There is a series in the Star Wars literary universe – “From a Certain Point of View” – that tells the stories of background characters in the original trilogy. This is me trying to play in that same sandbox. (I’m also working on Qui-Gon Jinn’s reaction to this same moment in the film…)
My mind is my own.
I will stand at attention for hours, listening for the next command to obey, my back straight and the vibro-staff stave held firmly in my right hand. Like a loth cat ready to pounce, I am prepared for any unexpected arrival requiring me to spring into action; but such is doubtful. I have seen no threat requiring me to do anything more than walk or stand with my stave since I came into this posting. Our role is more to intimidate than to guard; we are a show, a distraction, to draw one’s attention away from the real threat in the room.
Palpatine.
If I am a cat tensed to strike, Palpatine is a Nexu hidden in shadow. The unwary, coming too close to where he hides in the darkness, are consigned to oblivion without ever realizing the danger of his claws. Palpatine is scathing rage burning without any flame to give warning. Power seeps from him in his voice and commands, and none who has met him should say they were unaware of his potential. It rumbles about him, like a loth cat’s growl. Even so, when his true strength erupts it seems incompatible with his small, seemingly broken figure.
I have seen that power lash out. Once. Some Imperial commander, who bowed before the Emperor without speaking his own name, simply uttered one sentence, a seeming trifle of intelligence gathered from the Imperial Security Bureau: “The pilot’s name was Skywalker.”
White-hot energy flared around the Emperor, an electric silhouette that might have been beautiful had it not been so deadly. It pored forth from him, then raced across the short space between he and the commander, engulfing the man. The commander stiffened, but uttered not a word or a shriek, bluish-white flames bursting from his open mouth and burning through his eyes.
Palpatine does not hold power. Palpatine is power. Power to destroy, or to command. So I stand, and wait for which might come for me. I am not my own; I was the Empire’s, now I am the Emperor’s.
Even so, beyond all that has been taken from me, my mind is my own. My thoughts are not tethered to the Empire or to the throne as my body and will might be.
“Guards, leave us.”
The Emperor speaks, and I obey. The other guard and I move from our positions near the turbo lift, turning away from Darth Vader and the man in black he has just entered with. Our red capes billow behind us as we leave the throne room behind, a door closing us off to what happens there as we enter a hidden antechamber. We sit to the sides of the door, staves still in our hands; ever vigilant, ready to immediately return if summoned. We sit, silent, our vocal cords part of the sacrifice taken from us.
Time passes. There is the buzzing I know to be Vader’s saber, and a strange harmonic clash as it strikes… something. Something unfamiliar. I hear metal shear, and a catwalk falls. Even so, I wait.
When Emperor’s command comes, I hear it in my mind, an urgent need to return to his side. There is shock in the command, and a sense unfamiliar to any command he has ever spoken: uncertainty. The other guard and I rise in unison. Once I knew his name, but I cannot think of it any more than I could speak it now. I sense the Emperor’s surprise and his anger, directed not at the visitor, but at Darth Vader! Betrayal? I do not know if the thought is my own or the Emperor’s.
The Emperor does not speak, and yet we both have sensed his call. The other guard makes to rush back to the throne room, but I put an arm out. I block the door. The sound from the other side has changed. There no lightsaber humming, no metal being sheared, no laughter or language coming from the other side of the door now. I hear Vader’s broken breathing unit and a crackling sound like an overloaded power converter, a sound I have only ever heard once before. There was no spoken command to enter, just the compulsion in my mind that I should rush in to the Emperor’s aid.
The guard pushes against my arm to reach the door’s control. I shift my stave to block him. I fight the same urge he feels, the need to rush into the room. But my mind is my own, and I will not cede it to the dark, hooded figure.
Through the door, we hear the distant sound of the Emperor shrieking. The scream lessens, it sounds almost distant now. There is a flash of light through the cracks of the door; a wave of power, of anger and hate, washes over us.
Then, it is quiet.
There is no pressure, urging me to act. I feel no compulsion to enter the throne room. Indeed, I find I no longer feel any obligation or loyalty to the Emperor. It is as though the strange wave that crashed against me has washed the fearful charisma of Palpatine away.
The other guard drops his stave and tears the helmet off of his head. His eyes are wide. He drops them, to stare down at his hands. Perhaps he, too, wonders what they have done in the years we have served in the guard.
My thoughts relax, and the pressure in my shoulders releases for the first time in many long years. I drop my stave, then my helmet. The other guard sinks to the floor, but I step through the hidden antechamber’s door. I turn the corner just in time to see the turbo lift’s door close, the young man in black pulling Darth Vader into the lift behind him. Perhaps he has the same idea I have. Perhaps he is making his way toward the bays of ships below, perhaps even toward where the Emperor’s Lambda shuttle sits quiet. I wait for the lift, my mind free to wonder where I might go if I can get to that shuttle.
I close my eyes, and forgotten thoughts of suns and skies far away fill my thoughts. I remember laying in the hay of a barn, a loth cat purring in my lap. Fire from Imperial ships claimed the barn and the farm, and I realize service to the Emperor clouded their very memory; but now they return to mind. I remember speaking and laughing with others; those I promised to keep safe, those I left behind when called to serve.
Eyes closed, I wait for the lift to return. I think of returning to that planet, far away.
And I feel something I have not felt in the Emperor’s service.
I feel at peace.
Whatever may come, I am free.
Word Heart 