I'm greeted by a wall of blaster fire.
The wall of red plasma bursts flashes towards me at barely sublight speed. It seems it will engulf me, superheat my tissues and pass on, leaving nothing but a crimson mist to mark my, and its, passing.
But that incredibly handy Force power kicks in, and the ocean parts. Half the bolts go to my left, half to my right. The waves of blaster fire continue to rush my way, washing around me and pounding into the stubborn rock of the canyon wall beyond the doorway.
I stand there, motionless, as the energy wastage continues. It begins to slack off as the stormtroopers generating it begin to realise the futility of this endeavour.
One of the stormtroopers has 'gone native'. Perhaps as insurance against ray-shielded foes, he is packing a conventional firearm. Or perhaps he took it from the wreckage of the B-wing. Perhaps he really is a native.
He raises the SOCOM and pulls the trigger. The firing pin smashes into the rear of the .45 caliber bullet. The rear half explodes, propelling the lead slug from the end of the barrel with an undignified crack.
The bullet, now forcing its way through the air at a greater speed than a blaster bolt, swoops towards me. I don't see it coming. It doesn't arc away. My Force trick, whatever it is, doesn't seem to work against metal slugs.
The bullet impacts my flesh, cracking open skin and muscle and bone. It emerges from the other side, slick with gore, and embeds itself in the still-sizzling wall behind me.
It doesn't seem possible. I gape at the wound. I'm not a hardened warrior. I'm just some guy with an impossible power. I'm not one of those Navy SEAL types who kills the entire crew of an enemy warship with his bare hands, gets shot at by an orbiting helicopter, returns fire with the destroyer's AAA, and then paddles home on a black canoe. I'm not trained. I'm not disciplined.
I'm in a lot of fucking pain.
I clamp my hands over the wound, trying to stop the blood from splurting out. Doing this jars my injured wrist, which sends fresh jolts of pain up my nervous system.
I stop thinking. I drop to my knees. I keel over.
A blue burst flashes into the 'native'. I hear Porsek's voice: "You idiot, you're under orders NOT to kill him!"
It's then that I see something that convinces me I really am dying. A blue ghost appears from nowhere.
The blue ghost stands before Porsek. It reaches out a hand and lightning jumps forth, grounding itself in Porsek's body. Porsek screams.
"No. But you are."