From a Certain Point of View: Return of the Jedi (Star Wars)

by Olivie Blake

“I was awake when you snuck into the throne room,” Damaris told Leia in a conversational tone of voice, helping the latter into a dancing-girl costume. “I don’t know if you and Solo could have actually escaped, but you could probably have gotten a lot farther if you hadn’t stopped to kiss

“Luke is not a fake.” The conviction in Leia’s tone shook Jess to the marrow of her being. “Just stay out of the way when the action starts. If we’re lucky, you’ll all be free soon.”

“You missed the party. That Skywalker boy, he came here. And he fell,” Yarna said gruffly, in a voice like brittle leaves. “But he closed the gate over Pateesa’s neck. It’s dead. Skywalker and his friends will be, too, soon enough. Jabba’s taking them to the Great Pit of Carkoon.” “This group doesn’t seem all that great at rescuing,”

them. I tried to communicate by wiggling my tentacles in the sarlacc language: “Greetings, gentle beings! Fear not, I do not consume animal flesh, by choice. Come into my presence, especially if you have some nice juicy leaves to share!” But they saw my tentacles waving, and shrank farther out of my reach. After that, the flying constructs showed up regularly, and each time, a screaming person would plummet into my mouth—no matter how much I tried to say, “Uh, I appreciate the thought, but really, no thanks.”

The armored man remained, but he was terrible company—he didn’t speak my language, and all he did was thrash around from time to time. I was so relieved when he finally got hold of some kind of cutting device and sliced his way out of me. Of course it hurt, but at least now I’ll have some peace around here. I’m going to rest up for a few thousand rotations, and then work up the energy to get myself off this annoying planet. — Oh, wait. The armored man is back, and he’s brought a friend. I only hope this conversation goes better than the last one.

“And why should we suffer aliens among us?” Greejatus asked no one in particular, stroking his crimson-striped headgear. “Expulsion from the Core and Colonies to a network of reserves established in the Rim is the logical course of action.”

—I hate you! How could you do this to me? —Stop this, Anakin. Come back to us! It’s not too late. —How dare you? How dare you believe that? You’ve no idea what I’ve done. —I know. The massacre of the younglings, the crusade against the remaining Jedi. Even if I hadn’t known before, I would read it in you now. —You left me! Don’t leave me! You left me! Don’t leave me. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll—!

You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker; I did…!

She must continue. The rebels need this news. It will help steel them to their purpose. Much as good news has steeled other efforts before—the spy Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso among them. What had Jyn said before Scarif? “Rebellions are built on hope.”

“Most important of all, we’ve learned that the Emperor himself is personally overseeing the final stages of the construction of this Death Star.”

The mission was simple: surveil, maintain, and defend the boundaries of a shield generator base on the Sanctuary Moon of Endor. The critical, strategic objective was to protect the Death Star II under construction in the moon’s orbit. Without the advantage of such a powerful weapon in his arsenal, TK-151 feared Emperor Palpatine faced a prolonged, drawn-out trial of putting down the traitorous Rebel Alliance once and for all.

A lightsaber? His only knowledge of the ancient weapons came from holocomics and the grifted whispers of story peddlers who regaled children and tourists with tales of the Jedi. From the lost and bygone era of the Republic, the Jedi were a disgraced order of charlatans and con artists that had turned their backs on Emperor Palpatine in the hour of his greatest need.

“You stay away,” he told her. She didn’t reply, so he assumed she didn’t understand him, either. He growled and snapped, “I’ll trap you just like the bug people if I have to. Haul you right up into the air, whoosh!”

Logray was looking forward to feasting on the cocky one. Arrogance lent a certain…spice to the meat. He was sure it would be delicious.

“Sabacc is not a fight,” Calrissian corrects him in mild indignation. He picks the card deck back up and begins to shuffle. His practiced fingers render the simple action an art form, the cards blurred from how fast he moves. Norra watches, mesmerized. “Sabacc is life. You can bring all the skill and cleverness you want, but there’s always going to be that unknown factor, the parts you can’t control. It’s civilized in its chaos. The most civilized game in the galaxy.”

“I don’t like the Empire.” “Who cares about the Empire, or the Alliance, or whatnot?” Lante huffed. “That stuff is so much bigger than you and I. And if you don’t do the testing, someone else will.” “Then let them.”

Right before the Imperial lasers strike her, before her fighter explodes into a million atoms, before becoming little more than space dust, Sila is not scared. Her last moment is full of vibrant joy.

He was a Death Star gunner, and after twenty years in the Imperial Navy, this was his last week on the platform.

Seven more days, short-timer. One last battle! Then you’re twenty and out. And the galaxy is yours!

I am a Storykeeper, he thought. And now my story is ending.

A Jedi, he says, like his father before him. Is this what you are made of, my apprentice, after all? You are flayed and hollowed out with tenderness that softens your purpose, vines of tired grace like dormant weeds to strangle your resolve. It does not make you strong, the invocation of your clemency, but it has made you volatile. I can feel it in you now—the change, the rift—but there can be no outlet for your agency, no salvation for your change of heart. So there is goodness in you. My hearty congratulations. It will not save you now.

What is a legacy? I am the one who will decide.

First day on the new post aboard the Battle Station DS-II. That’s short for “Death Star.” Not a particularly good name for a station because it’s not a star. Further, you’d think they’d have retired the name after the first one blew up. But every officer here assures us that this one is bigger and better, and the newly recruited troopers have nothing to worry about except following our duties.

TK-534, a member of my unit who is clearly stiff and eager to please, asked if we were going to go through shooting drills now aboard the base, but was quickly dismissed. Shoot or be shot, said the officer. It’s that simple.

“The Empire doesn’t understand peace,” said TK-848 darkly. “Alderaan wasn’t built in a day, but it sure was destroyed in one.”

That was why their designations sounded familiar. “Your squad went missing last week,” Hoyel realized. But that meant there should be ten troopers here, not four. “Where are the rest of you?” TK-830 shuddered, turning his head toward the bonfire in the distance. “They’ve been eating us.”

“You were literally chained to your captor. For anyone that situation would be harrowing and demeaning, but for you—a princess who has proven herself to be fiercely independent, to have your freedom restricted like that—” I pressed. Leia shook her head, “There is no ‘but for me,’ Dora. You were right at the start, it would be an indignity for anyone. Period.” “Of course, I meant no disrespect.” “I just don’t want there to be any ambiguity in the record.

He told himself the glimmer in her eyes was just a reflection of the neon signs, but it burned all the same. “I think I would like that,” she grinned. “It’s a lot of walking,” he warned, “but while we do, I’ll tell you about my friend, Obi-Wan.”

“When he called out, you answered,” Obi-Wan said. “You chose him over the Emperor. You chose empathy over power. You chose a future for the galaxy, to break the rule of the Sith. “You chose to bring balance.”

Anakin no longer needed to find a way. Others already had. And they trusted in one another, a bond so clear that it made complete sense that they defeated the Emperor and his planet-destroying weapon. Not because they were a ragtag group of pilots, smugglers, and dreamers, but because they were this particular group.

Anakin felt his heart roar again, a fiery buck that called to him to do more, but he tempered it, grounded in his resolve. Luke and Leia, the children of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala, would outlive and grow beyond the legacy of their parents, with strengths and passions balanced by both the experience of the Galactic Civil War and the support of those closest to them.

The trooper tilted her helmet in the opposite direction. “I know what you’re thinking, sir, but I’m telling the truth. I saw it. Lord Vader is dead. His body is just over there. What’s left of it, anyway.”

Seeking balance and clarity, I have hidden myself away from all others as I write another entry in the immortal Journal of the Whills. The complexity of this galaxy-shaking moment requires my complete focus without even the fear of interruption.