Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [123]
“I do,” Nandreeson said.
Han shook his head. “Naw. If you owned the Run, then how would I have been able to recruit a team?”
“You didn’t.” Zeen had Han’s arm. Han turned, and found himself nose-to-nose with Zeen’s blaster. The Kid had his blaster on Chewie, and Wynni had her bowcaster out and loaded.
“Great rescue,” Lando said. “Excellent rescue. In fact, the best rescue I’ve ever experienced.”
“I warned you about the sarcasm,” Han said. He glanced at Chewie, who looked as stunned as he felt.
“You know, Solo,” Nandreeson said, “you’re right. This drowning method lacks originality. I’m tired of watching a man die slowly. Let’s speed it up, shall we?”
Han raised his hands. “Now, Nandreeson, I didn’t mean—”
And then he ducked as the shooting started.
Thirty-two
Luke couldn’t find a bacta tank, but he found something better: a Pydyrian healing stick. He had forgotten that Pydyr was the place that had invented the healing stick. It had been used all over the galaxy long before the bacta tank came into being, and some thought the healing stick was much better.
He found his upstairs in the house he was staying in. The healing stick was long, thin, and white. When rubbed against a surface, a white residue remained behind. The computer had assured him the residue had healing properties. What he was learning, as he gingerly applied the stick to his injured back, was that it had soothing properties. Most of the pain from the burn faded.
If only he could repair his hand. He had peeled most of the artificial skin off, but the moving metal parts reminded him, a bit too painfully, of the price he had paid to become a Jedi.
He was nearly done with the healing stick when he felt a disturbance in the Force. A familiar presence was nearby. This was the presence he had felt on Telti, the presence that had haunted him when he arrived in Almanian space, the presence that had lured him from Coruscant to here, this desolate side of nowhere.
A student. That much he was sure of now. He prided himself on his ability to remember all of his students, but this one still eluded him. If he told himself the truth, he remembered all the students who completed the training. The students who left became faces, a memory, and, Leia warned, someday they would become a statistic.
He set down the healing stick and put his shirt back on. His lightsaber had never left his side. He glanced in the mirror. His back was covered with white residue. It was foaming. The computer had warned him that a person must rest for the healing stick to work. Luke hoped he would get that chance.
Slowly he limped his way down the stairs. He was stiff from the fall, his muscles aching with pain. The mistmakers had weakened his system; the burns and the fall had made him lose even more strength. If he was at ten percent of his normal power, he was high.
Size matters not, Yoda had told him.
He hoped that applied to strength as well.
The presence had neared. It was strong in the dark side. He could feel the ripples, feel a power he hadn’t felt in a living being since he encountered the Emperor. Luke had never had a student that powerful, of that he was certain. Whoever it was became powerful after he had left the academy.
So powerful that a man like Brakiss, who had so much talent in the Force that the Empire had taken him, as a baby, to train in the dark side, was terrified of him.
Once Leia had asked Luke what it felt like when he knew someone steeped in the dark side was near. He hadn’t been trained enough as a young Jedi to understand the feeling. It was only later, as he grew in strength, that he understood. And he couldn’t explain it then.
He could now.
It felt as if a tornado had struck in the middle of a beautiful day. It felt like a blast of cold air in a warm room. It felt as if someone beloved had just died.
He followed the feeling. It grew closer as he approached its source. He grabbed his walking stick, limped outside the house, into the Pydyrian sunshine, and stopped near the arch.
In the street, a man stood