[Legacy Of The Force] - 04(84)

Carefully, Ben untied the strips and lifted the bandage free. A look at the blood-washed skin beneath showed him that Faskus had suffered a penetrating wound at least seven centimeters long. More blood welled from it as the bandage came away. Faskus groaned but did not wake up.

Ben replaced and retied the cloth. He’d received training in first aid from both his Jedi teachers and the Guard, but more than first aid was called for here.

He put his hands on Faskus’s chest and brow and sought what knowledge and feelings he could through the Force. He didn’t know much about Force healing, but Master Cilghal and his father had taught him a few things, bare necessities.

Faskus was not strong in the Force, not strongly here. He was like a flickering candle compared with his daughter. There was turbulence from the wound. As Ben peered deeper, he sensed blood flowing where it should not. He sensed life ebbing.

He didn’t know much about stomach wounds. Other Jedi had told him they sometimes didn’t bleed much, but that they usually hurt a lot.

Faskus should be dead now, and it was clear that only willpower and a desire to protect his daughter were keeping him alive. And even they wouldn’t be enough for long. Ben hesitated, wondering how to tell the girl. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kiara. Are you going to make him better?”

“I can’t.”

Faskus’s eyes opened. They were glassy. He tried to roll to one side and failed. His vision cleared a bit, and he looked at Ben. “Who are you?” he asked. “Ben Skywalker. Galactic Alliance Guard.”

“Any relation to Luke Skywalker?”

“I’m his son.”

“Good.” Faskus lay back and closed his eyes for a moment. Ben thought the man might die then and there, but this was only a gesture of relief, and Faskus opened his eyes to look at his daughter. “Guardsman Skywalker will take care of you from now on.”

“No, Daddy.” Kiara hurled herself onto her father’s chest. “He hurt you.”

“He just knocked me down. I was already hurt. The starfighter hurt me.”

Uncomfortable with the exchange, with what was coming, Ben interrupted. “Why did you steal the Amulet of Kalara?”

Faskus looked at him, confused. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. From an office building on Drewwa.”

“Drewwa is where they gave it to me, yes. That’s where I live and work.”

“I thought you were from Ziost.”

Faskus shook his head, not an energetic move. “I’m from Almania. I’m a courier.”

“Who gave the amulet to you?”

“A Bothan. Named Dyur. He told me to bring it here. To land at specific coordinates and carry the amulet to a nearby cave. To come alone.” He laughed, one short bark that ended in a gasp of pain. “I’m sorry, Kiara. I wish I had. I’m so sorry.”

“And you were strafed?” Ben asked.

Faskus nodded. “I was partway to the cave when I heard the engine roar. I ran back to the Blacktooth. They were firing on it, a TIE fighter. Kiara was still inside. I had to reach her…”

Then didn’t need to ask anything more. The rest of the story was clear to him. Faskus has gotten his daughter clear of the transport, but some calamity, an explosion perhaps, had sent a shard of durasteel into his guts.

And killed him. Slowly.

“Please.” His voice was weak, wavering. “Untie my hands. So I can hold her.”

Ben thought it over, then nodded. Using Faskus’s own vibroblade, he cut the bonds on the man’s hands.

Then, while Kiara sobbed and Faskus spoke soothingly to her, in ever-quieter tones, Ben began to break down the man’s camp and inventory his goods.

And to think.

I have the amulet and it can’t be used against me. This stage of his mission was accomplished; Ben could check it off his list. Now he needed to find a way to get offplanet, or at least to send a signal to Jacen.

If Faskus, or whatever his real name might be, didn’t steal the amulet, who did? Dyur, whoever he was. And

Dyur had framed Faskus by leaving the note behind. But why would Dyur give Faskus the real amulet to bury in a cave? This had to be the real thing; up close, it reeked of dark side energy and the creepy happiness that had allowed Ben to follow it. Something did not add up.

Ben counted six oversized blankets, one of them slightly damaged by his lightsaber; several wooden poles being used as tent poles; four durasteel spikes anchoring the tent to the ground; three blasters and a vibroblade, each one with extra power packs; food rations, possibly as much as a week’s worth; a quantity of cord; the backpack; the contents of Faskus’s pouch, including a datapad, numerous credcoins, credcards, data cards, and identicards; and the man’s clothes, if he wanted them. But he didn’t. He carefully broke down the tent, exposing the girl and her father to the first snowfall of the day, and folded all the blankets except the ones constituting the floor, on which Faskus and Kiara still lay. Faskus’s eyes were still open, but he no longer spoke, and Ben could not feel him through the Force.