Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights III_ Patterns of Force - Michael Reaves [27]
It was an unnerving place—an ever-changing passage of creeping light and shadow through which the external world could be seen as if through a thick wall of gel. Now the walls were rippling toward him; now they flew away like a sac swollen by a breath of ionized air. Far above—forty stories, perhaps—he could see a thin sliver of twilight sky. Then that was wiped from view in the rippling distortions of the walls.
The sounds, too, were distracting; deafening screeches and roars, like metal sheets being ripped asunder, and his nostrils were constantly assaulted by the stench of ozone. He ran, using the Force to speed him along and deflect the billowing walls of the passageway. He tried nothing else until the boy was perhaps three meters ahead of him; then he reached out and tripped him. Or tried to … It was as if the boy could read his intentions and knew just when to defend himself; this time he simply lifted his feet from the ground and somersaulted up the passage several meters before turning, touching down, and doing something that changed Tesla’s mind utterly about the nature of their contest.
The boy reached into the transparent energy fabric of the repulsor field—something that should have been impossible—and literally wrenched out a blazing ball of energy, molding the mass of writhing static between his hands as if it were made of modeling gel instead of highly charged energy particles. Then he flung the blindingly bright ball at Tesla.
The Inquisitor whipped into a defensive position, erecting a barrier against the salvo. It seemed to matter little; it still took him by storm, knocking him backward almost to the entrance of the corridor. Only his own well-honed control of the Force kept him from tumbling out of control. He jackknifed in the air and came at the boy again, this time with his lightsaber lit.
He saw the boy’s face clearly as he charged. The cowl of his cloak lay back on his narrow shoulders, his hair floated wildly about his head, and his eyes were huge with fear and fury.
Feeling the youth’s anger, Tesla was exultant. He had a fleeting thought of what a prize this child would make for his lord, but the proud thought was swamped by survival instinct—and by his own wrath. He would not be bested by a mere boy! He roared aloud, using the Force to amplify the sound, and saw the teenager’s eyes widen farther.
Tesla was ready when the second ball of repulsor energy came flying at him. He raised his lightsaber to parry it—and was blown upward into the heights of the field tunnel in a flash of searing crimson light. At a height of seven or eight meters, he collided with a ripple in the energy barrier that deflected him downward again with just as much force. He came down on the gritty duracrete surface face-first, only just gathering the presence of mind to wrap the Force around him like a cocoon. It was all that kept him from breaking bones.
He levitated back to his feet, enraged, and threw back his own cowl. “Fool!” he roared at the retreating form. “I offer you freedom and you choose to hide with the vermin!”
The youth hesitated and turned. “You’re an Inquisitor.” His voice came to Tesla’s ears warped and tortured by the skittering, moaning sounds of the warring repulsor fields.
“So could you be, with your power.”
The boy’s unspoken scorn was immediate and powerful, as if it, like his unlikely ability, was fed by the Force. He started to turn away.
“Return with me or die!”
The boy turned back, his gaze meeting Tesla’s so strongly that the Inquisitor heard it as a rending sound in his head and felt it as a searing pain behind his eyes. His heart pounded, his breath was suddenly constricted—he felt like a lidded vessel filling with some white-hot substance until