XXI – Christe Eleison
Funny. Where you start out in life has nothing to do where you end up – or how.
Three Godfathers
"Jesus, when you come into Your kingdom, remember me."
Remember me
The droid stepped quietly into the still, darkened library. A few emergency lights still gleamed faintly, but he needed none for his task.
The stack of reports that had been placed on the scanner lay in a disheveled pile in the receiving tray, but none had jammed. One last, neat stack of paper waited on the worktable. Perhaps it was a meaningless gesture, but, out of respect to those who had compiled them, and in memory of the one who had prepared them, Threepio placed the reports on the paper feeder, and activated the scanner. The rhythmic gasp of the papers passing through the machine dulled the piercing silence of the place. He moved to the workstation.
A few farewell messages remained to be transcribed and relayed. He jostled the keyboard, to reveal the progress Miss Laurie had made before her collapse. Not that It mattered now. The voice recognition program would require him to restart the transcription, anyway. Automatically, he engaged the program, and was soon reading the letters aloud. His thought were elsewhere, so the performance did not do justice to its text. But the workstation did not care. It compiled the messages, located a current address, and unsentimentally forwarded those last heartfelt truths.
Threepio watched as the system signaled that the messages had been delivered, but he did not close the program. He watched as the impatient screen saver swept like a curtain over the display. Then, across the screen crawled that familiar bit of philosophical froth, "Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up." A silly quotation from a comic opera. He had never understood why the phrase had appealed to Miss Laurie, but whenever she saw it, she would smile. . .
She would smile. Resting his elbows on the workstation, he covered his face with his hands. He couldn't bear to look at those words any more.
His metal body was capable of long periods of extended activity without damage, But, although his efforts may have been called tireless, he was tired. Weary beyond expression. Numb from too many losses: lost friends, lost causes, lost hopes. Long ago — at the Yavin Base, in fact — he had found Princess Leia sobbing in her sleep. He had not asked her why, but, as she wept on his shoulder, he understood the reason for her grief. Today he uderstood the grief itself. The faces of the ship's officers, the instructors, the young recruits who had stayed behind, seemed to blur with those of the trainees who had passed through the library. And through the stream, Miss Laurie's laughter always rippled. "They're gone!" his memory cried out. "They're all lost!" His head slipped from his hands, and came to rest on his crossed arms. "It shouldn't end like this!"
Presently, he recovered himself. Mourning was unproductive, and there were still decisions to be made. That is, he still had to do what he knew he must. Eventually, he would shut down the library's workstation, then turn off the ship's remaining life support Breaking the transmission signal would attract the attention of the officials monitoring the ship. Those observers would then direct it into the nearest star, and. . . and that would be that. He was the commander of the vessel, and, Miss Laurie's urging notwithstanding, it gave him the prerogative of every captain of a doomed craft.
Threepio leaned back in Miss Laurie's swivel chair, and, once more, watched the motto crawl across the screen. Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up. And thought of the one who had put it there. He was ashamed he would have to disappoint her.
Maybe he should have told her about the escape pods. While prowling about for a means of escape – how long ago was it? Back in those earliest days of his captivity – he had explored the emergency level. It had been unsecured, so he had gone in. There, his suspicions about the Empire's actual weakness had been confirmed: Two of the escape pod portals had been welded shut because they had no pods. Laurie had heard eighteen blasts because the ship only had eighteen escape pods.
Well, after all, he had promised to escape in any remaining pod.
No, there was no escape this time. He would stay on the ship. When the reactors were restarted, he would simply close down. There was no alterative. Even if a pod had been available, he doubted he would have used it. He had no place to go. Assuming he could have escaped the ship without carrying any of the infection – he acknowledged that much was possible – the first Imperial patrol that found him would hand him over for investigation. A drone would not function so independently. And the Rebels would blast a stray Imperial unit on sight. There was no longer a place for him in either world. The Vigilant, and those on it, had become his world. He would not desert them now.
Life's perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up.
The ornate letters crept slowly across the monitor. It had indeed been a riddle. A cruel hoax or an indecent pun. Why should those doing good be afflicted with such pain and loss, while those doing actual evil were left untouched? These people weren't wicked or oppressive. They had been, for the most part, kindly and well-meaning. They just wanted to live their lives in peace. . . much like the jawas.
Odd he should think of them now. He had regarded them as disgusting pests at the time, but, in retrospect, they had simply been going about their own business when they had appropriated Artoo and himself. That they should have been slaughtered for it had been terribly unjust. As unjust as the hideous fate of Master Luke's unfortunate family. He had not seen the smouldering remains of their homestead, but the young man's cryptic description provided more than enough detail. Why didn't the wretches who perpetrated such outrages suffer for them?
Yet, it was the death of his family that brought the young man to the Rebellion. In a way, their death had caused the destruction of the Death Star. At the same time, they had also been responsible for a lively librarian's choice to commit her talents to an internal rebellion against Imperial tyranny. It had put her in a position to free the young man from certain execution. Because her own family had died, she had been able to pay for his liberty. Strange how it had worked out.
He thought of the course of his own days. A promising career in the diplomatic corps had been his, until that fateful misstep at the Fealty Ceremony. Then the odd jobs in the starfleet – and Artoo. It occurred to him that, if he hadn't bungled at court, he would never have met him. Even Miss Laurie had once said that that bit of carelessness had saved him from Alderaan's fate.
And, as the death of the Lars family had, that failure had helped to destroy the Death Star. He had convinced the young farmer to rescue Artoo from the Jawas. He had spirited the little droid past the investigating guards in the Death Star control room. Later, he had helped in Master Luke's own escape from the Vigilant. He began to think about the riddle that was Existence.
Why would anyone shrink to give up this riddle, when all their days are spent trying to figure it out? He leaned back in the chair, and gazed without interest at the doorway. One of the emergency lights beyond the half-opened door flared, throwing into the library a ghostly shaft over the spot where, earlier, its librarian had fallen. Then it went out. He remembered the time Miss Laurie refused to give up a riddle. During one of their meandering discussions, he had asked her if she knew when a door wasn't a door. She puzzled over the question for over an hour. Finally, she could stand it no longer and, sullenly, had been forced to admit defeat. When he told her that a door was not a door when it was ajar, she stared in amazement for a moment, then collapsed in uproarious laughter at the silly old joke. Why had she laughed so? Partly because she did have an unfortunate fondness for puns, partly at its wonderful obviousness, and partly…well, partly at her own foolish pride that had prevented her from simply asking the answer from the one who was willing, able, and eager to explain it to her.
Threepio sat up straight. How very odd! Could it be that the Riddle of Life is given up reluctantly for the same reason? Could it be that the answer is obvious — wonderful, even —but only when the answer is explained? Might pride be keeping those who puzzle over the riddle from asking the answer? What is the Riddle of Life?
It was the very thing he had he been wondering all along. Obviously, the Riddle was "Why?"
Then what was the answer? Who could tell him the answer?
Again, it was so obvious it almost frightened him. To ask "why" presupposes a plan. How can there be a plan, without a planner?
Merciful Power!
The Merciful Power!
The Faithful Creator1, by Whom all thing were made, and in Whom all things hold together.
The One Who Is; who rewards those who seek Him.
Who cared enough to enter His own rebellious creation to restore it to Himself2.
Who cared enough about it to redeem it from that bondage it had chosen, because it couldn't free itself.3
The Way, the Truth, the Resurrection and the Life4!
The God who is5, not the god who was, the God before whom those who had gone before still stand.
"God doesn't do thing haphazardly, and there's a plan – even in this. I don't know what it is. . ."
Merciful Power – forgive me – but why didn't I see it before! There is a plan. There has been one, all along! Miss Laurie understood it was there, and she trusted Him to lead her in it, even if she didn't know what the plan was. Commander Hitch was forced to give it up, and smiled! Life was a riddle they had given up, and the eternal answer became a source of eternal mirth6. The droid could see the Plan was for good, even if dreadful things happen in the course of bringing it about7. Even Master Luke's rejection now lost much of its sting. If the man had rescued him, why, what greater suffering would these dear people have endured, with no one at all to comfort them! Yet, if he had not tried to escape, he would never have chosen to take the decoy unit's place, and remain on the ship.
Even in his despair, there had been purpose.
As for those painful events, it wasn't the Plan, but rebellion against the Plan, at some point, that had caused them! He gripped the arms of the chair as he realized: eventually, mercy had conquered the rebellion8. Even the great enemy Death had been overcome9. Laurie wasn't lost, she was merely gone. Her part in the Plan was completed. Now she would enjoy its unfolding – just as he was now beginning to appreciate it.
Then Threepio stopped. Laurie was an organic. A mechanical was but equipment: to be used, but not regarded. He could see he had been used in the Plan, but the droid's shoulders drooped as he wondered in what capacity. The Maker had included his kind in the Plan, but was it merely as a useful tool? Or did His care extend to droids?
Synthetic doesn't mean imitation.
Threepio started. No, the room was still, for even the scanner had finished its work. But it was as if he had heard Miss Laurie speak those words again. What else had she said?
You're not exactly a machine, and you're not exactly human. You are the fulfillment of what they were supposed to be. Because you're both!
You're what a man is supposed to be – because you care.
The reason droids have no special promises is because they're included in the original ones.
The woman had occasionally remarked on verses unexpectedly coming to mind. Now verses began to cascade through his own memory. "Rewards those who seek10…Work together. .for those who are called11. . . Oh but I'm only a droid! Who gives life to all things12 . . Who believes in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live13 . . . The just will live by "As many as received Him, to them He gave the power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.;"15
"That's all very well, but I'm. . ." he murmured aloud. Then his head snapped to attention, and he echoed, ". . .Not a robot!" He was not a willess appliance, but a self-determining cyborg. Wondering astonishment brought him to his feet. "Then it's true!" He whispered. "The promises are true! And they are for all who will believe them! Thank the Maker, It's all true!" He leaned against the workstation, staggered by his realization.
And the startling part was that he had known those things all along, but had never understood them. He had always hoped for them, but never trusted them.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not to your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall guide your paths.16
Clearly, He had guided his paths! Then, an uncertainty that was not quite a doubt chilled him. What if he was wrong? What if The Maker's redemption was reserved for organic life forms? But this thought did not frighten him. He reasoned, "Has His plan become any the less perfect? No. Is He any the less worthy of supreme gratitude? No. He was still worthy. He was still good. His plan was still good. And His plan for good had still included a third-rate translator unit.
Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.17
But let all those that put their trust in Thee rejoice. . . because Thou defendest them18
And they that know Thy name will put their trust in Thee: for thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek Thee.19
And on Ferguson! Have mercy on Fer…
"Yes," Threepio said aloud. "Christe eleison. Have mercy … on Ferguson!"
And, with that, he powered down the computer. For redemption or destruction, The Maker's will be done.
He sat, listening to the stillness of the room. Idly, he wondered how long it would take the officials monitoring the cruiser to restart the reactors.
The silence was so deep that he thought he could hear voices; distant, familiar, indistinct. As they grew louder, he realized that they were not dreams after all, but were real.
Someone was on the ship!
Notes:
1I Peter 4:19
2Galatians 4:4
3Romans 8:1-4
4John 14:6, John 11:25
5Matthew 25:34
6Chesterton, G.K. Orthodoxy.
7See The Parable of the Mother, the Sons, and the Cookie Jar.
8James 2:13
9Revelations 1:12
10Hebrews 11:6
11Romans 8:28
12I Timothy 6:13
13John 11:25-26
14Habakkuk 2:4
15John 1:11-13.
16Proverbs 3:5-6
17Job 13:15
18Psalm 5:11
19Psalm 9:10