Luke Skywalker, the Last Jedi, faces his toughest challenge yet. To rebuild the Jedi Order, he must give up his personal hopes and dreams. Every move is critiqued by not only the New Republic Senate but also the Force-ghost Jedi Council of the past...
❷ "Holmes and Elizabeth"—Young Sherlock Holmes OST
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The sublight alarm blared in Naluma's ears. Startled, she snapped up and fell from the cot—flat on her face. With a groan, she pushed herself from the metal deck and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then everything came back to her—where she was, what had happened, Master Skywalker's injury. "Must be coming out of hyperspace."
After making up the bunk, she checked on Master Luke in the medbay. She detached the empty drip bag but left the catheter in his arm. He stirred a little in his sleep, his face masked in pain.
Stroking his forehead, she murmured, "I'm sorry, master, but no more pain meds. Med center needs your system clean. We're almost there. Hang in there." She sent out soothing thoughts through the Force.
She checked his vitals once more. His breathing was steady, and so were his pulse and blood pressure. She adjusted his covers and shook her head as the enormity of a future without him crashed down upon her.
Naluma took his hand in hers as she whispered, "Master, you must heal. Please ... I don't know how I could go on without you. I'm not ready to do this alone." She brushed his face with her hand before tightening the safety straps for landing. "I need you."
Han set the Falcon down with astonishing finesse. Naluma did not even feel a bump when the landing gear made contact with the surface nor the transfer from artificial gravity to planet-side gravity. "Naluma, hop on a headset. Med center needs info."
She entered the cockpit and grabbed a headset. "Perfect landing, Captain. Didn't feel a thing."
"Told you I could do it. How's the kid?"
"Resting, but in pain." She tightened her jaw as he picked up a headset. "Jedi Padawan Naluma Fau requesting med center attention at Landing Bay ..."
Han said, "Fifteen."
"Fifteen. I have a human male approximately thirty years—"
Han interrupted. "Twenty four."
She tilted her head and then corrected, "Excuse me, a human male, twenty-four years old with a back injury. Would you like his vitals?"
"Please transmit. A transport crew is en route."
"Transmitting." She punched a few buttons on the communication station.
Before her transmission terminated, Chewie lowered the loading ramp and led the orderlies aboard the freighter. The three-person team guided a hover stretcher to the medbay.
She scrunched her eyes in worry. "Keep his back flat. There's no board under him."
A female med tech asked, "How are we supposed to do that?"
