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Ji backed into the clearing from the woods, a blaster rifle now in hand. He was firing on full auto, hosing more hidden enemies.

More Salissians emerged from the forest, shooting ri-fles and blasters of various makes. A pellet from a slugthrower hit Ji a glancing blow high on the right leg, ripping open the cloth and the flesh. Blood oozed, soak-ing his pants. He spun toward the man who’d shot him and blasted him squarely in the face.

Another discharge took Ji low on the right side, va-porizing cloth and punching through his body. Not fa-tal, because the beam’s intense heat instantly cauterized the wound, but serious nonetheless. Ji turned calmly and shot his attacker in the chest.

Then things got really interesting.

A large shadow obscured the light. Ji looked up, and the angle of the recording cam tilted as well, to frame a large drop ship hovering about fifty meters overhead. A dozen Separatist soldiers, using repulsor packs, settled down into the clearing, firing as they did so.

Ji shot eight of them, leaping, dodging, and rolling as plasma bursts peppered the ground all around him. It was a Jedi-like display of acrobatic skill, but finally the Separatists found the range. Phow Ji went down in a hail of sizzling blaster bolts.

He lay on the ground, obviously mortally wounded. The remaining soldiers approached him cautiously.

As they reached the dying man, he pulled a thermal grenade from his pocket and held it up.

He smiled as he triggered it.

They tried to run, but there was no escape. The grenade blasted the clearing into a blaze of heat and light that, even with the cam’s automatic dampers, whited out the 3-D image.

When the glare cleared, all that was left of Phow Ji and his enemies was a smoking crater in the damp ground.

Den realized he was sweating, even in the relatively cool environment of his cubicle. He reached out an un-steady hand and switched the unit off.

Then he realized he wasn’t alone.

He spun about with a gasp-then relaxed as he recog-nized the figure behind him. "Did-did you see the whole thing?" he asked.

"Yes," the Padawan replied. "Phow Ji made sure I re-ceived a recording as well."

"What-why did he-" Den couldn’t finish the ques-tion. He’d been on a lot of planets and had seen a lot of violence, but he had never seen anything like this.

Barriss Offee was quiet for so long that Den thought she hadn’t heard him. Then she sighed and said, "I saved his life. Earlier today. He’d been hit by a poison dart, and I brought him back through the power of the Force."

Den nodded slowly. "I’m guessing he was less than grateful."

"He was furious. I thought he was going to attack me right there. I don’t know why he didn’t. Instead, he just turned and walked away.

"I went back to the base to do what I could for the wounded. Soon after we got the last man stabilized, a droid handed me a copy of this recording."

Den pulled the cube from its slot and looked at it. It would be worth a small fortune, given Ji’s newfound heroic reputation. Had the Bunduki known this-had he wanted Den to profit from it, given that it had been the reporter who had, albeit unintentionally, caused that reputation? Had Phow Ji, in his own twisted way, been trying to repay Den?

"It still doesn’t explain why he did it. One man, pur-posely starting a firefight against a whole platoon? That’s crazy."

"He was m’nuush," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That’s what the Wookiees of Kashyyyk call it. To Trandoshans it’s davjaan inyameet-the

’burning in the blood.’ Humans call it ’going berserk.’ It’s a state of sui-cidal rage and fury, a point where one’s life no longer matters, and the only important question becomes, How many can I take with me? "

"I’ve heard of it. So you think Ji committed a kind of ritual suicide?"

"I suppose that’s one way to look at it. With a consid-erable amount of genocide mixed in."

Den sighed. He slipped the holocron back into its case and put it on a wall shelf.

"What will you do with it?" Barriss asked him.

"I’m not sure. I could make