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Ben, watching over Dyon’s shoulder, nodded approval. “That should do the job.”

“I’ll blot it so that it doesn’t drip while we’re carrying it. But otherwise it’s ready to go.”

Within minutes of the standard’s completion they joined Luke, as well as Halliava and Drola, both of whom looked perplexed and testy at being taken from the games, and set out for the hill Tasander had described. He’d given Dyon accurate information about its location, so all Dyon had to do was check his datapad against satellite coordinates every few minutes. Half an hour after setting out from the Raining Leaves/Broken Columns camp, they emerged from a particularly thick stretch of trees in view of the hill.

It was indeed unpromising looking. It was a forty-meter-high slab of black rock thrust up from beneath Dathomir’s surface in ancient times and only slightly worn down since. Jagged edges jutted up at the sky, with little greenery growing from its upper slopes. The southwest slope was gentler than the others, meaning that it required only ordinary athletics to climb, not extraordinary efforts. Ben could see that the top was broken, angled terrain, a place where it would be hard to find a comfortable place to put down a bedroll. He hoped it didn’t rain tonight.

The five of them, all in good shape and unhurt, climbed the slope in a matter of minutes, then stared down along the valley toward Redgill Lake. In the late-afternoon sun, the lake waters glinted in rippling bands of blue and yellow-orange.

Drola blinked. “Well, it’s pretty. But not pretty enough to miss the rock hurling. I think I would have won this year.”

Halliava snorted. “Would you have started with the rocks between your ears?”

Unruffled, he shook his head. “No, with the granite ball you call your heart.”

Luke smiled. “You have something more important to do than throw rocks. We need you as a witness.” He gestured, and Dyon handed him the long wooden pole to which the new standard was attached. Luke raised the standard high. “I claim …” Then his voice trailed off. A thoughtful expression on his face, he lowered the pole so that its butt end rested on the hilltop stone.

Ben gave his father a concerned look. “What is it?”

Luke shook his head. “I can’t do this. If I claim this hill, however temporarily, it becomes a Jedi facility. Right?”

“Right … oh.” The terms of Luke’s conviction prohibited him from creating or visiting Jedi facilities.

Luke held the standard out to Ben. “You have to do it. I don’t think I can even be here.”

“Where will you be? Down at ground level with no support?”

“No … I’ll station myself at about the halfway mark down the hill. You just claim the hilltop and we’ll be fine.”

“He cannot.” That was Halliava. She still looked perplexed as to their intention, but she seemed certain of something. “With you gone, there is only one Jedi here. Meaning you have no greater claim than Drola, Dyon, or myself. We cannot bear witness to this because our claim is as great as yours.”

Dyon made a strangled noise. He turned to Luke. “You think it’s bad dealing with planet after planet, each with a different form of government and constitution? Imagine a place where, if you cross a creek, you’ve got a different form of government, different customs, and no constitution, since there are few or no literate people there to write one. Welcome to Dathomir.”

Luke just grinned at him and handed his son the standard. “Ben, you’re the one with the sneaky genes. Fix this problem.” He turned and began descending the slope.

“Great.” Trust his father to shoot Ben out of his own cannon.

He looked at his three remaining companions, and an idea occurred to him. He propped the standard pole against his shoulder and began fishing in his belt pouch. In moments he found what he was looking for, a five-credit coin of Coruscant minting.

He flipped it to Dyon, who caught it. “Dyon, I’m hiring you. I can’t make you a Jedi, but I can employ you for the Order. As a consultant.”

Dyon looked