"Matthew Woodring Stover - Clone Wars - Shatterpoint" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stover Matthew Woodring)

of the Jedi Council and the Republic High Command, only the two senior members of the Council had
been summoned by the Chancellor, implied that the news was not good.
These two senior members could hardly have appeared more different. Yoda was barely two-thirds of a
meter tall, with skin green as Chadian wander-kelp and great bulging eyes that could sometimes seem
almost to take on a light of their own; Mace was tall for a human, less than a hand's breadth short of two
meters, with shoulders broad and powerful, heavy arms, dark eyes, and a grim set to his jaw. Where
Yoda had let his sparse remnants of hair straggle at random, Mace's skull was smooth-shaven, the color
of polished lammas.

But their greatest difference perhaps lay in the fee! of the two Jedi Masters. Yoda emanated a sense of
mellow wisdom, combined with the impish sense of humor characteristic of the true sage; but his great
age and vast experience sometimes made him seem a bit removed, even detached. Nearing nine hundred
years of age led him to naturally take the long view. Mace, in contrast, had been elevated to the Jedi
Council before his thirtieth birthday. His demeanor was exactly opposite. Lean. Driven. Intense. He
radiated incisive intellect and unconquerable will.

As of the Battle of Geonosis, which had opened the Clone Wars, Mace had been on the Council for
more than twenty standard years. It had been ten since anyone had last seen him smile.

He sometimes wondered privately if he would ever smile again.

'But it is not the planet Haruun Kal that brings you in a sweat to this office," Yoda said now.

His tone was light and understanding, but his gaze was sharp. "Concerned for Depa, you are." Mace
lowered his head. "I know: the Force will bring what it will. But Republic Intelligence has reported that
the Separatists have pulled back; their base outside Pelek Baw is abandoned-" 'Yet return she has not."
Mace knotted his ringers together. A breath brought his voice back to its customary deep, flat
dispassion. "Haruun Kal is still nominally a Separatist planet. And she's a wanted woman. It won't be
easy for her to get offworld. Or even to signal for extraction-the local militia use all kinds of signal
jamming, and whatever they don't jam they triangulate; whole partisan bands have been wiped out by one
incautious transmission-" 'Your friend she is." Yoda used his stick to poke Mace on the arm. "Care for
her, you do." Mace didn't meet his eyes. His feelings for Depa Billaba ran deep.

She had been onworld for four standard months. She couldn't communicate regularly; Mace had tracked
her activities by sporadic Republic Intelligence reports of sabotage at the Separatist starfighter base, and
the fruitless expeditions of the Balawai militias trying-and failing-to wipe out Depa's guerrillas, or even
contain them. More than a month ago, Republic Intelligence had sent word that the Separatists had pulled
back to the Gevarno Cluster, because they could no longer maintain and defend their base. Her success
could not have been more brilliant.

But he feared to learn at what cost.

'But it can't simply be that she's missing, or." he murmured. A dark flush spread over his bare dome of
skull when he realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. He felt Yoda's eyes on him still, and gave half an
apologetic shrug. "I was only thinking: if she'd been captured or-or killed-there would be no need for
such secrecy." The creases on Yoda's face deepened around his mouth, and he made that tchk sound of
mild disapproval that any Jedi would instantly recognize. "Frivolous, speculation is, when patience will
reveal all." Mace nodded silently. One did not argue with Master Yoda; in the Jedi Temple, this was
learned in infancy. No Jedi ever forgot it. "It's. maddening, Master. If only. I mean, ten years ago, we
could have simply reached out-" 'Cling to the past, a Jedi cannot," Yoda interrupted sternly. His green