Star Wars Journal - The Fight for Justice by Luke Skywalker Read online

  FIRST ENTRY

  …So don’t just dream about applying for the Academy, make it come true! You can find a career in space: Exploration, Starfleet, or Merchant Service. If you have the right stuff to take on the universe, dispatch your application and join the ranks of the proud!

  I’ll admit it. I keep playing the Space Academy Recruitment tape. I have it memorized, but I still like to listen to it. Windy just caught me in the tech-dome playing it again—but so what? So what if I have dreams of joining the Imperial forces? Windy, Fixer, and Deak can laugh about it because they’re happy as farmers, living day in and day out with nothing happening. But why should I be embarrassed for wanting more? For having dreams beyond moisture farming?

  Windy says I should grow up. That I’m a farm boy, just like him. But I’m not. I don’t have a farming bone in my body. I was made for action, for radical maneuvering in my T-16, for bold adventures and risk-taking.

  That’s why I took Windy with me through the eye of the Stone Needle today. I guess I needed to show him I’m not just a farm boy like him. And maybe it worked. He was scared. Squealing the whole way, like a baby Jawa. And me? I was loving every minute of it. What a thrill to steer that fast, that close to death. I could hear the buzz of metal as my speeder eased through that needle of stone. And to know I was going to beat Fixer through the bottleneck! Yes. The only thing missing was my best friend Biggs.

  Biggs is the only one who understands. And now that he’s at the Academy, there is really no one I can talk to about all this. I’m sick of my friends telling me the Academy is for suckers. That it’s all about taking orders, wearing a fancy uniform, losing your identity—and probably your life.

  I’m ready for the Academy and I’m as trained as I can be. I’ve had my T-16 for several years now, and I can fly it better than almost anyone around here. Of course, there’s not much competition, especially since hotshot Biggs left for training. Tatooine is a pretty small place. Small and boring—no sane pilot would hang around here for long. So the Academy is really the only place for me. Maybe before I go, I can visit the spaceport at Mos Eisley. I’d love to check out some of those ships! I can just imagine all the planets they might be going to: Alderaan! Coruscant! Endor! But they’re just names to me from a vid-encyclopedia. If I could just see them…

  SECOND ENTRY

  Tonight I saw a space battle. At least I think it was a space battle. I saw flashes of light out of the corner of my eye. And when I looked through my electrobinoculars, I saw two ships firing at each other.

  I dropped everything and hopped on my landspeeder. Forget chores! I had to find my friends—Fixer and Windy had to see this. A real battle in our system! Why couldn’t I be up there fighting for justice with the Imperials?

  When I found my friends, I was in for another surprise. Biggs was with them! Back from the Academy. I was so happy to see him, I forgot about the battle. And by the time I remembered and convinced everyone to take a look, the action was over. Nothing to see. Here I was making a big stink about two ships firing at each other, and the ships were just sitting there in orbit, hanging out like a couple of fat banthas. Nobody believed me. Windy, Fixer, Cammie, and Deak all thought I made it up. Like I’m so overeager to join the Space Academy, I’m starting to see stars—and battles! Well, they’ve got zip imagination. And that’s fine for them. You don’t need much imagination to farm. But they don’t need to laugh at my expense.

  And to be honest, I was a little hurt that Biggs didn’t believe me, either. Biggs and I have been through a lot together. And just because he’s at the Academy and I’m not doesn’t mean I’m imagining stuff like a little kid. Those ships were not refueling or switching cargoes. And it wasn’t the suns reflecting on metal. Those ray blasts were unmistakable. Something was going on in orbit tonight. I don’t know what. And I’ll probably never find out. But after seeing that action, I wish more than ever that I could find a way off Tatooine… for good.

  THIRD ENTRY

  I thought today would be the best day of my life. The beginning of something new. Something worthwhile. And definitely something other than moisture farming!

  I don’t want to live my life on a constant quest for water. All we do here is fight against the hot, dry conditions of Tatooine. It takes all our efforts, running the vaporators full-time to produce enough water for survival.

  Oh, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru do okay. With my help, of course. But today I’m old enough to leave. And Uncle Owen promised.

  Only he’s gone back on that promise.

  He says I have to work here for another year, and then he’ll be able to spare me. I’ve worked here all my life. I thought I was getting the chance to stop wasting my time on this farm—and do something.

  I know I shouldn’t sound so harsh. I mean, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru took me in when I was a baby, and they’ve raised me as if I were their own child. They never had any children themselves, and they’ve always been good to me. I don’t have any complaints there, although I would have liked to have known my parents.

  And this farm is Uncle Owen’s life. He’s a good man, I know that. But his horizons stretch only as far as the farm does. He rarely goes to town anymore, preferring to send me on errands for him. He stays out here, working and sweating all day to produce a little moisture. And he’s happy with that. It’s a tiring life, but the one he chooses.

  The problem is that I can’t make him see it’s not the life I choose. The thought of spending my life here, rejigging failing vaporators and programming farm droids, makes me want to scream. I want to experience life out in the galaxy—where things really happen! Sometimes, I just sit out at night, looking up at the stars, and imagine what it would be like to be out there.

  Of course, Biggs doesn’t have to imagine anymore. He’s graduated from the Academy already, and has earned his wings. I’m really glad for him, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous, too. He’s going to be out there in space, flying and visiting all the places we’ve talked about a hundred times.

  It was so great to see Biggs. But it made me realize how much I miss him. And that I’ll have another full year without a best friend to fly T-16s with. He’s already way ahead of me, but he didn’t rub it in, and told me kind of casually, like it wasn’t any big deal. But I could see the pride in his eyes, and hear the hunger in his voice.

  Thankfully, I can encode these entries so nobody else can play them back. Otherwise, I’d never be revealing what Biggs told me. He isn’t planning to stick with his job on a freighter. He’s going to jump ship at the first port of call, and join the Rebellion!

  I told him he was crazy to think he could actually find the Rebels. I mean, if the Empire can’t find them, what are his chances? And even if he does find them, I’m not so sure that’s such a great thing. I mean, we all know that the current government isn’t the greatest in the galaxy. They take their cut of everything, and they supposedly enforce the peace. But, on the whole, they pretty much leave Tatooine alone.

  Not that there’s anything here to interest them anyway.

  Sure I’ve heard about some terrible things the Emperor’s troops have done. But they’re just stories. I’ve never met anyone who could actually back up the stories with facts. It might be nothing more than discontented grumblings. Then again, maybe the stories are all true, and the Emperor’s the tyrant they claim, and he deserves to be overthrown. I don’t know. It’s just politics as usual. It has nothing to do with me.

  Of course, if I were out there among the stars, maybe I’d know more. Then I could make a decision—even the same one Biggs has made. He definitely b
elieves he’s doing the right thing. And knowing Biggs, he probably is.

  I guess Biggs worries about me as much as I worry about him. He tried to talk me into leaving the farm. He said I needed to think about what’s important in life. Get my priorities straight. He knows why I’ve worked so hard at becoming the hottest, fastest, most daring pilot in town. But going off and doing what he did… it’s just not that easy.

  Uncle Owen won’t let me leave, and I owe him and Aunt Beru too much just to walk out on them. At first, I thought Uncle Owen didn’t want to let me go because I’m cheap help around the farm. But it’s more than that. He seems afraid. Like he knows that if I had the chance, I’d kick the dust of this planet off my feet and never come back. And he’s afraid of what might happen to me if I do that.

  But can’t he see what will happen to me if I don’t? This planet will suck all the life out of me. My body would walk around doing chores, but my spirit would be dead. I don’t know how I’ll ever do it, but someday, I have to get out of here—out among the stars. There are so many worlds and wonders to see, so much to discover.

  It’s where I’m meant to be. I know it is.

  FOURTH ENTRY

  My day started with a visit from the Jawa traders. Uncle Owen wanted a couple of extra droids to help out on the farm, and the Jawas are pretty good at scavenging used droids. Of course, you have to know what you’re doing when you buy from them. They’ll assure you that everything’s first-class merchandise, then sell you a piece of scrap that keeps going just long enough for them to get out of the area.

  But Uncle Owen’s pretty good at spotting those kinds of deals. He can bargain the Jawas down without any problem. And, while I’m by no means a master mechanic, I can usually tell quality merchandise when I see it.

  The Jawa sandcrawler stopped by, as they do from time to time. Those things are huge, slow, and noisy, so you have plenty of warning before they arrive. The Jawas live and work in them, so they’re kind of like a small town on wheels. The smell inside the sandcrawler gets pretty bad, since Jawas aren’t the cleanest of creatures. That’s why they always line up whatever droids they’ve got to sell in the open air.

  Uncle Owen looked the lineup over and picked out a protocol droid and a handy little R2-5 unit. But the R2-5 blew its motivator, so Uncle Owen went for a different R2 unit instead. The interpreter—his name is See-Threepio—and Artoo-Deetoo know each other, that’s apparent. They spend a lot of time bickering and blaming one another for everything, but they both seem like good little units.

  Only I think Artoo must have a few loose bolts. He claims he belongs to an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  Kenobi’s a fine name, but there’s nobody around here named Obi-Wan. The only Kenobi I’ve ever heard of is an old guy named Ben. He’s kind of… eccentric. He’s lived on his own in the Dune Sea for as long as I can remember. I’ve only met him once, about five seasons back.

  Windy and I had been out in Beggar’s Canyon. We were lost, and it got a bit hairy for a while, but Ben Kenobi arrived to help us. It was kind of odd that he just showed up out of the blue like that. But we were just happy he could guide us back to the farm.

  The odd thing is, Uncle Owen really hates the old guy for some reason. He lit into Ben, accusing him of all kinds of stuff, instead of thanking him for helping us get home. Then he told Ben to get out and never come back.

  Before Ben left, he gave me an odd kind of look, like he was committing me to memory for some future date.

  Then Uncle Owen wanted to know everything Ben had said. I really didn’t remember much, and most of what I could recall didn’t make much sense. Ben seemed a bit like a fanatic. Harmless, but really into his beliefs. Uncle Owen told me that Ben’s a little crazy from living alone and being out in the sun too much.

  Anyway, Ben’s the only Kenobi I know, and he certainly never owned any droids. He doesn’t like mechanical things. I’ve even heard he walks everywhere!

  Artoo was telling the truth about there being an Obi-Wan, though. I was giving him a quick cleaning, to get the grime from the sandcrawler off him, when I accidentally triggered a recording.

  He projected a short holographic message. It didn’t make much sense, but I’ve already memorized it. It was from one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen in my life. Not that I’ve seen too many girls—there aren’t many out here on the moisture farms. But this one in the projection just took my breath away! I know I’m probably crazy, but there’s just something about her. I feel like I’ve known her all of my life.

  It feels as if she’s a part of me somehow.

  Whoever she is, she’s obviously highborn. Her accent gives that away. I know she’s not the kind of girl I would ever get to know, but I can’t help wishing for someone like her.

  And she’s in trouble, too. The message repeated, over and over. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi… you’re my only hope.” Whoever this Obi-Wan Kenobi is, I wish I could find him, and pass the message on. This girl might still be in serious trouble, and maybe I’m the only one who can help her.

  Ah, who am I kidding?

  I took off Artoo’s restraining bolt, in hopes of releasing more of the message, but instead the message vanished. Artoo couldn’t bring it back up, so it’s probably really old. Both of the droids are pretty battered up, and they’ve seen some action. See-Threepio said he thinks the girl was a passenger on his last ship, but the recording was probably made before he even met Artoo. It could be a couple of decades old, even. I’ll bet the girl is middle-aged, married, and raising a bunch of kids.

  Ahhh, I really should quit my dreaming and accept that nothing interesting is ever going to happen to me.

  FIFTH ENTRY

  So much has happened since yesterday, I don’t know if I’ll ever get my thoughts straight.

  I wish I had someone to talk to, to help me figure all this stuff out.

  I’m in a small cabin on the starship Millennium Falcon, and I’m being hunted by stormtroopers. It’s still hard to grasp that this is really happening to me.

  I really underestimated that little R2 unit. Sometimes I forget how smart droids can be. Artoo sure pulled a fast one on me last night. He didn’t need the restraining bolt pulled to free up that message of his at all. He needed it pulled so that he could escape.

  He left last night, but it was too dangerous then to look for him.

  See-Threepio had remained behind; he still had his restraining bolt. But Artoo had his mechanical mind fixated on Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he must have had some kind of directions as to where to find him, because he’d set off alone, at night, across the Dune Sea.

  I was even more certain than before that he had to be malfunctioning. Nobody in his right mind, human or droid, would go there. For one thing, the temperatures get really high. A human can dehydrate in about thirty minutes. Droids don’t dehydrate, but the sun and sand can be dangerous. All that metal attracts the heat, overloading their cooling systems, and, no matter how careful you are, sand gets into everything. It can really ruin a droid’s insides.

  And then there are the Sand People, otherwise known as Tusken Raiders. They don’t come around much, but when they do, nothing and nobody is safe from them.

  I didn’t have much choice but to go after him. Not so much for Artoo’s sake—though I did feel kind of sorry for the small droid—but because we really needed him to help with the harvest. I didn’t dare tell Uncle Owen what the droid had done. He’d just have a fit and probably decide to scrap him and make me do his work instead.

  So there was nothing to do but load up my landspeeder and head off after him. If the winds hadn’t been too brisk, I knew I could follow his trail. Threepio talked me into letting him come along, claiming he could reason with the R2 unit. He hadn’t been too good at that so far, but if he came along, then it meant I’d be able to keep an eye on him, too. He claims to be loyal, but so did Artoo—right before he took off.

  We picked up some of Artoo’s trail, heading straight for the Jundland Wastes. That wa
s interesting, because that was the direction Ben Kenobi lived in. It was also where the Sand People were rumored to be hanging out.

  I’d brought my blaster pistol along, just in case. I’m a pretty good shot with it, if I do say so myself. But I’ve never shot anything bigger than a womp rat, and they’re not exactly bright. Vicious, yes, but pretty dumb, too. I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to kill a Sand Person, though. They may be savages, but they’re intelligent beings.

  Even shooting one in self-defense would make me feel funny.

  Not that I got the chance. We headed out and finally picked up Artoo. He was trundling along a canyon, still headed for the Dune Sea.

  I ordered him to stop, but he refused. He kept carrying on about his mission, the secret plans, and having to get to Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have to admit, I thought he was just overheating. And what an imagination! All that stuff about a secret mission was unbelievable.

  But things went from bad to worse. Artoo detected something, so I checked it out with my electrobinoculars. I caught sight of a couple of banthas, being watched by a Sand Person. At first, I didn’t get it. They always rode one to a bantha. Why was there only one Sand Person, with two banthas, then?

  Simple. The other Sand Person was stalking me!

  But before I could figure this out, it attacked me, knocking me down. I didn’t even get a chance to use my blaster.

  Sand People are really tall and built like steel walls. This one knocked Threepio over a short drop and slammed me into the ground.

  Then it came at me with its gaderffii stick.

  Staring right into the face of death does something to you. I mean, I had never really thought about dying before. I always knew it happened to everyone eventually, but not to me, not now. Even the crazy flying races I’ve done with Biggs and Windy were more like games than something that could kill you. But I saw in the way it attacked that it was going to kill me. It raised its weapon.