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“Precisely. I program myself, to an extent. Much more of an extent than other droids, certainly, although there are others in the galaxy like me, to greater or lesser degrees.”

This was not welcome news to Jax.

“You sound certain of this,” Laranth said. “Have you encountered any?”

“At one point in our roundabout odyssey to Coruscant, Den masqueraded as an arms dealer, with me as his servant, of course. A blockade-runner gave us passage to the Outer Core. On board, we encountered a protocol droid who had bonded with an astromech unit. The protocol unit seemed quite aware, and the astromech had a well-developed sense of self as well; more so than many organics I’ve met. Both expressed concern for the welfare of their owner, the ship’s captain, and for themselves. In fact, the protocol droid was downright whiny at times.”

Jax didn’t consider himself a narrow-minded individual. As a Jedi, he was expected to treat all sentients equally. While it was patently obvious that there was no real standard by which to judge all beings—intelligence, morality, ability, and myriad other factors varied extremely within a species, and even more so when that species was compared with others—still, it had been a mandate that justice be meted equally to all. During the days of the Republic, anyway.

But he just couldn’t see how that applied to a complex mass of circuitry that happened to be ambulatory.

Of course, nothing was preventing him from having its memory wiped and reprogrammed, although he had a feeling that I-Five might resist that. Which was a pretty unsettling thought in itself. And it wouldn’t go over well with the droid’s buddy, the Sullustan, either. In fact, judging by Laranth’s and Nick’s interest, Jax’s viewpoint—the only sane one—was rapidly becoming unpopular.

It wasn’t right. In fact, it seemed very much to Jax a perversion of the way the universe ought to be run. If this was a galaxy in which droids could think, and feel, and everything else that went along with that … well, it was downright scary. Always, in the past, when he’d felt confused and overwhelmed by such conundrums, he had been able to reach out to the Force. To let it enfold him, calm and soothe him, granting a certain measure of surcease. But now even that was denied him past a certain point, for the deeper he let himself sink into its embrace, the more apt he might be to attract the attention of Darth Vader.

If he could even touch the Force at all …

The Jedi had often been accused of being asleep at the switch during the last days of the Republic, unable to sense the presence of Darth Sidious when the Sith Lord was literally under their own roof. Why didn’t they know? Jax wondered. It was true that the Order had grown complacent. When reading the histories, the epic stories, of how it was back in the day, one could easily believe it. Heroes such as Nomi Sunrider, Gord Ves, Arca Jeth, and many others had set the bar very high indeed. But over the centuries, the Jedi had grown out of touch with the people, with themselves, and with the Force. They had become increasingly insular and monastic, concerned more with building vast libraries and learning centers than with guarding the commonweal. True, there were still individuals capable of heroism, such as Mace Windu and Qui-Gon Jinn. There were still great battles that had been won. But for the Jedi to have become so blind and deaf to the Force as to not recognize a plot to overthrow them by the Sith until it was too late …

“We’re here,” Nick said. The skimmer settled to a landing.

The area looked like what it was—a war zone. A few of the smaller explosives with which the Separatists had seeded the atmosphere had dropped here, and the pavement was cracked and cratered. The marquee of what had once been a nightclub was now broken and dark, save for intermittent power pulses that caused the holoproj of a Pa’lowick lounge singer to flicker in and out.

Jax’s attention was focused on the structure across the street. Apparently it had once been an office