Okay, a short fan-fic, which is...I'm not exactly sure what. No matter the title, I guarantee it contains no spoilers whatsoever. So worry not. (For those who make it that far, there will be a few additional remarks after the story.) Submitted for your perusal:
Star Wars: Episode IX: Recursion of the Force
Aboard the Millennium Falcon…
Kylo Ren strode forward, lightsaber in hand, crimson blade snarling.
Rey slumped before him on the deck, breath coming in long gasps.
Her saber—Luke’s saber, Anakin’s Saber, Vader’s saber—remade, rested just beyond her useless hand.
He raised his left hand; the lightsaber flew into it. He depressed the actuator, and its blade extended with the familiar snap-hiss.
“Now,” he said, “you end.”
He felt no presence, other than Rey’s—who was now looking up at him, her eyes twin flares of the dark side.
I told you, Ben.
“Skywalker!” Kylo cried.
“Oww! Damn it!”
“Ben? What’s wrong?” Luke said.
Ben’s eyes darted and he held his head were he’d obviously hit it on the bunk above.
Luke smiled at Ben; Ben frowned back.
“You’re not dead.”
“Not that I know of, not yet, anyway,” Luke said. “Are you disappointed?”
Ben reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Convinced, or would you like to take my pulse?” he said.
“No, it’s just…”
Boots approached in the short corridor.
Han Solo stood in the hatchway,
“Bad dream, Kiddo?” Han said.
“That was more than any dream,” Ben said. “None of it made sense—I joined some band of dark siders, I killed you, and Uncle Luke was a Force Ghost, and there was…a lot of…I don’t know… But there was a girl, Rey. She seemed real. Too real.”
“Well, I’m not dead,” Han said.
“Ben?” Leia said.
“Are you alright?”
She shouldered past Han and sat on the bunk beside Ben.
“Okay,” she said, “But—”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really, I’m fine, it’s just that…”
Ben fell silent.
“Well, this ceremony is enough to give anybody nightmares, son,” Han said. “Forty years…” He shook his head.
Han clapped his son on the shoulder and left the cabin.
Ewoks scurried past the hatchway.
Luke stood at the site of his father’s funeral pyre.
None of the violence done the forest moon after the Death Star exploded seemed to have touched the spot, though time and the elements had left little of the pyre but scattered ash—and the fragments of his father’s armor.
“Father,” Luke said.
“Yes, my son,” a voice said, not quite Vader’s, nor quite Anakin Skywalker’s either.
A figure materialized, the luminous figure of a youngish man in dark robes.
“Are Leia and I your only children?” Luke said.
His father made no answer.
“Do we have another sibling? Don’t tell me there’s more than one.”
His father spoke: “There was another.”
“’Was’? What does that mean? Other than I’ve been lied to, again, by Ben and Yoda, too.”
The figure faded away.
“Father? Wait! Father? Ben! Why—”
The thought died on his lips. What did it matter? Who now was there to turn to?
Luke sat down on a stone. He put his chin in his hand, and stroked his beard.
Wait I don’t have a beard.
“No. No, no, no—NO!”
“Father!” Luke shouted.
“Luke? Leia said, popping her head in from the passageway. “What’s wrong?”
He felt his jaw, which was stubbly, but not bearded.
“Leia, do you and Han have any children?” he said.
Leia’s mouth dropped open. From the cockpit, Han called out, “I told you not to drink that Ewok punch, kid. Chewie wouldn’t even go near it. I think Lando’s still on the medical frigate blind in one eye from it.”
“But I didn’t drink any punch.”
Something collided with the ship.
“I know, I know—there’s just too much debris; even I can’t dodge all this junk,” Han said.
Luke got up and pressed past Leia, ignoring her warnings and questions.
In the cockpit, he stood behind Han and looked out.
A massive debris field extended as far as the eye could see, dominated by the wreckage of the Death Star, interspersed with shattered starship hulls, bits of armor, and helmets, and bodies.
Something big, a reactor vessel, maybe, loomed large ahead. Han rolled the Falcon on her back, pulling her up into a vertical dive away from it.
Endor’s moon filled the viewport. A third of the visible surface was on fire or hidden by clouds of dust and smoke. Fireballs left streaks across the atmosphere. New impacts were continuous, explosions spreading more fire and dust.
“I almost feel sorry for those furry little monsters,” Han said.
Luke could feel the Ewoks, the world, dying. He dropped in the seat behind Han, head down.
“No…this isn’t right…this can’t be right,” he said to himself.
“I don’t know about ‘right,’ but the other side looks worse—wait, Chewie, look, over there, I think that’s our exit.”
The Millennium Falcon leveled out, then banked toward a thin spot in the wreckage.
Han accelerated, and they were again moving out-system, the horrific scene behind them. But not the sense of it.
“We were lucky the first one was farther out at Yavin, or that would have happened to us,” Han said.
“Can’t we do anything?” Luke said.
“There’s nothing anyone can do, Luke. It’s like Alderaan,” Leia said.
“But, there were survivors from Alderaan,” Luke said.
Leia knelt in front of him.
“We’re evacuating all Ewoks we can, but we don’t have enough ships,” she said.
“But—” Luke looked up.
Thirty years might have passed in the last few minutes. Lines clustered around Leia’s eyes, and deep creases bracketed her mouth. All her hair had faded to grey.
“Yub nub?” she said.
Luke shook himself. “What?”
“Are you alright, Luke? Your eyes were open but you seem not to have heard a word I’ve said for some time,” Obi-Wan said.
They were in Luke’s landspeeder. Artoo and Threepio were on the back. Luke gripped the controls; they were on course for Mos Eisley.
“I think so. It must have been some kind of dream or trance. Maybe I just need sleep,” he said.
“Perhaps you did just doze for a second. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Obi-Wan said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Luke blinked and shook himself again.
“Maybe you’re right. But it seemed so real.”
In the distance, Luke thought he could see something, a figure, dark, all in black, and tall.
He blinked, and it was gone.
“I think I’m okay now,” he said, as much to himself as to anyone else.
The landscape was the same in all direction, familiar and boring.
“Tell me more about my father, Ben,” he said.
Only the engines and the wind spoke to him.
He turned to look at Ben Kenobi.
The old wizard made no move, no sound. His eyes were fixed on some distant point, unblinking.
Maybe the old man really was crazy—or full of crap.
I have a bad feeling about this…
And there you have it. 1142 words--if I'd been thinking, I'd have cut four words--all about...what? Is it all a dream, or some kind of Force vision? Your guess is as good as mine: I still don't know. However, it is, at least in part, a commentary on the condition of the franchise as it is today.
(One other thing, Does anyone know how to center text in these posts? If I ever did, I seem to have forgotten.)
I hope you liked the story. Thanks for your attention. Comments and questions are always welcome.
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