notes: Chapter updated 4/22/20


CHAPTER 4

"I told you," Luke said for what felt like the seventeenth time, staring at the small, balding officer sitting across from him. "I'm just a hired hand. I don't know what we were doing on the wreckage—I just do what my boss tells me to."

He was sitting in a small, stark room. The floor, ceiling, and walls were soldered metal panels, and the only ornamentation was an Imperial insignia stamped onto the sliding door. A table and two chairs were bolted to the floor, the lights harsh fluorescents.

Luke had been escorted from the wreckage to a small Imperial scout ship hanging suspended in the black vastness of space a few hundred yards from the Falcon. It was about the same size as the Falcon, if bulkier and less sleekly trimmed, with a boxy cockpit mounted at the front of a boxier body. The Falcon, struck with an EMP blast, hung dead in space; the wreckage, drifting off-kilter and to one side, had escaped the blast, though after he had learned of the Falcon's fate, Luke seemed to remember a flickering of the lights just a moment before he had run into his captors.

He had not seen Han or Chewie since his capture. He had been brought straight to the stark, metal room, hands cuffed behind him, and had been shoved into the chair opposite the door with a curt, "Stay." He had obeyed, unable to break through the fear radiating from Leia for long enough to do anything but plan what he was going to say: nothing.

"Surely your boss told you something," the small, balding officer sitting across from Luke said. His voice was nasal and thin like a reed, soaring in high tones and sweeping in gentle, broad syllables. "What were you doing on the wreckage?"

Luke shrugged. He did not know what Han or Chewie would tell the Imperials. It was safest, he had decided, after conferring briefly with Leia, to play stupid—as stupid as he could. "I was just loading parts," Luke told the officer. "I don't know if they were doing anything else."

"Don't tell them your name," Leia had suggested, as Luke had been marched down the short corridor on which his current room was located. "And don't tell them Han or Chewie's name either."

"I'm not stupid," Luke had commented.

He felt Leia shrug. "Just thought I'd mention it," she said with forced calmness. She was trembling on her cot, her terror for Luke making it impossible for her to sit still—or think still either. Luke could feel her fear swirling in thoughts of red and ugly purple, words and phrases and half-formed sentences tumbling through her mind unrealized and unknown. Even he, listening closely, could barely catch vague impressions of what it was she thought; all he knew was that she was afraid—more afraid, he thought, than he had ever felt her.

The officer sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So you've said," he told Luke coldly, chill blue eyes sharp as he looked at Luke over his hand. "Do you have anything else to add? You do know that piracy is a crime punishable by up to fifty years in Imperial prison, do you not?"

Luke shrugged. If he was playing dumb, he had better play as dumb as he could. "Couldn't say. I mean, I guess maybe I'd heard that somewhere. But I don't think—"

"Silence," the officer snapped, standing abruptly. He looked at the Stormtrooper standing behind Luke's chair, and made a vague gesture towards him. "Put him with the others," he said tartly, then turned and strode out of the room, the door swishing shut behind him.

"On your feet," the Stormtrooper ordered, settling a cold, hard hand on Luke's right forearm, held tightly behind his back by the binders. With the Stormtrooper lifting him from behind, Luke stood on wobbly legs; Leia's terror made it difficult for him to be still as well. He had fidgeted all throughout his interview with the officer, jiggling his legs and tapping his feet and fingers, and now he found that it was difficult to be still upright as well. "Let's go," the Stormtrooper said, pushing Luke toward the door.

Luke walked forward. The door opened before him, admitting him out into the hall. The Stormtrooper, still a pace behind him, grabbed his arm again and dragged him to the left, pushing him forward when Luke hesitated.

Walking in awkward concert, Luke and the Stormtrooper turned off of the hall and walked down another short corridor to a lift. They rode for a few short seconds in silence, then the door opened onto a hall identical to the one above. Again, Luke received a push, and again he stumbled ahead of the Stormtrooper, fighting nausea that crept up his throat from Leia and the tremble of his legs.

They halted in front of a door two thirds of the way down the hall. The Stormtrooper produced a card from somewhere and swiped it across the reader beside the door. The door clicked, then slid open.

Han and Chewie were already inside. Han leapt to his feet at the sound of the door and Chewie turned from where he had been leaning against the wall, baring his fangs in a silent, warning howl. The Stormtrooper gave Luke a shove between the shoulderblades, sending Luke all but tumbling into the small cell—and then the door shut and locked behind him.

The floor was grated, the walls the same soldered metal paneling as had been in the other room. The lights were recessed behind plasti panes; Luke supposed they didn't want prisoners breaking the bulbs and using them for weapons—not that they would be able to use something as thin and frail as lightbulb glass against armored Stormtroopers. The walls were gently sloped, and a solid, grey bench sat built into the wall at the back of the room.

"What did you tell them?" Han asked, voice snappy and hard.

"Nothing," Luke said, looking at him levelly—or as levelly as he could, with Leia's fear crawling across his skin like a thousand bugs.

"What are you so scared of?" he asked her silently.

"What if they torture you?" Leia asked, voice very small and thin—frail even. With a jolt, Luke remembered just how sick she had been that morning. This fear certainly wasn't helping her now.

"I'll be fine," said Luke. "Bad things have happened to me before."

"Not like Imperial torture," Leia said softly.

Luke swallowed thickly.

"Nothing?" Han repeated, dragging Luke back to the present conversation happening in front of his nose. "You're sure?"

"I swear it," said Luke. He made as if to lift his hands in open-palmed assurance, only for the binders fastening his wrists to dig into his skin, halting his movements before he could even begin. "I just told them that I was loading parts from the wreckage. I said I didn't know if you or Chewie were doing anything else."

Chewie growled a warning.

"He's right," said Han. "Be careful what you say. They're probably listening to us."

Luke blushed. He hadn't thought of that.

Stupid, he told himself.

"Just be more careful," said Leia. She sounded miserable.

"Okay," said Luke aloud. He sighed, and trudged over to the bench, sitting down gingerly. His knuckles brushed the cold, hard surface of his seat, and he twined his fingers together for warmth. "Well, what now?"

"Now we figure a way out of this mess," said Han. Like Luke, his hands were bound behind his back with binders. Chewie's massive paws were likewise bound, though when Lue peered around him, he saw that the binders around Chewie's wrists were at least three times larger than the ones around his own.

Chewie howled. Han nodded. "First thing first: getting out of these."

He stood and turned, wiggling his fingers. "I don't think I heard a keycard," he said, "so there's probably just an activation button or latch somewhere on them."

Luke pulled a face. "That seems awfully easy."

"Imps like to be inconvenient and cruel," said Han. "This is right up their alley."

He turned his back to Chewie, looked over his shoulder, then said, "Chewie, see if you can find the latch."

Chewie straightened obligingly, turned, and then fumbled with Han's hands and wrists with his own bound paws. There was an awkward, tense moment in which Chewie huffed with irritation, and Han growled in annoyance. Then, very suddenly, there came a small click, and Han crowed in victory. He turned to face Luke, pulling his hands around to his front, binders dangling off of one wrist. It was the work of but a few seconds for Han to depress the lever holding the binders still around his right wrist—then he was free.

Chewie's freedom came first, then Luke's. Luke sighed when the binders fell away from his wrists, and he dragged them in front of him to rub feeling back into his skin. His fingers were cold and clumsy; his hands had been locked in the binders for at least an hour, and his hands were protesting their mistreatment.

"What now?" said Luke, standing as he rubbed his hands together.

Han crossed to the door and kicked at it with the toe of one boot. "Now we get out," he said.

"How?" Luke asked.

"I dunno," snapped Han, rounding on Luke. "Maybe we should pick you up and bash your head against it a few times. Maybe that'd break it."

Luke bit his tongue to keep from snapping back. Bile edged at the back of his throat, and for a second he thought he was going to be sick; on the other side of his bond with Leia, he felt her retch—though whether out of her fear or out of her sickness, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

Luke took a deep breath.

I've done it before, he told himself reasonably, fighting to keep from wringing his hands together. And Shmi hasn't ever said it would end the world if I used it.

But maybe she doesn't have to, his more sensible side argued. Maybe she assumes I'll have learned that lesson from Leia, and it doesn't bear repeating.

But we have to get out, don't we? And how are we going to do that unless I use the Force?

"I…" he began quietly.

"Luke," said Leia, only for her to fall silent. "No," she said. "Do it. Get out, before they decide to start torturing you. Damn the world, if it means you're safe."

Luke was shocked to hear her say that. After all of her time and all of the energy spent trying—fighting—to keep from using the Force, she was advocating for him to use it himself? She had hated herself after every time she had used it, had berated and lambasted herself until her soul bled from tattered lacerations dug by her own self-hate and barbed thoughts. Luke had known of them, then had heard them once they had joined each others' thoughts. He knew how badly she hated to use the Force, even when she secretly wanted to use it—and yet she was telling him to use it now?

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I've never been so sure in my life," said Leia. "Get out. Before they bring the knives and needles."

Not for the first time did Luke wonder just what went on in the bowels of the prison that held Leia—what Vrosha had done to her in the room she never let Luke see. He had heard the name, from Leia, her thoughts, and her dreams—had seen the woman's icy face. He had never been with Leia when she went down to pain and suffering, though. Leia had continued to keep him out, begging and pleading with him every time he tried to go with her.

"I can't bear it unless I know you're safe," Leia had said, the last time he had asked her to let him keep her company while she was tortured. He didn't want her to be alone—had never wanted her to be alone—and it seemed impossible to keep on living his life, knowing she was being tormented mere thoughts away from him, but that he was helpless to do anything but comfort her in the aftermath. "I can't bear the thought of you knowing—of you experiencing…" She had fallen silent then, but Luke had felt the very real dread and fear in her heart at the thought of him experiencing first-hand—or at least second-hand—what went on in that room.

It was that same fear that clutched her now.

It was fear for him—terror for him—that held her in its vice-like grip, making her shudder and vomit beneath the fever wracking her body.

"Okay," Luke said, taking a deep breath.

"I may have a way out," he said, stepping forward, toward the door.

Han cocked and eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked.

"I've never purposefully done this before," said Luke, taking another step forward. "So I don't—but I can try."

"Try what?" Han asked.

Instead of answering, Luke skirted Han and came to stand in front of the door to their cell. He stretched out his hands and put his palms against the door's cold surface. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes.

He didn't know what he was looking for. With the Tuskens, it had all happened too quickly for him to understand what he was doing—and since then, he had feared touching the Force, or what Obi-Wan had claimed was the Force. Shmi's warnings to Leia were always loud in Luke's mind whenever he was tempted to go looking for it.

So what did he look for now?

An image slowly took shape in his mind, dripping into sight droplet by droplet, as if water was running through a very small sieve: a ravine under a full moon, the sound of rushing water singing in counterpoint to a soft breeze. Luke shivered in the chill of the breeze's touch, and took a step toward the ravine. He came to a halt when the toes of his boots touched thin air beyond a sharp drop made of pebbles and chunks of rock, and he shivered again. The breeze was a wind here, above the rushing water cutting deep into the rocks below.

Okay, Luke thought, looking down, down, down into the choppy, white-capped waves. What now?

"Well?" Han's voice was sharp against the silence, startling Luke out of his vision. He opened his eyes, and found himself back in the cell, his palms pressed against the door. He shivered still, gooseflesh rippling over his arms and back, making the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. "What are you doing? Going to wish the door open?"

"No," said Luke, half waspish, half sullen. "I just—"

"Careful," Leia warned. "Don't tell too much."

Chewie howled. Han rounded on his large friend. "What?" he demanded. "Do you know something I don't?"

Chewie ruffled a laugh, then motioned for Han to be silent.

What did that mean? Did Chewie know that Luke had the Force? But if so, how? And if so, what else did he know?

He didn't have time for those thoughts now, though. Luke took another deep breath, and once again closed his eyes. The image of the ravine grew quicker in his mind this time, coming to him easier—until he was once again standing on the ravine's edge, looking down at the dark water rushing a dozen yards beneath him.

What now? Luke wondered again. Why here of all places?

It was here that Shmi had shown him the trickle of water through a gap in the stones, shortly before he had first used the Force with the Tuskens. She had said that he could widen the gap without using tools—or his hands. After the Tuskens, the trickle had grown to a rush through a hole gouged through the stones, though the wall had remained.

Was that the lesson here? Was the water the Force? Or was it something else? Was he completely missing the mark?

If the water was the Force, how was he to reach it? How was he to use it? Could he cup it in his hands? Could he drink it? Would that imbue him with the power he sought? If that was so, how was he supposed to get down to it? The walls of the ravine were sheer and steep, polished slick by the running water; there would be no climbing down that way.

Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, Luke turned downriver and started hiking. The land was sparse and mostly gravel and grit, with only thin tufts of terse grass growing here and there and a few straggly bushes thrusting their heads through the dirt. Soon Luke was coated in dust, and he began to wonder at the wisdom of this trek. So far he had seen nothing to indicate a way down to touch the water.

A shape began to grow in the distance. Even before he was close enough to make it out, Luke knew what it was: the wall that Shmi had shown him. As he drew near, Luke found that the water had bored a hole as large around as his outstretched arms. All around that hole, however, the wall stood strong and fast.

The wall, however, was only a few scant inches shorter than the ravine walls. Luke hesitated, looking down at it with wary eyes, but it seemed solid enough. It was made up of hunks of rock weathered and worn down to meet in hairline cracks. They had been eroded to fit with one another closer than any stone in the guardhouse that had stood above Luke's home on Tatooine.

Gritting his teeth, Luke eased himself down to step onto the wall. It remained firm beneath him. He eased more of his weight onto the wall, then more still, until he was half on, half off of it. It remained stolid. Taking a deep breath, Luke stepped fully onto the wall.

Edging forward, shuffling his feet across the water-slick rocks, Luke made his way to the center of the wall, Spray dampened his hair and skin, sticking his shirt to his back and chest. He blinked water out of his eyes, and pushed clingy bangs off of his forehead.

Now what? he thought, coming to a halt and turning to look down over the rushing river.

He found he had no idea.

"Leia?" he called. "Any suggestions?"

Leia, miserable and barely audible, said, "Try using the water?"

The water swirled and rushed a few feet below the lip of the wall, white-capped and forming a small whirlpool where it was sucked down through the hole torn through the stones below the surface. Luke knelt carefully, grimacing as his pants got wet, and cupped his hands. He leaned down, down, down a little further still until he was precariously perched, and lowered his hands into the cold spray.

A shock ran up his arms. It was electrifying; it felt as if he had been shocked a thousand times over. He was suddenly acutely aware of every inch of his body, every centim of his skin, every vein, every bone, every hair. His breath was a torrent in his lungs, his blood a tidal wave.

The rush of power he had expected, however, did not follow. He was left instead feeling cold and hollow, as if muscle and ligament and bone had been carved out from his skin. Luke swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, and yanked his hands from the water. He felt stung and raw, as if ice filled marrow and vein.

He thought about trying again. He thought about what else he could attempt. Suddenly, however, even standing sounded like an insurmountable task. The prospect of trying again to harness the Force was daunting and terrifying, and made his stomach swoop with nausea.

I can't do it, Luke thought.

"You can," Leia murmured, warm in his thoughts for all her misery.

Luke squeezed his eyes shut tight. "What do I do?" he asked Leia again.

"Try again," Leia said.

This time, Luke plunged his arms in up to his elbows.

A current raced through his body, starting from the crown of his head and racing to the soles of his feet. It felt like a hundred thousand insects crawling along the avenues of his bones; felt like a hundred thousand needles piercing his flesh; felt like his blood boiling in his veins. It felt like fire and lightning and magma.

Luke screamed.

A hand latched around Luke's elbow, dragging him backward and around, out of his vision. Luke opened his eyes to the cell and Han's concerned face, Chewie standing behind him with worry in his dark eyes.

"Kid," Han snapped. "Kid, what's wrong?"

Luke closed his mouth, biting off the scream. He was warm but not hot, his blood free of the fire, his flesh free of the needles, his bones free of the insects. He shivered, but the ice of before was gone too, leaving him feeling full and whole once more.

"Sorry," he whispered, looking down at his feet. "I didn't mean to—I mean I didn't know—"

"It's okay," said Han slowly, though he looked unconvinced. He hesitated, then said, "You're sure you're okay?"

Luke nodded.

"Okay," Han said. He let go of Luke and took a step back. "I take it what you thought you could do didn't work?" he asked.

Luke shook his head. "No," he added, seeing that Han wasn't looking at him.

"Okay," said Han again. "Then now—"

He was cut off by the door opening. Luke, who had his back to the door, whirled, to find himself staring at a Stormtrooper standing in the corridor beyond, face inscrutable behind his helmet.

"What's going on in here?" the Stormtrooper snapped.

"Nothing," said Han, lifting his hands with palms out in a universal gesture of helplessness. "Just a little misunderstanding between friends. Chewie?" He turned and looked at the Wookiee, who growled—and lunged.

The Stormtrooper made to slam the button and close the door, but he was too slow. Chewbacca grabbed him in both of his massive paws, lifted him into the air, then threw him against the far wall. The Stormtrooper slammed back-first into the wall and slid to the floor in a daze. Before he could recover, Chewie was on him, grabbing him once more and ripping his helmet off of his head. Forming a fist, Chewie then punched the human man in the face. Blood leaked out of his eyes, nose, and mouth, and he fell to the floor in a boneless slump when Chewie released him.

"Well," said Han, bringing his hands down and together, and motioning for Chewie to pick up the Stormtrooper's fallen blaster, "that went better than expected."

He and Chewie dragged the dead Stormtrooper into the cell while Luke kept watch. Then they sealed the door, picked a direction, and started running.

"If we can find an escape pod," Han said between panting breaths, "we should be able to make it to the Falcon and escape."

Chewie warbled, and Luke nodded, not trusting himself to speak through his adrenaline, fear, and exertion. They slid into the lift at the end of the corridor, Han punched a button, and the door slid shut.

They ran into trouble almost immediately upon reaching the third deck. The lift door opened onto the surprised face of an officer. He froze, startled and taken aback—which proved to be his doom. Chewie lifted the stolen blaster and shot him in the chest, sending him tumbling a few feet backwards. The blaster discharge, however, garnered the attention of a small group of Stormtroopers walking down an adjacent hall; Han, Chewie, and Luke had only made it a dozen paces down the corridor when five Stormtroopers arrived around the corner at a dead run, blasters drawn.

"Back!" Han yelled, grabbing Luke and dragging him back toward the lift, whose door was just beginning to close. Luke stumbled and nearly fell, righted himself, then fell properly as his boot heel caught the edge of the fallen officer's leg. Han's grip on his arm faltered and failed. Luke sprawled on his back, the wind momentarily knocked out of him, and watched the red flash of a blaster bolt sear the air overhead.

That was almost me, he thought dazedly, realizing that, if he had not fallen, he would have been struck by that very blaster bolt.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Luke began to shimmy his way toward the lift. Chewie and Han had taken refuge around the corner of the small box of the lift, Chewie popping out and into the doorway for just long enough to fire off a shot at the Stormtroopers, before ducking back behind the sheltering wall.

There was little hope, Luke thought. Five fully trained and armed Stormtroopers against one Wookiee with a blaster and an unarmed smuggler? He didn't like those odds—at all.

A thought struck Luke. He turned over one shoulder, looking back at the fallen officer. He spotted what he was looking for. Wriggling, he turned back the way he had come, then crawled over to the corpse once more. He fumbled for a second at the holster on the dead man's hip—then the strap holding the small blaster in the holster came free, and the weapon was in Luke's hands.

He was halfway back to the lift and safety when pain exploded in his right calf. Luke cried out and dropped the blaster, turning over onto his back with a gasp and a grunt and reaching for his leg. His hands shook, and his breath came in gasps as he lifted his leg, barely daring to look down at it. He heard as well as felt Leia cry out on the other side of their bond, her own hands going to her leg in sympathy pain.

A charred hole was burned into his right calf. A stray blaster bolt had taken him in the leg—or one of the Stormtroopers had finally noticed his crawl, and had decided to take a shot at him. If that was the case, however, that meant he had to reach safety, and now.

A second bolt struck the floor two inches from Luke's head. He blanched, adrenaline spiking through his body. It gave him the energy and strength he needed to turn back over, grab the blaster once more, and hurriedly crawl the rest of the way to the lift. He reached the place where the floor of the deck met the floor of the lift—and felt hands wrap around his arms and drag him into cover.

Panting, Luke propped himself up against the wall. He looked up, saw Han kneeling in front of him, and held out the blaster. "Here," he said.

Han shook his head. "Idiot kid," he said, but he took the blaster.

Reaching up, Han hit one of the buttons on the lift, sending the door closed. With a jolt, Luke realized they had been waiting for him. A sudden, sick swoop of his stomach told him he was about to throw up—though whether from pain, or from sudden relief, he could not say.

He wiped his mouth when he was done vomiting, and looked up to see both Han and Chewie looking at him with concern.

"You could have left me," he said weakly. "You could have saved yourselves, and left me."

Han sighed and crouched down beside him. He patted Luke's uninjured leg, then said, "I almost did. I was already wondering if you had turned us in, and when you turned back toward the Stormtroopers… But Chewie stopped me. And I'm glad he did."

Luke looked at Chewie, who growled.

"He says your father would never forgive him," Han translated. "Whatever that means."

Luke offered a weak smile. "Well—thank you," he said, and then looked at Han once more. "You don't think I turned you in now, though?"

Han shrugged. "I haven't put it entirely out of the realm of possibility," he said. "But you risked your life to get us that blaster when you didn't have to. You were injured doing it. I think that's a pretty good indicator, even if not proof, that you're not in league with the Imps."

Luke grinned shakily. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm not," he said.

Han shrugged. "Right. Well, let's get off this bucket."

With Han's help, Luke stood, draping an arm over the taller smuggler's shoulders. Holding the officer's blaster in his free hand, Han nodded at Chewie, who led the way out of the lift and into another hallway identical to the one they had just been in, for one big difference: there was no one there.

"Where do you think the escape pods are?" Luke asked, hobbling alongside Han.

"Probably deck three," said Han. "We need to find another way onto that deck, though. Which is going to be even harder now that they know we're loose."

Luke grimaced. "Will it be possible?" he wanted to know.

Han shrugged underneath Luke's arm. "Not sure," he said.

They ran into more trouble less than a minute later. Three Stormtroopers appeared at the end of the corridor, where it joined another, and took up positions upon seeing the trio. Blasterfire began to rain down the long hallway, red and sharp and hot. Han dragged Luke to the right-hand wall, pressing him against the metal plates, and then began to fire. Chewie, against the left wall, did the same.

A Stormtrooper fell, a smoking hole burned through one eyeplate. Another yelped, the sound wafting down the corridor, and clutched his right shoulder where the joints of his armor met. Chewie howled and pressed a large paw to a blaster burn in his side.

The two remaining Stormtroopers began to advance, seeking a better angle to shoot at the intruders from. Han glanced at Chewie, yelled, "Wait for it," and continued to fire.

The Stormtroopers were a dozen yards away when Han cried, "Now, Chewie!" and stepped away from the wall. He fired four times in quick succession, laying down suppression fire for Chewie, who darted forward. Moving faster than Luke had thought possible for the large Wookiee, Chewie sprinted the dozen yards separating them, and grabbed the nearest Stormtrooper. Flinging him into the second one, both Stormtroopers went down in a tangle of arms, legs, and armor. Then Chewie was upon them, ripping off helmets and snapping necks. Five seconds later and it was over.

Luke swallowed his gorge. He had never seen so much violence in his life.

"Come on," said Han, returning to his side and threading his arm over his shoulder. "Let's go."

They ran into two more small groups of Stormtroopers before they reached the lift on the far end of the deck. The first, with just two Stormtroopers, were finished off by blasterfire; the second, made up of four Stormtroopers, were half killed by Han and Chewie's shooting, and half by Chewie's paws.

They did not escape unscathed either, though. Chewie was hit again, this time in the shoulder, and Han was burned in a long line along his scalp.

The trio moved on. They reached the lift, which they rode back up to the third deck.

Miraculously, no one was waiting for them. They made it down the first hall and down the next without seeing anyone. Han was just saying that the Imperials must not have guessed their intent, and that the escape pod bay should be around the next bend, when they walked straight into an ambush.

Luke woke to find himself laying on the floor in the hallway, the taste of copper and iron in his mouth—the aftertaste of being shot with a stun blast. He sat up slowly and with a groan. A glance to either side showed him that Han and Chewie were still out cold, while a dozen Stormtroopers milled around them. Two blasters were trained, unwavering, upon him.

"Stay down," a Stormtrooper ordered him. Luke nodded and sank back, the pain in his leg making him woozy and nauseous.

"This isn't good," said Leia, who had been quiet for much of their attempted escape.

"You think?" Luke asked bitterly.

Han and Chewie began to stir. Chewie woke first, sitting up groggily, only to receive the same order Luke had. He grumbled but obeyed, not daring to contest the five blasters aimed at his head and chest.

"What do I do?" Luke asked Leia.

"I don't know," she said, despairing. "You're sure you can't use the Force?"

"I couldn't before," said Luke. "I don't see why this time would be any different. I just don't know how."

He felt Leia shake her head. "I don't either," she admitted softly. "Every time I've used it I've done so accidentally."

Luke closed his eyes.

"On your feet," one of the Stormtroopers ordered.

Han and Chewie clambered to their feet, then Han leaned down to help Luke up. He hopped awkwardly, keeping his weight from his injured leg, and clutched Han's shoulders.

A Stormtrooper grabbed Luke's arm and yanked him away, sending him stumbling and nearly falling. "No," he said. "You three are going in separate cells."

"This little stunt of yours is going to cost you," a third Stormtrooper added.

Leia panicked. Fire washed through her, fierce and bright and golden, born of fury and terror. Luke felt the room shake around her, the air tremble with the wrath of her fear. "No!" Luke felt as much as heard her scream, as memories and imaginations swept through her mind.

For just an instant, Luke saw what had happened to her in the room with Vrosha: saw the needles, the knives, the whips, the blood and bone and pain. He felt the agony, felt Leia's fear of the pale woman, felt her trepidation of the room itself.

Luke threw up, vomit splashing on the white boots of the Stormtrooper in front of him. The Stormtrooper cursed and backhanded him, sending him sprawling.

The door to Leia's cell burst open and three guards appeared, white-faced and wide-eyed, in the frame. They shot her with stunning bolts, and Leia fell onto her bed, unconscious. The fire in her body and in the air abated, leaving it cold and empty.

Understanding sank through Luke. That had been the Force.

It wasn't water. It wasn't ice. It was fire. Burning, brilliant, raging fire.

He looked inside himself—and yes, there, burning in a knot in his chest, was a ball of blue fire. He touched it—and felt the fire fill him, racing and crackling along the avenues of his bones, along his veins, along the underside of his skin.

Luke turned, feeling as if he was outside of his body. He looked at the Stormtrooper nearest to him, and said calmly, "If you don't let us go, you'll regret it."

The Stormtrooper laughed.

The galaxy was at his fingertips. Power gnawed at him, whispered to him in a language he understood but could not speak, sang in his ears and heart and mind.

He knew what to do.

He lifted a hand. With it rose all twelve of the Stormtroopers around them, until their feet floated half a dozen centims from the floor. They twisted and thrashed in the air, crying out in alarm and fear. Luke curled the fingers of his hand into a tight fist—and all of their cries cut off abruptly as their air passages were crushed.

One second, two seconds, three. Five. Ten. Thirty.

Luke released them.

They crashed to the floor with a crash. None of them moved.

"Well then." Luke turned to see Han staring at him with wide, wide eyes. "That is not what I was expecting."

Luke grinned shakily—and then the entire world swooped and darkened around him. His knees, momentarily strong, buckled. He fell—and knew no more.