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And yet he fought on, and would fight on. Wounds? Right now he could barely feel them. Because someone he loved was in danger.

"When this is over," he said, nodding his understanding, "you and I will check into a med center. Together." The smile she gave him showed only a trace of pain. Nick poked his head through the cockpit doorway. "Looks like we're a go-hey, look at this" he said with a sudden frown, staring out through the windscreen.

Through the shadows slashing the landing field loped Kar Vaster. His shields flashed eye-stinging highlights from the glowpanel dayfloods that now, with sunset passing, shone upon the ships. He waved as he ran, clearly asking Mace to wait for him.

"What, does he want to fight again or something?" Nick brightened.

"Y'know, we could just shoot him-accidentally, like. One of those senseless weapons-check tragedies-"

"Nick."

"Yeah, yeah."

Without expression, Mace watched Vaster approach. Only moments ago-just before he left the command bunker to come out here-he had pulled aside CRC-09, '571 for a private conversation. "Your orders come only from me, do you understand?" he had told the clone commander. "I want you to be absolutely clear on that."

CRC-09,'571's helmet had tilted to a quizzical angle. "But Master Billaba-"

"Has been relieved of her duties. As has Kar Vaster."

"And his men, sir?"

"They have no military rank or authority."

"Would the general like them disarmed and restrained?"

Mace had grimly surveyed the cramped quarters of the command bunker, crowded with troopers and prisoners. In his mind, he saw twenty corpses in a gunship's troop bay. "No. I'm not sure you can. But watch them. They are not to be trusted. They may become violent without warning. They may try to harm the prisoners. Or possibly even you."

"Yes, sir."

"And get the prisoners out of here. Away from them. Not all at once. Make up some pretext, and start moving them out as efficiently as possible."

"And if there is a confrontation, sir?" CRC-09,'571's dry voice had slowed, as though the commander were reluctant to even consider the possibility. "If they attack?"

"Defend yourself, your men, and the prisoners," Mace had told him. "Use all necessary force."

"Lethal force, sir?"

Mace had stared at his own reflection in the commander's smoked eyeshield. He had to swallow once, hard, before he could reply.

"Yes." He'd had to look away; he'd found that reflection too dark for what he knew he had to say. "You are authorized to use lethal force."

Out on the landing field, Vaster didn't bother to come around toward the troop bay doors; without breaking stride he burst into a Force leap that carried him up to the Turbostorm's nose below the cockpit with a clank that must have been his deactivated vibroshields getting in the way of his grab for the nose armor. He climbed up into view, settling himself into a crouch on the nose armor outside the windscreen.

He squatted there for a moment, forearms resting on his bent knees, staring gravely at Mace through the opening.

Mace,Jedi of the Windu. Even his growl was reluctant. Almost contemplative.

"Kar."

We have not been friends, you and I. If we both survive this day, I suspect that again we will not befriends.

Mace only nodded.

We may not meet again. I would have you know that I am glad I did not kill you this afternoon. No one else could have done what you have done today. No one else could have brought us so far.

This, also, did not call for a reply. Mace waited.

Vastor's mouth compressed as though sharing this caused him pain, and his growl became almost a purr, low in his throat.

I would have you know that I am proud to be your doshalo. You are a credit to the Windu.

Mace took a deep breath. "You," he said, slow, coldly deliberate, M), " arent.

It was Vastor's turn to silently stare.

"I am not Mace, Jedi of the Windu. Windu is my name, not my ghosh. You and I are not doshallai. The Windu are no more, and what you have done disgraces