The dust of Tatooine danced lazily in the warm air of the Mos Eisley tavern, an eternal and aimless dance that seemed to echo the very hopelessness of the place. JM-909, better known to his comrades as "Nine", watched the amber liquid swirl in his glass, the ice clinking softly against the glass. The sharp scent of cheap liquor mingled with the smell of sweat, tobacco smoke, and a palpable despair that permeated every cubic inch of the place. The cantina was crowded, a mess of tired faces and empty stares, each seeking to drown their sorrows in sips of alcohol and forget, even if only for a few hours, the cruel immensity of the desert that stretched beyond the cracked walls and the oppressive weight of the imperial uniform that many there wore.
Nine was no different. Months had passed since that fateful day, the day his unit was ambushed by the savage Tusken Raiders. The memory was still vivid, an open wound in his mind. He remembered the intense heat of the Tatooine sun, the terrified screams of his comrades as they fell under the brutal attacks, the blaster shots tearing through the air in a futile attempt at defense, and, above all, the sepulchral silence that followed. When the dust settled, he found himself the sole survivor, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his companions and the ghostly echo of their last breaths.
It was then that Ben appeared. An old hermit, dressed in tattered clothes that seemed to have been sewn with the very sand of the desert, emerging from nowhere like a mirage in the middle of the desert. Nine, wounded and exhausted, could hardly believe it when the man helped him, offering water from a worn canteen and shelter in his small hut, barely more than a pile of stones and scrap. The initial gratitude, however, quickly turned into terror. When he saw the lightsaber, the glowing energy weapon that the old man carried with disturbing naturalness, fear overcame him. He fled, without looking back, leaving the hermit and his questions unanswered. He wondered, as he ran desperately under the scorching sun, his body aching and his mind in turmoil, if he had been saved by a benefactor or by a sinister sorcerer. If Ben was just a senile old fool, lost in the vastness of Tatooine, or a magician with unimaginable powers, a dangerous being who had spared him for unknown reasons.
In those days, the name Ben meant nothing to him. He was just a strange old man, a solitary figure in the middle of the desert, one more of the many eccentric figures who hid in the shadows of Tatooine. But everything changed. The news of the Death Star's destruction spread across the galaxy like wildfire, a shockwave that reached even the most remote corners of the Empire. Carried by clandestine radio waves and the fearful murmurs of those who dared speak in public, the news shook the foundations of imperial power. And with that news came another name: Obi-Wan Kenobi. A name that resonated with power, with legends of ancient times, a name that was whispered with reverence and fear by the few who knew him.
In the tavern, the usual hum of muffled conversations and forced laughter gave way to a more intense murmur, focused on a single topic. Nine, feigning indifference, leaned his ear towards the nearby tables.
"Did you hear?" a soldier with a scar on his face whispered to his companion. "The Death Star... they say it's gone."
The other soldier, a burly man with a scruffy beard, swallowed hard. "Impossible. It's the most powerful weapon in the galaxy. No one can destroy it."
"That's what the rebels want you to think," a third intervened, a higher-ranking officer sitting alone in a dark corner. His voice was low and full of cynicism. "But the rumors... they're too strong to be just rebel propaganda."
"And Alderaan?" the soldier with the scar asked, his voice even lower. "I heard it's gone too. Vaporized. By the Death Star itself. Before it was destroyed."
A heavy silence fell over the table. The destruction of an entire planet, a home to billions, was something that even hardened imperial soldiers found difficult to process.
"They are lies," the officer in the corner said, his voice a little louder now, but still controlled. "Rebel propaganda to demoralize us. The Death Star is intact. Alderaan... there was an incident, but the planet still exists. Don't believe everything you hear in these dives."
Despite the official denial, doubt hung in the air, thick as the dust of Tatooine. Nine listened to everything, his heart beating a little faster under his tunic. He knew, deep down, that the rumors were true. The Death Star was gone. Alderaan was gone. And the rebels... the rebels had achieved the unthinkable.
"Ben," Nine thought again, the bitter liquid burning his throat. "Ben… Obi-Wan Kenobi." The piece finally fit. The hermit, the old man in the desert, was a Jedi, one of the legendary warriors who were part of the stories he heard as a child, before joining the Empire. Stories he thought were just fairy tales to scare children. A Jedi, with a lightsaber. A Jedi who saved him.
His brain buzzed with possibilities. If that old man, that Ben, was Obi-Wan Kenobi, then the Jedi really existed. And if the Jedi existed, perhaps the stories about the Force were true. Perhaps there was more to the universe than the cold discipline of the Empire and the constant fear of punishment. Perhaps there was an invisible force, an energy that permeated everything, that could be accessed by those with the right sensitivity.
Could he, JM-909, also have access to the Force? Could he also have the power to change things, to make a difference? The idea, however, seemed absurd.
As he drowned in his thoughts and cheap alcohol, the tavern door burst open with a bang, the bright light from outside flooding the dark environment. An imperial officer entered, his face pale and tense, urgency overflowing from his pores.
"Attention, soldiers!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the sudden silence that fell over the tavern. "All present, return immediately to the mothership! News of the Death Star's destruction has spread rapidly. We have received orders to reinforce defenses. Move! We have no time to lose!"
The noise of men getting up, of chairs being dragged, brought Nine back to reality. The dream of greater power, of a different life, was momentarily set aside. He was a Stormtrooper, a soldier of the Empire, and he had orders to fulfill.