A Certain Point of View/Part 2

After so long aboard, Tirien let Narasi take the Second Chance out of the Crescentia and into lightspeed, but she was quieter than he expected, and excused herself to bed before they reached Denon. He got them going down the Corellian Run toward Mon Gazza, set the proximity alert, then followed.

They shared bunk space, and Narasi was already asleep in her lower bunk by the time he changed into his sleeping attire, her mouth hanging open. Tirien lay awake in the upper bunk for a long while, listening to his apprentice snore. He had gotten used to the sound in their travels, and it had become almost familiar on Milagro; it was his own thoughts that kept him awake, his mind too active to concede to his body's weariness. His reunion with Harshee, brief as it was, had stirred his oldest memories, so faint that on the rare occasions they came to mind at all they seemed more like dreams than remembered reality. He had dreamed of returning to Pantora one day as a boy, but that had gradually faded away under the realities of his Padawan apprenticeship, and was barely a memory to the Knight he had become.

Eventually he drifted to sleep, and dreamed of a cool breeze and the calls of the morning birds in the mountains.

When he woke he was alert at once, and he became aware of a disturbance in the Force. Slipping off his bunk, he looked down at Narasi by the muted light of the passenger compartment and saw her twitching in the throes of a nightmare, her face screwed up and her breath coming in quick gasps. Her sharp nails dug into her blanket, and her closed eyes squeezed shut hard. Tirien studied her for a second, then knelt beside her. Careful not to wake her, he gently touched two fingers to her forehead, channeling her soothing thoughts and peace until the tormented look left her face and her breathing slowed. Her fingers unclenched and she started to snore again; Tirien smiled at her, then closed the bunk door behind him as he went to the cockpit.

They were too close to Mon Gazza for deep meditation, but he took the opportunity to ease his anxiety and apprehension. Drawing the Second Chance out of hyperspace at the shadowport, he saw the scanners light up with a variety of small craft, though he was pleased to see neither Tarni Hadan nor any other Sith faction had warships present. A few pirate craft scanned the ship as Tirien plotted the next jump, likely considering whether it was worth the effort; Tirien found himself wondering whether the Chun sisters and the Rogue's Gambit were among them, but he didn't run the scan to find out, and the stars blurred into hyperspace again before any of them could get close.

He sensed Narasi wake not long after, and listened to the sounds of her banging around the galley before she finally came to the cockpit, still in her sleeping clothes as well. Sitting in the copilot's seat, she offered Tirien a bowl of breakfast paste, then dug into her own.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Llanic Spice Run," he replied as he ate. "We'll follow it down past the Spice Terminus, then jump off to Pantora. Sleep well?"

She yawned and nodded. "Not bad. You?"

"Brief, but enough."

"Looking forward to going home?" she asked.

Tirien took his time replying. "I haven't been back since Harshee found me. I really only remember fragments; most of what I know about Pantora I read at the Jedi Temple.  I'm not sure what to expect."

Narasi grinned as she ran her fingers through her wild, sleep-mussed hair. "Are you finally going to tell me the story of how you got recruited?"

"Are you?"

He had said it lightly, one side of his mouth pulling up into a half-smirk, but he watched her smile fade in response and her eyes grow distant. "It's okay," she said, dropping her gaze back to her breakfast. "We don't have to talk about it."

Tirien kept his face impassive as he looked out at the hyperspace blur as the silence dragged. He had not forgotten her outburst the day before; no matter how much she developed as a Jedi, the shadow of the Zygerrian Slave Empire seemed to hover over her all the same. The civilians they encountered didn't help, to be sure, but perhaps a little nudge might. There were times in Narasi's apprenticeship when she wasn't the only one being pushed out of her comfort zone.

"There isn't much to tell, really," he mused. "I was five when Harshee found me; I'm still not sure how she did. I remember her doing tests to see if I was Force-sensitive.  We left the day after she arrived, so obviously my parents didn't put up too much of an argument."

Narasi turned her chair to face his, her half-eaten breakfast forgotten in her lap. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No. Well, I didn't then," he admitted; he had never really considered any other idea, and he found it oddly discomfiting now that he did. "Now I don't know. It's been twenty-one years."

"Do you remember your parents?"

"Only a little." He pushed through his discomfort. "More images, really. Feelings."

Narasi took a bite of breakfast, chewing the thick paste for much longer than Tirien thought it required before she swallowed. "Will we go see them?"

Tirien shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"It's a recruitment mission, not a vacation," he reminded her.

"But…" She frowned too, staring at him. "Don't you want to?"

Tirien sighed and turned his chair to face hers too. "Narasi, part of being a Jedi is commitment to the Order—total commitment. We're servants of the Republic, and of peace.  Any time we allow ourselves to get attached to something or someone else, we risk losing sight of our purpose as Jedi."

"But…what about marriage? Doesn't the Council let Jedi get married?"

Tirien made a face. "Let is a strong word. Better to say that we're in a galaxy-wide war for the future of civilization, so a few Jedi getting married isn't really a top priority right now.  I think if any of those Jedi asked the Council, the answer would be no; when they just do it, as long as they stay in the light, the Council's not going to push the issue."

"But if they can get married and stay in the light," she countered, "why can't Jedi know their families and stay in the light?"

"Maybe some can," Tirien conceded. "I'm not saying it's impossible. But it is taking a risk—one there's no good reason to take."

"But they're your family!"

Tirien tried to get a read on why she was pressing the point. "They gave me life, and I'm grateful for that," he answered. "I honor their decision to overcome attachment and let me go, so I could become a Jedi. They're the family I was born to, but the Jedi are the family I chose.  Suwo and Master Z'dar, Mali and Slejux.  You.  You are all my family now."

She had been on the border of arguing further, but that stopped her; she wore a stunned look for a moment, then smiled. Tirien nodded, then twitched his head toward the rear of the ship. "Go on, shower and get dressed. It's a quick run down the Llanic, then a short jump to Pantora."

She got herself ready, then minded the cockpit while Tirien did the same. When he returned he found her poring over a star chart of the Sujimis sector.

"Harshee patrols all of this?"

Tirien broadened the field to the surrounding sectors. "Once upon a time a Jedi Watchman might have had a single sector, but that was before the war. Harshee keeps watch over all this.  This is her homeworld," he noted. "Svivren, in the Svivreni sector."

She looked impressed. "Huh."

"You don't like her."

Narasi started. "What? No!  I mean, that's not it."

"But?"

"She…well, she…"

"Looks at you like a Zygerrian, not a Jedi?"

Narasi looked oddly relieved. "You noticed it too?"

Tirien shook his head. "No, I didn't, I just know that look you had on your face."

Narasi frowned. "Maybe you just don't see it because you aren't one, Master."

"Maybe," Tirien allowed; he had just been lecturing Narasi about considering other perspectives, after all. "But maybe you've gotten so used to seeing it that you anticipate the distaste of others."

"Maybe," Narasi echoed, though it was clear she was not convinced. Looking at the map again, she asked, "I guess Harshee doesn't get back to Coruscant much?"

"A lot of Jedi don't," Tirien admitted. "I didn't, when I was Suwo's Padawan."

"Well, yeah, but…when she was talking to Master La'altac…" Narasi sighed, then asked frankly, "Master, is Harshee a Gray Jedi?"

Tirien considered the question. "Maybe very pale Gray. She does her own thing in her sectors, but it was the High Council that made her a Jedi Watchman in the first place.  And she took me to Coruscant for training.  Karr Shadeez…well, you remember.  He had his own corps of Knights."

Narasi nodded, but asked, "So she fights the Sith here?"

"The Sith and whoever else comes along," Tirien said. "Pirates, criminals, petty tyrants…"

"Slavers?"

Tirien narrowed his eyes. Something about the way she had asked it… "Yes.  Not just Zygerrians; we're a good ways out from Hutt Space, but even farther from Coruscant, and Tarni Hadan's not powerful enough or foolish enough to pick a fight with the Hutt kajidics."

"It…sounds like she does a lot of good out here," Narasi mused.

"The Republic can't be everywhere that people are suffering. You saw that yourself on Milagro.  Some Jedi take it on themselves to pick up the slack."

"You know…" Narasi said, a sly smile starting on her lips. "We could do a lot of good, Master. Whaddaya think?  Gray Jedi fighting team—you, me, and the Second Chance, saving the galaxy, one planet of bad guys at a time!"

Tirien stared at her, then smirked. "You really will do anything to get out of more art lessons, won't you?"

They shared a laugh until the proximity alert pinged. Tirien let Narasi pull them out of hyperspace while he ran the calculations for Pantora. His transceiver beacon buzzed, and he raised a hand to forestall her reach for the hyperdrive lever. Plugging it into the comms suite, he raised an eyebrow.

"The Crescentia?" Narasi asked.

Tirien shook his head. "Mali."

He activated the holoprojector, but there was neither audio nor holo to play. Instead, the words appeared on the main viewscreen:


 * C RUSADER  SIGHTED IN O UTER R IM, ENGAGING S ITH FORCES . I NTEL SPOTTY .  W ILL TRY TO LEARN MORE .  –M ALI .

Narasi looked perplexed. "Crusader? Is that one of ours?"

"No, but I've heard the name…" Tirien frowned; he knew it meant something, but couldn't place why. "I can't remember…"

"Lord Aresh, maybe?"

"No, his is…the Purity; Mali told me about it. Have you heard anything from Aldayr?"

Narasi shook her head. "Not for a couple weeks.

Tirien didn't know what to make of his apprentice's occasional correspondence with Nikodon; she hadn't even told him they were in communication until a month ago, and it seemed infrequent. He pondered Mali's message a moment more, but shrugged as the navicomp beeped. "It will come to me. Let's go."

He sent back an acknowledgment to Mali before Narasi got them going toward Pantora. "It's less than an hour," he said. "Just enough time for morning meditation."

She took that in stride, at least, and he was pleased to sense her still immersed in the Force when the last alert chimed. Tirien drew back the hyperdrive lever, and a massive ice planet dominated the viewport at once.

"Whoa," Narasi remarked as she blinked her way back to full consciousness. "Your planet's huge, Master!"

"Hmm? Oh, that's Orto Plutonia." He shook his head and pointed. "See that moon there? That ' s Pantora."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Does anybody live on Orto Plutonia?"

"We have some mining stations, but no major settlements. It's an ice ball."

"I thought Pantorans were supposed to be immune to cold," Narasi teased.

Tirien gave her a dry look. "The climate's fine for Pantorans. Not so good for agriculture.  The cold won't kill us, but starvation will."

"Oh, right."

He guided the Second Chance around Orto Plutonia, angling for Pantora until the moon grew from a speck of light to a white-and-reddish world. He had not seen this view in more than two decades, and the memory of peering out the viewport of Harshee's ship came back more forcefully than he would ever have expected. Hardly conscious of it, he said aloud, "Home again, home again, to go to rest…"

"…by hearth and heart, house and nest," Narasi murmured.

They glanced at each other in mutual surprise, then smiled. Turning back to the viewport, Tirien recalled, "My mother used to say that to me."

When Narasi had asked him about family before he could not have called his mother's voice to mind with a blaster to his head, but suddenly he heard the words as if she'd just spoken them. He fell into reflection and there was silence as the Second Chance flew on, Pantora growing ever larger until nothing else was visible. But as the ship banked down toward the largest cluster of lights below, Narasi said quietly, "Mine too."

Tirien was too surprised to speak before the ship's comm beeped. "Unidentified ship, identify and state your destination."

"Republic freighter Second Chance, bound for Isalius," Tirien answered.

There was a pause. "Pantora is neutral, Second Chance. Declare your purpose."

"I'm a Jedi Knight. I'm here with my apprentice on the Order's business."

"We just had a Jedi Knight here, Second Chance," Ground Control replied, a bit more coolly. "I was given to understand she didn't get what she wanted. No means no."

"Master…" Narasi warned, pointing to the sensors. Two patrol craft were rerouting their way.

Tirien nodded, but answered the comm instead of his apprentice. "Jedi Nefkin, yes, I know. I think I might fare better.  Request landing coordinates."

"Negative, Second Chance. Advise you reroute."

"I didn't want to do this…" Tirien sighed. Narasi frowned in confusion and reached for the shields, but Tirien just tapped the comm again. "Well then, let's not call it the Order's business. Let's just say I'm here for a homecoming."

"Homecoming?"

"My name is Tirien Kal-Di."

The pause this time was much longer; Control had apparently left the comm on while she hastily conferred with someone else, though Tirien couldn't make out the words. They were skirting the atmosphere when Control finally returned to the channel. "Stand by for coordinates, Second Chance."

"Standing by," Tirien said, and Narasi nodded, downloading the coordinates and projecting them onto the main data screen. "Received."

"Acknowledged, Second Chance, you're cleared to land. And…welcome home, Master Kal-Di."

"Thank you." Tirien flipped off the comm and guided them down through the atmosphere as the patrol craft broke off their tail, trying not to consider what waited below.

"You're famous, Master," Narasi remarked.

"I'm the only Pantoran in the Order," Tirien noted, then amended, "for now. It was a shot worth taking, but I didn't want to bank on it unless I had to."

"Why?"

"We're not here to be celebrities. This is about the Order and this little boy, not my ego.  And beings talk," he added grimly. "Not the Pantorans, maybe, but offworlders come here too. All it takes is one smuggler spreading the story in the wrong place for the Sith to take interest.  You and I are getting famous with them, too, and not in a good way."

Narasi considered that the whole way down as Tirien guided the ship toward the capital city. Isalius sat on a tract of firm land at the heart of a series of marshes; mist hung over the red-brown soil and scrub grass. The capital itself was a gleaming cityscape of durasteel towers and multistory storefronts topped with small parks, pedestrian bridges connecting each to the next. There was a steady stream of other freighters and cargo ships en route to and from the spaceport, though nothing compared to the incessant beehive of activity that was Coruscant.

"That's pretty," Narasi remarked. "I've never seen buildings like that."

Tirien followed her pointed finger to a group of towers and their onion domes, wider than the towers beneath and tapering smoothly to points above. It was a consistent architectural style that made Isalius seem a city of candles with frozen flames. "Discovering a fondness for art after all?"

Narasi rolled her eyes. "Wondering what about the culture inspired it."

Tirien chuckled. "I couldn't tell you."

"You're not from here?"

Tirien shook his head, pointing out the viewport. "You see those mountains? We lived there, in one of the mountain cities."

Narasi gazed at the distant mountains until Tirien banked down to the designated landing platform and the range was lost to view behind a wall. They debarked side-by-side; Tirien wore his robe more for the effect than the climate, but Narasi walked out into the brisk mid-morning, shivered, and put her coat on. She reached for the hood, then paused and looked at Tirien. "Should I…?"

"If you're cold, but otherwise let's play it as it's dealt," he responded, looking up at the trio of Pantorans heading to meet them. She took a deep breath and left the hood down.

As he expected, all three Pantorans gave Narasi lingering looks that ranged from unease to hostility, but for once they seemed to give him equal attention. He did not recognize their facial clan markings, although he hadn't expected to. Stepping forward, he bowed. "I'm Tirien Kal-Di, and this is Narasi Rican. We're Jedi." He put just a little emphasis on the plural to make his point. "Thank you for receiving us."

The man in the middle had blue hair turning blue-gray, and Tirien took him for the senior. He extended a hand, which Tirien shook. "Welcome home, Master Kal-Di."

It was an odd sentiment to consider. Rather than dwell on it, Tirien shook his head. "Just Tirien; I'm a Knight, not a Master. But thank you.  And you are?"

"Torai Cachi," he answered. "I'm the administrator of this spaceport. These are Elso and Mikrana."

Elso and Mikrana were much younger, only a few years Narasi's seniors, and both had wide eyes as they shook his hand. Narasi watched the exchange, and Tirien felt her mentally steel herself. She extended a hand and said, "I'm Narasi. I'm Master Kal-Di's Padawan."

Her voice was calm and polite; Tirien thought no one who knew her less than he did would catch the faint tension in her voice…or perhaps he knew her so well he caught it from her thoughts and his ears read it into her tone.

All three Pantorans hesitated, but Tirien narrowed his eyes, sensing Torai's distaste warring with his desire not to offend. The latter won out under Tirien's gaze, and Torai shook Narasi's hand briefly. Rather than push her luck, she just nodded to Elso and Mikrana.

"So," Torai said, clearly eager to move on, "how long are you back, Master—Tirien?"

"Not very," Tirien admitted.

"But you'll be visiting your family, I'm sure? They'll be excited to see you…"

"Unfortunately no." Tirien affected a smile despite his misgivings on the whole subject; a lecture about the vice of attachment would likely been even less productive with civilians than with Narasi. "Much as I am coming home here, I'm afraid I talked around Control just a bit; we really are here on Jedi business. I'd prefer to keep our coming here off the scanners as much as possible."

Elso and Mikrana traded uncertain looks as Torai frowned. "Tirien…I don't mean to pry into your personal affairs, Master Jedi, but since you've been gone from us so long, perhaps you don't appreciate how influential your presence will be here."

Tirien frowned, and before he could stop her Narasi asked, "How so?"

Torai continued to address Tirien, but answered the question. "Pantora is not a Republic world, as you know, and apart from Jedi Nefkin we have little contact with the Jedi Order. That one of our people is a member of the Order might not ordinarily excite such widespread fascination…except that you're not exactly an ordinary Jedi, are you?"

"I'm a Knight, like any other," Tirien said evenly, but he could tell at once they were not convinced.

"A Knight who saved the Kuat Shipyards, defended the Crown Prince of Tammuz-an, and survived the Battle of Taanab, or so I'm told," Torai retorted.

"We may be out of the way, but we still get news from closer to the Core," Elso said with an enthusiastic smile. "They say it's a contest between you and Mali Darakhan for who's the greatest Jedi Knight."

"We're not competing," Tirien said firmly. "Mali is a friend."

"You even dueled Darth Alecto once," Mikrana added.

Tirien was not pleased to find Alecto's legend had spread this far through the Rim, although she had certainly bought the title of Jedi killer with enough blood. Narasi, however, corrected, "Twice."

They all seemed impressed, though Tirien shot his apprentice a warning look before going on. "There are a hundred Jedi who have done as much or more for the Order and the Republic."

"But none of them are from Pantora," Torai noted.

Tirien centered himself with a breath and a second of cleansing meditation. "Be that as it may, I'd prefer to conduct my business here without fanfare. What can you tell me of this boy?"

"The Force-sensitive boy? Nothing," Torai said. "We've heard rumors, but Jedi Nefkin was…reticent. And she left alone.  If you give me the name, I could make inquiries?"

There was danger there, Tirien sensed; turning the child's house into a media circus would hardly help him work through whatever objections the boy's parents had, and if Tirien failed as Harshee had, the risks would be amplified a hundredfold with every eye in Isalius watching the boy's development.

"Thank you, Torai, but that's quite all right. We'll manage.  I'll book the docking bay for the Second Chance for a few nights, if it's available."

"Certainly. We'll keep it safe for you," the man replied, but as Tirien reached for the credit container on his belt Torai shook his head. "No charge, Master Jedi. We're honored to have you home."

Tirien swallowed his discomfort and bowed. "Thank you all."

He followed Elso's directions out of the spaceport and toward a taxi starter. When they were out of earshot Narasi grinned and said, "VIP service. I could get used to this, Master."

"Don't," Tirien snapped.

It came out much more harshly than he intended, and when Narasi's grin faded and her ears backed in uncertainty, Tirien sighed, embarrassed. Stopping to face her, he said, "I'm sorry, Narasi. I'm not particularly comfortable with this…legend they seem to have built around me."

"But you are a great Jedi, Master," she reasoned, relaxing a little. "Master Darakhan, Slejux, even the Masters say so. It's just the truth."

"It's an invitation to arrogance," he corrected. "Pride is at the heart of the dark side. From everything I've heard, Eviar Seldec was a great Jedi Knight once too—a hero, even.  Look at him now."

"You're not General Seldec," Narasi said firmly.

"No. And I don't want to be."

Proximity to the taxi starter spared him the retort he sensed Narasi had forming. The droid taxi driver did not seem impressed with his status as Pantora's sole native son in the Jedi Order, which was a relief; it guided the speeder off to the address Harshee had provided without a word. Tirien looked out the windows on the ride, watching Pantorans going about their daily lives and feeling surreal. He had always considered outward appearance trivial, and being Padawan to a Quarren had helped, but now he had to wonder whether his species' isolation had made it easier and given him a false sense of confidence. Apart from the stray Wroonian here and there, few beings he met even vaguely resembled him, but as he gazed out on the streets of Isalius he saw no one who didn't.

He was still trying to process his feelings when the droid stopped the taxi at a high-rise; Narasi had to prod him to get him to focus. They paid the droid and made their way inside, but their luck did not hold; the desk attendant was a Pantoran, and Tirien could sense at once that the young man had put the Pantoran features and the Jedi garb together.

"So much for door security," Tirien commented when they finally managed to extricate themselves and reach the turbolift.

"Sometimes it helps to be famous," Narasi needled. "I don't see why you wouldn't give him your autograph, though."

Tirien gritted his teeth. "Pridefulness, Narasi."

They approached the door on the fifth floor, but Tirien stopped short and tugged Narasi to a halt as well. "Can you sense him?"

She closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force. "Kinda…I sense two beings in the apartment, and one of them's different from everyone else here. But it's…hazy."

"Because he's untrained," Tirien agreed. "Even the Initiates on the Crescentia feel stronger in the Force because they've been taught how to feel it. This boy's just starting to awaken his power."

"Well, maybe we can help wake it up."

Narasi reached for the door buzzer, but stopped when Tirien shook his head. Reaching out with the Force, he amplified his own presence, calling deeply on the Force until he felt that little mind respond with excitement. Walking closer to the door, he heard faintly through the opaqued transparisteel of the door, "Daddy! Somebody's here!"

"No one's here, Ayson," a much older, deeper voice replied.

"Yes he is!" the boy insisted. "Let's go say hi!"

Tirien sensed more than he heard the patter of little feet, and suddenly the door was not opaque. He saw a small boy—though larger than Harshee already—beam up at him, and the Force rippled with his excitement. "Daddy! It's a Jedi!"

Sudden tension polluted the Force. "Get away from the door, Ayson. I'm not—"

He turned a corner inside, looked out the door himself, and stopped in his tracks. He stared at Tirien in shock for a moment, and Tirien took the opportunity to bow. "Dorje Sokos?"

The man seemed too stunned for speech, but managed a nod. Little Ayson, however, waved eagerly. "Hi! I'm Ayson!  I'm four!"

Tirien half-smiled. "Hello, Ayson, I'm Tirien." He looked back up. "May we come in?"

Dorje had recovered enough to scowl, and he tugged Ayson back behind his leg. But he hit the door release. "Yes," he said tersely, then frowned. "'We'…?"

Narasi waited until Tirien had crossed the threshold to step into view behind him, which was fortunate, because all Dorje's tension and dislike amplified a dozenfold. He stepped protectively back in front of Ayson with a look of betrayal. "What do you think you're bringing into my house?!"

Narasi stopped in the doorframe; her jaw was tight from the effort to keep her face expressionless, but Tirien sensed the wound she had taken from the words. "This is my Padawan—my Jedi student—Narasi Rican. I understand your instinct for concern, but I assure you, Narasi's as much a Jedi as I am." He put just a little frost in his tone as he added, "She's a who, not a what."

Dorje's disgust was obvious, and though he swallowed it with clear effort, the look he gave Tirien was devoid of any hint of welcome now. "Your reputation precedes you, Master Jedi, and courtesy obligates me to welcome a Pantoran of your standing. But you'll answer for the Zygerrian's conduct in my home."

Tirien nodded once. Dorje turned, shuffling Ayson ahead of him into a sitting room. Tirien took the opportunity to turn to Narasi and lay a hand on her shoulder. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," she said.

She shrugged off his hand and Tirien drew it back, gauging her for a moment before following Dorje. The Sokoses sat on a krill-shaped couch, Dorje with his arm around Ayson's shoulders. Tirien sat opposite them, Narasi at his side. Ayson looked at her and smiled. "Hi! I'm Ayson!  Who are you?"

"I'm Narasi," she answered, managing a smile.

"Hi Narasi! I—"

Dorje squeezed his son's shoulder. "Ayson," he cautioned, then looked at Tirien. "Forgive my directness, Master Kal-Di, but I spoke with your colleague already. You're not taking my son from me."

"Harshee Nefkin," Tirien said. "The Jedi who recruited me."

"Yes, she took care to mention that," Dorje said with a glower. "I respect your abilities and the things you've done, Master Kal-Di. Truly.  But I'm not giving up my only child to the Jedi."

"Daddy, can I be a Jedi now?" Ayson pleaded.

"I told you, Ayson, you don't want to be a Jedi."

"Yes I do!" Ayson pouted, crossing his arms. He looked at Tirien and Narasi. "I wanna be a Jedi! Can I?  Pleeeease?!"

Tirien felt a twist of pain from Dorje, who held his son a little closer. "Ayson, go play. We need to have a grown-ups talk."

"But—"

"Please, Ayson," Dorje said, and Tirien grasped for the first time how much the man was struggling to hold himself together. Tirien studied the other Pantoran mutely, wondering what was at issue here.

Ayson sighed, hopping off the couch and trudging disconsolately from the room. Tirien nudged Narasi. "Why don't you keep Ayson company while—"

"I'd prefer she stay." Tirien restrained himself to a sigh through his nose, but Narasi said, "I'm not going to hurt your son! I'm a Jedi!"

"Calm," Tirien whispered.

Dorje shook his head. "Be that as it may…no, I want you here for another reason." He looked at Tirien. "You want to know why I don't want Ayson to be a Jedi, right? That was going to be your question?"

"I would have asked, yes…"

"Your colleague already regaled me with the many benefits of membership in the Jedi Order, and was considerate enough to detail the exact mechanics of taking my child away. But Master Jedi—"

"Just Tirien is fine…"

"Tirien," Dorje pressed, jaw clenched, "you're a Jedi. A warrior.  A hero, even."

"Yes," Narasi said at once, but Tirien raised a hand to silence her.

"A Jedi yes. A warrior when I need to be.  But Jedi aren't out to be praised, and this war isn't about heroics—it's about keeping civilization alive."

Dorje ignored the invitation to sidetrack. "You've killed beings, haven't you?"

Tirien nodded. "Yes."

Dorje shifted his eyes to Narasi. "What about you, Zygerrian?"

"I have a name," Narasi said, her voice quiet but hard.

They stared each other down until Dorje asked, "How old were you the first time you took a life, Narasi?"

"Thirteen."

"Who?"

"An Ishi Tib mercenary."

"Why?"

Narasi hesitated. "I was…"

"—protecting me," Tirien said.

Tirien sensed a brief but deep flash of gratitude and loyalty from his apprentice, but Dorje pressed, "And you're how old now?"

"Fifteen."

"And how many beings have you killed, total?"

Narasi thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know."

"You lost count," Dorje accused.

"Taanab got invaded!" Narasi snapped. "It was battle every day for two months!"

"And that's the point," Dorje said grimly. He looked back at Tirien. "You've served with the Republic Navy, haven't you? What's the minimum age to sign up?"

"It depends on species," Tirien hedged. He thought he saw now where Dorje was going, and he had no desire to help the man get there.

"For Humans, then," Dorje pressed. With a dry look, he added, "They're the Republic's base standard, right?"

Tirien's eyes tightened. "Eighteen, I think. Maybe seventeen."

"Do you know why?" Dorje didn't give them time to respond. "Because that's the minimum age they can handle it. Because before that they're children."

"For many beings that may be so," Tirien allowed, "but for Jedi—"

"Yes, the rules don't apply," Dorje cut him off. "Don't love your family. Take a weapon in your hands when you should be holding a toy.  Kill and kill until someone kills you.  That's what your Jedi Order is."

"It's not!" Narasi insisted. "Being a Jedi is about commitment to peace."

"Peace," Dorje scoffed. "What peace? The Jedi are at the head of every military campaign in the Republic—you have been for six hundred years!  Who do you think is ordering all these campaigns?  Your Supreme Chancellor is a Jedi!"

"The Sith are an existential threat to the entire galaxy," Tirien said. "If they win and destroy the Jedi Order, the entire galaxy suffers—every being, on every world, forever. We fight because we have to."

"How long have you been a Jedi, Tirien?" Dorje asked. "How old were you when Jedi Nefkin recruited you?"

"Five."

"And you, Narasi?"

Narasi hesitated, looking at Tirien and back. Tirien had never learned the answer himself, and he could sense how his apprentice felt backed into a corner, forced to share it before she was ready. But he could think of no way to extricate her this time, and after a few seconds she braced herself and said, "Six. I was six."

"So you've had plenty of time to be…indoctrinated into the Jedi perspective. You've known nothing else; a less generous man might have said brainwashed," Dorje said in a tone that was not particularly generous. "But take my word for it, the rest of the galaxy doesn't see it the way you do. You take small children away from their families, train them to kill, and unleash them on professional soldiers to cut them apart.  Your child stealing and your child soldiers…good intentions don't save evil actions."

Tirien found himself at a loss for a quick reply. He had never doubted the justice of the Jedi cause, nor did he now; whatever faults the Order might have, they did not compare to the horrific brutality he had beheld at the hands of the Sith. Had Dorje equated them, Tirien could have argued him down in a heartbeat, but the man had, intentionally or not, founded his own argument on Jedi philosophy. For a moment Tirien was sixteen years old, using the Force to crush a Sith soldier's chest until Suwo explained why he should not; he was twenty-five again, and the Force enslaved a Republic walker pilot to his will and made him fire.

Tirien looked at his apprentice, and for the first time he considered her not as a fellow Jedi, but as a young woman—a child, in truth, except that two years of war had burned childhood out of her. A child who had been trained for battle for nine years and excelled at it…

"Our powers can be used for combat, yes," he finally said. "But the three pillars of the Jedi Order are the Force, knowledge, and self-discipline. Combat skills are an expression of self-discipline, but they aren't the point.  Those skills can't wait until the age of majority to be taught, they take a lifetime to master.  And if a Jedi—if any Force-sensitive—doesn't master self-discipline, he can become dangerous."

Narasi glanced in the direction of the playroom and Dorje's face hardened. "My son is not dangerous."

"Not yet. But the Force is too much to try to understand on your own.  He needs a teacher, someone who can help him grow into his power and recognize that it's a responsibility, not a right."

"I can teach my son morality as well as any—"

Narasi rolled her eyes and raised a hand, and the table in the middle of the couch levitated off the floor. "Are you going to teach him to do that, too?"

"Narasi," Tirien said sternly as Dorje recoiled. She gave him a vexed look, but set the table back down.

"The Force isn't just parlor tricks," Tirien continued, giving Narasi a look in return. "It's the energy that unites the entire galaxy, binds every life together. No matter how good your intentions—no matter how well you might raise any other child—you can't teach that to your son.  No one without the Force can.  It would be like teaching Ayson to paint if you were blind."

"Because the Jedi know best," Dorje growled. "Vote for the Jedi in the Senate, follow the Jedi into battle, do what the Jedi tell you and you little people will be just fine someday."

"That isn't what I said," Tirien objected.

"But it comes to the same thing. I'm supposed to blindly trust that you'd do better raising my son than me for no other reason than that you're a Jedi and you said so.  And maybe I can't teach Ayson to lift the furniture with his mind," he said with a glower at Narasi. "Maybe he doesn't have to."

"The Force isn't a glowrod you switch on and off," Narasi said. "It's part of us, always."

"And Ayson will sense that power," Tirien added. "Because the Force is present, that means the dark side is always there too. It will whisper to him in ways you'll never hear, never even know about, until it's too late.  He needs Jedi training to be able to overcome that temptation."

Dorje's face hardened. "When the Jedi stop using children as soldiers, you can lecture me about dark sides. Until then, I'd like you to go."

"But—" Narasi started.

Tirien laid a hand on her shoulder and she fell silent. He could sense her discontent, but also Dorje's obstinacy; they were making no headway, and driving him deeper into an emotional argument would only make him that much more intractable. Rising, he beckoned for Narasi and they followed Dorje toward the door.

Tirien sensed his apprentice calling on the Force, magnifying her presence as he had, and Ayson came running from the playroom. "Are we gonna go be Jedi now, Daddy?!"

"The Jedi are leaving, Ayson. Say goodbye."

Ayson frowned. "But…but…"

He looked up at them, and Tirien could feel him grappling with ideas too big for him to really understand. He sensed something like himself in Tirien and Narasi—and presumably had in Harshee, too—and though he couldn't give it a name, it was different from everyone else, even his father. Tirien didn't imagine for a second the boy really understood the enormity of being a Jedi, but he felt the pull of kindred spirits, and having them taken away was hurtful, and all the more confusing because Daddy was the one hurting him.

He started to cry, and Tirien felt Dorje's pain too. "Don't cry, son," he mumbled, and his voice broke in a way Tirien hadn't expected. "You're safe here, it's okay…"

Before either he or Tirien could say more, Narasi knelt down between them, conflict all over her face. "Hey, don't cry, buddy," she said, assembling her expression into a smile. "It's going to be—"

Ayson hugged her abruptly, and for a moment everyone else was too surprised to move. Narasi carefully wrapped her arms around him, though she seemed on the border of tears herself. After a second Dorje came back to himself and said sharply, "That's enough, Ayson. The Jedi are going."

He tugged Ayson out of Narasi's embrace, lifting him in one arm and opening the door with his free hand. Tirien gestured Narasi through and followed her into the hall, but turned on Dorje before he closed the door. "There's one more thing you might want to consider."

The older man grimaced, but hesitated with his hand over the door plate, Ayson sniffling into his shoulder.

"Harshee sensed Ayson's strength in the Force, and she came here to ask you to give him to the Jedi for training. Narasi and I came here and asked you to trust your son to the Order too." He met Dorje's eyes, yellow like his own. "But if Jedi can discover your son's power, then the Sith can too. And if they come here, they will not ask."

For an instant pain and fear took hold of Dorje's face. Then he slammed his hand on the plate, and the door sealed and opaqued against them.