That would have been along the lines of the questions. Mainly this one, 'Why, on something as important as your lightsaber, would you do such a lousy job of constructing it?'
Han himself is pretty mechanically inclined - he's altered ships, restored and maintained them, even modified his own blaster - but he doubts that he could build a lightsaber. There has to be some aspect of the assembly or maybe selecting of the components that requires the force. Or both. Otherwise, they would have been massed produced and as common as vibroblades by now.
Again, your father, would have done this wound care a lot differently. Perhaps he should have spoken up and insisted as much, but it's a little late for that now. Isn't that a common refrain with his father ...
With two hands on the hilt Han presses the lightsaber in close, but not close enough. He hesitates for a heartbeat or two and then, at Ben's suggestion, presses in one of the 'flames' of the crossguard against his son's skin. He has to watch it carefully to know that it's closing, but burning skies he wants to look away, especially when he hears his kid screaming. The acrid smell of burnt flesh touches the air; skin blisters and starts to turn a brown leathery color.
When it's closed, but not a moment before, only then does he pull the blade away and carefully switch it off.
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Han himself is pretty mechanically inclined - he's altered ships, restored and maintained them, even modified his own blaster - but he doubts that he could build a lightsaber. There has to be some aspect of the assembly or maybe selecting of the components that requires the force. Or both. Otherwise, they would have been massed produced and as common as vibroblades by now.
Again, your father, would have done this wound care a lot differently. Perhaps he should have spoken up and insisted as much, but it's a little late for that now.
Isn't that a common refrain with his father ...With two hands on the hilt Han presses the lightsaber in close, but not close enough. He hesitates for a heartbeat or two and then, at Ben's suggestion, presses in one of the 'flames' of the crossguard against his son's skin. He has to watch it carefully to know that it's closing, but burning skies he wants to look away, especially when he hears his kid screaming. The acrid smell of burnt flesh touches the air; skin blisters and starts to turn a brown leathery color.
When it's closed, but not a moment before, only then does he pull the blade away and carefully switch it off.