Anything but this.
They had lain down in this cold bunker floor and taken into their veins the drug that had swallowed them in a false death, trusting that a Jedi Master would watch over them to prevent a real one.
On the floor below Terrel's dangling feet was a short stub of knife, smeared with the same dark blood. The blade was only half a decimeter long, its tip now a sharp straight slant- Terrel's knife. The one Mace had sliced in half on the slope outside.
Strength drained from Mace's knees. 'Oh, Terrel,' he said, letting his lightsabers swallow their blades. 'Terrel, what have you done?' Don't worry, was the meaning of Vastor's rumbling growl. He won't do it again.
Mace threw himself into a Force-spring, both his blades blazing to life again as he streaked through the darkness toward Vastor's back-and in that instant he saw himself arguing again with Nick on the trail, heard again his orders within this shattered bunker, saw the steamcrawler carrying children teeter at the lip of the precipice, saw Rankin step into the circle of light, faced Vastor inside a steamcrawler crowded with wounded. He couldn't see what he should have done differently-what he could have done differently and remained the Jedi he was-to lead to any moment other than this one: this moment where he knew already he would be too late, too slow, too old and tired, too beaten down by the inexplicable cruelties of jungle war- Too useless to save the life of one single child.
Mace could only roar a futile denial as Vastor struck. The vi-broshield sank deep into Terrel's body. And as the lorpelek ripped the life out of the boy, the blood fever told Mace what he should have done differently. man, only a man; a man of power, to be sure, but no longer the embodiment of the jungle's darkness. Terrel had been a boy, merely a child, yes, but a boy whose dead arms were still wet to the elbow with the blood of Chalk and Besh.
Until now, Mace had looked at them-at this whole world, and all that he had seen within it-with Jedi eyes: seeing abstract patterns of power in the swirling chiaroscuro of the Force, a punctuated rhythm of good and evil. His Jedi eyes had found him only what he'd already been looking for.
Without knowing it, he'd been seeking an enemy. Someone he could fight. Someone who would stand in for this war.
Someone he could blame for it.
Someone he could kill.
Now, though- He looked at Vaster with his own eyes, truly open for the first time.
Vaster looked back intently. After a moment, the lor pelek relaxed with a sigh, lowering his weapons. You have decided to let me live, was the meaning of his wordless grumble. For now.
Mace said, 'I am sorry.' For what? Vaster looked frankly puzzled. When Mace did not answer, he shrugged. Now that I may safely show you my back, I will go. The fight is over. I must deal with our captives.
He turned toward the bunker's door. Mace spoke to his back. 'I won't allow you to kill prisoners.' Vaster stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. Who said anything about killing prisoners? One of my men? His eyes took a feral gleam from the light of Mace's blades.
Never mind. I know who it was. Leave him to me.
Without another word, Vaster stalked out into the firelit night.
Mace stood in the flickering dark, his only light the shine from his blades. After a time, his hands went numb on the handgrips' activation plates, and his blades shrank to nothingness.
Now the only light was the bloody glow on the bunker's ceiling cast by the fires outside.
He noted absently that Besh and Chalk hadn't bled much from their wounds. The thanatizine, he guessed.
A low whimper from behind reminded him of the children. He turned and looked down at them. They quivered in a group hug so tight he couldn't see where one child ended and the next began. None of them returned his stare. He could feel their terror through the Force: they were afraid to meet his eyes.
He wanted to tell them that they had nothing to fear, but that would be a lie. He wanted to tell them that he wouldn't let anyone hurt them. That was another lie: he already had. None of them would ever forget seeing their friend killed by a Korun.
None of them would ever forget seeing a Jedi let that Korun walk away.
There were so many things he should say that he could only keep silent. There were so many things he should do that he could only stand holding his powered-down lightsabers.
When all choices seem wrong, choose restraint.
And so he stood motionless.
'Master Windu?' The voice was familiar, but it seemed to come from very far away; or perhaps it was only an echo of memory. 'Master Windu!' He stood staring into an invisible distance until a strong hand took his arm. 'Hey, Mace!' He sighed. 'Nick. What do you want?' 'It's almost dawn. Gunships fly with the light. It won't take them long to get here. Time to saddle-' Nick's voice stopped as though he were choking on something. 'Frag me. What did you-I mean, what did they-who would-how-?' His voice ran down. Mace finally turned to face the young Korun. Nick stared speechlessly down at the bloody messes that were Besh and Chalk.
'The thanatizine has slowed their hemorrhaging,' Mace said softly. 'Someone who's good with a medpac's tissue binder might still be able to save their lives.' 'And-and-and-are those children-?' him to the father of the two young boys. When Mace told him that Urno and Nykl were still alive and as safe as any Balawai here could be, the man burst into tears.
Relief or terror: Mace could not tell.
Tears are tears.
Mace could summon no sympathy for him. He could not forget that this was the man who had fired the first shot into the bunker. Nor could he pass any sort of judgment upon him; he could not say that if this man had held his fire, any of the dead here would instead be alive.
