Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [137]
“Which way, Sarge?”
“To the right,” Nova said, and led the charge.
There’s your chance, friend, he thought. I hope you make good use of it.
64
CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOCKING BAY 2037, DEATH STAR
There he was. After so much time and across so much space, the hooded figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his former Master and friend, stood right in front of him. He had aged; his face was lined, his beard white. It was impossible not to remember vividly the last time they had seen each other, when his Master had crippled him and left him to die on the fiery banks of a river of molten rock, light-years from here.
Now his anger smoldered in him like the banks of that coursing stream of lava. You should have killed me then, Obi-Wan.
Vader lit his lightsaber. The red beam crackled with power.
Obi-Wan had already known Vader was there, of course. The Force swirled about the two of them, forging a link impossible to miss.
Vader strode toward the old man. As he drew nearer, Obi-Wan ignited his own lightsaber. The blue gleam of the blade flashed brightly.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete.”
Vader raised his weapon to attack, and Obi-Wan matched his pose.
“When I left you, I was but the learner; now I am the Master.”
“Only a master of evil, Darth.” With that, Obi-Wan stepped in and cut.
Vader blocked the attack easily. Obi-Wan attacked again, and again, Vader blocked each strike.
If the old man thought he could rattle him by attacking instead of defending, he was mistaken. Vader riposted, sped up his timing, and took the initiative, forcing the erstwhile Jedi to defend.
He still had some skill, his old Master did, but he was out of practice. Vader could feel it through the Force.
Obi-Wan twirled and blocked a slash, then wove a defensive pattern with his blade. The Force was still with the old Jedi; he was able to anticipate Vader’s strikes and block or parry them. But after a quick exchange, Vader felt the energy shift in his favor. “Your powers are weak, old man.”
There had always been in Vader a small bit of worry about this day. Not much; just a trace. He had been sure, in his youthful arrogance, that he had been stronger, had been better than the Jedi Knight who had been his teacher, and the memory of what Obi-Wan had done to him would never be erased. He had been a superior fighter even when he had been Anakin Skywalker, and yet Obi-Wan had defeated him.
Could he win now?
It was as if the old man could read his thoughts:
“You can’t win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”
Vader knew that Obi-Wan was taunting him by using the Sith honorific, but he would not allow himself to be baited. Obi-Wan lunged again, attacking, but Vader was ready. Their sabers clashed, sparks spewed, the stink of ozone wafted over them, but Vader stood his ground. The blades slid along each other’s length, then stopped, bound together in the magnetic handle guards, the men face-to-face.
Vader shoved, hard, and they broke the clash. Obi-Wan retreated a step.
Vader felt the fierce anticipation of victory pound in his heart. “You should not have come back,” he told the old Jedi.
Another exchange—four, five, six attacks and blocks—and Vader knew the old man was weakening. The Force might be strong in Obi-Wan, but the dark side was stronger in Vader. It let him anticipate his adversary’s strikes and counter them almost before they began.
Obi-Wan knew it, too. He began a retreat, backing away, his lightsaber itself seeming weaker as he moved.
Vader backed Obi-Wan past an open blast door leading to the forward dock where the Rebel freighter was being held under guard. The old man was obviously tiring.
You’re mine, old man, Vader thought.
But just as he was ready to deliver the final strike, Obi-Wan managed a fast series of attacks, and Vader had to move quickly to avoid the strikes. Even as old and weak as Obi-Wan was, his technique was accomplished enough that a foolish move on Vader’s part could