Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

“As I threatened the two sides on Barlok?” C’baoth asked pointedly.

Obi-Wan hesitated. He remembered feelinguncomfortable with the tone C’baoth had used to the two sides in the aftermath of the abortive missile attack. Had he in fact overstepped his bounds by forcing them to accept his terms? Or had the compulsion merely come from the attack itself, coupled with their sudden and sobering recognition that the negotiations were no longer purely matters of charts and abstract numbers?

And what was C’baoth’s connection, if any, to that attack? That was a question he was still no closer to answering.

“They did need someone to tell them what to do,”

Anakin offered into his thoughts. “And we’re supposed to have wisdom and insight that non-Jedi don’t have.”

“Sometimes wisdom requires us to stand by and do nothing,” Obi-Wan said, Windu’s words back at the Temple echoing through his mind. Still, if the Council had reprimanded C’baoth for his actions, Windu hadn’t mentioned it. “Otherwise people might never learn how to handle problems by themselves.”

“And such wisdom comes only through a close understanding of the Force,” C’baoth said, his tone indicating the discussion was over. “As you will learn, young Skywalker.” He gestured ahead. “Now, down here we have the central weapons and shield cluster…”

C’baoth and the others disappeared through the conference room door. Lorana watched them go, sighing with tiredness and frustration.

Why had Ma’Ning asked her here, anyway? Because she presumably knew C’baoth better than anyone else aboard? If so, she certainly hadn’t been of much use during the discussion.

Was she supposed to have joined the others in objecting to his Jedi training plan, then? Well, she’d failed on that account, too.

“Is he always this overbearing?”

Lorana turned back around. The two Duros had wandered away and were talking quietly together, but Ma’Ning was still standing there, eyeing her thoughtfully. “He didn’t seemparticularly overbearing to me,” she said, automatically rising to her Master’s defense.

“Perhaps it’s just his personality,” Ma’Ning said. But there was a knowing look on his face. Maybe he’d seen other Jedi come to C’baoth’s defense before, for the same reasons Lorana had. Whatever those reasons were. “Tell me, what do you think of this scheme of his?”

“You mean the training of older children?” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It’s all new to me.”

“He hasn’t talked about this before?”

“No,” she said. “At least, not to me.”

“Mm,” Ma’Ning said, pursing his lips. “It’s an interesting concept, certainly. And he’s right: there have been exceptions in the past, most of whom have worked out fine.”

“Like Anakin?”

“Perhaps,” Ma’Ning said cautiously. “Though until a Padawan actually achieves Jedi Knighthood, there’s always the danger he or she might fall away. I’m not expecting that of Skywalker, of course.”

“No,” Lorana agreed. “If you’ll excuse me, Master Ma’Ning, I need to find some crewers to help me start organizing the new training center.”

“Certainly,” Ma’Ning said, nodding. “I’ll speak with you later.”

He stepped over to the two Duros, joining in their conversation. Three Jedi, holding a private discussion among themselves.

With Lorana on the outside. As if she were still just a Padawan.

Still, she had said she was leaving. Maybe that was allit was. Taking a deep breath, putting such thoughts from her mind, she headed down the aisle toward the door.

She was nearly there when a man stepped partway into her path. “Your pardon, Jedi,” he said tentatively. “A word, if I may?”

“Certainly,” Lorana said, focusing on him for the first time. He was a typical crewer, young and bright-eyed, with short dark hair and a hint of greasy dirt on the collar of his jumpsuit.

Summoned directly from his shift to Ma’Ning’s meeting, probably. Behind him stood a young woman with a sleeping infant in one arm and a boy of five or six standing close beside her. Her free hand was resting on the boy’s shoulder. “How can I help you?”

“My name’s Dillian Pressor,” the man said, gesturing back to the others. “My son, Jorad, has a question.”

“All right,” Lorana said, stepping over to the boy, noting that as she approached the woman seemed to tighten her grip on her son’s shoulder. “Hello, Jorad,” she said cheerfully, dropping to one knee in front of him.

He gazed at her, his expression a mix of uncertainty and awe. “Are you really a Jedi?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed,” she assured him. “I’m Jedi Jinzler. Can you say that?”

He pursed his lips uncertainly. “Jedi Jisser?”

“Jinzler,” his father said. “Jinzler.”

“Jedi Jissler,” the boy tried again.

“Or we could just make it Jedi Lorana,” Lorana suggested. “You have a question for me?”

The boy threw an uncertain look up at his mother’s face. Then, steeling himself, he looked back at Lorana. “Master Ma’Ning said only the people he called were going to be Jedi,” hesaid. “I wanted to know if I could be one, too.”

Lorana glanced up at the woman, noting the tight lines in her face. “I’m afraid it’s not something any of us has a say in,”

she said. “If you aren’t born with Force sensitivity, we can’t train you to be a Jedi. I’m sorry.”

“Well, what if I got better?” Jorad persisted. “He said the rest of us were close, and it’s been a long time since they tested us. Maybe I got better.”

“Maybe you did,” Lorana said. In theory, of course, he couldn’t. Force sensitivity could be nurtured, but not created.

On the other hand, C’baoth had said these were the families who had low but non-negligible sensitivity. It was at least theoretically possible that the boy’s testing had been inaccurate. “I tell you what,” she said. “I’ll talk to Master Ma’Ning about having you tested again, all right? If you’ve gotten better, we’ll see if we can get you into the program.”

Jorad’s eyes lit up. “Okay,” he said. “When can I do it?”

“I’ll talk to Master Ma’Ning,” she repeated, wondering if she’d already promised more than she could deliver. “He’ll set it up with your father.”

“Jorad?” the boy’s mother prompted.

“Thank you,” Jorad said dutifully.

“You’re welcome,” Lorana said, standing up and looking at the baby in her mother’s arm. “Is this your sister?”

“Yes, that’s Katarin,” Jorad said. “She mostly just cries a lot.”

“That’s what babies do best,” Lorana agreed, looking at the mother and then Dillian. “Thank you all for coming.”

“No problem,” Dillian said, taking his son’s hand and stepping to the door. It opened, and he ushered the boy out intothe corridor. “Thank you again, Jedi Jinzler.”

“Jedi Lorana,” Jorad corrected him.

Almost unwillingly, Dillian smiled. “Jedi Lorana,” he amended. Holding out a hand to his wife, he led her out behind Jorad-

“There you are,” an irritated voice called down the corridor.

Lorana stepped out into the corridor behind the others. Striding toward them was a young man with dirtwater-colored hair, his mouth set in a thin line as he glared at Dillian. “What the brix are you doing here, Pressor?”

“It was a special meeting,” Dillian said, gesturing toward Lorana. “This is Jedi Lorana Jinzler—”

“Since when do you skip out in the middle of a duty shift for a meeting?” the man cut in. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s a little difficult to do a hyperdrive reactor communication deep-check without the hyperdrive man actually being there.”