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| Flames of Winter (Part 1) |
The Flames of Winter (Part 1)
4 Seventhmonth, 8024, Galactic Year
She's a hero, one of the unifying forces of the Alliance, one
of the assets of the Rebellion.
And I hate her.
I hate her with a burning, despairing, jealousy; a sick desperation -
a total helplessness.
Of course she has no idea. Nobody has. In the vast bustle of our
Base, between monitoring shifts and sorties; between logistics and planning; between the
comings and goings of more than two hundred ships and almost a thousand people - nobody's
noticed me and my feelings. Nobody ever will.
Oh, not to worry. I'm not a spy for the Empire. Not a disaffected
subordinate, not even an unscrupulous operator joining the Alliance for profit.
What I am is an obscure technician in the hierarchy, a small cog
in the machinery. The enormous machinery of the Rebellion. My loyalty is not in question
here, I joined up five years ago and my reasons still stand: to defeat the Empire, to
restore the Republic. I may be unimportant in the grand scheme - but I play my part,
faithfully and efficiently.
Yet, I have private feelings too; wretchedness and joy, happiness
and sorrow. Love - and hate.
Why start a diary in the middle of things? Maybe I'm just sick
of silence; of shutting up about my feelings and thoughts, hurting too much and swallowing
every pain, every cry.
Not that this diary is for playing to anyone else. It's for me,
only, but talking out loud into the recorder gives me a sort of relief - as if, when I say it,
I face it. And facing things is the basis of dealing with them. This I learned on the
education tapes of my planet. And it's true.
It really is ironic that it all started because I had a deep
respect for her.
She came to Yavin Base fleeing the Empire, which had caught her
smuggling out a communication from our spies - the schematics of the Imperial Death Star,
no less. Everybody knows what happened after that, up to and including the final destruction of
the Death Star, so I'm not going to rehash it.
She's four years younger than I, so was twenty at the time;
radiant in her first youth, racially aristocratic, strong and resilient like a rod of
steel-crystal. I admired her strength of character, her single-minded dedication to the
cause, and her pale, beautiful face framed in heavy brown hair. Had I been a man, I'd have
wanted to make love to her. As it was, I wanted more than anything else to be her friend.
That was difficult, for she did not make any personal friendships
after she came to the Base. She didn't even have close ties with her Generals.
Like the rest of us here, I knew that she'd lost not only her
family but her entire planet - and had herself only been saved by the three people who
had come to us with her; who had become her closest friends: two humans and a Wookiee.
From the moment she arrived, after blowing her cover as a
Senator - which, by no coincidence, was also the time we dispersed after Yavin - she
completely concentrated on her part in the Rebellion. Her considerable part in the
Rebellion.
She worked. It was extraordinary how hard she worked. Supervising
the controllers, taking the place of anyone absent, at any time; sometimes it seemed like
she was on all the shifts.
I was, and still am, one of those controllers. In a long row
of others like me, I sit before my console, hours at a stretch, monitoring our people on
their ships, their speeders and their mounts; and the rest of our environment, which
includes the frozen expanses topside. I learned to appreciate her real help in this, as
she supervised our rows, troubleshooting on the spot, and taking care of every need of her
crew - from hot drinks to unscheduled absences. On her watch no monitor was ever unable
to leave his or her place unexpectedly; she simply slipped into his seat and the work went
on, seamlessly.
I don't know how she did it, but she also made time for staff
meetings with Command where they planned sorties, logistics, and policy.
I told myself it was no wonder she worked around the clock and
made no time for relaxation or any new friends: she kept her mind on her work so she
wouldn't have to think of her monstrous losses in the recent past. She also gave so much
of herself to the Alliance, there was little left for her private life.
People love and respect her, and are glad to obey her orders,
which are always sensible and necessary. And, while she's sometimes sharp and always
expects others to be as dedicated as she is, she's also genuinely caring - she knows more
people by name than I do.
Oh, she's an admirable sentient. But I wish she was dead
In human society, there's usually only one explanation for
such a contradiction: a man.
I wish I didn't have to speak of him; I wish I didn't have to
think of him. Yet, had I never met him, my life would be meaningless. And, were I never
to see him again, I'd be better off dead.
His image lives inside of me, first thing at waking, last thing
at falling asleep. He's in my dreams.
He does know me: enough for saying hello, enough for sharing a
small joke. After he's said hello, he forgets me. And I keep his voice inside my mind, to
take out and listen to again for the rest of the day.
At times, I'm glad he knows me, that at least I'm one of the
estimated two hundred people on Base he recognizes, as against the many others who
recognize him. At other times, this only sharpens the pain.
On the place I come from, my birthplanet Nekima, neither men
nor women are extroverted hunters in the relations between the sexes. There, delicacy
breeds reticence - not as in the Alliance, where frankness is the key.
Maybe that's why I've remained silent, never doing anything to
show him my interest. And maybe it's just because I knew from the start that it was
hopeless.
I've had my admirers - I'm not ugly, neither am I old. But I
don't exist for him. And there's no hope for the future either - for as long as She lives.
For everyone knows what she means to him, everyone who's ever seen them together.
Strangely, in the beginning I hadn't. I'd never seen her with her
friends, because she only met them elsewhere on Base, after work. I'm not one to be
interested in gossip, so I never connected faces I'd seen with names I heard.
This isn't really a diary, I suppose, as I only talk of what happened quite a while ago... not yesterday or today. That's because I've always needed time to mull things over - to digest what happens so as to get a perspective... Or is it that I can't deal with things when they're hot?
One day, we shared a small intimacy: a cup of hot brew, when
there wasn't enough to go around. I put it into her hands at shift's end - my shift and
hers.
"Have dinner in my quarters?" I blurted out. "I've got Sanskean
biscuits."
She smiled, and briefly touched my arm. "Thanks, Xama, but I've
got a date. A standing one with my friends - whenever they're in. We have so little time
together - you know about patrols and raids."
I swallowed my disappointment as best I could.
"Some other time, then. Did all the patrols come in?"
"Yes, tonight they're all back - safely. Thanks for the drink."
She finished it, slipped off her headphones and hung them up next to mine. I looked at
them for a long time.
But I didn't give up - not me. The next evening, after my shift,
I spoke to Tandor, who worked on the personnel 'puter.
"Where does she have dinner - Princess Leia?" I asked him.
"She's not in our mess, and not with Command."
Tandor laughed. "Every evening the droids set her place at the
General Staff's table. Every evening she goes instead to sit at table #5 in the pilot's
mess. The generals don't begrudge her spending her free time with the only people she's got."
I felt slightly guilty, but decided it was time she had some more people - such as me. The pilot's mess: that was on the Third Level.
When first our engineers surveyed the ice and frozen rock of Hoth, after our scouts had directed us to this inhospitable planet barely on the Charts, it had looked almost impossible to build a base on it.But they tunneled into the permafrost, and used plans out of 'puters from Tarrab, to lay out what would become "Echo Base" - Rebel Headquarters on Hoth - Alliance Base #3.
Base is completely buried in the permafrost. Enclosed against
the severe cold and snowstorms topside, it functions rather like a spaceship. All the
personnel's living quarters are in three tiers under the ground, with the stores, mess
halls, lounges, and assembly-rooms off to a parallel three tiers. In the middle, at ground
level and one story down, are the hangars, the Command Center and stations, and the
briefing-room.
All three sectors are cross-accessed through a maze of corridors,
inside of which run the thick cables coming from our nuclear reactor, situated a mile
away, which provides us with energy and warmth. It is protected by three ion cannons,
also camouflaged in the snow, and a force field.
I'm so lucky as to have a room to myself - a small one, like a cabin in a spaceship - which is on tier #2, in the middle of the tier, so it took me no more than a few minutes to reach the pilot's mess, after I had cleaned up and changed into my best fatigues, under my snow-jacket.
The pilot's mess isn't very large. Nothing is very large on Hoth - except the hangars, which are truly enormous - as it is easier to heat a small space. This smallness makes for coziness, a coziness that helps against the depression of thinking of infinite fields of white, with a temperature of 40 degrees below - of a total isolation from the civilized Galaxy.
Table #5 was snugly placed right against the insulated wall;
it had no more than six places. Two were taken, three had the lights on that meant
"reserved". I sat in the free one.
nbsp; One of our pilots, a commander by his insignia, was one of the
diners; a mechanic was the other. She was just finished with her meal, and rose with a
polite nod to us.
The pilot had barely started on his meal, as I saw from what was
on his plate: a baymelon. I had known that a squadron flying in a cargo of supplies had
brought in fresh produce, picked up from a system that was provisioning the Alliance,
under danger of their very existence. This was indeed a special occasion, as we mostly
ate rations, supplemented whenever possible with preserves, also smuggled in.
The baymelon was infinitely precious food to us all, and was
rationed to one for each person. I had never eaten one before and when the droids brought
me mine, not knowing exactly how to cut it, I looked to the young man sitting opposite
for a pointer.
He was very deft, holding the fruit in one hand and slicing it
open with the short table-knife, with the other. I tried to imitate his actions - but
pressed too hard, and the melon burst, splattering my face and hands.
I sat there, shocked and confused, while the pilot burst out in a
peal of laughter. After a moment, the humor of the situation penetrated, and I was
laughing too.
I dabbed at myself and wiped my face, while my table-mate
stopped laughing and became contrite.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make fun of you. Here, have this,
I've had enough." He handed me what was left of his baymelon - almost half.
"You must be out of your mind! This is fresh! I can't possibly
deprive you of it!"
"Go ahead, have it. I can always take dietary supplements.
Please, do - I'm sorry I laughed."
I refused again, but he was adamant. In the end I took it - but
tried to put him at ease.
"It was funny. Don't let it bother you." He had a very distinctive
voice that was familiar. "Weren't you on a sortie, at the beginning of the tenday?"
"Who do you think brought in the melons? And about four tons of
other produce. My squadron's played farm truck this time. How did you know?"
"Your voice; I'm one of your monitors. You're Echo Three, aren't
you?" I was beginning to like him - very much.
"That's right, I am. And what's your number, Monitor?"
"Eleven. And the name's Xama, Commander."
"I'm Luke, Xama. No need for ranks at dinner." He had a wondeful
smile - it made you want to smile in return. I was as charmed by it as by his incredible
blue eyes. But the best thing was his presence. I can feel presence, a talent that runs
in my family, and his was unique: that of a personality quick, impatient and curious - but
also naturally modest and thoughtful; and, if under the impatience there was a quick
anger - under the curiosity was an aura of latent power.
I was as much attracted as steel fillings to a magnet.
The droids arrived then with the main course, and we fell to.
I was completely happy.
This was the last time I was ever to be, and it was very short. For,
looking up, I saw the person I'd originally tried to meet standing behind his seat, her
hand on his shoulder.
Princess Leia didn't even notice me, she just bent over him
and kissed his cheek. And the way he reacted made me understand that I'd met him years too
late.
His face lit up, his entire being glowed with joy at her arrival.
"Leia! I didn't know you'd be joining us tonight!"
"The meeting adjourned early. General Rieekan is grounding all
spacecraft tomorrow and the day after: general inspection by Maintenance."
"Then, I guess it's Tauntaun patrol for the rest of us."
"Did somebody say Tauntaun? Don't tell me we have to
ride the smelly critters again?"
A tall man and a Wookiee were sitting down in the reserved seats;
the Wookiee very carefully, although the seats were made of sturdy molecular-alloy.
"Come on, Han, they're not so bad!" Said the pilot and,
simultaneously, the Princess: "I shouldn't imagine they smell any worse than nerfs!"
"And how would you know, Your Serene Highness?" Retorted the tall
fellow insolently - but they were both smiling.
So, these were the Four Friends. The Four I'd heard so much
about. I'd heard so much but didn't really paid attention - I now wished I had. Of course
I had paid attention to the Wookiee. The only Wookiee on Base, he really stood out.
I watched them, after the Princess recognized me, and greeted me
and turned to her friends, and forgot me.
Unlike my young pilot, I'd seen the tall fellow around. He's
quite handsome ,with a reputation for impressing the female human contingent on Base. I
knew his voice too: he pilots a civilian craft, a terrible hunk of junk of which he'd
said to love dearly. His talk on the comm is a continuous stream of wisecracks. Not my
cup of brew, but the Princess evidently enjoyed the joking - and the way he looked at her.
But she never untied the string to the young one. She kissed his
cheek and sat next to him - she let him gaze into her eyes. I think I started to hate her,
then.
After a while I got up, said goodbye and left. I wasn't hungry
anymore.
I wondered the corridors for a long time, trying to remember early
occasions I had seen him on. An obvious one would seem to have been the ceremony, after
they blew up the Death Star and the Alliance gave out medals to the Heroes. So large a space -
I hadn't really been able to see that many details from my post. Two young men, one tall,
one short; two droids and a Wookiee. Two or three dignitaries - I remember old Lord Daktar -
and, of course, She. It was Her I saw, it was Her I remembered, for the almost two years
since then. Regal and radiant in white, dazzlingly beautiful, the essence of all and everything
a woman could be - should be. That was when I understood how a man feels for a woman.
I remember, after the ceremony, entering my cubicle and turning to
scrutinize my face in the mirror. My hazel eyes, my freckled skin and dark red hair. I
remember thinking that next to her, I might as well be a Wookiee, but that I didn't mind,
because I admired her so.
And now I resented her. In the blink of an eye, I was changed. I
had met a man, and my whole universe was turned around. A man, younger than myself but
stronger; stronger and better: there was no resentment in him, no hate. There was, in me.
I felt ashamed, but powerless. I'd never wanted any man as much as
I wanted him - the way I wanted him. Even then, I would have killed and would have died for
him.
But, at the same time I knew, bitterly, that to him, I was just
one of the many people around; one of the many soldiers in the Alliance; a comrade at best -
a professional acquaintance at worst. And totally forgettable.
7 Twelvemonth, 8024 G.Y.
So begun a period of real heartbreak.
I still went to the pilot's mess but always sat elsewhere, from
where I observed table #5. Mostly the Four managed to meet, and I eavesdropped shamelessly,
trying to find out something of his life.
Sometimes, it was just Solo and the Wookiee who were with him,
and I was impressed by the feeling of brotherhood between them. As I've said, I can feel
people, and I knew how close those two were. Three, actually, the Wookiee - they called him
Chewie - was part of them too.
At other times, he sat alone and then I joined him. He always
recognized me and treated me with a simple friendliness that melted my heart, as did his
physical presence;for he is very beautiful, as much as his friend is handsome. As much
inside as out - but I've already said so.
I started to worry about him. He's a crack pilot, leader of his
squadron: an ace. He was out every day, either in his X-Wing, a snow-speeder or on a Tauntaun.
Some runs he was on were longer than a day, involving transports and/or raids - or even
secret missions. One he was gone for three planetary tendays, and Princess Leia became gaunt, h
her eyes haunted and circled by dark shadows (while I stopped eating and must have lost 6 kilos).
Another time they were both gone for a tenday, and I almost went out
of my mind.
I resented even the fact that she could show her feelings - and I
couldn't. I sat at my post or stood over machinery and forced my mind not to wander, my
hands not to shake, and not to jump when his voice came over the earphones.
So I suffered. And the worst part was that I couldn't tell anyone.
I felt I couldn't admit, even to the closest of friends, the enormity of my blunder: falling
for a public hero - and one whose heart was already pledged.
Sibu, my comrade of almost five years, knew that something was
wrong with me, but I didn't tell even her. She tried to throw several young and good-looking
men at me, but the encounters were dismal failures.
The worst one was with Ran, a Vartalian, who was tall and dark and
handsome and wore his hair long, and in a circlet of gold. He was a droid programmer who
supervised several departments. Ran couldn't accept my indifference to his charms - and
came to resent me so much that he became violent while drunk. The upshot of that story was
that we were both disciplined, and Sibu too, for good measure, after our fight in the lounge
turned into a free-for-all.
After that, in my quarters where I nursed my swollen eye, I
broke down and couldn't stop crying. All the pain, frustration and yearning of the last six
months hitting me at once.
Sibu held me, like a mother a child. My friend comforted me,
applied a compress to my eye, and made me some brew. And I stated talking.
She let me, saying absolutely nothing, but listening intently.When
I ran down, she poured me shot of firewater.
"Maybe you should get away, for awhile," she said slowly.M
"Away? Where? There's nothing here - just Base and the snow wastes!"
"There's going on patrol. They need people for that, all the time.
And I think you need exercise to exhaust you physically - if you have to concentrate on
staying alive, you won't be able to think about what's bothering you."
So I approached my superior, Captain Gallan, after work.
"Sir, I'd like to put in a request to be sent on T-patrol."
He raised his eyebrows: "Technician Malloban, your profession is
electronics. You have been functioning as a Monitor for four years, subjective. Would you
care to explain why you should suddenly want to go outside - and into the environment we
have on this planet?"
"That's just it, sir. Four years. I don't want to start making
mistakes that could cost someone his safety. Or lose control... You know what happened
last Seconday."
"Are you telling me you're starting to crack up? Have you seen a
medical droid?"
"Not yet." I looked down at my feet. "But I most urgently request a
transfer to active duty."
"All duty is active, on this base." He thought for awhile. "All
right, request granted. Report to the main hangar, one hour before dawn."
1 Firstmonth, 8025, G.Y.
Face it, I still need to talk of Him. The man I love, the unattainable, my pain and my joy. Somewhere in the background, always coloring everything in my world - a presence inside, a refuge for my thoughts, from physical tiredness, loneliness and cold. While I have him in my thoughts, I have the world. Even if I don't have him in truth.
Patrol turned out to be the solution to my problem. Sibu had been quite right: I wasn't free to concentrate on anything but the immediate environment; the terrain, the elements and my mount. It's a perilous job because of the savagery of this environment: no technological help's quite enough for the piercing of the white powdery fog, the positioning on the immense expanses, where the wind drives not just snow but hail and icy rain; where the cold's like needles, piercing any even momentarily exposed part of the body.Sentient ingenuity and animal instincts are needed in addition. That's why we always go out in pairs, linked by the comm: the buddy system.
I soon would have lost all sense of direction without the comm,
but I've come to depend on my Tauntaun's instincts as much as on my machinery. Tauntauns
have a magnetic sense - a natural direction finder, and I can always trust mine to find her
way home.
She's called Beauty, and her handler at first had misgivings about
letting a newcomer ride her. But we hit it off at once; came to share a strange bond of
affection - unlike any I'd ever had with a sentient. I'd never had either a pet or a mount
before - now I understood those who had.
Tauntaun patrols are not the only way we have of surveying our environment. Snowspeeders are much more efficient and go out at least once a day. But we don't have all that much manpower, and nothing really beats personal inspection of the terrain. And we are the ones who position the sensors and relays that have to be put in, over and over, as they either are blown away or freeze solid after a few days.
As to why we still need surveys, after two years - Hoth is a
big place.
What we mostly look for is life, indigenous and other. We want to
know of any possible dangers from the animals (there are animals in the snow) and can never
rule out unseen landings by intruders.
Some of my former colleagues kidded me unmercifully on the comm,
thinking I was crazy to exchange the indoors for the blizzards topside, and I heard a lot
of "I told you so's" when I came in with frostbite. I didn't care.
The heavy doors have to be closed against the cold at about sixteen
hundred, so that finishes the day. I'm usually so exhausted, I just grab my food concentrates
and a hot drink, and fall on my bunk, fast asleep.
We come out at dawn in pairs, from the South hangar. My partner
(usually it's Halder Sanskaian, a giant of a man who rides a large, sturdy male called
Snowcloud) and I start our circles - ever-widening circles, with Base as the epicenter.
All the time, we keep in touch by comm. If one's silent for too long, the other starts out
for him/her, homing in on the last signal. It's happened to me several times, when my comm
failed due to the cold, and Halder went for me and spotted me within fifteen minutes, with
his life-detector. Twice it happened to Halder and once, when the day was almost over and
the usual afternoon blizzard was starting, I lost him completely; he had to return to Base
trusting his Tauntaun senses, and so did I. It was very spooky being suddenly all alone in
the white, swirling snow and hail; blinded and confused and without a direction. Beauty it
was who saved the day.
My greatest surprise was discovering that there's a lot that's wonderful about a Tauntaun patrol on Hoth. About Hoth, period.There's exhilaration at watching the sun come up over Stormound, the jagged crag that rears a thousand kilometers from Base; there's moments of pure pleasure in the bumping, jogging lope of the Tauntauns and their continuous "talking" - to themselves and to us; there's a feeling of awe in riding on, and on, and on, over immense snow-covered distances - and in discovering canyons, passes, and frozen waterfalls. It seems incredible that there should always be something to find, something new to see. Two years, and I had never discovered this before.
Thirdmonth 13, 8025
This diary has turned out to be more than just therapy. It's
also a way to record the things that come my way and that I have no idea whether anybody
else pays attention to. Tauntaun patrol, for example. But also things like the comfort of
meeting friends in the small Technician's lounge on the cold nights; exhilaration of a
snowspeeder ride - Hoth is full, rich in experiences - or do I alone think so?
Not that I always do. Sometimes Hoth is just physical exhaustion,
mental numbness, and pervasive cold. Sometimes it's still terrible to feel so isolated from
the civilized Galaxy, with nowhere to go.
But there sure was no time for suffering. Even though, when I
had a moment, I still thought about Him - and worried. I always would. I insisted on Sibu
keeping me informed about what he was doing, and so found out that, in his free time, he
exercised with a lightsaber. This sounded so bizarre, I didn't believe it at first.
A lightsaber is not really a saber - neither is it related to
either a blaster or a laser-cutter. What it is, is an archaic dangerous weapon that has to
be perfectly controlled by the wielder - otherwise, he's dead. Its "blade" is a stream of
matter - anti-matter particles, contained by a magnetic field, and emitted by a powercell
in the handle.
Theoretically, two strong wrists and a good bodily balance should
be enough for its control. In practice, more is needed: an eerie power of the mind, to
move objects at a distance.
Not everyone knows about lightsabers, but I do. My Uncle Vaclos had had one, kept in a place secret from the family. I discovered it one day by chance, and was sworn to secrecy. My uncle then explained all about it: how no two lightsabers were ever the same, being made by hand like a piece of jewelry or an object of art; how they were very old, going back thousands of years, and how their use was not for everyone. Then, he told me about the Jedi.
Truth to tell, I thought it to be more legend than fact. Oh, I
knew that there had been some Order of Knights, called something like "Defenders of Justice
in the Galaxy" and that the Emperor had massacred them when he took power; but I thought
they had actually been just a special unit of soldiers.
He told me differently, but I didn't believe him - perhaps because
is lightsaber was so very obviously dead. He had gotten it from someone whose identity was
a great secret, even greater than the lightsaber itself. I got the impression that it was a
woman - someone from a love affair. Since such a thing was really none of my business, I
never asked for specifics.
And now Luke Skywalker.
What was he doing, exercising with a lightsaber? Where had he
gotten it? Everything he did interested me, so I found out more.
I found out that he'd always had this lightsaber - even as he came onboard. That he knew how to use it - sort of. And that he did have the power of mind to control it - some of the time. I found out that Luke Skywalker had known someone he hadcalled a Jedi: someone from his home planet of Tatooine. That explained the lightsaber and the exercises. It didn't explain the mind powers.
It made me uneasy. This didn't at all square with the way I knew him: the ace - the soldier, the leader of his men; young and enthusiastic, yet level-headed and with two feet firmly planted on bedrock. To be able to use a lightsaber, you were supposed to be a Jedi. And the Jedi were not only extinct but, according to my uncle, they had been a religious sect with supernormal (or was it supernatural?) powers.
I was upset. As if it wasn't enough to compete against a woman, and such a woman as Princess Leia, it looked now as if I had to compete against the Universe. What I mean is that I was suddenly afraid that the man I loved was going to turn into - something else. Maybe not immediately - but that he was on the way.
Where did I get such an idea? Well, I did have special perceptions.
On my home planet many did. And my family - especially my Uncle Vaclos the maverick - was
very strong in this matter. I was beginning to fear that, because of my feelings, I was
developing a rapport with Luke Skywalker. And I say fear, because I didn't want to know.
So, I'm a coward. Not that it makes any difference. The Universe
doesn't ask me.
7 Ninemonth, 8025, G.Y.
My entries in this diary aren't usually related to special
events, nor are they periodic. Erratic is the best way I can describe them but, what the
hell. When I do sit down to it, I may put in the last few tendays - or last few months - of
what more or less went by. Or I may not.
It's turned out to be quite a comfort, though.
I kept it up with patrols for about nine months, planetary -
sometimes it seems as if we were on Hoth forever - then was thrown by Beauty, when a speeder
pilot dove at her (it was that idiot, Ner) and broke my leg.
This brought me back to monitoring. Not that my fracture wasn't
quickly mended, but it became the occasion for an offer to go back indoors - and I accepted.
My pain had settled somewhere deep inside, as a permanent ache, and I didn't jump
anymore at hearing his voice on the comm. We were going through a time when the Tauntaun
patrols had been doubled and I heard him often on the comm, calling his buddy: "Echo Seven" -
Han Solo, his friend.
That was the time when we had news of the course of the war almost
every day, and I was gratified by the role the space-guerillas of our base played in it.
Those pilots made the most of the hyperdrive on their craft, in
their hit-and-runs they slowed and sabotaged the Empire, going from raids to bombings, from
quiet sabotages to spectacular destruction. As long as they didn't fall into the trap of
massive naval-type engagements, they were able to inflict significant damage to the enemy.
And now, we were making a difference. The Palalais system had been
liberated, the first since the beginning of the dictatorship twenty-four years ago! Granted,
Palalais was situated on the edge of the Galaxy and would have needed a massive invasion of
forces by the Empire to occupy again - but it was a victory. Especially for the people of
Palalais.
Our harassment tactics were beginning to bear fruit: even
Imperial Star Destroyers cannot be everywhere at once. Our spies told us of growing
irritation, not to say nervousness, at the core of the Imperial High Command.
Their highest Command, though, was the Emperor - and he was
inscrutable. Not only did we not have any spies close to him - that was impossible with his
mind powers - but we didn't even get indirect hints on his plans for coping with the
Rebellion. Since the Death Star was gone, the greatest danger was past; still, it would
have been better for all concerned had we been able to find out.
Our Highest Command - the one on Alliance Base #1 in deep space, on
which is our Leader, Mothma - have a number of estimates, based on computer simulations.
Since they don't really have a lot of data on the Emperor (just on what he had been,
once) those estimates are mostly educated - and not so educated - guesses. As always, it is
the sheer size of the galaxy which frustrates us in finding out what the Emperor may have
been preparing in some of its corners. Just as it makes it impossible for him to find us.
Or so we hope.
23 Twelvemonth 8025, G.Y.
It happened on Tauntaun Patrol, of all things, on which I had
been for months; on which He had been even longer.
I had been monitoring the morning shift and, that afternoon, was
visiting with Beauty and Hink her handler - as I did every so often - when Han Solo stormed
in, closely followed by the Deck Officer, Captain Cobur, who was expostulating to him that
the snowspeeders couldn't be taken out.
"We'll go on the Tauntauns, then!" snarled Solo, and strode to his
habitual mount, a male named Fury, who was just being groomed by Seri, the other handler.
"You can't, the temperature is dropping too rapidly!"
"That's right, and my friend is out in it!" shouted Solo.
My blood turned to ice, and not because of the cold.
"Your Tauntaun will freeze!" shouted Seri, as Solo forcibly man-handled
the saddle on top of Fury and sprang on him, cursed Seri and was gone like the storm itself,
before any of us could gather our wits.
I ran all the way to the control station, to come up behind Pol,
my relay, and grip his shoulder - he winced and cried out.
"Switch to the T-Patrol frequency! Turn up the sound - do it!" He
took one look at my face and did.
Princess Leia came in then, she took the situation in at a
glance, and came to stand behind Pol, next to me.
At first we kept hearing Solo: "Echo Seven to Echo Three - can you
hear me, Luke?" "This is Han, can you hear me kid?" "Come in, Luke, come in!" But the signal
became weaker and weaker, as he went farther out into the snowy wastes - the terrible storm.
Princess Leia took Pol's place then, but she had no better luck, so
she switched to the surveillance frequency, the sensors monitoring electromagnetic activities
within a radius of one hundred kilometers.
By then, every sensor on Base was switched to Surveillance - including
the mobile astromechs, one of which even insisted on standing outside, in the blizzard.
The Princess went to the main hangar then, with me tagging after.
The hangar was bustling as usual, and I stood aside - as always - to see her addressed by
her officers - being told that the big doors would have to be closed against the storm, the
cold.
She silently nodded and, at that moment, I felt her closely; echo
of my anguish, but with a twist - for she cared about both of them, about Solo as much as
about Luke.
And both were now gone - lost in the bitter night.
I stood in the shadows, unseen, unnoticed. The officers tried to
spare her the news - no one of course worried about me. That was fair enough;for I had
no rights. No right to worry. No right to mourn.
When the doors were closed, the Wookiee set up an eerie wail. I
cannot, usually, share the emotions of other species - but this time I think I fully did
share in his terrible wrench. Han Solo had been a part of his life, in a way no mere human
can easily understand. We speak of love and loyalty - Chewbacca's feelings were to human
feelings as a Wookiee's strength is to a man's.
And Princess Leia's emotions were slowly freezing over - like a
glacial death. I could feel of all it, all of them! I realized that something had turned on
inside of me, that this was my talent. As if I wasn't in enough trouble already.
That night was the worst of my life. The end of my dreams, the
grief to end all grief. I never went to sleep, but took Pol's place and monitored all and
everything - with no more response, no more hope, no more life.
He was gone. Gone into the storm. Gone into the white death that
had always been waiting for us, and had now claimed the one in all the Galaxy that was life
itself to me.
Princess Leia didn't sleep any, either. She disappeared for a
while, to return to the command center and pace from one screen to another - but her hope
was gone.
Now, I could feel her... her emotions were dead. She was cold
inside, cold like the wind on Hoth; bleak and quiet like a frozen piece of ice . I turned
to her, my face swollen, my eyes clouded with tears, I stared into hers.
She couldn't cry. I saw the abyss she was in, then and always. She
never cried, the Princess, even if almost dying of anguish or sorrow;but she lifted her
hand and wiped my eyes, in a gesture both tender and impatient, and I put my arms around her.
We weren't close - we weren't friends. She was a public person, a leader in the Alliance - a
hero. I, an obscure technician. I had spent the best part of a year and a half hating her.
And I held her like my sister, in our pain.
She'd lost everything, many times. Her parents, her very world;
and, after everything was gone, she'd found human love, human warmth which now was gone, too.
I couldn't hate her anymore.
28 Twelvemonth 8025
Today is the third day Luke Skywalker is spending in the tank of
Bacta. The third day since he was brought in by Zev in his speeder, his face ruined by a
terrible gash, unconscious and in fever.
All of Base is in an uproar, about Luke Skywalker, about the Wampa
Beast, about the dead Tauntauns (poor Star, poor Fury!), about the meteors falling, about
Han Solo wanting to leave because of a bounty-hunter.
I'm still exhausted and not really reacting. Of course there's relief;
but I'll be happy only when I know he's out of danger. At the moment, I still feel numb.
I see that I've caught up on my diary, too. For the first time
since I started it, a year and a half ago.
3 Firstmonth, 8026, G.Y.
With the end of the year came the end of Hoth.
The end of Echo Base on Hoth, Rebel Base #3, and end catastrophic,
a military defeat - a general retreat - actually, a rout.
The Empire had found us, and we almost didn't survive.
It started on the day Luke Skywalker was lost in the storm, when
the Empire had already found us - only we didn't know it. While an Imperial probe droid, already
landed, was surveying our planet and beaming back to the Empire pictures of our surface-based
reactor.
It was a total debacle. Echo Base literally exploded in all directions,
and its surviving personnel ejected.
I lost Luke Skywalker again, not finally this time, I hoped. But - the
Maker help me - for me this still overshadowed our tremendous losses.
The loss of our Base, a main one for the Rebellion.The setback such
defeat handed to the Alliance; even the cost in human lives - my comrades, two hundred and
forty-one of them.
My comrades; gone, in blood and fire and tremendous explosions.
Picked off in mid-air in their speeders, when attacking the Imperial Walkers. Shot by
stormtroopers, with laser-cannon.Killed by tons of ice, falling on them, when the corridors
collapsed.
I monitored most of it.
And it almost happened to me - and to Princess Leia.
She had been on the intercomm system to coordinate the send-off
of our transports packed with armament, supplies, Tauntauns, but mostly people.They started
leaving, convoyed by two fighters each (we had no more) and helped along by our Ion Cannon,
shooting at the Imperial Star Destroyers in orbit to distract them until the transports could
jump outlight.
As soon as those were underway, she hurried back to her usual post - our
Command Station.
Up on the surface, over our heads, Imperial Walkers were rumbling
and their tremendous weight was working like an earthquake - equipment was dancing, walls
were collapsing. But we,the monitors at Command, still had to coordinate the troops' movements,
not to mention the exodus.
My reserved place was on Transport #18, the Princess's on Transport #12. Everything had been organized from the beginning. From the moment we'd arrived on Hoth, evacuation had been a possibility, looming as the end. Most of the transports had been on stand-by; and each of us on Hoth had had his or her place reserved well in advance - mine was to have been with Sibu - I doubted I was going to make it now.
There was a terrible sound - then a rumbling like that of the
red Hell itself - it went on and on. Shock waves ran through the ice under the floors,
lifting our seats and consoles.Lights went out: our nuclear reactor had had it.
Emergency lighting came on, and Princess Leia stood behind my seat.
"Xama, are you all right?"
"Yes, I am! Now go, Highness, please, go to your transport! We can
wrap it up by ourselves! Go!"
"In a minute." She was extraordinarily calm and composed - and I
discovered I didn't want her to die here, in the collapsing Command Center.
Someone else didn't, either. Suddenly there was Han Solo, clambering
over debris.
"Why are you still here!" She turned to him, exasperated.
"I heard the Command Center'd been hit!" And there had been only
one thought in his mind.
"You've got your clearance to leave!" She turned back to Laur.
"Don't worry, I'm going - as soon as I get you to your ship."
The Princess's personal droid, C-3P0, was standing behind her, expostulating
with her that this was her last chance;but still she had a last instruction to Laur.
"Send all troops in sector twelve to the South Slope to protect
the fighters!"
Another explosion came, then, right over our heads. Everything
bent to the right - then to the left. Blocks of ice cascaded down on the auxiliary generator.
The intercomm announced: "Imperial troops have entered the base." And Han Solo became
frantic and grabbed the Princess's arm, jerking her almost off her feet.
"That's it! We're going!"
She managed to turn to us: "Give the evacuation code signal - and
get yourself to your transport!" That was to me, at the last moment, before Solo forcibly
dragged her away.
Pol, and Laur, and Vaya, and me - we stripped off our headphones then, and scrambled through the collapsed corridors, to fetch up in the East hangar and our transport, which, strictly speaking this was not; Transport #18 had already left, with Sibu on board, I hoped. The one we boarded was #30, crammed with people.
We made it past the Star Destroyers, immense monsters in orbit,
one of which I could see being hit by our Ion Cannon. I thought of the artillery
operators - they'd leave even later - if they made it.
On the transport I had no duties, so I made my way - where else? - to
the control center, to see if I could catch any of the comm from the last fighters out - Luke
Skywalker was supposed to be in that - but we'd already jumped into hyperspace, so that
was that.
27 Firstmonth, 8026
It's getting to be very late in the day - but I'm not losing
hope this time.
I'm not, I'm not.
Even though Luke Skywalker - and his X-Wing - has been missing now
for almost three tendays - this time I don't think that he's dead.
Because there's no sign of the "Millennium Falcon", Han Solo, Chewbacca
or the Princess, either. And in my book that means that they're all together, somewhere.
I'm not jealous, and I'm not in despair; just gritting my teeth and
repeating to myself: he's all right, he's not dead, he's just with them.
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