Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 04_ Exile - Aaron Allston [132]
“You really do hate me, don’t you?” Lumiya asked.
“You’ve given me plenty of reasons to. But no. I don’t reciprocate your hate.” Luke leapt over another sweep of tendrils, coming down atop a chair and leaping free of it as Lumiya’s follow-up attack disintegrated it. He landed lightly, poised.
“I don’t hate.” She lowered her whip. “I’m sorry you think that of me. I haven’t hated for…a very long time. Yes, I’ve tried to kill you—but that was professional. Not personal.”
Luke held up his own weapon long enough to deflect a stray blaster bolt, a security agent attack that merely strayed too near him, then lowered the lightsaber, matching Lumiya’s action. “You don’t hate. Somehow I don’t believe that.”
“We belong to rival schools, Luke. That’s all. Shall I prove it?”
“Sure.”
Lumiya deactivated her lightwhip and wrapped it around her waist. She gestured, palms up. “Kill me now, if you want.”
He took a step forward. “I don’t want. But you’re a never-ending threat to me and my family.”
“Then take your shot. But first, for old times’ sake, take my hand.” She extended her right hand, palm still upward, a gesture of peace.
Luke gave her an exasperated look. “I can’t believe you’d stoop to such a childish tactic.”
“No tactic, Luke. Listen to my voice. Listen to my feelings. I’m not offering you poisoned fingers or Force lightning, just a touch.” Her voice became more sad. “If I’d wanted to hurt you tonight, I would have killed your nephew instead of letting him flee.”
“Flee?” Careful to keep Lumiya in his peripheral vision, Luke scanned the chamber.
Most of the actors had disappeared. Mara was dealing with an ever-decreasing number of security agents. Leia was backing Alema up across the main hall, with Han following, taking potshots to provide support to his wife. The giant hologram was gone, and so was Jacen.
He left us.
“And I could have attacked you just now.”
Luke returned his attention to Lumiya. He felt no danger through the Force, none at all. From her there was only peaceful intent.
He extinguished his lightsabers and hung them from his belt, then reached out with his left hand, his flesh hand. His fingers grazed hers, and then her hand closed on his.
And nothing happened.
“Sweetheart?”
“Busy.” Leia swung an almost ceaseless flurry of blows at Alema, but the Twi’lek Jedi continued backing away, fighting a defensive action, never trying to attack. It was unlike her.
“Jacen’s run off.”
Han’s words created a tight knot in Leia’s chest. She had risked her life, and Han his, to save their son, and Jacen had just left them behind.
But she couldn’t dwell on that. Alema was still a dangerous foe. Leia had to win here.
“Sweetheart.”
“Now what?”
“Incoming.”
Leia backflipped away from her enemy, and in mid-rotation saw that the view of Gilatter VIII was partially blocked—the same ship she’d seen Alema disappear in only days before was headed straight for them.
As she landed, she saw that Alema had switched off her lightsaber and was donning a close-fitting, flexible helmet with a transparent faceplate—an emergency decompression helmet. Alema smiled at her.
Luke felt the danger coming, but it was not coming from Lumiya. He turned away and looked up just in time to see the YV-666 contact the top of the dome.
The dome, ancient transparisteel, did not shatter. It caved in, crumpling like a thin-walled metal can. The great mass of the ship hurtled to crash into the floor of the main hall, and a ripple like a tidal wave coursed through the floor.
Luke leapt toward the exit. Mara was ahead of him. He saw the ripple effect from the impact bounce bodies up off the flooring, and the cargo ship, its speed hardly checked, continued plowing into the floor, punching a ragged hole through the axis of the space station. Beyond it, he thought he saw the relit tendrils of Lumiya’s whip lashing—against what? An enemy? A wall, to provide her with an escape path? Suddenly the whip was obscured by an expanding cloud of debris kicked up by the YV-666’s impact.
The station’s atmosphere,