He was nearly done with the healing stick when he felt a disturbance in the Force. A familiar presence was nearby. This was the presence he had felt on Telti, the presence that had haunted him when he arrived in Almanian space, the presence that had lured him from Coruscant to here, this desolate side of nowhere.
A student. That much he was sure of now. He prided himself on his ability to remember all of his students, but this one still eluded him. If he told himself the truth, he remembered all the students who completed the training. The students who left became faces, a memory, and, Leia warned, someday they would become a statistic.
He set down the healing stick and put his shirt back on. His lightsaber had never left his side. He glanced in the mirror. His back was covered with white residue. It was foaming. The computer had warned him that a person must rest for the healing stick to work. Luke hoped he would get that chance.
Slowly he limped his way down the stairs. He was stiff from the fall, his muscles aching with pain. The mistmakers had weakened his system; the burns and the fall had made him lose even more strength. If he was at ten percent of his normal power, he was high.
Size matters not, Yoda had told him.
He hoped that applied to strength as well.
The presence had neared. It was strong in the dark side. He could feel the ripples, feel a power he hadn’t felt in a living being since he encountered the Emperor. Luke had never had a student that powerful, of that he was certain. Whoever it was became powerful after he had left the academy.
So powerful that a man like Brakiss, who had so much talent in the Force that the Empire had taken him, as a baby, to train in the dark side, was terrified of him.
Once Leia had asked Luke what it felt like when he knew someone steeped in the dark side was near. He hadn’t been trained enough as a young Jedi to understand the feeling. It was only later, as he grew in strength, that he understood. And he couldn’t explain it then.
He could now.
It felt as if a tornado had struck in the middle of a beautiful day. It felt like a blast of cold air in a warm room. It felt as if someone beloved had just died.
He followed the feeling. It grew closer as he approached its source. He grabbed his walking stick, limped outside the house, into the Pydyrian sunshine, and stopped near the arch.
In the street, a man stood alone. He was taller than Luke—many people were taller than Luke—and he wore a long black cape, shiny military boots, and body armor reminiscent of the Empire’s. Only his face was different. He wore a Hendanyn death mask. Luke had only seen them in museums, never on a face. The mask molded to the skin. The Hendanyn wore the mask after they reached old age, partially to hide the aging, and partially to store memories before death. The information in the mask could be removed after death. The Hendanyn masks Luke had seen had never been used.
This one had molded itself to the man’s face. The cheekbones were raised, the eyes were black and empty, the lips thin and hard. The mask was white with black accents. It had tiny jewels in the corners of the eyeslits. Behind the jewels, if Luke’s memory served, lay the chips that absorbed the personality of the wearer.
“You still don’t recognize me, do you, Master Skywalker?”
The voice had a depth and resonance that was unfamiliar. But the inflections were familiar. This was an adult voice. Luke had been familiar with the young adult’s voice, one that hadn’t yet reached its full depth.
“Dolph?” he said, guessing with as much certainty as he could muster.
The death mask’s mouth closed. Luke felt the surprise in the man across from him. Dolph had counted on not being recognized.
“You’re better than I realized,” Dolph said. His resonating voice filled the street. A dry wind made his cape ripple behind him. “My name is Kueller now.”
Everything depended on how Luke played the next few moments. Dolph had been an extremely talented student who had always had a darkness in him. Such darkness wasn’t unusual. All of Luke’s students had to fight the dishonorable parts of themselves. Most won that battle. But Dolph hadn’t stayed at the academy long enough to develop the talent or dispel the darkness. He had left in the middle of the night after receiving news from home.
“You left before I had the chance to give you my condolences over the deaths of your family,” Luke said.
Dolph—Luke refused to think of him as Kueller just yet—smiled. The death mask moved with startling realness. “Thank you, Master,” he said. And then his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. The effect was stunning. The death mask had a powerful, primitive terror built into it. The loss of the smile almost—almost—made Luke take a step backward. It would have overwhelmed a lesser man.
“But,” Dolph continued, “your sympathies are both false and too late. The Je’har brutally slaughtered my family. They did not die quickly. My parents were staked to the bridge leading to the Je’har palace, and left to rot in the heat. It took them a week to die. I didn’t hear about it until afterward, but the Je’har left the bodies for me to find. You wouldn’t know what that is like, seeing the burned and broken skeletons of the people who raised you, a stench rising from them that should never come from any living being. You don’t know what that does to a man.”
The memory of Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen as he had last seen them rose in Luke’s mind. Their bodies were burned beyond recognition, smoke still rising from them. The only comfort he took in the years that followed was that they had died side by side, as they had lived.
“No,” Luke said, “I don’t suppose I do know what that does to a man.” He knew what it had done to him. It had forced him to grow up in a moment, forced him to fight the evil that had caused his family’s deaths.
It had not turned him into a monster. He understood Dolph’s pain, but not his reaction to it.
“When I came home,” Dolph said as if Luke hadn’t spoken, “I buried my family, and I vowed vengeance on the Je’har. Vengeance I took without your help. I am stronger now, Skywalker. I will be stronger than you.”
“Is that important to you?” Luke asked. He was leaning harder on his cane than he needed to. He wanted Dolph to think he was weaker than he really was.
“Of course it is,” Dolph said. “Your government condoned the actions of the Je’har. Your sister opened trade with them, and treated them as a reputable government instead of the terrorists they were. It took me, acting first alone, and then with my own people, before the Je’har were revealed for what they were.”
“And what’s that?” Luke asked.
“Monsters,” Dolph whispered. “Monsters, Skywalker. But you wouldn’t understand that.”
“No,” Luke said. “I don’t.” He walked a few steps closer to Dolph. Dolph’s cape snapped in the breeze, revealing a lightsaber at his side. “Tell me, Dolph, what’s the difference between the Je’har and you?”
The death mask’s mouth thinned, making the skeletal face almost rigid. “Does speaking in riddles amuse you, Skywalker? Or do you do it to buy time?”
“I do it,” Luke said, “because I am truly curious. You’ve destroyed every being on this planet. I suspect that in the time I was here, you destroyed another planet as well. The Je’har murdered people who didn’t agree with its policies on Almania. Murder is murder, Dolph, at least to me. Is it to you?”
The death mask shivered, almost as if it were separating itself from the face. “My name is Kueller.”
“Your name is Dolph,” Luke said. “And I will only talk to Dolph. The Dolph I met was a gifted, loving boy who had a vast future before him. That’s the person I want to talk to.”
“That Dolph is dead,” Dolph said. “The Je’har murdered him when they murdered his family.”
“And left Kueller in his place?”
“Yes,” Dolph whispered.
“But you don’t need Kueller,” Luke said. “Kueller helped you survive, but you don’t need him anymore. You have me. Come with me, Dolph, back to Yavin 4. We can heal those w
ounds the Je’har put in your heart.”
The death mask didn’t move, although behind the mask, real eyes glinted. Luke could see their reflection but not their shape and color. Then the flash disappeared.
“You can heal the wounds?” The voice was full of sarcasm. The eyes were gone again, deep black pools in their place. “You can resurrect my family, Skywalker? I doubt that. Not even Jedi tricks can bring the dead back to the world of the living.”
“We all experience deep pain,” Luke said. “It’s the price of surviving. How we handle that pain is what matters.”
“I’ve handled it my own way,” Dolph said. “I will continue to do so. I will make certain no one like the Je’har appear in the galaxy again.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
Dolph swept his gloved hand around. “The Je’hars of the universe shall disappear, along with those who serve them. Those like your sister and her government.”
“Leia had nothing to do with your family’s murder,” Luke said.
“Precisely.” Dolph’s voice grew even lower. “And she was one of the few who could have prevented it.”
The hatred had festered so deep in him that it fueled the dark side. No wonder he had grown so strong so quickly.
Luke stopped a few meters from Dolph. “Brakiss said you wanted me to come here.”
Dolph nodded. He let his arm fall slowly. “I want to give you a choice, Master Skywalker. I need your strength. Join me, and rid this universe of the evils of beings like the Je’har. Together we can make this a better place.”
“I will join you,” Luke said, “if you renounce the dark side.”
Dolph laughed. The sound was deep, echoey, and icy-cold. “You should have learned long ago, Skywalker. There is no dark side. The rules you placed on the Force were placed on you by a weak and frightened old man, placed so that you would never grow to your full potential. Join me, Skywalker, and you can become what you were meant to be—the strongest man in the galaxy. The Force will be with you. It will guide you. It will give you everything you want.”
“It already has,” Luke said.
“Has it?” Dolph’s voice was soft. “Really, Master Skywalker? Your sister has three children and a husband who loves her. You embrace no one. You have companions, but no family. You teach tricks you learned long ago, and search the galaxy for challenges. You have no real home. Is that what you want, Skywalker?”
“Everyone’s life can be made to sound bad, Dolph,” Luke said. “I enjoy mine. I value it, and I wouldn’t change it.”
“Not even to make it better?”
“Not your way,” Luke said.
“So be it, then.” The mask hardened and became part of Dolph. Luke could see the physical transformation, and knew then that he was watching Kueller, the man Dolph had become. There would be no more reasoning with the boy Luke had known.
Slowly Kueller drew his lightsaber, the hiss filling the street. Its blade burned blue.
“I don’t want to fight you, Dolph,” Luke said.
“You won’t be fighting Dolph,” Kueller replied. He slashed at Luke. In one quick movement, Luke grabbed his lightsaber and blocked Kueller’s swipe with his own blade. The electric clang of the sabers filled the air, sending sparks all around them. Each movement ripped at Luke’s back, but he focused on the blade instead: parrying, defending, blocking, never really attacking. He would wait until Kueller was open before making his move.
Kueller hit at Luke’s left, then his right, then his heart. But Luke kept blocking. Kueller pushed Luke backward, toward the house. Luke stumbled on his weak leg, and collapsed on the knee. A river of pain ran through his thigh. Kueller brought his lightsaber down onto Luke’s shoulder, but Luke rolled away from it, his back burning as dirt from the road ground into his wounds.
He pushed himself up and swiped at Kueller, singeing his cape. The hum of lightsabers filled the air. Sweat ran down Luke’s face. His strength was gone. He had gone through too much in the last few days. But he concentrated on Kueller’s movements, lived for Kueller’s movements, blocked them, anticipated them, and held his ground.
In a series of five rapid thrusts, Kueller moved Luke backward again. Luke parried, parried, parried, but couldn’t keep his balance. His ankle was clearly broken and unable to support him. Kueller jabbed at Luke’s left side. Luke swiveled to dodge, and Kueller jabbed again. Luke’s ankle buckled, but he didn’t fall. Kueller pushed closer, and knocked Luke’s lightsaber from his hand.
Kueller held his blue blade beneath Luke’s chin. Luke could feel its heat, smell its electric tang.
“I should kill you now,” Kueller said.
Luke was breathing hard, but he felt no fear. He could call the lightsaber to him, and continue the battle, but somehow he knew that Kueller wasn’t yet ready to kill him.
He met Kueller’s dark, empty gaze. “Killing me will not strengthen you.”
The mask smiled in a skeletal imitation of death. “Ah, but it will, Master Skywalker.”
“No,” Luke said. “A Jedi welcomes death. He does not fear it.”
“Are you telling me that, Skywalker, or yourself?”
“You, Dolph.”
“I am not Dolph!”
“As you wish,” Luke said. He was standing on his broken bone. The entire leg had gone numb.
“I should kill you,” Kueller said again, “but I need you to lure your sister here.”
“You don’t want to face two of us, Dolph.”
Kueller snapped his fingers. Dozens of stormtroopers, their white uniforms gleaming in the sun, emerged from the surrounding buildings. “Take him to Almania.”
“That’s a lot of soldiers for one man,” Luke said, with some amusement.
“I know who you are, Skywalker.” Kueller kept the tip of the lightsaber near the tender skin under Luke’s chin. “I will never underestimate you.”
The stormtroopers surrounded him. He braced himself, about to jump free, when something pricked the back of his neck. He brought up his hand, turned in surprise, and saw a stormtrooper behind him, holding a slight needle.
“Good night, Master Skywalker,” Kueller said, as Luke collapsed onto the ground.
Leia was nearly finished outfitting Alderaan. The ship was designed especially for her, an escape vehicle when she needed it, an emergency vehicle when the times called for it, as they had when Hethrir had stolen her children. Alderaan had no markings on her outside, and her name was known only to a few. She was identified by her number, and her owner was listed as a woman named Lelila. Lelila was actually Leia’s nickname from childhood, her second identity, one that had served her well in her search for her own children not so long ago.
It would serve her well now, in her search for her brother.
Luke? she sent again, but again, she received nothing in return.
Luke had appeared so badly injured in that holo. Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he hadn’t survived the explosion of his X-wing.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. She couldn’t live with perhaps. Her brother had been given up for dead many times. She had learned to believe that he could survive the most impossible circumstances. She had learned that when she and Lando had found him hanging upside down from a weather vane below Cloud City.
She sent a final coded message along all computer channels, trying to find Artoo. He was probably still in repair. Those Kloperians had nearly destroyed him twice, and she had left an order—one of her last official acts—that the Kloperians who worked in the ship docks be relieved of their duties until she was certain that they were not guilty of any tampering. She suspected them because of their behavior toward her droids. If they had left the droids alone, she would have thought them innocent victims, like everyone else.
If Artoo didn’t arrive soon, she would go alone. Time was the most important factor here. If Luke was alive, but badly wounded, he might not be able to defend himself. Sometimes his powers seemed magical to those around him, but she knew beneath it al
l that Luke was as human as anyone else.
And as vulnerable.
Death took even the greatest Jedi Knights. She had watched Obi-Wan die, raising his lightsaber, and allowing Vader to slice him through.
That image had stayed with her all these years. For while Luke had come to see that moment as a sign of Ben’s power, Leia had always seen it as an example of power’s limitations.
She had never spoken to Obi-Wan Kenobi when he was alive. Only when he was a ghostly vision, like her real father and Yoda. Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed strong then. A guide, a teacher, and little more.
A knock on the hatch made her whirl. No one knew she was here, except Mon Mothma, and she wouldn’t come here. Artoo, if he had received Leia’s message, wouldn’t knock.
She tapped her exterior screen. Wedge stood there, wearing his general’s uniform, his hair slicked back, his hat tucked under his arm. He looked very official.
Her mouth went dry. Silly to be afraid of a friend, but she was suddenly. She didn’t want him to tell her to stay, and she didn’t want him to notify anyone that she had left—at least not this early on.
Still, she couldn’t deny him. She opened the hatch and waited for him in the cockpit.
He had to duck under the door as he stepped in. “Leia?” he said. “Mon Mothma sent me.”
“I’m not staying, Wedge,” she said. “No matter how much you argue. Luke is in trouble, I can’t raise Han, and by the time the Senate votes to help, Luke will be dead.”
Wedge put his hat on the copilot’s chair. “I know, Leia. You don’t have to justify your actions to me. Mon Mothma didn’t send me here to prevent you from leaving. She sent me to accompany you.”
Leia shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, Wedge. It’s better for me to go alone. But if you can find Artoo, I’d appreciate that.”
“You don’t understand,” Wedge said. “Mon Mothma is sending me and a fleet with you.”
Leia’s legs felt suddenly weak. She leaned against the controls. “A fleet? She can’t do that. It takes full approval of the Senate.”
Star Wars: The New Rebellion Page 30
