Sacrifice

"Well, beats doing the wrong thing for the right reasons—classic excuse, that one. I was a cop. I know . . ."

"Do you want to stay in the GAG?"

"I miss CSF, actually. I miss catching real criminals and showing tourists the way to the Rotunda." He wandered into the kitchen, and there was a banging and clattering of dishes. He came back with a glass of juice and drank it in two gulps. "You sure you're all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Look, I'll be out of your way as soon as I can."

"No rush. Shula thinks it's great that you wash the dishes."

Shevu's girlfriend said he was a "nice polite boy." Ben thought that providing a safe haven for him was worth help with the chores, at the very least. "I can Force-dry them, too."

Shevu laughed and handed him the remote control for the lights. Ben got the feeling that Shevu was happier keeping an eye on him in the aftermath of the assassination because he didn't approve of the Jedi habit of letting "children" carry weapons and fight. As far as he was concerned, Ben shouldn't have been serving in the front lines before he was at least eighteen. He was just too polite to say that he thought Jedi made bad parents.

Poor Mom.

Ben slept. He had a few odd dreams about Lekauf that woke him up, and the grief when he woke up properly and remembered his comrade was dead was painful. He lay wondering about Lekauf's folks, and how they were coping, and then he thought he drifted off again because he could hear—no, he could feel a voice in his head asking where he was.

He sat up. He knew he was fully awake, because he could see the environment-control light on the wall, winking faint red every ten seconds. It took him a while to work out why he knew the voice but couldn't put a face to it when he shut his eyes again.