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She was lecturing, she knew, as she might to a class of nine-year-olds, but he did seem interested, and it was a roundabout way to approach her problem, even if she didn’t make it that far.

“Part of becoming a Jedi Knight is learning how to become better connected to the Force. Jedi Masters are the best at it—coupled with their wisdom and experience, they are able to do things that Padawans, let alone those with no knowledge of the Force, find miraculous. It augments our strength, oxygenates our tissues, decreases reaction lag. Once, in Coruscant Park, I saw Master Yoda lift a rock as big as a family-sized electric cart, with what looked like nothing but a simple hand gesture. The results can be great and wonderful.”

“But it isn’t all good, is it?” he said. “We’ve talked about that before.”

Young, but sharp, Uli was. “It’s not all good. Count Dooku was a Jedi who turned to the dark side of the Force. Since the beginning of time there have been others who were tempted by and who gave into the desire for power. Four thousand years ago, Exar Kun, a Sith Lord, somehow destroyed an entire stellar system with his misuse of the Force. One has to constantly be aware of the temptation, and guard against it.”

“But you’re not the sort of person who would do that,” Uli said. “I mean—I would think someone who knew it was wrong and went for it anyway—”

“Ah,” Barriss said, “but that’s the insidious part. Those who embrace the dark side don’t see themselves as evil. They believe that they are doing the right thing for the right reasons. The dark side warps their thinking, and they come to believe that the end justifies the means, no matter how awful those means might be.”

Uli examined a thumbnail. “You’re not, uh, by any chance, thinking of going over to this dark side, are you?”

A year ago, a month ago—even a week ago—she would have laughed at this suggestion. Now she just shook her head. “I hope not. But it isn’t a path with a sign that says this way lie monsters. It’s more like a steep, slippery slope, where a misstep might turn into an un-stoppable fall.”

There was another pause; then Uli said, “The Jedi have a moral code, right? You’re taught the difference between right and wrong?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s been my experience—such as it is—that on some level, one usually knows the difference between right and wrong. Sometimes you pretend to yourself that you don’t, so you can choose to eat that cream-fat puff-pie you ought to skip, but deep down, you know you shouldn’t. I think you have to trust that part of yourself, when it comes to the big stuff.”

“Yes, of course. But with the big stuff, you have to be sure,” Barriss said. “Gorging on a rich dessert isn’t exactly high up there on the list of galactic-scale evildoing.”

“Depends on the dessert,” he said, smiling. There was a soft cheep, and he glanced at his chrono. “Oops, look at the time. My shift starts in a few minutes. See you later, Barriss.”

“Yes,” she said. Uli waved and headed back toward the base.

After he was gone, she thought about their conversation. She hadn’t spoken of her personal trial, nor had she really intended to, but the dialogue with Uli had sharpened her thoughts a little. Barriss considered going back to her kiosk to explore these thoughts further, but decided that, however sluggish and stupid she felt, she needed to do her lightsaber forms. Sometimes she just had to push through, no matter how much she felt like quitting.

The larger question was still there. Was taking more of the bota a good idea, or a bad one? Would that path lead to a glorious swim in the rushing river that was the Force, or would it lead to the dank pool of quicksand that was the dark side? Uli couldn’t tell her that.

In truth, she didn’t think anybody could tell her; as far as she knew, no Jedi had ever been faced with this particular choice before. Any help, from her Master or any other, would be theoretical. Do—or not do, as Master Yoda would say.

She had a feeling, small but nagging, that this choice was supposed to be up to her. Even choosing