Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

“I’ll take the bribb juice, but with a prisht-fruit salad,”

Lorana said. She gave Obi-Wan a hesitant smile. “After all, Barlok does produce the best specimens.”

“So I’ve heard,” Obi-Wan said, studying her. She was about medium height, with dark hair and striking gray eyes. She had an intelligent face, a nice smile, and that sense of global awareness that came from knowledge of the Force. To all appearances, she seemed well on her way to becoming a typical Jedi.

And yet, there was something about her that felt odd to him, something that didn’t quite ring true. Her air of dignity and confidence felt strained, like an accessory she put on every morning instead of something that was truly a part of her innermost being. Her smile had a similarly tentative edge to it, as if she was afraid it would get her into trouble.

On the surface, she had everything down just right.

Beneath it all, she was still a Padawan learner with a lot of work yet to do.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone before who was trained by Master C’baoth,” he commented as the droid bustled away. “What’s he like to study with?”

The corners of Lorana’s mouth compressed, just noticeably. “It’s been a valuable learning experience,” she said diplomatically. “Master C’baoth has a depth and strength in the Force that I can only hope I’ll someday be able to approach.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan nodded, his mind flicking back to his last conversation with Master Windu. She might be right, or it might also be that C’baoth wasn’t nearly as deep into the Force as she thought. Possibly even not as deep as C’baoth himself thought.

But discussing a Jedi with his Padawan was considered poor form, particularly in front of another, younger Padawan like Anakin. “I’m sure you’ll make it,” he told her. “In my experience, a Jedi can gain as much depth in the Force as he or she wants.”

“Within his or her limitations, of course,” Lorana said ruefully. “I don’t know yet where that line lies for me.”

“No one does until the line is reached and tested,”

Obi-Wan pointed out. “Personally, I don’t believe there are any such limits.”

Another droid bustled up with their drinks balanced precariously on a tray. Obi-Wan leaned back, ready to reach out with the Force to rescue the glasses if it became necessary, butthe droid set them down without spilling a drop and bustled away. Picking up his drink, Obi-Wan sent a slow look around the room.

Small, unassuming places like this, he knew, were usually passed over by casual visitors looking for flash and sparkle. Sure enough, most of the patrons were locals: hornskinned Brolfi in varying shades of yellow and green, plus a counterpoint sprinkling of the more delicate arboreal Karfs from the vast tisvollt forests that edged the city on two sides.

But there were also a few other species represented, including three more humans. Perhaps the guide card recommendation was actually having some influence on the visitor trade. His leisurely gaze drifted to the genuine duskwood bar at the far end, where a skinny, mostly yellow-skinned Brolf was serving drinks.

He frowned. “Lorana, that human over there—black vest, gray shirt, talking to the bartender. Have you ever seen him before?”

She turned to look. “Yes, he was in the group waiting outside the negotiating chamber when the talks ended yesterday.

I don’t know his name.”

“You know him, Master?” Anakin asked.

“Unless I’m mistaken, that’s Jery Riske,” Obi-Wan said. “Former bounty hunter; currently top enforcer for the magistrate’s office of the Corporate Alliance.”

“What does an enforcer do?” Anakin asked.

“Pretty much anything Passel Argente tells him to,”

Obi-Wan said. “Bodyguard, investigator, and probably extra muscle if there are bad debts to be collected. I wonder which of those roles he’s performing here.”

“Probably the bodyguard one,” Lorana said.

“Magistrate Argente’s leading the Alliance’s negotiating team.”

An unpleasant sensation crept up Obi-Wan’s back. The head of a powerful, galaxy-spanning organization such as the Corporate Alliance hardly had the time to deal personally with a minor contract dispute like this.

Unless the Barlok dispute wasn’t as minor as everyone seemed to think.

He looked back at Riske. The man was still talking with the bartender, both of them leaning slightly over their respective sides of the bar, their heads close together. “Anakin, you see that dish of quartered nuts on the bar near Enforcer Riske?” he asked, setting down his drink. “Go and grab a few of them.”

“Sure,” Anakin said. Sliding out of his seat, he started threading his way between the rows of tables.

“What are you doing?” Lorana asked.

“Giving myself an excuse to go over there,” Obi-Wan said, watching Anakin’s progress across the room and judging his timing. One more table… now. “Wait here,” he added, standing up and heading off after his Padawan. Focusing his attention on the conversation at the bar, he ran through his Jedi sensory enhancement techniques.

He got within eavesdropping distance just as Anakin reached the bar, squeezed himself in between an Aqualish and a Rodian, and started helping himself to the nuts. “—centered in Patameene District,” the bartender was saying in a low voice.

“But that’s just a rumor, mind.”

“Thanks,” Riske said. His hand brushed over the bartender’s, and Obi-Wan caught a glint of metal as the bartender straightened up, his closed fist dropping casually behind the bar. The Brolf’s eyes shifted to Obi-Wan, the hornskin puckering a little as he frowned. Riske caught the change in expression and turned, his right hand dropping casually to his belt, the fingertips dipping inside the edge of his vest.

“That’s enough, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice light but firm as he came up behind Anakin and tookcasual hold of the boy’s shoulder, carefully keeping his eyes away from Riske and the bartender.

“Just one more?” Anakin asked, turning and holding up a large tashru.

“All right, but for after your lunch,” Obi-Wan said firmly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Riske’s hand drop the rest of the way to his side and sensed both his and the bartender’s suspicions fading. “You don’t want to spoil your appetite.”

The boy sighed theatrically. “Okay,” he said. Closing his fist around the nut, he started to turn around.

And as he did so, his shoulder bumped the Aqualish’s back just as the burly alien was lifting his drink to his mouth, sending a small wave of bright red liquid sloshing over the rim and down the alien’s massive hand.

Obi-Wan winced. It was a minor accident, as such things went, with equally minor damages. But such subtleties were lost on the typical Aqualish mind and temper.

And this one was very definitely typical. “You—child human troublemaker—” he grunted in his native tongue, spinning around fast enough to slosh a little more of his drink over the edge. “What do you do to bother me?”

“It was an accident,” Obi-Wan said quickly, pulling Anakin back to just in front of him. “I apologize for his carelessness.”

“He is no babe in leafwrap that you must clean up his messes,” the Aqualish retorted, glaring at Obi-Wan with his huge eyes. He looked back at Anakin, his hand dropping to the blaster belted at his waist. “He must learn manners and self-discipline.”

Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Anakin’s shoulder as he sensed the boy’s flash of anger. Self-discipline was one of Anakin’s biggest problem areas, something Obi-Wan had to callhim on probably twice a week. The last thing the boy wanted to hear was the same lecture coming from a grumpy alien. “Easy, Anakin,” Obi-Wan warned, aware that every eye in the cantina was on the confrontation. His little playacting had alleviated Riske’s first suspicions about the would-be eavesdropper, but those suspicions would be back with a vengeance if Obi-Wan was forced to reveal himself as a Jedi. “Come, friend,” he said soothingly to the Aqualish. “Surely you have more worthwhile ways to spend your energy. Let me get you another drink, and we’ll be on our way.”