Covalent Bonds

Chapter 12

"Let's get a drink, Ferus."

"All right. I could go for some bubblezap." Ferus fished out two credits, but Anakin waved him back.

"I mean something hard."

"Like hard cider?"

"Hard liquor." 

"Oh. All right, let's get something before we sit down."

Since the Uscru Entertainment District contained both the Galaxies Opera House that they were entering and also the crime-ridden intersection of Daring Way and Vos Gesal Street, Ferus was unsurprised to see a few illegal liquors at various kiosks scattered throughout the mezzanine. Anakin had the look of someone half-afraid of exploring but determined to do so anyway. 'Aitha Protein Drink' proclaimed one kiosk and Ferus eyed it yearningly. Anakin seemed determined to shop, however, and Ferus followed in his wake. The 'Breath of Heaven' booth had the most tasteful sign and the most expensive prices. A plain booth made of smooth planks over wooden barrels held a hand-lettered sign. "'Single-celery soda'?" asked Ferus doubtfully.

"Ferus, that's something only Obi-Wan might try."

Something in the way that Anakin said his Master's name alerted Ferus that all might not be well in the Kenobi-Skywalker home. He followed Anakin along the mezzanine lobby, not really looking for anything in particular but not averse to trying different sensations, either. I'm a Knight. I can handle new things. He watched as Anakin seemed torn between two selections: Vayerbok on tap and Alderaan Ruge. The former was a vegetable-based beverage which did not fit Ferus' conception of 'hard liquor,' though perhaps Anakin knew something about all this that he did not, while the latter appeared an elegant red liquor served in plasticine tumblers. In for a credit, in for a snarg. "I'd like to sample your Vayerbok, please," someone with his voice asked. A beringed female hand that looked mostly human drew down a tap and an opaque mug filled quarter-full with a sludge of drink the color of Ferus' everyday tunic.

Anakin spun with a little laugh. "Now I've tampered with your virginity."

Ferus waggled his generous eyebrows at that. "You'll never know." He smiled as he downed a large swallow. "Here, try." He kept his hand securely thrust through the handle and curved around the mug's rondeur, because he was afraid he might drop it as a blast of inebriation detonated below his diaphragm. Should have eaten before we came. Anakin steadied Ferus' hand and guided the mug to his lips, finishing the sample. "Good, huh?" Ferus said brightly as Anakin's fingertips seemed to brand his.

Anakin licked his lips. "'Vegetable-based'?" he quoted the glowing sign. I picked my first drink because it sounded innocuous. "I can't imagine the vegetable that would produce this."

"Protato. Y've huhd o' protatos?" The barkeeper's voice was deathstick-husky, and as she leaned around her tall rack of drying mugs, Anakin saw her tattooed ears, 'Kessel' defined neatly on the left one and 'Survivor' on the right. She had a proud look, and Anakin could only guess at the fortitude she'd displayed in the mines and the cleverness with which she'd escaped them. If he had had on headgear, he would have tipped it to her. As it was, he bowed.

"Enlighten us, please. We're new to this."

"Eh, naht much t'tell. Protatos git fermented, enzymed, thee-yun halfway distilled t'this mush. 'N that's that." She got busy with another customer.

"Anakin, I'll pass on this, but if you want some --- "

"I'll pass, too." Anakin took the mug from Ferus' numb hand and placed it on the counter, bowing to the bartender even though she did not see the courtesy. "Let's try the Ruge."

Across the walkway, at least one hundred meters by Ferus' reckoning though it only took eight steps, stood the Ruge booth. Ferus decided not to swallow what Anakin was offering. He would swish it around in his mouth to taste it and then stage a coughing fit, dispersing the fluid in his handkerchief. He had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at his idea.

Anakin gauged if he would need to care for Ferus later, then reminded himself that they both were Jedi and could handle the effects of liquor, if they were moderate drinkers. I didn't feel anything with that brew. And I want to feel something. Anakin watched as the clear red stream filled a plasticine tumbler engraved with Alderaan's royal family's crest. He thanked the Rodian bartender. The liquor was smoky with a lingering aftertaste. Anakin took another sip. Nice. Smooth. Obi-Wan would like this. But Obi-Wan had not touched any intoxicant for over two years. "One for me, and Ferus, what did you decide?"

Wanna sippy. "Half a splash to try, but it looks beautiful, and, and, red, and beautiful. Anakin, this was a great idea!" Ferus brushed back his forelock, changed his plan and stuck his tongue into the redness, running his tongue around his teeth and smacking his lips noisily. He inhaled several deep breaths, the Force tickled him and he laughed. "I'll take a serving of it. This stuff."

"He'll take half a glass. Here." A tiny portion of Anakin's monthly stipend had gone for this, their tickets were free and he was going to see Padmé swim. And Jar-Jar. Vagger, too, I suppose. Oh, well. It's for sweet charity. Their seats were directly in front of the shield-emitters that held in the two-meter depth of water for the performance. The emitters made no sound, no color, and Ferus and Anakin both had the impression that they would be washed away with the slightest wave. They giggled as they settled. The seats had been upgraded since the last time Anakin had been here. As Sidious' guest. Ugh. He took a good swallow of his drink.

"Master Yoda's in this?" Ferus could scarcely believe it. Even though the Code's revision had percolated to all branches of Jedi, even the Jedi Service Corps, the notion of his aged first teacher swimming in a public demonstration knocked all effects of the brew out of him. He used to swim with us clanmates and I know he's some brand of amphibian or something, but Master Yoda? 'Dignity, always dignity,' had been Ferus' youngling motto, though he had outgrown it. The words remained deep inside him, however, to strengthen his ideals. Ferus knocked back half his drink. "I haven't seen him swim for decades, since I lived at Initiates' Hall."

Anakin took the program from Ferus' limp hand. "'As younglings are bent, so grows their spirit. In the spirit of Jedi and the Republic's philosophy of 'Learn, Then Teach,' Romeo Treblanc presents for your enjoyment a display of aquatic talent to rival the Aqualish. In fact, an Aqualish is among the competition! Senator Gorothin Vagger of the Andoan Free Colonies lends us his expertise, as does Senator Binks of Naboo, a renowned Gungan swimmer. Our own esteemed Vice-Chancellor Amidala, Padmé Naberrie, completes the celebrities here tonight, though we assure you all members of their respective teams are top-notch in the natation field. Tickets may be validated for free speeder parking and please remember to imbibe responsibly. Most of all, GIVE GIVE GIVE to our Jedi Children's Museum Fund. We are nine-tenths of the way there!" Anakin poked Ferus in the arm. "I missed out at being a clanmate. Tell me about it." There were waves of distress coming off Ferus that Anakin didn't need the Force to interpret. As with most things Ferus, they were moderate.

"He showed us how to swim. He'd dive with us from the big waterfall, you know the one, in the Room of One Thousand Fountains, when we were ready. It was kind of a coming-of-age rite. You didn't have to do it, though."

"He helped me to swim, too, and that maillot he always wore made me laugh."

"You didn't call him The Troll, did you?"

Anakin was appalled. "Never! I never would! He's like the entire history of the Order all wrapped in one! Who called him that?"

"We all did." Ferus found Anakin's outrage interesting. "Maybe it's because he knew us as babies, or something. We used to be smaller than he was, then when we outgrew him, he seemed more alien to us."

"Master Yoda's size ... "

" ... matters not." They smiled at each other. "It's starting."

"Hey, look! There's Master Fisto and Master Secura sharing a bag of touchstones." And she's licking some bits off his fingers. Hmmm.

"We can say hello later, Anakin. I think this will be a wonderful spectacle." And so it was. Each swimmer was adorned with similar headdresses and swimsuits, and if their species sported hair, it was slicked back with some sort of gel that defied the water. There was a grand entry, each participant introduced as they swam to the end of the oblong enclosure on their back and made the return trip on the stomach, all the while weaving a pattern around the rim of the shielded waters. Yoda was nowhere to be seen, his appearance some sort of gimmick, Ferus supposed. Or would he make a token bow, perhaps a shallow dive, then retreat to comment upon or judge the competition? Ferus hoped so.

Padmé's glitter makeup accentuates her eyes. Jar-Jar's doesn't look half as good. Senator Binks halted in tandem with his team, hoisted Padmé out of the water, spun with her in his arms. He may have been clumsy, but here he was well-rehearsed and it didn't show. Padmé beamed such a smile that Anakin thought it could power her Torpedo vehicle for a week. As the evening wore on and teams formed and reformed, the amateurs made only random errors or perhaps were a bit slow with their lifts. Their team of twelve portrayed all the technical poses with seeming ease as they demonstrated sculling, headstands, leg extensions and the like. Then they split in groups of four to join Padmé, Jar-Jar and Gorothin, who directed the teams thus formed in intricate maneuvers for the free variation segment. Anakin still couldn't see where Master Yoda would come in. Was the program a lie to induce the curious to come and contribute out of duty? He wouldn't put it past Treblanc.

Ferus was the first to spot Yoda. "He's coming up under Amidala, see? He must have been there in the middle all along. I didn't know he could hold his breath that long." No one knows his capabilities, really. They observed Yoda place Padmé's feet on each of his shoulders, using the Force to rise slowly from the waters until he appeared to be standing on top of them. If Ferus had worried about the aged Jedi playing in an undignified manner, he needn't have. Yoda neither smiled nor simpered to the crowd. Like the stalwart being he was, he supported Padmé and as soon as the audience perceived his presence, there was a moment of still recognition of his power. Padmé, too, sobered as she held out her hands beseechingly.

"Please give generously. For the younglings." That ended the program, and as Ferus drained the very last of his delicious drink, he reflected that Yoda's appearance had much to do with the contribution meter which now showed eleven-twelfths to goal. It had been worth it, though the image of Master Yoda's soaked skin-tight maillot of finest Pasmin wool would stay with him for some time. The suit needed internal support for his physique. He turned to Anakin to point out the amusing flaw, but Anakin waved to a roving server-droid and ordered another Ruge.

Later that night ...

Yoda leaned more heavily on his stick than he had in months. Steps, many more steps, take a breather ... no. Keep on. Down labyrinthine corridors, around curves, past mysterious rooms whose purpose he barely recalled, the Jedi made his way to the utmost depths of the Temple. An ancient inscribed door accepted his palmprint and creaked open. "Activate clerk."

"Please state the nature of your request." The voice seemed to come from everywhere. A counter similar to the Quartermaster's station rose half a meter above Yoda's fuzzy head.

"Artifact Number Six." With a creak and a squeal, pincers rolled along an overhead track to a place in the room far from Yoda's sight. Four minutes passed. Yoda used the time to bend forward and back, side to side, and rose on his three toes to stretch muscles scorched from use. The pincers returned carrying a cylinder of heavy limp material, tagged holographically with its number. The pincers lay the cylinder on the long counter. It lopped off the end of the worn metal expanse, its nearly four-meter length betraying its weight by settling to the floor amid a dusty thump.

"Will you need flunkies for your transport of the object? Sensors indicate your height and object's weight incompatible for ease of motion."

Protocols, far out of date they are. "Flunkies, need I none. Anti-gravs, we use now."

"Master Yoda?" The voice centered now on a speaker directly over Yoda's head. He heard a snap! as he automatically tilted his head up to address the speaker, then chastised himself for neglecting to respect his nine hundred year-old body. He returned to staring at the edge of the counter.

"I am."

"How goes the War? Did we intercept Stark?" If there was enthusiasm in the voice, it had been gleaned from its programmer, Madame Nu, the Archives Master and the maintainer of this storeroom. Younger and enthused she was many years ago. Maintained this room well, she has not.

"Stark, joined the Republic forces, he did. The War is over." Some day soon, if his plan succeeded, he could say that about the current war. Picayune, the Stark Hyperspace War seems now. How much more is at stake today.

"Master Tholme did not mention that."

"Our Spymaster, what did he in this room?" No such assignment did I give him.

"Data restricted." The voice managed to sound apologetic. Yoda knew no glare would help his cause. He drew himself up to his full height, ignoring the popping sounds from his overworked back.

"Yoda, I am."

"Data restricted." With a grunted farewell to the voice, Yoda drew one hand alongside the cylinder's one-meter-high rim that dangled from the counter. The cylinder straightened and floated behind him as he trundled out of the room and back the way he came. Frivolous use of the Force this is not. Tired of swimming and of mysteries, I am.

TBC

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