With a loud and fading shriek of pain, the creature slumped and fell forward. Jacen winced, knowing he would be crushed by the brute—but in midair the cyclops flickered and dissolved into static, then nothingness, as the hologram projectors shut down.
Gasping and sweating, Jacen turned off the lightsaber. The hissing energy beam was swallowed into the handle with a descending thwoop. He stood up and brushed himself off.
As the door opened again, Jacen whirled, ready to face another hideous enemy. But only Brakiss stood there, quietly applauding.
“Very good, my young Jedi,” Brakiss said. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it? You show great potential. All you need is the opportunity to practice.”
14
Lowie crouched atop the sleeping platform in his own cell, back pressed to the corner, shaggy knees drawn up to his chest. He wallowed in abject misery and self-recrimination; occasionally he let out a groan.
How could he have been so stupid? He had let the riptide of Brakiss’s teaching draw him further and further into his sea of anger until he had been immersed in it, swept away by its current.
Jacen had not given in. And seductive as Brakiss’s teachings were—Lowie refused to think of him as Master Brakiss—Jaina had not succumbed to them either; she had merely stood up and spoken for what she believed.
A growl of self-reproach rumbled deep in his throat. He alone, who had always prided himself on his thoughtfulness—on his dedication to studying, to learning, to understanding—had allowed himself to be influenced by the poisonous teachings. He would have to be more careful in the future. Resist, block out the words.
If Jacen and Jaina could stay strong, then so could Lowie. Jaina had not given up. She said she had a plan, and he would need to be ready to do his part when the time came to escape. Lowie drew comfort from the thought of his friends’ strength. He could resist giving in to his anger. He pounded a furry fist against the wall at his side and bellowed his defiance. He would resist.
As if in response to his challenge, the door slid open and two stormtroopers stepped in, followed by Tamith Kai. Lowie wrinkled his nose, noting something else that had entered his room uninvited: the unpleasant smell that hung about them, an odor of darkness. The stormtroopers each carried an activated stun wand, and Lowie guessed that they expected him to cause further trouble.
“You will stand,” Tamith Kai said.
Lowie wondered whether he dared resist. A prod from one of the stormtroopers’ stun wands answered the question for him.
Tamith Kai’s violet gaze raked up and down Lowie for a moment, and then she blew out a short breath, as if about to start a difficult task that she had set herself.
“You are not yet skilled in the ways of the Force,” she said, not unkindly, “yet you have the capacity for great anger.” She nodded with approval. “This is your greatest strength. I will teach you now to draw upon that anger, to bring forth your full power in the Force. You will be surprised at how it will accelerate your learning.”
She turned to the stormtroopers. “Remove his belt.”
Lowie put a protective hand to the glossy braids that encircled his waist and crossed over his shoulder. He had risked his life to acquire these fibers from the syren plant as part of his rites of passage into Wookiee adulthood; then he had painstakingly woven them into a belt that symbolized his independence and self-reliance.
He opened his mouth to snarl an angry objection but stopped short, realizing that this was exactly the response Tamith Kai hoped for—to goad him into anger. He would not be so easily fooled this time. He stood, resolute and passive, while the stormtroopers removed the precious belt.
She motioned for him to precede her from the room. One of the stormtroopers administered an encouraging prod. Tamith Kai’s smile mocked Lowie. “Yes, young Wookiee,” she said, “your anger shall be your greatest strength.”
They led him to a large, unfurnished chamber. Bright orange and red light glared down from unfiltered glowpanels set into the ceiling. The chilled air stank of metal and sweat. When the door slid shut with a hiss and a clang, Lowie looked around. He was completely alone.
Lowbacca stood waiting for what seemed like hours, alert, prepared for whatever Tamith Kai might use to provoke him. His golden eyes roved the blank walls with suspicion.
Nothing happened.
As he waited, the lights in the room seemed to glow brighter, the air to turn colder. Finally, he sat down with his back pressed to one wall, still wary, still watching.
Nothing.
After a long time, Lowie straightened up with a jerk, realizing that he had been about to doze off. He eyed the walls again, looking for any changes, and found himself wishing for even the annoying Em Teedee to keep him awake—and to keep him company.
Sound exploded in Lowie’s head, high-pitched and excruciating, awakening him from a fitful sleep. Garish lights flashed overhead, blinding in their intensity. Lowie sprang to his feet.
Trying to focus his eyes, he looked around for the source of the siren and pressed his hands over his ears, groaning in pain. But he could not block out the sound that sliced into his brain as a laser would slice into soft wood.
Without warning, all sound ceased, leaving a vacuum of silence. The glowpanels stabilized, returning to their former level of brightness.
Tamith Kai’s face appeared behind a broad transparisteel panel in the wall that Lowie had not noticed before. Still groggy from his interrupted sleep, Lowie threw himself against the panel in frustration. Tamith Kai’s pleased chuckle sobered him instantly. “A fine start,” she said.
Lowie backed into the center of the room and sat down, wrapping his long hairy arms around his legs, afraid to make any further response lest he lose his temper again.
Her taunting voice echoed through the empty chamber. “Oh, we are far from finished with our lesson, Wookiee. You will stand.”
Lowie pressed his forehead to his knees, refusing to look at her, refusing to move.
“Ah,” the voice continued, “perhaps it is for the best. The fire of your anger will burn brighter the more fuel I add.”
The high-pitched sound drilled into his brain again, and flashing lights assaulted his eyes. Lowie concentrated, focused his mind inside himself. He mutely endured.
The lights and sound ceased as a heavy black object fell from an access hatch onto the floor beside him. Deep in concentration, Lowie didn’t flinch, but he looked up to see what it was.
“This is a sonic generator,” Tamith Kai’s rich, deep voice announced. “It produces the lovely music you’ve been enjoying today.” An undercurrent of cruel amusement rippled through her words. “It also contains the high-intensity strobe relay for the glowpanels. To complete your lesson for the day, all you need do is destroy the sonic generator.”
Lowie looked at the boxy object: it measured less than a meter to a side, was made of a dull burnished metal with rounded edges and corners, and had no handholds whatsoever. He reached for it.
“Rest assured,” Tamith Kai’s voice came again, “even a full-grown Wookiee cannot lift it without using the Force.”
Lowie tried to heft the object, found that she was correct. He closed his eyes and concentrated, drawing on the Force, and tried again. The generator hardly budged. Lowie shook his head in confusion. The weight itself, or the objects size, should not have mattered, he told himself. Perhaps, he reasoned, he was just too tired. Or perhaps Tamith Kai was using the Force to hold it down.