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Chapter
~31~
The Yarway was disabled—what a splendid surprise. As Admiral Pellaeon stood by the Chimaera's viewport, he restrained the temptation to smile; after all, it was the Millennium Falcon and a New Republic Y-wing that had completed the task, but he could take a little pride in his instincts. Han Solo might have been a criminal-turned-glorified-husband, but the smuggler was well-known for his ingenuity.
"Sir," one of his ensigns called from the bridge crew, "Admiral Lasial's TIE fighters within the Ecsilan moon have been destroyed."
"Good," Pellaeon replied. "Leave half our squadron to guard the moon. And send in the Fire Brigade to extinguish any remaining fallout from the turbolasers."
"Yes, Admiral."
"Sir," Captain Suralle said from beside Pellaeon, "isn't that a bit unnecessary? After all—"
"We have the resources to handle a few wildfires," the admiral commented and then tossed his captain a side-look. "And besides, I like sucra-plant just as much as the next man."
• • •
A veil of consciousness. It was thin and fragile, able to tear with the slightest strain, but as Kyp Durron laid convulsing on a table, his eyes fluttered, the faintest bit of reality sneaking into his senses. There was a band around his upper arm and it ached—drugs. They were feeding him drugs, the medications seeping into his pores through micro-needles in his arm. Around him, other beings were lying similarly to him but unmoving—a human, a Mon Calamari…
Cilghal.
Kyp tried to call out to her, but his body wouldn't allow it. His body didn't allow anything except pain. Yes, there was the break in his leg and his exhausted muscles begged to stop jerking, but it was the device on the back of his neck—the one he'd permitted to be implanted—that caused his eyes to water, his breathing to shorten. He'd think the nerves in that area would have died by now, but no. It felt as if his brain was on fire and perhaps it was.
"Dr. Tovos," a woman's voice called into the room's speakers—Lasial. "I'm ordering you and your team to evacuate immediately. You and the Insurgent will meet me in docking bay three-one-eight. You're ordered to bring the captive Jedi with you, by any means necessary."
"Admiral," Tovos called to the speakers, "the Yarway is dead in the water. The Empire—"
"This can be salvaged if we have the weapons we need, that I know you can create—"
"But Admiral—"
"I suggest you hurry, doctor. Skywalker and his Jedi are heading in your direction, and I don't know if the Insurgent can hold them all at bay." The transmission ended.
A second later, the emergency lights in the room flickered. An alarm began to blare, demanding departure. Tovos flung his vision about the room, to his team—other doctors? Lab techs? There were also several stormtroopers, all remaining in place as though stuck in a time loop. And the Insurgent. Yes, there he was, ready to go on a killing spree with a single verbal cue.
"Come on," Tovos said and pushed back an already partially opened set of retractable glass panes that separated the lab section of the room from the office area near the front. "Let's start moving—help me with them."
"We need to get out of here!" a woman came back. "This is over with—"
"Just," Tovos lifted a hand as if to console her, "help me get the Jedi to the shuttles. We'll evacuate and then start over, just like the admiral—"
With a groan, the woman peeled off her lab coat and pitched it to the ground. "This has turned into insanity," she declared. "I'd rather work for the Empire. At least when they murder their own people in front of everyone, there's some reason behind it."
She stormed off, and with her, about half the techs and even a few stormtroopers.
"Wait!" Tovos shouted and then reeled back around to the room.
Kyp tried to summon the Force but all he could manage was remaining conscious.
"Well?" Tovos swept a hand towards the Jedi. "Come on, then—help me! Now!"
Reluctantly, the remaining lab techs and troopers approached Kyp and the others. As Tovos snatched up medical supplies in a large bag by a desk, Cilghal was lifted from her workbench. Then Wurth and Ronap—Kyp felt hands under his armpits, on his ankles. As one of the techs pressed down on his broken leg, a groan wormed its way up Kyp's throat.
"Sir!" the tech said as they set him back down. "He's waking up again!"
"Blast it!" Tovos said and grabbed another arm band. "I could sedate half of Coruscant easier than this guy."
Kyp's eyes widened, his vision clearing, but it wasn't enough. Even as consciousness began to center itself, it didn't matter; his body would not cooperate. His limbs refused to stop shaking, and for the first time in a long time, a twitch of fear tightened his stomach. As the Insurgent, silent and blank-eyed, watched without a stir, Kyp wondered if that would be his fate soon, as no matter how much he tried, how much skill he had, he could not stop this.
"Hold him still," Tovos said, and then two sets of hands gripped Kyp's shaking right arm.
From the hallway, a rage of screams. The sound of something falling—bodies. Before anyone could react, a bright yellow beam flew into the room. Like an elongated blaster bolt with a mind of its own, the yellow light flipped in mid-air, and it took Kyp a second to recognize what it was. A lightsaber. It was a yellow lightsaber, vaulting across the lab.
Within a heartbeat, the troops and techs holding the unconscious Jedi lost their heads. Wurth and Cilghal dropped to the floor, their now-dead handlers with them. Screaming, the remaining troopers and techs ducked downwards as the light returned to the room's entrance, its owner standing there, a woman in red and purple attire, wearing a crown that curved from the top of her head to the sides of her face.
Kirana Ti, the Dathomir witch-turned-Jedi Knight.
The Insurgent rushed her, but she wasn't alone. Jumping in front, silver blade ignited and hissing, was Corran Horn. The shorter man struck the Insurgent's blaster as soon as it was sprung, splicing the weapon into two, and then went for an arm, revealing a metallic forearm that didn't flinch as a white blade stretched out in the assassin's other hand.
"Shoot them!" Tovos screamed from the floor, cradling his bag like a baby.
The stormtroopers' blaster rifles sparked to life. Red beams flooded the entrance of the lab, smashing into walls and office furniture. Deflecting several shots, Kirana wrenched a hand forward and an office chair hurled into the room. It crashed into three troopers, knocking them backwards as the others continued to fire.
In the corner, Corran shoved the Insurgent's lightsaber away and swung his silver blade downwards at the man's head—
The Insurgent grabbed Corran's blade, securing it in place. The Jedi didn't expect the move; yanked forward, Corran shouted as the assassin flipped him over into a nearby desk. The force knocked Corran sideways, and he flipped to the ground, the saber in his hand shutting off. With his white blade crashing down, the Insurgent tried to slice Corran's head in half. Jerking his body to the side, Corran rolled out of the way, the Insurgent then swinging for his chest, his legs. Propelling himself backwards, Corran launched himself into a somersault, one knee on the ground and, igniting his saber, lifted it just as the Insurgent swung at his face.
In front, Kirana tried to handle the barrage of blaster fire, so much red Kyp could barely see her—
"Kirana!" Corran shouted.
Too late. In a single fluid move, the Insurgent flung a dagger from his belt, and it whirl-winded through the air. In a last-ditch effort, Kirana side-stepped, but the blade still jabbed into her right shoulder blade. Crying out, the woman ducked behind one of the tossed-over workbenches. From his angle, Kyp could barely spot her, but then she dropped the dagger to the floor by the workbenches where she'd clearly slid it out.
"Kill them!" Tovos screamed to the Insurgent. "That is your mission! They are your enemies—kill them both!"
Please… Kyp begged the Force. If he could just deactivate the device on his neck, disable it, use a hand to rip the blasted thing away, but no. All he could do was witness his friends fight. Perhaps Corran could defeat the Insurgent, but each time he gained some distance to attack, a stormtrooper shot at him. Kirana had switched her lightsaber from her right dominate hand to her left. Her eyes were full are energy, but her body was injured and exhausted.
"Kill them!" Tovos shouted again as he remained flat on the floor. "Kill them all—"
There it was. Something that felt both impossible and inevitable—a blade of green. The new color lit up the room's entrance, the bright saber intervening between Corran and the Insurgent, the energy of its handler immediately pressing Lasial's assassin back.
The stormtroopers aimed at the new threat, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, but then Mara Jade charged through the doorway, her blue blade and sleeve blaster already in fight-mode, the spark in her eyes matching the intensity of the weapons in her grasp. As Mara bolted past the office furniture, Kirana rejoined the battle, both women keeping every red beam away from Luke and Corran. Near the door, Corran got to Master Skywalker's right, and then the Insurgent had nowhere to go, arms and white lightsaber attempting to block two attackers.
Corran went for a kill strike—
"No!" Master Skywalker said and circled in front of Corran, blocking the other man's blade.
The Insurgent spotted his opportunity. His right boot shot out and caught Master Skywalker square in the back; with a groan, he stumbled into Corran, and then both men hit the floor.
"Luke!" Mara shouted, her gaze reeling around.
A stormtrooper's blaster bolt went for her chest, and Kirana shoved herself and Mara out of the way, both going down as the shot flew past them. There was a pause in the fight, and Tovos was blatantly ready to take the opportunity for himself. With a panicked squeal, he bolted from his spot on the floor, on his feet but hunched downwards to avoid the anarchy.
"New mission!" he screamed as he bumbled past the office cabinets. "Take me to Lasial! Now!"
Back on his feet, Master Skywalker tried to subdue the Insurgent, but a pack of stormtroopers began firing in his direction; the Insurgent rammed past him, determined to reach Tovos nearing the door. On his knees again, Corran swung his lightsaber, but the assassin leaped over the blade and then twisted around and kicked the Jedi Knight in the shoulder as Master Skywalker attempted to snag the Insurgent by an arm.
A scream. By the door, Tovos had gotten too much in a hurry, had angled himself too high. As the amateur stormtroopers tried to take out the Jedi, one beam of friendly fire slammed into Tovos' back. Even from the workbench, Kyp smelled new burnt flesh that mixed with his own as he witnessed Tovos crash into the side of the room's door frame, barely able to keep himself standing.
The firing paused. Master Skywalker knelt by Corran, trying to help the man up. Near Cilghal and Wurth on the floor, Mara and Kirana watched as the Insurgent hefted Tovos over his shoulder. Master Skywalker straightened, seeming prepared to dart after the two, when Kyp noticed a shadow over his own workbench.
"Hands up, Jedi!" one of the stormtroopers shouted to them all, and even without looking up, Kyp knew the trooper had his blaster rifle aimed at his convulsing head. "Put your swords down or I'll—"
The movement was so abrupt, even Kyp didn't expect it. From Master Skywalker, his green saber went flying from his hands. It rocketed across the room, propelled by the Force, and then the trooper overshadowing Kyp screamed. The green blade returned to Master Skywalker as Kyp observed the shadow over him, as a small part of it released from the other, and then both shadows dropped, falling behind him, along with the blaster targeting his head. The stench of cooked flesh once again ensnarled Kyp's nostrils; from the corner of his vision, he spotted a new object on the ground. A severed arm, its skin still fuming.
No more blaster beams. The remaining stormtroopers and lab techs stood as if waiting for their limbs to spontaneously pop off.
"Get out!" was all Master Skywalker shouted.
Orders received. Weapons raised over their heads, the stormtroopers clamored to the room's doorway with techs beside them, all gingerly deviating around Master Skywalker and the other Jedi as though waiting for a lightsaber to their backs. Jaw squared, Master Skywalker held his saber, eyes and senses clearly on alert, as he stretched out his free hand to Corran, helping him up. Near Kyp, Mara and Kirana extinguished their lightsabers, both hurrying to Kyp as he continued convulsing on his workbench.
Despite it all, as he regarded them, he tried to smile. He failed but he tried.
"How do we stop this?" Kirana asked, giving him a once-over, appearing uncertain what was occurring.
The back of my neck, he called to her and the others through the Force. A command remote will deactivate it.
"Where's the remote, then?" Mara asked, and Kyp felt the urge to smile again.
How should I know? Kyp replied and sent them all a mental image of what the device looked like.
As the women examined the neuro-imposer, Luke and Corran ripped the office section of the room apart, sifting through desk drawers and file cabinets until a minute later, when Corran raised a device into the air. Rushing to Kyp's side, he fiddled with the thing's switches.
It's universal, Kyp explained. A different frequency for each person, I think. Be careful.
Below them, Cilghal and Wurth stirred. Master Skywalker knelt down, insisting they remain still. Corran tinkered with the command remote as he attempted to understand the nature of the beast, and panic infested Kyp's insides. The agony across his body, the lack of control of almost everything that made him who he was…he was so close to freedom, but it wasn't there, and those few seconds were stretching into years.
Please, Kyp called to his friend as two tears streamed from his eyes. Please hurry.
"I—I think it requires an access code," Corran said. From beside him, Master Skywalker got upright, asked Kirana and Mara to watch over the other Jedi, and then Corran handed him the device.
Please hurry, Kyp thought, but this time only to himself.
After a second, Master Skywalker discarded the evidently useless command remote. "Hold on, Kyp," he said, and, with the Force, rolled Kyp to his stomach.
With a groan, Kyp squinted his eyes shut, already realizing what the Jedi Master was up to. He would have protested—wanted to—but what other option was there?
"Hold him steady," Master Skywalker told the others, and hands were on him: Mara and Kirana by his sides, Corran's on his head, all of them keeping him as still as possible with their grips and the Force.
Without seeing him, Kyp sensed Master Skywalker's hands on the back of his neck, could almost imagine the other man's brain turning with both the Force and his mechanic skills, mingling together to sort this out. Then, out of nowhere, there was a power surge at the back of Kyp's neck.
The center of the device shrieked, all the needles kicking into overdrive, ready to destroy him—until they weren't. There was a popping noise, something breaking, and then his entire body relaxed.
With a gasp, Kyp inhaled—the first good breath in half an hour. All his muscles continued to twitch, and they probably wouldn't stop for a while. His right leg was killing him, the break worsened by all the involuntary movements. He had a massive headache and knew there were blisters and blackened flesh on the back of his neck. Nonetheless, as the others gave him space, Kyp eased himself onto his back again, and then turned to Master Skywalker.
"Thank you," he said. Then he closed his eyes, feeling like years of his life had just been drained out of him.
• • •
"Should I prepare the transports?" Captain Suralle asked beside Pellaeon on the Chimaera's bridge.
Twitching his moustache, the admiral shot the man a frown.
"To re-capture the Yarway," his captain went on, and Pellaeon shook his head.
"Keep focused on the battle at hand," Pellaeon replied. "First we need to keep our enemy from escaping."
"But the Yarway—we need to get stormtroopers on board—"
"The fate of our Star Destroyer isn't our concern right now."
Finally, Captain Suralle broke protocol. The man maneuvered between the Imperial admiral and his view of the outside battle. "Forgive me, sir, but right now, Luke Skywalker and several of his Jedi on are that Star Destroyer—"
"A fact I'm already aware of, thank you."
"And Captain Han Solo is currently surrounded by a mass of our own fighters—"
"I have eyes, Captain."
Suralle's mouth dropped. "This is our opportunity! At last, we have these enemies of our glorious Empire at our mercy if we simply—"
Pellaeon turned away from his new captain, cutting off his momentum. "Order the TIE squadrons and Izaa's team to surround each shuttle that escapes from the Yarway," he ordered his bridge crew. "I want the passengers alive."
• • •
Beside each other, Cilghal and Wurth sat with their backs to the bottom of one of the workbenches they had previously been occupying. The drug bands around their arms had been removed, their bodies already detoxing the medications as Mara and Kirana assisted through the Force.
On the workbench above, Kyp Durron was up but lurched over, his legs dangling off the edge and his body still quivering. On the bench behind them, the Padawan Ronap, who had sustained a stray blaster shot to his calf and, even without the drug band, was still not rousing.
"They've done something to him," Corran said from the top of the workbench while Luke wrapped Ronap's leg with some bacta-laced gauze he found in a nearby medical drawer.
"Any idea what?" Luke asked, and Corran angled the young Mirialan man's head, showing tiny puncture wounds in both the left and right temples.
"Th—they're trying to—to turn us into th…the Insurgent," Kyp replied for them, his speech slurred. "Weap—weapons for their New Alliance."
Luke shut his eyes briefly and turned to Kyp. "Why were you here in the first place? Did the Jedi Academy not transmit the message about Lasial attacking Jedi?"
"I got the m—message. Two days ago."
Luke's eyes narrowed. "So I sent an order instructing you to abandon your assignment, and you simply ignored it?"
Despite his body trembling, Kyp managed to match Luke's glower. "You—you're not the only one who—who gets visions, Master. The Force told me to—to stay. So I stayed."
"I didn't send out that message as a suggestion—"
"I'm so—sorry, but aren't y—you ignoring orders from the New Republic—right now?"
"Hey!" Mara stood up. "You two can sort out who's the bigger hypocrite later. We need to get off this ship."
Luke held his glare to Kyp, then decided it wasn't worth it and brought his attention to Corran with Ronap. "Is it safe to move him?"
Corran raised and then dropped his hands to the edge of the workbench. "His breathing is regular, heart rate normal. I don't think it'll kill him."
"Well, staying here definitely will," Mara went on. "I don't know what Pellaeon has in store for this ship, but I don't want to be here when he executes the plan."
"Agreed," Cilghal said, lifting an arm in comradery.
Luke nodded. Through the Force, he sensed Lasial's followers, and they were too busy fleeing to be concerned with any of them. "Kirana," Luke said to the woman crouched on the floor, "are you able to help Wurth and Cilghal to a docking bay with your injury?"
"I've been stabbed before," Kirana replied, almost defensive. "It'll make a glorious scar and that is all."
"I'm…fit for travel," Wurth finally spoke up from the floor. "I might not…walk straight but I can…walk."
"Me as well," Cilghal replied.
Kirana straightened up. "I will help with Kyp and Ronap."
"I—I'll help myself," Kyp said. "We—we need to get to Lasial. Dock—docking bay three-one-eight—I heard her tell Tovos—"
"How about you keep off that leg instead," Mara said and forced him back on the bench with the lightest of pushes. She regarded Luke. "What about you?"
Her tone was casual, but Luke knew what she was asking. "We need to collect these medical files," Luke motioned a hand to the office, "see what they did to Ronap, what they did to the Insurgent."
"By 'we' you mean me," Mara replied and shook her head, seeming to already know his answer.
"I'm going after them," Luke replied. "Tovos is injured—I can still catch up and stop this, here and now."
"We need to retreat," Mara insisted. "All of us."
"Master," Kirana stepped in. "I understand the need to follow your basic male instincts. But now is not the time."
"She's right," Corran chimed in. "Not about the 'male instincts' crack—but we're injured and exhausted. And we have no blasted clue what Pellaeon is about to do here."
Luke scanned all the Jedi in front of him, their eyes pleading with him to back down. He rested his gaze on Kyp. "And you?"
He smirked at Luke. "If—if I'm not allowed out to play…"
"Good, it's settled." Mara turned to the others. "Whoever can move, get moving. Luke and I will grab these records and pull up the rear."
There was no argument, no fight left. Using the Force and her arms, Kirana lifted Ronap from his workbench; despite Kyp's insistence that he handle himself, Corran grabbed the other man's right arm and draped it over his own shoulder before Kyp could complain. With Luke and Mara, Wurth and Cilghal removed themselves from the room's floor, groggy and groaning but more orientated by the second.
Lightsabers in hand, the pack of exhausted and injured Jedi started for the room's door, and Luke watched them pass, a swell of relief and a touch of pride coursing through his body. Other than lectures on holocrons and ancient text, he didn't know—really know—what Jedi of the Old Republic were like, but surely, Corran, Kirana, Kyp, and the others embodied everything Jedi were supposed to be. At least he liked to think so.
"Let's get to work," Mara cut through his thoughts as the other Jedi disappeared from view. "I want off this ship as soon as possible."
Pressing his lips together, Luke snatched up a random supply bag from the floor and began yanking open cabinets in the room's office area. There were dozens of datacards and holocubes, some that appeared to be from over a generation before, and excitement brewed in Luke's stomach.
"You really like to be hard on him," Mara commented as she gathered medical datapads and other items around the workbenches.
Luke was already aware who she was referring to. "This isn't the first time Kyp's ignored orders he finds inconvenient," he said as he moved towards the file drawers constructed into the lab's far right wall. "He could have died today."
"Let's see—rogue self-righteous Jedi who thinks he knows better than everyone else and ignores orders so he can follow his own instincts—oh, and has a penchant for wearing black. Where have I seen…?"
Whatever else Mara was saying was lost in Luke's mind as he snapped open the drawer in front of him. Instead of a pile of organized datapads he'd expected, a wave of cold air and fog wafted around him. Even before he spotted the contents inside, he knew what it was.
A body.
All the air got stuck in his lungs. Grabbing a handle at the end of the metal rack inside, Luke slid the corpse halfway out. Within a semi-transparent body bag, the dead man's eyes were covered with a piece of black gauze, mouth partially ajar, an expression the man would wear forever. It was an older human, and the top part of his skull was missing.
He'd been dissected, his brain studied. In this lab that housed the Insurgent.
The realization struck Luke, connections not difficult to click together. The man had been Force-sensitive, someone the Empire or Lasial had discovered and had tried to control like Tynen but had clearly failed. Or perhaps he was simply a first step, someone to toy with before moving onto more would-be assassins.
Dread crept up Luke's back, and he glided the body back into its drawer. His mind demanded he stop, but his heart compelled him to continue. He went to the next one. As he opened its contents, his chest ached, staring at a young man—not even twenty—within the body bag's contents. Black implants surrounded his forehead, the same type of devices pierced on to the back of Kyp's and the Insurgent's necks, the skin directly above the boy's eyebrows burnt to bone. He had fought them, whatever his captors had attempted to do, and they'd killed him for it.
That's when Luke noticed it. On the right side of the young man's head, draped over his shoulder…a braid. Thin, delicate, a dark brown collection of hair, much longer than the short, spiky strands on the youth's head. Luke had seen this braid before, on holocrons and images in Jedi texts.
The boy had been a Padawan of the Old Jedi Order.
A new energy filled him. Luke slid the boy back and hurried to another drawer. This of a young Ithorian child, and it was impossible to tell if she'd perished a few years ago or forty. He moved to the next, this one an older Twi'lek male, and then the next—a young female Theelin—and as he slid another rack halfway out, his legs almost buckled. His vision warped, but he saw the face. Even with the semi-transparent bag, Luke recognized her.
Arica.
Mara's lost sister, with her blush-blonde hair, eyes covered with a black cloth.
"Luke?" Mara called from the back of the lab. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The word surfaced, a reflex, and he realized that Mara had caught onto his emotional turmoil and he wished—now more than ever—that he could keep his feelings bottled. But she had stopped what she was doing and was coming towards him.
Adrenaline surging throughout his veins, Luke pushed the metal rack back into its place in the wall before Mara reached him.
"What is it?" Mara asked.
"Bodies," he said, trying to swallow the desert in his throat. "It's a wall full of bodies, of Force-sensitives, some dating back to the old Jedi era."
Mara's jaw dropped and her gaze surveyed the collection of drawers as though expecting something horrid to jump out. Then her vision landed on the far right-side wall. "Luke," she nodded her head.
At the far end was a drawer just like the others, except its label. It was a different color, seemed newer. Luke willed himself to calm and teetered forward. Reaching the end of the lab's wall, he grabbed the latch and opened the drawer. The cold air washed over him again, and then he saw her, lying there, a cloth over her eyes, half her skull missing, and as hard as he tried not to allow his emotions—his rage, his despair, his regret—to overwhelm him, there was nothing he nor the Force could do to prevent it. Not in that moment, not with her.
Simné Trayda, Jedi Knight. Murdered by the assassin—no, by Lasial, who controlled the assassin. Luke's student, degraded into just another thing in Lasial's lab.
"We need to go," Mara whispered and rested a hand on Luke's shoulder.
Yes. He needed to go, just not where Mara hoped.
Luke slid Simné back into the drawer, closed and latched. He turned back to Mara and her eyes widened at the sight of him, and he could only imagine the look on his face that would cause such a look on hers. It was irrelevant now—only one thing mattered.
"This ends today," he spoke, his voice dark and determined.
Then he marched past Mara into the Yarway's corridor, now emptied, the emergency lights flittering as if they could go out any second. Lasial and the others were far ahead but they still needed to prep their shuttle, get things ready, and she'd wait for the Insurgent. Setting his jaw, Luke snapped into a run.
Before he got out a single footstep, a hand grabbed his right wrist. Luke reeled around to find Mara, both hands now gripping his arm. "You stupid crazy farm boy!" she shouted. "I'm not going to just sit back and watch you kill yourself!"
"Let go of my arm, Mara," he came back.
"We need to get out of here! Right now, Admiral Pellaeon and his entire Empire are at our front door. And they are either going to commandeer this ship or blow it out of space!"
"I don't care!" Luke shouted. "I can't let this continue. She has to be stopped!"
"She will be! Even if she escapes today, she's made enemies of both the New Republic and the Empire!"
"What about Tynen? What happens to him?"
Mara froze. The grip on Luke's wrist loosened. "It's out of your control, Luke. We can't help him, not right now."
"No," he swallowed hard, "I know I can do this. I know I can save him!"
"And I'm trying to save you!"
Luke blinked, his glare softened. Inside, the anger and sorrow eased, staring at this woman, her eyes begging, everything she was—everything she could be—once again out in the open for him to see. Her hands held onto him, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was give in to anything she demanded.
But then Luke's expression tightened, and he pulled his arm away, her hands slipping off as he did. "I'm going," he whispered. "You can do whatever you feel is right. And I'll do the same."
As those words left his mouth, Mara Jade's face hardened. Her lips thinned out, bright eyes dimmed, and as she lifted her chin, she declared, "If you do this, Skywalker, you'll do it alone. I'm not coming back for you."
It was a last-ditch effort to stop him, and Luke remembered a time long ago when someone had given a similar ultimatum. Obi-wan on Dagobah, as he and Master Yoda desperately pleaded with him not to face Vader. Luke had been a boy then, insanely naïve, impulsive, impatient, and far too confident for his own good.
More than anything, however, he had just wanted to save his friends. He wasn't that naïve boy anymore. He was a Jedi Master, the only Jedi Master the galaxy had left.
"Good-bye, Mara," he said before he turned away. He felt her eyes on him as he ran the opposite direction, until he reeled around a corner, leaving Mara behind as he rushed towards Lasial and her assassin.
End of Chapter 31
I dropped this extra chapter this week because I will be without a computer for the next several days, and I can't update the story until next Thursday or Friday. Have a good weekend, y'all!