by Alex Wheeler
It was not possible.
But he believed it was true.
Soresh had taught him that anything was possible here. Anything except escape—anything except hope.
I'm a Jedi, Luke told himself. I have the power of the Force.
But what good was that? Even if he knew how to use his powers, he didn't know what he would do with them. Ben had shown him how to levitate small objects, how to deflect laserblasts with his eyes closed. But surely even Ben didn't have the power to escape from a place like this. Even Ben couldn't save his friends, if his friends were already dead.
Ben would tell me to be strong, Luke thought.
"Stay strong," he whispered, as if hearing the words out loud would make them easier to follow. But his voice was weak, and it only reminded him that he, too, was weak. If only Obi-Wan were here to tell him. To guide him, to show him how to save himself. If only he could imagine Ben's voice assuring him that he would survive this, then maybe he would believe it.
Luke closed his eyes, trying to summon the memory of his old friend. Ben had spoken to him before in times of crisis, assuring him of his strength. Reminding him of his destiny.
But it was no use.
His mind was too clouded by grief, by fear, by exhaustion. There was too much noise in the cell and in his head. Ben was gone, like Han and Leia were gone, like everyone was gone. The only voice that could help him was his own.
"You need me."
Ferus smiled at the familiar voice. "How did you know?" He had been lying in his bunk, eyes closed, trying to sort through his dilemma. Now he sat up to face the flickering, translucent spirit of a fallen Jedi.
"When your heart and mind are open to the Force, they are open to me," Obi-Wan said.
Ferus still didn't understand how the Jedi Master was able to speak to him from beyond the grave. But he was grateful. Knowing Obi-Wan was out there, watching, made every challenge easier to bear.
"Luke is in trouble," Obi-Wan said. "And I fear for his sister, too."
Ferus stifled his irritation with the old man. Obi-Wan would never have admitted it, but for him, Leia always came second. An afterthought.
"I know," Ferus said. "They've been missing for nearly a week. I've begun to fear the worst."
"You can help them," Obi-Wan said. "You know the way."
"I know the way?" Ferus repeated. This wasn't exactly the help he'd been hoping for. "You're the mysterious spirit who knows all—don't you know the way? Tell me how to help them. Tell me where to find them!"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "There is a disturbance in the Force surrounding Luke. His connection to it is growing weaker. I cannot help him. Only you can."
"I have no idea where they are," Ferus said. "If I knew, don't you think I'd be halfway there by now?"
"But you have your suspicions," Obi-Wan said. It wasn't a question.
Ferus hesitated. He had drawn the connections in his mind, but hadn't yet said them out loud. It was as General Dodonna said—he had no evidence, only his instincts. And his instincts had been wrong before, with dire consequences. "I fear the Rebels are walking into a trap," he said slowly. "And that Luke and Leia's disappearance has something to do with it. This deserted moon where the Rebels hope to ambush the Imperials…"
"You believe that to be where you'll find Luke and Leia," Obi-Wan finished for him.
Ferus nodded.
"And yet you sit here, doing nothing."
Obi-Wan had always known how to make him feel better—and how to make him feel the opposite.
"The things I've done in the past…" Ferus broke off. It pained him too much to think about the choices he'd made—choices that had led to the death of his best friend, Roan Lands. To the death of so many others. He had trusted his instincts; he had trusted the wrong people. They had paid the price for his mistakes.
"Sometimes not choosing is itself a choice," Obi-Wan added. "By not acting, you act."
"Tell me what to do," Ferus pleaded. He felt like a Padawan again, scrambling for crumbs at his Master's feet. And part of him wished for those old days, when the way ahead had seemed so certain. When every question had an answer.
Obi-Wan favored him with a familiar wry smile. "You know I can't do that. I can only tell you to believe—"
"—in the Force," Ferus cut in, irritated. "I know."
Obi-Wan's smile widened. "Actually, I was going to suggest you believe in yourself. But then, I suppose in the end, it's all the same thing."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Luke sat perfectly still as Soresh strapped him into the chair. The durasteel was cold against his skin. Sharp-edged restraints wrapped around his ankles, his wrists, his waist, his neck, and his forehead, holding him in place. Slowly and carefully, Soresh attached a series of sensors to Luke's forehead. "Nothing to fear," he said. "This won't hurt at all."
Luke was far past fearing pain.
Soresh raised an injector. "This is just something to ease the process along and make everything go more smoothly. You want that, don't you?"
Luke stared blankly ahead. Soresh smiled as if he had responded. "Good." He injected the serum into Luke's neck.
There was a faint pinprick of pain, and then nothing. A numbness spread through his body.
"The serum and the machinery work together," Soresh said, sounding proud. "I designed them myself. They act on the memory centers of your brain. Think of it as a million thermo missiles launched into your bloodstream. Except instead of heat, they're seeking memories. Seek and destroy, that's their mission. Every painful moment of your past, every person who's ever betrayed you, ever abandoned you, all gone. Everything that's made you who you are. One by one, we're going to purge you of such unpleasant attachments. We're going to wash the slate clean and leave you pure and fresh. As empty and trouble-free as the day you were born. Won't that be nice?"
Luke was having trouble keeping track of the words.
They skidded past him, just out of reach, turning to nonsense syllables. He knew Soresh was saying something important, something that should terrify him. But the voice seemed so distant. Everything seemed distant. Luke felt like he was floating away.
He was on Tatooine, drawing spaceships in the sand, dreaming of the stars.
He was waking up on a barren cliffside, looking into the face of a crazy hermit he barely knew. Learning the secret truth of his past. "I was once a Jedi Knight," the old man said. "The same as your father."
* * *
He was surrounded by strange sights and sounds in a Mos Eisley cantina, trying not to get himself killed. Trying to buy passage to the Alderaan system from a smooth-talking spacer who called himself Han Solo.
He was on the bridge of the Millennium Falcon, searching for a planet that was no longer there.
He was bursting into an Imperial prison cell. A woman—a princess—lay asleep on a bare metal slab. She wore a long, white gown and was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He was watching a red lightsaber slice through Ben's empty cloak.
He was at the controls of his X-wing, stars twinkling in his viewscreen, the Death Star looming. He was one with the ship, one with the Force. He was squeezing his fingers around the trigger, knowing with absolute certainty that his aim was true.
He was in the dark.
"Hold on, Luke. Please."
It was Leia's voice. But not Leia's face. There were no faces in the black depths of his mind, the only place he could hide from Soresh's memory missiles. The darkness left behind as, one by one, everything and everyone was stripped away.
There won't be anything left of me, Luke thought, clinging to his memories, to himself It was like grasping a cloud—nothing to hold on to but empty air.
"Use the Force, Luke," Ben's voice said, echoing in the emptiness.
Use it for what? Luke cried from the depths of his mind.
"Trust the Force. Trust your feelings. Trust yourself."
And then the voices of his friends faded away, drowned out by a new voice
. Soresh's voice, deep and commanding. "You are nothing," it said. "You belong to me. Your Master."
The voice filled the darkness, until it consumed everything; it was Luke's entire world.
"You are nothing," it repeated, again and again.
"You belong to me."
It would be so easy to stop fighting, to let go of the memories and the pain. To believe the voice—to let it replace his own.
Hold on, Luke told himself desperately. For Leia. For Ben.
For me.
* * *
The treatment was hard on mind and body. Some took days to recover. Some never did.
Luke lay unconscious for several hours, and Soresh stayed by his side, waiting. He had waited months for this moment. But now every additional minute was torture. He was so close to his goal, he could taste it. And, finally, the Rebel stirred. His eyes flickered open, and he bolted upright on the cot, alarmed.
The guards at the door raised their blasters, but Soresh stilled them with a look. He placed a hand on Luke's shoulder. "Easy," he said. "Lie down. You're safe. Your body's had quite a shock. Take your time."
Luke obeyed without question.
It was a good sign.
Soresh watched the monitors carefully, tracking Luke's heart rate, his breathing, his brain waves. Soon they'd all stabilized within normal parameters. It was time to begin. "Sit up," Soresh said.
Luke sat up.
"Who are you?" Soresh asked.
Luke opened his mouth—then hesitated. He looked confused. "I don't know."
"What is your purpose?" Soresh asked.
When the answer came, it was slow and halting, but it was correct. "To serve you."
"And who am I?"
"My Master." Luke's voice was blank, his eyes dull.
"Where do you come from?" Soresh asked.
"I don't know," Luke said. "Do you know?"
"You come from nowhere," Soresh prompted him. "You are no one."
Luke nodded. "I come from nowhere. I am no one."
"What do you remember of your past? Think hard."
Luke shook his head. "Nothing."
"Very good." Soresh patted him on the shoulder again. This had gone even better than he'd expected. Perhaps there was something about the Jedi that made their minds particularly weak. Or perhaps this one was just eager to give up. "Lie down again, relax, sleep. Soon you'll be ready for another treatment, and we'll begin again."
CHAPTER NINE
Luke's lightsaber sliced the air, a blur of motion. He whirled and spun, slashing at anything that moved. Training droids bobbed awkwardly through the training room, trying to dodge the glowing blade. But it was useless. Luke was everywhere at once. Severed mechanical limbs, joint couplings, servomotors, and broken antennas flew across the room, dislodged by the whirling lightsaber. It was as if the blade was the living thing, and Luke its servant. The blade danced with deadly grace, and one droid after another clattered to the floor. Still, Luke pushed on, hacking, slicing, killing.
Exactly as he'd been ordered to do.
"Enough!" Soresh shouted.
Abruptly, Luke froze. His arm dropped to his side, deactivating the lightsaber.
"Return your weapon to me," Soresh ordered.
Luke surrendered it without hesitation.
Soresh surveyed the broken droids strewn across the training room, and the Jedi standing in the middle, seemingly unaware of the destruction he'd wrought.
My Jedi, Soresh thought, pleased. He had been slightly worried that his control over Luke would interfere with the Jedi's ability to use the Force. But so far, there had been no such problems. After several days of testing, Luke hadn't failed to complete a single challenge. Soresh had never had a new subject this obedient—or this powerful. A ring of armed guards surrounded him at all times, ready to step in if the prisoner got out of control. But Luke never got out of control. Control was the only thing his empty mind had left.
"I believe you're ready for your final test," Soresh told Luke. "Would you like that?" It often entertained him to treat the subjects as if they could still form opinions of their own.
"Does it please you?" Luke asked. There was no curiosity in his voice, or any emotion at all.
"It does." It was true. Once he ensured Luke's absolute obedience and loyalty, he could move forward with the final phase of his plan.
"Then it pleases me," Luke said flatly.
"Good." Soresh turned to his guards. "We'll meet you on the surface," he ordered them. "Bring the prisoners."
* * *
"This can't be good," Leia muttered, as the guards shackled the prisoners together with heavy chains and marched them out of the cell.
"Cheer up, Princess," Han said. "Maybe they've seen the errors of their ways and they're taking us back to our ship."
But she didn't smile at the weak joke, and neither did he. Durasteel shackles seemed an odd way of saying, "Sorry for locking you in a dungeon for two weeks."
"Where do you think they're taking us, Han?" Leia asked.
He detected only the faintest quiver of fear in her voice. But it was enough to make him lie. "No idea, Princess. Your guess is as good as mine."
In fact, he had a pretty good guess. His gut was telling him that once they left this cell, they wouldn't be coming back. In fact, he was beginning to think they wouldn't be going much of anywhere, unless it was in a box. He reached forward and squeezed Leia's hand, just once.
The surface was even more arid and empty than Han remembered. But it felt good to feel the wind on his face again—even if it would be for the last time.
Chewbacca let out a mournful roar.
"Silence!" the guard shouted.
"I know, buddy," Han said softly. "Me, too."
Two figures stood a few meters from the doorway, waiting. Leia gasped. "Luke!" she cried.
He was standing beside Soresh, arms hanging loosely at his sides. As far as Han could tell, he wasn't in chains or cuffs or any kind of restraints. And yet he just stood there, staring blankly ahead.
"Luke!" Leia screamed, as the guards marched them right past Luke and Soresh.
"Who are they?" Han heard Luke ask.
"Miscreants," Soresh said. "And it's their time to die."
He handed Luke a blaster. The guards shoved Han, Leia, and Chewbacca against the side of a small shed.
I can take them, Han thought. If he could just distract them for a second—
"Don't," Leia murmured, catching his eye. "Not yet. Luke has a plan. He must."
"Luke? You mean the guy standing by Soresh, holding the blaster? The one acting like he's never seen us before?"
"Luke would never hurt us," Leia said with determination. "You know that."
Luke raised the blaster and took aim.
"I know that, Princess, but…" But how could Han tell her about the look he'd seen in Luke's eyes, the look that reminded him so much of X-7? She was right, Luke would never hurt them. But Han wasn't so sure Luke was in there anymore.
Chewbacca growled, and glanced meaningfully at the nearest guard's blaster. He was holding it loosely, keeping his eyes on Soresh—and paying a dangerously small amount of attention to the angry Wookiee standing a couple meters away.
"On three," Han murmured under his breath, steeling himself to make a move. "One…two…"
"Now!" Soresh shouted.
Luke fired.
CHAPTER TEN
The shot went wild, slamming into the wall half a meter above Han's ear. At the same moment, a deafening burst of music exploded behind them. Traditional Aridinian folk music—famous across the galaxy for its ability to make human ears bleed after just a few notes. The guards' attention flickered toward the source of the torturous noise. It was exactly the opportunity Han and Chewbacca needed, and they leapt into action. Chewbacca knocked his guard over with a single sweep of his massive paw, seizing the man's blaster in the same motion. Han and his guard collapsed to the ground, rolling through the dirt, their fists flying.
"Nice job, for tin cans," Han muttered, launching himself at the two guards holding Leia in place. He wrapped an arm around each of their necks, choking the life out of them. Leia darted in to grab their weapons, tossing one to Han. He dropped the guards and snatched the blaster, ready for a fight.
Soresh had scuttled away somewhere like a Rylothean schutta. Luke was nowhere to be seen. But there was little time to search for either: The area was crawling with guards and the air was already thick with smoke. Laserfire streaked across the camp. The speeder truck wheeled in circles. C-3PO had found himself a blaster, and was peppering laserbolts in every direction with little chance of hitting anything. Han ran for cover, blasting enemies in his wake. "Behind you, Chewie!" he shouted, as the Wookiee whirled around and took out three guards with one blow of his massive forearms. Han ducked behind a low shed, peeking around the edge to fire an occasional shot. He spotted Chewbacca and Leia slipping into a similar hiding place about fifty meters away.
Han checked his remaining ammunition, then prepared to make a run for it. Beyond the small complex there was nothing but wide-open space, dotted with gigantic boulders, rocky outcrops, and no sign of civilization. They had less than a kilometer of ground to cover, and they'd be safe. Or at least, safer.
"Here goes nothing," Han muttered—and then froze.
The telltale pressure of a blaster muzzle jutted into the back of his head. "Don't move," a flat voice behind him said. Then: "On your knees!"
"Make up your mind," Han grumbled. But he lowered himself to his knees. And then steeled himself for what came next. "Takes a real man to shoot someone in the back," he muttered.