A few of the pilots laughed humorlessly. One of them was a teenaged fighter

jockey seated next to Luke who bore the unlikely name of Wedge Antilles. Artoo

Detoo was there also, seated next to another Artoo unit who emitted a long whistle of

hopelessness.

"A two-meter target at maximum speed-with a torpedo, yet," Antilles snorted.

"That's impossible even for the computer."

"But it's not impossible," protested Luke. "I used to bulls-eye womp-rats in my

T-17 back home. They're not much bigger than two meters."

"Is that so?" the rakishly uniformed youth noted derisively. "Tell me, when you

were going after your particular varmint, were there a thousand other, what did you

call it, 'womp-rats' armed with power rifles firing up at you?" He shook his head

sadly.

"With all that firepower on the station directed at us, this will take a little more

than barnyard marksmanship, believe me."

As if to confirm Antilles' pessimism, Dodonna indicated a string of lights on the

ever-changing schematic. "Take special not of these emplacements. There's a

heavy concentration of firepower on the latitudinal axes, was well as several dense

circumpolar clusters.

"Also, their field generators will probably create a lot of distortion, especially in

and around the trench. I figure that maneuverability in that sector will be less than

point three." This produced more murmurs and a few groans from the assembly.

"Remember," the General went on, "you must achieve a direct hit. Yellow

squadron will cover for Red on the first run. Green will cover Blue on the second.

Any questions?"

a muted buzz filled the room. One man stood, lean and handsome-too much

so, it seemed, to be ready to throw away his life for something as abstract as freedom.

"What if both runs fail, What happens after that?"

Dodonna smiled tightly. "There won't be any 'after that.' " The man nodded

slowly, understandingly, and sat down. "Anyone else?" Silence now, pregnant

with expectation.

"Then man your ships, and may the force be with you."

Like oil draining from shallow pot, the seated ranks of men, women, and

machines rose and flowed toward the exits.

Elevators hummed busily, lifting more and more deadly shapes from buried

depths to the staging area in the primary temple hangar as Luke, Threepio, and Artoo

Detoo walked toward the hangar entrance.

Neither the bustling flight crews, nor the pilots performing final checkouts, nor

the massive sparks thrown off as power couplings were disconnected captured Luke's

attention at the moment. Instead, it was held by the activity of two far more familiar

figures.

Solo and Chewbacca were loading a pile of small strongboxes onto an armored

landspeeder. They were completely absorbed with this activity, ignoring the

preparations going all around them.

Solo glanced up briefly as Luke and the robots approached, then returned to his

loading. Luke simply watched sadly, conflicting emotions careening confusedly off

one another inside him. Solo was cocky, reckless, intolerant, and smug. He was

also brave to a fault, instructive, and unfailingly cheery. The combination made for

a confusing friend-but a friend nonetheless.

"You got your reward," Luke finally observed, indicating the boxes. Solo

nodded once. "And you're leaving, then?"
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