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Swinging his saber until it was no more than a blue blur in the dank air of the temple, he leaped straight up into the air. It was more than a jump, less than levitation. Out of the blue circle of energy he flung the saber.

Instinctively—he had no time to think—Luke parried. The Force inherent in the thrown saber knocked Luke’s out of his hand. Both weapons flew off to the right and lay, still gleaming, still activated, on the ground, near a dark circular opening that gaped black in the floor.

As Vader drifted slowly back to the floor he grabbed his right wrist with his left hand, made a fist, and seemed to convulse like a man retching. A ball of pure white energy the size of his fist materialized in front of Vader’s hands and moved down toward the wide-eyed Luke.

Something made Luke realize he could never reach his saber before the white globe touched him. He threw up both hands and looked away. So he didn’t see what happened.

His hands seemed to blur. The white globe struck them, bounced back, and contacted Vader gently as the latter touched the ground. There was a soft crack as of an explosion far in the distance. Vader was knocked head over heels and the globe vanished.

But when the white energy ball had touched Luke’s hands, the power inherent in the kinetite, or restrained energy globe, had thrown him to the ground. Had he resisted it unsuccessfully it would have thrown him across the chamber and through the temple wall.

Now he lay on his belly while Vader rolled slowly onto his side, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes refocused, to see a shaken but otherwise unharmed Luke crawling slowly toward his lightsaber.

“Not … possible!” Vader muttered, starting to crawl toward his own weapon. The left side of his body armor was dented inward as if by a giant’s fist, where the kinetite had struck. “Such power … in a child. Not possible!”

Luke had neither the strength nor the desire to argue. He saw only the saber, felt only its smooth handle fitting compactly into his palm.

But by then Vader had reached his own weapon. With a supreme effort he tottered to his feet, turned to face Luke. Holding his father’s saber over his head, Luke rose, rushed at the Dark Lord and threw himself on the towering black figure.

There was a blinding flash of light as he made contact with Vader’s saber beam and slid on through with the blow. His saber continued downward, pierced the stone floor. Luke’s hand struck a rock and jarred his saber loose.

He hit the ground hard, then rolled onto his back to see what had happened. What he saw was Vader staring at the floor. His right arm lay there, still gripping the glowing saber. There was less blood than Luke would have expected. He tried to rise, failed. He no longer retained the strength to climb to his knees, let alone to regain his feet.

So he lay there completely exhausted. Slowly, in uneven, unsteady steps, the Dark Lord tottered to his severed arm. Amazingly, he bent down and lifted the amputated limb, detached the saber from it. Holding it in his left, he turned to face Luke. It was useless, he thought, as Vader raised the saber over his head with his one remaining hand. The Dark Lord, Lord of the Sith, Master of the Dark Side of the Force, was invincible.

It was over.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, turning his head to where the Princess lay crumpled on the temple floor. “I’m sorry, Leia. I loved you.” He looked back up and found he hadn’t the strength for a last curse.

The saber soared above and behind Vader’s head. The Dark Lord staggered drunkenly forward. He stumbled a couple of steps to the left.

And disappeared.

A dissonant, inhuman howling marked the descent of the Dark Lord down the black circle to Luke’s right. Frowning painfully, hardly daring to believe, Luke crawled slowly over to the rim of the black circle, peered in and down.

He could not see the bottom of the pit, nor any sign of Darth Vader.

“He’s gone,” he mumbled, dazed, hardly daring to believe it. “Gone down to where he belongs, I hope.” He looked across the floor as he struggled to sit up,