Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View (From a Certain Point of View #1)

by Elizabeth Schaefer

The grand, all-or-nothing gambit had led to the single largest combat engagement in the long history of conflict between the Rebellion and the Empire,

Before departure, Raymus had warned her that her ship was not yet capable of even the routine flight to Tatooine, which had, until recently, been its assignment. It had not even been able to travel to Scarif under its own power, carried instead in the belly of the rebel flagship Profundity as mechanical crews worked hurriedly to repair its overworked and malfunctioning hyperdrive. By the time they arrived at Scarif, Raymus was able only to assure her that the Tantive IV could perform a hyperspace jump, not that it could sustain lightspeed travel long enough to reliably get them to any given destination.

“We can’t exactly run quiet with a hyperdrive that’s barely holding together. If the Empire detected any trace of an abnormal hyperspace wake when we jumped to lightspeed, it won’t take them long to use it to track us.”

Typically a jump to hyperspace meant a clean getaway, a ship’s lightspeed trajectory impossible to track. But the Tantive IV’s impaired hyperdrive was like a leaky oil pan, leaving behind it a residual energy signature that was unique—and traceable.

For that reason, Leia had thought it too great a risk to return to the rebel headquarters at Yavin 4. Faced with no good options, she had ordered Raymus to instead set course for Tatooine, their planned destination before the hurried redirection to Scarif.

“The Profundity took heavy damage when she was disabled,” the bosun reported. “Her electrical systems overloaded, and since we were still docked, the overload fried half our grid, too. We barely have deflectors or weapons. If it comes to a fight, we won’t be able to put up much of one.”

As a diplomat, she enjoyed special legal protections that meant not even the Imperial military could board, search, or in any way impede the free passage of her ship without her express permission.

“The Empire has issued a priority red directive. Any ships matching the description of a CR90 corvette are to be stopped and held. Priority red means all previous orders and duties are immediately superseded for all Imperial ships galaxy-wide.

the CR90 was a ship common throughout the galaxy, literally thousands of them in service, and the Tantive IV looked like almost any of them.

That was the most bitter irony of war: The greatest acts of love for your family were the ones that kept you apart from them.

Eight minutes. If they could hold out just that much longer, he could get everybody to the surface and scuttle the ship; then at one of the planet’s infamously no-questions-asked spaceports he could procure another vessel, unmarked and untraceable, with which to spirit the princess to safety.

when he was reluctant to follow orders that sometimes seemed to border on senseless cruelty. He was getting better at pushing that part down, though.

Their blasters were set on kill. They were in a battlefield, even now. Too many of the crew were loose and armed, wandering about and opening fire, for the stormtroopers to take chances. TK-9091, taking point as was his right, had ordered them to kill the crew, but switch to stun upon sighting anyone who might be a passenger.

And she was so…little. TK-4601 had imagined that rebel women would be strong and muscular. Tall, powerful warriors. This one stood barely a meter and a half, and looked like she might break if held too tightly.

“She’ll be all right,” he said. He realized that his words were heavy with unexpected, unwanted emotion. But thanks to “the bucket,” they came out sounding as clipped and precise as they always did.

He knew the orders. Stormtroopers lay where they fell until after the battle,

Leia Organa was a killer. She looked at them and did not see the people, only the Empire they served. To her, Tarvyn Lareka had no name, no face, only a number. He was nothing more than a uniform of the hated foe, to be shot at and eliminated as quickly as possible.

Like all militaries, the Imperial Navy ran on datawork. Most officers spent more time filling out forms and filing reports than shooting at rebels.

Annoyed with rebel propaganda that showed Imperials to be poor shots—frankly, the stormtroopers could do with more targeting drills—fleet bureaucrats had issued a new policy that tied gunnery officers’ promotions to their kill ratios. Shots fired at unoccupied escape pods would indeed be considered wasted.

Even worse, Lord Vader often didn’t even bother with a court-martial. It must be nice to be able to ignore datawork requirements whenever one pleased.

When Jawas first learn to walk, they’re given the insulated, moisture-regulating robes that will sustain them their whole lives.

the ship was overstaffed and bloated with cargo, both of which created an environment where the concept of personal space was foreign.

The surface of the dunes is lifeless, yes, but the sand stretches downward forever. Entombed in the endless, gritty expanse were more downed ships than there were ships in the sky. More droids than any ten factories could produce in a century. More wealth, more resources, more history than could ever be excavated or recorded. There was not a Jawa on Tatooine who did not believe wholeheartedly that there was more sand below them than there was sky above. The sand, Jawas knew, was more fertile than any offworlder could ever guess; and the wind was its constant farmer.

by Jot’s calculation, when broken down the requisite number of levels, everything in the universe was made of connected parts.

But the Raider women in her clan did not join battle—never mind that she spun the gaderffii better than any of her useless male cousins. Raider women did not fight, and Raider women were not meant for more, and so Reirin’s daydreams would continue to be just that.

the superior programming of R2 units made them capable of deception in certain circumstances; everyone knew that. He couldn’t trust a single word the blue droid said.

R5-D4 stood stoic and still, though his circuits were firing so rapidly that his internal temperature was rising dangerously. His series was known for excitability, for unreliability.

R2-D2’s twittering farewell. Thank you, friend, the little blue droid called to him. You may have saved the galaxy today. I will never forget you.

brain of a krayt dragon occupied only a small portion of its massive skull. The rest of the space, according to Tusken lore, was storage for pure, unadulterated hate,

The droid’s trail passed not far from a place, the chieftain said, where an entire camp of Tuskens had been mysteriously massacred in the night, many cycles before.

A Tusken chief, scared of shadows and counseling mercy?

“We are taught that all who live are the Tuskens’ enemies. But that may be too simple. There are things that will leave us alone, if we do the same.

“Battles and wars aren’t the measure of a Jedi. Anyone can fight, given a weapon and an enemy. Anyone can use a lightsaber, given due training or even good luck. But to stand and wait—to have so much patience and fortitude—that, Obi-Wan, is a greater achievement than you can know. Few could have accomplished it.”

Every person Obi-Wan ever truly loved—Anakin, Satine, Padmé, and Qui-Gon himself—came to a terrible end.

“You weren’t ready to be a Jedi Master,” Qui-Gon admits. “You hadn’t even been knighted when I forced you to promise to train Anakin. Teaching a student so powerful, so old, so unused to our ways…that might’ve been beyond the reach of the greatest of us. To lay that burden at your feet when you were hardly more than a boy—”

“You’ve only just become acquainted with the boy. Had you tried to tell him the whole story today, that would’ve been a greater mistake than anything else you could’ve done. It would have planted seeds of…doubt, confusion, even anger, which could have led him down his father’s path.”

“A matter of finding center, of calming one’s soul and giving one’s self over completely to the Force. Some Jedi choose to transition between life and death in that way, though I could scarcely have imagined it when I was alive.

right before Luke came along, when Owen and I had just found out we’d never be able to have kids of our own.

I may be a country girl who’s never been offplanet, but even I’m aware that when a Jedi walks up to you and says, “Here, have a baby,” it’s not going to end well.

like I told Owen, Luke had too much of his father in him—but I meant all the best parts…and his mother, too, from what little I knew of her.

He would never understand what Uncelta had found so appealing in Solo all those years ago. The smuggler had always been a worthless excuse for a man, while Uncelta had been everything Greedo had cherished in a woman.

It was the same underworld of Greedo’s childhood, when he’d been brought from Rodia to live on Tatooine. As luck would have it today, his quarry had chosen to take up temporary residence on one of Greedo’s homeworlds.

Since Chalmun—the purveyor of this establishment—was himself a Wookiee, the sight of these overgrown beasts was far from unusual in these parts.

Tatooine was the worst place in the galaxy for Bith. When your skin is milky white-pink and your eyes are lidless and tearless, a planet with two suns, high heat, and blowing sand is essentially a jail sentence.

if I’d been D’an, I would have let the group know the facts this way: “I’ve got some bad news. I’m in serious debt to a Hutt and have sold all of you into indentured servitude in the sandy armpit of the galaxy. Once we pay off the debt, we will have to find other gigs in order to get enough money to get the hell off the planet. Working for the Hutt will be the worst job you will ever have.” We didn’t talk to him for weeks after the truth made itself known. We played for Jabba and his companions within the palace.

Greedo, a Rodian bounty hunter. He is actually the person who found Figrin D’an and delivered him to Jabba.

Figrin D’an is the best composer and bandleader you will ever find this side of the galaxy.

He pointed to the signs on the wall listing, in several languages, the rules of the cantina. I scanned the rules and then read them at a slower pace. I smacked Tech upside the head. “That says Applaud the band, not Do not under any circumstance attack the band,”

The bartender threw both brawlers out, but then fixed us with a grungy eye. “You don’t stop playing. Not for nothing. Got it?”

I knew I should tell the Imperials about the droids during our break. There might be a reward that could get us off this hell planet.