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The droid had availed himself of the talents of a number of mechanics and designers in the Whiplash during the course of his repair, and as a result was as good as new—better, in some ways. In addition to the twin lasers and the interfacing spike, he now possessed a veritable transforming arsenal in his hands, including a monofilament line capable of supporting over a metric ton, a small but efficient automatic slugthrower, and the ability to shoot streams of various nonlethal soporific gases.

Jax knew something of apology and confession had passed between I-Five and Den, but he refused to pry. Den did admit to all that he’d been sitting in the spaceport fuming and vacillating when he realized that, as fond as he was of Eyar Marath, and as cozy as was the thought of a comfy cave on Sullust, this wretched planet with its artificial tunnels and its dangerous inhabitants was where his heart was.

“While I was with you guys—arguing, frustrated, ready to strangle the droid and the Zeltron—I thought about Eyar in moments of angst. While I was on my way to her, I thought about you guys nonstop. I finally realized that meant something. It meant this was home, because this was where I was the most alive. The most me. I don’t know who that old codger is that wants to do nothing but lie around Eyar’s family cave being sage, but he’s not Den Dhur.”

Jax and Laranth spent over a week working with Kaj, trying to restore his memory and banish the falsehoods Vader and Tesla had implanted in his mind. He was torn, one moment hovering on the verge of knowing Jax and Laranth as friends, the next cowering from them in abject fear and begging for Tesla.

It was Thi Xon Yimmon who suggested that they send the boy to the Togrutan healers and The Silents on Shili, adding that between the planet-grounded Force adepts and the strange, unspeaking monks with their soothing, therapeutic presence, he might more readily heal, as well as regain conscious control of the Force. In destroying the boy’s memory, Vader seemed to have wiped from Kaj’s mind the very meaning of what it was to be a Force-sensitive. The Force in him was like a skein of tangled threads, knotted, frayed, their connections obscured. As much as Jax hated to admit it, he knew Yimmon was right—there was nothing he could do for Kaj here. Here, Jedi were still marked for death. Here, they would still have to hide. That was no environment for the boy.

Jax had given momentary thought to leaving Coruscant and traveling to Shili with Kaj, but he knew he could not. He was committed now—he and his companions—to doing what he’d come to realize was his life’s calling: helping the downtrodden and the helpless, and helping to build a larger and more far-reaching rebellion against the Emperor.

So it was that, with some sense of having failed, Jax sent Kajin Savaros through the UML to a waiting tramp freighter in the company of one of The Silent. Then he returned with Laranth to their new environs in a Whiplash safe house.

“You didn’t fail, you know,” Laranth told him as they walked the alleys on their way to their new home. “You weren’t at fault. Dejah just wasn’t capable of putting anything as abstract as loyalty ahead of her own gratification. You couldn’t have anticipated that.”

“Yes, I could. I should have. But I was so sure of myself. So sure of my grasp of the Force, that I didn’t realize what she was doing to me—to us. I was completely taken in by her, Laranth, to the point that I …” He let his voice trail off.

“You gonna finish that thought?”

He glanced aside at her. “I let her wrap me in a veil. Pheromones and pride. Bad combination. I got so caught up in the cosmic idea of being someone’s Jedi Master that I forgot what it meant to be a Jedi Knight. I forgot you. I don’t ever want that to happen again.” He hesitated. “When you were in the medcenter …”

“That was then. This is now.”

He stopped walking and turned her to face him. “No. I’m not going to accept that. That was then and now.” He struggled for words. “We … I …”

“Eloquent,