.
Chapter 10
Lesions
The building rocked savagely, hanging on by a thread to its damaged foundation. A dream-like haze of smoke and fire foam filled the ruined corridors. Dangling cables sprayed sparks in their faces.
Padme dragged Eisley, banging her knees on the ground. The Man eyed the door at the end of the corridor. Behind them, barely audible, the whine of blasters persisted. Maybe it was Miler, or maybe he was dead and the Sith had moved on.
The Man staggered to the bay door, linking his hacking unit to the security panel. Cursing R2's destruction (this was a droid's job), he braced the unit on his forearm so he could type with his good hand. He almost had it when he heard an explosion.
The Man whipped his head to the collapsing ceiling. Massive chunks, unseated by ship fire, fell toward Padme.
His device clattered to the floor. He pulled Padme and Eisley from the path of sure death. Ferroconcrete and cable pounded the floor where they'd stood. Smoke and dust kicked up in their faces.
The Man sucked tainted air, sitting against the door. He found Padme and Eisley through half-open eyes. He thought they were breathing, but it might be a mirage. He looked at his hand, frozen in claw-shape. The throb in his head quickly turned stabbing.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
The Man stared with feigned interest at his durasteel shackles. When the woman nudged him, he looked at the judge. "Would it matter if I did?"
"It is your right," the judge said, "to offer declarations, persuasive or otherwise, prior to your judgment."
The Man's dark eyes held no sign of feeling. His thin-lipped smile resembled a droid's. "I ain't ever taken more than I was due. I ain't ever done anything that can't be undone. And I've never told a lie I'd be ashamed to tell my son." He paused, staring past the judge, before tightly swallowing. "But if you add that together and you see something I don't, then so be it."
The Man glanced at the woman, who regarded him sadly. He tracked her eyes to her swollen belly.
The man coughed violently, turning to Padme. "Get up."
The heat was comforting at first, like walking into a warm house. But in its lingering was pain. It sapped his strength with the force of Tattooine's suns.
He was nauseous. Why? Was it something to do with where he was? Surrounded by scorching metal? Was that the reason he couldn't breathe, the reason his head pounded?
It's so strange being human.
There's skin and bone, tissue and cells, and through great struggle the body endures, allowing our minds their higher thoughts. For all our frailty, we rarely think of our physical selves; instead, we search and grasp to explain the unexplained and to connect with others, in body and mind to mind, and most hold this function as our reason for being.
He lifted his head, bracing a palm on the metal. Wherever he was, he'd been trying to leave there.
The bay was standing if barely. One of the ships was in flames. Two troopers lay dead, armor chewed through and skin cooked away. The stench of burnt fuel wafted through the bay.
The other ship, a medical transport, was still intact. It was linked by a catwalk to the docking bay entrance. There was a large beam, half-burning, in front of the ship's main hatch. The Man leapt over it and began hacking the door panel in one fluid motion.
As the ramp lowered down, he turned back to take Eisley. Scooping her in his arms, he staggered onto the ship.
Padme scaled the beam and followed him inside. She took stock of the transport. At the back were four bacta tanks and an operating table. Near the front were two benches that could seat twenty people. That's where the Man dumped Eisley before taking the pilot's seat.
Padme hurried to the cockpit. The Man pulled on a headset, beginning pre-flight procedures.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Making sure this thing flies."
"We're waiting for them!"
"Settle down, lady," The Man shot back. "We need to be ready when they get there. Or would you rather I played Sabacc?"
Padme scowled, returning to the cabin. She checked on Eisley, who was still unconscious. She sat by the Jedi, holding her head in her lap.
Her thoughts quickly went to Obi-Wan. His incessant heroism was as infuriating as admirable. Every act of bravery could be the last one. Someday, luck or the Force wouldn't answer the bell. Padme's eyes filled with tears, knowing the day might've come.
"Hurry up," she whispered.
The troopers raged as the fight dragged on. The walls were all scarred, but Miler was unscathed. He rolled and leaned, dodging their blasters like a user of the Force.
"We don't have time for this!" the lead trooper growled. He leapt out of cover, rifle raised. Miler rolled out firing, putting a fist-sized hole in the trooper's forehead. Red and gray matter exploded in the air.
The remaining troopers took aim. Miler squeezed the trigger, but not fast enough. They shot the barrel off his blaster, leaving him defenseless.
He knew it was over now. Pressure built on his chest. But he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing his fear. Miler snarled defiantly, staring into their eyes.
A hatch fell from above, knocking one trooper down. Obi-Wan dropped from the ceiling, saber ignited. He slashed the first trooper—and took the second man's head—before collapsing on his side. His saber clattered beside him.
Miler stared in awe before his eyes blinked clear. He hurried to Obi-Wan, turning him over. He nearly vomited at the sight. The red imprint of the tunnel seared Obi-Wan's face. His arms were covered in red-black lesions. At least half his attire had melted away.
All the bacta in the world couldn't put him back to together.
"I can't have you around him," she said through the bars. "I can't have him knowing what you did. Where he came from."
The Man didn't look at her. His head, propped on an elbow, was angled at the floor. "Well, I guess that's up to you."
The woman's eyes flashed. "Do you even care? Does it matter to you? You owe us more than this!"
He smiled sardonically. "No one's owed for anything. Not a one. You can be mad as you want, and you can look for a reason. Go ask the dust, or the blackness of space. See a psychic or meditate. But you'll never know why. Because there is no 'why.'" He shut his eyes and leaned back. "There is no 'why,'" he whispered.
The sonic boom of torpedoes, and a column of flames, exploded through the bay. The ship rocked to one side, ripped from the docking clamps. The Man watched with dread as the bay ceiling caved in. The combusted rubble sprayed blinding light.
"Okay, that's it!" growled the Man. "Kenobi and the kid have thirty seconds!"
"We're not leaving without him!" Padme fired back.
"Him?"
"Them! So you just sit there and stay ready!"
"Listen here, Princess: I'm not gonna die 'cause you swoon for the Jedi! So why don't you shut your mouth for once in your life? Is that even possible?"
Padme's eyes were molten iron. Her wispy voice was all gravel and anger. "If you leave here without them, I'll kill you myself."
Obi-Wan was slung on Miler's shoulders. He was barely conscious, but still vaguely aware. He dragged R2 by a thick red wire extruding from the droid's dome. Miler struggled with the weight, lower-back screaming, but stomped on dutifully.
"Leave me," the Jedi mumbled.
"Afrai'not, Gen'ral."
Torpedoes rained down, destroying everything in sight. The bay opened to a sky of red-orange death. The ship grinded against the girders holding it up. Inching forward, it was ready to plummet.
"Time's up!" The Man yelled. "Strap yourself in!"
"Just wait! They'll be here!"
"We wait any longer and there won't be a here, sweetheart!"
"Just one more minute!"
He started the launch sequence. Lights flashed on around him. A computerized female voice began to explain protocols.
Padme clutched at his arm. "Stop! Please, stop!"
He shrugged her off like a child. The thrusters roared on.
Across the bay, one of the collapsed sections exploded, sending fragments flying. A massive steel rod shot at the cockpit window. Changing angles at the last moment, it bounced across the roof.
Soon the fire surrounded them. And Padme lost hope. She shut her tear-filled eyes. She held her palm to her mouth.
For a long moment—nothing. Then the sloppy clatter of boots on steel.
Miler climbed the ramp, dumping Obi-Wan on the floor. Then he turned back to drag R2 on board. Dropping to his knees, he slammed his fist on a panel and the hatch clicked shut.
Padme's heart stopped. Her eyes widened at Obi-Wan's state.
"Let's go!" Miler shouted.
The ship lifted from the ground, but it was engulfed by flames. The windows flashed bright orange, ready to shatter. The cabin air was too heated to breathe.
The Man rasped, eyes blurry. With his last held breath, he tugged on the flight stick. The ship ascended from the bay, and out of the fire it snapped through the sky.
The Man dodged debris and torpedoes from orbit. Meanwhile, Padme and Miler placed the Jedi in bacta tanks. Padme worked the controls, drawing on memories of a first aid class.
The ship soared into the stratosphere, skimming along peril before entering the black of space.
Miler's stomach clenched. After all this effort, it could still unravel. The Sith fleet surrounded them in every direction. This ship was a moth, and moths burn easily. The Man was typing the Sith code into the main computer.
Miler slid into the co-pilot's chair. "What if it's wrong?"
"Relax, kid. I don't make mistakes when it comes to my life."
With a stroke of his thumb, the code was submitted. The Man went rigid, holding his breath.
"Relax, kid. I ain't the constable. You wanna drink juma, then be my guest."
The boy scowled, taking a long swig. His messy brown hair, starkly different from the Man's slicked locks, destroyed any illusion he was old enough to drink. His eyes were at once burning and dull.
The Man said, "You should be careful in a place like this. People could take advantage."
"Like you?" the boy snarled.
"Me? I'm the only one here who's not gonna rob you."
"Yeah. Whatever."
"Hey, I'm trying to help you out. But if you're a tough guy, I'll just leave you to it. I'm sure you know what you're doing."
The boy glowered, taking another swig. He looked scared and lost, and that nearly meant something. The Man softened, and asked, "What's your name, kid?"
"My name is Han."
A voice crackled from the radio: "S8-71, you are cleared to join the fleet."
Miler watched incredulously as the ship flew unassailed through the heart of the Sith fleet. After a long pause, he cackled deliriously. "It worked!" he cried. "I don' believe it. It really worked."
The Man stared ahead before finally shrugging. "Just how I planned it."
Miler laughed again, louder. He startled The Man by clapping his shoulder. It took a moment, then The Man laughed too.
They looked up to find Padme's sullen expression. She leaned between them to look out the window. "We need to return to Coruscant."
Miler frowned. "Are ya sure that's wise? Dantooine's closer."
"Obi-Wan's badly hurt. He needs our best doctors."
The Man worked the controls, avoiding her eyes. "Whatever you say, lady. Anywhere but here."
Padme left the cockpit but paused near the cabin. Turning back, she asked: "What's your name?"
The Man paused, hand hovering. He met her stare with inscrutable eyes.
"Landon Solo," he said.
Padme nodded, equally obtuse, before walking to the back. She checked the settings on the tanks, finding everything in order. Now with nothing to busy her, delayed feelings emerged.
Padme stood staring as Obi-Wan floated, face hidden by a breath mask. She realized then, maybe for the first time, that she'd do absolutely anything to see that he endured. To see that he was cared for. If it were truly possible to take his pain as her own, to bear his lesions without and within, she would suffer it all gladly in this life and the next.
What do you call that feeling?
Grievous flickered in the holo-viewer, voice distorted by static. "The planet is rubble. And we crushed the Republic fleet."
Three cloaked figures surrounded the viewer. One stood forward, restless and demanding. Beneath his black hood, he snarled at the droid-man: "Tell me who survived."
"Two cruisers escaped," Grievous admitted. "We took prisoners from another. The rest were destroyed."
The skin went taut on the restless one's face. "What of Senator Amidala?"
Behind him, Sidious and Dooku exchanged a look.
For a moment, the light flickered. The connection seemed frozen. But it was only a silence, as Grievous struggled to choose the right words. "There was an incident."
Vader's flinty eyes narrowed to a point. "What kind of incident?"
"It was General Kenobi. Your Sith could not stop him from taking her."
The specter of rage burned in Vader. Across the room, he tore a door from its hinges. It bent in half and slammed on the ground. "Obi-Wan is weak!" screamed Vader. "He's ordinary! And you lost her to him?"
Grievous bowed contritely. His nasally brogue strained with fear. "Forgive me for their failure, my Lord. It will not happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Sidious said mildly. "Report to me in one day."
The droid-man vanished. Sidious was silent, face carefully neutral. He relished the conflict he knew would follow.
"I see nothing's changed," Dooku mocked Vader. "Senator Amidala remains center-most in your thoughts."
"My thoughts are not your concern," Vader said dangerously.
Dooku smiled, stately and cruel, and observed the fallen Jedi. Vader observed him in kind. He wondered suddenly about the old man's soul, about what, if anything, filled it, and if that anything or nothing was also in his own, and he wondered too about killing the man in his sleep, about whether it would be prudent and about how best to do it, and he posited with a chill that Dooku wondered the same.