Sohna - The Star Kingdom

Virginia had insisted they return to the Jedi temple first thing in the morning.

“We have a legitimate address and phone number now that will make our request more believable,” she explained to Wolf during the taxi ride there.

“We could have given them an address and phone number yesterday,” he argued.

“Except that we wouldn’t have been at that made-up phone number later,” she retorted. “That guy wanted us to leave a message. I don’t trust him to deliver the actual message without distorting it, but if we just tell him we want Obi-Wan ...”

“Master Kenobi.”

“Yes, Master Kenobi - you know what I meant - anyway, if we just tell him we want Master Kenobi to call us, that should work.”

When they arrived, Virginia squared herself in front of the door, preparing to do battle with the SOB who’d looked down his nose at her the day before. But when she knocked, she was met with the holographic image of a pre-teen padawan instead, his sandy hair cut in the hideous trademark short ponytail and long, skinny braid.

“May I help you?” he asked them pleasantly. “Yes,” said Virginia crisply, then cleared her throat, mentally gearing down from the fight she’d been prepared for. “We’d like to speak to Master Kenobi, please.”

“I’m sorry, he’s in the morning war report meeting,” the boy said, dashing her hope that they might actually get to talk with him this time. “They all are. May I take a message to him for you?”

This she was prepared for, and gave him the holophone number of the Alderaan main offices, accompanied by the extension of what she thought of as the cell phone they’d issued her.

“Please have him contact us as soon as possible,” she re-iterated. “It’s extremely urgent.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will do that,” he promised as the holograph winked out.

They stood there a moment longer under the massive overhang of the building.

“Now what do we do?” Wolf asked her.

“We wait,” she told him. “Let’s get back to the office; we’ve got to act like we’re really interns. They’ll be expecting us to get to work.”

When the War Report ended, Cin Drallig walked down the three flights of stairs to the front vestibule to relieve the padawan stationed there from guard duty. On the way he passed Anakin Skywalker running up to the meeting room late, taking three steps at a time in his hurry. Drallig scowled. The young knight had been granted exceptions to their procedure since arriving here when he was nine, which was six years older than the oldest novice prior. No doubt he had some convenient excuse for missing today’s meeting, as well. Drallig realized his observations could be mistaken for resentment except that he knew he was far from alone in his thinking regarding young Skywalker. The man had proven to be an excellent swordsman, it was true, Drallig grudgingly admitted, but proficiency in light saber technique alone did not make a Jedi.

His thoughts turned from distaste to approval as he came within sight of Zett Jukasa, the padawan he’d left on guard duty earlier that morning. This boy would grow to be a match for golden boy Skywalker, he mused. At the age of 10 he was already showing unparalleled promise.

“Zett,” he said as he approached. “You’ve carried out your duty well.”

“Thank you, master,” the boy replied. “I had a visitor this morning.” Eagerness was evident on his face; few approached the temple via the traditional entrance anymore, so the experience was a novel one.

Drallig frowned, remembering the couple who had come calling the evening before.

“A man and a pregnant woman?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, master,” Zett replied, astonished. “They left a message for Master Kenobi.”

“Did they?” This was new, at least. He wondered what had caused them to change their mind, and what the message itself entailed. Last night they’d seemed to him like nothing so much as ordinary workers of some sort with too much free time on their hands. “Let me see it,” he said.

Zett handed over the datapad on which he’d written the message.

“They said it was very urgent,” he told the older man.

Drallig read what Zett had written with surprise. He glanced up.

“They’re from Senator Organa’s office?” he asked, more to hear the words out loud than for confirmation from the padawan - it was, after all, what the boy had written down.

“Yes, master,” came the dutiful reply.

Deep in thought, the swordmaster stood up straight and nodded dismissal to the boy, an automatic gesture.

“Thank you, padawan,” he said. “You are dismissed. Report to your classes immediately.”

“Thank you, master,” the boy replied formally. Then he added, “But ...”

Drallig’s eyes flashed as the irregularity of the response drew his attention from his own musings.

“Yes?” he asked sharply.

“I gave my word that I’d deliver the message to Master Kenobi,” the boy insisted.

Drallig’s features softened.

“I’ll deliver it for you, Zett,” he told him. “Hurry now or you’ll be late.”

Satisfied, the boy disappeared down the hallway. Drallig sat down at the guard console and went through the motions of the start of his watch - checking the equipment, reviewing the security holovid, policing the vestibule (not that anything was out of order there, but it was his duty to police it all the same). The motions he went through were so familiar to him that he could allow his thoughts to roam free at the same time. What did the couple want, he wondered? No, it was more than that; it was the manner of their approach - coming in person to the traditional entrance, and not choosing to leave a note at first, or even say who had sent them. If they had contacted the temple in the usual manner - via holophone - he would not even be curious about it. Kenobi was who they wanted to see, after all, not him. He sighed. As he should not be curious now, he scolded himself. Irregular though it was, it was still Kenobi’s business. And as much as he was of the opinion that Kenobi had been far too soft in the methods he’d used to train Skywalker, the Council master was well respected by all, including Drallig. He’d deliver the datapad and forget about it. But he would have to finish his watch first. They might have insisted the matter was urgent, but if it was able to wait overnight for them to decide whether or not to even leave a message, it could surely wait a few more hours. Being a council member, Kenobi would be attending this afternoon’s meeting. Drallig would deliver it to him then.

Virginia and Wolf had been assigned to separate trainers for the duration of the day, except for lunch, which they got to eat together (but with their trainers still present). The morning was spent touring the office facility, and Virginia did her best to not appear clueless about how anything she saw operated. It helped that she spent the morning worrying about what kind of excuse she could make if she suddenly got the call she was expecting from Obi-Wan, because it left her less time to worry about how she was going to do her job with no idea of how to even operate any of the equipment. Fortunately, her trainer, an older woman named Janila, wasn’t a taskmaster and loved to talk, so after a near-disaster where Virginia had to describe her ‘home planet, Naboo’ as “oh, it has a lot of water and waterfalls ...” she was able to keep the woman talking about Alderaan.

That afternoon, they took a tour of the rotunda itself, learning where the senatorial offices were, where the pages and interns were expected to stay and what their primary functions were. And Janila continued on the roll Virginia had started her out on that morning, describing in detail the outstanding retirement package Alderaan offered its public servants, including a blade of grass by blade of grass description of the property she had recently purchased and on which she intended to retire in the next five years, and how she thought it would make such a nice retreat for her grandchildren long after she were gone. Virginia nodded politely, but barely paid the description any attention, since by then all she could do was worry about why Obi-Wan had not yet called. Hadn’t that boy delivered the message? Or had he? Could Obi-Wan be just as stuck up in person as the jerk they’d met at the door the night before, and only altered by Lucas for his movie? No, that didn’t seem right, but it still didn’t explain why he hadn’t called. When the workday finally ended, she was both glad to be able to stop pretending to pay attention and angry at the Jedi order all over again for snubbing her, and she dragged her husband back onto the elevator for a private talk when he started to get off.

“But the cafeteria was on that floor,” he objected.

“Nevermind that now,” she ordered, then explained, “I never got the call.”

“Huff puff,” he said. “We’ll just have to try something else.”

“Like what?” she demanded.

“I don’t know, Virginia,” he admitted. “I’m famished; I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, and you know I can’t think when I’m starving.”

The elevator opened on their floor.

“Okay, let’s go eat,” she capitulated grumpily, pressing the switch for the cafeteria level once again.

“We’ll figure out something,” he told her. “We have to.”

She heard the tremor in his voice at those last words and looked up at him. He peered at her from the corner of his eyes, trying to keep the tears away.

“I saw Padme,” he whispered. “We can’t let her die.”

Obi-Wan felt sick to his stomach as he watched his former padawan stomp away down the stairs, still angry. As a council member, he was obligated to uphold the decisions made by the council even when he disagreed with those decisions. He’d tried to let Anakin know he disagreed, that he himself had voted against ordering Anakin to spy on the chancellor, but he didn’t want to be too blunt about how he had voted since he had also not endorsed Anakin’s becoming a Master. In light of how badly his brother had taken the news, Obi-Wan felt that this knowledge would only serve to drive a further wedge between the two of them.

He sighed wearily and turned around — and nearly bumped into Cin Drallig.

“Master Drallig!” he exclaimed.

“Master Kenobi,” the other greeted him. “A message came for you this morning. It was delivered at the front door.” He handed Obi-Wan a datapad.

“The front door?” Obi-Wan repeated.

Drallig nodded.

“Padawan Zett Jukasa took it,” he added, then nodded once more in acknowledgment and left.

Obi-Wan looked down at the pad. It instructed him to call someone named Virginia at a number in Senator Organa’s office, but there was nothing to suggest what the matter was about other than it was urgent. And, he mused, that he had been asked for specifically by name, which he thought was unusual in itself. The only member of their order who had ever been asked for by name prior to this was Anakin, and then always by the chancellor’s office.

That line of thought brought him back to where he’d been before, to Anakin and the miserable task he’d been handed. The objections he had raised were all valid ones; whatever one personally thought of the chancellor, the fact remained that he and Anakin were friends and it was cruel to ask him to abuse that friendship. Nor could Obi-Wan escape the feeling that it was somehow inherently wrong for the Jedi to physically spy on anyone in the first place. Nevertheless, the decision had been made and he was bound to abide by it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t offer what support he could to his former padawan. He’d intended originally to do so behind the scenes by accompanying Masters Windu and Yoda to the spaceport when Master Yoda left for Kashyyk. They’d been the only others on the council to vote against having Anakin report on the chancellor, but unlike Obi-Wan, they hadn’t voted that way out of a consideration of Anakin’s feelings. They simply didn’t trust him, and Obi-Wan wanted to make it clear to them that his own vote was not cast from a lack of trust in the man he’d trained. Only he thought now that, since the Alderaan senator’s office wanted to talk to him, he might ride to the rotunda with Anakin instead and show his support more directly.

He caught up with him just as Anakin was preparing to taxi his fighter out of the hangar.

“What is it?” the younger man asked as he climbed down out of the cockpit.

“Nothing serious,” Obi-Wan replied. “At least I don’t think it is. I got a message from Senator Organa’s office asking me to contact them and thought I’d ride over to the rotunda with you. That is, if you don’t mind me tagging along.” He gestured to the one-man fighter, which the other man routinely used as his personal speeder.

Anakin glanced back at the vehicle and shrugged.

“Feel free,” he said, and began walking to the taxi stand. It was clear to Obi-Wan that he had not yet gotten over his anger at the council’s decision, and they walked together in silence until they had boarded the taxi (which, like all public transportation on Coruscant, was free for the Jedi).

As the craft started on its way, Anakin finally broke the silence.

“What does Senator Organa’s office want with the Jedi?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Obi-Wan. “But it isn’t the Jedi they want; it’s me in particular.” He handed Anakin the datapad for the other man to see.

“They really came to the front door?” he said, frowning down at the readout.

“Apparently so.”

There was another moment of silence, during which Obi-Wan thought Anakin (by his expression) must be trying to fathom the mystery of such a summons. But as he finally handed the datapad back, all he said was, “Well, you’d better watch it. The council might decide you should start spying on Alderaan for them.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan stated, finally deciding to tell his friend in no uncertain terms exactly how he had stood on that issue; he couldn’t offer him any realistic support so long as the other man harbored any doubts whatsoever that Obi-Wan might have voted in favor of the council’s position. “I want you do know that I did not vote in favor of sending you on this assignment.”

Anakin’s blue eyes bored into his.

“And what about making me a member of the council? Did you vote against that as well?”

Obi-Wan sighed. He’d been afraid that once he started talking about how he had voted on the other issue that this one would inevitably come up. But he couldn’t lie about it.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Though I suppose that isn’t what you want to hear.”

There was a definite tightness in the other man’s voice as he asked, “Why?” But Obi-Wan was surprised that was all he said. He’d expected a lengthy tirade.

“Because I don’t believe you’re ready for that yet,” he said truthfully, “Though I’m certain you will be in a few more years - or maybe less.”

“I see.” His tone had an edge of finality to it, as if that was the end of the conversation, period, and further continuation would not be tolerated.

But Obi-Wan was not yet finished.

“That wasn’t the only reason,” he continued, wishing now that he hadn’t come. Nothing was going as he’d planned it; his support was not welcome, and in fact, he was simply making matters worse. But it all had to be said, just the same. It was too late to stop. “I know you will disagree with this, but I don’t feel it was the chancellor’s place to appoint anyone to be a member of the Jedi council. I know he controls the council now, but ...”

Anakin stopped the taxi. Obi-Wan feared the worst. Is he going to insist I get out? he wondered.

But Anakin simply said, “That was exactly what I told the chancellor when he told me about his decision.”

Perplexed, Obi-Wan asked, “You don’t think it was his place to do that either?”

Anakin shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. What I told him was that the council would never go along with making me one of its members because they were ordered to; that they chose their own. He assured me that I was mistaken.”

“And you believed they would automatically promote you to Master in the process?”

“No! That’s ...” he looked away, then continued more quietly, “If they voted me onto the council, yes, but only because it had never been done otherwise. They way they did it was ...” he threw his hands in the air and repeated what he’d said earlier, “insulting.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan said nothing, though it seemed to him that Anakin was making a different point than he’d thought he’d been making in the temple. Finally he asked, “And if they had decided to deny the chancellor’s request that you become a council member ...?”

His former apprentice looked him straight in the eye and replied, “That was what I expected them to do, Master.”

“Then you would have accepted that decision?” he asked, surprised.

“Of course I would,” came the reply. “What did you think I meant?”

Obi-Wan started the taxi again.

“I wasn’t sure,” he said noncommittaly. I guess that’s the reason I’m the negotiator and he ... is not, he thought, reflecting that it hadn’t been the first time he’d been unable to follow the other man’s thought processes.

“Are you meeting that Virnga at the rotunda?” Anakin asked him, evidently as anxious to change the subject as he was.

“No,” he told him. “I thought I’d just talk to Senator Organa about whatever it is and cut out the middleman.”

Anakin nodded, already sinking back into his private thoughts distractedly.

“But the real reason I decided to tag along was that I thought you could use a friend,” Obi-Wan finally admitted.

The younger man’s eyes snapped up to meet his and he saw a deep appreciation in them as Anakin smiled for the first time that day.

“Thank you, Master,” he said.