So You Want to Be a Jedi? Read online

  © & TM 2015 Lucasfilm Ltd.

  Interior art by Ralph McQuarrie and Joe Johnston

  Cover art by Khoa Ho

  Designed by Pamela Palacio and Jason Wojtowicz

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-1211-5

  Visit the official Star Wars website: www.starwars.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Introduction

  On the Ice Cube Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  The Battle for Hoth Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Strange Planets, Part I Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Strange Planets, Part II Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The City in the Clouds Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Acknowledgments

  Author Biography

  To all my Ben Kenobis and all my Yodas

  ARE YOU SURPRISED that I’ve written this book?

  I may seem a strange choice to retell The Empire Strikes Back. I am known, where I am known at all, for fairy tales. Particularly the dark, scary kind.

  I started working on fairy tales in 2008. I was a substitute librarian at a school in Brooklyn, and I picked up a book of Grimm’s tales to read to a class of second graders. They were entertained, enthralled, enriched, and, to be honest, slightly traumatized. Inspired by this experience, I wrote my first novel, A Tale Dark and Grimm, which tells the “true” story of Hansel and Gretel by retelling many of the scarier, weirder, lesser-known Grimm tales. My next two books, In a Glass Grimmly and The Grimm Conclusion, follow a similar model.

  What do I know, then, about The Empire Strikes Back?

  More than I thought, it turns out.

  You may be aware that George Lucas always thought of Star Wars as a fairy tale. He said as much at a banquet honoring the great scholar of mythology Joseph Campbell: “I set out to write a children’s film. I had an idea of doing a modern fairy tale.” Later, in an interview with Bill Moyers for the PBS series The Power of Myth, Lucas said about Star Wars, “If it’s a tool that can be used to make old stories be new, and relate to younger people, that’s what the whole point was.”

  Well, that’s what I was trying to do with Grimm’s fairy tales. To make the old stories new. To help younger people see the brilliance, the terror, the hilarity, and the beauty of those classic tales. Lucas also said that he was “telling an old myth in a new way,” that he was “localizing it for the end of the millennium.” And now I have the extreme privilege of taking what I wholeheartedly believe is the greatest modern fairy tale and retelling it in book form—and in so doing, localizing it for the young people of our new millennium.

  People sometimes complain that Luke Skywalker is not much of a character. He does not brim with personality, as Han Solo and Princess Leia do. He is a little bland. A little empty.

  Which is just as it should be. The hero of a fairy tale must be empty. What do we know of Cinderella, except that she has to work in the ashes and her family is mean to her? Do we know her sense of humor? Her taste in literature? Her opinions on the politics of her kingdom? Of course not. That would ruin the story. Because the point of Cinderella is that we can put ourselves in her shoes (which, according to the Brothers Grimm, were made of gold, not glass). We all feel like Cinderella sometimes—mistreated, unappreciated, with great potential that has yet to be recognized. Her story has endured for so long, and in so many different cultures, exactly for that reason. Because she is so universal. So universally empty.

  Many modern heroes are products of that mold. Huckleberry Finn isn’t—you’d know him if you met him, even if he didn’t tell you his name. But Harry Potter is. He doesn’t have a sharply drawn personality, the way Ron and Hermione do. What do we know about Harry? That he’s brave? That he cares for his friends? Frodo Baggins is another example. We know Samwise well. Even Bilbo is an idiosyncratic little hero, bobbing from breakfast to elevenses with a grumpy, frumpy, goodwilled reluctance. Frodo has some of that, but not much. Mostly, he’s brave and good.

  These heroes are not full characters. They are empty. Intentionally so. They are avatars for the reader. They are empty so we can inhabit them, so we can do their deeds, live their lives, and learn their lessons. Luke is such a character. Empty as a pair of shoes.

  In his Power of Myth series, Bill Moyers said to George Lucas, “I hear so many young people today talk about a world that is emptied of heroism—that there are no more heroic things to do.” Lucas responded, “Everybody has a choice of being a hero or not being a hero, every day of their lives.”

  I wrote this book to give you that choice. I’ve measured those shoes just for you.

  Will you put them on?

  ADAM GIDWITZ

  SO YOU WANT to be a Jedi? I get that. It seems cool. You can move things with your mind. Control people with your thoughts. Oh, and the lightsabers. Yeah, those are awesome. But listen, it’s not all mind control and weaponized flashlights.

  Being a Jedi requires patience and strength and self-awareness. And training. Lots of training.

  You still want to be a Jedi?

  Tell you what. I’m going to tell you a story. Not just a story. The story. The story of one of the greatest Jedi ever. As I tell it, I’m going to give you some tests. To see if you’ve got what it takes.

  If you’re afraid, I don’t blame you. Most folks don’t have what it takes. Most folks are just ordinary. Which is okay. There is nothing wrong with ordinary. But if you’re ordinary, you can’t be a Jedi.

  Do you want to hear the story? And do you want to undergo the tests?

  Do you still want to be a Jedi?

  Okay.

  This is the story of a young man. His name was Luke Skywalker.

  Now, even though this story is about him, I’m not going to tell it that way.

  You want to become a Jedi.

  He became one of the greatest Jedi of all.

  If you want to follow in his footsteps, you need to walk in his shoes.

  I mean, really walk in his shoes. And wear his clothes. And carry his lightsaber. And share his friends. And fight his enemies. You need, for the duration of this story, to become Luke.

  If you do, you will have walked the long, difficult, dangerous path of a Jedi.

  That path begins a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….

  YOU GAZE out over the field of white. It is winter on the planet Hoth. It is always winter on Hoth. I mean, they have a summer. That’s when the temperature crawls up to about 10 degrees below freezing. It’s lovely.

  It is not summer, though. It’s winter, and the sn
ow stands so deep you could lose a small child in it.

  You’re wearing a jacket of thick synthetic fiber, a vest on top of that, a hood, and goggles. That’s the uniform of the rebels when they’re out on patrol here on Hoth, riding their great Hothian tauntauns. (Those are large lizards that walk on their back feet. You know that, because you’re Luke Skywalker, right? But I’m just reminding you.) All your gear doesn’t insulate you from the cold, though. It is bitter and insidious. It creeps through every crack in your shell and burrows down to your bones.

  Off in the distance, a meteor crashes into the snow. You squint at it. The wind whips and cracks over the ice.

  “Echo Three to Echo Seven. Han, old buddy, do you read me?”

  Silence. Then a crackle of static. “Loud and clear, kid. What’s up?” That’s Han Solo’s voice. You know Han Solo, of course. But I’ll just remind you: he’s a space pirate, a smuggler, a scoundrel, and somewhere between your big brother and your best friend.

  “I’ve finished my circle,” you say. “I don’t pick up any life readings.”

  Han’s voice breaks through again. “There isn’t enough life on this ice cube to fill a refrigerator. The sensors are placed. I’m going back.”

  You shiver against the wicked wind. “Right. See you soon. There’s a meteorite that just hit nearby. I’m going to check it out. It won’t take long.”

  It won’t take long. Famous last words.

  For it is then, just as you sign off with Han Solo, that a wampa hits you.

  It rears up out of nowhere, a giant gorilla-polar-bear-abominable-snow-man-like creature. You see its tiny eyes and enormous, grinning mouth—for just an instant.

  Because then its paw makes contact with your face, and your head snaps back, and the vertebrae in your neck crackle like noisemakers, and your ears are pealing like the bells in a church.

  And you are in the air, flying.

  Then you hit the snow.

  You lie there.

  Freezing.

  Maybe dying.

  Your tauntaun screams.

  You die.

  Almost.

  LESSON ALPHA:

  A JEDI SHOULD KNOW HOW TO COUNT

  Okay. It’s time for your first test.

  Close your eyes.

  Wait, not yet. You’ve got to read the instructions first.

  In a moment, you’re going to close your eyes. Then you’re going to count, slowly, to ten.

  As you’re counting, try not to think about anything except the numbers.

  Okay, do it now.

  Did it?

  Did other thoughts come into your head while you were counting? Probably. Thoughts like, “What does this have to do with being a Jedi?” and “Why is this guy so weird?” That’s okay. Don’t stress it.

  But whenever you have a minute of quiet for the rest of today, try this again. And see if you can think only of the numbers. Sometimes it helps to breathe in and out on each number.

  What does this have to do with being a Jedi?

  A lot.

  I’ll explain later.

  And why am I so weird?

  There is no explanation for that.

  REBEL TROOPS—soldiers, engineers, space pilots—hustle to and fro across the main hangar of the rebel base on Hoth. Han Solo stalks past, ignoring them, brushing snow from his gear.

  They’ve been on the planet for weeks now, rebuilding their base. The Empire chased them from their last one, but they will persevere. They will continue to fight the vast and mighty Empire—and particularly the Emperor, who seems driven by the dark side itself.

  Some background: the Emperor was once Senator Palpatine, of the Galactic Republic, the first government to bring lasting peace to the warring peoples of the galaxy. But Palpatine manipulated the system, gaining influence and power, until he was able to steer the Republic away from democracy and toward dictatorship—his dictatorship. During his rise to power, he ordered the execution of every Jedi. That included the Padawans, children training to be Jedi, as well.

  From there, the Empire, under Palpatine’s direction, set out to subdue any planet in the galaxy that did not accept his rule. Subdue, in this case, meant enslave, decimate, or entirely destroy.

  So this rebel army on Hoth is the last armed resistance to the Emperor in the galaxy. Small as it is, there’s nobody else.

  Han Solo peers across the hangar. Chewbacca, his longtime first mate, fiddles with the mechanics on their ship, the Millennium Falcon. Chewbacca is a Wookiee, which means that he’s shaped like a man, but taller, and he’s entirely covered with long brown hair. He looks approximately like a barbershop’s floor that has stood up and is now fixing a spaceship.

  Two droids pass in front of Han. The first is short and squat like a fancy trash can. He is R2-D2, the bravest service droid that Han’s ever met. The second looks like the Tin Man tricked out in gold. He is C-3PO, the most cowardly, busybody protocol droid that Han has ever met. At least, that’s Han’s opinion.

  Han is going to miss this place. The energy. The commitment to the cause. The dumb courage in the face of impossible odds. An Imperial battle station had recently destroyed an entire planet. With one shot. Han saw the debris—just bits of rock, floating in the void. You can’t fight power like that.

  But you can try. And this ragtag bunch of soldiers and droids, bless their foolish hearts and motherboards, are trying.

  But not Han. Not anymore.

  He’s leaving tonight. No time for teary good-byes. No mushy stuff.

  There is, though, one person that he wants to say good-bye to.

  He finds her in the command center. She is pushing buttons and barking orders into a comlink device. She looks angry. Han likes her like that.

  Her name is Leia, and she is the princess of that planet the Empire destroyed with a single shot. She was on the Imperial battle station, being forced to watch. Now, she is among the leaders of the Rebellion. You can understand why.

  Her brown eyes flash at the various panels and readouts. Her long brown hair is braided and wrapped in a ring around her head.

  At first, Han studiously ignores her. He goes over to General Rieekan, commander of the base, who is poring over the security readouts. Like security readouts are going to help when the Empire shows up.

  “General,” Han says. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here anymore.”

  The general looks up at Han from his readouts, gray eyes peering from under gray eyebrows. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He says it like it’s a question.

  Han suddenly feels a bit sheepish. “Well, there’s a price on my head. If I don’t pay off Jabba the Hutt, I’m a dead man.”

  Behind Han, the princess punches some numbers into the computer. Really hard.

  “You know Jabba?” Han continues. “Big, fat, ugly? Lives on Tatooine? He’s no big shakes, but he knows how to shoot you in the back from halfway across the galaxy when he wants to.”

  The general nods sympathetically. “A death mark’s not an easy thing to live with. You’re a good fighter, Solo. I hate to lose you.” He goes back to reading his security reports.

  Han shrugs, thanks him, turns away. Toward Leia. She is punching buttons like they did something to her. He slides up beside her and whispers, “Well, your highness, I guess this is it.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.” She mashes buttons some more. Poor buttons.

  Han watches her. She refuses to look at him. He rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t get all mushy on me,” he snaps. No response. He stalks off.

  I am going to skip this next part, as it does indeed get kind of mushy. I will, in fact, skip all the mushy parts of the story to follow. They are neither appropriate nor relevant to a young Jedi-in-training.

  All you need to know now is that Leia runs after Han, and they have an argument in which it becomes very clear that Han and Leia kind of love each other, and kind of hate each other.

  When they are just at the very peak of this argument, and both are red-faced and bothered
, a high and grating voice interrupts them. “Excuse me, sir!” It is C-3PO. The golden Tin Man. “Sir, oh, sir!” He sounds like a British butler with his underwear in a twist.

  “Buzz off,” Han replies. It’s not clear whether he’s talking to Leia or the golden droid.

  “But, sir, I’m meant to report to you that Master Luke hasn’t returned yet.”

  Han stops.

  Leia looks at C-3PO, and then, accusingly, at Han. “He didn’t come back with you?”

  Han ignores her.

  C-3PO continues: “He may have come in the south entrance, sir, but—”

  “What do you mean he may have come in? He may have? Find out!”

  Han turns to Leia and shrugs as if to say, “What can you do with these droids?”

  She rolls her eyes and stalks off.

  A few minutes later, Han Solo is staring out at the driving snow. The sky is a heavy gray.

  “The light is fading, sir,” a rebel lieutenant reports. “The temperature is dropping rapidly.”

  Han nods. “That’s right. And my friend is out there.”

  Behind Han, Chewbacca is howling—Wookiees don’t talk so much as make noises somewhere between those of a dog and an opera singer.

  A series of beeps emanate from R2-D2. “Sir,” C-3PO says, translating, “Artoo is reporting that the odds of Luke surviving out there are roughly 725 to 1.”

  Leia, standing behind them all, turns away.

  Han zips up his coat and fixes his fur-lined hood tightly over his head.

  “Sir,” says the rebel lieutenant. “Your tauntaun won’t make it past the first marker.”

  Han fixes his goggles over his eyes and climbs up on the uneasy beast. He steadies the creature, rubbing its scaly neck and whispering into its ear hole. Finally, he turns back to the lieutenant and replies, “Then I guess I’ll see you all in hell.”