Star Wars Myths & Fables Page 2

  And then it stopped.

  The old knight had raised his hand above his head, his palm held out toward the dragon, mere centimeters from where its tapered snout hovered.

  The villagers held their breaths. The night had grown suddenly still. The old knight’s blade flickered once, then blinked out. Then the dragon exhaled gently, issuing a contented sigh, before lowering itself slowly to the ground. Like a Loth-wolf pup before its mother, the dragon Krayt prostrated itself before the knight, its head coming to rest on the sand by his feet.

  Tentative at first and then suddenly rapturous, the villagers began to cheer and hoot in celebration, for they saw that the old knight had cast a spell upon the dragon to quiet its mind, and in doing so, he had finally freed them from its reign of terror.

  But the knight himself was not so easily placated, and he silenced the villagers with a look more fearsome than even that of the dragon. With a gesture, he bade the dragon to rise to its full height, towering over him, glowering down at the assembled villagers. He took a step forward and the dragon followed in kind, subject to his every whim, so mesmerized was it by his spell.

  “The dragon Krayt is now under my thrall and, as such, will do only my bidding. No longer shall you suffer from its nightly visits.”

  The crowd began to cheer once more, but the old knight ushered them to silence again.

  “Yet you have wronged the people of the town, for you have taken your pain and made it theirs. This, too, shall cease, for if you ever raid the settlements of others, I shall learn of it, and I shall return with this dragon and your village shall be destroyed.”

  At that the dragon stirred, spreading its wings as if to underline the old knight’s point.

  “Now go in peace, and return to your families, and enjoy the gifts of the desert.”

  Then the old knight turned his back on the people of the sand and slowly led the dragon away into the dusty night.

  The villagers never saw the old knight again, or his dragon, but they remembered his warning well; thus, unique amongst the nomadic tribes of Tatooine, the villagers never again raided the settlements of others or took captives from the cities and towns of the desert world.

  NCE, DURING A LONG-ago war, there was an organic soldier who so admired the cool logic of the droids—and wanted so much to mirror their infallibility, strength, and power—that he took to replacing parts of his own organic body with a series of carefully crafted mechanical components.

  At first they were simple enhancements—a cybernetic hand here, a data interface module there—but soon he came to see the full benefit of the new mechanical components and the way they enhanced his life. This was particularly true in battle, where the removal of nerve endings and easily damaged limbs meant he could take on even the most fearsome opponent without fear of pain or wounds. Nor did he have to hold back in his attack for fear of reprisal, as damaged droid parts could be easily repaired or replaced, and the new components offered significant enhancements over his previous form. He had, for example, adopted four arms, rather than the original two he’d been granted at birth.

  Victory in battle led to further modifications, and in time the soldier became utterly obsessed with the notion that he might eventually replace nearly all his “weak” genetic material and thus transform himself almost completely into a droid.

  In such a way he believed he might enjoy the benefits of both the organic and the inorganic—all the strengths and versatility of a droid, with all the cunning, passion, and capacity for emotion of an organic life-form. The soldier would strive to become a droid in body while remaining an organic creature in heart and mind.

  So the soldier continued in that fashion and, through the course of many years and many battles, adapted, tinkered with, and otherwise altered his own body until he was no longer recognizable as the person he had once been—more machine than organic, more droid than man. The soldier was pleased, for he alone understood his true potential, and although he had the outward appearance of a machine, he retained some of what had once made him a living, breathing man. This, he believed, set him apart from all others—although neither organic nor droid found themselves comfortable in his company.

  The soldier had achieved much in his life, and through the many campaigns he had fought on behalf of his masters, he had risen in the ranks, claiming victory upon victory. In part due to his sheer commitment to becoming the very best soldier he was able, he had made a mark for himself amongst the powerful men and women who led the Separatist movement.

  Soon enough the soldier found himself promoted to the rank of general and given command of vast armies and fleets, for in him the leaders of the Separatist movement saw strength and power and the will to succeed. His gambit had paid off, and his success reinforced his belief that, in crafting for himself a new form, he had risen above all others. Even the Jedi shuddered at the mention of his name and feared joining him in battle, as none could match his sheer relentlessness and determination.

  Yet, despite his martial success, the general remained unhappy, for though he had altered his body, he was not satisfied with his lot in life. In truth, he would never find peace or completion in the continued modification of his form, for deep down he sought escape, and no matter how much he might change what he was, he could never change who he was. Being a creature who was ruled by his heart, however, the general could never see that in himself.

  Thus, this general who would be a droid was a tormented soul, and he expressed his torment by the only means he knew how—violence. The more the general altered his body, the angrier and more vindictive he became, lashing out at all those he perceived as weak, often destroying the droids placed under his care and leadership, for in some ways they reminded him of his own weaknesses. The general could not see the similarities between himself and those he bullied, believing he was not like the droids at all, that he was stronger, better, because of his organic heart.

  So it came to be that, during the days of the great war between the Republic and the Separatists, the general was charged by his superiors with a most important task. He was to travel to the distant, frigid world of Alamass to deploy his vast army of droids in an assault that would destroy a strategic stronghold of the enemy. It was to be a dangerous and difficult operation, for the terrain was formed of frozen bergs of ammonia amidst vast unstable swathes of icy tundra. The general, however, had a distinct advantage over the enemy forces, as droids do not suffer from the cold like organic soldiers, and thus his armies were better equipped to face the difficult terrain.

  The Separatist leaders knew that the general could be trusted to deliver on such a crucial mission, for his record was near unblemished and he was highly renowned for his tactical insight. All were assured of his victory.

  Thus, the general led his fleet into orbit around the planet and dispatched probe droids to the surface to take the measure of the enemy.

  There he discovered a large Republic army had been deployed in anticipation of the impending attack, along with scores of great war machines and armaments.

  The Republic was not to be underestimated, for it, too, had great strategists and cunning generals, and despite the organic nature of its army, its members were resilient and had proved their mettle against the general’s forces on many prior occasions.

  Yet the general also spotted a weakness in the enemy’s defense, for they had not anticipated an approach from the west, where the icy tundra gave way to turbulent floes and fast-moving tributaries, and where even the probe droids succumbed to the ice storms, treacherous ammonia vents, and alien beasts that lived in the murky, poisonous depths.

  The general knew that to approach the enemy from that direction meant certain victory, for they had left their flank entirely exposed. A swift strike would enable the general’s forces to seize the stronghold and claim an early victory for the Separatists as further droids poured in from the south, pinning the Republic army in place. The general was certain it was the only way to break the enemy,
to prize them out of their stronghold and destroy them.

  There was, however, a downside to this daring plan: the victory would be gained through the sacrifice of many thousands of droids, as the droid army risked devastation marching across the floes, where they would be dragged into the icy depths or pummeled by the local fauna or corroded by the many ammonia vents that peppered the land in that area.

  The calculated loss would be close to a third of the entire droid army, yet still the general pushed ahead with his plan, for he cared not about the impending losses. To him, the droids were simply machines, lacking the passion and drive of an organic heart and thus unworthy of compassion. He reasoned that, in deploying a mighty force, he might stand to lose up to half of it during the march, but those few that survived would still prove enough of a surprise to distract the Republic army while his other forces moved in to deliver the finishing blow.

  Once again, the general had set himself above those he had once aspired to be like, and in giving the order to deploy to the planet’s surface, he condemned many thousands of their kind to ignoble destruction.

  Now, these were simple droids, designed for combat and little else, and so had not the wherewithal or the capacity to challenge their general’s orders. Indeed, these models were designed to never question the word of a superior officer and to obey all orders at any cost, without thought or reason.

  There was, however, a most singular tactical droid amongst the general’s aides, who plotted with and abetted the general in the day-to-day management of his troops. This tactical droid lived out its days aboard the bridge of the general’s flagship and, if droids could feel envy, might be deemed to hold a most covetable position.

  The tactical droid had, however, grown tired of the general’s persistent bullying of the other droids on the bridge—for this droid had many times stood witness, in silence, as the general tore through his droid crew, igniting his blades of light to decapitate the unwary or breaking their servos over his knee. At times he had even wrenched heads free of their sockets before casting the unwanted appendages away with a ferocious roar. He carried on in such a fashion each and every day, taking out his frustrations on those around him until the entire bridge was littered with the remnants of the previous shift’s crew. Droids quaked at the thought of operating in the general’s orbit, and only the tactical droid itself had managed to survive for more than a few cycles in the general’s presence.

  The tactical droid had learned to always keep its head low, to avoid direct communication with the general whenever possible, and to swap its shift patterns with its fellow tactical droids to otherwise avoid as much of the general’s company as possible. While the tactical droid felt a genuine nagging dismay at how the general treated its fellow crew members, it had always followed orders without question or delay, and avoided anything that might result in it being drawn into direct conflict with the general. Indeed, the general seemed altogether satisfied with the droid’s performance, and in all its system reports its output was listed as exemplary.

  That makes it all the more unusual that, on the eve of the deployment of the droid army to Alamass, that particular tactical droid made the active decision to commit a direct violation of its programming and orders.

  To most droids, committing such a heinous act would be nothing short of anathema—a betrayal of the very worst kind—but this particular tactical droid had, during the course of the past seventeen cycles, been forced to witness the destruction of precisely one hundred and twelve battle droids at the hands of the general, and whatever limiters had been wired into its electronic brain were not enough to contain its seething anger at the sheer injustice of all it had seen.

  Tactically, the droid knew that the plan devised by the general was sound; not only was it the most likely path to victory, but it was the only one. Yet that was not enough to quell the droid’s rising anger at the thought of sacrificing so many of its kin, simply to award the general another victory. Orders were one thing, but this was a matter of principle. Surely the price of victory was too high? The tactical droid could not simply stand by and watch so many other droids marched into the jaws of destruction, let alone be the one that executed the order.

  It considered this for a whole six seconds, running various simulations and models as it attempted to discern a new, alternative course of action and reason the various outcomes. None of them ended well, but there were those that minimized the damage.

  Thus, when the final order was given, the tactical droid chose to intercede and, clear in the knowledge of what would happen to it when the general discovered its betrayal, altered the binary code of the orders being issued to the droid army, substituting an altogether different deployment zone, on a stable ice field over a day’s march from the enemy stronghold.

  Busily engaged in arrangements for the deployment of the second droid force to the south of the Republic stronghold, and not anticipating that his order might be challenged or disobeyed, the general paid no heed as the flotilla of troop carriers disembarked for the planet below.

  Soon the droid army had been fully deployed and was slowly marching across the frozen tundra toward the enemy position. All reports from the surface confirmed that the battalion had been delivered as planned and was following its orders to the digit.

  Satisfied in the knowledge that his plan was near guaranteed to work, the general gave the command to commit the second force to the attack that would pin the enemy between the two droid armies, and more ships made landfall on the surface, disgorging additional droids into the frozen wastes.

  The second force fell in immediately, engaging the enemy, whom they expected to be reeling from the surprise attack from the west. The attack had not come, however, with the original droid army still half a day’s march from the action.

  As a result, the Republic army was ready for the droids and easily held position, falling back to protect the stronghold as the second droid army crumbled, breaking like a wave against the enemy.

  Back on the bridge of his ship, the general, horrified to realize what had happened, was forced to call off his assault, pulling back what remained of the second force and ordering the original droid army to cease its march and retreat—for the Republic army had bedded in for a siege, and all hope of wresting control of the stronghold had been lost.

  The tactical droid’s deception had handed the Republic forces a resounding victory, and while there had been some droid losses during the battle, the impact on their numbers had been minimized.

  The general was forced to admit his defeat—his first major failure—to his masters, and his shame was a greater wound than any that might be inflicted upon his mechanized body with a weapon.

  The general learned, of course, that his orders had been processed incorrectly, although he knew not that it was an act of rebellion, deeming it mere incompetence, for he was blinded by his own prejudice and did not truly understand the nature of droids. Still he maintained a belief in his own superiority and could not ascribe motive to the droids he surrounded himself with, believing them to be nothing but machines, incapable of independent thought.

  The general sought out the tactical droid, and, bellowing in righteous fury, in full view of its fellow crew members, he cut it into pieces with his flickering blades of light until there was nothing left of it but a series of glowing, smoldering hunks of metal.

  Yet the tactical droid was duly revered for its act of defiance, and when the general stormed from the bridge of his command ship, the other droids gathered its pieces, for they understood well what the tactical droid had done, saving many thousands of their fellows from destruction in the icy wastes.

  The tactical droid was beyond repair, but its remains were fed into the recycler and became a part of many thousands of new droids, each of them carrying a small piece of it inside themselves. It was never forgotten, and tales of its bravery were whispered through the datalinks and networks of the droids until, eventually, its story passed into droid legend, and
all who heard it were proud to be droids.

  From battle droids to droidekas, astromechs to protocol droids, all heard of the tactical droid’s bravery, and it inspired many others to stand up against oppression. In due course the tactical droid came to be celebrated in the honor rolls of the Republic as a fallen soldier that had shown great compassion for its comrades—even though, unlike the general who had forever aspired to be like it, it had never really had a heart.

  NCE, IN A TIME WHEN THE galaxy itself was still young and the stars burned bright with youthful vigor, there lived two races of amphibious people beneath the shifting waves of the planet Glee Anselm—the Nautolans and the Anselmi.

  The Nautolans were easily identified by their pale skin in hues of green, gray, or blue, their glistening eyes, and the coiling tentacles that stemmed from the backs of their heads, while the Anselmi, although resembling their cousins, could easily be told apart due to their blue flesh and smooth pates, which were marked only by a pair of twitching antennae.

  For millennia these two cultures had flourished, building great nations from the humblest of cave-dwelling origins, until they had raised glittering underwater cities and colonized the ocean beds, from the deepest trenches to the coral-encrusted shallows that lapped at the uninhabited islands and landmasses above. Even the ocean spirit looked on in awe at their achievements and was proud of its children for all they had done.

  For a thousand years there had been no disagreement between the two peoples—no war or infighting, no burgeoning fear or disrespect. Indeed, the Nautolans and the Anselmi were at peace and lived in harmony with one another and all the many creatures of the seas, from the greatest beast to the smallest crustacean. The empress of the Anselmi and the queen of the Nautolans had grown to be great friends, just as their mothers before them, and together they had fashioned a culture of mutual respect between the two species that seemed unassailable.