Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [58]
But he must try before Bluescale renewed him again, and there wasn’t much time. The Ssi-ruuk would catch him eventually. They “renewed” him every ten or fifteen days, even if he didn’t feel needy. He’d pay for this with the deepest renewal of his life, but he owed humankind one effort.
He closed his eyes and emptied himself of hope, repentance, and bitterness. Fear wouldn’t leave. It tinged his control, but he touched the Force through it.
Almost instantly, he felt that brilliance again. He flicked at its edge for attention, then formed an urgent warning in his mind.
Luke flung thermal covers away into darkness. One slithered off the edge of his bed’s repulsor field. For a cold, sleepy instant, he couldn’t remember what had awakened him. Then he recalled a dark, urgent sense of fear and warning. Humanity was in peril because of him. The aliens meant to take him prisoner, and …
Whoa.
Exhaling, he lay back down. Artoo burbled at him from the foot of the bed. “I’m all right,” he insisted. What a dream. He had to guard against inflating his ego. He might be the last—and first—Jedi, but he was no focal point for humanity’s enslavement.
Yet the memory didn’t fade as a dream would. Perhaps someone had honestly warned him of something.
Ben? he called. Obi-wan? Why is this happening?
Forget questions, he commanded himself. There is no why. Search your feelings.
He cast aside fear and false humility and reconsidered the warning in light of the Ssi-ruuk’s known intentions and methods. In that context, the concept felt chillingly real.
What kind of terrible mistake had Ben Kenobi made, sending him here? Jedi masters weren’t perfect. Yoda had believed Luke would die at Cloud City. Ben had thought he could train Anakin Skywalker.
He curled his arms around his knees. If Yoda and Ben could make mistakes, Luke Skywalker could too. Fatal ones.
If the warning were real, some trace would show in the future. Like ship sightings from a distance, visions of the future sometimes conflicted, but any hint that he could help the Ssi-ruuvi war effort would confirm the eerie warning.
He calmed himself, steadied his breathing and heartbeat, and reached forward to scan the future in his mind. Some things were hidden from him, and some possibilities he glimpsed looked ludicrously unlikely. Seconds, minutes, months later, he spotted the possibility: a map of the future showing the Ssi-ruuvi Imperium stretching into the Core worlds. As Han feared, they had blundered into a trap—but it was worse than they’d anticipated.
And the Ssi-ruuk were about to invade Bakura.
• • •
Dev rolled over, clutching cushions. It was a Jedi out there. This time he’d felt the unmistakable, trained control—even when barely awakened.
Firwirrung’s cabin gleamed under brilliant lights, but he didn’t feel rested. “Master?” he murmured. “Is it time to get up?”
Firwirrung climbed out of the pit. “Hatch alarm,” he whistled. “It’s for me. Go back to sleep.”
Dev curled up tighter but kept one eye open. When the hatch slid aside, a massive blue shape appeared. “Come in.” Firwirrung’s greeting warbled with surprise. “Welcome.”
Bluescale marched toward the bed pit. Dev tried to uncurl, but his muscles stayed taut. He guessed what was coming: The elder had changed his mind and doomed him. The rounded rim guard of a paddle beamer protruded from his shoulder bag.
“Admiral Ivpikkis has conceived a new mission for our young human ally,” Bluescale sang. “He must be freshly renewed before it begins.”
Panicking, Dev wanted to spring up and run away. But where would he run?
Firwirrung blinked slowly. “Then it is my honor to submit Dev to you.”
Bluescale closed a massive foreclaw around Dev’s right arm and yanked him upright. Dev kicked and tried to settle his feet on the firm deck.
Bluescale released him. “Precede me,” he whistled. “Firwirrung shall follow.”
Dev plodded out the hatch and up the dim, nightshift-lit corridor. He could fight this. He could survive a little longer, free to think if not to act … but for only a few