Frigate!  After them!"
    "Go ahead," Lando agreed.  "I'm going in.  There're four marks at point three
five.  Cover me!"
    "Right behind you, Gold Leader.  Red Two, Red Three, pull in—"
    "Hang on, back there."
    "Close up formations, Blue Group."
    "Good shooting, Red Two."
    "Not bad," said Lando.  "I'll take out the other three…"
    Calrissian steered the Falcon into the complete flip, as his crew fired at the
Imperial fighters from the belly guns.  Two were direct hits, the third a glancing
blow that caused the TIE fighter to tumble into another of its own squads.  The
heavens were absolutely thick with them, but the Falcon was faster by half than
anything else that flew.
    Within a matter of minutes, the battlefield was a diffuse red glow, spotted with
puffs of smoke, blazing fireballs, whirling spark showers, spinning debris, rumbling
implosions, shafts of light, tumbling machinery, space-frozen corpses, wells of
blackness, electron storms.
    It was a grim and dazzling spectacle.  And only beginning.
    Nien Nunb made a guttural aside to Lando.
    "You're right," the pilot frowned.  "Only their fighters are attacking.  What are
those Star Destroyers waiting for?"  Looked like the Emperor was trying to get the
Rebels to buy some real estate he wasn't intending to sell.
    "Dzhng zhng," the copilot warned, as another squadron of TIE fighters swooped
down from above.
    "I see 'em.  We're sure in the middle of it, now."  He took a second to glance
at Endor, floating peacefully off to his right.  "Come on, Han old buddy, don't let me
down."

    Han pressed the button on his wrist-unit and covered his head: the reinforced
door to the main control room blew into melted pieces.  The Rebel squad stormed
through the gaping portal.
    The stormtroopers inside seemed taken completely by surprise.  A few were
injured by the exploding door; the rest gawked in dismay as the Rebels rushed them
with guns drawn.  Han took the lead, Leia right behind; Chewie covered the rear.
    They herded all the personnel into one corner of the bunker.  Three commandos
guarded them there, three more covered the exits.  The rest began placing the
explosive charges.
    Leia studied one of the screens on the control panel.  "Hurry, Han, look!  The
fleet's being attacked!"
    Solo looked over at the screen.  "Blast it!  With the shield still up, they're
backed against the wall."
    "That is correct," came a voice from the rear of the room.  "Just as you are."
    Han and Leia spun around to find dozens of Imperial guns trained on them; an
entire legion had been hiding in the wall compartments of the bunker.  Now, in a
single moment, the Rebels were surrounded—nowhere to run, far too many
stormtroopers to fight.  Completely surrounded.
    More Imperial troops charged through the door, roughly disarming the stunned
commandos.
    Han, Chewie, and Leia exchanged helpless, hopeless looks.  They'd been the
Rebellion's last chance.
    They'd failed.

    Some distance from the main area of battle, coasting safely in the center of the
blanket of ships that constituted the Imperial fleet, was the flagship Super Star
Destroyer.  On the bridge, Admiral Piett watched the war through the enormous
observation window—curious, as if viewing an elaborate demonstration, or an
entertainment.
    Two fleet captains stood behind him, respectfully silent; also learning the elegant
designs of their Emperor.
    "Have the fleet hold here," Admiral Piett ordered.
    The first captain hurried to carry out the order.  The second stepped up to the
window, beside the admiral.  "We aren't going to attack?"
    Piett smirked.  "I have my orders from the Emperor himself.  He has
something special planned for this Rebel scum."  He accented the specialness with a
long pause, for the inquisitive captain to savor.  "We are only to keep them from
escaping."

    The Emperor, Lord Vader, and Luke watched the aerial battle rage from the
safety of the throne room in the Death Star.
    It was a scene of pandemonium.  Silent, crystalline explosions surrounded by
green, violet, or magenta auras.  Wildly vicious dogfights.  Gracefully floating
crags of melted steel; icicle sprays that might have been blood.
    Luke watched in horror, as another Rebel ship toppled against the unseeable
deflector shield, exploding in a fiery concussion.
    Vader watched Luke.  His boy was powerful, stronger than he'd imagined.
And still pliable.  Not lost yet—either to the sickening, weakly side of the Force, that
had to beg for everything it received; or to the Emperor, who feared Luke with reason.
    There was yet time to take Luke for his own—to retake him.  To join with him
in dark majesty.  To rule the galaxy together.  It would only take patience and a
little wizardry, to show Luke the exquisite satisfactions of the dark way and to pry
him from the Emperor's terrified clutch.
    Vader knew Luke had seen it, too—the Emperor's fear.  He was a clever boy,
young Luke, Vader smiled grimly to himself.  He was his father's son.
    The Emperor interrupted Vader's contemplation with a cackled remark to Luke.
"As you can see, my young apprentice, the deflector shield is still in place.  Your
friends have failed!  And now…" he raised his spindly hand above his head to mark
this moment:  "Witness the power of this fully armed and operational battle station."
He walked over to the comlink and spoke in a gravelly whisper, as if to a lover.
"Fire at will, Commander."
    In shock, and in foreknowledge, Luke looked out across the surface of the Death
Star, to the space battle beyond and to the bulk of the Rebel fleet beyond that.
    Down in the bowels of the Death Star, Commander Jerjerrod gave an order.  It
was with mixed feelings that he issued the command, because it meant the final
destruction of the Rebel insurrectionists—which meant an end to the state of war,
which Jerjerrod cherished above all things.  But second to ongoing war itself
Jerjerrod loved total annihilation; so while tempered with regret, this order was not
entirely without thrill.
    At Jerjerrod's instruction, a controller pulled a switch, which ignited a blinking
panel.  Two hooded Imperial soldiers pushed a series of buttons.  A thick beam of
light slowly pulsed from a long, heavily blockaded shaft.  On the outer surface of the
completed half of the Death Star, a giant laser dish began to glow.
    Luke watched in impotent horror, as the unbelievably huge laser beam radiated
out from the muzzle of the Death Star.  It touched—for only an instant—one of the
Rebel Star Cruisers that was surging in the midst of the heaviest fighting.  And in the
next instant, the Star Cruiser was vaporized.  Blown to dust.  Returned to its most
elemental particles, in a single burst of light.
    In the numbing grip of despair, with the hollowest of voids devouring his heart,
Luke's eyes, alone, glinted—for he saw, again, his lightsaber, lying unattended on the
throne.  And in this bleak and livid moment, the dark side was much with him.