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He nodded. “Right.”

A wingstinger buzzed past, looking for prey smaller than the two people standing in the hot sun. Barriss pointed to the hard shade of a nearby broadleaf tree, and they walked to it.

“Since these wars, the Jedi have become primarily warriors,” she said. “Made more powerful by their abilities to use the Force. Throughout history, as guardians, we have always sought to use our powers for the good of the galaxy—thus, for defense, rather than aggression. Even so, a warrior must know how to fight at levels from full-out battles to one-on-one personal combat. And part of that is taking responsibility for our actions.

“We believe that, if you must slay someone, if you must snuff out a life, then you must be willing to look that being straight in the eyes while you do it. The killing of a fellow sentient, even one who richly deserves it, is not a thing to be done lightly. Nor should it be a thing done easily. You should be close enough to see what it takes, to understand the pain and fear that enemies suffer when you dispatch them. You must feel some of their death.”

“So that’s why the lightsaber,” he said.

“That’s why the lightsaber. Because it puts you next to an enemy, face to face, not at some far remove. You can use a holoscoped blaster to put a bolt through your opponent a kilometer away—it’s more efficient, and there’s much less risk to you in so doing. But you don’t hear the death rattle, you don’t smell the fear, you don’t have to wipe your enemy’s blood from your face. If you must kill, then you need to know how great the cost is—to your opponent, and to you.”

“Okay, I understand that part. But—”

“How can I be a healer and a warrior at the same time?”

He nodded.

“They are but opposite sides of the same coin. Take a life, spare a life—there’s always a balance. Most cultures teach that people are a mix of good and evil—seldom all of one or the other. In most folk, there is an innate decency. They live lives that are more virtuous than not, but there’s always an option to choose bad over good.

“I can’t create life, Uli, but I can restore it. Being a healer helps me keep in balance the fact that I have—and no doubt will again—taken lives. Sometimes, an opponent doesn’t deserve the ultimate penalty. If I amputate a hand or an arm, I will have accomplished what needed to be done. Allowing this enemy to die, then, is wrong. Being able to repair what damage I’ve caused can thus be of value.”

“But not all Jedi are healers,” Uli pointed out.

“True. But all Jedi are taught basic medical skills and first-aid techniques. And sometimes, of course, we are called upon to heal our friends—and our own—as well as our enemies.”

He nodded again. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Then why the question?”

He looked at the ground, as if his boots had suddenly become fascinating. Then he looked back at her. “I’m a surgeon. It runs in my family, but it’s also what I’ve wanted to do ever since I can remember. Fix patients, cure them, make them well. And yet…”

He was quiet, thinking. Barriss waited. She already knew what he was going to admit—the Force had told her, loud and clear—but it was important that he say it himself.

“And yet,” Uli said, “there’s a part of me that wants to kill. To hunt down the people who set this war in motion and exterminate them, by any and all means. I can feel it—that killing anger. I’m …that’s not how I want to see myself.”

Barriss smiled, a small and sad expression. “Of course not. Decent folk don’t want to travel that path. Good people, people who love and care, would rather not have those feelings.”

“So how do I get rid of them?”

“You don’t. You acknowledge them, but you don’t allow them to control you. Feelings don’t come with ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ labels, Uli. You feel how you feel. You are only responsible for how you act.

“That’s where choice comes in. Even the Force, a great power for good, can be used for ill.”

“That’s the ‘dark side’ I’ve heard mentioned?”

Barriss frowned. “Jedi refer to