[Thrawn Trilogy] - 02(112)
“Do you doubt that I can protect her?”
“I:no, I don’t doubt you,” Luke said, choosing his words carefully. “It’s just that-“
He paused. C’baoth had gone abruptly stiff, his eyes gazing outward at nothing. “Master C’baoth?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
There was no reply. Luke stepped to his side, reaching out with the Force and wondering uneasily if the other was ill. But as always the Jedi Master’s mind was closed to him. “Come, Master C’baoth,” he said, taking the other’s arm. “I’ll help you to your chambers.”
C’baoth blinked twice, and with what seemed to be an effort, brought his gaze back to Luke’s face. He took a shuddering breath; and suddenly he was back to normal again. “You’re tired, Luke,” he said. “Leave me and return to your chambers for sleep.”
Luke was tired, he had to admit. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” C’baoth assured him, a strangely grim tone to his voice.
“Because if you need my help-“
“I said leave me!” C’baoth snapped. “I am a Jedi Master. I need help from no one.
Luke found himself two paces back from C’baoth without any recollection of having taken the steps. “I’m sorry, Master C’baoth,” he said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.
The other’s face softened a bit. “I know you didn’t,” he said. He took another deep breath, exhaled it quietly. “Bring your sister to me, Jedi Skywalker. I will protect her from the Empire; and will teach her such power as you can’t imagine.”
Far in the back of Luke’s mind, a small warning bell went off. Something about those words : or perhaps the way C’baoth had said them :
“Now return to your chambers,” C’baoth ordered. Once again his eyes seemed to be drifting away toward nothing. “Sleep, and we will talk further in the morning.”
He stood before her, his face half hidden by the cowl of his robe, his yellow eyes piercingly bright as they gazed across the infinite distance between them. His lips moved, but his words were drowned out by the throaty hooting of alarms all around them, filling Mara with an urgency that was rapidly edging into panic. Between her and the Emperor two figures appeared: the dark, imposing image of Darth Vader, and the smaller blackclad figure of Luke Skywalker. They stood before the Emperor, facing each other, and ignited their lightsabers. The blades crossed, brilliant red-white against brilliant green-white, and they prepared for battle.
And then, without warning, the blades disengaged : and with twin roars of hatred audible even over the alarms, both turned and strode toward the Emperor.
Mara heard herself cry out as she struggled to rush to her master’s aid. But the distance was too great, her body too sluggish. She screamed a challenge, trying to at least distract them. But neither Vader nor Skywalker seemed to hear her. They moved outward to flank the Emperor : and as they lifted their lightsabers high, she saw that the Emperor was gazing at her.
She looked back at him, wanting desperately to turn away from the coming disaster but unable to move. A thousand thoughts and emotions flooded in through that gaze, a glittering kaleidoscope of pain and fear and rage that spun far too fast for her to really absorb. The Emperor raised his hands, sending cascades of jagged blue-white lightning at his enemies. Both men staggered under the counterattack, and Mara watched with the sudden agonized hope that this time it might end differently. But no. Vader and Skywalker straightened; and with another roar of rage, they lifted their lightsabers high-YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!
And with a jerk that threw her against her restraints, Mara snapped out of the dream.
For a minute she just sat there, gasping for breath and struggling against the fading vision of lightsabers poised to strike. The small cockpit of the Skipray pressed tightly around her, triggering a momentary surge of claustrophobia. The back and neck of her flight suit were wet with perspiration, clammy against her skin. From what seemed to be a great distance, a proximity alert was pinging.
The dream again. The same dream that had followed her around the galaxy for five years now. The same situation; the same horrifying ending; the same final, desperate plea.
But this time, things were going to be different. This time, she had the power to kill Luke Skywalker.
She looked out at the mottling of hyperspace spinning around the Skipray’s canopy, some last bit of her mind coming fully awake. No, that was wrong. She wasn’t going to kill Skywalker at all. She was—
She was going to ask him for help.
The sour taste of bile rose into her throat; with an effort, she forced it down. No argument, she told herself sternly. If she wanted to rescue Karrde, she was going to have to go through with it.