The excitement about Star Wars today would not not be possible without the wonderful impact of A New Hope long ago. Time and modern treatments haven't been kind to Luke, Han or Leia, and they don't deserve that. So this is an appreciation of the OT. It will mostly follow the events of the films, but be made up more with missing moments, and completely ignore TFA. Hope you enjoy!
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Luke hastened to catch up to his uncle. It was early morning, the day still young, the temperature only moderately warm on the desert.
Luke was actually looking forward to the day. It was not often he woke feeling good about a day's prospects, but this was going to be a good day. Anything that helped break the routine of moisture farming was a good day. Today was almost like a holiday. He wasn't dressed up, Aunt Beru wasn't cooking up a storm, they weren't going visiting, but the Jawas were coming out to the homestead to sell. That alone would use up the morning.
Uncle hoped to buy some droids to help around the farm. Uncle was finally coming around; slowly, he was starting to understand that Luke was forming his own idea of how to lead his life, and that this idea did not involve moisture farming. Luke kept his fingers crossed the Jawas would have some good ones this time.
The Jawas were scavengers, roving the desert for metal artifacts. It wasn't often something came along in the desert for them to rehaul into something practical. And they had little to work with, so what they got broken was serviced just enough to last while you bargained with them. It usually broke when you brought it home.
They were tiny, smelly, fascinating creatures, the Jawas. Luke had always wanted to see inside the huge sandcrawler, where the Jawas lived and worked, their nomadic metal home, but had never been invited. Jawas and humans on Tatooine had a polite relationship. Humans probably saw themselves as superior. After all, Jawas were trying to make credits off of them. But they couldn't be trusted, and Jawas sensed that, so something like a friendship was not thought of.
The Jawas prodded service droids fitted with restraining bolts to gather in a group on the sand in front of the sandcrawler. The sales floor, his uncle called it. Sometimes he had a very sardonic view of Tatooine life, and Luke wondered why he stayed. Or maybe his uncle regarded himself as part of that Tatooine life, and that was just his sense of humor.
Luke didn't share the sardonic viewpoint, but he knew he didn't want to stay. Moisture farming was joyless. At least it was to Luke. The only thing it did for him was fuel his imagination. While he toiled he fantasized about wrangling Krayt dragons, killing Jabba the Hutt in a duel, winning the Intergalactic Swoop Open. But it was all his uncle knew and did, and he must have gotten some satisfaction from it. He liked it and Luke didn't. That was the crux of their relationship. Uncle Owen took it personally that his nephew rejected moisture farming. He resented Luke's desire to be something different.
It was his aunt and uncle's fault, Luke had decided long ago. Their name was Lars. They'd raised him since he was a baby, we love you like a son, Beru would tell him, but they kept his family name, Skywalker. He wasn't a Lars to them. It was to honor his parents, they'd told him, but they never would tell anything about his mother or father. It differentiated him from everyone else; set him apart. From the start, it seemed his life would have excitement and grand destiny. Orphaned as a baby. A tragic beginning. But maybe just a tragic end that brought him to Tatooine. To dullness, drudgery, routine.
Luke didn't have a name for the desire yet. Pilot, maybe. It seemed as good a path an any. Basically, he just wanted to live in a place where it didn't take a week's worth of work to earn a glass of water. He wanted to drink it in a glass, from a tap, where the water ran freely and clearly, infinitely.
His uncle conferred with the little Jawas and Luke surveyed the prospects. The offerings were a little different than the usual band of broken-down, pieced-together parts. It was turning out to be a good day. A protocol droid? But hell, Uncle was happy. It spoke Bocce.
But Uncle miscalculated on the red one. So did the Jawas, for it blew its motivator before Luke had even led it ten steps away. Uncle was pissed, which wasn't unusual. How he had overlooked the little R2 unit in the first place was surprising. The protocol droid pointed it out, said he'd ridden with it and that it was a good prospect, and Luke called out to his uncle about it.
The protocol droid was quite chatty, using one out of its six million forms of communication with Luke. It rambled a somewhat boring narrative, polite and self-serving, but seemed in good condition. So not scavenged. Stolen, more likely. And the other one, the little blue and white one that rolled behind them and spoke in beeps and whistles, was in surprisingly good shape, carbon scoring notwithstanding.
They were good purchases. Luke knew his uncle wouldn't look any further into the droids. He'd made a lawful transaction; it wasn't his problem if some business being got ripped off somewhere in port.
Luke heard Uncle ask whether or not they were escaped from Jabba's, and when he got ignorance from all parties involved in answer he sealed the deal.
Everyone knew it was not wise to mess in any affair Jabba the Hutt had a hand in. Bocce speaking or not, if that droid had somehow walked out of Jabba's palace there was no way in hell Uncle would buy it.
Predictably, his uncle ordered Luke to clean the droids up. Luke whined, but his heart wasn't in it. It was enough to have the morning off and shop with Jawas. And he could work inside, out of the suns. If these two were able to start work today then Luke's plan, which was to do as little as possible and then meet his friends, might actually come to fruition.
When the little blue holomessage popped out of R2D2 Luke knew he'd been whisked past the ordinary. It wasn't meant for him, but he received his own kind of message nonetheless. It was like smelling the air on a breeze. He stared at the projection on his floor, hardly breathing. Somehow he knew he was on a precipice. Things were in motion; something was coming. He didn't know if he should cling on for dear life, or jump, or if he would be pushed.
A woman had recorded the holo. Her message was desperate, her appearance elegant. In speech she was poised but in manner she was alarmingly furtive.
"She's beautiful," was all he could murmur.
The appearance of this message was a freak event; it had to be. Any more so than if his aunt sprouted green tentacles at breakfast from her head.
Obviously he didn't have the whole message. Several thoughts jostled their way into the forefront of his mind while he watched the loop of the segment over and over.
First, he was aware of being a little ticked off at the droid for hiding it from him and resisting attempts to get the rest.
Second, what did this mean? This was Tatooine, planet of sand and scorching suns. Nothing ever happened here. And he was just Luke, a disgruntled youth with an active imagination. Why, of all places and times, had this message reached Luke? The sender's failure made him feel sad, somehow. Such effort, and wasted. What could he do about it? It would only serve to torment him, fill his mind with stories and scenarios. How she happened to record it, what would happen to her.
Third, somehow she made him speechless. He watched as she repeated her plea for help. She was composed, eloquent. A wave of protectiveness overcame him, along with a strong feeling of helplessness. She had dropped into his life. He wanted to help her, but what could he do?
A life- someone else's life, while he lived his in the desert growing water, buying droids, and scheming to get together with his friends later- was in trouble. She was light years away from him, literally and figuratively. This was a new thought for him, the idea of life that didn't involve his.
You're my only hope. Hands clasped politely, a quick furtive glance, she stowing something. In the droid?
There was life elsewhere. Busy, adventurous. Meaningful. Not his.
He puzzled over his reaction, why he was struck so dumb. She must be frightened, yet she seemed so strong. She was so beautiful. His heart reached for her. Was he dazzled? Was he in love? Was it her beauty? Was it some feminine allure he'd been heretofore unaffected by, because no woman on Tatooine he knew was like her?
He was nineteen. His experience with women - girls, really - was limited. One year he returned to school after season's break and greeted his classmate, a girl he'd known all his life, and she was…new. Eyes, hair, curves, allure. She scared him and she laughed at him. He was spellbound and confused. His uncle called it dazzled. It's how they catch you, he'd warned. Luke's aunt wore a knowing smile, and Luke wondered if she'd dazzled Uncle once. It gave him pause. He'd never thought about his aunt and uncle that way before. Ah, but this had to be his uncle's sense of humor at work again.
Luke realized he hadn't known trouble. Not like the woman in the holo, anyway. His trouble meant getting yelled at by Uncle for not completing his chores. A raid by the Sand People was trouble, certainly. But one stayed out of trouble by being aware of it; taking steps to prevent it.
Had she run right into it? Would she get out of it? And she was so beautiful, so mysterious. So beyond him.
She stayed on his mind the rest of the day. Because of her and the new droids he dared mention his future. His uncle dashed his hopes for leaving the planet again. One more season. He said that every season. Luke got up from the meal table, disgusted with his uncle for hanging on to him, disgusted with himself for allowing himself to be hung onto, for not slamming his fist on the table and shouting "But she's in trouble! We have to do something!"
He went about, growing water, head in the clouds like always. Only today it was her. If he knew, if the message said more, he'd get her out of trouble. He'd run to her, say "I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you!"
That's all he wanted. He only wanted to see her safe. He didn't need her thanks, her love, though all that would be nice. Did he want that? Would she love him because he rescued her? Was his desire to rescue her because he loved her, or because he was lacking something in his own life?
The holo opened truth, he realized. He was the nephew of a moisture farmer, and he didn't want to be. Maybe it wasn't a freak event. Maybe it was fate.
Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. The message was obviously meant for someone else. Luke felt bad, powerless. He knew someone named Kenobi….
His uncle would say there was nothing they could do. He knew his uncle's arguments and Luke had many of his own. He didn't know her name, her location, the source of her trouble. He knew nothing. And so he would spend the day growing water, maintaining the performance of droids in the dry heat, and all he could do was hope that while she had hit a dead end by having her message go to him, and only in pieces, that somehow she had gotten out of her predicament. He hoped so, fervently. She was too fine, too noble for anything like trouble to take her down. Even if it was trouble she asked for.
Maybe. Maybe later. When he finished his chores and cleaning the droids. Maybe instead of meeting his friends he'd run out to the Judland Wastes and see Old Ben. It depended on what time he got through. If the day was late, one shouldn't be out in the open, vulnerable to the Sand People. One didn't invite trouble…
And then the damn droid ran away.
Luke cursed his bad luck. What kind of droid ran away? It was unheard of. Still, he was raised in caution and he waited until morning before setting out. But he didn't tell his uncle. He didn't want to be yelled at. It wasn't his fault the droid ran away, was it? True, he had removed the restraining bolt. But what droid would run away?
Hours later, Luke sat on the sand while Old Ben and the protocol droid, designated C-3PO, placed dead Jawas on the fire. He couldn't help. Not after seeing what he'd seen. Smoke billowing out of his home, his aunt and uncle….
He closed his eyes, the bitter bile of grief closing his throat. It all came down to the droids. And her. The holo.
His aunt. His uncle. These Jawas. She had brought her trouble to them all, to him. Everything that held him here was now gone. He was free, something he'd only dreamed of, and he felt terrible.
He hadn't been on the edge of a precipice. He'd been swept away in a flood of moving sand.
He wouldn't count another drop of water. He wouldn't even say goodbye to his friends. They'd never felt like friends, anyway, those that were here. They were people he grew up with, but with his head in the clouds he'd felt little connection. If he ever got off planet, he knew he wouldn't stay in touch with them.
He wasn't sad to leave the planet, but he was sad for everything that had left him. And now he was brand new. Like a newborn. Dependent. On her, to direct what path his life would take. And on Ben, to learn everything he would be.
He used to be Luke Skywalker, orphaned nephew of moisture farmers. Now his father had a name. Luke was a descendant of Skywalker and the Jedi; and Ben, Old Ben, that crazy old wizard, was the recipient of the message. Jedi General Kenobi would train Luke in the ways of the Force.
Ben would not attempt a rescue but they would bring the droids to Alderaan. "It may be too late for her, Luke," he told him gently. "If she was taken prisoner of the Empire before the droids landed on Tatooine then she may have already been executed."
Ben filled Luke in on who she was. He'd met her once, he told Luke, a sad and wistful look in his eyes, when she was just a baby. She had a name, Leia; and a title, Princess. Luke looked longingly at his R2 unit; hers, really.
He had been too late for his uncle and aunt. While he visited with Old Ben, while they had a lengthy conversation about the Clone Wars and the Force, his aunt and uncle were dying. The whole time he was gone was how long it took them to die. That's how Luke thought of it, as a murder that took hours to complete.
"I want to return the droids to her family, then," Luke decided. The quiet resolution in his voice revealed a maturity he hadn't ever shown to Uncle Owen or Aunt Beru. They always wanted him to grow up, and it took their deaths to make it happen. Uncle might find that funny, with his sardonic humor, but he was dead.
When they got to Alderaan they would meet with Leia's father, Viceroy Bail Organa, of whom Ben spoke highly and with respect.
"They should have them. I won't need them," Luke continued with a shrug. It felt inadequate, this expression of honor, but it was all he had. That, and his sorrow, his endless sorrow, but Viceroy Organa would have that too.
Luke assumed they would rent a ship and fly themselves. Ben was a Jedi and Luke was a good intraplanetary pilot; surely space travel couldn't be much different. But no. Ben wanted to hire a pilot with a ship.
The cantina felt like a betrayal. Luke was a life-long resident of Tatooine. He knew the desert and the native life like the back of his hand. He did not recognize his Tatooine in the cantina. He never would have guessed it existed, but there it was. Dark, seedy. He couldn't sense one good intention inside. He wanted to view the holo one more time; reconnect with the purity of her ideals, apologize for tainting them by bringing her droids on a smuggler's freighter.
No, the Princess would not approve of a man like him, the pilot they hired. This Han Solo preyed on misfortune while she tried to end it. He was cynical while she was honest.
Luke felt a nagging defensiveness when he stood himself next to the man. Solo was, in some ways, what Luke wanted to be. A pilot, and everything that went with the package. But more. Solo knew how he wanted to present himself, even if it was as an ass; knew exactly what to say and how to act while Luke felt so unformed, so unsure. There was an ease in the way Solo held himself, moved; a confidence that radiated out of him that came from doing and doing well.
In that he was like the Princess, Luke thought. He couldn't stand next to her either without feeling like some failed school boy. `
On board the Millennium Falcon Luke floundered to find a place in between the wise, gentle Kenobi and jaded, harsh Solo. He had not yet been able to process what happened to his aunt and uncle, and he found little moments, like Solo's Wookiee partner setting plates on the lounge table for them to fix a bite to eat, threatening to engulf him in tears.
It was hard to leave his aunt and uncle behind. He included them in this new world, telling them about the beast that threw him in the cantina I told you to stay away from those places, his uncle warned and introducing them to the new people in his life.
He told them Ben was becoming like they were to him. A parent. Someone who cared about him, looked after him. Everyone needs that in their lives, he imagined his aunt graciously saying. You're never too old for that. His uncle would grumble. What about the harvest?
It was the holo's fault, he told them. In the droid. I'd give those Jawas hell, Uncle advised.
Please don't blame her, he implored them. People got to learn to keep their trouble to themselves.
Luke saw through his uncle. Luke was in trouble once, when he was just a baby. He had no recollection of it but his aunt and uncle had taken him in, agreed to raise him. And if Uncle saw her, Luke was pretty sure he'd be as affected by her as Luke had been. Oh no, Beru. Look at him. The boy's been dazzled.
Leave him alone, Owen, his aunt would gently chide. She seems a lovely girl. And Luke has chosen character over everything else; we've raised him well.
What about the smuggler, Luke winced to them. His character is pretty shady.
Now dear, Beru tried to find the good in him, he did agree to fly you.
For ten thousand credits! his uncle roared. It's his job. Stay away from him. Probably been sucked in by Jabba.
Influence flows both ways, Beru sagely noted. Perhaps you will have an effect on him.
At this, Luke snorted. His aunt always had looked for the good in everyone. This Captain mainly ignored him. He didn't see how he would influence him. Not someone like him.
If there was some way to undo this. For his aunt and uncle to live. Luke's daydreams were desperate to change the outcome. Instead of in a droid, if his Princess brought her message of trouble to him, struggling in the sand...they would go to Kenobi together, he would solve all her problems, be a hero.
Or maybe she could have hired the smuggler and his Wookiee partner, and the pilot would swoop down on his homestead, shooting those Imperials, saving his aunt and uncle...
You need to stop, dear. It's done.
Get your head out of the clouds, boy. This isn't a holofilm.
This should be a defining moment, he told himself. He should discover what he was about, but instead he saw himself stuck inside a ship while it hurtled invisibly past light speed, so fast that nothing changed, barely even time.
He latched onto the holo, or the idea of it. He told her, the one in the holo, the one who had probably been killed as brutally as his aunt and uncle, that she had propelled him to his destiny. He didn't quite know what that was yet, but it involved Ben, and the Force, and the memory of his father, and he would join her. He would continue her life's mission to free the world of misery and the Empire. She had not died in vain. She had made a difference.
His grief hurt, physically, and he looked for distractions. The only sympathy Luke had gotten from Ben about his aunt and uncle had been a supportive grip of the shoulder when Luke first learned of it, and since then Ben would not allow Luke to sink into his grief. Ben began to train Luke in the Force, and his first lessons left Luke breathless and awed. He found himself calmed, soothed.
Solo was an unexpected distraction. In some ways this was a good thing. He had no clue what Luke had been through, and Luke wasn't about to enlighten him. Solo treated Luke with the same lack of consideration Luke gave himself, and it caused Luke to vow angrily I matter. If Solo paid attention to Luke it was to laugh at him, or swat his hand roughly away from the controls. Sometimes curiosity got the better of Solo and he would ignore Ben's rule of no questions. At those times Luke, as a fly on the wall, enjoyed the conversations that ensued between Solo and Ben. No mention was made of the Princess or her trouble, but Luke learned a lot anyway. He learned the Wookiee was hundreds of years old and also, like Ben, a veteran of the Clone Wars. He learned of the various substances Solo smuggled and how Imperial rule was a boon to free traders like himself.
Ben spoke of destiny but Luke got the feeling everything was fleeting. Captain Solo was a hired; chances were when they got to Alderaan he would never see the man again. It was another life he was made aware of; another life that had already done so much while he'd spent his own life in a routine. It was an uncomfortable thought, the idea of leaving this man behind, of never knowing how the rest of that life transpired. He'd left all his friends on Tatooine behind, but that was different. Symbolic of his loss. There was no loss associated with Solo. He was simply a person who would drift in and then out of his life, very much like the Princess in the holo.
Just yesterday he never thought anyone like the Princess or a man like the Captain could have found a place in his life, if just in his memory.
Luke didn't know what was going to happen to his life. But something had started. He might live a long time, quietly, happily. But he knew this was the start of a new life. He would remember with stark clarity the moment he had to put his old life aside, and he would remember just as clearly the ones who helped push him into the new one.
Maybe he would tell his children, descendants of Skywalker: "there was this grizzled young Captain..." He smiled at the thought. "And this beautiful Princess..."
"Did they meet?" the children at his feet would ask, spellbound.
Present-day Luke answered sadly. "I don't think so."