A few paces beyond where the Balawai prisoners stumbled along the jungle floor, Mace Windu reached past the grasser’s nose and took its reins in one hand. “This is far enough. Leave me here.”

Vastor stopped, looking back over his massive shoulder. Depa awaits.

“She’s waited for weeks. She’ll wait a few hours more.” For the first time since the battle at the notch pass, Mace felt calm. Sure. On solid ground. “Go on without me. I will attend her when I choose.”

You are sent for. She is not to be defied. Vastor turned and tugged on the reins, but Mace had them in his fist, and they might as well have been bolted to a cliff.

Vastor’s eyes flickered with distant danger: lightning from a storm below the horizon. You will regret this.

“I am a Jedi Master, and a Senior Member of the Jedi Council,” Mace said patiently. “I am a general of the Grand Army of the Republic. I am not to be sent for. If she wants to see me, she will find me at the steamcrawler track before dusk.”

The lightning in the lor pelek’s eyes came closer. I have said I will deliver you.

Mace matched his stare exactly. “Funny: that’s almost what Nick said. He didn’t have much luck with it either.”

My orders—

“Are your problem.” Mace let the reins fall and spread his open hands. He went perfectly still, perfectly relaxed, perfectly calm, except for the sizzle of the Force that arced like static electricity from the two lightsaber handgrips to his empty palms. “Unless you choose to make them our problem. You can do that right now, if you like.”

Vastor let the reins drop as well. He stepped away from the grasser and turned to face the Jedi Master squarely. His immense shoulders bulged, and muscles across his chest went rigid in acid-etched definition. The air shimmered like a mirage around him: anger beat against Mace like a hot wind in the Force. You will come with me.

“No.”

Dark power clutched at Mace’s will. You will come with me.

Slowly, reluctantly, Mace slid himself out of the saddle and slipped to the ground. He took two steps toward Vastor.

And stopped.

“I no longer enjoy your company,” the Jedi Master said. “Go now. Do not return to me without Depa.”

Vastor’s eyes widened. His mouth worked soundlessly.

“You and I should not be alone together. There may be a fight.”

Tendons stood out in Vastor’s neck, winching his head downward and pulling his lips away from his sharp-filed teeth. I do not wish to fight you, dôshalo. Despite the rage smoking off him in the Force, his voice was soft. Depa will be angry to find you dead.


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 9