"I suppose I should congratulate you on pa.s.sing 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.

13.

...And the final crew and pa.s.senger list," Captain Pakmillu said, handing over the last data card.

"Thank you," Doriana said, accepting the card and tucking the entire stack away inside his coat. "And there's nothing else you need?"

"Nothing that I or fifty thousand other people have been able to think of," Pakmillu said with typically dry Mon Cal humor. "I believe Outbound Flight is ready to fly."

"Excellent," Doriana said. "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine will be pleased to hear it."

"We couldn't have done it without his help," Pakmillu said gravely.

"Please extend our grat.i.tude one final time to him for all his efforts on our behalf."

"I certainly will," Doriana promised. A final time it would be, too.

"Then that's that. I'll see you in-what? Five years? Ten?"

"However long it takes," Pakmillu said, looking around his Dreadnaught-1 command bridge. "But we will be back."

"I'll look forward to your return," Doriana said with all the false sincerity he could conjure up. "In the meantime, a safe voyage to you.

And don't forget, if you do discover anything else you need, the Supreme Chancellor's Office stands ready to a.s.sist. You still have three weeks before you leave Republic s.p.a.ce-plenty of time for emergency supplies or equipment to be a.s.sembled and transported to you."

"I will remember," Pakmillu said, bowing his head. "May I escort you back to your transport?"

"No need," Doriana a.s.sured him. "I know you must have a hundred matters yet to deal with before you leave Yaga Minor. Fly safely, and may the Force he with you."

"With nineteen Jedi aboard, I'm sure it will," Pakmillu a.s.sured him.

"Rather, nineteen and a half."

"Most definitely," Doriana agreed, keeping his smile in place as he frowned behind it. Nineteen Jedi? And a half? "Good-bye, Captain."

He waited until the pilot had maneuvered the transport out of Dreadnaught-l's forward hangar bay and had them skimming smoothly across the outer fringes of Yaga Minor's atmosphere before he pulled out Pakmillu's pa.s.senger list and plugged it into his datapad. The last Jedi numbers he'd heard had put the total at seventeen, not nineteen. Had there been a sudden change in plans? And what in blazes was half a Jedi, anyway? The rumors about how Darth Maul had died flashed unpleasantly to mind .. .

He pulled up the Jedi list and ran his eye down it. The names were very familiar, most of them potential troublemakers whom he himself had subtly nudged C'baoth into inviting aboard his grand expedition. The first addition to the list, Lorana Jinzler, wasn't really a surprise; Doriana had always thought it likely that C'baoth's former Padawan would decide to stay with him awhile longer. The other two were Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi and his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker.

Doriana smiled to himself. So Skywalker was Pakmillu's half Jedi. Cute; and an unexpected bonus for all his hard work, as well. Ever since Ken.o.bi and the boy had nearly scuttled the Barlok operation, he'd had an uncomfortable feeling about the pair. Their deaths aboard Outbound Flight would be nicely convenient.

Outbound Flight had disentangled itself from the last of its docking and support equipment now and was making its ponderous way out of Yaga Minor's gravity well toward deep s.p.a.ce. A minute later, as Doriana continued to watch through the transport's canopy, it flickered and vanished into hypers.p.a.ce.

He looked back down at his datapad. Still, bonus or not, he'd better check with Sidious and let him know that Ken.o.bi and Skywalker were aboard, just to make sure that fit in with the Sith Lord's plans.

And he'd better check before Outbound Flight meandered its way out of the Republic. Forever.

The shuttle took him to the Yavvitiri s.p.a.ceport, a few kilometers from the Preparation Center where all the preliminary work on Outbound Flight had taken place. Palpatine and the Senate had tried to keep a low profile on the project, perhaps fearing a backlash about all the money they were spending, and for the most part they'd succeeded. In his various official and unofficial travels over the past six weeks, Doriana had found virtually no one who had even heard of it.

Still, here at the very center of the project, it could hardly have been ignored. But to his mild surprise, he didn't hear a single word about Outbound Flight's departure as he walked through the s.p.a.ceport's corridors. True, the work had for the most part moved up to the Dreadnaughts themselves four weeks ago, taking the project out of the public's day-to-day view. But he still would have expected someone to have raised his head out of the mud long enough to take note of such a historic event.

Perhaps in these days of growing political and social turmoil, he mused, even historic events were soon forgotten. In this particular case, it was just as well.

He'd left his own ship berthed on the far side of the s.p.a.ceport, in the restricted zone reserved for diplomats and high governmental officials.