Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [17]
There was no record in Imperial City’s files to say whether his father had ever occupied the fortress, though it had clearly been built for him in accord with his instructions. It had been empty when it was destroyed by a B-wing’s blasters, in the days after the New Republic reclaimed Coruscant.
Was this where Vader plotted his conquests in the Emperor’s service? Was this where he had come to rejuvenate after a battle? Had there been celebrations here, self-indulgent pleasures or cruelties? Luke listened for the echoes of the old evils, and could not be certain. But that did not matter to his plans. As he had redeemed and reclaimed his father, he would redeem and reclaim his father’s house.
Now the stones swirled again in the air, joined by others plucked from the sea and stripped from the face of the cliff. Now broken edge fused against broken edge, and the dark faces of the rock lightened as their mineral structure was reshuffled. Now heavy rock walls and floors thinned to an airy elegance as if they were clay in a potter’s press. Now a tower stretched skyward until it rose above the edge of the cliff.
When it was done, the last gap closed, the last rock transformed, the structure securely perched just above the sand on pillars of stone extending down to the bedrock, Luke brought the E-wing down the beach and nestled it in the chamber he had made for it. It was not a door that closed over the opening, though, but a solid wall that closed out not only the wind and the cold, but the world.
“Shut down all systems,” Luke told R7-T1. “Then place yourself in standby mode, I won’t be needing you for a while.”
The last task was to inspect his retreat from the perspective of any outsiders whose gaze might fall upon it. All was as he had planned. From the sky, it appeared as part of the beach. From the sea, as part of the cliffs. From the beach, as part of the sky. From the cliffs, as part of the sea. It was not a trick of camouflage, but a simple matter of allowing the essences of its substance to be seen. The retreat was of the sea, and the rock, and the sand, and the sky, in harmony with them rather than imposed on them.
The last test was to climb the tower and inspect the view. But when he looked to the east, he found his view blocked by the lowering clouds. So he waited, shrugging off time as easily as he shrugged off the cold. He waited until the wind finally blew the storm away, until he could see the snow-capped Menarai Mountains ruling over the jewel of the Core, outlined against the sky by the light from the yellow-faced inner moon.
“May this sight remind me always that the few stones I’ve gathered will not last,” he said softly. “And may the memory of Anakin Skywalker remind me always that surrender is more powerful than will.”
Then he descended at last into his retreat, sealing the opening behind him.
Leia sat bolt upright in the darkness. “He’s here.”
“What?” Han said sleepily.
“He’s here—on Coruscant.”
“Who’s here?”
“Luke. I felt his mind touch mine.”
“Great. Invite him to dinner,” Han said with a yawn.
“You don’t understand,” she said impatiently. “I was sleeping, or thought I was. I was dreaming that Luke was looking down at me. Then I realized I was awake. We looked at each other for a moment, and then he disappeared—as though he’d drawn a curtain.”
“Sounds like dreaming to me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You were right, Han—he’s hiding. He doesn’t want to be found.”
Han pulled a pillow over his head. “Let him hide, then. I could sleep at night.”
“I just want to know why. I don’t understand what’s happening.” And I need to know that he’s there if I need him, she thought.
“He’ll tell us when he’s ready,” Han said, drawing Leia down into the comforting circle of his arms. “Sleep, my princess. Mornings always come too soon.”
Chapter 3
The broad, curving viewpanes of the staff conference room, high