Luke steps into the Deathblock. The entire block is constructed of glistening black metal designed to foster terror and hopelessness in the hearts of detainees. A short corridor opens straight ahead into the interrogation arena on level one.
On Luke’s right, a personnel lift rises toward the murky heights of the block. Somewhere up there lurk 50 stormtroopers. Luke takes the lift to the second level, where he knows Erling Tredway sits inside a dark cell. The metal manway outside the cells rings with each step he takes.
A spotlight suddenly illuminates him. “You’re on the wrong leve, reports a megaphone.
Lukes hand drops to his lightsaber, though it will do him little good against blaster rifles and ion cannons.
“You’re a quartermaster!” the megaphone exclaims. “You shouldn’t be in here!”
Luke steps out of the spotlight, but a dozen blasters and two ion cannons flash anyway. The shots ricochet off the wall and manway. He steps away from the wall.
He steps into nothingness and falls. Whether he fell off the balcony or Imperial fire dissolved it, he does not know. His body bounces off some unseen piece of equipment, then smashes into the first floor. Pain flares in his head and he feels sick to his stomach. A moment later, Luke’s vision blackens and his hearing fades until he is no longer conscious.