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Niathal stared at him. “You did propose that Jacen Solo be elevated.”

Kyp nodded, a little uncertain. “In a manner of speaking.”

Suspicion crept into Niathal’s voice. “What manner?”

Kyp continued to look uncomfortable. “Well, clearly you’re unfamiliar with the role of the taras-chi in Jedi Council debates.”

“The taras—”

“—chi. Yes. A sort of ritualized debate opponent.” Kyp glanced at Luke and Mara as if for confirmation. “In certain Jedi traditions, any discussion group, or its moderator, elects a taras-chi. The purpose of the taras-chi is to float ideas that run counter to the prevailing wisdom. This is so that all ideas will be tested…sometimes to destruction. The idea that the taras-chi promotes is not the one being tested—the idea he promotes tests the idea currently under discussion. It’s like a larva that only eats dead flesh. Place it on a wound, and it will only devour that which cannot survive anyway. Live flesh, like a solid idea or valid reasoning, will not be harmed by it.” Kyp thought for a moment. “I suppose that the closest equivalents you have in the world of government would be court jesters or the free press.”

Chief Omas and Admiral Niathal exchanged a look. Omas appeared mildly confused; Niathal’s posture suggested she was irritated.

Omas cleared his throat. “I fail to see—”

“The discussion at that meeting,” Kyp continued, “was about Jacen Solo’s activities and whether they were appropriate for a Jedi. So in the spirit of the taras-chi, I not only spoke out in uncritical support of them, I proposed giving him the most lavish reward the Jedi can bestow. As a test of the principal item of discussion.”

There was now a little chill in Niathal’s voice. “So you’re saying that you never supported Jacen Solo’s elevation.”

Kyp gave her a quizzical look. “I support the decisions of the Master of the order, Admiral. And let me give you a little example of how power and skill with the Jedi arts do not correspond to mastery.

“When I was still a teenager, I was able to reach into the gravity well of a gas giant and pull a spacecraft out of it. That’s something that not many Masters could accomplish. I could do it because I was strong in the Force…and because I had absolute faith in my right, my need to use that craft for a specific purpose. But I doubt I could do it today. I’m no weaker in the Force, and I’m a lot more skilled…but today I’d know that my intended purpose was not a good one, and this knowledge would deny me the focus I needed then to perform that task. So was I a Master then, or am I a Master now?”

Chief Omas and Niathal exchanged another look. Omas’s face was serene, but it was clear from Niathal’s body language that this portion of the meeting had not gone the way she’d wanted it to.

Omas tried again, catching Luke’s eye. “Master Durron’s story just goes to reinforce my point. He lacked the experience he needed—experience that would have compelled him to seek the advice of others. But Colonel Solo doesn’t lack that experience. He comes to us for guidance. Please, Master Skywalker, don’t mistake any anger you might feel that he hasn’t consulted enough with you for suspicion about his wisdom and readiness.”

Luke smiled, suddenly cheerful. “All right, I won’t.” As Niathal straightened, expectant, Luke added, “I’ll continue to evaluate Jacen’s progress as a Jedi, and the instant I find him to be ready for the rank of Master, you’ll be the first one I inform.”

“Ah.” Omas sat back, but maintained a mask of polite cheer. “Please do.”

Luke rose and nodded. “Thank you for seeing us. If there’s nothing more, I don’t want to take up more of your time.”

“No, that was all.” There was mock good humor in Omas’s voice. “Thank you.”

The Jedi were silent on the walk out of the office, on the turbolift down to the building’s hangar level, and until Kyp’s speeder carried them out of the Senate Building.

Mara broke the silence. “What is a taras-chi?”

Kyp smiled, showing teeth. “A bug in the mines of Kessel,” he said. “Six legs under a hard round carapace