Stellan wanted to go to the old woman, to throw his arms around her in a way he had never done when his Master was alive. He wanted to be at peace in the way the old Jedi was at peace, one with the Force in a place beyond pain, beyond duty.

No, her voice seemed to say. A Jedi is never beyond duty. A Jedi should always feel pain; the pain of those who are oppressed, the pain of the powerless. It is not your time, Stellan, but I am with you. Always.

Stellan’s hand slipped beneath his robes, not to his empty holster, but to the hilt clipped to his belt. Grazed fingers wrapped around the cylinder, finding grooves molded into the leather grip by another hand, a metal stud beneath his thumb. Stellan pulled Kant’s lightsaber from its clip, angled the emitter, and pressed hard. He barely heard the green blade ignite, barely smelled the flesh burning as the plasma punched through the Trandoshan’s torso and out of his back.

The hits stopped coming, and the reptilian slumped to the side, breathing his last beneath his respirator.

Stellan let the blade die. He wanted to rest, to let his starved lungs catch their breath, if such a thing was even possible in the Nihil fog. At least the heavy gas had risen slightly, the pungent air just a little clearer. Everything suddenly felt calm, although a thought nagged at the back of his mind, something he had forgotten. Something important.

The chancellor!

Stellan jumped up, his vision still blurred. He had to find Lina Soh and assess her injuries. He was no Torban Buck, but there would be something he could do, unless he was already too late.

He stumbled forward, his free hand stretched out in front of him, the pain in his head stopping him from using the Force. There was every chance he had a concussion, but he would have to deal with that later. He stumbled, realizing to his horror that he’d kicked Quo who was still lying on the ground, passed out from the pain from his leg, but where was the chancellor? Where was Lina Soh?

“Chancellor?” Stellan croaked, and he was rewarded by a shout from above.

“Up here. Please. We can’t hold on!”

Stellan forced himself to concentrate, trying to get a clearer picture of what was happening. Lina Soh was still hanging from the walker. He must have slowed her descent after all, long enough for Elarec Yovet to have lunged toward the chancellor, almost sending herself over the edge as she’d grabbed Soh’s wrist. Now the others were there. The Krantian mother—Lerahel—even Madam Conserra, her hysterics forgotten, all reaching down to help haul Soh to safety, working together to save a life.

The Spirit of Unity.