Star Wars_ Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor - Matthew Woodring Stover [66]
Unlike what occurred during the standard Pawning process that Cronal had painstakingly developed, Skywalker had not had his hair flash-burned away, had not had his skull opened and crystals implanted in his brain. No neurosurgery, not for Skywalker, nothing that might leave a suspicion-arousing scar.
He lay wholly within the meltmassif, buried alive with not even a breathing tube. Well, semi-alive: in full thanatizine II suspension, he had at least another hour before he would next need to take a breath. Before that breath would come, the combined power and perception Cronal channeled through the Pawns would have induced the meltmassif surrounding Skywalker’s body to pierce his skin with invisibly fine needles of living crystal … they would enter through every pore, through his mouth and his nose, his ears, his tongue … and with the arcane powers he had ripped from the spirit of the ancient King of the Sith, Cronal would shape those crystals within Skywalker’s body as he had shaped the ones in his own: into a webwork mirror of the young Jedi’s nervous system.
Then Cronal would simply close his eyes and pour forth his consciousness like water into a waiting jug. With a twist of will—for thanatizine II only affected the organic body and would have no effect upon the crystalline neuroweb—he would liquefy the meltmassif of the Pawning Table and arise, quite literally, a new man. When he opened his eyes again, those eyes would be blue.
And he would extend his hand, and the Force would answer his call, bringing Skywalker’s lightsaber—no, Cronal’s lightsaber—up from the same meltmassif, because what was a Jedi without the Jedi weapon?
And should anything go wrong, well …
Should anything at all go wrong, the last living Jedi—the last being in the galaxy that Cronal would ever have any reason to fear—was already buried alive; all that Cronal might need to change in that description would be the word alive.
CHAPTER 11
LANDO STOOD AT THE FORWARD VIEWSCREENS OF THE Remember Alderaan’s bridge, watching as the battle cruiser’s A-wing squadrons mopped up the last of the marauding interceptors that had been attacking the Slash-Es. He nodded—the Mandalorians were proving to be every bit as good as their reputation claimed—and turned to the Remember Alderaan’s commander. “Well done, Captain,” he said. “Recall all fighters and initiate search and rescue. And see to it that when Lord Mandalore lands, he receives my compliments and gratitude, as well as my urgent request for the honor of his company at his earliest convenience.”
The captain nodded. “As the general orders.”
Lando turned to the ComOps officer. “Get me a secure channel with Commander Antilles of Rogue Squadron.”
“Um, subspace is heavily jammed, General—”
“Okay,” Lando said with an agreeable smile that somehow didn’t look the slightest bit friendly. “Now that we’ve got that straightened out, get me a secure channel with Captain Antilles.”
The ComOps officer swallowed and turned back to his console. “Yes, sir.”
“And when you get that channel,” Lando said crisply, coming to a snap decision, “tell him I’m waiting for him in the Deck Seven fighter bay.”
“Sir.”
“Tell him that I’ve been waiting. Remind him that I don’t like waiting. And let Lord Mandalore know where we are.” He spun and headed for the turbolift. He jabbed a finger at C-3PO, who had been inconspicuously eavesdropping by an engineering console. “You. With me.”
“Me? Really? But, but, General Calrissian—”
“Now,” Lando said as he passed.
“That’s a bit brusque, isn’t it?” C-3PO nonetheless shuffled into the turbolift after him. “Please, General Calrissian, you do seem, if you don’t mind my mentioning, just the slightest bit agitated—”
“I can’t imagine why.” Lando stabbed the turbolift’s destination