There,” C’baoth said, pointing through the viewport as their transport came around the curve of Yaga Minor. “You see it?”

“Yes,” Lorana said as she gazed at the massive object hanging in low orbit over the planet. Six of the brand-new Dreadnaught warships, arranged in a hexagon pattern around a central storage core, the whole thing tied together by a series of massive turbolift pylons. “It’s quite impressive.”

“It’s more than just impressive,” C’baoth said gravely. “Therein lies the future of the galaxy.”

Lorana stole a furtive glance at him. For the past three weeks, ever since her official elevation from Padawan to full Jedi Knight, C’baoth had been showing a marked change in attitude. He spoke with her more often and at greater length, asking her opinion on politics and other matters, opening up to her as if to a full equal.

It was gratifying, even flattering. But at the same time, it stirred some uncomfortable feelings. Just as he’d expected so much of her as his Padawan, it seemed that he now expected her to suddenly have all the wisdom, experience, and power of a seasoned, experienced Jedi.

This trip to Yaga Minor was just one more example. Out of the clear and cloudless sky he’d invited her to come along with him to observe the final stages of preparation. It would have been more fitting, in her opinion, for him to invite Master Yoda or one of the other Council members to see him off on his historic journey.

But instead he’d chosen her.

“The crew and families are already aboard, stowing their gear and making final preparations,” C’baoth continued. “So are most of the Jedi who’ll be accompanying us, though two or three are still on their way. You’ll want to meet them all before we leave, of course.”

“Of course,” Lorana said automatically, feeling her muscles tense as a horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. “When you say we, Master C’baoth, who exactly—I mean—”

“Don’t flounder, Jedi Jinzler,” C’baoth reproved her mildly. “A Jedi’s words, like a Jedi’s thoughts, must always be clear and confident. If you have a question, ask it.”

“Yes, Master C’baoth.” Lorana braced herself. “When you say, we …are you expecting me to come with you on Outbound Flight?”

“Of course,” he said, frowning at her. “Why else do you think I recommended your elevation to Jedi Knighthood so soon?”

A familiar tightness wrapped itself around Lorana’s chest. “I thought it was because I was ready.”

“Obviously, you were,” C’baoth said. “But you still have much to learn. Here, aboard Outbound Flight, I’ll have the necessary time to teach you.”

“But I can’t go,” Lorana protested, her brain skittering around desperately for something to say. She didn’t want to leave the Republic and the galaxy. Certainly not with so much work here to be done. “I haven’t made any preparations, I haven’t asked permission from the Jedi Council—”

“The Council has granted me whatever I need,” C’baoth cut in tartly. “As for preparations, what sort of preparations does a Jedi need?”

Lorana clamped her teeth firmly together. How could he have made such a decision without even consulting her? “Master C’baoth, I appreciate your offer. But I’m not sure—”

“It’s not an offer, Jedi Jinzler,” C’baoth interrupted. “You’re a Jedi now. You go wherever the Council chooses to send you.”

“Anywhere in the Republic, yes,” Lorana said. “But this is different.”

“Only different in your mind,” C’baoth said firmly. “But you’re young. You’ll grow.” He pointed at the approaching collection of ships. “Once you see what we’ve done and meet the other Jedi you’ll be more enthusiastic about the destiny that awaits us.”

“What about this one?” Tarkosa asked, tapping his fingers on a rack of negative couplings. “Chas?”

“Just a second, just a second,” Uliar growled, scanning the racks already in place as he silently cursed the crowd of tech assistants the Supreme Chancellor’s Office had sent from Coruscant to help with the loading. For the most part, they’d proven themselves completely useless: dropping delicate components, sorting others into the wrong storage areas, and more often than not doubling up on one rack of spares while the proper set was left buried somewhere in the bowels of the storage core far beneath them. “It goes there,” he told Tarkosa, pointing to a spot next to a rack of cooling-pump parts.

“What in the worlds?” a deep voice said from behind him.

Uliar turned to see a balding middle-age man in a plain tan robe standing in the doorway. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Jedi Master Justyn Ma’Ning,” the other said, his forehead creasing as he surveyed the chaos in the room. “This equipment should have been stowed two days ago.”

“It was,” Uliar said. “Very badly. We’re trying to fix it.”

“Ah,” Ma’Ning said, a wryly knowing look on his face. Apparently, he’d met the Coruscant tech assistants, too. “Better speed it up. Master C’baoth is arriving today, and he won’t be happy if he sees things this way.” With a nod, he turned and headed off down the corridor.

“Like Jedi happiness is our problem,” Uliar muttered under his breath at the empty doorway. He turned back to the storage racks; and as he did so, a repeater diagnostic display suddenly flickered on.

“That got it?” a voice called, and a young man popped his head into view through an open floor access panel.

“Hang on.” Uliar stepped to the display and ran through its options list. “Looks perfect,” he confirmed. Coruscant’s tech assistants might be worthless, but the few actual techs who’d come with them were another story completely. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” the other said, setting his toolbox on the floor beside the panel and pulling himself out. “You still having trouble with the repeater in the aft reactor bay?”

“Unless what you just did fixed that one, too,” Tarkosa said.

“Probably not,” the young man said as he maneuvered the access panel back into place. “These things are hooked parallel, but I doubt the circuit extends that far. I’ll try to get to it when I get back from D-One.”

“Why not do it now?” Uliar suggested. “D-One’s all the way over on the far side of the hexagon. Why go all the way there and then have to come all the way back?”

“Because D-One’s also the command ship,” the tech reminded him. “Mon Cals might look like pushovers, but when Captain Pakmillu says he want something fixed, he means now.”

Tarkosa snorted. “What’s he going to do, bust all of us to civilian?”

“Don’t know what he’d do to you,” the tech said drily, “but I’d still like to have a job once you fly off into the wild black. It won’t take long, I promise.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Uliar said. “You sure we can’t persuade you to come along? You’re light-years ahead of most of our regular techs.”

A muscle twitched in the other’s cheek. “I doubt that, but thanks anyway,” he said. “I’m not ready to leave civilization just yet.”

“You’d better hope civilization doesn’t leave you,” Tarkosa warned. “The way things are going on Coruscant, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Maybe,” the tech said, picking up his toolbox. “See you later.”

“Okay,” Uliar said. “Thanks again.”

The other smiled and left the room. “Good man,” Tarkosa commented. “You ever get his name?”

Uliar shook his head. “Dean something, I think. Doesn’t matter—it’s not like we’ll ever see him again after tomorrow. Okay, that rack of shock capacitors goes next to the negative couplings.”

“The entire system can be run from here,” Captain Pakmillu said, waving a flippered hand around the vast Combined Operations Center. “That means that if there’s an emergency or disaster on any of the ships, countermeasures can be instituted immediately without the need to physically send people to those sites.”

“Impressive,” Obi-Wan said, looking around. Situated just aft of the cross-corridor behind the bridge/monitor room complex, the ComOps Center stretched probably thirty meters aft and filled the entire space between the Dreadnaught’s two main bow corridors. It was currently a hive of activity, with dozens of humans and aliens bustling around and half the access panels and consoles open for last-minute checks or adjustment.

“What’s that thing?” Anakin asked, pointing to a low console two rows over from where they were standing. “It looks like a Podracer control and monitor system.”

“You have sharp eyes, young one,” Pakmillu said, his own large eyes rolling toward the boy. “Yes, it is. We use it to control our fleet of speeders and swoops.”

“You’re joking,” Obi-Wan said, frowning at the console. “You run swoops through these corridors?”

“Outbound Flight is a huge place, Master Kenobi,” Pakmillu reminded him. “While each Dreadnaught is linked by the pylon turbolifts to its neighbors and the core, there’s still a great deal of travel involved where the turbolifts do not go. Speeders are vital for moving crewers back and forth in both emergency and nonemergency situations.”

“Yes, but swoops?” Obi-Wan persisted. “Wouldn’t a more extensive turbolift system have been safer and more efficient?”

“Certainly,” Pakmillu rumbled. “Unfortunately, it would also have been more expensive. The original Dreadnaughts did not include such a system, and the Senate did not wish to pay the costs of retrofitting.”

“These control systems really are pretty good, though,” Anakin assured him. “Some of the Podracers on Tatooine use them when they’re trying out a new course.”

“There aren’t fifty thousand people wandering in and out of a Podracing course where they could be run over,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“But there are plenty of animals on the courses,” Anakin countered, a little too tartly. “You know, like dewbacks and banthas?”

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan began warningly.

“We have already tried the system, Master Kenobi,” Pakmillu put in quickly. “As Padawan Skywalker said, it works quite well.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Obi-Wan said, eyeing Anakin darkly. The boy had developed a bad habit of disrespect lately, especially in public where he perhaps thought that his master would be reluctant to reprimand him. It was partly his age, Obi-Wan knew, but even so it was unacceptable.

But Anakin also knew just how far he could push it. In response to Obi-Wan’s reproving look, he dropped his gaze, his expression indicating at least outward contrition.

And with that, this particular incident was apparently over. Making a mental note to have yet another talk with the boy the next time they were alone, Obi-Wan turned back to Pakmillu. “I understand you’ll be making a short tour through Republic space before you enter the Unknown Regions.”

“A sort of shakedown cruise, yes,” Pakmillu said. “We must confirm that our equipment is functioning properly before we go beyond reach of repair facilities.”

He stepped to a nearby navigational console and touched a key, and a holo of the galaxy appeared overhead. “From here we go to Lonnaw in Droma sector,” he said, pointing. “After that, we’ll cut through the edge of Glythe sector to Argai in Haldeen sector. Then we’ll travel through Kokash and Mondress sectors, with a final stop possible in Albanin sector if it seems necessary.”

“That’s a lot of stops,” Obi-Wan said.

“Most will just be flybys,” Pakmillu assured him. “We won’t actually stop unless there are problems.”

“What happens then?” Anakin asked.

“If all goes well, three weeks from now we’ll formally enter Unknown Space,” Pakmillu said. “At a point approximately two hundred thirty light-years from the edge of Wild Space we’ll stop for a final navigational calibration”—his mouth tendrils wiggled as he shut down the holo—“and we’ll then begin our journey in earnest. Through the Unknown Regions, and to the next galaxy.”

Anakin whistled softly. “How long before you’ll get back?”

“Several years at least,” Pakmillu told him. “But the storage core has supplies enough for ten years, and we expect to be able to supplement its stores of foodstuffs and water along the way. In addition, our numbers may well diminish if we find hospitable worlds to colonize.”

“You’re not just going to leave people behind in the Unknown Regions, are you?” Anakin asked, frowning.

“If we do, it will be with enough food and equipment to get settled,” Pakmillu assured him. “We would also leave one of the Dreadnaughts behind for defense and transport. As you can see from Outbound Flight’s design, it will be relatively easy to detach a single ship from the rest of the complex.”

Anakin shook his head. “Still sounds dangerous.”

“We are well prepared,” Pakmillu reminded him. “And of course, we have eighteen Jedi aboard. It will be safe.”

“Or at least as safe as one can be anywhere in these times,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“And it will be a glorious adventure, as well,” Pakmillu continued, eyeing Anakin. “A pity you will not be joining us.”

“There are still a lot of things I want to do here,” Anakin said, an unexpected flicker of emotion coloring his voice and sense. He looked sideways at Obi-Wan, and the emotion vanished beneath a more proper Jedi composure. “Besides, I can’t leave my master until my training is complete.”

“With six Jedi Masters aboard you would have several choices of a teacher,” Pakmillu pointed out.

“That’s not really how it works,” Obi-Wan told him. It amazed him sometimes how people who had no idea whatsoever of the inner workings of Jedi methodology nevertheless had equally few qualms about expressing that ignorance. “You said Master C’baoth will be arriving soon?”

“He is in fact here,” C’baoth’s voice boomed from across the room.

Obi-Wan turned. There, just entering the room, were C’baoth and Lorana Jinzler. “This is a surprise, Master Kenobi,” C’baoth continued as he strode casually through the bustle of activity. No one actually had to move to let him pass, Obi-Wan noticed, but there were quite a few near misses. Fortunately, most of the techs were too preoccupied to even notice his passage. Lorana picked her way through the crowd more carefully, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I thought you’d be on your way back to Sulorine by now.”

“I was relieved of that assignment,” Obi-Wan said. “There’s something I need to discuss with you, Master C’baoth.”

C’baoth nodded. “Certainly. Go ahead.”

Obi-Wan braced himself. Between C’baoth and Anakin, this was likely to be unpleasant. “Anakin and I would like to join the expedition.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anakin turn to him in astonishment. “We would?” the boy asked.

“We would,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “At least to the edge of the galaxy.”

C’baoth’s lip quirked. “So Master Yoda finally concedes that I might indeed find Vergere?”

“Who’s Vergere?” Lorana asked.

“A missing Jedi,” C’baoth said, his eyes still on Obi-Wan’s face. “Master Kenobi tried once to find her and failed.”

“There was nothing in the voyage mandate about a search and rescue mission,” Pakmillu said, his voice suddenly wary.

“That’s because it’s Jedi business, Captain, and none of your concern,” C’baoth told him. “Don’t worry, it won’t interfere with our schedule.” He lifted his eyebrows toward Obi-Wan. “I hope you didn’t ask to come along in the hope of assuaging any feelings of guilt.”

“I didn’t ask to come at all,” Obi-Wan said. “I simply do as the Council directs me.”

“As do we all,” C’baoth said, an edge of irony in his voice as he shifted his eyes to Anakin. “What about you, young Skywalker? You seem unhappy with this change in your plans.”

Obi-Wan held his breath. There were several reasons he hadn’t told Anakin in advance about Windu’s mandate, not the least of them being the fact that the boy still obviously held C’baoth in high esteem. If he’d told Anakin they were coming to Yaga Minor to keep an eye on the man, he would have pressed for further explanation. It wouldn’t have done to disillusion him with Windu’s concerns about C’baoth’s possible involvement with the Barlok incident.

Fortunately, it was quickly evident that the decision to keep the boy in the dark had been the right one. “I’m not unhappy at all, Master C’baoth,” Anakin said with a clear voice and sense of complete honesty. “I was just surprised. Master Obi-Wan hadn’t told me about it.”

“But you do want to come see the Unknown Regions with me?”

Anakin hesitated. “I don’t want to leave the Republic forever,” he said. “But I was impressed by how you handled things on Barlok, ending the deadlock and all. I think I’d learn a lot just by watching you in your daily activities.”

C’baoth smiled wryly at Obi-Wan. “One thing at least you’ve given the lad, Master Kenobi: a smooth tongue.”

“I would hope I’ve given him more than that,” Obi-Wan said evenly. “Still, he’s right about how much he could learn from you.” He nodded to Lorana. “As I’m sure Padawan Jinzler would agree.”

“Indeed,” C’baoth said. “And it’s Jedi Jinzler now. She was elevated to Jedi Knighthood three weeks ago.”

“Really,” Obi-Wan said, carefully hiding his surprise. From the way she’d been talking on Barlok, he would have guessed that event to be years in the future. “My apologies, Jedi Jinzler, and my congratulations. Do I take it you’ll also be traveling aboard Outbound Flight with Master C’baoth?”

“Of course she will,” C’baoth said before Lorana could answer. “She’s one of the chosen, one of the few among even the Jedi whom I trust completely.”

“You don’t trust even Jedi?” Anakin asked, sounding surprised.

“I said I trust her completely,” C’baoth told him gravely. “Certainly there are others I trust. But only to a degree.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, clearly taken aback.

“Fortunately, you and your instructor are among that somewhat larger group,” C’baoth said, a small smile touching his lips. “Very well, Master Kenobi. You and your Padawan may accompany me to the edge of the galaxy, provided you make your own arrangements for returning to the Republic.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said. “The Delta-Twelve Skysprite we’ll be using for our return is on the surface, ready to be brought up and loaded aboard.”

“Good,” C’baoth said. “You’ll stay here aboard Dreadnaught-One. Captain, you’ll arrange quarters for them.”

“Yes, Master C’baoth,” Pakmillu rumbled. “I’ll have the quartermaster—”

“You will arrange quarters for them,” C’baoth repeated, a subtle but unmistakable emphasis on the first word. “These are Jedi. They will be treated accordingly.”

Pakmillu’s mouth tendrils twitched. “Yes, Master C’baoth.” He stepped to one of the consoles and tapped at the keys with his flippered hands. “And Jedi Jinzler?”

“I’ve already reserved her quarters near my own,” C’baoth told him. “Deck Three, Suite A-Four.”

“Very well,” Pakmillu said, peering at the display. “Master Kenobi, you and Master Skywalker will have Suite A-Eight on Deck Five. I trust that will be acceptable.”

“It will,” C’baoth said before Obi-Wan could answer. “You may now assign someone to escort them to their quarters.”

From behind them came a sudden crinkling sound of tearing metal. Obi-Wan spun around to see that a large sheet of secondary conductive grid had come loose from the wall and was hanging precariously over a bank of control consoles. He stretched out with the Force—

C’baoth got there first, catching the sheet in a Force grip even as it came the rest of the way loose. “Jedi Jinzler: assist them,” he ordered.

“Yes, Master C’baoth,” Lorana said, hurrying off.

“Captain Pakmillu, you were going to find an escort for our new passengers?” C’baoth continued in a conversational tone, even as he continued to hold the grid floating in midair.

“That won’t be necessary,” Obi-Wan said. “I studied Dreadnaught deck plans on the trip here. We can find our own way.”

C’baoth frowned slightly, and for a second Obi-Wan thought he was going to insist on an escort anyway, as befit proper Jedi treatment. But then the wrinkles smoothed and he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Captain Pakmillu is hosting a First Night dinner in the senior officers’ wardroom at seven. My fellow Jedi Masters will be there. You’ll attend, as well.”

“We’ll be honored,” Obi-Wan said.

“And you’ll need to stop by the Dreadnaught-One med-center,” Pakmillu added. “The Supreme Chancellor’s representative has instructed that all personnel be given a complete examination, including the taking of analysis-grade blood and tissue samples for shipment to Coruscant. Apparently, there’s some concern about hive viruses or potential epidemics.”

“We’ll get ourselves checked out,” Obi-Wan promised. “Until tonight, then.”

He nudged Anakin, and together they made their way across the room. “Master C’baoth certainly seems to know what he wants, doesn’t he?” he commented.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Anakin said firmly. “If Master Yoda or Master Windu talked that way to the Chancellor and Senate once in a while, maybe more things would get done.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Maybe.”

The grid was heavy, and flexible enough to be difficult to get a grip on. Fortunately, that wasn’t a problem for a Jedi. Stretching out with the Force, Lorana lifted it back into position, holding it in place while the techs hurriedly worked at its fastenings.

“Thanks,” the overseer puffed when it was finally secured. “Those things are a real fl—I mean, they’re a real pain when they get loose like that.”

“No problem,” Lorana assured him. “I was glad I could help.”

“Me, too,” he grunted. “Did I hear someone say your name was Jinzler?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Why?”

“ ’Cause we’ve got a Jinzler on our work team,” he said, fumbling out a comlink and punching in a code. “Guy named Dean. Relative of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Lorana said. “I was only ten months old when I entered the Jedi Temple. I don’t know anything about my family.”

“What, they never came to see you?”

“Families aren’t allowed to visit,” Lorana told him.

“Oh,” the other said, sounding surprised. A tone sounded, and he lifted the comlink to his lips. “Jinzler? Brooks. Where are you? … Okay, find a stopping place and hop on over to the messroom …’Cause I want to see you, that’s why.”

He keyed off and returned the comlink to his belt. “This way, Jedi Jinzler,” he said, gesturing toward one of the ComOps Center’s starboard doors.

“But I already said I don’t know him,” Lorana protested as she followed.

“Yeah, but maybe he’ll know you,” Brooks said. They stepped through the door into the corridor and he turned toward the nearest turbolift. “Worth checking out anyway, isn’t it?”

Lorana felt her throat tighten. “I suppose.”

They took the turbolift three levels down from the command deck and along a narrow corridor to a large table-filled room with a full-length serving counter stretching across one end. A dozen humans and aliens were scattered in twos and threes around the various tables, conversing in low tones over multi-colored liquids, while three serving droids busied themselves behind the counter. “There he is,” Brooks said, pointing at a table along the back wall. A lone, dark-haired man sat there, his back to the rest of the room, cradling a steaming mug between his hands. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

He set off across the room, exchanging nods and greetings with some of the others as he passed. Lorana followed, her quiet misgivings growing steadily stronger … and as they got within three meters of the man he half turned, and she got her first look at his profile.

It was the man she’d seen so many times back on Coruscant.

She stopped short, her whole body going taut. Brooks didn’t notice, but continued the rest of the way to the table. “Hey, Jinzler,” he said, gesturing toward her. “Want to introduce you to someone.”

The young man turned the rest of the way around in his chair. “No need,” he said, his voice steady but edged with an unpleasant mixture of tension and bitterness. “Jedi Lorana Jinzler, I presume.”

With an effort, Lorana found her voice. “Yes,” she said. The word came out calmer than she had expected it to. “Dean Jinzler, I presume.”

“You two know each other?” Brooks asked, frowning back and forth between them.

“Hardly,” Jinzler said. “She’s only my sister.”

“Your—?” Brooks stared at him, then at Lorana. “But I thought—”

“Thank you,” Lorana said, catching his eye and nodding microscopically toward the door.

“Uh … yeah.” Still staring at them in confusion, Brooks backed away between the tables, his hands groping behind him for obstacles. He reached the door and escaped from the room.

“I suppose you’re going to want to sit down,” Jinzler said, an edge of challenge in his voice.

Lorana turned her attention back to him. He was gazing up at her with the same bitterness she’d noted at their other near encounters. His eyes, contrary to her expectations, weren’t dark but were instead the same odd shade of gray as hers. “Yes,” she said, circling to a chair at the far side of the table. Gathering her robes around her, she eased down into it.

“I suppose I should congratulate you on passing the trials,” Jinzler said. “You’re a real Jedi now.”

“Thank you,” Lorana said, searching his face. There was a family resemblance there, she could see. Strange that she’d never noticed it before. “You keep up on such things?”

“My parents do.” His mouth tightened. “Our parents do,” he corrected himself.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about them. Or about you.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “But I know everything about you. Everything, from your youngling training, to your apprenticeship to Jorus C’baoth, to your first lightsaber, to your elevation to Jedi Knighthood.”

“I’m impressed,” Lorana said, trying a hesitant smile.

“Don’t be,” he said, not returning the smile. “I only know because my parents had a friend who still worked inside the Temple. They rammed your every accomplishment down my throat. They loved you, you know.” He snorted gently. “No. Of course you don’t. You never bothered to find out.”

He dropped his eyes from her face and took a sip from his mug. Lorana gazed at him, wincing at the anger and bitterness flowing toward her like the steam from his drink. What had she done to make him so angry? “We weren’t allowed as Padawans to know anything about our families,” she said into the silence. “Even now that I’m a Jedi, it’s still frowned on.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

“And there are good reasons for it,” she continued doggedly. “There are many worlds in the Republic where family connections and position are the most important parts of their culture. A Jedi who knew which family she’d come from might find it impossible to deal impartially in any of her people’s disputes.”

“Doesn’t stop the family from finding you, though, does it?” he shot back. “Because mine sure did. Even after your precious Jedi got them fired, they still managed to keep tabs on you—”

“Wait a minute,” Lorana interrupted him. “What do you mean, they got them fired? Who got them fired?”

“You Jedi have hearing problems?” he demanded. “I already told you: one of your high and mighty Jedi. Mom and Dad were civilian workers at the Temple, handling electronics maintenance and repair in the public areas. They were good at it, too. Only after you were taken, they got fired. Your Jedi didn’t want them even in the same building with you, I guess.”

Lorana felt her stomach tighten. She wasn’t familiar with this particular incident, though there had been others she’d heard of. But it was clear that it would do no good to give her brother the rationale behind the Temple’s strict isolation policy. “Were they able to find other jobs?”

“No, we all starved to death,” he retorted. “Of course they found other jobs. Lower-paying jobs, of course, jobs where they had to scramble to get us packed and moved because no one had even bothered to tell them they couldn’t stay on at the Temple once you were there. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

For a long minute he just stared at her, his turmoil surging like the ocean’s edge in a winter storm. “You Jedi think you’re perfect,” he said at last. “You think you know what’s right for everyone and everything. Well, you’re not, and you don’t.”

Lorana felt her throat tighten. “What happened to you, Dean?” she asked gently.

“Oh, so now it’s Dean, is it?” he said scornfully. “Now you want to pretend you’re my loving big sister? You think you can wave your hand or your precious lightsaber and make it all up to me?”

“Make what up to you?” Lorana persisted. “Please. I want to know.”

“I thought you Jedi knew everything.”

Lorana sighed. “No, of course not.”

“Well, you’d never know that by listening to our parents,” he bit out. “You were the perfect one, the one all the rest of us were measured against. Lorana would have done this, Lorana would have done that; Lorana would have said this, Lorana would never had said that. It was like living with a minor deity. And so completely absurd—they couldn’t possibly have the slightest idea what you might actually do or say in some situation. You could barely even walk when they sent you away.”

His eyes hardened even further. “But of course, you were away, weren’t you? That’s what made the whole thing work. You were never around to make mistakes or lose your temper or drop dinner all over the floor. They could set up their little shrine to you without ever having to see anything that might burst the bubble of perfection they’d built around you.”

He scooped up his mug, but set it down again without drinking. “But I know,” he growled, staring into it. “I’ve been watching you. You’re not perfect. You’re not even close to perfect.”

Lorana thought back across the wearying years of her training, and C’baoth’s constant criticism. “No,” she murmured. “I’m not.”

“You’re not very observant, either.” He gestured at her. “Let me see that fancy weapon of yours.”

“My lightsaber?” Frowning, she slid it out of her belt and set it on the table.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he said, making no move to touch it. “That’s an amethyst, right?”

“Yes,” she said, focusing on the activation stud. “It was a gift from some people Master C’baoth and I helped in one of Coruscant’s midlevels.”

Jinzler shook his head. “No, it was a gift from your parents. They knew the people, and asked them to give it to you.” His mouth twisted. “And you couldn’t even figure that out, could you?”

“No, of course not,” Lorana said, her frustration with this man and his anger threatening to bubble over into anger of her own. “How could I?”

“Because you’re a Jedi,” he shot back. “You’re supposed to know everything. I’ll bet your Master C’baoth knew where it came from.”

Lorana took a careful breath. “What do you want from me, Dean?”

“Hey, you’re the one who came looking for me just now, not the other way around,” he countered. “What do you want?”

For a moment she gazed into his eyes. What did she want from him? “I want you to accept what is,” she told him. “The past is gone. Neither of us can change it.”

“You want me to not change the past?” he said scornfully. “Yeah, okay, I think I can handle that.”

“I want you to accept that, whatever your feelings about your—about our—parents, your value isn’t defined by their opinions or judgments,” she continued, ignoring the sarcasm.

He snorted. “Sorry, but you already said not to change the past,” he said. “Anything else?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I want you to stop hating,” she said quietly. “To stop hating yourself … and to stop hating me.”

She saw the muscles work briefly in his neck. “I don’t hate,” he said, his voice steady. “Hate is an emotion, and Jedi don’t have emotions. Right?”

“You’re not a Jedi.”

“And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?” he said bitterly. “That’s what Mom and Dad wanted: Jedi. And I’m not one, am I? But don’t worry, I can still play the game. There is no emotion; there is peace. Jedi serve others rather than ruling over them, for the good of the galaxy. Jedi respect all life, in any form. See?”

Abruptly, Lorana had had enough. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she said, standing up. “I’m sorry for your pain, which I can’t heal. I’m sorry for your perceived loss, which I can’t give back to you.” She forced herself to lock gazes with him. “And I’m sorry you’re on your way to wasting your life, a decision that only you can change.”

“Nice,” he said. “The one thing no one can top Jedi at is making speeches. Especially farewell speeches.” He raised his eyebrows. “That was a farewell speech, wasn’t it?”

Lorana glanced around the room, belatedly remembering where she was. Outbound Flight …“I haven’t made up my mind.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You actually have a mind?” he said. “I thought the Jedi Council made all your decisions for you.”

“I hope you’ll find your way, Dean,” Lorana said, picking up her lightsaber and sliding it back into her belt. “I hope you’ll find your healing.”

“Well, you can spend the next few years worrying about it,” he said. “Hurry back. We have so much more to talk about. Sister.” Picking up his mug, he shifted around in his seat to put his back to her.

Lorana stared at the back of his head, the acid taste of defeat in her mouth. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said. “My … brother.”

He didn’t reply. Blinking back tears, Lorana fled from the room.

For a long time she wandered the maze of corridors, maneuvering mechanically around the techs and droids as she tried to work through the pain darkening her eyes and mind. It was therefore with a certain sense of distant shock that her eyes cleared to show she was back in the Dreadnaught’s ComOps Center.

C’baoth and Pakmillu were still there, holding a discussion over one of the navigation consoles. “Ah—Jedi Jinzler,” C’baoth said, gesturing her over. “I trust your quarters are satisfactory?”

“Actually, I haven’t seen them yet,” Lorana admitted.

“But you will be joining us, will you not?” Pakmillu added in his gravelly voice. “I understand there is some confusion on this point.”

“There’s no confusion,” C’baoth insisted. “She is coming with us.”

Pakmillu’s large eyes were steady on her. “Jedi Jinzler?” he invited.

Lorana took a deep breath, her brother’s face floating in front of her. The face that from this point on would forever hover at the edges of her life. “Master C’baoth is correct,” she told the captain. “I’ll be honored to travel with you aboard Outbound Flight.”

And, she added bitterly to herself, the sooner they were gone, the better.