Star Wars_ MedStar 02_ Jedi Healer - Michael Reaves [104]
Did it make sense to have the powers of a god, without the wisdom of a god?
“Barriss?”
She had been so deep in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Uli trotting toward her. Startled, she looked at him.
“You okay?” he called, through another crash of thunder.
She smiled. Carefully, she lifted the popper from her arm and put it back into her pocket. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, actually, I am.”
Another beam strike, another chromatic spill of ionization. Uli glanced up nervously. “Everybody is supposed to get inside. Use a dosimeter to make sure you’re not getting cooked by backscatter radiation—they expect the dome to go soon. And you’d better pack—just the absolute essentials, one small bag per person. If the droid infantry gets through the troops, we’ll have to move— fast. Right now, word is that it’s an even fight, but who knows which way it might go?”
“I understand. Thanks, Uli.”
He nodded and hurried away into the gathering gloom. She turned to go as well, but something stopped her. In that moment, Barriss felt something new rise within her, a certainty as strong and real as her journey to the center of the Force had been: she was a Padawan no longer.
And the knowledge of why welled in her, equally unmistakable:
You truly became a Jedi Knight on the day when you realized that you already were one.
Standing there, amid the chaos and cacophony of the storm and the Separatist attack, Barriss Offee threw back her head and laughed.
40
Merit said, “Jos? What is it?”
He stared at the human blocking his way. The blaster in Jos’s hand was dead still, as if the man’s arm had been carved from wood.
“You killed Zan,” Jos said, tonelessly.
Fear blossomed in Merit’s gut, a flower made of frozen nitrogen. He let none of it show. Somehow, Jos had become suspicious. It didn’t mean his cover had been blown—were that the case, he would most likely be facing Colonel Vaetes and several military secs instead of the Rimsoo’s chief surgeon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to talk his way out of a tight spot, and, unless his powers of empathy and persuasion had vanished completely, it wouldn’t be the last.
His expression was mildly quizzical, his tone solicitous as he said, “No. Zan died when the Separatists attacked. The transport was hit by a stray round. You were there, Jos. So was I, remember?”
“I remember,” Jos said. Another beam of focused energy struck the dome, and the resulting pyrotechnic display momentarily backlit him. It almost seemed as if he had come here from some other, higher plane, a demon bent on vengeance.
“I remember,” he said again. “I remember also how you showed me how to work through my grief, Klo. How your understanding, your ability to do your job so well helped me heal, helped me put it behind me. I owe you for that, Klo. Or I would—but, since you were involved in calling in the Separatist strike, I think that kinda zeros out any obligation on my part. Don’t you?”
How could he know? He can’t know. He suspects, but he can’t know. I was too careful, I left nothing that would—
Forget about that now. Deal with the present problem. He could turn this around. He was, after all, an adept at emotional manipulation and control. Given time, he felt sure he could convince Jos that the man was wrong, that he had made a mistake.
Time, however, was growing short.
“You’re under a lot of stress, Jos,” Merit said. “I don’t know where this delusion is coming from, but I think we should table any further discussion until we’re both safely offworld.”
Jos laughed, but Merit’s empathic abilities sensed no humor. Instead he sensed rage, held in check by cold determination, like an ice cap plugging a volcanic vent.
“Sorry,” Jos said. “That just struck me as funny—you thinking you