Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

“Master C’baoth has nothing to do with this,” she told him, stretching out to the Force and trying to get a feel for the man. He was cool and unemotional, with the alert detachment she’d often seen in professional bodyguards. But beneath the calm she could sense a certain honor, or at least a willingness to stand by his word.

And the fact that he’d put his blaster away implied he expected a certain degree of honor from her in return. That alone dictated that she at least hear him out.

“Was it the other Jedi, then?” Riske asked. “The one with you in the cantina?”

There are times when you’ll wish your identity to remain unknown, C’baoth had reminded her back on Coruscant.

Clearly, it hadn’t worked with Riske. “He was interested in you, yes, but following you was my idea,” she told him. “He was mostly surprised that a person of Magistrate Argente’s stature would be handling these negotiations personally.”

“I could say the same about Jedi Master C’baoth,”

Riske said. “Magistrate Argente was rather surprised himself when he showed up.” He gestured in the direction of the cantina.

“And now we have another Jedi in the game, this one trying to eavesdrop on private conversations. What exactly is the Council playing at?”

“As far as I know, the Council isn’t playing at anything,” Lorana said. “We’re not supposed to take sides in these things.”

Riske snorted. “Like you didn’t take sides on Naboo?”

he said pointedly. “I noticed your high-minded neutrality was surprisingly helpful to Queen Amidala and her government.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Lorana said. “As you’ve already guessed, I’m only a Padawan. But I can tell you that the Council didn’t send us here. It was Master C’baoth’s idea, and the Council only reluctantly gave him permission.”

Riske frowned. “So he came up with this all on his own?”

“Well, actually, he was responding to something Supreme Chancellor Palpatine said,” Lorana amended. “But it still wasn’t the Council’s idea.”

“Palpatine,” Riske muttered, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“My turn now,” Lorana said. “What are you doing wandering around the city?”

“Trying to keep Magistrate Argente alive, of course,”

Riske said, his tone suddenly dark. “Nice talking with you, Padawan. Try and stay out of my way, all right?” With that he turned and strode away down the alley.

Lorana watched him until he disappeared out the other end into the city’s pedestrian traffic. Then, with a sigh, she turned and headed back the way she’d come. Master Kenobi, she knew, was not going to be happy about this.

With no easy way to locate Lorana, and with every reason to expect they would most likely chase each other in circles if he tried, Obi-Wan had opted to wait for her on a bench in a small park across the street from the cantina.

Anakin was just finishing his tarsh maxer when she finally returned.

“Interesting,” Obi-Wan said when she’d finished her story. “So Magistrate Argente’s in danger, is he?”

“Or at least Riske thinks he is,” Lorana said, her eves holding the wary look of someone bracing herself for a reprimand.

In fact, as Obi-Wan gazed into those eyes, it occurred to him that they seemed to fall into that mode far too naturally.

Apparently, C’baoth’s teaching style was as domineering as the rest of the man’s personality. “But he didn’t seem to think the danger was coming from you or Master C’baoth?”

“No, though he did ask what the Council was up to,”

Lorana said. “But it seemed almost a perfunctory comment, as if it was just natural to assume that the Council was playing politics. I don’t think he would have been so open with me if he’d really thought we were plotting against Argente.”

“You call that being open?” Anakin demanded scornfully. “Hints and threats?”

“Telling her to stay out of his way wasn’t necessarily a threat,” Obi-Wan told him. “Professional bodyguards like Riske always worry about bystanders or well-meaning but amateurish helpers getting in the way.”

“He thinks we’re amateurs?”

“In certain aspects of that job, we are,” Obi-Wan told him bluntly, turning back to Lorana. “So what do you think? Is Argente in danger?”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. C’baoth, he reflected, probably didn’t ask her opinion very often. “I don’t know,” she said. “But feelings are running high about the Corporate Alliance’s efforts to take full possession of the mines.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan said. “Do you know which hotel Argente is staying at?”

“The Starbright,” Lorana said. “It’s about a kilometer east of the city center.”

“Which isn’t the direction Riske was going,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “But it is the direction to Patameene District.”

“Patameene District?” Anakin asked.

“I heard the bartender mention it to him,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s one of the city’s biggest subdivisions, straddling both some very rich and very poor areas. If we’re going to nose around, that would probably be a good place to start.”

“We’re going to help him?” Anakin objected. “I thought the Corporate Alliance was trying to steal the mineral rights from the Brolfi.”

“That’s what the negotiations are supposed to determine,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “At any rate, that’s not our concern. Our job as Jedi is to protect and preserve life across the Republic.”

“I don’t know,” Lorana said hesitantly. “Master C’baoth wasn’t very happy to find you two here. He might not like us interfering in matters this way. Riske and his people seem to be on top of things—shouldn’t we let them handle it?”

“Who’s interfering with anything?” Obi-Wan askedblandly as he stood up. “We’re going on a tour of the city, just as Master C’baoth suggested. If we happen to run into some trouble, that’s hardly our fault.”

It was a ten-minute walk to the nearest edge of Patameene District. Obi-Wan kept his eyes moving as they walked, hoping to spot Riske in the crowd. But having been caught once, the bodyguard was apparently too cagey to let it happen again.

“This should be the edge of the district,” he said as they reached a low decorative stone wall and passed through a pedestrian archway. “Anakin, remember that we’re just here to look around.”

“Sure,” Anakin said, his eyes already sweeping the area, his sense that of a hunting darokil straining at its leash.

“Okay if I go ahead a little?”

“All right, but not too far,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t want you getting lost.”

“I won’t.” Slipping between a pair of Karfs, the boy ducked into the crowd.

“You sure he’ll be all right?” Lorana asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan assured her. “He’s a little reckless, but he’s strong in the Force and generally behaves himself.”

“You must have great confidence in him,” Lorana murmured.

Obi-Wan gave her a sideways look. There’d been an odd wistfulness in her tone just then. “C’baoth doesn’t have as much confidence in you, I take it?”

“Master C’baoth has had several Padawans in his lifetime of service to the Jedi Order,” she said, her voice going carefully neutral. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan said. “He does have a rather overpowering personality, though, doesn’t he?”

“His reputation is well earned,” she said, again clearly picking her words carefully. “He’s skilled and knowledgeable and intelligent. I’ve learned a great deal from him.”

“Though he’s also perhaps a little too demanding?”