Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [77]
“I no longer use the Force, Skywalker.”
“Then why do you still carry a lightsaber?”
Brakiss’s hand fell to his side and clutched the saber, then let it go, as if he had just realized what he had been doing. “What do you want, Skywalker?”
Luke took a step forward. The conveyor belts hemmed him in. He could only go toward Brakiss or turn his back on Brakiss. “Two tragedies have happened recently. In the first, millions died all at once. The second was a bombing on Coruscant that killed a number of senators. In both cases, I got a sense of your presence. You’re connected somehow, Brakiss. I need to know how.”
Brakiss shook his head. “I live here now. I have legitimate work, and I make good money running this facility. I no longer work for the Empire.”
“I never said the Empire was involved with those events. I’m not even sure what happened in the first instance. I thought perhaps you could help me.”
Brakiss narrowed his eyes. “Why should I help you?”
“Because there’s still a spark of good in you, Brakiss, buried beneath all that the Empire taught you. In the end, Darth Vader returned to the light. So could you.”
Brakiss’s chin trembled. His lips parted, and he took one involuntary step backward. For a moment, Luke could see the young Brakiss, the child Brakiss, the one buried deep beneath years of dark-side training, the one Luke had nearly reached on Yavin 4.
Then the glimpse vanished. Brakiss’s face became a mask. It was as if doors had closed to that distant part of himself, as if he were not just walling it off from Luke, but from himself.
With a snarl, Brakiss pulled his lightsaber from his waist. A bright red flame soared from it. Brakiss ran toward Luke and slashed as he moved.
Luke’s lightsaber was in his hand instantly. He parried Brakiss’s thrust, smashing Brakiss’s lightblade against a nearby conveyor belt. Sparks flew. Brakiss recovered, slashed again, and Luke blocked the hit.
The lightsabers hummed, and clanged as they clashed. Thrust, parry, thrust, parry. Luke matched Brakiss movement for movement. Somewhere in the last few years, Brakiss had gained strength.
Brakiss tried a series of small thrusts, little movements designed to be parried, and then he arched the lightsaber in one great circular movement. Luke didn’t move quickly enough. Brakiss’s lightsaber seared Luke’s shirt, narrowly missing his skin. Luke then matched each movement of Brakiss’s.
The assembly room was hot with the sparks from the lightsaber blades. The edges of the conveyor belts glowed with the heat. Luke concentrated on each of Brakiss’s movements, deciding to defend, never to attack.
Brakiss swung his lightsaber from left to right, going for Luke’s unprotected sides. Luke blocked each attack. The swings got fiercer, the movements sloppier. Brakiss was no match for Luke, but he was a good, strong fighter, and they would both be exhausted before this match ended.
Then Luke felt a blast of fear. He glanced up in surprise. The fear had come from Brakiss, and the fear was not of Luke.
Brakiss stopped attacking and raised his blade, much as Ben had in the belly of the Death Star.
Unlike Vader, Luke shut off his blade. The hum stopped, and the sound of labored breathing echoed in the near-empty room.
“Kill me,” Brakiss snapped.
“I have no desire to kill you,” Luke said. “I would rather bring you back with me to Yavin 4.”
“Kill me, Master Skywalker.” All trace of sarcasm was gone from his voice. “Kill me. End it now.”
“We all have to face ourselves,” Luke said. He extended his left hand. “Come to Yavin 4 with me. I will help you.”
Then Brakiss shook his head, as if he were coming out of a deep sleep. “It’s too late for me,” he said.
“It’s never too late.”
Brakiss smiled, a wistful look. “It is for me.” He swallowed. “I don’t belong on Yavin 4. I belong here. I am better off without contact, alone.”
“Come with me, Brakiss,” Luke said. “You can’t be happy here.”
“Happy?” Brakiss said. “No. But I am satisfied. I can be creative here. And that is enough.” He holstered his lightsaber. “I was