Nick poked his head through the cockpit doorway. “Looks like we’re a go—hey, look at this,” he said with a sudden frown, staring out through the windscreen.

Through the shadows slashing the landing field loped Kar Vastor. His shields flashed eye-stinging highlights from the glowpanel dayfloods that now, with sunset passing, shone upon the ships. He waved as he ran, clearly asking Mace to wait for him.

“What, does he want to fight again or something?” Nick brightened. “Y’know, we could just shoot him—accidentally, like. One of those senseless weapons-check tragedies—”

“Nick.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Without expression, Mace watched Vastor approach. Only moments ago—just before he left the command bunker to come out here—he had pulled aside CRC-09/571 for a private conversation.

[...]

Out on the landing field, Vastor didn’t bother to come around toward the troop bay doors; without breaking stride he burst into a Force leap that carried him up to the Turbostorm’s nose below the cockpit with a clank that must have been his deactivated vibroshields getting in the way of his grab for the nose armor. He climbed up into view, settling himself into a crouch on the nose armor outside the windscreen.

He squatted there for a moment, forearms resting on his bent knees, staring gravely at Mace through the opening.

Mace, Jedi of the Windu. Even his growl was reluctant. Almost contemplative.

“Kar.”

We have not been friends, you and I. If we both survive this day, I suspect that again we will not be friends.

Mace only nodded.

[...]

Vastor had turned his face toward the spiral dance of the starfighters as Mace spoke; he did not seem to hear. He stared upward as though listening to the stars. He passed a second or two in silence and stillness, then he nodded gravely and looked back at Mace.

Until we meet again, dôshalo. He spun like a startled branch leopard and sprang down from the Turbostorm’s nose to sprint away across the floodlit permacrete.

Mace flicked the last ten switches into flight sequence, and the Turbostorm rocked gently as its repulsorlifts brought it up to an altitude of just under a meter.

“Let’s go.”


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 21