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This is something I put together for my shiny new SW.com blog. I have no idea why I am posting it here; impulse perhaps. But I am.
Imagine this.
You are the last Jedi in the Temple on Corusucant.
Anakin Skywalker has gone insane and invaded with the 501st. They are seeking out and slaughtering everyone- Masters, teachers, Knights, children, even droids.
You are surrounded by a class of Younglings, each under ten years old. Their teacher forced them on you, told you to look after them, before running to try to hold the traitor at bay.
He failed.
They have all failed. Even Cin Drallig, the best duelist left, could not protect his charges. He, too, is dead. And your time is soon.
You can feel it in the Force. Grief, rage, fear, bewilderment, betrayal; all these emotions are soaking into the very air around you. Even the children feel it.
They will not be spared. Hiding with them, you felt it as Padawans and Younglings, some of them only babies not even able to stand, were shot and killed. Some died at the dispassionate hands of clone troopers, others at the traitor's blade. There will be no mercy.
You are the last Jedi in the Temple on Corusucant.
The children cluster around your legs for comfort, looking up at you. But they know, young as they are, that you can do nothing. You can't run. The hiding place will soon be discovered. It will be the traitor who finds you. And you can do nothing but wait and be cut down, knowing that they will be next, for combat was never your specialty. You can do nothing.
Or... can you?
There is one, final option. You can do it here and now.
You can take your lightsaber and kill the Younglings yourself.
It will be quick. You know that if you can do it, it will be very fast, even painless. You won't toy with them, letting them hope and despair. It will save them the anguish of knowing that they will be next.
One quick sweep with your blade. Even you, a novice at fighting, can manage that.
But is that really saving them? Is this what their teacher would have wanted? For all of your life, you have considered the slaughter of children to be the worst crime a sentient can commit.
Can you do it? Are you a horrible person for even considering it? Is it mercy, or further betrayal?
You can feel the traitor coming closer. The brief reprieve is at an end. You only have a few seconds left. A child moans and buries his face into your hip.
You hold your lightsaber in one hand, your other instinctively holding the children close. Your eyes move from the gleaming hilt to the wide, pleading gazes of your charges.
Choose.
I really don't know what I would do here. This dillema is partially inspired by a SW comic I read once- basically, a Jedi was trying to get a ship of Padawans to safety while he himself was on the ground covering them from Imperials. Vader appeared and told him that there were explosives on the ship, and if the Jedi surrendered to the Dark Side the Padawans would be allowed to escape. The Jedi did so- and the ship exploded. Horrified and shamed, the Jedi committed suicide.
I need to puzzle out more dillemas. Nasty scenarios, all of them, but interesting.
Imagine this.
You are the last Jedi in the Temple on Corusucant.
Anakin Skywalker has gone insane and invaded with the 501st. They are seeking out and slaughtering everyone- Masters, teachers, Knights, children, even droids.
You are surrounded by a class of Younglings, each under ten years old. Their teacher forced them on you, told you to look after them, before running to try to hold the traitor at bay.
He failed.
They have all failed. Even Cin Drallig, the best duelist left, could not protect his charges. He, too, is dead. And your time is soon.
You can feel it in the Force. Grief, rage, fear, bewilderment, betrayal; all these emotions are soaking into the very air around you. Even the children feel it.
They will not be spared. Hiding with them, you felt it as Padawans and Younglings, some of them only babies not even able to stand, were shot and killed. Some died at the dispassionate hands of clone troopers, others at the traitor's blade. There will be no mercy.
You are the last Jedi in the Temple on Corusucant.
The children cluster around your legs for comfort, looking up at you. But they know, young as they are, that you can do nothing. You can't run. The hiding place will soon be discovered. It will be the traitor who finds you. And you can do nothing but wait and be cut down, knowing that they will be next, for combat was never your specialty. You can do nothing.
Or... can you?
There is one, final option. You can do it here and now.
You can take your lightsaber and kill the Younglings yourself.
It will be quick. You know that if you can do it, it will be very fast, even painless. You won't toy with them, letting them hope and despair. It will save them the anguish of knowing that they will be next.
One quick sweep with your blade. Even you, a novice at fighting, can manage that.
But is that really saving them? Is this what their teacher would have wanted? For all of your life, you have considered the slaughter of children to be the worst crime a sentient can commit.
Can you do it? Are you a horrible person for even considering it? Is it mercy, or further betrayal?
You can feel the traitor coming closer. The brief reprieve is at an end. You only have a few seconds left. A child moans and buries his face into your hip.
You hold your lightsaber in one hand, your other instinctively holding the children close. Your eyes move from the gleaming hilt to the wide, pleading gazes of your charges.
Choose.
I really don't know what I would do here. This dillema is partially inspired by a SW comic I read once- basically, a Jedi was trying to get a ship of Padawans to safety while he himself was on the ground covering them from Imperials. Vader appeared and told him that there were explosives on the ship, and if the Jedi surrendered to the Dark Side the Padawans would be allowed to escape. The Jedi did so- and the ship exploded. Horrified and shamed, the Jedi committed suicide.
I need to puzzle out more dillemas. Nasty scenarios, all of them, but interesting.
