Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [48]
Luke remained motionless. If they were sentient creatures, they would have some way of reacting to stimuli. The pink strands were a clue, as was the bubbles’ bumping behavior. They probably responded to movement. If they responded to heat, they would have found him first, not the X-wing.
But the X-wing hadn’t moved in quite some time. Either they had been coming for it since it landed, or something else about it attracted them.
Its energy stores?
He couldn’t tell. But he couldn’t let them keep bumping it. The X-wing was his only way off the planet.
He gripped his lightsaber tightly in his right hand and started toward the bubbles.
With a large sucking sound, the mist around him disappeared. A bubble three times the size of the X-wing rose from the ground to hover over Luke, its pink strands stinging him, sending rivulets of pain through him. His body instinctively reacted, forcing him to his knees, his arms wrapped around his head.
The attack was eerily quiet. Except for the disappearance of the mist, he had not heard a sound. Even when the little bubbles bumped against the X-wing.
Each touch of the strands left his skin numb. This was not a solution. He kept his head protected, but shifted position so that he could peer through his arms. Above him floated the giant bubble. It appeared hollow inside.
The strands continued to stab him, constant coordinated movements designed to numb him inch by painful inch.
The edges of the bubble were jagged, and the strands came from the inside, like strings hanging from the inside of a tent. The jagged edges were—
Teeth! They were teeth!
The bubble stung its prey until it couldn’t move, and then raised it into the hollow part of the bubble and chewed.
Luke’s lightsaber hummed on with a rush of power. He swung his arm upward, slicing off half a dozen strands. They fell around him like live wires, stinging him each place they touched.
His muscles felt odd, as if he hadn’t used them before. But he kept slashing, moving as quickly as his wounded body would let him.
The bubble’s only reaction was to sting him harder. Each touch of a living strand sent more pain into him. He jolted. His body was cold and burning at the same time. He could barely get his breath.
But he concentrated all of his energy into his arm, into swinging the lightsaber. More strands fell around him, slapping the hard ground in the eerie quiet.
The gaping mouth got closer. Its breath was chill and white—the source of the mist. It accented the cold he felt, made the numbness spread. It was all he could do to keep moving, keep fighting. His shoulder ached, his hand barely closed, and he had no feeling left in his neck and face. He could see the strands stinging him, but he could no longer feel them.
What an odd way to die. Here, alone, no Artoo. No one even knowing—
I feel cold, death. His own voice echoed in his mind, along with the memory of Yoda’s.
That place … is strong with the dark side of the Force.… Your weapons … you will not need them.
And little Anakin’s:
We made the room hot.
Luke envisioned all the heat within him flowing upward and out, into the center of the bubble creature. The creature started to float away, but Luke sent more warmth, and more.
Then, with a great, ear-deafening pop, the creature exploded, followed by a dozen other pops as the little bubbles exploded as well.
Pink globs rained around him, sizzling as they hit the ground. Some hit him, making the numbness complete. He tried to build a shield around himself with the Force, but it was too late.
His body collapsed onto a pile of pink stuff. He watched, horrified, as the pink goo ate into his flight uniform, and headed for his precious, frozen skin.
Fifteen
Leia sprawled on the center of her bed, flimsies spread before her. She wore an old pair of fighting pants, and one of Han’s shirts. Her hair was loose except for two braids in front