by Alex Wheeler
But as he'd expected, the guard didn't react. Apparently brainwashing didn't improve small talk skills.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped. If this was going to be the end, there was no point in stalling. He readied himself to strike, even if there was little chance of success. There was no way he was ending up back in one of those cells, waiting for an execution. He'd fight till his last breath before he ended up down there again.
Before Han could act, there was an explosive burst of laserfire…but no pain.
And he was still kneeling. The blaster at his head fell away. Han turned around to find a guard lying in the dirt, dead. Luke was standing over him, blaster in hand. A thin trail of smoke drifted up from its muzzle.
"You okay?" Luke asked, grasping Han's hand and pulling him to his feet.
"Luke?" Han said, unsure whether to be alarmed or relieved. "You know who I am?"
"Of course I know who, you are," Luke said, dragging Han farther out of sight behind the buildings. Leia and Chewbacca were firing constantly as they backed toward safety. The guards all cowered behind buildings and boulders of their own, firing sporadically.
Han was very relieved to see Luke acting like Luke again. Almost as relieved as he was not to be dead. "So before…?"
"An act," Luke confirmed. "I have to let Soresh think he's won. It's the only way to find out what he's up to."
"I think we found out," Han said. "He's up to killing us. So how about we make a break before he tries again." The Falcon was docked nearby, and Han was certain they could take out the guards and get themselves off this rock. All of them.
But Luke shook his head.
"It's not just us," Luke said. "Some of the things I've heard—Soresh is plotting something against the Rebel fleet. I'm sure of it."
Han had suspected the same thing. "All the more reason to get out of here, kid. Fly away, save the day, be home for dinner."
"I have to stay," Luke said, with quiet intensity. "I just…I feel like this is where I need to be. That staying could be the only way to save them."
"This more of your Jedi mumbo jumbo?" Han grumbled.
"This is my gut," Luke said.
And Han couldn't argue with that. He pressed a comlink into Luke's hands. "You call us when you need us," he said gruffly, trying not to reveal how worried he was. The kid was taking a big burden upon himself, and Han wasn't sure he could handle it. He wasn't sure anyone could. "We'll be waiting."
"Thanks," Luke said. "Now, I need one more thing."
"Anything, kid."
Luke hesitated. "You trust me?"
Han didn't like the sound of that. "About as much as I trust anyone," he allowed. Which wasn't saying much. "What do you need?"
Luke gave him a thin smile. "I need you to shoot me."
Luke lay on the ground, a gaping blaster wound in his left shoulder. He barely felt the pain. Instead, there was only joy and relief in the knowledge that his friends were alive. And not just alive—free. Knowing that made what he had to do so much easier to bear. Now that he knew they were safe, he could play Soresh's game, he could pretend to be a blank and obedient slave for as long as it took. There was hope after all—for his friends, for the Rebel fleet, and for himself.
He heard footsteps approach, and closed his eyes.
Moments later, a booted toe dug into his side. "Huh?" he said weakly, pretending to be waking from unconsciousness. Soresh stood over him, eyes fiery with rage. Two guards stood behind him.
"He escaped," Luke admitted, then moaned.
"Not before giving you a little parting gift, I see," Soresh said, gesturing to the wound. "Nice friends you have there."
"Friends?" Luke asked, careful to sound confused, but not curious.
"Never mind." Soresh cleared his throat. "I'll admit this didn't work out as I'd hoped, but at least you've proved your loyalty. I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," Luke said.
"Of course, you failed to accomplish your mission," Soresh said sternly. "And for that, you must be punished."
Luke forced himself not to react. Leia and Han are safe, he thought. That's what matters.
Soresh jerked his head at the guards, who grabbed Luke and hoisted him roughly off the ground. "Take him inside and teach him not to fail me again."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Firespray craft slipped out of hyperdrive at the edge of the Sixela star system. Div steered the ship toward the sixth planet from the sun, which was circled by a small red moon. It felt good to be flying again—he'd been stuck on the ground for far too long. And when it came to flying, there was nothing like piloting a Firespray. Not that there was anything wrong with the Alliance's X-wings. But the Firespray had long been Div's favorite ship. Sleek, swift, and modified for optimal speed and firing capacities, it was a ship well suited to the galaxy's best pilots. And Div had always considered himself the best of the best.
From the copilot seat, Ferus activated the long-range sensors, and tried to secure a visual on their target.
"Doesn't look like much," Div said, as they reached the moon.
"Let's hope it's not," Ferus replied.
Div knew he was right. If their suspicions proved wrong, if there was nothing here but dim sun and bare rock, it would be for the best. But he couldn't help secretly wishing for a little action. Until recently, Div had been a mercenary pilot, the best in the galaxy. He'd hired himself out to anyone who'd come calling, hopping from one dirty job to the next. Smuggling, airlifting, sneak attacks, he'd done it all—and he'd done it well. Life had been a nonstop stream of fiery battles and breathless escapes. Just the way Div liked it. Because the faster he moved, the less he had to think.
Running into Ferus again had been like running into a duracrete wall. It stopped him cold. For months, he'd been stuck on that humid Rebel moon, digging ditches and chopping trees and doing nothing. Nothing except thinking about his past, and everything he'd lost. Sometimes he wished he could just erase it all—Clive, Astri, Trever, all the dead, all the losses, all the painful memories—just start fresh. Since that was impossible, he did the next best thing. He flew fast, he hit hard, he defied death in a thousand different ways, anything to distract himself. And there were no distractions on Yavin 4. There was only Ferus, that constant reminder of the past.
So the rational part of him hoped they didn't run into any trouble on this moon.
But the other part of him—the part that was desperate for distraction, for movement, for action—almost hoped they did.
"Bringing us into orbit," Div said, dropping the ship so low it nearly skimmed the atmosphere.
"Laser cannons armed," Ferus reported. "Just in case."
Div tried to reach out with the Force and sense whether there was danger lurking beneath them. But he felt nothing—as usual. Ferus kept assuring him that with time and practice, he might regain the abilities he'd had as a child. The Force is always with you, Ferus kept saying. You just have to let it in. But as hard as Div tried, he felt nothing. He could remember how effortless it had been when he was young, when all he had to do was open his mind and he could do anything. He just couldn't remember how he had done it. And the harder he tried, the more impossible it seemed.
"Do you sense anything?" he finally asked, giving up.
Ferus inclined his head, as if listening to the silence of space. Then he shook his head. "There is something, some small disturbance in the Force…but I don't believe we're in danger. Yet."
The Rebel Command would be furious if they knew Div and Ferus had ventured here, ahead of the mission. Reconnaissance had been deemed too dangerous for fear of tipping off the Imperials who might already be here. General Dodonna didn't want anything interfering with the mission. But there were no other ships in sight, and no sign of an Imperial presence on the radar.
"Then I'm bringing her down a little lower," Div said. He dropped the ship into the thin atmosphere. Wispy clouds whipped past the viewscreen.
"There!" Ferus cried, pointi
ng down at the surface.
"What?" Div asked.
"Something," Ferus said, shaking his head. "There's something there, I feel it."
At this speed, it was little more than a blur. Div saw nothing of use or interest. But Jedi saw things that others did not. And so Div slowed the ship for the next pass around the planet, aiming the sensor array at the general area Ferus had picked out. And there it was: the Millennium Falcon.
Div's eyes widened. He was about to take the Firespray in for a landing, when Ferus stayed his hand. "Not yet," he said. "Look." The ship was circled by a ring of men, standing in a tight formation. There was no indication Han, Leia, or Chewbacca were among them. "We have to know more."
So they circled the moon several more times. The instruments detected signs of life, all of them concentrated in a ten-kilometer radius of squat duracrete buildings.
Ferus drummed his fingers on the control panel. "Perhaps it's time to find out—"
A low beeping from the comm cut him off.
"It's a distress signal," Ferus reported. "And it's being transmitted on a Rebel frequency."
"It must be the Falcon," Div said, certain there were no other Rebels in the system. But the signal originated several kilometers away from where the Corellian freighter was docked. Div took the ship in for a landing. Then he armed his blaster. Maybe the distress call was coming from the Falcon crew. But there was always a chance someone else had gotten their hands on the Rebel frequencies. And Div had no intention of walking into a trap. "Ready?" he asked.
Ferus nodded. He activated his lightsaber, and opened the hatchway. They climbed down to the surface of the moon. It was an arid, craggy landscape of shallow craters and towering boulders. As they explored the area, their footsteps kicked up clouds of fine red dust. The distress signal was coming from this location, there was no doubt about it. Whatever had called them here was nearby—right on top of them.
"We mean you no harm!" Div shouted, trying to draw them out. "Unless you mean some to us," he added, under his breath. He fingered his blaster trigger, ready for anything.
"We've found them," Ferus said quietly.
Div didn't bother to ask how he could be so sure. And he wasn't surprised when, a moment later, Han, Leia, and the Wookiee appeared from behind a boulder. The golden protocol droid and his counterpart were by their side.
Han flashed a crooked smile. "Took you long enough."
"What do you mean, Luke decided to stay?" Ferus asked, sounding alarmed.
The six of them—plus one very uncomfortable Wookiee—were crammed inside the Firespray. Han and Leia had run through the highlights of their time on the moon. Div couldn't believe the situation was even worse than he'd feared.
"He thought it was the only way to figure out Soresh's plans," Leia explained. "So he's pretending to be under Soresh's control."
"A double agent," Ferus said, under his breath. All the color had drained out of his face. "He has to escape—before it's too late."
"Hey, I tried to convince him," Han said. "The kid knows what he wants. I say we trust him."
"If Luke believes he can do it…" Leia began.
Ferus shook his head. "Believing in one's own strength can be a great asset. But it can also be the key to defeat."
"It's really too bad you never got to meet Luke's crazy Jedi friend," Han said. "You two could have talked riddles to each other all day long."
Ferus didn't seem to hear him. Div watched his old friend closely, suspecting he was lost in the past. There was a time when Ferus himself had acted as a double agent, confident that he was strong enough to face the challenge. He had drawn sharp boundaries between the man he was and the man he was pretending to be. But as time passed, the boundaries blurred. The dark side swelled within him. He had looked the same, acted the same—but those who knew him well had sensed a difference. A hard, angry edge that had never been there before. A darkness. Ferus had come close to giving in to the dark side. Closer than anyone knew, Ferus had once admitted to Div. It was Div that had saved him—Div, and everything he had once represented. Hope for the future: innocence and light. That was a long time ago, another life, when Div was known as Lune, when Ferus was a leader. It was a long-dead past, but maybe Div wasn't the only one who still bore the scars.
"Luke has great power," Ferus said. "If he succumbs, and the Empire gains control over him…"
"He won't," Leia said firmly. "They won't."
"How can you be sure?" Ferus asked.
"Because I know Luke." Leia glared at him for a long moment. It seemed like Ferus was wrestling with a response. But ultimately, he stayed silent, and looked away.
Div cleared his throat, hoping to cut through the tension. "We have to warn the fleet," he pointed out. "They're flying into a trap."
"What do you think we've been trying to do?" Han said. But their weak distress signal had barely made it out of the atmosphere. And accessing the Millennium Falcon's communications system was out of the question. Once the prisoners had escaped, Soresh had tripled the guard on the ship.
Now they had the Firespray. Leia fired up the comm system and contacted Yavin 4. The news wasn't good: The fleet was already on its way. There was no way of warning them while they were traveling at lightspeed.
"This is my fault," Ferus murmured. "I delayed too long. Again."
Div wanted to reassure him, but didn't have the words. And really, Ferus was right. They had both delayed too long—and now the entire fleet could suffer the consequences. "So we do what we can from here," Div said. "I figure we're nearly a day ahead of the fleet. That gives us time to find out exactly what kind of trap Soresh is setting—"
"—and shut it down," Han said, his fingers already itching for his blaster. Div suspected the spacer was as eager for action as he was. The two of them understood each other—in another life, they might even have been friends. But Div had long ago vowed to have no more friends. You couldn't lose what you didn't have. Now he only had comrades in arms, and he was glad to count Han among them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I am nothing.
I am no one.
I belong to you.
The mantra ran through Luke's mind on a constant loop. It was the only way to keep his eyes blank, his voice flat, his face clear of anything that might give away the truth. Even now, Soresh watched him carefully for any flicker of independence or disloyalty. But Luke had gotten good at walking through the motions of slavery. He didn't know how he'd found the strength to resist Soresh's brainwashing, just as he didn't know where he'd found the strength to keep up the act for this long. But somehow, he had. Somewhere, deep in him, there was something that refused to bend. A voice that told him to hold on, no matter what. It was no voice he'd ever heard before—more than anything, it sounded like his own. Only deeper. Stronger. Sometimes Luke wondered if it was his father, helping him from beyond the grave.
"Welcome to my greatest masterpiece," Soresh said, ushering Luke into a large room lined with computers. A giant viewscreen covered one entire wall. "Today I reclaim my rightful place at the Emperor's side. All thanks to you."
Soresh loved nothing more than boasting about his plans to the obedient guards who followed him everywhere. Ever since Luke's final "proof" of loyalty, he had been Soresh's favored audience. And yet Luke still had no idea what he was planning for the Rebel fleet—or how to stop it.
The Commander activated the comm unit. Moments later, Darth Vader himself appeared on the screen. The image was larger than life, nearly three meters high. Luke suppressed a shudder. Even through a screen, the Dark Lord was a terrifying sight. And it wasn't just terror Luke needed to suppress. It was rage. Every time Luke saw that dark mask, every time he heard that deadly even breathing he saw the red blade of a lightsaber lashing down on Ben. And the rage overwhelmed him.
Hold on, urged the voice that might have belonged to his father. You can do this.
He could. He stood motionless and empty before the Dark Lord, letting Soresh pl
ay out his mad game. And as soon as Soresh's attention was fixed on the viewscreen, he slipped his hand into his sleeve, where he'd hidden Han's comlink. He activated it, opening a channel to his friends, Now anything he heard, they would hear, too.
"I told you I had something you wanted," Soresh said, smiling up at the screen. "Here he is."
Darth Vader said nothing. But his fury radiated in waves. Luke could almost feel the room growing warmer.
"Tell the Dark Lord how much you're looking forward to meeting him," Soresh commanded Luke.
"If it pleases my Master, I look forward to meeting you," Luke said obediently. He was surprised—playing along with Soresh wasn't hard at all. With every command, it became easier to comply.
"You will soon regret your impudence," Darth Vader said. The screen went dark.
Soresh burst into laughter.
It was all Luke could do not to gape at him. Vader's rage had been known to drive men to panic, to madness, even to death, but never to…joy?
"You see?" Soresh cackled. "Everything according to plan. He's tracing our coordinates as we speak. If I've calculated correctly—and I always calculate correctly—he'll arrive just in time to greet your Rebel fleet. I'm almost tempted to delay a bit, just for the joy of watching Vader blown up by a sky full of Rebel scum." He shook his head, briskly. "But that would be indulgent. No, I can't let personal feelings interfere with carefully set timing. Vader will burn along with the rest of them, that will have to be enough for me."
"Vader will burn," Luke repeated, hoping to help the monologue along. He needed more details—something that would help him figure out what to do when it was finally time to act.
"That tends to be what happens when the sun goes supernova," Soresh said, nearly giggling.
He really was insane, Luke realized, if he thought he had control over the sun. Silexa was a blue giant star. It would go supernova someday, most likely—but not for several million years.
Luke waited for Soresh to continue, but the explanation never came. Instead, Soresh settled into a chair and kicked his feet up on one of the large, gray instrument panels. "Now, we wait."
