STAR WARS - EPISODE IV - Chapter -1

STAR WARS - EPISODE IV

Chapter-1

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Prologue

ANOTHER galaxy, another time.

The Old Republic was the Republic of legend, greater than distance or
time. No need to note where it was or whence it came, only to know that...
it was the Republic.

Once, under the wise rule of the Senate and the protection of the Jedi
Knights, the Republic throve and grew. But as often happens when wealth and
power pass beyond the admirable and attain the awesome, then appear those
evil ones who have greed to match.

So it was with the Republic at its height. Like the greatest of trees,
able to withstand any external attack, the Republic rotted from within
though the danger was not visible from outside.

Aided and abetted by restless, power-hungry individuals within the
government, and the massive organs of commerce, the ambitious Senator
Palpatine caused himself to be elected President of the Republic. He
promised to reunite the disaffected among the people and to restore the
remembered glory of the Republic.

Once secure in office he declared himself Emperor, shutting himself
away from the populace. Soon he was controlled by the very assistants and
boot-lickers he had appointed to high office, and the cries of the people
for justice did not reach his ears.

Having exterminated through treachery and deception the Jedi Knights,
guardians of justice in the galaxy, the Imperial governors and bureaucrats
prepared to institute a reign of terror among the disheartened worlds of the
galaxy. Many used the imperial forces and the name of the increasingly
isolated Emperor to further their own personal ambitions.

But a small number of systems rebelled at these new outrages. Declaring
themselves opposed to the New Order they began the great battle to restore
the Old Republic.

From the beginning they were vastly outnumbered by the systems held in
thrall by the Emperor. In those first dark days it seemed certain the bright
flame of resistance would be extinguished before it could cast the light of
new truth across a galaxy of oppressed and beaten peoples...

From the First Saga Journal of the Whills "They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Naturally they became heroes."

Leia Organa of Alderaan, Senator

- I -

IT was a vast, shining globe and it cast a light of lambent topaz into

space-but it was not a sun. Thus, the planet had fooled men for a long time.

Not until entering close orbit around it did its discoverers realize that

this was a world in a binary system and not a third sun itself.

At first it seemed certain nothing could exist on such a planet, least

of all humans. Yet both massive G1 and G2 stars orbited a common center with

peculiar regularity, and Tatooine circled them far enough out to permit the

development of a rather stable, if exquisitely hot, climate. Mostly this was

a dry desert of a world, whose unusual starlike yellow glow was the result

of double sunlight striking sodium-rich sands and flats. That same sunlight

suddenly shone on the thin skin of a metallic shape falling crazily toward

the atmosphere.

The erratic course the galactic cruiser was traveling was intentional,

not the product of injury but of a desperate desire to avoid it. Long

streaks of intense energy slid close past its hull, a multihued storm of

destruction like a school of rainbow remoras fighting to attach themselves

to a larger, unwilling host.

One of those probing, questing beams succeeded in touching the fleeing

ship, striking its principal solar fin. Gemlike fragments of metal and

plastic erupted into space as the end of the fin disintegrated. The vessel

seemed to shudder.

The source of those multiple energy beams suddenly hove into view-a

lumbering Imperial cruiser, its massive outline bristling cactuslike with

dozens of heavy weapons emplacements. Light ceased arching from those spines

now as the cruiser moved in close. Intermittent explosions and flashes of

light could be seen in those portions of the smaller ship which had taken

hits. In the absolute cold of space, the cruiser snuggled up alongside its

wounded prey.

Another distant explosion shook the ship-but it certainly didn't feel

distant to Artoo Detoo or See Threepio. The concussion bounced them around

the narrow corridor like bearings in an old motor.

To look at these two, one would have supposed that the tall, human-like

machine, Threepio, was the master and the stubby, tripodal robot, Artoo

Detoo, an inferior. But while Threepio might have sniffed disdainfully at

the suggestion, they were in fact equal in everything save loquacity. Here

Threepio was clearly-and necessarily-the superior.

Still another explosion rattled the corridor, throwing Threepio off

balance. His shorter companion had the better of it during such moments with

his squat, cylindrical body's low center of gravity well balanced on thick,

clawed legs.

Artoo glanced up at Threepio, who was steadying himself against a

corridor wall. Lights blinked enigmatically around a single mechanical eye

as the smaller robot studied the battered casing of his friend. A patina of

metal and fibrous dust coated the usually gleaming bronze finish, and there

were some visible dents-all the result of the pounding the rebel ship they

were on had been taking.

Accompanying the last attack was a persistent deep hum which even the

loudest explosion had not been able to drown out. Then, for no apparent

reason, the basso thrumming abruptly ceased, and the only sounds in the

otherwise deserted corridor came from the eerie dry-twig crackle of shorting

relays or the pops of dying circuitry. Explosions began to echo through the

ship once more, but they were far away from the corridor.

Threepio turned his smooth, humanlike head to one side. Metallic ears

listened intently. The imitation of a human pose was hardly

necessary-Threepio's auditory sensors were fully omnidirectional-but the

slim robot had been programmed to blend perfectly among human company. This

programming extended even to mimicry of human gestures.

"Did you hear that?" he inquired rhetorically of his patient companion,

referring to the throbbing sound. "They've shut down the main reactor and

the drive." His voice was as full of disbelief and concern as that of any

human. One metallic palm rubbed dolefully at a patch of dull gray on his

side, where a broken hull brace had fallen and scored the bronze finish.

Threepio was a fastidious machine, and such things troubled him.

"Madness, this is madness." He shook his head slowly. "This time we'll

be destroyed for sure."

Artoo did not comment immediately. Barrel torso tilted backward,

powerful legs gripping the deck, the meter-high robot was engrossed in

studying the roof overhead. Though he did not have a head to cock in a

listening posture like his friend, Artoo still somehow managed to convey

that impression. A series of short beeps and chirps issued from his speaker.

To even a sensitive human ear they would have been just so much static, but

to Threepio they formed words as clear and pure as direct current.

"Yes, I suppose they did have to shut the drive down," Threepio

admitted, "but what are we going to do now? We can't enter atmosphere with

our main stablizer fin destroyed. I can't believe we're simply going to

surrender."

A small band of armed humans suddenly appeared, rifles held at the

ready. Their expressions were as worry-wrinkled as their uniforms, and they

carried about them the aura of men prepared to die.

Threepio watched silently until they had vanished around a far bend in

the passageway, then looked back at Artoo. The smaller robot hadn't shifted

from his position of listening. Threepio's gaze turned upward also though he

knew Artoo's senses were slightly sharper than his own.

"What is it, Artoo?" A short burst of beeping came in response. Another

moment, and there was no need for highly attuned sensors. For a minute or

two more, the corridor remained deathly silent. Then a faint scrape, scrape

could be heard, like a cat at a door, from somewhere above. That strange

noise was produced by heavy footsteps and the movement of bulky equipment

somewhere on the ship's hull.

When several muffled explosions sounded, Threepio murmured, "They've

broken in somewhere above us. There's no escape for the Captain this time."

Turning, he peered down at Artoo. "I think we'd better-"

The shriek of overstressed metal filled the air before he could finish,

and the far end of the passageway was lit by a blinding actinic flash.

Somewhere down there the little cluster of armed crew who had passed by

minutes before had encountered the ship's attackers.

Threepio turned his face and delicate photoreceptors away-just in time

to avoid the fragments of metal that flew down the corridor. At the far end

a gaping hole appeared in the roof, and reflective forms like big metal

beads began dropping to the corridor floor. Both robots knew that no machine

could match the fluidity with which those shapes moved and instantly assumed

fighting postures. The new arrivals were humans in armor, not mechanicals.

One of them looked straight at Threepio-no, not at him, the panicked

robot thought frantically, but past him. The figure shifted its big rifle

around in armored hands-too late. A beam of intense light struck the head,

sending pieces of armor, bone, and flesh flying in all directions.

Half the invading Imperial troops turned and began returning fire up

the corridor-aiming past the two robots.

"Quick-this way!" Threepio ordered, intending to retreat from the

Imperials. Artoo turned with him. They had taken only a couple of steps when

they saw the rebel crewmen in position ahead, firing down the corridor. In

seconds the passageway was filled with smoke and crisscrossing beams of

energy.

Red, green and blue bolts ricocheted off polished sections of wall and

floor or ripped long gashes in metal surfaces. Screams of injured and dying

humans-a peculiarly unrobotic sound, Threepio thought-echoed piercingly

above the inorganic destruction.

One beam struck near the robot's feet at the same time as a second one

burst the wall directly behind him, exposing sparking circuitry and rows of

conduits. The force of the twin blast tumbled Threepio into the shredded

cables, where a dozen different currents turned him into a jerking, twisting

display.

Strange sensations coursed through his metal nerve-ends. They caused no

pain, only confusion. Every time he moved and tried to free himself there

was another violent crackling as a fresh cluster of componentry broke. The

noise and man-made lightning remained constant around him as the battle

continued to rage.

Smoke began to fill the corridor. Artoo Detoo bustled about trying to

help free his friend. The little robot evidenced a phlegmatic indifference

to the ravening energies filling the passageway. He was built so low that

most of the beams passed over him anyhow.

"Help!" Threepio yelled, suddenly frightened at a new message from an

internal sensor. "I think something is melting. Free my left leg-the

trouble's near the pelvic servomotor." Typically, his tone turned abruptly

from pleading to berating.

"This is all your fault!" he shouted angrily. "I should have known

better than to trust the logic of a half-sized thermocapsulary dehousing

assister. I don't know why you insisted we leave our assigned stations to

come down this stupid access corridor. Not that it matters now. The whole

ship must be-" Artoo Detoo cut him off in midspeech with some angry beepings

and hoots of his own, though he continued to cut and pull with precision at

the tangled high-voltage cables.

"Is that so?" Threepio sneered in reply. "The same to you, you

little...!"

An exceptionally violent explosion shook the passage, drowning him out.

A lung-searing miasma of carbonized component filled the air, obscuring

everything.

Two meters tall. Bipedal. Flowing black robes trailing from the figure

and a face forever masked by a functional if bizarre black metal breath

screen-a Dark Lord of the Sith was an awesome, threatening shape as it

strode through the corridors of the rebel ship.

All rights remain with the original author.

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