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Anakin closed his eyes as the transport drifted through the air and pretended he was flying. Not flying a crummy, dented airbus that couldn’t even leave Coruscant’s atmosphere, but a real starship, Corellian maybe, brand new and faster than anything. It would take him anywhere, from one side of the Galaxy to the other. First, of course, he’d go back home–
“The present, Anakin,” a quiet voice said from his right. Obi-Wan’s.
Anakin opened his eyes. “Sorry, Master.”
Obi-Wan always knew when he was daydreaming. Anakin supposed he wasn’t entitled much to daydreams anymore. Daydreams were for little kids on Tatooine, not for Jedi apprentices. But still, he missed flying, and nothing could change that.
Anakin turned his head toward the smeared window of the shuttle and gazed out over the city, the thousands of ships and speeders moving in straight skylines over and between the grey towers of Coruscant. Coruscant was all he’d seen since Obi-Wan had taken him from Naboo to the Temple to begin his formal training, almost four months before. Sometimes it was hard for him to believe he’d lived on Tatooine at all; and Naboo seemed like a dream. But the homesickness for both worlds and for the people who lived on both left him aching at times. If only he could have a ship and fly...
“Anakin, I can feel your mind drifting again,” Obi-Wan said, a little more sternly.
“Sorry, Master.” The boy bit his lip, frustrated with himself. If he could engage his master in conversation maybe he wouldn’t daydream so much, but Obi-Wan frowned on what he called Anakin’s “idle chatter,” and insisted that Anakin learn to cultivate “inner tranquility.” Anakin was not sure exactly what inner tranquility was, but Obi-Wan seemed to believe that he was a long way from achieving it.
“Don’t be sorry. Be mindful.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I know life isn’t always a pod race, my Padawan, but try and keep awake anyway,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. Anakin smiled back. He was only just beginning to appreciate Obi-Wan’s occasional half-serious, half-joking ways of talking, even if sometimes he got the feeling that his master was making fun of him. Anakin appreciated any smile from Obi-Wan really, though he’d never tell him that.
All in all, Anakin liked being Obi-Wan’s apprentice. Obi-Wan was smart and powerful and Anakin knew he was lucky to have him for a teacher. But being his apprentice wasn’t always easy. Obi-Wan might not have been much like Watto as far as temperment, but like Watto he was demanding and never afraid to tell Anakin when he screwed up. Sometimes he even seemed downright annoyed.
Obi-Wan craned his neck to look out of a window at a landing platform below. “We’re here...a little late though. I didn’t expect traffic would be so bad. I hope Senator Antilles doesn’t mind.”
“We’re Jedi,” Anakin said cheerfully, glad that a conversation had been kindled. “He won’t mind.”
“Yes, and don’t forget that you’re a Jedi. I want you on your best behavior for this party.”
“It’s a party? I thought it was a dinner.”
“It’s a dinner party.” The slight edge to the Jedi’s voice hinted that Anakin was asking too many questions again.
Anakin frowned. He’d always thought parties were supposed to be fun, and didn’t see how anything involving Senators, who always wore stiff robes and stiff expressions, and used a lot of big words Anakin couldn't always understand, could be fun in any sense of the word. Parties in Mos Espa usually took place late at night under the stars, and consisted of wild dancing and singing and laughter. Anakin’s mom had never let him go to any of those parties, saying that they weren’t places for little boys, but sometimes Anakin had snuck a peek or two walking home after being kept late by Watto. They looked like a lot of fun.
“Why are we coming to this, anyway?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan had been spending a lot of time in the Senate lately as a Jedi advisor, and as his apprentice Anakin had to tag along all the time and try to learn about government and politics and how the Republic worked. He understood that as a Jedi he had to have such knowledge, but he didn’t want to spend any more time than he had to listening to politicians drone on about regulations and taxes and amendments to this or that.
“We are going primarily so you can practice your social skills,” Obi-Wan answered. “It’s important to learn them when you’re young. Secondly, we’re going because Senator Antilles is a good friend of mine. Politicians aren’t exactly my cup of tea, but– ”
“You’ve got friends?” Anakin interrupted, amazed. He quickly checked himself. “Oh, sorry, Master. But, I mean, you have friends that aren’t Jedi?”
“Yes, and some in fairly unlikely places,” Obi-Wan answered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Can I meet all of them?”
“If the Force guides you to them,” Obi-Wan answered with a smile.
When their transport landed they stepped into an elevator and rode up several floors. Bail Antilles, Senator of Alderaan, lived with his family in the very top of Olaan Tower, at least when they were staying on Coruscant and not their home planet. Anakin had never been to the private residence of a Senator.
“Is this gonna be real fancy?” he asked with some trepidation as the lift doors opened and they exited onto the tower’s main balcony.
Obi-Wan looked thoughtful. “Senator Antilles likes to bring out the fine china, but this won’t be any Chandrillan royal ball.” Seeing the uncomprehending look on Anakin’s face, he smiled patiently. “You’ll be fine with the manners you’ve already learned. No one will expect any more from you. But I-“
“But you still want me on my best behavior, right?” Anakin asked with a grin.
“Right,” Obi-Wan said. “And remember, if you don’t know what to say, it’s best to say as little as possible.”
Anakin nodded as they moved across the tower’s front balcony toward the house down a pleasant little walkway surrounded by lush, flowering plants. Anakin studied them curiously. But then something better caught his eye.
“That’s a wizard air speeder, Master!” he said, pointing toward the landing platform on the other side of the small garden. “Is that the Senator’s? Does he have a starship too?”
“Most senators do,” Obi-Wan replied.
“Do you think he’d let me see his speeder up close?”
“Perhaps you can ask him on the way out,” Obi-Wan told him. “But I don’t want you pestering him about it.”
Anakin pouted. Obi-Wan always acted like Anakin was one step away from misbehaving, especially when they were out in public. “I’m not gonna pester him, Master.”
They came to the front door. Obi-Wan gestured to a button to the side. “Ring the bell, will you?”
Anakin pressed the button and a few seconds later a slot in the middle of the door opened, and what was unmistakably a camera stared out at them. Anakin smiled up at it, expecting it to address him and Obi-Wan. It was, however, apparently satisfied with what it saw for the slot closed and the front door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman in a long light gray dress.
“Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, I presume?” she asked, looking at both of them with cool interest. “Good evening. Come in please. May I take your cloak, Master Kenobi?”
They had stepped into a polished entry way, lined on either side with tall vases of bright flowers and delicately painted works of art showing tall snowy mountains and green meadows of the Antilles’ native Alderaan. The place had a regal feel, but also an air of gentleness. Anakin liked it.
“I’ll keep it on, thank you,” Obi-Wan said.
“Yes, sir.” She turned to Anakin with a warm smile.
“What’s your name?” Anakin asked.
“My name is Veera. I’m Senator Antilles’ housekeeper,” she said pleasantly.
“Are you from Alderaan too? Do you like it there?”
She nodded, seemingly pleased by his questioning. But Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Enough questions for now, young one.”
Anakin frowned. Obi-Wan had said that he wanted Anakin to practice his social skills, but now he was telling him to be quiet. Wasn’t making conversation normal at a party? He looked up at his master, expecting further explanation, but Obi-Wan gave none.
“This way please,” Veera said breezily. “The seating has just begun. I’ll take you into the dining room.”
It looked as if they were among the last guests to arrive. Around a large oval table were seated fifteen or sixteen adults of varying ages, most of them humanoid, all of them quite respectable looking and well dressed. Anakin straightened reflexively and tugged on his tunic to get the wrinkles out.
“Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, have arrived,” Veera announced to the room. Most everyone looked up from their drinks and their conversation to nod politely and smile. But Senator Antilles was on his feet in an instant.
“Obi-Wan,” he said affably, striding over to the Jedi and his apprentice. “How are you? I’m so glad you accepted our invitation.”
Obi-Wan bowed before giving the senator his hand. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Since that fiasco on Calraz. I still don’t know how you tied that one up. Anyway, I’m happy to spend time with you during less trying circumstances.”
“Likewise.”
“Congratulations on your knighting. I was sorry to hear of Master Jinn’s death, though.”
Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan curiously, wondering how his master would respond. He’d barely mentioned the death of his master at all since Naboo, and Anakin had learned not to bring it up anymore. Obi-Wan always tightened his lips and said something about how pointless it was to dwell on past losses, before changing the subject.
“His loss was painful for all of us,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “Senator, I’d like you to meet my new Padawan learner, Anakin Skywalker.”
“Pleased to meet you, Anakin,” Senator Antilles said, extending his hand.
Anakin moved to take the senator’s hand before realizing he should probably bow first, but the senator took it and started shaking it before he could pull it back, so Anakin settled for a nod instead, hoping Obi-Wan would be happy enough with that display. He decided to make up for the gaff by at least sounding like a true Jedi.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Senator. And I’m much indebted to your graciousness and hospitality this evening.”
Much to his dismay, Senator Antilles threw his head back and laughed. “Ha ha! Someone’s already beginning to sound like his old master.”
Outraged, Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, who looked like he was trying to keep from laughing. Anakin’s low rank prevented him from making any declarations of indignation, but he could glower all the same, and he did; first at Obi-Wan, then at the floor.
A true politician, the senator regained his composure quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Anakin. I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”
“Yes, sir,” Anakin said. He wanted to ask why it was so funny that he should sound like Obi-Wan. That’s what he was trying to do. Obi-Wan always said he should watch him and learn from him, and model his behavior and speech after his. What was so funny about that? Still, he couldn’t help but forgive the smiling senator. He was genuine and friendly and probably hadn’t meant any harm. Adults just acted weird sometimes.
“Well, it’s nearly time for dinner. Anakin, Veera will show you to the children’s table. That’s all right, isn’t it?” The senator addressed the question to Obi-Wan. “Alderaanian custom, you know, but other arrangements can be made.”
“It’ll be fine, I’m sure,” said Obi-Wan.
“You’ll meet my daughters,” Antilles said, once again smiling at Anakin. “The oldest is around your age.”
The prospect of dining only in the presence of children intrigued Anakin. He was sure Obi-Wan had not had that in mind for him. Veera appeared again and Anakin followed her into an adjoining room, separated from the main dining area by a silky blue curtain hanging from an archway. A small oval table stood in the middle of this room, laden with covered serving dishes and as of-yet empty plates and bowls. Anakin counted eight chairs lined carefully around the table, but only one was occupied.
A girl around Anakin’s age dressed in a glittery pale blue tunic-dress sat at one of the ends. Her pointy face was wearing a cross expression, and she sat stiffly with her bare arms folded across her chest, starring at Anakin.
“Oh, dear,” Veera sighed. “Lada, where are the others? I thought I told them to sit down.”
“You did,” the girl said flatly. “Praha got the idea into her head to show them her nena-cat. I couldn’t stop them.”
Veera looked flustered. “All right. Anakin, go ahead and sit down next to Lada.” She gestured vaguely toward the table and then bustled out of the room, the curtain flapping behind her. Anakin sat down obediently, mustering a smile at the girl, who did not return it.
“That,” she said, after a few seconds of icy silence, “was not much of a proper introduction, don’t you think?”
“What?” Anakin asked.
“Veera didn’t introduce us!” said Lada impatiently. “It’s because we’re children. They think we’re not important. That’s why they stick us in here.”
“Oh,” Anakin said. He hadn’t really thought about it like that.
“Aren’t you the Jedi boy? Anakin Skywalker?”
Anakin nodded. “Yep.”
Lada frowned. “I thought so. Your clothes are plain enough.”
Anakin looked down at his clean white tunic and pants. He’d never thought of them as plain. They were the nicest clothes he’d ever had, and they didn’t scratch like his old ones on Tatooine.
“All Jedi were clothes like these,” Anakin said.
“Well, anyway,” the girl continued as if she hadn’t heard. “I’m Lada Antilles. My father is Alderaan’s senator.”
“I met him,” Anakin said. He wondered how such a nice man could have such a snobby daughter, and he might have said it out loud if he hadn’t thought that this was the type of girl who might tattle on him. A girl from Mos Espa might just try and punch him in the nose, and the girls at the Jedi Temple probably would stare at him coldly, both of which would have been okay, but Anakin could not stomach the idea of being tattled on by some prissy girl. He decided to change the subject.
“So, you live here?”
“Of course I live here.”
Anakin didn’t have the chance to respond because six giggling children burst into the room and descended on the table with all the grace of a herd of banthas. They were younger than Anakin and Lada, all between the ages of around five and eight, and clearly had no pretenses about acting accordingly. Lada shouted a few times before they finally settled down and Veera came in to serve the food. Anakin watched the younger children as they chattered happily about new toys and trips to faraway worlds, and felt wistful. Lada’s little sister, Praha, was particularly bubbly and reminded Anakin of Senator Antilles. He attempted to converse with them, but either they were intimidated by his age or his Jedi status (possibly both) and did not exactly welcome him into their clique.
“You’re using the wrong fork, I hope you know,” Lada said. Anakin had not yet finished his third bite of broiled vegetables.
Anakin looked down at the table. He’d grabbed the fork closest to his plate, as had seemed natural. He was beginning to wish he’d been seated next to Obi-Wan, so he could watch what his master did and copy him. Eating at the children’s table was proving to be less fun than Senator Antilles had made it sound.
“Which fork am I supposed to use?” he asked defensively. There were two others next to the plate. All the forks at his place were of differing shapes and sizes, and Anakin had assumed that the choice to use any or all of them was in the hands of the guest.
“That one!” Lada pointed to the fork on the end with her own. “Don’t the Jedi teach you anything?”
Anakin shook his head, amazed at the girl’s ignorance. “We have better things than dumb forks to worry about.”
“You could at least try not to eat so fast,” Lada said. She raised her fork to her mouth and took a tiny bite, as if to show him how to eat properly.
Arguing with this girl seemed futile. Anakin decided that the best course of action was to beat her, or at least match her, at her own game. As he didn’t feel particularly hungry, eating small bites proved easy. He nibbled delicately on his vegetables, then the second course, roasted Nerf in mushroom sauce, taking great care to chew each bite several times and pausing every minute or so to thoroughly wipe his mouth with his napkin. He fought back a smile as Lada frowned at his efforts; the bites she took became reduced to tiny dabs of brown sauce.
Anakin had become so engrossed in the task of slow eating that when he finally tired of his meal, he was surprised to find that he and Lada were the only ones at the table, the other children having fled long ago.
Lada laid down her fork. “How old are you?” she asked suddenly.
“Ten,” Anakin lied. He would actually turn ten in two weeks, but as Jedi didn’t usually mark their birthdays with any sort of celebration, he felt he wasn’t doing any harm by being ten a little early. Besides, he needed every advantage possible for dealing with this girl, age included.
“I’m ten too,” Lada said. “I’ll be going to the Institute next year. Most people have to be twelve, but I did so well on my exams they’re letting me in early.” She sat back in her chair, looking pleased with herself. Anakin had no idea what the Institute was supposed to be; he had the feeling he was already supposed to know.
Although he knew Obi-Wan would not approve, Anakin could not resist an opportunity bragging match. “Can you fly? I’m a great pilot,” he said. “I built a pod and won a race with it.”
“You?” she snorted.
“Yep,” he said, grinning. “I also built my own protocol droid. From scratch.”
Lada rolled her eyes. “Please. What nonsense. I thought Jedi were supposed to tell the truth.”
“We are,” Anakin said. “We also have powers. Didn’t you know?”
She drew herself up importantly in a way that made Anakin shudder with anger. “My governess says Jedi powers are only myth. Jedi are highly trained, but there’s nothing supernatural about them.”
Anakin stared at her, shocked that anyone could believe such a thing when his own powers of the Force, skills no one had ever been able to explain, were so evident. “Like your old governess would know. All Jedi have Force powers. Everyone knows that.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.
“There’s no such thing as the Force.”
What blasphemy! “There is so!”
“Prove it then,” Lada said, carelessly running her hand over her smooth black braid.
“What?” Anakin said. No one had ever asked him to prove his powers, not even his worst enemies. “Well, I can’t. We’re not supposed to use the Force just for show.” Obi-Wan had been very clear on that rule, much to Anakin’s disappointment. He rather liked to impress people.
For the first time that evening, Lada laughed. “Oh. Right.”
Anakin’s teeth clenched involuntarily. No, he thought, forcing himself to take a deep breath and count to ten. I’m a Jedi. I can’t get mad over this.
When he looked at Lada again, she was smiling. She looked almost friendly. “Go on. If you have special powers, show me. Then I’ll believe you. Either show me or admit you lied.”
“Okay,” Anakin said irritably. “If it’ll get you off my back.”
He took another deep breath, calming himself to his very core, feeling the presence of the Force in the room, its ceaseless movement around the two children, through them, in them, everywhere. Anakin looked at Lada’s juice cup, stretched his hand out as if he wanted to take it; but his hand hovered in space, keeping his energy focused, helping him concentrate.
Lift, thought anakin. Lift.
He’d been good at levitation right from the start. Obi-Wan said that soon he wouldn’t even have to think much about it when he wanted to levitate an object, like how you didn’t have to think about walking. You just did it.
The cup lifted until it was level with Lada’s stunned face, and slowly spun in place like a planet. Anakin felt the juice in it sloshing around, and grinned. Setting things down properly was always a little trickier, but Anakin managed to set the juice cup down exactly where it had been, and without splashing any juice around.
He exhaled contentedly and sat back, wearing what he knew to be a smug smile. He didn’t care. He’d earned it. Lada had been put in her place.
She was staring at him, eyes no longer cold and narrow, but wild and bright. “Do something else now, Anakin! That was unbelievable! Go on, do something else.”
“I’m not your performing pet,” Anakin said, though he secretly felt pleased at Lada’s ecstatic request for an encore, and the fact that she had warmed up a little.
“Please?” she said. “I’m sorry I said I didn’t believe you. And I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
The girl’s hopeful expression coupled with Anakin’s love of using the Force crippled whatever hesitations he might have had. “Okay,” he said. “A little more.”
The art of using the Force for fun and foolishness had been practiced by young adepts probably since anyone knew how to use the Force, and the Jedi were no exceptions. Doing so was strictly forbidden, which of course made it all the more attractive to mischief-inclined padawans (when their masters weren’t around). Anakin had only been studying a few months, and was not yet creative as some- the ones who could turn water glasses into bubbling fountains or cut their meat with their minds- but he could levitate things, and that alone was sure to impress any non Jedi.
One by one a few of the dishes rose deliberately and vertically off the table, like ships taking off. Ships, thought Anakin. Yes, they could all be ships. He concentrated as hard as he could, willing them to stay floating in the air, to do what he and the Force told them to. Keeping many objects in the air was more difficult than only one, but Anakin imagined them to be all connected with invisible threads of Force, keeping each other up. That helped. He kept his eyes half closed but could hear Lada’s stifled, gleeful giggles from his right.
His “ships” began to move. Slowly at first they floated, plates and cups and silverware, in straight lines like the aerial traffic of Coruscant. Anakin was doing well, and he was happy. The ships started going faster, breaking from their dull lines and twirling over the table. A serving platter with meat scraps still sticking to it became a space station, and three spoons were commanded to spin around it while a nearby plate became a sun in possession of three cup planets. The display was beautiful as art, really, when one could look past the fact that the artist was working in the medium of dirty dishes.
Anakin did not anticipate that someone would walk in and scream.
If he had, he might’ve braced himself, but as it was his concentration shattered. The invisible threads stretched and snapped, and the dishes tumbled down from their extraordinary places, subjected once again to natural laws. The noise, at least to Anakin’s guilty ears, was remarkable.
Lada let out a little shriek, instinctively covering her head as china rained from the sky. Anakin spun around to see Veera, stiff and eyes bulging, half in the room with the blue curtain draped around her.
Lada sprung from her chair, apparently furious. “Veera! I didn’t ring for you yet!”
It took the housekeeper a second or two to find her voice. “J-Jedi powers– my stars, what a mess! Your father...” But then she threw up her hands and raced back out again.
His breath shaky, Anakin surveyed the damage. Many of the dishes he’d used were broken of course, but when they’d fallen they had also broken a few of the dishes which had been sitting on the table, innocent of the whole affair. Shards of china and crockery littered the table top and the floor, the more sturdy cups were overturned and leaking their contents, and little remnants of food seemed to be stuck everywhere.
“I’m dead,” said Anakin.
“She wasn’t supposed to come in until I rang for her,” Lada fumed. She sounded on the brink of tears.
Anakin stood. “I’m really, really dead.”
Lada made no response, but stomped past him and to the blue curtain where she promptly collided with Obi-Wan Kenobi coming in from the other side. She squeaked, and realizing who the man was, gave Anakin a quick look of sympathy before brushing past him and leaving the boy to his fate.
Thanks, thought Anakin bitterly.
Obi-Wan said nothing. He looked at the mess for a few moments. Anakin watched him as one might watch a krayt dragon from a distance: warily.
“Not a very successful use of the Force,” Obi-Wan said at last.
“No, Master,” Anakin agreed. Obi-Wan didn’t sound mad. That was a good sign. But then, he realized, Jedi controlled their anger. They didn’t fly into rages all the time like Watto. Obi-Wan might very well be furious.
Obi-Wan looked at him, and he looked very serious. “I think we need to have a talk.”
“Um, okay,” Anakin said. He wiped his sweaty palms on his tunic. Obi-Wan turned and left the room, and Anakin followed. The dining room had been emptied of guests, and two droids buzzed around the table, clearing it of dishes. Cheerful conversation drifted in from the next room along with some kind of tinkly, pleasant music. But Obi-Wan led his apprentice in the other direction, back toward the entry hall and to the left, into another, much smaller room, and shut the door behind them with an ominous click.
The room was, in fact, the refresher, although one of the nicest Anakin had ever seen. Technically speaking, they were only standing in the vestibule that led into the lavatory proper, which also looked very nice. On one side of the antechamber a small waterfall streamed down real stones and into a polished basin, surrounded by plants and flowers. It made a lovely gurgling sound, but Anakin could not enjoy it. Not when Obi-Wan was looking at him like *that*. He instinctively backed up as far from Obi-Wan as he could. Past experience had taught him that when confronted by angry adults it was always better to be out of arms reach.
“All right,” said Obi-Wan, sounding more angry than he had before. “Care to tell me what you were thinking?”
Anakin did not in fact care to tell him, but he supposed he had no choice. “Well,” he said, “Lada wanted me to show her the Force, so I showed her some stuff I could do.”
“And what exactly did you do? I could sense you were attempting something quite impressive for your level, but by the time I got to you, it was all over.”
Anakin told him as much detail as he dared about the incident.
“Do you remember what I told you about showing off your powers?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Yes,” said Anakin hesitantly. “But I wasn’t, really. She said she didn’t believe I had powers. She didn’t even believe in the Force!”
“You attempted to levitate several dishes at once and do all manner of frivolous things with them, for no reason other than that you could. If that isn’t showing off, then please tell me what is.”
Anakin gulped. There’d be no pleading ignorance. Time to try apologies.
“I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t mean to do anything bad, and I really didn’t mean to break anything, and I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been startled, honest.”
“The broken dishes are an unfortunate side-effect of your disobedience and carelessness,” Obi-Wan said, sounding to Anakin’s dismay even angrier, “but they are not my main concern. You broke your promise to behave well and you showed disrespect to the home and property of your host, not to mention disrespect to the Force.”
Anakin flushed and dropped his gaze. That was a pretty weighty list of bad stuff. He’d never made Obi-Wan so mad before. “I’m sorry,” he said feebly.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it!” Obi-Wan said, not sounding very glad at all. “I suggest you find a quiet place to sit for the remainder of the evening and think further on this, but I want you to apologize to Senator Antilles first.”
“Is he mad?” Anakin asked.
“It doesn’t matter. Go apologize to him.” Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s back and steered him out of the bathroom foyer, as if Anakin could not be trusted to walk on his own.
They found Senator Antilles standing in the midst of people in the living room, holding a glass of wine and chatting with a tall green person. He spied Anakin and Obi-Wan and smiled, holding up a finger. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Viscount?”
“Senator, I’m sorry I broke your dishes,” Anakin heard himself blurting before the other could speak.
“I just wish I could have been around to see it!” Antilles said. “I suppose I can always watch the security holovids..”
Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, who seemed as grave as ever.
“Did either of my daughters ask you to do what you did?” the Senator asked shrewdly.
“Yes,” said Anakin at once. “Lada. She–”
“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan warningly.
Anakin forged ahead. “She’s really bossy.” It was the wrong thing to say, he knew, especially when Obi-Wan was standing there, but he couldn’t contain his frustration with the girl and felt he had a right to share his feelings with the Senator. He wanted to share them with *someone* who might understand.
Obi-Wan’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Padawan. Enough.”
But Antilles looked thoughtful. “She has a strong will. Even so, Anakin, you can’t make her shoulder all the responsibility. You’re the Jedi apprentice around here.”
“Quite right,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin sighed, feeling incredibly foolish. He glanced to his right and saw two people looking at him and talking, but they looked away when they caught his eyes. Stupid party.
“Well,” the Senator said, as if wanting to wrap up this incident. “No real harm was done. Those dishes weren’t worth very much, so don’t worry about the cost, Obi-Wan. He gave them both a quick smile and a nod to show that the matter was settled.
“I think,” said Obi-Wan quietly, after Senator Antilles had turned away, “that you’d better start thinking very carefully about your decisions this evening.” He nodded toward the balcony. Anakin got his meaning.
“Yes, Master.”
“And we’ll be talking more about this later, I assure you.”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin repeated very quietly. He shuffled miserably out onto the open balcony and down its short staircase to a lower level where there was a little garden full of sweet smelling green plants. Anakin sighed and plopped himself down on a bench, staring out across the wide, gleaming city planet as it sparkled in the night.
Now Obi-Wan hated him. What had he been thinking anyway, using the Force like that, just to impress some dumb girl? That stupid Lada– she’d probably tried to get him in trouble by tempting him like this. Undoubtedly that had been her plan all along: just saying she didn’t believe in the Force in order to rile Anakin up and make him break his master’s rules.
Someone’s light shoes were padding on the stone steps behind him. He turned his head. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want? I’m already in enough trouble.”
Lada held a small plate of cake toward him, looking awkward. “I- I just wanted to say sorry. When I said I didn’t believe in Jedi powers, that really...it really wasn’t the whole truth.” She ducked her head.
“I knew it!” Anakin said, springing from the bench. “You just wanted to get me in trouble.”
She shook her head frantically, still holding the plate of cake stretched out toward him. “I really didn’t! I just, well I’ve never met a Jedi before. I was afraid to ask you to show me what you could do...because it’s silly to ask that sort of thing. My father says Jedi are terribly serious.”
Anakin stared at her, not knowing what to think.
“My father said I should take you some cake,” Lada said, taking another step toward him. Anakin took the plate.
“I’m just a kid, you know.”
Lada giggled sudddenly, a strange sound. Anakin took a bite of the cake. It was sweet, very sweet, and tasted a little like how the plants in the garden smelled. He imagined that it was how Alderaan smelled.
“Will you build me a droid sometime?” Lada asked, a hint of her former bossiness returning to her voice.
“What kind of droid does a girl like you need?” Anakin asked thickly through another mouthful of cake. It was very good. One didn’t get cake like that at the Jedi Temple.
“Something fun,” she said, “and small.”
“Sure, okay.” Anakin was still a little bit mad at Lada, but something just wouldn’t let him say no to most people when they asked things of him. And even though she was kind of a weird girl, he could tell she wasn’t all bad. She’d probably make a good politician, at least.
“Do you want to come see my room?” Lada asked.
Anakin shook his head. “I don’t think I can. I’m supposed to stay out here. Master Obi-Wan is mad at me.”
“Do you want some more cake, then?”
“Okay.”
Lada returned a couple minutes later with a huge slice of cake, another flavor, and a scoop of something cold beside it. He dipped his finger in the mound cautiously and put it to his mouth. It was sweet and rich tasting.
“Haven’t you ever had ice cream?” Lada asked. Anakin shook his head, but scooped up another bite of the stuff with his spoon.
He didn’t get another bite of it though, because he lost what remained of his appetite when he heard familiar boots on the stone stairs behind him. Anakin put the plate down guiltily. He had a feeling Obi-Wan had not been intending him to sit out on the balcony eating cake and ice cream with the Senator’s daughter instead of seriously contemplating his crimes.
“We’re leaving, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said simply.
Anakin rose from the bench, leaving his plate where he’d been sitting. He looked at Lada. “Well, bye.”
He began to follow Obi-Wan toward the backdoor, but as soon as they got to the top of the step’s the girl’s voice called out from the balcony. “M-master Jedi!”
At once Obi-Wan turned and looked down at her, and Anakin followed suit, resting his elbows on the stone railing. Even in the dim light, he could see how large and pleading Lada’s eyes had become. She looked very different from how he remembered her during dinner.
“Master Jedi, it wasn’t Anakin’s fault. Not all of it. Please don’t punish him too badly.”
Anakin looked from Lada to his master in amazement. Obi-Wan’s expression remained blank, but he said, “Thank you. Anakin will be dealt with fairly.”
What did he mean by that, Anakin wondered. It seemed to him that it could be taken either ominously or hopefully.
They said goodbye to the senator, who smiled kindly and forgivingly at Anakin and invited the two Jedi back to his home for a private luncheon sometime. This was a good sign, Anakin thought. It meant he had not screwed up too badly. Obviously Obi-Wan had commendable taste in friends, if they were all as forgiving and understanding as Senator Antilles.
Obi-Wan did not speak the entire trip from the Senator’s residence to the Temple, and Anakin thought it a good idea to keep his own mouth shut as well. He stared out the window of their transport, glumly wondering whether Obi-Wan was meditating on something horrible to do to him. He’d heard padawans in the Temple talking about strict punishments they’d received for misbehavior. It was the not-so-fun side of Jedi training, he supposed. At least Jedi are fair, Anakin thought, trying to comfort himself. Not like Watto. And, he mused, his mom had been pretty strict sometimes, because she cared about him. But could Obi-Wan be as understanding as Mom?
***
Obi-Wan wondered just what in the stars he had gotten himself into. He stole a glance at the obviously nervous little boy sitting beside him looking out of the transport window and fidgeting.
Why did I agree to train him?
Because Qui-Gon asked me, came the answer. Obi-Wan had asked this question and gotten the same answer for what felt like a thousand times in the past few months. Surprisingly, he felt comfort in the answer. Because Qui-Gon asked me. It was as simple as that. Denying the request, the order, had not been an option; not then and not now.
Obi-Wan had always thought he’d have a padawan someday; he’d imagined himself with a centered, intelligent boy of the sort the Temple produced with predictable ease. Who could have believed he’d end up with a prodigious slave-boy from the Outer Rim who’d never had a day of training in his life? The thing was, Obi-Wan had been brought up to believe in destiny. He knew one’s destiny was not to be cast aside if one found it distasteful. And training Anakin, he’d come to believe, was his destiny. Obi-Wan was not sure how much he trusted in his own skill, but he did trust in the Force. He had no choice now but to trust it, and to trust Qui-Gon.
As their transport neared the Temple, Obi-Wan wondered if the Force guided masters in how to discipline their errant padawans. He’d been raised to believe that the Force guided everyone in everything (if they bothered to listen), but as it was he wasn’t getting any particular messages. Thankfully Anakin seemed to know better than to cause more trouble, and Obi-Wan was finding that he wasn’t feeling quite so irritated with the boy. He decided to turn off his wondering mind and let things come naturally. It was what Qui-Gon would have advised him to do. He knew that for certain.
It wasn’t too late yet, and the Temple was still fairly active. Obi-Wan and Anakin entered the main entrance hall to find several Jedi and padawans lingering, absorbed in conversation. On a normal evening Obi-Wan might have tarried a bit with them, but he was in no mood for fellowship now. He moved quickly around Jedi, making a bee-line for the lifts, and noticing vaguely that Anakin was practically jogging in order to keep up.
He probably thinks I’m furious with him, Obi-Wan thought, and slowed his pace.
Sure enough, as they arrived at their own quarters and the door to the living area was shut firmly behind them, Obi-Wan noticed the unmistakable look of dread on Anakin’s face.
“You look as though you’re trapped in a wild rancor pen,” Obi-Wan pointed out after a few moments of heavy silence. It probably wasn’t a very good, masterly thing to say. Anakin looked up at him, confused.
“How much trouble am I in?” he asked shrewdly.
*Good question* Obi-Wan thought. The boy obviously expected some sort of sanction. Anakin may not have been raised among the Jedi, but he had the same trapped, guilty expression that younger padawans always had when they knew they’d done something wrong and were about to answer for it. Anakin had a strong conscience, which Obi-Wan hoped would make discipline easier.
But Obi-Wan hadn’t yet talked to his padawan about consequences. Somehow, he’d been naive enough to think they wouldn’t need to discuss that unpleasant subject. Of course it was stupid; Anakin may have had a strong conscience, but he had a strong will to match, and a somewhat reckless streak as well.
“Tell me what you did wrong,” Obi-Wan said. “In your own words.”
“I wasn’t careful with the Force, Master. I showed off. I shouldn’t have done that at a Senator’s house. Jedi don’t do stuff like that. You told me to behave well, and I didn’t.”
“That’s right,” Obi-Wan said, pleased with the response. Anakin’s answer had been none too poetic, but the boy had managed to list off everything Obi-Wan would have called him on. Obi-Wan realized that he did not always remember how perceptive his young padawan was, beneath his youthful enthusiasm. Truthfully, he’d expected to have to have a longer conversation with the boy about what he’d done wrong, but he could think of nothing more to say. It was all rather cut and dry, really.
Now what? He asked himself, regarding the boy with what he hoped was a stern but patient expression. If Obi-Wan as a boy had committed such a transgression it would have surely meant severe chastisement, but he was hesitant to subject Anakin to such, at least not right then. Obi-Wan had been raised to know better from an early age. Anakin was still learning what was expected of him. Best to let him become more used to the Jedi way, a little at a time.
It was getting late, and he’d have to make a decision quickly. Obi-Wan did not want to drag this out. “It seems to me you already have a good idea of what you did wrong. I trust you won't something like it again."
Anakin grinned up at him. "I won't. Can I put together my new model ship?"
"Absolutely not. It's close to midnight. It's time for bed."
"Aw," Anakin pouted. Bedtime was a hard ask as far as he was concerned. But even he knew he didn't have much leverage with Obi-Wan at the moment. "Can I put it together tomorrow?"
"Maybe," sighed Obi-Wan, needing some well-earned time to himself. "Now, good night to you."
Anakin fairly danced out of the room, likely fueled by cake, being up too late and the relief of having gotten out of trouble. The door hissed closed behind him and Obi-Wan was left in the silence. For about 30 seconds. The door hissed open again and Anakin was back.
"Master," he said. "I just wanted to ask you something."
"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, rubbing his temple.
"Is there a wrong fork?"
Obi-Wan blinked at his apprentice. That had certainly not been what he'd expected Anakin to ask him. "What?" Anakin started to explain but Obi-Wan held up a hand to stop him, and said wearily, "You can ask me that in the morning, if it still matters to you then."
"Okay, g'night." Anakin was gone again.
"Well, it can't be long till his trials," Obi-Wan muttered. "Ten years? Fifteen?"
For a moment he thought he heard Qui-Gon's soft laughter. . Obi-Wan smiled to himself, then went to bed.
Fin