Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens the Weapon of a Jedi: A Luke Skywalker Adventure (10 page)

Ben had been gentle after the death of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, letting Luke grieve for his family and rage at the Empire for murdering them. His emotions were natural, Ben said, and his love
for his family did him credit. But he then warned that Luke must resist the desire for revenge. Anger and hatred could help
him draw power from the Force—but only at a terrible price. For
those emotions unlocked the dark side of the Force, leading a Jedi to temptation—and sometimes ruin.

A Jedi had to learn to let go of anger before calling on the Force, Ben had instructed. But he or she also had to let go of fear—for fear led to anger, inviting the dark side in.

“I’m not afraid,” Luke said, raising his saber
again. “I won’t fail.”

The remote tried to zip around behind him. He whirled, blade humming, and blocked its shot—then turned the other way as it tried to reverse course and target his hip. He deflected a shot
aimed at his head, then one intended for his knee, then leapt to avoid one that struck at his feet. He smiled to himself but then pushed the elation away, too, trying to see and hear
nothing but
the remote.

It felt like he and the remote were dancing, like they were somehow connected—man and machine, joined by the energy of the training laser and the blade of Luke’s lightsaber. They
moved together—first for a minute, then for five, and then Luke lost all track of time.

When the remote backed away he didn’t register it at first but simply waited, barely conscious
that he was breathing hard. Then he realized the remote had stopped attacking and lowered his
blade, letting his shoulders slump.

“Well done, Master Luke!” Threepio called. “A most impressive display!”

Luke smiled at the protocol droid, waving to acknowledge Artoo’s enthusiastic whistles. Then the remote chattered in an electronic language and a second remote rose to float alongside
it.

Luke’s smile faded away.

L
UKE KNEW THE TWO REMOTES wouldn’t attack until he raised his lightsaber to ready position, so he took a moment to catch his breath. Then
he nodded and lifted his arms, blade held out in front of him.

As he’d expected, the two remotes drifted apart, taking up positions on either side of him. One after another they darted in, forcing him to reorient his defenses. Then they retreated.
Luke felt his heartbeat quickening as he tried to watch both of them, his feet automatically carrying him backward so he’d have a better chance of keeping them both in sight.

The remotes followed him.

Don’t fall in a pit,
Luke reminded himself.

One of the remotes dove at his left. A quarter second later, the other remote attacked him from the right. Luke had expected that and brought
his saber sweeping around in an overhead arc, the
blade intersecting the laser blast.

Which was when the other remote hit him in the seat of his pants.

“Ow,” Luke complained, fighting the urge to rub the spot as the remotes retreated.

They swooped in again, and this time Luke blocked three shots before the remote to his right slipped a shot through his guard, leaving his knee numb.

Luke shook the tingling out of his leg and raised his saber again.

He was so busy worrying about how to tell the difference between an attack and a feint that the left-hand remote’s very first shot hit him in the wrist.

“Stop,” Luke said, sitting down in the grass with a sigh of disgust. The remotes backed off, hovering around waist level.

“You’re right to quit, Master Luke,” Threepio
said. “Two against one is hardly sporting.”

“I’m not quitting,” Luke insisted. “I’m just resting for a moment.”

I had it,
he thought.
I was commanding the Force. I barely noticed time was passing
.

But that had been against one opponent, not two. This was twice as hard—and completely different.

You can do this,
Luke told himself, getting to his feet.

Ben had only had a brief
period of time to teach him how to wield his father’s lightsaber—a few lessons aboard the
Falcon
in which Luke had learned the basic defensive
postures and the first steps in opening himself to the Force. But since then he’d practiced the footwork more times than he could count, striving to recall every moment of the time he’d
had with his teacher. And those movements had become second nature.
He’d come so far since his first tentative practice session aboard the
Falcon
.

He raised his saber, reminding himself to be light on his feet.

He blocked shots from either side, then stumbled trying to dodge the next one. He rolled over, his saber scorching grass and flagstones, and bounded up with his blade held out in front of him.
The remotes circled, trying to break through his defenses.

The remotes both charged him from the right—but one went high and one went low. Luke deflected the bolt the raised remote aimed at his shoulder, but the other one caught him in the
knee.

Luke lowered his saber, grimacing. He’d moved with speed and grace, but that wasn’t enough. He’d been foolish to think it could be. He couldn’t track two remotes at
once—it was hard enough keeping up
with one.

You can do it if you draw on the Force,
he thought, and raised the saber again.

He caught one remote’s bolt on his blade, sending it into the glade and scattering a rainbow of protesting songbirds. The other remote fired a bolt past his head, then zipped left and took
aim at him again. He deflected the bolt into the grass at his feet, cleaving down with the saber to intercept
a shot from the first remote. Then he snapped back to ready position, waving his saber
back and forth.

He fought until the sun was low in the sky and the pikhrons were pale shapes in the gloom. One of the remotes swooped down at him and he deflected its bolt straight back at it, enveloping the
little machine in sparks. It retreated and beeped accusingly at him.

“About time you got
a taste of your own medicine,” said Threepio.

Then a third remote rose out of the compartment in the pillar.

Luke put his hands on his knees, breathing hard, then deactivated his father’s weapon. His arms were shaking with fatigue.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, and after a minute of uncertain hovering the remotes retreated to their compartment and shut themselves down.

All
Luke wanted to do was sleep, but he forced himself to bathe as best he could in the fountain and then activate the warming unit on a tin of food concentrate. Threepio had
set up the portable heater, and Luke settled himself gratefully in front of its glow, poking at his dinner.

The droids sat on the other side of the heater, sharing a recharge from the portable battery Luke had brought.
Beyond them the pikhrons lowed quietly to one another.

“I must say, your exercises are stimulating to observe, Master Luke,” Threepio said. “Your agility has improved immensely. No doubt that’s thanks to watching the
recordings Artoo and I discovered.”

“No doubt,” Luke said.

Artoo let out an electronic sigh, and Luke smiled around a mouthful of stew. Devaron’s moons shone brightly
in the sky—the same moons that had helped lead him to the Temple of Eedit
and its secrets. Eedit’s Jedi must have stood in the same spot and looked up at the same moons, back when the temple was whole and no one imagined the Jedi Order could ever fall.

“I wish I could have met them,” Luke murmured. “I wish I could have learned from them.”

“I beg your pardon, Master Luke?” asked Threepio,
his photoreceptors like lamps in the darkness.

“I was just thinking about what it must have been like here, before the Empire. When the Jedi were the galaxy’s defenders of peace and justice.”

Artoo hooted mournfully, but for once Threepio thought it best to remain silent.

As he stared into the glowing heater, Luke suddenly felt very alone. His lightsaber was all that was left of his
father, and possibly of the Jedi Order he’d served. He was piecing together
his own training from disembodied voices, vague hunches, and equipment scavenged from ruins. It was crazy to think that he’d ever learn to command the Force or become a skilled duelist, let
alone see the Jedi Order reborn. The Empire was powerful and ruthless—and it had its own enforcers who could command the Force,
beings such as the terrifying, black-armored Darth Vader.

But then Luke shook his head. Destroying the Death Star had seemed impossible, too—what chance did an untrained farm boy have, alone in a trench with Vader preparing to finish him off? Yet
Luke had succeeded, turning the Empire’s greatest weapon into space dust. He’d done so with help from his friends, and by trusting the Force.

Luke wondered what Han and Chewbacca were doing and smiled to imagine them arguing over how to keep the
Falcon
flying this time. He thought of Princess Leia and felt his breath catch at
the thought of the strong, beautiful rebel leader. He wondered what Wedge was doing and who was serving as his wingman.

He had friends. And the Force was with him.

As long as those things were true,
there was reason to hope.

He held up his lightsaber, feeling the comforting weight of it in his hand.

“I never knew you, Father,” he said. “But I swear I will become a Jedi. And when I do, I will honor your service and your sacrifice.”

And then Luke put the saber down on the flagstones and crawled into his sleeping bag. Before he could even worry about how to face three remotes, he
was asleep.

A few kilometers away, Sarco had gathered branches and leaves and built another fire. The happabores stood nearby, occasionally churning up the dirt with their snouts as they
searched for roots to gnaw.

Huddled behind her tree, Farnay tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she stared through her macrobinoculars at the alien. She hadn’t known what to do when the Scavenger
settled down
to wait for Luke—which had made her realize she hadn’t known what to do when she set out after the young rebel and his guide in the first place. She’d been too worried about Luke
to wait in Tikaroo for the Scavenger to return and claim he’d fallen off a cliff or been gored by a pikhron bull, or some tale that no one would ever be able to prove was a lie.

But it was clear that
the Scavenger wasn’t going anywhere, and she couldn’t afford to spy on him any longer—she was out of food and hadn’t brought supplies for an
extended trip into the jungle.

Dad will know what to do,
she thought, then swallowed. He’d be angry with her, of course—her comlink was filled with messages asking her where she was, which she’d
acknowledged by curtly informing him she was fine.

He’d be angry with her, but he’d also know the best way to help Luke.

Farnay slipped away from the tree, wincing at each crinkle and crack of dry leaves beneath her feet. She shushed her pack beast—he was hungry, too—and led him in the direction of the
jungle path and home.