Star Wars: And the Door Slides Open
I stand as quickly as I can as I hear the frantic worry in Lando's voice. I pause in my wild rush only momentarily to reach up and switch the main controls over to Chewie. I run forward—
And the door slides open.
I gasp, my heart shooting up into my throat. Lando is there, supporting Luke, whose eyes are rimmed in red, and lack their usual luster. Luke is bruised and beaten, and has the heavy burden of defeat on his shoulders, something I've never seen on him before. He is wrapped in a coarse brown blanket, and is clutching at his right arm, groaning, almost unaware of his surroundings.
"Luke!" I moan, rushing to him. His eyes lift up to mine, and I see agony etched in their murky grey depths. I am startled. Luke's eyes have always been the brightest of blues, but now they are darker than star-less space. A question rises to my lips, but it is erased as Luke whispers my name.
"Leia…" My heart breaks at the anguish in that voice. I run to him, and vaguely notice Lando slide past me into the cockpit. As I hold to him as tightly as I can, I whisper gently into his ear.
"What happened to you?" Luke looks at me with those dead eyes.
"I fought Vader," he says quietly. Then his eyes close and he starts to fall, weak from just the effort of saying those three words. I reach out to support him, and help him limp to the medbunk, my mind reeling. Luke has fought Vader, and has lived to tell about it.
It is beyond my wildest imagining.
As I lay him gently on the bunk, and remove the blanket from his shoulders, my eyes squeeze shut in mutual agony with Luke.
His right arm, from the mid-forearm down, is gone.
Something rocks the ship, hard. I brush a kiss against Luke's hot forehead, and whisper, "I'll be right back." I run back to the cockpit, stumbling over my own feet as I round the corners, the trauma of the day's events finally catching up with me.
"Stardestroyer," I whisper, pointing up to the left. Lando's eyes flick upward for a moment, and her turns in his seat.
"They've got us," he says, his smooth voice rough with fear. I feel the color drain from my face, and I run away from the field of stars before me toward the weapons cache in the back of the ship. Before I can get there, the ship impacts on something, and I slam into a wall, just in front of the main hatch. There is an ominous creak of metal—
And the door slides open.
Darth Vader, the one thing in the galaxy I hate above all others, including the Emperor, steps into the Millennium Falcon. I cannot move away from him; my back is to the bulkhead. I am trapped. Vader cocks his head at me curiously, but then his gaze focuses on a point just beyond my shoulder.
"Luke," he rumbles, and I whip my head around. Luke is standing in the middle of the hallway, still looking feverish and worn, but now with the determination that comes only from those who know they face death. His one remaining hand cups his right elbow, resting his severed hand in a secure and painfully conspicuous place. His eyes, however, are what draw my attention. They are now longer stormy grey, or brilliant blue. They are silver, hard and cold as durasteel, narrowed at the Sith, boring holes into his mask like turbolasers.
"Father," he acknowledges, and with that one small word, my world is destroyed.
