Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [28]
But he reached out and clambered up the rungs all the same, taking them two at a time as a point of pride. He wasn’t happy, though, to hear his own grunts at the bottom or feel his heart racing at the top.
Han found himself standing at the bottom of a large spherical room containing no furniture or technology—at least, none that he could spot. “Now what?”
Keep coming, said the voice in his head. Walk up the wall.
“Easy for you to say,” Han said, starting to feel annoyed.
But the opening he had climbed through had already vanished, leaving him with little choice. He started up the curving wall, and found to his surprise that wherever he stood seemed to be the bottom of the sphere.
There was no telling whether it was a trick with grav fields, some sort of Jedi legerdemain, or the room itself was turning under him. Han tried not to think about it, though his steps became cautious as he went past the halfway point up the wall—or, at least, what should have seemed like halfway up the wall.
After he had gone a dozen more tentative steps, a section of the floor—wall? ceiling?—ahead of him dropped away to form a ramp leading out of the sphere. It seemed to Han as though he must be upside down in relation to the rest of the structure, but he found himself, apparently right side up, entering a large pyramidal room from one of its three sloping sides. It was as lacking in amenities as any space he had seen so far, and lit by the same curious uniform glow that seemed to come from behind the walls without making them bright to the eyes. The light was as cold as the air.
“Nice little tree house,” Han said, moving slowly toward the center of the room, looking up at the apex of the chamber. “And you’ve done a wonderful job of cutting down on clutter. I think you’ve taken the idea of concealed storage to a new level. You’ll have to give Leia the name of your decorator.”
“Thank you for coming, Han,” a voice said behind him. “It’s good to see you.”
Han spun around and found Luke standing one long stride away, almost as if he had been following Han. Han’s face broke into a boyish lopsided grin. “Well, hey, I wanted to get out of the house, and since I was in the neighborhood—You know, you could’ve come to see us, too.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Luke said. He wore an ankle-length patchwork robe that seemed to be made from bits of several other garments, including a pilot’s uniform and a Tatooine sand cape. His demeanor was relaxed but remote, quelling Han’s impulse to grab him in a bear hug and clap him on the back. “I hope by the time you leave, you’ll understand why.”
“Well—you’ll have to start at the beginning, because I don’t understand a thing about what’s going on,” Han said. “What is this place? Why are you here? Why are you hiding? Why am I here? Why didn’t you want Leia to come?”
“Leia wants something from me,” Luke said. “You don’t. Your other questions will take longer to answer.”
Han looked around with a frown. “If this is gonna be a long conversation—I don’t suppose you have anything like a chair anywhere?”
“Sorry,” Luke said, dropping gracefully into a cross-legged meditation posture. “Sit where you like, and I’ll put an air cushion under you.” He waited until Han was comfortably settled, then went on. “As you see, I can hide well enough, even from Leia. But I’d rather be left alone. I hope that you’ll go back and ask her to accept that. If she doesn’t—well, she’s not going to get what she wants. She’s only going to drive me away from Coruscant.”
“I don’t get it,” Han said. “Why? You two have always been close. What happened?”
“Nothing,” Luke said. “I just can’t be close with anyone right now.”
“Go on. I’m listenin’.”
Luke nodded, but looked down into his lap before continuing. “I don’t know if you can understand or not. When I first met Obi-Wan, he’d been a hermit on Tatooine for ten years or more. When I first met Yoda, he had been a hermit on Dagobah for a hundred years or more. I never thought to ask either of them why.”
“A little late for that now,” Han said with a wry smile.