Star Wars_ I, Jedi - Michael A. Stackpole [86]
“But you are not ready for such challenges.”
“Not if you’re going to make them marrow-blasting challenges, no.” I pointed at his right hand. “Did you learn a lot from your failure at Bespin?”
Luke’s fingers flexed. “Yes.”
“Then let us fail a bit and learn how to deal with it. As we used to say in CorSec, there are two types of speeder bike riders: those who have fallen off, and those who are going to fall off. Jedi will fail, and if they don’t learn how to deal with failure, if they don’t have the spine to recover from it, you’ll lose them.”
Luke’s lightsaber died. “I have to think about what you’ve said.”
“Don’t just think, Master, act.” I thumbed my blade off as well, letting darkness swallow us. “If you don’t act, the disaster you feel could be on a scale from which none of us can possibly recover.”
TWENTY-ONE
I awoke slowly, feeling as if I’d done my best to drain every drop of liquor from a cantina where the drinks weren’t watered, the mugs weren’t cleaned, the bottles weren’t labeled and the first-aid kit consisted of a blaster with which you could put yourself out of your misery. Actually, I didn’t even feel that good. I was pretty sure I’d not been on such a bender because I didn’t find any tattoos or scars on me, and the bruises were ones I recognized from my training. The fact that the nearest cantina was a good five parsecs away, as the Falcon flies, coupled with the fact that I didn’t have a ship, likewise contraindicated a hangover.
But, then again, I did kinda feel as if I’d walked that far.
Despite my better judgment—which was urging me just to lie down and die—I oozed out of bed and pulled on my running clothes. That helped wake me up, largely because they were still damp, cold and clammy from the short run I’d taken the night before to burn off some of my frustration with Master Skywalker. Nothing like the feel of wet fabric against the flesh in the morning to remind you that you’re alive. Doesn’t do much for the quality of life issues some folks find important, but I’d reached that point where I decided being alive was better than the nearest alternative.
I even managed a smile. “And if I die, I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity locked in the rocks on this place. Might be good enough for Exar Kun, but not me.”
My muscles felt as if they were encased in carbonite, but I managed to get them going and actually had worked up to a brisk stumble when I emerged from the Great Temple. There I moved into a real stumble, landing on my hands and knees, because a Z-95 Headhunter rested on the landing pad outside. I panicked for a second, thinking I might, in fact, have stolen it from near the cantina where I did all the drinking, but I calmed myself quickly. Didn’t even have to use a Jedi technique to do it, either.
I knew, had I flown in the condition I was in, the only landing I could have managed was a crash. And Mara Jade wouldn’t like that happening to her Headhunter.
The realization that I was looking at her fighter washed the last of the muzziness from my brain. Kyp had stolen that ship and if it was back, that meant he was, too. I got up and ran over to the craft, stretching out my feelings to see if I could detect his presence. I caught some faint traces of him, but they emanated mostly from the controls, which looked as if he’d reached a hand into them and just squeezed. Mara Jade isn’t going to like that one bit.
I turned around, following a wisp of Kyp’s essence to the base of the Great Temple. A path had been cleared through the rusty vines overgrowing much of the temple. The vines nearest the uncovered stairway looked pale and stunted. They had recoiled from the steps like snakes preparing to strike, and had withered considerably in the process.
I took the steps two at a time. I had no idea what I would find at the top or what I would do to confront Kyp if I found him there. I steeled myself for a confrontation, and worked to tap the Force to fortify