Verily, a New Hope (William Shakespeare's Star Wars, #4)

by Ian Doescher

In time so long ago begins our play, In star-crossed galaxy far, far away.

Be thou not technical with me, Or else thine input valve may swift receive A hearty helping of my golden foot.

O help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, help. Thou art mine only hope.

I find thy lack of faith disturbing.

TROOPER 4 Pray, show me now thy papers. OBI-WAN —Nay, thou dost Not need to see his papers. TROOPER 4 —Nay, we do Not need to see his papers. OBI-WAN —True it is, That these are not the droids for which thou search’st. TROOPER 3 Aye, these are not the droids for which we search. OBI-WAN And now, the lad may go his merry way. TROOPER 3 Good lad, I prithee, go thy merry way! OBI-WAN Now get thee hence. TROOPER 4 —Now get thee hence, go hence! [Exeunt stormtroopers.

[They shoot, Greedo dies. [To innkeeper:] Pray, goodly Sir, forgive me for the mess. [Aside:] And whether I shot first, I’ll ne’er confess!

—But O, what now? What light through yonder flashing sensor breaks?

Alas—I sense the game, and we’re the pawns. That is no moon. ’Tis a space station there. [The Death Star looms in the distance, growing closer.

For who is he who hath more foolish been— The fool or other fool who follows him?

To boldly go where none hath gone is wild!

OFFICER 1 [through comlink:] But what hath happen’d? HAN —’Tis no matter, Sir— A slight malfunction of the weapons here. But all is well, and we are well, and all Within are well. The pris’ners, too, are well, ’Tis well, ’tis well. And thou? Art also well? OFFICER 1 [through comlink:] We shall dispatch a squad to verify. HAN Nay, there’s a leak in the reactor here. Pray give us time to mend the matter well. The leak is large and dangerous, but fear Thou not, for all—I tell thee true—is well! OFFICER 1 [through comlink:] But who art thou, and what’s thy number code? [Han Solo blasts comlink.

Thou truly art in jest. Art thou not small Of stature, if thou art a stormtrooper? Does Empire shrink for want of taller troops? The Empire’s evil ways, I’ll grant, are grand, But must its soldiers want for fear of height?

And yet, I say to you: it could be worse. [A loud sound is heard. HAN ’Tis worse.

I have a feeling bad about this sound. [The walls begin to contract.

Alas, poor stormtrooper, I knew ye not, Yet have I ta’en both uniform and life From thee. What manner of a man wert thou? A man of inf’nite jest or cruelty? A man with helpmate and with children too? A man who hath his Empire serv’d with pride? A man, perhaps, who wish’d for perfect peace? Whate’er thou wert, good man, thy pardon grant Unto the one who took thy place: e’en me.

And yet thou canst not win, I’ll warrant, Darth. For if thou strike me down, e’en now, e’en here, I shall more great and powerful become Than e’er thou hast imagin’d possible.

Friends, rebels, starfighters, lend me your ears. Wish not we had a single fighter more,

There let our heroes rest free from attack, Till darkness rise and Empire striketh back.