Star Wars_ The Jedi Academy_ Champions of the Force - Kevin J. Anderson [12]
The last thing he remembered was the serpent-shaped tendrils of black Force wrapping around him. Rising from the summons of Exar Kun and Luke’s misguided student Kyp Durron, the serpents of Sith power had sunk their fangs into him. Luke had been unable to resist their combined might. He had tried to use his lightsaber, but even that had failed.
Luke had fallen into a bottomless pit deeper than any of the black holes in the Maw cluster. He did not know how long he had been powerless. He remembered only an emptiness, a coldness … until something had jarred him loose.
Now, as the sudden clamor of sensory impressions filled him, it took him some time to sort out and make sense of what he could see: the walls of the grand audience chamber, the lozenge-shaped stones, the translucent tiles set out in hypnotic patterns, the long promenade and the empty benches spread like frozen waves on the floor, where once the entire Rebel Alliance had celebrated their victory over the first Death Star.
Luke’s head buzzed, and he felt giddy. He wondered why he should feel so insubstantial, until he looked down—and saw his own body still lying prone and motionless below him, eyes closed, face expressionless.
Astonishment and disbelief blurred Luke’s vision, but he forced himself to focus again on his own features. He saw the faded scars from when the wampa ice creature had attacked him on Hoth. His body was still draped with the brown Jedi robe, his hands crossed lightly on his chest. The lightsaber lay at his hip, a cylinder of silent plasteel, crystals, and electronic components.
“What’s going on?” Luke said out loud. “Hello?”
He heard the words thrum through his head like vibrating transmissions, but they made no sound at all in the air.
Finally Luke looked at himself—the part of himself that was aware—and saw an insubstantial image, like a ghost reflection of his body, as if he had reconstructed a hologram using his impression of what he looked like. His spectral arms and legs appeared to be garbed in a flowing Jedi robe, but the colors were washed-out and weak. Everything was sketched with a lambent blue glow that sparkled as he moved.
With a rush of awe and astonishment Luke suddenly knew what had happened. Several times he had encountered wavering spirits of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, and his own father, Anakin Skywalker.
Was he dead, then? It sounded ludicrous because he didn’t feel dead—but he had no point of comparison. He recalled how Obi-Wan’s and Yoda’s and Anakin’s bodies had all vanished upon their deaths: Obi-Wan and Yoda leaving only crumpled robes, Anakin Skywalker leaving only the empty body armor of Darth Vader.
Why, then, had his own body remained intact, stretched out on the raised platform? Could it be because he was not yet entirely a Jedi Master, completely given over to the Force—or could it be that he was not truly dead?
Luke heard a whirring as the turbolift rose to the top chamber. The sound seemed eerie and unnatural, as if he were using senses other than his ears to hear.
The turbolift doors slid open. Artoo-Detoo extended his front wheeled foot and rolled out, moving slowly, almost respectfully, along the polished stone promenade. The droid proceeded toward the raised platform.
Luke’s shimmering image stood in front of his body where it lay in state, and he watched with joy as the little astromech droid came to him.
“Artoo, am I glad to see you!” he said. He expected the droid to bleep with wild excitement. But Artoo gave no indication that he heard or detected Luke.
“Artoo?”
Artoo-Detoo trundled up the ramp to Luke’s shrouded body. The droid hooted, a low, mournful sound that expressed deep grief—if droids could feel such emotions. It tore Luke apart to see his mechanical friend looking at the body; his optical receptor winked from red to blue and back again.
Luke realized that the droid was taking readings,