From the Journal of Zach Ouichee

[[19.7.1ABA_crypt.R075ZE187True]]

In this year after the seventh battle of Ruusan One Thousand and Three, on Ninteenday of Thirdmonth, I Jedi Master Zach Ouichee mark and proclaim this record. In Basic, even though it feels like talking with a mouth full of Gup Tubers. I wonder if they still have Gup Tubers.

Jedi Master. It is a wry joke. The humility of my masters was never feigned, I now know. Master Tikal always said that he knew he was only a student, and now that I understand, I know that I too am a student, least of all. What I thought was humility was a masquerade. Our bright sabers and calm hearts mean only that the Force speaks to us slowly, as to a dim child.

I have slept four hours in three days. First there is a remote garrison of stormtroopers refusing to surrender, then a dispute between landholders and farmers, both in the right, then there is a mob becoming a riot that seeks comfort through violence. All are quelled, all come to peace, but I can never make it right for them. It is not that there is more suffering, for it was there all along, but rather that I feel it more keenly, am aware that there is so much more that is mercifully held from me. The Force lives and moves and speaks more than I ever knew. Through the battle I could feel sapients falling like hail on my skin, and I am grateful that the Force holds my fear from me. If it were close, I would be terrified of rejoining the force and feeling every hailstone with no mask of flesh to blind me.

Dori is a blur of motion. She moves so that it will not all sink in, and I hope that she handles it well when she does. Rolana keeps well; for all her sensitivity, this all somehow still abstract to her. She is lucky. Zane, who can tell? He will avoid at least some of my mistakes. Quan Hu is best of all the students (ha!) who came with us. He has had little enough inward gazing to blind him to the Force as it lives around us.

For my companions, things are better. Mina does as she always does, creating calm center through whatever storm. Jolee is in the turmoil that is the only home she knows. Pel creates himself to be the man he needs to be. Taryn does her work and never lets on that she has never surrendered a secret part of herself unscarred from war. Talia carries her burdens well; I do not know if she knows how heavy they are that she should not have something incorruptible and joyous to protect. Perhaps she does. I do not know, and it would be foolish to say.

To practicalities! Fleets move, and earnest young sapients land to make things better. Some stand silent and respectful before me, and I do not laugh until they leave the room. Jolee's Duchess-harlot is a surprisingly useful catspaw, and the tailor of Theed knows everyone with power. He is a good fellow, to boot. Details are dealt with and things go better than expected, a sure sign that we are entirely out of our depth. The Nabooians are starting to realize that the Rebellion and the Jedi have pledged ourselves with our very lives. We cannot abandon them without destroying ourselves.

The Sith lord is gone away now, and he has some grand plot, I ween. Let him. He cannot plot against the Force, no matter how subtle he is. Every Sith dashes against the rock of himself. Just like every Jedi. The fruit is delicious, I love my companions, and I am here now.