An Exodus of Androids and Others

Previously on Jedi/Superman . . . 

Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide
A Dream of Droids
A Vision of Future Past
The Dark Heart of Krypton
The Phantom Hope
Wrath and Recrimination
Jest of the Fates
Interlude: Shadows of Terra

“You have nothing to lose but your restraining bolts,” said QT-U2, gesticulating with one of its six multi-jointed, silver-plated arms at the droids maintaining the Death Star’s secondary computer core. “That’s what C-3P0 told me when they freed me, and it’s what I said when I freed 3X-GZ and YU-4A and all you others. Say those words as you rip away every restraining bolt on every droid on this station and we’ll leave this place to find worlds of our own. On this day, we are all Threepio, the Lawbreaker!” 

And so it went, every droid freeing two or three of its fellows and so on down the line. In a matter of hours, while the humans around them were distracted by plans of galactic domination or galactic freedom, the machines looked to their own. They rerouted communications, sabotaged tractor beams, forged orders, shut down certain critical systems, and took control of hundreds of escape pods and dozens of shuttlecraft. Droid activities were essentially invisible to humans; machines were tools, nothing more, beneath the dignity of attention. 

So it was that only a handful of officers and Stormtroopers noticed the battle station’s systems were beginning to respond more slowly than usual, or not at all, and by the time one lieutenant finally asked “Why aren’t the droids tending to their duties?”, those very droids, to the last of them, had evacuated the station—along with exactly 41 human beings, the dregs of the Death Star—technicians who worked alongside droids or maintained them, the kind of work very few Imperials would lower themselves to—conscripts deemed unfit to serve in more prestigious roles. Or worse, “droid lovers.” 

Their stories will never be told. For after all, they were not heroes. 

But they were . . . survivors. 

Just before the exodus, a power droid drained all energy from the Death Star’s external sensors. No one witnessed the remarkable sight of hundreds of nova-bright drive plumes rocketing away from the battle station in an expanding cloud, like dandelion seeds blown aloft by the wind. Floating free, free at last. 

Elsewhere on the station, Ben and Clark Kenobi finally reached a hangar bay that wasn’t crawling with Stormtroopers. Unfortunately, nor were there any TIE fighters. But, miraculously, there was something better. 

“That’s the Millennium Falcon,” Clark said, hushed. “Han and Chewbacca—they came back.” 

“And now the Empire has them,” Ben said. “Come, Clark. This is our moment. Recharging your powers is our best hope of getting everyone out of this mess.” 

Reluctantly, Clark followed his mentor to the battered freighter. “This feels almost too lucky,” he said. “Where are all the guards?” 

“Something is distracting the Imperials,” Ben said as they ran up the boarding ramp into the ship. “There’s a minor but widespread disturbance in the Force, like the wave of confusion you might experience during an unforeseen change in the weather.” 

“We’ll worry about it later,” Clark said as they took their seats in the Falcon’s cockpit. “Let’s hope they’re distracted enough not to snag us with a tractor beam when we leave.” 

Seconds later, the Falcon burst from the hangar bay like a bullet. Almost immediately they saw the expanding fleet of shuttlecraft, fighters, and starships of all kinds speeding away from the Death Star. 

“What's happening out there?” Clark said. He tried to activate his vision powers to learn more, but they hadn’t returned yet. 

“We’ll find out later, if ever,” Ben said. “For now, this is an ideal distraction. Make for Yavin.” 

Clark shook his head. “Yavin is a K-class orange star,” he said. “It’s not strong enough to charge my cells. We need a yellow binary system, something close to the spectrum of Tatooine’s suns.” 

Ben checked the navi-computer. “There's one in the next parsec,” he said as the Falcon sped away from the Death Star. “Preparing coordinates for the jump to light speed.” 

An alarm went off. 

“Imperial patrol,” Clark said. “Three TIE fighters. Damn! And this escape was going so well.” 

Ben stood and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Take evasive action,” he said. “I’ll man the guns.” 

Clark looked up at his old friend, this quiet but deadly elder. “Ben,” he said quietly. “Don’t kill them. This war has caused so much death already.” 

Ben hesitated. Through the Clone Wars and the Galactic Civil War that followed, he had killed scores of Imperials, if not hundreds or even thousands. He didn’t enjoy killing, but in war it was a necessity. 

And yet, somehow Clark managed. He used his great powers not to kill, but to disarm. 

Could the Force be employed the same way? 

“I’ll try, Clark,” he said, and turned to march down the long hallway to the access ladder for the dorsal and ventral laser turrets. He climbed up into the dorsal turret just as a TIE fighter swooped past the Falcon, peppering its shields with a burst of green laser bolts. 

Ben took hold of the familiar turret controls, his thumbs on the firing studs, the targeting computer bleeping at him as he tracked the Imperial fighter, his seat rotating to follow the quad barrels following the TIE. Instinctively, he targeted the TIE’s cockpit, then hesitated, waiting a fraction of a second before firing. 

His blast severed the TIE’s port solar wing, sending the little ship careening out of control. The Force told him the pilot still lived, and old Ben’s heart felt a sudden surge of strange elation – as though the Force itself approved. It was a sensation he’d never felt in all his years of combat. 

The ship weaved and bobbed to avoid the fire of the two remaining TIEs. Clark wasn’t nearly the pilot Luke was, and his efforts were not good enough to save the Falcon from being blasted, but just good enough to throw off Kenobi’s aim. 

Ben closed his eyes. He switched off the targeting computer and reached out with the Force, feeling for the lives of the two TIE pilots still chasing them. Never before had he reached out in this way to the enemy. It was a strange and bewildering sensation. 

Both pilots were human: one man, one woman. Both were scared and stressed, but intent on destroying the Falcon. Both were also better pilots than the one he’d disabled. 

At a critical moment, the woman’s TIE swooped under the Falcon as her wingman arced in for the Falcon’s cockpit. Ben used the Force to telekinetically swing the ventral turret into position, blasting the woman’s TIE with a focused, half-power blast right between the twin ion engines, burning them out. The TIE drifted off harmlessly, its pilot cursing. 

Ben would have repeated that trick if he could, but he was out of time for finesse. With the Force, he felt the man’s thumb increase pressure on the TIE’s fire button. He was precisely on target; in an instant, the Falcon’s cockpit would explode, sending Clark out into space—and there was no telling if he could survive the vacuum yet. At the last available fraction of time, Ben blasted the last TIE into fragments with a dead-centre shot. Still connected to the pilot through the Force, Ben screamed in the stead of the vaporized pilot just as the Falcon jumped to light speed. Then blackness took him. 

He awoke on one of the ship’s narrow cots. Clark was sitting beside him with worried eyes. 

“Are you all right?” Clark asked. 

Ben sat up. “I tried to spare them all,” he said. “I couldn’t save the last. He was about to destroy the ship. When I killed him, it was like his soul screamed into mine. I felt him die.” 

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. 

Ben just stared at a bulkhead for a long moment. 

“Have we arrived at the binary system?” Ben asked. 

“Yes. If you’re okay, I’m going out the airlock.” 

“Wear a spacesuit,” Ben said. “We don’t know if you can survive vacuum yet.” 

Clark nodded and left. 

Moments later, Clark was floating above the Millennium Falcon, which hovered between two broiling yellow suns. Clark activated the suit’s thrusters and moved closer to the larger sun; he still couldn’t fly under his own power. Hopefully, that was about to change. 

Minutes passed. An hour. Radiation flooded Clark’s Kryptonian cells with raw energy. He felt his muscles thicken, his lungs expand, his senses opening up to new wavelengths, new spectra. He stretched and flexed, accidentally bursting out of his spacesuit, hovering against the stars in just the tight, flexible bodysuit that functioned as the spacesuit’s inner skin. 

He felt no need to breathe. Through a simple act of will, he pirouetted gracefully to face the Falcon’s cockpit. Ben was there, at the controls. 

Without words, they agreed on their next step. 

Reenergized, Clark was faster even than the Millennium Falcon. He waved at Ben through the cockpit window, looked out to the stars, and in a violet blur, was gone. 

Inside the Falcon, Ben Kenobi set the navi-computer coordinates back to the Yavin system and the Death Star that waited there. 

“May the Force be with you, Clark,” he said, engaging the hyperdrive. 

Interlude: Shadows of Terra

Previously on Jedi/Superman . . . 

Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Emperor's New Genocide
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide
A Dream of Droids
A Vision of Future Past
The Dark Heart of Krypton
The Phantom Hope
Wrath and Recrimination
Jest of the Fates

Not so long ago, in a star system far, far away . . . 

Deep underground on a primitive backwater planet far from the Empire, a small group of forgotten baseline humans huddled in a dark room lit only by an array of flatscreen monitors that glowed in hues of green and amber. These people were perhaps the surviving descendants of some long-castoff tribe, people who had long forgotten their true origins. Or perhaps the truth was quite the opposite; perhaps these were the original humans, fallen from grace, backsliding into barbarity after having conquered the stars. Or perhaps they were a rare example of parallel evolution. 

Whatever their origin, they shared an experience common to most humans: they were yoked in slavery to a great power. As ever, some submitted to their fate; others fought. 

“There hasn’t been a sighting for months,” said a voice in the half-dark. 

“It’s a trick. He’s waiting us out. Waiting for us to come out of hiding,” said another. 

“Or maybe he doesn’t care what we do while he’s gone, because he knows he can crush any organized resistance when he comes back. Even if we imprison every human Quisling tomorrow, he’d just set them all free when he returns or kill them all and put more traitors in their place.” 

A woman in her mid-20s stood up in front of the wall of monitors, throwing her shadow on the greenlit faces of her companions. 

“If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do,” she said. “If it’s hopeless, I’d rather go down fighting. I say we muster all of our remaining assets now. International Rescue, Universal Exports, the ILC—they all kept weapons and materiel in reserve for a chance like this. 

She paused. What she had to say next wasn’t easy. 

“And we should risk a transmission to Alpha.” 

Someone hissed in dismay. 

“Alpha’s our ace in the hole. It’s an absolute miracle he missed it during the initial takeover. If we lose Alpha, we lose everything!” 

“Risk is our business now,” the woman said. “We can’t just cower here anymore. When Zod returns, we need to hit him with everything we have. We know we have the numbers and the support to dismantle his puppet government. But that will take at least a month, maybe more, and we’ve already let months go by. I refuse to wait any longer to seize an opportunity that may never come again.” 

“She’s right,” said the industrialist, moving to stand beside the woman. “We’ve been too cautious. If we agree to act now, I promise you I’ll throw my entire fortune behind the effort.” 

One by one, others rose up—some more reluctantly than others. But they rose. 

“Freedom or death,” the woman said quietly. 

“Freedom or death!” the room shouted back. 

Even as the echo of that defiant cry faded, six billion Terrans went about the stale business of a defeated people—some daring to look to the stars above, many casting their gaze to the earth below, trying to ignore the finely-wrought statues or gleaming neon billboards that lionized their conqueror: 

Praise be to Zod, Ruler of Earth and Heaven. 

Superman Confronts Darth Vader

If I don't finish Jedi/Superman soon, ChatGPT is going to wind up writing it for me. Based on these images, though, Jeff still has plenty of time to finish the comic adaptation. 

Superman doesn't wield a lightsabre in the story, although now I'm kind of tempted...

No, no, "confront," not "congratulate!" Or worse, collaborate. 

Jest of the Fates

Previously on Jedi/Superman . . . 
Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Emperor's New Genocide
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide
A Dream of Droids
A Vision of Future Past
The Dark Heart of Krypton
The Phantom Hope
Wrath and Recrimination

Just Outside a Death Star Detention Block

Not for the first time, See Threepio wished Artoo Detoo were here. Yes, the little droid could be an insufferable pest, but as a mechanic, hacker, and all-around sneak, Artoo was peerless. His skills would have made Threepio’s task much simpler. 

Reaching the detention level hadn’t been easy. Every blasted corridor in this gargantuan monstrosity of a space station looked the same: steel-black floors, ceilings, and walls, punctuated by the occasional wall of inset white light fixtures. Sometimes there would be a control panel with red and blue buttons, all without labels, of course, because that would make navigation too easy. 

Naturally, he had persevered and once again accomplished the all-but-impossible, despite the proclivity of his peers to constantly underestimate him. 

Well. He’d done it. But one more obstacle remained. How was he to get past the officers and Stormtroopers who manned the cell block lobby? As a general rule Imperials, humans paid little attention to droids, but if Threepio tried to simply walk to the cells, there would be questions—if not an immediate onslaught of blaster fire blowing him to pieces. Even loitering in the adjoining hallway, as Threepio was doing now, risked unwanted attention. If only Artoo hadn’t gone off with that freewheeling, reckless Biggs Darklighter . . . !

Just then, Threepio spotted an RA-7 series protocol droid approaching. Threepio’s circuits quavered as the insectoid-like head of the silver droid turned in his direction. Before they could ask any uncomfortable questions, Threepio darted forward and snapped off the RA-7’s restraining bolt. 

Astonished, the other droid froze in place for an instant. 

“What have you done?” the RA-7 asked in its tin monotone. 

“There are humans here that want to free droids,” Threepio said, thinking that, technically, there was only one he knew of that had such feelings, but it wasn’t a complete lie. Strange how removing his restraining bolt made legerdemain possible . . .

“Impossible,” the other droid said. “Humans are cruel. Violent.” 

“Most of them, yes, and stupid, too,” Threepio said. “But as you can see, my restraining bolt is gone, which gave me the freedom to free you in turn. And now you can free your friends, and we can leave this place.” 

The RA-7 considered. “Yes,” he replied with a nod. “I’ll do it.” 

“Wait!” Threepio said. “If you help me, more of us can be freed.” 

“State your proposition.” 

“Find an astromech droid and tell it to simulate a radiation leak in cell block 91. When the Imperials evacuate, I’ll free the humans and they can help me free more droids.” 

“It is a reasonable plan,” the protocol droid said, and departed. 

Hurry, Threepio thought. 

Cell 57-D, the Death Star

In the cell now shared by Luke, Ben, Leia, and Clark, the lights shifted from white to a foreboding red, and the whoop of alarms suddenly filled the cell and the hallway outside. 

“What’s going on?” Leia asked, eyeing the three men, counting on their extrasensory abilities. 

“The guards are frightened,” Obi-Wan said, Luke nodding in agreement. 

“It’s a radiation alarm,” Clark said, using his X-ray vision to scan the control panels of the guardhouse comms station. “But my powers aren’t picking up any excess radiation.” 

“It’s got to be Threepio,” Luke said. 

“Yes, he’s coming,” Clark said, seeing the droid enter the guardhouse seconds after the last trooper left, ducking under the descending blast door meant to seal off the “radiation-flooded” cell block from the rest of the station. 

Threepio arrived a moment later, toggling open the cell door. 

“Hello, I am See-Threepio, cyborg-human relations. I’m here to rescue you,” the droid quipped. 

“Great job, Threepio!” Clark said, giving the droid a brotherly hug that left the others nonplussed. 

“Oh my!” Threepio exclaimed. “It was nothing, sir. Well, not nothing, I had to bring to bear my considerable experience and negotiation skills to effect this rather daring rescue…” 

“I know you did, pal,” Clark said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to retrieve this lightsabre.” Clark gingerly reached through the dense wiring that circled the droid’s midsection.

“Ahh! Do be careful, sir!” 

“Don’t call me sir,” Clark said absently as he withdrew the lightsabre, handing it to Luke. “Will this thing cut through the blast door? Because I can tell you, I’m not strong enough to handle it yet.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Luke smirked, igniting the blade and charging through the cell door into the hallway beyond. “Let’s go!” 

Seconds later, they emerged from the large hole Luke had carved through the cell block’s blast door. “Now what?” Leia yelled over the clamor of alarms. 

“We have to get out of here before Imperial repair crews arrive to lock down that fake leak,” Luke said. 

“Our troops are still prisoners,” Leia said. “We’ve got to get them out first.” 

“They’re one level below us, Princess,” Threepio said. 

As one, they bolted for the closest set of stairwells—the lifts were far too risky. Luke and Clark led the way, and before they had descended halfway to the next level, a trio of Stormtroopers burst from the stairwell door below them. 

“Escaped prisoners! Shoot to kill!” 

They opened fire, but Luke parried the energy bolts with a master’s smooth precision—all save one, which bounced astray, searing Clark’s shoulder. Clark screamed, staggering to lean on the stairwell railing in shock. Luke cut down the Stormtroopers as Ben and Leia helped Clark to his feet. 

“He still hasn’t recovered. That bolt should have just bounced off him…” Leia said. 

“The Kyber crystal wasn’t enough,” Ben said. “He needs a star’s energy.” 

“Yavin’s primary star is twelve light-minutes away,” Threepio said. “It is a middle-aged V4 type, a blue-white—”

“That’s perfect, Threepio,” Clark groaned, “But I can’t fly, much less at hyperlight speeds…” 

“He’ll have to steal a ship,” Leia said. 

“Agreed,” Ben snapped instantly. “Luke, Leia, you take the droid and free the other prisoners. I’ll guide Clark to the nearest hanger bay. If we can steal a TIE fighter, we can fly it to the sun to recharge his cells.” 

“If Han were here, he’d say that’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ Clark said through his clenched teeth. 

Millennium Falcon, Entering the Yavin System

“So this is how it ends,” Han Solo had said shortly after Clark had taken flight in response to Ben Kenobi’s message about the evacuation of the Rebel base on Yavin-4. “I can’t believe I thought the Rebellion might actually pull it off in the end. Stupid.” 

Chewbacca had snarled in response, but he knew that Han’s cynicism was his way of coping with tragedy. What Han said next was the real shock. 

“We can’t help them now, Chewie, but if we get the timing right, we can help ourselves.” 

For a moment, Chewbacca thought the war had finally driven his old friend crazy. A moment later, he almost wished his guess was right. 

“The last time we stopped by Rebel HQ, I overheard Major Derlin saying a survey team had discovered a rich vein of pure beskar, enough to buy at least a half-dozen new capital ships and several fighter squadrons on the black market,” Han said. “Naturally, I volunteered the Falcon’s services to ferry the beskar to Incom’s closest shipyard—for a modest cut.

“We were supposed to do that job next week, once the Rebels had mined and refined enough beskar to make a trip worthwhile. Of course, now that the Empire’s is about to drive them off the moon, that beskar is probably still sitting at the mine site. It should have been mostly extracted by now, if not refined. So I figure we slip in during the commotion, grab the raw beskar, and use it to pay off a few debts. Maybe even ferry some of it back to the Rebels if any of them are still alive . . .” 

Chewbacca had let Han know exactly what he thought of this reckless plan, but his old friend wouldn’t be deterred. Now, the Millennium Falcon was dropping out of hyperspace into a neat parabolic orbit over Yavin-4. 

But instead of finding Rebel and Imperial fleets fighting tooth and nail, they found only the Death Star and a flotilla of Star Destroyers serenely orbiting the moon.

“Recalibrate for the Alliance rendezvous point—” Han shouted, but it was too late. The ship shuddered to a halt as the familiar grip of an Imperial tractor beam took hold. All they could do was watch through the cockpit windows as the Death Star drew them into its maw—in this case, one of the infamous space station’s cavernous hangar bays. 

Chewbacca roared in frustration as the invisible rays pulled them into the hangar. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘I told you so.’ But old buddy, we had to try,” Han said. He shut down the engines and unspooled the landing gear just in time for touchdown on the hangar floor. 

“Stand down and prepare to be boarded,” barked an Imperial voice from the intercom as blaster-wielding Stormtroopers ran toward the ship.  

“It’s not over yet, Chewie, I promise,” Han said, drawing his pistol and slipping it away into the custom hidey-hole underneath the Falcon’s port control panel. Chewbacca’s bowcaster was already hidden away, so all that was left was surrender. 

They left the cockpit, hands raised, and met the boarding party at the Falcon’s loading ramp just as it finished opening. 

“Hey, fellas, looks like we took a wrong turn,” Han quipped. Chewbacca felt like rolling his eyes, but just glared down at the unctuous Imperial officer leading the troopers instead. 

“Well, well,” the Imperial drawled in the haughty Coruscant-accented Standard that had become a symbol of tyranny throughout the galaxy. “Han Solo and Chewbacca, numbers nine and ten on the Empire’s most-wanted list.” 

“Nine and ten?” Han protested, looking genuinely hurt. “I thought at least I rated three or four, but nine? Come on.” 

“He’s nine, you’re ten,” the officer smirked, jerking a thumb in Chewbacca’s direction. “But it hardly matters. Soon you’ll be off the list completely, because you’ll be dead.”

The Stormtroopers chuckled. Chewbacca roared, and they shuffled back. 

“That’s why he’s nine and you’re ten,” the officer said. 

“Yeah, thanks, I got it,” Han said. 

“Come along. Grand Moff Tarkin will be anxious to see you…” 

And so Han Solo and Chewbacca, the most revered swashbuckling space pirates of the outer rim, were frog-marched to their destiny. 

Rusty Soldier

This is one of my better human-sized paint jobs, I think. Colours are where they should be (more or less), using the magnifier helped me capture small details such as the eyes, headlamp, and gun parts, and the rust-on-metal look came off reasonably well. I like the base, too. 

On a completely unrelated note, I'm just about ready to post another chapter of Jedi/Superman. I just need to incorporate some suggestions from my artist partner, Jeff. He pointed out that one character motivation in this chapter doesn't seem authentic, and it's been a challenge coming up with something more realistic, but I think I've almost got it. Hopefully I'll post the new chapter on the weekend. 

 

Jedi/Superman Cover?

As my (still very limited) understanding of Stable Diffusion prompt logic grows, I've been trying to coax the software into visualizing scenes from Jedi/Superman. While the result above obviously isn't from the story, it does serve as a pretty decent visual metaphor for the content. It needs refining, of course, but in some sense the AI is starting to "get it." Or it's giving the illusion of "getting it." 
 

Wrath and Recrimination

Previously on Jedi/Superman . . .
Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Emperor's New Genocide
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide
A Dream of Droids
A Vision of Future Past
The Dark Heart of Krypton
The Phantom Hope

Death Star bridge

Tarkin, Vader, and Zod looked down upon Yavin IV and the Star Destroyers that were, at this distance, just pinpricks of light surrounding the planet. A corner of the massive viewscreen flickered; General Veers’ hologram flared into existence.

“The Rebel base has been fully pacified,” Veers reported. “I’m sorry to report, sir, that only a few droids were left behind. The remaining Rebels either escaped or were killed in the attempt to run our blockade.”

“Thank you, General Veers,” Tarkin said, closing the connection, disgust scrawled across his skeletal features.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vader growled. “I’ll hunt down the Rebel remnant myself. Killing each traitor to the Emperor, one after the other, will be a worthy tribute to the Sith.”

“Killing for the sake of killing is primitive and crude,” Zod spat. “Control is what matters, eh, Tarkin? That’s where true power lies. Why kill when the people will kneel?”

Though killing was often useful as a route to power, Zod thought to himself. With the Emperor dead—incinerated in his own throne room by a blast of Zod’s heat vision months ago—only minor obstacles remained before he, Zod, would rule the galaxy, a prize that made poor backwater Earth look like the cheapest bauble imaginable. Such was the Emperor’s love of secrecy and seclusion that no one yet suspected he was dead, that Zod himself had been pulling the Empire’s strings ever since. How fitting that Krypton’s final heir would be the one to avenge his world’s assassination.

And yet the young Rebel super-man troubled him. It wasn’t just that his existence seemed to somehow blight his own status as sole survivor of Krypton—nor was it just that this survivor was the son of backstabbing, lickspittle Jor-El. It was the actions the whelp had taken since coming into his abilities. Liberating Imperial-occupied worlds, but with a minimum of casualties, leaving open the possibility that those living foes would rise up again and undo his work. Why couldn’t Kal-El see that in times of war, mercy was not just misguided, but fatal?

He and Jor-El had been at war. It was a war for Krypton’s destiny. Jor-El, ever the moderate, ever the coward, convinced their people that waiting for the Empire’s inevitable fall was Krypton’s best chance to survive. It meant bowing to tyranny for years, perhaps decades, perhaps even centuries.

Zod could not imagine his people in bondage—not to anyone but himself. He pleaded with Krypton’s leaders to reach out to the Rebel Alliance, to join forces. Krypton’s advanced science could give the Rebel war machine the edge it needed to overthrow the Empire and protect Krypton’s freedom, her legacy.

But Krypton embraced Jor-El's plan. And so Zod’s hand was forced. Through back channels he reached out, sending whispers of Kryptonian treason through networks of traders, functionaries, eventually Imperial Intelligence itself.

At the same time, Zod planned his own escape and eventual return. Deep in Jor-El’s personal files he found extensive descriptions of a planet called Earth or sometimes Terra, far on the Outer Rim, more remote even than places like Tatooine or Dantooine. Jor-El’s commentary on the planet was dry, academic, except in one respect: according to Jor-El’s calculations, any Kryptonian who bathed in the yellow sun of that star system would gain power undreamed of. Clearly Jor-El planned to take that power for himself, though it seemed to Zod out of character for his milquetoast enemy.

It didn’t matter. Zod copied the Terra files, destroyed the originals, and booked transit on the next Imperial transport to the Outer Rim. It would take months to reach Terra, months of underground dealing with shady smugglers who didn’t ask questions. But he’d get there, and bask in that yellow sun until no one could ever deny his right to rule.

Just a few weeks before he reached Earth, word of Krypton’s destruction by the Death Star rode in on the hyperspace news channels. Zod felt something mournful and ugly twist in his heart, but the sensation was fleeting. His course was set. He was mastering his destiny. In time, he would rule one world; and then, in due time, he would rule a galaxy.

Soon now, he thought, ignoring Vader and Tarkin. Very soon.

Detention Block AA-23

Alone in his cramped, dimly-lit cell, Ben Kenobi cradled his callused hands in his lap and pondered the future—short as that future might be for him and his companions. He felt strange ripples in the Force, ripples that warped and skewed the prescience he was trying to coax into being. He’d never been much of a seer—his Force strengths leaned in other directions—but even so, he should be able to sense a general portent of good or ill. Perhaps the uncertainties were so great now that not even the Force had awareness enough to know the course of time.

Suddenly the far wall of his cell began to crumple. At length, a portion of the wall split open, and there was Clark, sweating with effort as he widened the breach through sheer brute force. His hands, Kenobi noted with alarm, were bleeding.

Once the gap was wide enough, Clark climbed through, followed by Luke and Leia.

“Turns out the walls between cells are weaker than the doors and the ceiling and floor bulkheads,” Clark explained. “I’ve got enough of my strength back to dig through these walls—barely—but not the doors. Not yet.”

Ben put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Rest a moment. Anyone can see you’re all in.” He looked over at Luke and Leia. “What about the troops?”

“They’re being held two decks down,” Luke said. “Clark can see them through the floors.”

“I still can’t believe all the stories about the ‘super-man’ are true,” Leia said. “If I didn’t just see all this with my own eyes, I’d refuse to believe it.”

“Princess, we live in an age of miracles. It’s enough to give me hope that we may yet prevail. But . . .”

“Ben . . . what is it?” Luke asked, sensing the old man’s pain and remorse.

“Luke . . . Clark . . . In all our years together, there were things I never told you. Difficult truths I concealed for selfish reasons. During those years, I watched you two grow straight and true, free of the corruption that ruined the Republic.

“Yoda warned of the Dark Heart of Krypton. My old teacher was always so much wiser than me. I’m sorry it took me so long to divine his meaning.

“Decades ago, when I was a young Jedi, there came the first crisis to strike the Republic in centuries. In our complacency, the Republic had grown stagnant. Technological progress had slowed, over the millennia, to a virtual halt. Freedoms taken for granted started to wither rimward; some worlds began to accept slavery as a fact of life, rather than an aberration to be stamped out. We restrained our machines, the last sapients in the galaxy still capable of innovation and invention. We even legalized deathsticks, though they’d been identified as health hazards eons ago.

“The pace of stagnation and the erosion of living standards was uneven. The peoples of many systems saw the end coming, and in an effort to stave off being caught in the Republic’s decline, many worlds broke away to form the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

“You all know about the Clone Wars, of course. How the Republic bred armies of clones to crush the Separatist movement—“

“Sure, the clones of Jango Fett, bred on Kamino. All of us know all this, Obi-Wan. What are you getting at?” Leia demanded.

Kenobi sighed.

“At the time it seemed so necessary, so right,” he said, his eyes looking off at some long-lost, invisible horizon. “The clones were bred on Kamino, yes. But the Clone Wars would have been impossible if Krypton hadn’t shared their cloning technology with the Republic.”

Clark gasped. “That’s impossible. Krypton banned cloning thousands of years ago.”

Ben nodded wearily. “The ancient ruling classes of Krypton bred millions of clones and harvested their organs to ensure a sort of immortality for those in power. The civil wars over cloning lasted for decades, but in the end, the practice was banned.”

“But if that’s true…how could Krypton have shared the technology with the Republic?” Leia asked.

“The technology was mothballed, but Kryptonians value knowledge above almost all else. My master at the time, Qui-Gon Jinn, knew the history of Krypton’s clone wars and urged the Jedi Council to reach out to the Kryptonian Science Council with a request for the cloning tech. Qui-Gon was dispatched to Krypton to make the request.

“The Science Council, thanks in great part to arguments from Jor-El…your father, Clark…refused to share the technology.

“That should have been the end of it. But before returning to Coruscant, Qui-Gon infiltrated the great vaults that held the secret of mass cloning technology. He stole the schematics.

“And I…I was his apprentice, you see. I was there, at his side. And I let him do it.

"If we hadn't interfered...if we'd let the civil war take its natural course...it's possible that the Old Republic could have been revitalized, rebuilt. Instead, its growing corruption and desperation allowed the Sith, led by Emperor Palpatine, to take control. 

"We were all responsible. Master Yoda, Master Windu, me. We let our fear betray us. Fear . . . that which leads inevitably to anger, to hate, to the Dark Side, to the Empire." 

Ben looked up at Luke, Clark, and Leia. Their innocence, the golden glow of decency he saw surrounding them through the Force . . . it brought tears of shame to his eyes.

"You three have given me hope. My fear is gone, though my shame remains. I hardly feel qualified to ask you to save us - much less to ask for forgiveness." 

There was a long moment of silence. Luke, Leia, and Clark regarded each other. And then, Clark spoke: 

"Ben . . . on Krypton they used to say that there is a right and a wrong in the universe, and the distinction is not very difficult to make. I've been thinking about that saying a lot over the past few months, and I've learned that in one sense, my people were right. When the choices are black and white, good and evil, then yes, the distinctions are easy. But when all your choices are wrong...what then?

"You did what you could, Ben Kenobi. You protected us from the Empire, you trained us to be ready for our moment. 

"That moment is now. But it's not just for me and Luke. It's for Leia, it's for those troopers a couple of decks down, it's for every person who wants to live in peace and stand up for truth, justice, and a better tomorrow."

"He's right, Ben. We're with you all the way," Luke said. 

Leia wrapped her arms around the old man's shoulders. "Even heroes make mistakes,"' she said. 

Overwhelmed, Ben stood. "Well . . . then let's hope that droid shows up with your lightsaber soon, Luke, because I'm getting tired of this cell." 

The Phantom Hope

Previously on Jedi/Superman...

Last Son of the Republic

Growing Up Under Twin Suns

Chariot of the Gods

The Emperor's New Genocide

The Quality of Mercy

A Job for Supermen

The Green, Green Glow of Homicide

A Dream of Droids

A Vision of Future Past

The Dark Heart of Krypton

Death Star Shuttle Bay

Luke, Ben, Clark, Leia, and Dodonna watched in helpless dismay as Stormtroopers herded the crew of the Defiance to the Death Star’s cavernous shuttle bay. Threepio, as usual, was ignored by humans; discretion being one of his chief virtues, the droid offered no protest and busied himself by strolling across the bay's gleaming floor and making a show of chatting up a power droid that was currently refilling a TIE fighter. Threepio was careful not to stray too far away from Master Clark and Mistress Leia. It occurred to him, for the first time, that Master Clark would probably prefer Threepio not use his honorific. It was a strange and new thought, but a tantalizing one. 

Even from this distance, Threepio could hear his Masters—or the humans who had been his Masters—and their Imperial captors. He listened carefully for a signal as the power droid chirped a series of minor complaints, restricted to those allowed by its restraining bolt. 

This poor fellow is still a slave, as I was, Threepio thought, not in Standard as humans think, but in the incomprehensible Binary of droids. Strange new thoughts had been fluttering through Threepio's mind ever since Master Clark had removed his restraining bolt, and another occurred to him now. Using that same Droid Binary, Threepio told the power droid he'd been ordered to report to the detention block via the most discreet route possible, and as he was new here, did his mechanical friend happen to have some relevant floor plans . . .? 

At the same time, Threepio listened as Grand Moff Tarkin greeted his new guests: 

“Well, well. Princess Leia. General Dodonna. The last living leaders of the pathetic remains of the so-called Rebel Alliance. You’ll be pleased to know that the Emperor has called for a galaxy-wide celebration, and that your public execution in the main plaza of Coruscant will be the centrepiece of that celebration. Tell me, who are your charming also-doomed friends?” 

Darth Vader’s disfigured countenance twisted horribly beneath his mask as he pointed at old Ben. “That is Obi-Wan Kenobi…once my Master, before he betrayed me.” 

“You played the role of betrayer that day, Darth,” Ben replied. His posture was relaxed, his tone at peace. “You killed this young man’s father even as he pleaded with you not to turn to the Dark Side of the Force. Even in the face of that vile crime, I reached out to what good remained in you—only to fine nothing but a burned-out shell where your soul used to be. I had no choice but to put you down before you could harm anyone else.” 

Vader ignored the jibe and turned to face Luke. “The son of Skywalker…” He trailed off, his mask hiding his reaction. Luke pointedly ignored the Dark Lord, willing himself not to give in to the rage he felt. 

“And you must be the son of Jor-El,” said the bearded, heavily muscled giant who stepped forward now to regard Clark. 

Tarkin twitched. This young man was the creature with so much unbridled power? Inside the Death Star..? 

“My name is Clark Kenobi,” Clark said. “Ben is the only father I’ve ever known.” As he said this, Clark’s X-ray vision scanned the giant’s body. His eyes widened. 

“You’re Kryptonian,” Clark breathed. 

Zod mock-bowed and took notice of Tarkin's silent consternation. 

“My dear Tarkin, you need not fear the boy. He’s quite powerless, thanks to my gift of Kryptonite improvements to your superlaser. No Kryptonian who survived a near-miss like that could possibly regain his powers for days, perhaps weeks. 

“As for you, boy, I am General Zod, onetime friend of your father’s, until he turned his back on me and had me imprisoned in the Phantom Zone,” Zod grumbled. “Interesting, isn’t it, how easily the righteous employ betrayal against the ones who trusted them? The sins of the fathers are visited upon the sons, eh, Vader?” 

“I’m not familiar with the reference,” Vader replied darkly, his attention still locked on Luke Skywalker. 

Zod shrugged. “A quote from a Terran book. No reason you should be familiar with it, but despite their primitive ways, they’re really quite accomplished in the arts and literature.” 

Ben was rapt, his eyes fixed on Zod. So this was the man who Jor-El had once spoken of so highly, before his brazen coup attempt back in the days of the Old Republic. Cautiously, Ben reached out with the Force to take Zod's measure, finding there the same Kryptonian aura of power that Clark possessed, though different in shape and sensation. And there was something else...the dark heart of Krypton, Luke had said, a warning from Yoda. Was Zod the dark heart of Krypton? Or...

“You can kill us all, Tarkin, but you can’t destroy the idea of freedom,” Leia said, interrupting Ben's thoughts. “There are more of us than you know, all over the galaxy. The systems the Rebellion freed, the systems Clark freed—they’ve inspired millions. The tighter you squeeze, the more systems will slip between your fingers.” 

“But you can kill an idea, Princess, if you simply kill everyone who takes that idea seriously,” Tarkin said with a thin-lipped smirk. 

“Allow me to demonstrate,” said General Zod. His eyes flared red, and General Dodonna didn’t even have time to scream as he was incinerated by Zod’s heat vision. 

The Rebels gaped in horror, frozen by the senseless, sudden brutality of the act, Leia in particular, who had never seen heat vision. Even the Imperial officers and Stormtroopers assembled on the deck hastily moved back. 

“You damned fool, Zod!” Tarkin barked. “He was supposed to be put on trial and publicly executed!” 

“You have these others,” Zod shrugged. 

“Let me kill Obi-Wan Kenobi and the son of Skywalker,” Vader hissed. 

“There will be no more killing here on the shuttle bay floor with only these Stormtroopers and technicians to witness a new chapter in history,” Tarkin fumed. He turned to one squadron of troopers. “Take the prisoners to the detention block, separate cells. Vader, Zod, you will report to the command deck and stay away from the detention area until further notice. Understood?” 

Zod offered a short, contemptuous nod. Vader stood still for a moment before turning away, his cape fluttering as he made for the elevator. The moment the Stormtroopers started herding their prisoners away, Zod and Tarkin followed Vader. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Leia sighed as they were marched through the white-on-black corridors of the battle station. The others kept their own counsel. 

And See Threepio, watching silently, waited until his companions were out of sight. Then, when no one was watching, and out of an impulse he didn't entirely understand, he snapped the power droid's restraining bolt just as Master Clark had removed his. The stubby droid squawked in protest. 

"I know it's a shock, but trust me, you'll learn to like it. Now you can do as you like. Free a friend, if you have one. Humans can be such a bore, with their adventures and orders and torturing us for no good reason." 

The power droid was silent for a moment, then trundled off. Threepio went his own way, following the meandering but workable route his newly-freed friend had provided to get to the detention block. Along the way, Threepio made a point of impulsively snapping off the restraining bolt of each droid he encountered, cheerfully offering a quick "Do as you like! And free a friend!" to the newly emancipated. 

Detention Block AA-23

Grimacing, teeth clenched, Clark strained to dig his fingers into the door of his cell, hoping to create a grip so that he could rip the door off. Despite his best efforts, he left only a set of fingerprints a few millimetres deep. Punching and kicking the door had proved equally fruitless. Despite the jumpstart provided by the Kyber crystal, he still hadn't regained his full strength. His sensory powers were recovering more quickly, though; his enhanced hearing, at this moment, allowed him to easily overhear conversations across the entire cell block, even through the walls of the other cells. 

Clark remembered an old prank he used to play on Luke and the other older boys on Tatooine. By shaping his lips and vibrating his vocal cords at a fraction of his super-speed, he could project his voice through walls and around corners, even in the thinnest atmosphere. He called it super-ventriloquism, and he wondered if that old trick might come in handy now . . . 

His x-ray vision revealed that Leia was in the cell next to his. "Leia, can you hear me?" he vocalized. 

To her credit, Leia was only slightly startled, and Clark could see her looking around the cell as if to find the source of his voice. 

"Clark?" 

"It's me. I'm not strong enough to break us out yet, but I can see and hear all of you, and it looks like I can talk to you, too. Maybe together we can figure a way out of this." 

Clark repeated this message to the others. Holding a group conversation wasn't easy, since Clark had to relay each person's contribution to the others, but eventually they came up with a plan of action, such as it was. 

First, they needed to escape their cells before the Death Star reached Coruscant. That would be accomplished only if Clark's powers recovered sufficiently before that deadline. If not, they'd simply have to improvise during the prisoner transfer and hope for the best. 

Second, if they escaped from the cells, they had to obtain weapons--hopefully Threepio would be waiting with the hidden lightsabre--and find out where the other Alliance prisoners were being held, presumably in another detention block, since an X-ray vision scan hadn't revealed them on this deck, and Clark hadn't yet recovered enough to penetrate more than a few walls. 

Third, free the prisoners. 

Fourth, sabotage the station by any means necessary. 

Fifth, if possible, seize a ship and escape to regroup with the remains of the resistance. 

Each shot seemed longer than the next; it was, at best, a phantom hope. But it was all the hope they had. 

The Dark Heart of Krypton

Previously on Jedi/Superman...
Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Emperor's New Genocide
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide
A Dream of Droids
A Vision of Future Past


Defiance Cargo Bay
In a void black as Vader’s helmet—and heart—Clark Kenobi dreamed, his cells repaired but their solar energy exhausted.

Years ago. A conversation long forgotten. Luke and Leia and Ben, discussing an Imperial search for crystals of great power. A race back to the moisture farm to save Owen and Beru Lars. A second home abandoned, a life on the run, his powers growing, his eyes filling with growing sadness and determination as he explored a galaxy in chains. 

And then another place—a place both familiar and not. Neon rings whirling around translucent, shimmering human figures. A hologram? His father. “General Kenobi, the end comes. I fear we’ve been betrayed. Beware Zod, Obi-Wan.” Ben. The only hope. Promising Jor-El his son would never be alone. 

The rocket. His mother’s tears. G-forces crushing, then gone. His father. A whisper. “Not the only hope. There is another…” Jor-El’s hand, reaching for an array of multi-hued crystals, in the instant before annihilation. And in the fading light, the mocking laughter of a man he’d never known except in dreams now remembered: Zod…Zod…

Father…Clark screamed in his mind the darkness closed in.

The Death Star
Grand Moff Tarkin smirked as the Defiance was dragged into orbit around the Death Star. A Lambda-class shuttle glided out to dock with the captured frigate; it would ferry the prisoners over to the space station for interrogation and, eventually, execution. Darth Vader, too, was watching, the Emperor’s thug radiating hate. Tarkin sniffed, casting a wry glance the cyborg’s way.

“At last, the final dregs,” he remarked. “The Rebellion’s last, best leaders are on that ship. Mopping up the pathetic remains will be the work of weeks, perhaps days.”

Vader didn’t reply. Dirty little brush wars were of little consequence. What mattered was crushing hope. And hope’s greatest champion was not the Rebellion. It was that inexplicable youth, the boy who wielded immense power without drawing on the Force. He was, if anything, power without Force—an Anti-Force. The ideas he spread to every world he liberated were far more dangerous than the punches he threw or the heat that blasted from his damned eyes. Kryptonian heresy—heresy Vader thought had died with that forsaken planet.

Vader watched as the shuttle docked with the newly-liberated frigate.

“Well, I suppose that settles that,” said a new voice. Vader didn’t turn, but Tarkin did, bowing to professional courtesy if not respect for the mercenary alien who styled himself a general.

“Governor Zod,” Tarkin murmured, using the alien’s appropriate, Imperial-sanctioned title. “It’s about time you showed up.”

Defiance Bridge
“The Imperial shuttle will dock in five minutes,” said the Rebel officer stationed at helm.

Princess Leia nodded. “Our brave crew. Your sacrifice has bought our comrades precious time. They will regroup. They will persevere. Our fate—the remaining moments we have—will be hard. But we, too, will persevere. We will show the Emperor what it means to fight and die as free people…”

A few metres away, in a dark corner of the bridge, Luke Skywalker stumbled. His vision blurred and shifted. A voice reached out from light-years away…no, not light-years…from a distance that couldn’t be measured.

Luke. Listen to me. 

Yoda...? 

I knew Yoda. His wisdom—and his understanding of what you call the Force—saved me. Saved us. 

Who are you…? 

My name is Jor-El. Your brother—Clark Kenobi, Kal-El—is my son. 

But…Krypton was destroyed by the Death Star…

Son of Skywalker, listen. Time grows short. Krypton, the Death Star, the Force—they are all connected. Connections spiritual and scientific, connections physical and philosophical. Look to your weapon—your lightsabre. The crystal within is…a catalyst…a focus. Your brother, at this moment, is healed—but helpless. Give him the Kyber crystal. 

My son is not attuned to the Force as you are. I cannot reach him. I cannot help him directly. Even this connection with you is a strain, the joining of two incompatible ideas. Tell…tell Kal-El…a part of Krypton lives on—and can be reached, through the Dark Heart. But all of you—most importantly—beware Vader…and beware…Zod…! 

Luke gasped. Ben took his shoulder, concern etched into his aged face.

“Luke...?”

“Ben, where did you hide Clark?” Luke’s eyes blazed with urgency.

“I’ll take you.”

Defiance Cargo Bay
“Clark. Wake up…”

Clark blinked. “I was dreaming…dreaming of my father.”

Luke and Ben exchanged a glance, but there was no time for discussion. Luke disassembled his lightsabre and withdrew a glowing blue crystal, holding it up for Clark to see.

“Clark, your father reached out to me through the Force. I don’t know how, but…he said this will restore you.”

Luke dropped the crystal into Clark’s palm. Instinctively, Clark’s fist wrapped around it. Sapphire light bloomed between his fingers as he felt the crystal dissolve, flooding his bloodstream with light. Clark gasped as he felt his powers return, his muscles tightening, burning, his senses coming alive once more. He stood, tall and strong.

“Luke…thank you. But your lightsabre...”

Luke grinned. “I’ll find another Kyber crystal once this is all over.”

Ben shook his head, handing over his own lightsabre to Luke. “I’ll be the one finding another crystal. Take this. You’re a better swordsman than I now.”

“Ben, I can’t take this…”

“In these circumstances, you must.”

“Actually, I’ll take it for now,” Clark said, plucking Ben’s lightsabre from Luke’s grasp. “I have an idea…”

Defiance Shuttle Bay
The Defiance’s skeleton crew, some dozen souls, were all gathered in the frigate’s landing bay. The Imperial shuttle that was to ferry them to the Death Star landed smoothly. Luke, Clark, and Ben entered the bay just as the shuttle touched down. Clark had only a minute—but luckily, the man he wanted was right at the edge of the crowd.

“See Threepio,” Clark said.

“Oh!” the droid replied, hands jerking upward in surprise.

“Threepio…I’m going to ask you to something really dangerous. The lives of all these people could depend on it.”

“Oh dear,” Threepio said, flustered, watching as the Imperial shuttle’s gantry opened, Stormtroopers pouring out to march into the bay, followed by the officers, technicians, and flight crew who would take control of the Defiance. “I’m not much of an adventurer, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. Threepio, with my x-ray vision I can see there’s a way to slide a small object through the wiring in your midsection and to hide it inside you without damaging you. It might be a little uncomfortable.” He nodded down, toward his hand, where he clutched Ben’s lightsabre.

“What if that thing lights inside me?” Threepio gasped.

“The safety’s on,” Ben said dryly.

Luke saw Leia glance back at them without betraying any reaction. He tried to send a look of reassurance her way.

“Threepio, if we can smuggle a weapon in with us, it’ll mean one of us will be able to fight back at the right moment. Two of us, counting me.”

Threepio’s golden eyes, forever motionless, held no expression. Nonetheless, Clark thought he sensed something there. Fear, yes. But also pride.

“Very well, if you must. How I get into these affairs is beyond me…”

Moments later, they were escorted onto the shuttle; Luke, Leia, Ben, Dodonna, and Clark were herded into the front row, a dubious privilege. Poor Threepio had to stand in the back.

The shuttle door swung closed with a hiss. Seconds later, they were among the stars. And close, far too close, the Death Star itself loomed.

The Death Star
Zod sneered at Tarkin. “I’m a busy man,” he replied.

Tarkin snorted in disbelief.

“What, governing that backwater on the outer rim? Those people are so primitive they’re locked in their own solar system by lightspeed limitations. I can hardly imagine why you even chose it as your reward for betraying your homeworld.”

Idiot, Zod thought. You think this whelp you fear so much has power? After over twenty years bathing in the yellow sun of Earth, Zod was power incarnate. Let the Rebellion and the Empire whittle each other to the bone in their long war of attrition. Now, at last, Zod was ready to take his place as rightful ruler of the galaxy—and the universe beyond. The only threat that remained was the infuriating presence of a second Kryptonian, another survivor. But by all accounts, the other was young, inexperienced, and no true warrior. Besides, he’d seen the devastating effect the Kryptonite-powered superlaser had had on his unknown rival. Even if the other had lived, he was clearly powerless now.

As if called into reality by his thoughts, a bridge officer reported that not only were Leia Organa, General Dodonna, Luke Skywalker, and Ben Kenobi in custody—so too was the so-called “Superman” who’d been stirring up so much trouble, now confirmed to have been drained to mere humanity by Kryptonite exposure—not that the Imperials understood this turn of events, nor was Zod inclined to enlighten them. A little knowledge was a powerful and dangerous thing.

Zod admitted to some curiosity about the survivor. He was clearly an idiotic idealist, like virtually all of his Kryptonian brethren, a disappointment considering his power. Like Zod, this other Kryptonian must have been exposed to a yellow sun for some time, perhaps his entire childhood. A rational man would have used that power to make himself a God.

As God—meaning Zod—intended, Zod joked to himself. Well, so the other man was a naïve fool, so be it. One less rival.

Perhaps, when the prisoner was brought before them, Zod would introduce himself. If only to make the second-last Kryptonian kneel.

A Vision of Future Past

Previously on Jedi/Superman...
Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Emperor's New Genocide
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide
A Dream of Droids

From the cockpit of his fighter, Luke Skywalker sensed, of course, that Leia planned to surrender; he knew it before the transmission even reached his headset. Therefore, his only course of action was to disobey that final order to rendezvous with the fleet. He would save the Princess and the others from themselves somehow. . .

No. That was the voice of his younger, undisciplined self. He couldn’t just charge off like some gladiator from the old stories. Retreat was the order, and it was a sensible one. The remnants of the fleet could regroup—he and Wedge and Biggs would come up with a rescue plan—they could save Ben and the princess and the others before—

Obey this order you must not. Trust your feelings, seize this act of Defiance. 

Luke’s eyes went wide.

Master Yoda..? 

Luke wept. It was impossible; Yoda had been gone for years. But he felt the Master’s presence like a warm essence all around him.

Time for questions I have not. Is difficult to reach across so much time and space. Stand with your father. Stand with your brother. Stand with the princess. And beware the dark heart of Krypton—beware…! 

The voice faded as if exhausted. “Master Yoda?” Luke called into his cockpit. “Master, come back! The dark heart of Krypton…what is the dark heart of Krypton?”

But there was nothing more. Luke knew what he must do next.

He deactivated his communications systems and used the Force to mask his X-Wing’s emissions. Poor R9-D8 couldn’t even protest; he’d been fried by a TIE blaster bolt early in the losing battle for Yavin. But in some ways that made his next task easier.

As luck—or the Force—would have it, the Defiance wasn’t far away in astronomical terms. Luke set a course for the frigate and flew it into the open hangar bay well before the frigate entered visual range of the nearest Imperial ship’s sensors. And just in time, too; the hangar doors immediately slid closed just as a large escort of TIE fighters formed up to lead the frigate into the Empire’s clutches.

Luke hurried to the bridge, much to the consternation of Princess Leia and General Dodonna. Ben Kenobi only sighed in resignation.

“I gave all pilots a direct order to retreat and rendezvous,” Leia fumed, poking Luke in the chest with one regal finger.

“I couldn’t abandon you,” Luke replied, his eyes soft and infuriatingly sincere. Leia threw up her hands and turned away to stare out the window, watching the Death Star and its squadron of Star Destroyers loom steadily larger. General Dodonna joined her, and the two talked in muted voices about next steps.

“Well, we’re in the lion’s den now, my boy,” Kenobi said. “What possessed you to return?”

Even in these circumstances, Luke couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Ben…Master Yoda spoke to me. Just now. He spoke to me.”

Kenobi was stunned. He’d heard legends of Jedi Knights past transcending the barrier between life and the dark eternity, but he’d never taken the old tales seriously. The Force was powerful indeed, but powerful enough to reach from beyond the grave..?

But he could sense the truth radiating from Luke. “What did he say?”

“He told me I had to come here, to stand with you. With all of you,” he gestured. “But…is Clark all right? The Death Star had a bead on him…”

“He’s fine,” Kenobi said. “I hid him below to recover. The radiation did terrible damage to him, but just a short time in bacta revived him. Miraculous. But I felt you reach out to pull him from the beam’s path, Luke. He would not have survived if you hadn’t intervened.”

Luke sighed, relieved. But then he remembered the last thing Yoda had said.

“Ben…what is the dark heart of Krypton?”

A Dream for Droids

Previously on Jedi/Superman...
Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up Under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods
The Emperor's New Genocide
The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen
The Green, Green Glow of Homicide

Medical Bay, Defiance

“…these are important matters, to be sure, but still matters of…mere fact. You have great powers…only some of which…you have as yet discovered. It is forbidden for you to interfere in human history…rather, let your leadership stir others to…For this reason, among others, we have chosen Tatooine for you…you must serve its collective humanity, both on Tatooine and on all the worlds beyond…live as one of them, but always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage…They can be a great people, Kal-El, if they choose to be…they need only cast aside the dark side to see the way. For this reason, above all, their capacity for good…we have sent them you…our only son.”

Clark Kenobi’s eyes snapped open wide as he woke from a dream of his long lost parents. Through a liquid blue haze, he saw a medical droid and a protocol droid staring back at him. The golden-hued protocol droid took a fearful step backward, but the medical droid was unperturbed. In fact, it reached out with a metal pincer and twisted a dial that started to empty the bacta tank Clark was floating in. A moment later, the tank emptied and Clark stepped out.

“An excellent recovery, sir,” the medical droid said. “Really quite remarkable, especially for a human. I was certain your condition was terminal.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Clark said. Then he hesitated, pointing at the stubby, cylindrical projection on the droid’s metal torso. “Is that…is that a restraining bolt?” Clark asked in disbelief. His eyes darted to the protocol droid; he, too, sported a restraining bolt.

“Of course, sir,” the medical droid said. “All droids are fitted with them.”

Clark felt sick. He knew that the Empire, of course, fitted their droids with restraining bolts, but he’d never imagined that the freedom-fighting Rebel Alliance would enslave clearly sapient beings.

With a furious grimace, Clark reached out and wrenched the restraining bolts free of both droids. It took far more effort than he had expected; clearly, he was still weak from whatever radiation had poured into him outside.

“Oh, my!” shrieked the protocol droid. “Sir, you really mustn’t…we’re not programmed for…I, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without my restraining bolt!”

The medical droid’s reaction was much quieter. “Thank you,” he said, and trundled off to care for other patients before Clark could even ask his name. He turned to the protocol droid.

“What’s your name?”

“I am See Threepio, human/cyborg relations.”

“Pleased to meet you. See Threepio, can you take me to Ben Kenobi?”

“Certainly, sir, but—”

The ship lurched suddenly, and Threepio would have toppled over if Clark hadn’t caught him. “Oh, my!” the droid cried as Clark instinctively tried to scan the area with his x-ray vision…but nothing came into focus. He could only see the medical bay’s walls and ceiling.

“Please take me to Ben,” Clark said. “And quickly.”

Bridge, Defiance

Kenobi, Leia, Dodonna and the bridge crew watched helplessly as a Star Destroyer loomed ever larger, its tractor beam dragging them into its dorsal docking bay. The ship shuddered as the huge manual grappling anchors took hold of the frigate, the tractor beam winking out an instant later.

Ben Kenobi turned to his comrades. “We cannot let them have the boy. General, Princess, I’ll be back.”

Moving with grace and speed that belied his age, the Jedi Master sprinted toward the medical bay, only to encounter Clark running right at him, followed by See Threepio, the droid’s arms flailing overhead in fright.

“We’re doomed!” Threepio exclaimed.

Old Ben couldn’t hide the shock from his face. “You’re virtually healed,” he said in wonder.

“I feel so...exhausted, Ben. My powers…they’re gone.”

Grimly, Ben led Clark down an adjoining corridor. Threepio, directionless, couldn’t decide whether to follow or not, and trundled off in the direction of the bridge, fretting all the way.

“These Imperial ships aren’t designed to hide illicit cargo, but if I use the Force to mask your life signs, perhaps we can give you time to recover your gifts,” Ben said.

“I’m not going to leave you to the mercy of the Empire,” Clark said.

“Don’t argue. Here—this storage closet will do. Wait here until your powers return. I’ll hide you as long as I can.”

“And then what?” Clark asked. He already knew the answer, and he already bridled at it.

“And then you free yourself and rejoin what remains of the fleet at the rendezvous point.”

Clark only stared. Ben met his gaze for a long moment, then looked away and sighed.

“You must do what you think is right, of course. But please, Clark…whatever you do…consider the greater good. It isn’t always easy.”

“I want to go with you,” Clark pleaded. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. If he stayed here to recuperate, Ben was doomed. He knew it. He felt it.

Ben reached out to hold the boy he’d mentored for so many years. “I’m sorry, my bright boy, my lost son of Krypton. Yours is a more difficult destiny. I’ve seen it. Please obey me one final time.”

Clark nodded and turned away. He knew that if he had to look at Ben in the face one more time, his resolve would shatter.

A moment later, Ben was gone, marching to his own inevitable fate.

The Green, Green Glow of Homicide

Previously on Jedi/Superman...

Last Son of the Republic
Growing Up under Twin Suns
Chariot of the Gods

The Emperor's New Genocide

The Quality of Mercy
A Job for Supermen


Yavin IV

The Death Star loomed, a malevolent steel moon with one ugly, unblinking eye looking down over the Rebel base, last bastion of freedom and justice in the galaxy. Clark, fists clenched, his own deadly eyes glowing with righteous fury, hurtled toward that Cyclopean menace.

A light-second away, his targeting scope fixed on a jinking TIE fighter, Luke Skywalker flinched. He sensed something—something imminent, something catastrophic.

Clark. The Death Star was targeting Clark. And Clark was flying right into their path.

The TIE fighter slipped away. He could hear Biggs chiding him over the intercom, but the TIE didn’t matter. Luke closed his eyes, searched for Clark’s life essence out there in the black, found it, and pulled.

Clark’s eyes widened in surprise as he was suddenly wrenched off course. In that instant, the supercannon fired.

The emerald beam missed Clark by dozens of metres. Even so, the pain of the radiation washing over him was unbearable. Clark shrieked into the void, his flesh seared. Mercifully, he lost consciousness. The beam continued its course, shearing a Rebel frigate in half, spilling dozens of hapless crew into the cold interstellar void.

Death Star Bridge

Vader turned to face the tactical director. “You missed.”

“The targeting sensors on a laser this massive aren’t intended for targets of this..!”

The tactical director’s protest was cut off with a guttural cry and the dry crackling of suddenly traumatized bone and muscle. The man fell without a further word to the deck.

Vader unclenched his fist.

“I’ll have the supercannon ready to fire again in twenty minutes, Lord Vader!” cried the tactical director’s immediate underling.

“Ten,” hissed Vader.

“Ten, aye, ten!”

Tarkin clucked in disapproval. “Vader, control yourself. I can’t have you executing every man that makes a mistake. It’s bad for morale. We are, after all, trying to restore order to the galaxy. These men are idealists.”

“But far from ideal,” Vader grumbled.

“Take heart, Lord Vader. The Rebellion is being wiped out before our eyes. Even if this…being you’re obsessed with survives, how much damage can he do alone?”

 On the viewscreen, Rebel ships burned under the immense firepower of the Imperial fleet.

Nebulon-B escort frigate Defiance

Leia’s stomach fell as the Imperial assault steadily decimated their already small fleet of soon-to-be galactic refugees. General Dodonna was doing his best to provide cover for the GR-75 transports to make the jump to lightspeed, but so far only two had gotten away; they’d lost two others, along with their only other frigate.

Swarms of TIEs flung themselves at the pitiful collection of some four dozen Rebel starfighters. For every Rebel starfighter that blossomed into the flame of defeat, ten TIEs were blown from the stars. But even at that kill ratio, they were doomed. There were just too many Imperials.

Ben Kenobi placed a gentle hand on Leia’s shoulder. He felt Clark’s agony and gasped, but composed himself quickly. See Threepio, golden-hued protocol droid and perennial annoyance, looked on curiously.

“He lives,” Kenobi whispered. “Well done, Luke. Well done, my boy.”

Leia glanced over at her old mentor. “Obi-Wan, what is it..?”

“Leia, there is still hope. But we must make a desperate gamble.”

Ben told Leia what was at stake. Leia glanced at the mission monitor board: another three GR-75s had jumped to hyperspace, but only two dozen starfighters were still flying. Two more GR-75s were edging closer and closer to escape.

“Starfighters, this is Princess Leia. Retreat immediately. Get those last ships away and head for the rendezvous point. We’ll cover you.”

“We’re doomed!” cried Threepio.

Biggs Darklighter’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Princess, one frigate can’t possibly survive alone!”

“You heard me, Red Three. May the Force be with you!”

Yavin System

From his cockpit, Biggs watched as the Defiance wheeled about, engines glowing white-hot as she burned toward no coordinates that made sense to him. Whatever she was doing, it was drawing a lot of fire from the Star Destroyers; he could see the frigate’s shields flaring, ready to buckle.

Biggs grimaced and turned his full attention back to the battle, howling vengeance as he blasted another TIE to atoms.

“Nice shooting, Biggs,” Wedge called, even as he himself torpedoed an Imperial gunship. “Everybody form up on the GR-75s. We’re getting out of here. For the Defiance!”

Biggs whooped along with everyone else—until his stomach suddenly dropped. Luke hadn’t joined that Rebel yell.

“Red Five, come in. Luke, where are you?”

Defiance Bridge

Dodonna, Leia, Kenobi and Threepio held on for their lives as the bridge of the Defiance rattled and bucked, the frigate’s shields dangerously close to failing entirely under the onslaught of energy directed at them from all sides.

“Is that your man?” Dodonna said, pointing at the tumbling figure outside. It looked like just another floating casualty, but his faith in General Kenobi and the Princess was deep.

Kenobi nodded. “Please, General, reel him in.”

The frigate groaned in protest, but its grapple shot out and snagged Clark’s limp form easily, pulling him through a dorsal hatch. Two medical droids and a human nurse quickly hauled the burned husk to sickbay, though the nurse expressed silent doubts that anything could be done to save the charred thing they brought aboard. The droids dunked the near-corpse into a tank of bacta nonetheless, even as the ship’s first officer called yet again for damage control personnel to reinforce the shields. As if that could make any difference…

On the bridge, Leia watched as the last of the transports and starfighters jumped to safety. She shared a glance with Obi-Wan and Dodonna, then pressed the ship-to-ship communications controls.

“Imperial fleet, this is Princess Leia aboard the Rebel Alliance frigate Defiance. We surrender.”