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![]() 6.5.05 Anonymous said.Īnd I thought I was having a bad day. He taught them how to blend their souls with the physical Force allowing them to take a spiritual form and aid Skywalker. He helped Yoda and Obi-Wan become one with the Force while they were hiding from you. Love the blog, Vader, but it must not have been Qui-Gon speaking to you. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator. The Emperor is going to barf when I tell him. Betrayed by a mimbo, surrounded by incompetence, my soul in knots lost Skywalker, lost Organa, sold Solo. Now I am in my hyperbaric chamber, listening to music (Rotan's Sonata for Holotyne) and trying to get a grip on things. I was even too dispirited to crush Admiral Piett's trachea. Which is pretty much when the Millennium Falcon escaped to hyperspace. "This will be a day long rememebered," I said. The crippled freighter sailed into my view from the bridge, crossing the crescent of Bespin and making for black space. But I could see that he was strong enough to face it, his resolve hardened but uncracked. Luke's spirit squirmed away from my connection, burned by the truth. As the ship climbed out of Bespin's gravity-well I let my mind play out along the filigree ladders of the Force until my tendril found him, honing in on the corporeal pain of his severed arm and the throb of his psychic wounds. I returned aboard Executor and waited to snare the freighter as it stalled in space, unable to jump away due to a sabotaged hyperdrive (ha, ha). I felt him call out with his mind, and watched the fabric of the Force contort as the Millennium Falcon piloted by the escaped prisoner Leia Organa and the surprisingly slippery Lando Calrissian abandoned its flight, returning to Cloud City to rescue Skywalker. The Force is strong with him, however, and he survived his fall. I told him we could be in it together, come what may. So I did as I said I would: I reached out to him. He screamed and jibbered, clinging over a chasm fathoms deep. I took a deep breath: "Luke, Obi-wan never told you what happened to your father." As he crawled away from me across the catwalk I figured I had nothing to lose. He was as raw as he was going to get, though he exerted an impressive will to keep his fear from boiling over. He struck me, and I just lost my cool - without really thinking it through I lopped off his hand. He didn't even want to talk about the power of the dark side.Īnd then it happened: down on the catwalk as we clashed again and he struck me with his sabre, glancing my shoulder. I threw objects at him with my mind, which was obviously beyond his ken as he reacted by trying to dodge them like a low man. He popped out of the carbon chamber before I could freeze him, which was a neat trick. Still I found place to wonder: what fires his naked hatred? This is not the sting of a political idealist. I escalated my own level of brutality, and he lost ground. He knocked me down and I felt his confidence swell. I used what ounce of my will I could spare to exert control over the misfiring circuits, wrestling my wayward limb to do my bidding as I fended off the broad, single-minded thrusts of the bitchfire youth. He knew none of the classic moves: his foil play was dictated directly from his heart, clubbing at me with an instinctive passion that dodged my every stratagem.Īnd, of course, my left leg was acting up like crazy. I had toyed with him at first, but I soon found myself working hard. Through his clumsy, novice staggers the Force blew enormous rage, a hot wind of raw power I struggled to hold my own against. "He is stronger than you think," Qui-gon pronounced, and vanished. Out of the steam strode Qui-gon Jinn, shimmering and insubstantial. I meditated in the carbon freezing chamber as Skywalker approached. Or perhaps the ghost of Kenobi whispered in his ear. ![]() ![]() I studied his mind, and found his first thoughts were not of his friends: it was only me he sought now. Skywalker himself I teased through a maze of corridors into the bowels of this city, dangling a shadow of my presence before his nose like a carrot. So the first thing I did was separate them, by sealing a fire door between them. Whether he is some kind of midichloric instrument or mechanical idiot savant, it cannot be ignored that his presence aids the boy. I was able to discern that the callow youth's undisciplined powers were being channeled into a keen signal by the famous blue astromech droid R2-D2, whose ability to manipulate or be manipulated by the Force is something I have never understood. People who cannot see the Force have no idea what they are missing. Lumbering arcs of probability swung around him in sick, drunken orbits, any one of them threatening to actualize at a sneeze. His spirit danced and rained, his emotions farting out bright, flickering clouds of micro-causal flotsam in every direction. I surveilled my son as he walked through the city, my eyes closed, my back to the security monitors.
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