Upon arriving on Coruscant, it would’ve been acceptable for Cohmac to go immediately to the baths and don his ceremonial garb—or at least to wash his face clean of soot. Instead, he sought an immediate audience with the Council. Somewhat to his surprise, it was granted.

When he walked into the room, he saw a trio of Masters waiting for him, as much of the Council as could be assembled on such short notice. He knelt—an old-fashioned gesture of respect among the Jedi, but one that felt right to him.

“Master Vitus,” said Master Adampo, a Yarkoran with magnificent whiskers. “We are pleased to know that you have returned safely, despite the many dangers of the hyperspace disaster. Early reports indicate that you and your ship were instrumental in the rescue of the Journeyman passengers.” In his voice was the unspoken question: So why are you here?

“While stranded on the Amaxine station, we suffered a loss,” Cohmac said. “I regret to inform the Council that Jedi Knight Dez Rydan was killed.”

Dismay, then pain, revealed themselves on their faces. Master Adampo asked, “Was this due to the hyperspace damage?”

Cohmac summarized, as succinctly as he could, the myriad strange factors that had led to Dez’s fatal accident: the ancient station, the idols imprisoning the dark side, the labyrinthine lower rings that had hidden the helix rings until too late. It all sounded very dry and official and correct. Even a droid might’ve spoken with more emotion. This was, of course, as it should be.

Yet the voice inside his head—the one he tried not to listen to, the one that spoke more and more often—demanded, Why should it be a virtue to hide your feelings? To pretend that they don’t exist?

Master Rosason, a human woman of advanced years, nodded as he finished. “We await further report on the idols, as well. You have all performed your duty admirably under difficult conditions. Rydan’s loss is a blow to the entire Order.”

These were phrases that came before farewell.

You have no more emotion for him than that? Cohmac wanted to say. A young man goes to his death and it’s no more than a line in a report?

He curbed his anger. Tried to remember exactly what it was Orla had said to him aboard the Vessel about moderation. But Cohmac’s memory, usually excellent, could no longer find the words.

Coruscant transport logs were incredibly thorough and, to Affie’s surprise, totally open for public perusal. That gave her a chance to dig into realms of information that would normally be closed to her. Even the Byne Guild’s mother ship didn’t have so much data.