Star Wars_ Tales From the Mos Eisley Cantina - Kevin J. Anderson [133]
Go check out the docking bay, BoShek thought at them. Go bother somebody else. Whatever, just let me go.
What had the old man told him about the Force? “Beware the dark side,” he’d said. “Only the pure of heart can ever hope to wield the Force’s power with any success.” And he’d told BoShek he’d have to resolve his role here on the edge of society before he could continue his journey.
Great. Stealing the landspeeder had probably nixed whatever chance he’d ever had at using the Force.
But he hadn’t actually stolen it, now had he? He’d tossed the Arconan who’d bought it at least fifty credits, and while it was true that he’d only been hoping to keep the landspeeder dealer from raising the alarm for a few minutes, he could still take it back.
All right, he thought, directing his thoughts out into the vastness of space where he imagined the Force accumulated. I’ll take the speeder back just as soon as I get free, and I’ll quit running hot ships for smugglers and I’ll clean up the rest of my act, as long as you get me out of this mess.
He didn’t really expect it to work. The Force wasn’t some judgmental god deciding a person’s fate; like the old man had implied, the Force just was. It didn’t care what BoShek promised. The power to manipulate it came from within, and BoShek wasn’t foolish enough to believe he had reached internal harmony in the last few seconds. But maybe, just maybe, he had changed enough to make a difference.
He concentrated all his effort on the stormtroopers, willing them to let him go, and he was almost sure he felt something, a twinge of awareness directed toward them. An answering sensation came back, as if they too possessed some rudiments of the Force, or had once been exposed to it. They seemed to feel his touch; all four of them turned in unison to regard the landspeeder again.
BoShek could hardly breathe. Fog your brains, he thought at them. Forget I’m here.
“How long have you had these droids?” the stormtrooper captain asked.
“Huh?” BoShek turned his head toward the passenger seat, wondering how he could have missed seeing a droid there, but save for himself the speeder was empty.
“I—” he said, but the trooper cut him off.
“Let me see your identification.”
Here we go, BoShek thought. He reached slowly for his belt, wondering if he could grab his blaster and take out all four troopers, but the captain’s next words stopped him cold.
“We don’t need to see his identification,” he said to the others. “These aren’t the droids we’re looking for.”
Bewildered, BoShek could only say, “That’s … uh, that’s good.”
“You can go about your business,” the trooper said. He waved his arms in dismissal. “Move along.”
BoShek’s field of vision was shot full of tracers from the sudden rush of relief. He had to take a deep breath to keep from fainting, but he managed to urge the landspeeder forward and around the corner before he pulled it to a stop and collapsed back against the seat.
He had no idea what had just happened, except for one thing: The Force was real, and he had somehow manipulated the stormtroopers with it.
But not without a price. He imagined the old man, probably half a light-year away by now, still watching over him somehow, waiting to see if he would follow through on his promise.
Would he? It was hardly a question. BoShek had been given a glimpse of something vast, something at once wonderful and terrifying. Beware the dark side, the old man had told him, and BoShek knew the warning was sincere. He could use this newfound power of his for good or for evil, but once he made the choice, there would be no going back. He was standing at a crossroads, and whatever decision he made now would affect the rest of his life.
Smiling for the first time in what seemed like hours, he started the landspeeder and began driving it back to its rightful owner.
Doctor Death:
The Tale of Dr. Evazan
and Ponda Baba
by Kenneth C. Flint
The odd scraping sound