STAR WARS - EYE OF THE STORM
I
There was nothing left to fight for. Nothing to believe in. His body was battered. His spirit exhausted and all but consumed. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the sheltering cocoon of the Falcon's medical bunk, knowing he would recover, but praying for oblivion.
And then someone whispered his name.
His head came up, neck muscles straining. "Father?" he whispered, the sound of it foreign on his tongue.
With words weighty and sonorous the black void entreated, "Luke, son…come to me. It is your destiny."
Luke Skywalker gritted his teeth and took a deep calming breath, seeking to draw strength from the spirit river that ran through his veins, the waters of which the old hermit Ben Kenobi had taught him to tap. But as he immersed himself, seeking that sweet communion, a malevolent shadow rose beneath him, tainting the once pure flow. It swirled about him, desirous, voracious, until it coalesced into the forbidding form of a single black glove that sought to ensnare and enforld him.
Vader.
Father.
Heartsick, Luke leaned into the ship as it lurched and tilted, and rolled free of the stationary bunk. Without acknowledging the loss, he cradled the seared stump of his right arm in the crook of his left, and ignoring the frantic signals the severed nerve endings were sending to his brain, and went to the cockpit. Leia glanced at him as he entered, a smile momentarily erasing the fear etched into every inch of her patrician features. The big Wookiee Chewbacca brushed his shoulder in affection and the dark-skinned man who sat in Han's seat nodded a brief greeting before turning back to the matter at hand.
Virtually ignored, he sank wearily into one of the passenger seats behind the pilot's station and let his eyelids close, shutting out the ordered chaos that eddied and churned about him. He could feel the others fear. The hyperdrive had failed again. They believed they were going to die.
A small sigh escaped his trembling lips. If only it could be that easy. "Ben," he murmured as he sensed Artoo-Detoo's desperate bid and felt the stars begin to slide, "why didn't you tell me?"
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Princess Leia Organa pressed sweat-soaked strands of chestnut hair away from large brown eyes and blew out a breath. The old bucket of bolts had done it again, survived and seen them through when any other far more space-worthy vessel would have had the good grace to be blown into a billion infinitesimal pieces. They were alive. As she heard Lando whoop with unbridled joy, she rose from the undignified position she occupied on the floor and turned to seek the bright blue eyes of the young man who had rescued her from the late Death Star. She trusted she would find in them the echo of her own triumph. The unalterable certainty that life, truth and justice would win out no matter what the forces of evil threw against them. Instead she found his seat empty. Shifting slightly, she spied a limp form near its base, the blunted tip of its truncated arm thrust out like a grotesque signpost pointing toward disaster.
He wasn't breathing.
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Dissipated spirits surrounded him troubling his dreams.
He could sense them circling, shifting, even as his thoughts brushed them, until they were no more than a puff of breath blown through frost-bitten lips. Blue eyes snapped open on a twilight world, dusky and pale, illuminated solely by a feeble wash of red-gold light that glistened deceptively upon slick walls of green ice. Above his head stalactites hung like jagged teeth, their frosty points sparkling expectantly. Luke shivered and closed his eyes again. He could feel the cold cutting through his Alliance-issued uniform and knew theFalcon and his friends were very far away- though he couldn't remember how they had become separated. Taking a deep breath, he cast his mind forward searching for signs of life. As expected a few dull-witted creatures brushed the edge of his Force-perceptions, but otherwise he was alone. Reassured, he placed his hands on either side of his narrow hips and pushed off the cavern floor, only to unexpectedly list to the right. Something was wrong, but before he could put a name to it, the painfully sensitive stump of his right arm struck the cold unyielding ground. Nauseated, he fell back panting, his pulse quickening as a sick sensation gripped his stomach bringing bile to his mouth. It was true. It was all true. In a flood of rage and despair, dark emotions cascaded over him like rain-swollen torrents tumbling over the jagged rocks of memory.
He had deserted Yoda. Ben had lied to him.
Darth Vader was his father.
He rolled over and fought the urge to retch. Distraught, he lay his fevered forehead upon the cool floor and sought to gather strength. So Ben had lied about Vader... So what? He had still taught him so much... Given him the Force as an ally... And yet, whom did it serve? Ben utilized the Force for good, but Vader called upon it as well. If it obeyed the Dark Lord of Sith, how could it not be tainted? And if Vader was his father, how could he not be as well?
With supreme effort he derailed that train of thought and focused on finding first his knees and then his feet. The action left him gasping for breath but determined. His path was clear. He had been separated from the others: He had to find his way back. It would matter little who his father was or what Ben had neglected to tell him if he died here lost and alone. Stumbling forward, he hugged his damaged right hand against his feverish form and stubbornly refused to call upon the questionable power of the Force to augment his waning strength. Soon, it was all he could do to physically lift one foot and place it in front of the other. As fatigue and shock threatened to overwhelm him and his body began to shake, words echoed unbidden in his mind. "If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny." He could see Yoda, the diminutive Jedi Master he had forsaken, his wizened face downcast and without hope. "Much anger in him, like his father." Luke sighed and struggled to take another step. Like his father...
Like Vader.
He shook sweat-soaked hair and tried without success to push away the image of his own likeness framed by Vader's black visor. The ancient Jedi Master claimed he had failed the test in the cave. But had he failed? Or had he merely glimpsed the future? Was it true what they said? Like Father like son?
He shivered uncontrollably wishing he could forget. He had been walking for several hours in a southerly direction, seeking the origin of the pale light that washed the walls a muted rose, and he was weary. Very weary. And cold. Really cold. His breath shone like small white clouds against the cavern's coppery skin and his extremities had long since stopped burning -which he knew was not a good sign. Dazed, he stumbled again and realized he was beginning to lose consciousness. As terror struck him, his good hand shot out for balance making contact with the wall of silent scintillating ice. Without warning, a sense of evil flowed through him, causing him to recoil as though struck. A presence, immeasurably old and impossibly strong with the dark side of the Force had awakened at his touch. Gasping, he backed away from the glistening surface, as deep within its heart an ebon shadow stirred. His young blood froze as he felt it recognize him and begin to move willfully toward him. Cloaked in darkness, it beckoned him, utilizing his inherent connection to the Force as a channel. Swallowing hard, he placed his right hand on the hilt of his lightsaber. The elegant weapon pulsed and seemed to sigh with satisfaction as he brought it to life, wielding it like a talisman.
Within its crystalline prison the apparition grew ever more substantial as it drew closer, and with this solidarity came a greater sense of urgency. Awkward, unsure of his prowess, Luke employed his left hand to weave a web of light before him intended to protect his fragile soul. Somehow he knew the creature must not touch him. One touch would mean the end of everything. Surrender. Death.. Horrified, he planted his feet a meter apart and lifted the Jedi weapon, meaning to slice through the glassine curtain and strike at its black heart. Instead, upon contact, the wall shattered like a silvered-sheet, sending an hundred-thousand glittering shards winging through the air like a swarm of enraged insects. As Luke dropped the lightsaber and flung his arms before his face, a soul-searing scream assailed his ears and a slender grey hand stretched forth to clutch his garments. Desperate, it begged him to join it within the inky blackness. Sickened, he slapped the grasping fingers aside . Abruptly they vanished, and for a brief moment he thought he had won. Then he heard a sound like the enraged bellow of a Rancor, and he knew the battle was not yet begun. All of a sudden, a maelstrom of malevolent intent struck him, brutally blasting the air from his lungs. Stunned, he stumbled and fell.
Lost in the false night he heard his lightsaber fizzle as though snuffed, and seconds later black ice filled his veins, paralyzing him.
She had won.
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Leia shouted, "I don't know! If I knew, don't you think I'd do something about it!" She glanced away from Threepio's expressionless golden face to Luke's pale features and then at the dismal readings on the diagnostic panel above him. All lines were flat. Desperate, she balled her fists, pressed her eyes closed, and reached for whatever tenuous fiber had bound them together before, when he had called to her as he hung helpless beneath the cloud city of Bespin. She had heard him then. Maybe , just maybe he could hear her now.
"Luke?" she projected, breathing deeply and trying to remain calm. "Luke, hear me."
She waited a moment and then peeked through heavy black lashes. Nothing had changed. Either she wasn't strong enough or...he was already beyond her reach and the Force's. Discouraged, she sighed and laid her hand atop his cold one, fighting a wave of despair that threatened to overwhelm her. "Damn it, Luke, I've already lost-" Her husky voice choked as she fought back tears, "I've lost Han. I won't lose you as well!" Half-frantic, she glanced about the sterile cabin looking for a miracle and encountered the coal black eyes of Han's co-pilot and friend Chewbacca. He was watching her intently, his expressive face echoing her own pain and loss.
"Chewie?"
He shook his chestnut head and moved forward with a soft growl to strike the side of the instrumentation panel, obviously hoping this piece of machinery ~like most on the Falcon~ was malfunctioning. No such luck. The lines remained as flat as an Alderaanian paper bug.
Grief-stricken, the rebel princess lowered her head to her friend's motionless chest and sobbed.
"We've lost him."
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For a long time Luke lay unmoving, his pulse ringing steadily but slowly through his veins like the persistent call of a trapped miner refusing to surrender to the icy hand of fate. He had awakened, shivering and sweat-soaked. Aware that his body had passed through a crisis and been weakened by the experience. Exhausted, he lay his head back upon the rocky surface and blew out a breath. What had happened? Had he defied Uncle Owen and left the compound late in the night only to fall by the wayside somewhere no one could find him? The scent of sickness lingered, assailing his nostrils. Had he been attacked? Perhaps by one of the Sand People? Attacked and left for dead? There had been a fight. A remnant of the memory persisted. But as soon as he attempted to wrap his hands about it, it evaporated like moisture on a sun-soaked stone. All that was left was the faint echo of the cry that had brought him back from wherever shock and fever had tried to take him. The sound of a woman's voice, plaintive and desperate...
Hearing her call, he could not help but answer and reach towards life.
His curiosity aroused, he tried to rise but moaned softly as his stiffened muscles protested. Unexpectedly a hand reached out and lay firmly across his chest, pinning him down. Suddenly, he was aware of a cool presence pressed against his warm flesh, a soft thigh atop his own rigid one, and an ample chest melded to the curve of his aching back. He attempted to turn his head to identify the one who restrained him, but found he could not. His waning energies depleted, he dropped back to the hard earth with a groan and shivered ferociously. The fever had not been beaten, only broken.
"Hush," a low voice whispered, wind whistling through broad pipes to produce a reedy tone. "You have been Dream-Treading. Rest now. The road ahead is long and must be traveled until its end. Sleep now, little one. Sleep and draw power from the Inspirer's touch." Cool lips pressed lightly the skin at the nape of his neck and he recognized the one who had called him back.
Then he slept.
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Leia tasted blood and grinned. Her lower lip might have been wounded, but her heart soared. Above her head, the medical monitor chirruped and bleeped and nearby Chewbacca roared. See-Threepio, the prim and proper droid Luke had inherited in a very round about manner, clapped his golden hand upon the royal-blue dome of his small mechanical companion, Artoo-Detoo, and chided him. "There, you see. Must I always remind you humans are quite resourceful? The princess has managed to save Master Luke!"
The dark-haired beauty peeled her eyes from the display for the first time since she had made the decision to put the young Jedi on complete life-support. She snorted. "Far from it, Threepio, I've only managed to postpone what is most likely inevitable." She reached out and laid her hand on her friend's pale forehead. His flesh was clammy and a faint blue tinge lingered near his slightly parted lips. She mirrored Chewbacca's frown and asked quietly, "Does the Falcon have any medi-cocoons? We're going to need one to keep him stabilized."
The Wookiee issued a series of hollow barks she took for a yes. This was Han Solo's ship...how could they afford to be without one? Or better yet, a fleet of them.
"Threepio, you go with Chewie. Get one ready." She glanced at the young man's life signs. They were steady, but consistently low. "Artoo, you and I should go back to-"
"Leia?" Lando Calrissian, the handsome smuggler who had been Han Solo's friend in a former existence -and his betrayer in this one- leaned through the hatch to inform her, "I've contacted the Fleet. They're expecting us." He took one look at her somber face and noticing the still form on the medical bunk asked sharply, "The kid? He isn't-"
Setting aside the horrific memory of Han in the carbon-freeze chamber, she shook her head and then ran a hand over her face, attempting to dislodge the fatigue that clung there like a voracious Mynock. "No, he's alive. For now. Reestablish contact and request Two-OneBee, he knows Luke's history. Let's get back up front. Artoo, you come with me-"
Already on the move, it took Leia a second or two to realize the little droid had remained at Luke's side, daring to defy her direct command. She planted her hands on her hips and started to snap at the blue and white machine, but unexpectedly checked herself as a series of plaintive bleeps and toots issued from deep within it. Worn by one unendurable loss piled upon last, she had almost failed to recognize another's agony. Deeply touched, as well as a bit surprised by the little droid's loyalty, she lifted her hands and held them up in a gesture of surrender. "All right, Artoo, you win. You can stay here." She turned and started to follow Lando as he disappeared through the hatch that led to the Falcon's tiny cockpit, but found she couldn't. Something forced her to linger for one final look. Luke's boyish face was awash in the amber light of the instrument panel. One hand lay upon his chest, the stump of the other encapsulated in a medical device that fed much needed fluids to his dehydrated body. His Jedi weapon lay formally at his side. And at his feet a blue and white watchdog stood silent guard patiently waiting for the familiar sound of his Master's voice.
She shivered and whispered prayerfully, not knowing to whom she spoke. "Please, send him back."
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Luke awoke sometime later swathed in animal pelts and sweating like an Ugnaught. A small fire blazed near his bare feet, radiating warmth, and the scent of something delicious cooking made him salivate. He maneuvered into a sitting position, noting as he did that his clothing had been removed. Beneath the grey-white furs he was naked as a babe. An oily substance, odorless and colorless, coated every inch of his skin. He ran his fingers along it, noting it was slightly warm to the touch and made his flesh appear opalescent. It put him in mind of the residue left after immersion in a Bacta Tank. Shaking away that unpleasant memory he stood, intending to search for something more suitable to drape across his bare frame, but instead froze, unexpectedly overwhelmed by his surroundings.
Waves frozen in a translucent sea highlighted the cavern walls. The creation of time and pressure, the dense crystalline surface undulated to a height of fifty or sixty feet and then vanished into a lapis lazuli sky. He took a step toward it and watched as the fire's light kaleidoscoped, reflecting a myriad of shades that resolved into an azure wash as all colors but the deepest of blues were absorbed. It's beauty was unsettling. He hesitated a moment and then took another step, gingerly, tentatively, as though he feared all that brilliant blue glass might shatter if he moved too quickly. A distorted reflection mimicked his actions, but that was all. Moments later, emboldened, he searched the cave until he found a pile of grey clothes that seemed to be his size. It turned out to be a regulation flight-suit, though he found he was unfamiliar with the design. Still, grateful for anything more familiar than animal pelts, he pulled the form-fitting pants over his boyish form and smiled sheepishly.
"Aunt Beru'll skin me alive if I come home wearing someone else's clothes."
"Your Aunt will not see you as you are. Have no fear."
Luke pivoted sharply only to be confronted by another vision, thoroughly as captivating and enthralling as the frozen ribbon of glass. A statuesque woman, full bodied and fully five or six fingers taller than him, stood silhouetted against the crystalline barrier. Waist-length hair as black as jet billowed about her darkened visage, casting fantastic shadows on the floor. She held her head high and waited in silence while he hastily donned the borrowed shirt and fumbled with its fastenings.
"You are better now." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes, thank you," was all he could think of to say. Then, stumbling for the right words, he added, "How did I...? Did you bring me here…rescue me?"
She moved away from the scintillating flow and approached him slowly. As the muted light
caressed her silvery flesh, a soft sheen showed him she too wore the oily balm. Grey as gun-metal, her dark skin shone like polished stone. Wide-set almond eyes glistened like black pearls as they regarded him with amusement. If one of the smoky stalactites which lined the vaulted ceiling had descended, been granted female form and had life breathed into it, it would have looked like this. Clothed only in the slimmest of sarongs, she seemed a veritable goddess.
"Yes," she answered, with the faintest hint of an accent unknown to his ears. "Your thanks I do not need. Though there is something else I want."
Luke frowned as she casually fingered his collar. Her nearness made him uncomfortable, though he didn't know why. "W-what?" he stammered.
A savage smile lit her beautiful face. "Another fastening there is."
As she passed by him to squat like a savage before the fire, he glanced to where her fingers had lingered. One of the fastenings was out of sequence. Like a little kid he blushed and hurriedly corrected his mistake.
After a moment she quietly instructed, "Sit. Eat."
His stomach growled in reply. "Thanks. I guess I am hungry."
She gestured with a hand that flashed quicksilver. "Good. Come then, eat. Gather strength for the task ahead."
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Twenty minutes later Luke pretended to linger over the last bite of stew, passing a hard lump of bread around the sides of a rough-hewn stone bowl. In truth, he was studying his mysterious savior as she lingered spell-bound before the fire. Her black hair was in fact shot through with silver so that it appeared veined like the finest marble. One prominent stripe ran from the edge of her left temple straight across her crown and down the right side of her waist-length tresses. Her lips were full and the deep red of Corellian blood-stripes. Above them, a knife-straight nose bridge separated eyes like obsidian disks, deep-set and heavily lidded. Lush lashes, velvet black, brushed high-boned cheeks. Once or twice as he watched, an ebon lock troubled her eyes. Involuntarily, she would chase it away with a shimmering hand tipped with smartly manicured claws, and then return with fierce determination to her study of the ebbing flames. Luke shifted at last and set the bowl down.
Immediately she looked up.
"You eat like an Ice Creature with an empty larder. Long you have been without food and nourishment." Luke noted again the unnerving habit she had of making statements instead of asking questions, as though she already knew the answers. "It is enough."
He didn't know if a response was expected or even required, but he answered anyway. "I don't know about ice creatures, but I was hungry as a Bantha. Thank you again." He stood and turned to survey the crystalline wall that separated them from the outside. It extended far beyond his range of vision to the east and west and at least seventy-five feet into the air, arching over their heads like half of a gigantic rib-cage. A rosy glow glimpsed through its azure depths was all that indicated the world beyond. Luke ran greased hands through dark blond locks and turned to face her, only to find her eyes were already on him. Blushing, he suggested, "Now if you could just point me in the right direction, I'd like to head for home. I'm totally lost. I can't recall ever seeing anything like this on Tatooine..."
She sniffed and passed her hand slowly and deliberately through the flames, watching as the opalescent balm sizzled in its heat. "That is because you are no longer on Tatooine."
He darted forward to grasp her arm and haul her back, but hesitated as he saw her withdraw her hand from the flames unscathed. A moment later, her words sunk in. "What? What do you mean I'm not on Tatooine?" He distinctly remembered heading out into the desert in pursuit of the droid his Uncle had just purchased from the Jawas. It had claimed it belonged to old Ben Kenobi, but he had never found it or the old man it sought. Somehow, he must have gotten lost along the way.
The woman rose with effortless grace and seemed to glide to his side. Once again, her close proximity disturbed him. Her scent was strong, musky, reminiscent of exotic spices and heady wines. It disturbed him on some deep unspoken level. She met his eyes and he felt her hand upon him, even though she hadn't moved. "You are no longer on Tatooine. You left there long ago. You are no longer a simple farm boy, the nephew of an unimportant moisture farmer. You have fought many battles between that moment and this. There are scars," she lifted her dark hand and brushed his right cheek, tracing one of several narrow valleys that ran from just below his left eye to his jawline with fingers carbon smooth, "on your face and on your soul."
Luke frowned but found he could not pull away as her hand slipped inside his shirt, its cool pressure resting above his heart. Without warning images exploded within his mind's eye, and he saw a cold barren world and himself astride a curious beast, canvassing the frozen wastes. Suddenly a savage creature, a tidal wave of white fur, teeth, and claws, struck him down, rending the tender flesh of his cheek. It clutched his ankle and bore him away toward certain death. Then everything went black. He gasped and drew away, trembling.
She withdrew her hand and sighed. "You do not remember all. That is as must be. For now, know only that you are not on your planet, but mine.
"Welcome to Hoth."