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“You established this Order with logic, and you made your friends with your heart. The Order acts according to your commands. Your friends act according to your needs.”

The door slid open, revealing Ben, dressed in his customary black, a cylindrical bag in dark green on a strap over his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Luke shook his head. “You didn't. We were just finishing up some business. Is the speeder ready?”

“It's ready.”

“Then let's head down.”

“Up.”

Luke raised an eyebrow at his son. “I thought I said to get us a speeder and have it ready in the lower hangar.”

“You did, but I got new orders in the meantime.”

“From whom?”

“Master Hamner.”

Luke sighed. Kenth could have waited until Luke was out of the building before beginning to countermand his orders. “Let's go, then.”

The turbolift took them up, and to Luke's surprise—for, engaged again in conversation with Cilghal, he had not paid attention to what Ben said into the turbolift's controller—opened at the Great Hall level.

The three of them stepped out into a crowded hall, and conversation, which had been expectant in tone, died.

It looked as though every Jedi on Coruscant, and perhaps some currently stationed in nearby star systems, was present, as well as many non-Jedi. Some faces were sad, a few even tear-streaked, and even among those maintaining a proper Jedi calm there was an atmosphere of sadness, of resignation.

Ben's next comment came as a dry whisper: “I don't think I've ever seen so many brown robes together in one place. It's like a showroom for the world's dullest textile factory.”

Luke repressed a snort. “Quiet.”

Master Hamner approached, so Luke stepped forward, extending his hand. “Kenth, was this your idea?”

“Leia's, mine, every member of the Council's, and many others' besides. Many had messages, messages they'll deliver personally as you make your way to the front of the hall, but all of them had a message in common.” Kenth put one arm across Luke's shoulders and turned him toward the distant main entrance, then gestured with his free hand across the expanse of Jedi Masters, Jedi Knights, apprentices, and friends. “Forty years ago, there was one practicing Jedi in all the galaxy, and the Order and the Temple were just ill-formed notions taken from suppressed rumors. Today, what you see before you—this is your doing, Master Skywalker.”

Despite himself, Luke felt his throat trying to close. “Not alone.” His words were just a touch hoarse.

Kenth nodded. “Not alone. But remove any other contributor from the processes and the end result looks only a little different. Remove you, and it all goes away, like a holodrama switched off in midscene.” Gently, he took Luke's bag from his hand. Then he gave Luke a little push forward. “I'll have this put in your speeder.”

That was the signal for the others in the hall, who pressed forward singly or in small groups, shaking Luke's hand, offering him embraces or kisses of farewell, some of them with tears glistening on their cheeks. Ben, also relieved of his bag, received these attentions as well, always present in the periphery of Luke's awareness.

There were Kyp and Octa, Kam and Tionne, Saba Sebatyne in all her reptilian majesty, Kyle Katarn, the doubly sad Horn family, visitors such as Jag Fel and Talon Karrde. There was a who's who of the Red Squadron and Rogue Squadron veterans Luke had flown with so many years before and since—Wedge Antilles foremost among them. There were Jedi Knights and apprentices he barely knew, such a change from years before when he had personally trained every member of the Jedi Order, a change both satisfying and a little disquieting.

Leia, Han, and Jaina were among the last to intercept him, and held him the longest. “You'll be home soon,” Leia told him, forcing a cheerful tone to conceal the misery she was clearly feeling.

Luke smiled at her. “Define soon.”

She shook her head. “Informative answers are not the Jedi way.”