"Mm," Ma'Ning said, pursing his lips. "It's an interesting concept, certainly. And he's right: there have been exceptions in the past, most of whom have worked out fine."

"Like Anakin?"

"Perhaps," Ma'Ning said cautiously. "Though until a Padawan actually achieves Jedi Knighthood, there's always the danger he or she might fall away. I'm not expecting that of Skywalker, of course."

"No," Lorana agreed. "If you'll excuse me, Master Ma'Ning, I need to find some crewers to help me start organizing the new training center."

"Certainly," Ma'Ning said, nodding. "I'll speak with you later."

He stepped over to the two Duros, joining in their conversation. Three Jedi, holding a private discussion among themselves.

With Lorana on the outside. As if she were still just a Padawan.

Still, shehad said she was leaving. Maybe that was all it was. Taking a deep breath, putting such thoughts from her mind, she headed down the aisle toward the door.

She was nearly there when a man stepped partway into her path. "Your pardon, Jedi," he said tentatively. "A word, if I may?"

"Certainly," Lorana said, focusing on him for the first time. He was a typical crewer, young and bright-eyed, with short dark hair and a hint of greasy dirt on the collar of his jumpsuit. Summoned directly from his shift to Ma'Ning's meeting, probably. Behind him stood a young woman with a sleeping infant in one arm and a boy of five or six standing close beside her. Her free hand was resting on the boy's shoulder. "How can I help you?"

"My name's Dillian Pressor," the man said, gesturing back to the others. "My son, Jorad, has a question."

"All right," Lorana said, stepping over to the boy, noting that as she approached the woman seemed to tighten her grip on her son's shoulder. "Hello, Jorad," she said cheerfully, dropping to one knee in front of him.

He gazed at her, his expression a mix of uncertainty and awe. "Are you really a Jedi?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed," she assured him. "I'm Jedi Jinzler. Can you say that?"

He pursed his lips uncertainly. "Jedi Jisser?"

"Jinzler," his father said. "Jinzler."

"Jedi Jissler," the boy tried again.

"Or we could just make it Jedi Lorana," Lorana suggested. "You have a question for me?"

The boy threw an uncertain look up at his mother's face. Then, steeling himself, he looked back at Lorana. "Master Ma'Ning said only the people he called were going to be Jedi," he said. "I wanted to know if I could be one, too."

Lorana glanced up at the woman, noting the tight lines in her face. "I'm afraid it's not something any of us has a say in," she said. "If you aren't born with Force sensitivity, we can't train you to be a Jedi. I'm sorry."

"Well, what if I got better?" Jorad persisted. "He said the rest of us were close, and it's been a long time since they tested us. Maybe I got better."

"Maybe you did," Lorana said. In theory, of course, he couldn't. Force sensitivity could be nurtured, but not created.

On the other hand, C'baothhad said these were the families who had low but non-negligible sensitivity. It was at least theoretically possible that the boy's testing had been inaccurate. "I tell you what," she said. "I'll talk to Master Ma'Ning about having you tested again, all right? If you've gotten better, we'll see if we can get you into the program."

Jorad's eyes lit up. "Okay," he said. "When can I do it?"

"I'll talk to Master Ma'Ning," she repeated, wondering if she'd already promised more than she could deliver. "He'll set it up with your father."

"Jorad?" the boy's mother prompted.

"Thank you," Jorad said dutifully.

"You're welcome," Lorana said, standing up and looking at the baby in her mother's arm. "Is this your sister?"

"Yes, that's Katarin," Jorad said. "She mostly just cries a lot."

"That's what babies do best," Lorana agreed, looking at the mother and then Dillian. "Thank you all for coming."

"No problem," Dillian said, taking his son's hand and stepping to the door. It opened, and he ushered the boy out into the corridor. "Thank you again, Jedi Jinzler."

"Jedi Lorana," Jorad corrected him.

Almost unwillingly, Dillian smiled. "Jedi Lorana," he amended. Holding out a hand to his wife, he led her out behind Jorad?

"Thereyou are," an irritated voice called down the corridor.

Lorana stepped out into the corridor behind the others. Striding toward them was a young man with dirtwater-colored hair, his mouth set in a thin line as he glared at Dillian. "What the brix are you doing here, Pressor?"

"It was a special meeting," Dillian said, gesturing toward Lorana. "This is Jedi Lorana Jinzler-"

"Since when do you skip out in the middle of a duty shift for a meeting?" the man cut in. "In case you've forgotten, it's a little difficult to do a hyperdrive reactor communication deep-check without the hyperdrive man actually being there."

"I know," Pressor said, giving Jorad's hand to his mother. "Sorry-I thought we'd be done sooner than this."

"Well, you weren't." The man shifted his glare to Lorana. "Is this going to be a regular occurrence around here, Jedi Jinzler?"

"What do you mean, ah. .?"

"Chas Uliar," the man said shortly. "I mean you Jedi coming in and messing with our work schedules."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Lorana said.

"Two days ago Master Ma'Ning pulled everyone off systems control for a coolant-leak drill," Uliar said. "Never mind that we've already done five of them in the past month. Now you're calling special bounce-of-the-moment meetings that pull people off important duty stations. What's on line for tomorrow? Escape pod practice?"

"Is there a problem, Uliar?" Ma'Ning's voice came from behind them.

Lorana turned as Ma'Ning stepped out into the corridor. "I just want to get my day's work done in peace so that I can sleep the sleep of the virtuous," Uliar said with a hint of sarcasm. "Or do I need to make a formal requisition for that?"

"Not at all," Ma'Ning assured him. "Pressor, you're free to return to your station."

"Thank you," Pressor said.

"And in the future we'll try to be more considerate of the various work schedules," Ma'Ning added to Uliar.

"Fine," Uliar said, a little less truculently. "Come on, Pressor. Let's try to get this done before the next shift comes on."