So You Want to Be a Jedi? Read online

  The Imperial Star Destroyer that this next part of our story concerns is the largest Star Destroyer there is. The flagship. It is the second most powerful weapon in the Empire.

  Yes, the second. The first most powerful weapon in the Empire is actually riding in the Star Destroyer. The first most powerful weapon in the Empire also wears a helmet. And breathes through an electric respirator.

  The first most powerful weapon in the Empire is called Darth Vader.

  You know who he is, right?

  Vader was once the most promising young Jedi in the galaxy. He was Obi-Wan’s student, undergoing the training that you’ve just begun. But he turned to the dark side and killed his master. He is now a Dark Lord of the Sith. Which means he can do most of the cool things Jedi can do—he just does them for evil purposes.

  Currently, his mission is to eradicate all resistance to the Empire.

  He is, at the moment, receiving some good news.

  He stands behind a group of Imperial officers: Admiral Ozzel, the upright, tradition-minded commander of the Imperial fleet; General Veers, commander of the battalion of Imperial troops tasked with eliminating the rebel army; and Captain Piett, the commander of the Star Destroyer that is currently carrying them through space.

  “I think we’ve got something,” Captain Piett is saying. “The report is only a fragment from a probe droid in the Hoth system, but it’s the best lead we’ve had.”

  Admiral Ozzel shrugs off his captain. Piett is entirely too enthusiastic, in Ozzel’s opinion. As if every sentence he utters might prove sufficient for a promotion. “We have thousands of probe droids searching the galaxy, Captain…”

  “The visuals indicate life-readings, sir. And the Hoth system is supposed to be devoid of human forms.”

  Admiral Ozzel represses the urge to roll his eyes. These young, ambitious captains tire him so. “If we followed up every little lead a probe sent back—”

  And then, Vader’s voice, as deep and rich and dark as the densest black hole, cuts through the noise.

  “Let me see,” Darth Vader intones. He sweeps past the admiral. He wears a long black cape, and every centimeter of his skin is hidden beneath shining black metal. Vader moves toward a screen displaying a fuzzy image of buildings, and what might be a snowspeeder cruising across the ice.

  “It is they,” he intones. “The rebels are there.”

  “Lord Vader,” objects Admiral Ozzel, distinctly displeased at being contradicted, “it could be anything. Smugglers, a small settlement…”

  “It is the rebel base. I can sense it. And Skywalker is with them.”

  “Lord Vader…” Admiral Ozzel does not put much stock in Vader’s “sense,” nor in the hocus-pocus of “the Force” and “the dark side.” Admiral Ozzel is a sensible man. A man of science and warfare.

  “Set your course for Hoth, Admiral,” says Vader.

  In addition to not believing in all that hocus-pocus, though, Admiral Ozzel is terrified of Darth Vader. As is everyone.

  And so the great ships of war begin to move toward Hoth.

  LESSON ZETA:

  YOU MUST FIND BALANCE

  This time, I want you to meditate while standing on one foot.

  Seems difficult, right?

  Well, it should. Being a Jedi isn’t easy.

  If you happen to be somewhere where you can’t stand on one foot, you should balance a book on your head.

  If you are standing on one foot, you should keep your eyes open, and focus on a spot on the wall or the floor. Don’t look at it. Just keep your eyes focused on it. If you’re balancing the book on your head, close your eyes.

  Now, count slowly to ten, focusing on nothing but the numbers.

  I know that you look stupid doing this. You know you look stupid, too. But Jedi often have to do things that make them look stupid. Some people won’t understand. Most people, in fact, won’t understand. But if you want everyone to think you look cool all the time, you can’t be a Jedi.

  Jedi follow a higher calling than cool.

  THE OPPOSITE OF a Jedi Master is a Sith Lord.

  Well, “opposite” isn’t quite accurate. Perhaps we should say a Sith Lord is the “inverse” of a Jedi Master. Or the photographic negative, where everything that is light becomes dark.

  Where Jedi Masters meditate to quiet their minds and connect with the Force—that wave of energy that unifies all living things—Sith Lords meditate to concentrate their anger, their fear, and their hatred into a pure point of ruthless power within them.

  This is what Darth Vader is doing, sitting in his meditation cell aboard the Empire’s flagship, when General Veers enters the room. The silence is heavy. It is punctuated only by the regular breathing of the Sith Lord through his ventilator.

  General Veers looks young for his position, but he has seen fire in a dozen battles. He has earned his rank through cunning and courage. He fought the Zalorians on Zaloriis. The Culroonians on Culroon III. And the Yavinians while flying through space. Backward. Never was Veers afraid.

  But now, merely standing in the private chamber of Darth Vader, Veers is afraid. He remains silent. A droplet of sweat runs along a crease in his forehead.

  Finally, Vader murmurs, “What is it, General?”

  Even a murmur from Vader can wrong-foot a battle-hardened commander. Veers stammers before speaking. “My lord, the fleet has moved out of lightspeed. We have detected an energy field protecting an area around the sixth planet of the Hoth system. It is strong enough to withstand even our cannons.”

  Vader rises. His dark, looming figure looms even larger and more darkly when he is angry. “That fool of an admiral came out of lightspeed too close to the system.”

  “He felt surprise was wiser, Lord Vader.”

  “He is as clumsy as he is stupid.”

  Secretly, Veers agrees. But he will not reveal his opinion. He is a military man, and he knows his place.

  Vader studies the clean-faced general. “Prepare for a surface attack.”

  The general bows and scurries from the chamber.

  Vader turns to a large screen and calls up an image of Admiral Ozzel conferring with Captain Piett on the ship’s bridge.

  “Lord Vader,” the admiral hails him, as smug as any commander on the verge of a decisive victory. “We are in position to—”

  The admiral is suddenly not speaking. Rather, his mouth is moving, but no words are coming out. He searches mutely for sound—then for breath. He finds neither. His hands crawl to his neck. His eyes bulge.

  “You have failed me for the last time, Admiral,” Vader intones. “Captain Piett, are you there?”

  A frightened captain steps around the admiral, who is now grasping at his throat frantically and turning a pale shade of blue. “Yes, Lord Vader?”

  “Make ready our ships for a ground assault. You are in command now, Admiral Piett.”

  With those words, the former admiral collapses to the floor. He is dead.

  LESSON ETA:

  SILENCE SPEAKS LOUDER THAN WORDS—SOMETIMES

  I want you to try to communicate without using your voice.

  First, try communicating with only gestures. You do this all the time. You say “Hello” with a hand gesture. You say, “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” with a gesture of your hands and your face combined. You say, “If you don’t let me go to the bathroom right now I am going to pee all over your floor,” with your hands, face, hips, and knees. Go ahead, try that one.

  Okay, now think of something you can communicate with only your eyes. You can say, “Do you agree with me?” Or, “That guy is freaking me out.” Or, “I think I just peed all over your floor.” Try those.

  Finally, close your eyes, put your hands in your lap, and concentrate.

  Try communicating with somebody nearby, using only the Force. See if you can make yourself heard, without moving a muscle.

  But don’t send a message about peeing on the floor. This is a waste of your Jedi powers. If
you’ve peed on the floor, everyone will know it already.

  Once the person hears you, see if you can make her actually understand you.

  This isn’t easy.

  Being a Jedi isn’t easy.

  YOU’RE WEAVING THROUGH a chaos of men, women, and droids. They scramble across the rebel base, gathering up sensitive materials, readying ground weapons, and preparing transports for the evacuation. The base is as frantic as a beehive that’s been kicked. Footsteps echo on the hard floor, engines fire and die and fire again. You can smell the gaseous fumes of the generators, working on overdrive to keep the shields up. The odor reminds you of your uncle’s workshop on Tatooine.

  To your left, Han is eyeing the lifters of his faithful ship, the Millennium Falcon, with guarded optimism.

  “Okay, Chewie. Try it now.”

  Up in the spacecraft’s cockpit, the Wookiee flips a switch. A spark flies from the lifters, like a blaster being fired by a drunk. Han ducks and covers his head. He straightens up, stares at his “faithful” ship balefully, and curses.

  You walk up beside him. “Looks great,” you say.

  “Stow it, kid.”

  After another moment of baleful glaring, he turns away from the Falcon.

  “Well,” you nod, “take care of yourself.”

  “You okay to do this?” Han asks.

  The effects of the cold, and of being kidnapped by a wampa, have pretty much worn off. Your heart beats like a military march now, and your senses feel quick and keen. Battle is coming. And you are ready. You tell Han all of this with just a flash of your eyes.

  “Be careful out there,” he says.

  “You, too.”

  You exchange one more glance with Han. He grins at you, and nods. And in that moment you realize that, sometimes, you don’t have to be a Jedi to communicate without words. Sometimes, all it takes is being friends.

  In a distant wing of the rebel base, Leia is briefing a group of fighter pilots. They wear bright orange jumpsuits, like they’re inmates in the coldest prison on earth. Also the coolest, because in this prison, you get to fly spaceships.

  “All troop carriers will assemble at the north entrance,” Leia is explaining. It’s not clear who put her in charge of the X-wing briefing. But Leia’s the sort of gal who doesn’t need anyone’s permission to take charge. “The transport ships will leave as soon as they’re loaded. Only two fighters per escort.”

  A young pilot laughs. “Two fighters against a Star Destroyer? We’re toast. Burnt toast.”

  Leia has a way of looking at someone that makes them feel very small and very stupid. “Thanks for your input, Hobbie. Your tactical opinions are always invaluable.” The other pilots laugh. Leia goes on. “You have cover from the ion cannons on the ground. They’ll clear your path.” Hobbie looks at his comrades. They’re nodding. “Once you pass the destroyers, get to the rendezvous point. Understood?”

  “Understood!” the pilots bark. Except for Hobbie, who mutters, “This is suicide.” Leia does not hear. Which is lucky. For Hobbie.

  The princess dismisses the pilots and makes her way to the command center, past the hustling soldiers and engineers, the beeping droids and whirring machines. The general’s old, gray eyes are scanning readings on a screen.

  He knows she’s there without turning around. You might say that Leia has presence. General Rieekan says, “The Empire has moved a destroyer directly into the path of the transports.”

  Leia nods. “So be it. We should let the first transport go.”

  The general hesitates, his eyes fixed on the Star Destroyer on the monitor. It is just one of many surrounding the planet. Beyond this cordon of ships waits one more Destroyer—the largest he has ever seen, in fact. The flagship of the Empire.

  Rieekan says, “We have shoulder cannons and rocket launchers set up around the perimeter.” He is almost pleading. “And Skywalker is readying a squadron of snowspeeders.”

  Leia’s voice is a gentle rebuke. “General, you know we can’t hold off the Imperial forces if they invade by ground. No matter how brave Luke is. No matter how brave any of us are. If we stay and fight, we’ll be killed. We’ve got to launch the transports.”

  The general sighs, nods. His gray eyes look sad. Another base lost. Another position abandoned before the overwhelming might of the Empire. “Prepare to open the shield.”

  Leia turns to the shield operator. The evacuation coordinator is waiting beside him. They both wait for Leia’s command. The princess merely says, “Go.”

  For just an instant, there is no defensive shield around the rebel base on Hoth. Three crafts—a transport and two fighters—catapult into space.

  A Star Destroyer stands directly in their path.

  The scene is approximately like three mice running at a tiger. The odds aren’t good.

  The Destroyer lowers its shields and readies its tractor beam to bring them in. The tiger is licking its lips.

  The transport and two fighters approach the Destroyer.

  In the rebel command center, General Rieekan wipes his gray brow, and then dries the back of his hand on his sleeve. A droplet of sweat falls to the floor. In a moment, it has frozen.

  The tractor beam locks on the transport.

  The tiger’s claws are out.

  “Fire!” Leia bellows. A rebel ion cannon—heavy and huge and deadly and half buried in the ice of Hoth—sends two red blasts up into space, straight over the transport’s bow. The blasts roar past the rebel ship and continue straight for the destroyer. The Star Destroyer that has lowered its shields.

  The ion blasts smash into the Star Destroyer’s central tower. A tiny lightning storm erupts in the Destroyer’s electronic epicenter, which sends shock waves out through the complex of wires that twine through the vessel like veins. The great ship pitches to one side.

  The mice, it turns out, had a gun.

  In the rebel command center on Hoth, a cheer erupts from every throat. The general sighs and warily eyes the princess. She is smiling at him. Reluctantly, he smiles back.

  The transport and two fighters speed by the lurching Imperial ship.

  LESSON THETA:

  WHEN STUFF STARTS BLOWING UP

  Stand on one foot, or, if you can’t do that right now, balance a book on your head.

  Ask someone nearby to silently, slowly, count to thirty for you.

  As you balance, try to focus on nothing but your breath. Not counting. Not balancing. Just your breath, in and out, in and out.

  Then, as your assistant is counting, have them clap, or shout, without warning. A few times. Can you stay balanced? Can you keep your mind still?

  A still mind is necessary for being one with the Force.

  Especially when stuff starts blowing up.

  YOU AND YOUR rebel troops survey the icy field. What had once been empty, sunny, and cold as death now bristles with machines of war. Troop transports are unloading platoon after platoon of white-clad stormtroopers—the terrifying, faceless pawns of the Empire. But these the rebels can handle.

  It is the snow walkers that worry you. They trudge along like motorized skyscrapers. Or maybe more like steel elephoths on stilts: four-legged, tottering hulks with cannons instead of tusks. The bright orange of your pilot’s jumpsuit makes an inviting target against the snow, you realize. You wonder who decided on orange. Usually, military uniforms are camouflage. Orange is only camouflage once you’re going up in flames.

  The cannons on the closest walker blaze to life, sending bright red bursts of laser fire directly at the rebels’ trench. The ground shudders at the impact.

  “Okay!” you bellow to the troops manning the guns on the ground. “See if you can hold ’em! Pilots, mount up!”

  You open the hatch of your snowspeeder—a small ship, outfitted with two seats inside, back to back, for a pilot and a gunner, two laser cannons, and a harpoon gun with a tow cable. That, in particular, makes you feel safe. Nothing strikes more fear in the commander of an enormous steel war machine
than a harpoon gun. Someone should have told the designer of the snowspeeders that these elephoths are made of steel.

  Your gunner, young and fresh-faced, climbs in behind you.

  “Hey, Luke,” he says. “Feeling better?”

  “Like new, Dak. You?”

  Young Dak turns around to shoot you a brave smile. “I feel like I could take on the whole Empire by myself.”

  “I know what you mean.” You grin. Still, looking at Dak, you notice his downy cheeks are pale and drawn. And for good reason. Every rebel on Hoth won’t be enough to rebuff this small contingent of Imperial troops. Not nearly enough. Dak knows it, and so do you.

  Nevertheless, within minutes you and the other speeders are flying across the quilted ice, locked in on the hulking behemoths of war.

  “All right, boys, stay together now…” you call.

  Dak’s high voice is shaky: “Luke, I can’t get a read on them.”

  So you say, “Steady, Dak.”

  You lead the speeders into an attack formation.

  Two blasts explode just off the speeder’s starboard side. You bank hard right, circumnavigating the explosion and flying out wide to the beast’s flank, where its great tusk-like guns can’t hit you. Then you kick up the accelerator and aim at its legs. “You with me, Dak?”

  “I’m okay, sir.” He doesn’t sound okay.

  From the trenches in front of the base, rebel fire keeps the platoons of stormtroopers at bay, preventing them from rushing the power generators. This is the point of the whole attack. No power generators, no shields. No shields, and those Star Destroyers up in the sky scorch the rebel base into oblivion.

  But the rebel fire is doing nothing to slow the snow walkers, which are lumbering inexorably onward, laser blasts bouncing uselessly off their armor.

  Your craft approaches the lead snow walker. Another speeder skims the snow just behind you.

  Then it explodes. “They got Rogue Seven!” Dak yells.