Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [53]
“I can’t, Han …” Her lip began to tremble again.
“You can’t! You can’t tell me? I thought we were closer than that, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe you’d rather tell Luke. Sometimes I—”
“Oh, Han!” she cried, and burst into tears once more. She buried herself in his embrace.
His anger turned slowly to confusion and dismay, as he found himself wrapping his arms around her, caressing her shoulders, comforting her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t understand, not an iota—didn’t understand her, or himself, or his topsy-turvy feelings, or women, or the universe. All he knew was that he’d just been furious, and now he was affectionate, protective, tender. Made no sense.
“Please … just hold me,” she whispered. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to be held.
He just held her.
Morning mist rose off dewy vegetation as the sun broke the horizon over Endor. The lush foliage of the forest’s edge had a moist, green odor; in that dawning moment the world was silent, as if holding its breath.
In violent contrast, the Imperial landing platform squatted over the ground. Harsh, metallic, octagonal, it seemed to cut like an insult into the verdant beauty of the place. The bushes at its perimeter were singed black from repeated shuttle landings; the flora beyond that was wilting—dying from refuse disposal, trampling feet, chemical exhaust fumes. Like a blight was this outpost.
Uniformed troops walked continuously on the platform and in the area—loading, unloading, surveilling, guarding. Imperial walkers were parked off to one side—square, armored, two-legged war machines, big enough for a squad of soldiers to stand inside, firing laser cannon in all directions. An Imperial shuttle took off for the Death Star, with a roar that made the trees cringe. Another walker emerged from the timber on the far side of the platform, returning from a patrol mission. Step by lumbering step, it approached the loading dock.
Darth Vader stood at the rail of the lower deck, staring mutely into the depths of the lovely forest. Soon. It was coming soon; he could feel it. Like a drum getting louder, his destiny approached. Dread was all around, but fear like this excited him, so he let it bubble quietly within. Dread was a tonic, it heightened his senses, honed a raw edge to his passions. Closer, it came.
Victory, too he sensed. Mastery. But laced with something else … what was it? He couldn’t see it, quite. Always in motion, the future; difficult to see. Its apparitions tantalized him, swirling specters, always changing. Smoky was his future, thunderous with conquest and destruction.
Very close, now. Almost here.
He purred, in the pit of his throat, like a wild cat smelling game on the air.
Almost here.
The Imperial walker docked at the opposite end of the deck, and opened its doors. A phalanx of stormtroopers marched out in tight circular formation. They lock-stepped toward Vader.
He turned around to face the oncoming troopers, his breathing even, his black robes hanging still in the windless morning. The stormtroopers stopped when they reached him, and at a word from their captain, parted to reveal a bound prisoner in their midst. It was Luke Skywalker.
The young Jedi gazed at Vader with complete calm, with many layers of vision.
The stormtrooper captain spoke to Lord Vader. “This is the Rebel that surrendered to us. Although he denies it, I believe there may be more of them, and I request permission to conduct a wider search of the area.” He extended his hand to the Dark Lord; in it, he held Luke’s lightsaber. “He was armed only with this.”
Vader looked at the lightsaber a moment, then slowly took it from the captain’s hand. “Leave us. Conduct your search, and bring his companions to me.”
The officer and his troops withdrew back to the walker.
Luke and Vader were left standing alone facing each other, in the emerald tranquillity of the ageless forest. The mist was beginning to burn off. Long day ahead.
7
“SO,” the Dark Lord