Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 02_ Omen - Christie Golden [5]
Barv thought so. Jysella clung to that hope as well.
Her booted feet rang in the vast, open space of the Temple entrance hall as she headed toward the turbolift that would take her to the First Wing of the archives. She crossed her arms, fidgeting slightly, as the turbolift hummed softly and bore her to the top floor.
She found Cilghal in a small alcove in the depths of the stacks, seated at one of the tables and surrounded by tall piles of glowing blue datatapes and datacards. Her smooth brown head was bent over an ancient text, and her flipper-like hands were encased in gloves to protect the delicate old flimsi. She looked up at Jysella’s approach.
“Jysella. Right on time,” she said, her gravelly voice warm.
Jysella offered her a weak smile in return and slipped into the seat across from her. Even though this was the arranged time for them to meet, it was clear that Cilghal had been here for a while already.
“I …” Jysella sighed and reached out for a datapad, holding it in a limp hand. “I’m sorry, Master Cilghal. I don’t even know where to start trying to help.”
Cilghal regarded her sympathetically, slightly turning her head to fix Jysella with a single large, bulbous eye. “You know everyone is doing everything they can. It is important to us all that your brother recover fully—and that we understand what happened to him. With understanding will, we very much hope, come a cure, and the ability to negotiate his release from Galactic Alliance custody.”
Jysella winced and brushed back a lock of reddish brown hair that had escaped the haphazard bun she’d pinned up that morning.
“I know. It … it’s upsetting that this is only serving to damage the Jedi in the eyes of the public. Valin—he would never have wanted that.”
“Of course not,” Cilghal soothed. “This is in no way a reflection on your family, Jysella. It is simply a tragic and, temporarily I hope, an inexplicable event.”
Cilghal sounded utterly earnest, and Jysella believed that the Mon Calamari healer meant every word. She knew that Cilghal was, to some degree, against the idea of Jedi having attachments. And yet she was still so kind and supportive to Jysella. It meant a lot.
Still … She wished Master Skywalker were here. Although Luke had done everything he could to make sure the transition of power was smooth, the Jedi Order had been thrown into tumult upon his departure. She knew Master Hamner was doing his best in the thankless role of trying to handle everything tactfully, but also knew he wasn’t succeeding. The last thing the Order needed was a crazy Jedi Knight running around claiming that people weren’t who they were.
And now Valin was encased in carbonite in a GA prison, unable to be with those who loved him, to even comprehend that those who loved him were trying to help him. Empathetically feeling the cold that enshrouded Valin, Jysella wrapped slim arms around her own body and shivered slightly.
Oh, Valin. If only you could tell us what had happened … why you looked at Mom and Dad and thought they weren’t themselves. How could you not know your own parents?
Tears leaked past her closed lids, and she brushed them away angrily. Stop it, Sella, she told herself sternly. Grief and worry would not serve Valin, or the Order, now. Only calmness and knowledge would. She opened her eyes and reached for the discarded datapad.
“That looks like a very old record,” she said, lifting her eyes to Cilghal. “Do you have any theories on—”
Jysella felt the blood drain from her face.
The Mon Cal was apparently done with the old flimsi and now was intently studying the information on a datapad. Her large eyes were fastened on it, unblinking in her concentration. The alcove was quiet, save for soft voices talking and the sound of footfalls some distance away. All was as it had been just a moment before.
Except everything—everything—had been turned upside down.
Valin had