“Can you do the dumb-trooper act?”
“You mean you’re not doing it now?”
“I hope you’re as good as you talk, ner vod.”
“Count on it,” Fi said, and noted that Darman had wandered off in the direction of Etain’s exit. “Sometimes I’m not very funny at all.”
Etain felt she had held out pretty well, all things considered.
It was only when she closed the refresher door that she let herself vomit uncontrollably until tears spilled down her face and into her mouth. She ran water into the basin to cover the sound, and choked on her sobs.
She’d been so convinced she could handle it. And she couldn’t.
Ripping into Orjul’s soul had been even harder than outright physical violence. She had stolen his conviction from him, which was no great evil until set in the context of the fact that he would, she knew, die very soon without even the comfort of his beliefs, broken and abandoned and alone.
Why am I doing this? Because men are dying.
When do the ends cease to justify the means?
She vomited until she was convulsed by dry heaves. Then she filled the basin with cold water and plunged her head into it. When she straightened up and her vision cleared, she looked into a face she recognized. But it wasn’t hers: it was the hard, long face of Walon Vau.
Everything I’ve been taught is wrong.
Vau was all brutality and expedience, as clear an example of the dark side for a Jedi as any she could imagine. And yet there was a total absence of conscious malice in him. She should have sensed anger and murderous intent, but Vau was just filled with … nothing. No, not nothing: he was actually calm and benign. He thought he was doing good work. And she saw her supposed Jedi ideal in him-motivated not by anger or fear, but by what she thought was right. She now questioned everything she’d been taught.
Dark and light are simply the perpetrator’s. perception. How can that be right?
How can Vau ‘s passionless expedience be morally superior to Ski rata’s anger and love?
Etain had struggled for years with her own anger and resentment. The choices were to be a good Jedi or a failed Jedi, with the assumption-sometimes unspoken, sometimes not-that failure meant the dark side awaited.
But there was a third path: to leave the Order.
She wiped her face on the towel and faced a hard realization. She remained a Jedi because she knew no other life. She pitied Orjul not because she had tortured him, but because he had been robbed of the one thing that held him together, his convictions, without which he had no direction. The truth was that she pitied herself-devoid of direction-and projected it onto her victim by way of denial.
The only selfless thing 1 have ever done that was not centered on my own need to be a good, passionless, detached Jedi was to care about these cloned men and ask what we’re doing to them.
And that was her direction.
It was so very clear; but she was still raw and aching within. Revelation didn’t heal. She sat on the edge of the tub with her head resting on her knees.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?” It was Darman’s voice. It should have been the same as every other clone’s, but it wasn’t. They all had their distinct nuances in accent, pitch, and tone. And he was Dar
She could sense Darman across star systems now. She’d wanted to reach out to him in the Force many times, but feared it might distract him from his duty and endanger him, or-if he knew it was her and didn’t welcome it-annoy him.
After all, he’d had the choice of staying on Qiilura with her. And he had opted to stay with his squad. What she felt for him now, the longing that had developed only after they parted, might not be mutual.
He called out again. “Are you okay?”
She opened the doors, and Darman peered in.
“I don’t want to be ma’am right now, Dar.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-“
“Don’t go.”
He moved a couple of steps into the room as if it were booby-trapped. She had been here before; she had been utterly dependent on his military skills when her life was at stake. He had been so focused, so reassuring, so competent. Where she had doubts, he had certainties.
“So you still don’t find it any easier, then,” said Darman.
“What?”
“Giving in to anger. You know. Violence.”
“Oh, any Jedi Master would have been proud of me. I did it all without anger. Anger makes it the dark side. Being serene makes it okay.”
“I know it must have been hard. I know how Sergeant Kal reacted when he had to-“
“No. I was harming a stranger. No personal dilemma at all.”
“It doesn’t make you a bad person. It has to be done. Is that what’s upsetting you?”