The man knew he was guilty, obviously, but he was unwilling to let go of what he considered the righteousness of his wrath. “Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me. Don’t the Jedi abduct children, too?”

It took all Orla’s training to cast that flash of anger aside. “Families willingly give their Force-sensitive children to the temples, so that they can be trained in the ways of the Jedi. It’s their free choice.” She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. It only partly worked. “For future reference, when a young girl’s screaming for you to let her go? She gets a free choice, too. If you ignore that, then you can’t complain about the results. Now, assemble your crew and get your ship away from this station within the hour, or we’ll do that for you.”

The red-scarved man blanched. “You’d cut us off from air? From food?”

“You’ve surely recirculated enough air by now to breathe for a few weeks. We won’t let you starve. But we also won’t allow kidnappers to roam freely.” Orla snapped the medpac shut. “In other words, get out.”

Once the criminal vessel had detached itself from the station, and an orderly division of goods was underway, Cohmac Vitus felt he could spare a few minutes to center himself.

The ominous darkness aboard the station continued to trouble him—but in order to explore that more fully, he needed his strength in the Force. Meditation was a necessary prelude to action.

Carefully he noted the positions of every other person assigned to the Vessel—Reath and Dez on the station with Leox, Orla in the mess, Affie resting in her bunk, Geode apparently in charge of the bridge—before seeking a place of quiet and privacy. He found it in the very back of the ship, in front of a sealed-off cargo container. (Interesting that the Vessel crew would apologize so often for the smallness of their makeshift quarters while still reserving so much space for cargo they hadn’t even mentioned.) Cohmac laid down his heavy blanket, folded into a kind of meditation mat, then knelt on it.

I behold the world within myself, he thought. I behold the world without myself.

The mantra had helped soothe him for many years; he liked the balance of it. But it had become too literal, now, to serve as a mantra.

I am a Jedi. I have always been one. It is my identity, one I have never sought to change.

But the Order does not answer the questions that linger within me. The questions only grow over time.

Darkness abides upon this station. It is…too familiar to me now. But the shape it takes here is different and unsettling. Consciousness without a corporeal being. What created this? How did the dark side take form in this place?