Covalent Bonds

Chapter 31

Guhhh ... the scent again ... ohhh ...

"Obi-Wan, look out!" At the muddy base of the stately tree, Anakin saw Obi-Wan's face go momentarily blank six steps up from the ground, saw him miss the tread and fold over into midair. Anakin whirled, arms outstretched, catching his Master neatly at the shoulders and knees.

"Put me down this instant! I'm fine, simply a blast of the desert plum blooms wafted my way -- "

"It was a fall in clear air and I did catch you. This wasn't the incident in my Olanet vision. It couldn't be." Anakin wanted to upend Obi-Wan and shake him, but settled him back on his feet.

You'll be the death of me. "It was all of two meters! Anakin, if you continue to quibble over every interpretation of your vision, I'll, I'll -- "

Zett turned curiously at the tone in the Councilor's mellifluous voice.

" -- I'll spank you," Obi-Wan hissed under his breath. He smiled benignly at the younger Padawan. "Lead on, Zett."

With raised eyebrows and a smirk, Anakin followed Obi-Wan in proper Padawan place into the Temple and remained respectfully silent in the elevator up to the Council's spire. He was in such a good mood that he waved a cheerful goodbye to fellow Padawan Zett. Normally he felt aloof from the younger Padawans. It took Mace of the Windu's stern voice to dampen his amusement. Alone of the three occupants of the room, Anakin stood, arms folded in sleeves, heeding their next assignment.

"Gelgelar. The place with the swamps, riffraff, scum and villainy?" Obi-Wan sniffed. "And the noxious shvash gas?"

Mace sat with his back to the broad windows, his outline defined, his face in shadow. "Shvash gas that is coveted by the Separatists. Master Tholme is still gathering data on the reasons for its use. They're interested in Gelgelar, we're interested in Gelgelar. It's as simple as that." His voice held a smile. "And the capital, Gelgelar Free Port, is on dry ground, Obi-Wan. The only dry ground on the entire planet, probably. Battle droids could not operate in swamps, not unless they used STAPs, but perhaps a small percentage of their troops have such transportation. The cloud cover is such that Tholme's probe droids had difficulties with seeing anything."

"We'll not have much room to maneuver. The city covers nearly all the solid ground, I take it?"

"You'll learn the topography better in the formal briefing" -- Mace waved a datapad -- "but, yes. There are only two hundred fifty square kilometers of solidity in that particular part of Gelgelar. The hill city takes up a great deal of it, but there are some flatlands and a few hills on the fringe of the city with sparse tree cover. The Glarsaur natives won't be looking for us, but the Quarren and other non-native peoples might. Not to mention the Separatist forces." Mace swiveled his chair towards Anakin and Anakin could see the new lines carved by cares near the Korun Master's eyes. The eyes were as rock solid as ever. "Padawan Skywalker, you might not run into sand on Gelgelar, but you might miss it."

Anakin did not know what to say, so he contented himself with a puzzled look.

"It's cold on Gelgelar, and gloomy, and moldy. Some hot sand might come as a relief."

"Master Windu, is this to be a clandestine mission?" Small area in which to operate. We'll not establish a camp. "I haven't gone undercover in a very long while." Anakin, your scar will make you ripe for any pickings, bounty hunter, Separatist covert ops, anyone with a grudge against Jedi. Or against the Chosen One. Obi-Wan thought of Dooku's lightsaber-skilled hands, the ones he was born with, visualized Anakin's mechno-hand and clenched his fists.

We can't, neither of us, go incognito, not without makeovers. Obi-Wan'll refuse to get one. Won't he? "Masters, undercover work isn't feasible -- "

" -- because of our famous faces, my Padawan notices, Mace. You might not be able to pass for anyone else, either, due to Jedi likenesses pasted onto holograms and puzzles and trading holocards."

"A downside to our latest merchandising, true. A price to pay for indirect methods of, of -- " Mace did not often fish for words.

"Skulduggery?" Anakin burst out.

Mace's mouth turned down at the corners. "I would not put Master Yoda's plan in such terms. This is war. We use subterfuge as well as direct combat." He paused. "'Chicanery,' perhaps, is a more appropriate word. I always thought the Troll was sneaky."

"Master Yoda deserves our respect, Mace." Obi-Wan held Mace's gaze.

"But not our worship." Mace was firm on that point. "This makes you uncomfortable, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I agree with the Troll's plan. I and my Padawan are ready to implement it in one month. Is this interim mission expected to be more than one week?" Shouldn't think so.

Mace shook his head "One week is all we can afford for you to be gone." I'd pick you for this mission, Councilmember or no. You have the air of command. You'd have to develop it, to control Skywalker all these years. Never have I ever seen such a -- "Padawan, you and your Master will be accompanying a cadre of defecting misfit clones. The cover story is that you'll have joined the group on the fly, hanging onto command protocol by a thread. The Republic is recruiting non-clone officers lately, so you'll fit in. Disguises for you both, Commander Plumb and Captain Alapmi." He handed Obi-Wan the briefing datapad.

"I'm demoted. I understand." Obi-Wan turned on his heel. "You have tenure on the Council. I do not." He halted at the doors. shooting over his shoulder, "Will this disguise involve liposuction?" but Mace only looked inscrutable. It was a stretch from appearing indestructible, as he generally did.

xxxxxxxxx

Is there something about the Outer Rim that invites delays? Tatooine or Gelgelar, Elrood Sector or Airam Sector, here we are, two weeks after our planned pullout date. Obi-Wan shuffled along the chow line in Red Threxa's Boarding House. Mild-tempered for a Saurton, Red operated a fifteen-cred-per-night establishment next to the Shrine of Kooroo, and except for three pilgrims, Obi-Wan and Anakin and the five clones had the run of the place. Two hours ago, while evading a pilgrim's sincere effort to convert him to his faith, Obi-Wan had sidled into the rain-drenched alley, intending to slosh his way to the Slippery Gelgelar Eel cantina across the street. It so happened that he was the first to spot the encroaching fog of shvash gas as it billowed in on the wind. Dashing back inside to warn Red, Obi-Wan was too late; the shoddy pre-fab building's open windows' repulsors were set to 'rain,' not 'rain and fog.' The miasma inundated all porous surfaces on their street before moving along, nauseating humans slightly but making no impact on the golden-scaled Saurton or the red-and-black patterned Glarsaurs. Red, who lived in fear of his species' ability to carry dangerous bacteria to others, had insisted on laundering all his boarders' outer garments immediately, free of charge for the sake of business goodwill. As renegade Republic officers newly without salary, Obi-Wan and Anakin made a show of commanding their clones to comply with the generous offer. After three weeks of acting disgruntled in mufti, the Jedi's and the clones' thespian abilities were up to the challenge.

"You'll do it and like it," snarled Obi-Wan to ARC6754, who managed a glare at his black-haired Captain that would have blistered a sarlaac. Obi-Wan jerked a thumb at Anakin, who stood apart with folded arms, sneering at his so-called troops. "Or I'll sic the Commander on you." With a few more pointed looks, the clones threw their jumpsuits at Red and huddled around the central heating unit. It was an act that could not have passed muster for the Padawan Follies, but it sufficed to convince any onlookers that they were a group held together by little more than habit.

The Shvash Gas Cooperative operator seems shifty to me, but his aura shows only a deep sense of commitment to something beyond himself. That something is Kooroo worship. From passing out holotracts to each member of the Jedi group to leaving his primitive comm unit on to stream religious programming, Vleen Argoe's office and the Glarsaur himself exuded singlemindedness as had few in Obi-Wan's experience. In a forest of shvash gas tanks that echoed in size the obelisks and standing stones of the fabled Shrine, the mobile office was barely large enough to hold a Glarsaur, so Obi-Wan had interviewed Argoe alone in the guise of looking for employment every other day for three weeks, dodging Argoe's swinging tail when necessary. When Argoe turned his attention on Obi-Wan, Anakin and the clones wandered the lot, seemingly curious about its technology, but actually looking for clues.

Obi-Wan was next for the drink table when a brainstorm hit him. He reached up a hand to stroke a non-existent beard, then switched the movement to scratch the black curls behind his ears. The disguise was beginning to annoy him. The Shrine? Could something be in the Shrine? In the guise of soldiers with too much time on their hands, his group had toured the Shrine, giving Anakin and himself a headache in the process. The Shrine reflected Force-sensitives' feelings back to them, confusing Obi-Wan no end when Anakin's remembrances of Padmé bounced between them along their imprinting-enhanced bond. They had observed the Shrine's three levels of enormous rooms, doors, untranslated hieroglyphics and holograms, nodding in the right places at their guide's commentary. Obi-Wan had placed the Shrine on his list of historic places he'd not prefer to return to, but wouldn't a Shrine be a perfect place to conduct clandestine activities? Worshippers engrossed in spiritual pursuits, forbidden by custom to be too curious to unusual sounds? Or perhaps they would attribute the sounds to the mysterious Kooroo, though most thought the entity was a figurehead useful only to bilk payment out of the faithful. Obi-Wan poured himself a Corellian ale.

It felt off the Jedi charts to be thus unclad in the chow line, especially since Anakin was pretending to be female. Luckily, his group were the only humans in Gelgelar Free Port, but even here citizens knew that regulations regarding hair differed for the sexes in the service. It's worth the discomfort to protect my braid, the braid that I've slaved for for nearly fourteen years and will soon lose. Let it be soon. Anakin pressed his arms to his ribs, willing the left breast not to slip again. Red might insist upon laundering their outer clothing, but the sheer informality of his attire bothered Anakin. He noticed that Obi-Wan had lost none of his composure, way up there near the front of the line. Of course. It took more than walking around in his onesy to rattle him.

The clones' undergarments, all the same neat tight knits, were of two pieces, and the men had disposed of their tops in the heating unit's over-efficiency, leaving four pairs of bobbing buttocks stretching ahead of Anakin in the line. Broad muscular backs, all with the same tanned shade of skin, had scars dotting them with distinguishing marks. One clone had had a strip of skin flayed from his waist that showed fresh bacta-pink with a layer of synthflesh slathered on. The man reached around to dig at the shiny synthflesh, scratching as the medtechs instructed them: with the knuckles, no fingernails. Anakin rubbed his scar's covering makeup unconsciously. Yes, synthflesh itched as everything beneath it healed. He caught himself and lowered his hand. Or not. Shuffle along, Anakin. The usual lunch crowd swelled the line with non-boarders, which meant the servers worked doubletime. To have something to do, Anakin ran a self-diagnostic from the inside out: Mood? So-so. Three weeks here with no progress frustrated them all. Senses? He closed his eyes and stretched out. Fine, all clones as one relaxed, yet maximally prepared unit, Obi-Wan's imprinted glow a lamp in Anakin's window of existence. Anakin smiled faintly as he continued his journey inward. Internal physicality? A faint echo of his back injury from Olanet, nothing to worry about. His outward shape? Somewhat ... out of synchronization. He opened his eyes and shifted the plastene tray to his right hand, skimming the left from waving false hair interwoven with his braid to scrupulously shaven chin to padded chest and then belly. Through the undergarment's thin weave, he felt something. Anakin pinched his nearly flat navel and pulled it out as far as he could. There, flab. Yes, there was an eight or perhaps nine-millimeter-thick roll of flab there, despite all this training since prepubescence. The navel itself had none, of course, but around it he palpated a ring of positive sponginess. His mood plummeted. They were both getting a paunch. The toasty togetherness of it all didn't warm him inside like he thought it should.

Anakin was up to the steamtables now. He grabbed utensils, condiment packets, a napkin, Ando baguettes to make his own sandwiches. He poked through the cooler, choosing a drink and perusing the cooler's contents as quickly as possible to avoid backing up the line. Time marched on, bringing physical changes, even for a Jedi, he thought. Too much cheese, Oh-Most-Senior-Padawan. But it's delicious. Too much is ... too much. All right, all right. Once a week, then. You can do better. Every two weeks? Every three weeks. I'll accept that. For now. You're too kind. Anakin replaced the spray container of Neonan red cheese in the cooler. The fifth clone seized it from directly behind him, grinned at him and placed a tiny disciplined smear on his cracker. Anakin jerked a smile back to him and moved along to the plain vegetable tub. He silenced his inner debater by piling on a large heap of yot beans onto his messplate, then defiantly added a knob of butter to the serving. As it drooled down the beans in a melting lava flow, Anakin smirked at himself. Got you. His conscience had better things to do, apparently, because it kept its mouth shut. He found a place with ARC6754 and some others, joining in easily. Obi-Wan did the same at another table. Mingling with the troops, good to get some away-time from Obi-Wan, all the better to have fuel for conversation. If only this mission were going better ...

Meanwhile, back on Coruscant ...

"Separate from our everyday lives, our faith in the Force is, Padmé. Dependent on traditions, yes, our Order is, but separate from the Force itself. That leaves each being free to interpret, as the Force gives each being to interpret, all the ways of the Force." Yoda extended each claw in turn in a luxurious stretch. Too rich for her intellect still, the ways of the Dathomiri and other Force-sensitive groups. In her, I find youth and simplicity again.

Padmé couldn't suppress a sigh. "Lately, I'm thinking that if the state and the Force were combined, our everyday lives would run much smoother." She turned on her side. "Yoda, don't you think the same, at least sometimes?"

Yoda closed his eyes to consider it. "No. Separate, the Force and the state should remain." He propped himself up with an elbow, tapping his forehead into Padmé's. She didn't return his smile. "A theocracy, you would have the Republic? What would our Supreme Chancellor say?"

Bail is in a dither about impregnating Breha. He's not thinking longterm, except for that. "Bail is dedicated to ending the war. He is fully behind our plan, Yoda, but I'm wondering lately if he has a thought for preventing further wars of secession. If the CIS is defeated -- "

" -- when they are defeated -- "

" -- yes, yes, I think that Bail will be content to have everything the same as it was before the war. Committees, commissions, what have you." Padmé pulled her sweaty hair away from her neck to lay the mass straight up from the pillow. "I know this sounds odd coming from a lifelong politician like me, but I don't get a sense of progress with him. He has personal concerns pressing him, as well."

Yoda had heard rumors of Bail's unsuccessful efforts to add to his family. Padmé contained eggs, Yoda knew, but couldn't actually lay them. Yoda would be spared the boredom of sharing the dutiful task of nesting on a clutch. The aged Master breathed a brief meditation of thanksgiving over interspecies sex and went on pressing his point with the Vice-Chancellor in a gentlemanly manner. Vice. He refrained from displaying a recent tendency to cackle. His sense of humor had sunk to a new low, he mused. Perhaps living in the post-Jedi Code revision galaxy did not suit him as well as he thought. "Vice-Chancellor, kindly meet me halfway in your thoughts. Proposing a liaison between us more than what already exists?" He traced a rib. "Because now you know how powerful the Force can be, for personal good?"

Padmé rolled away. "No, not because of that. Because I'm looking more towards the future, I guess. Years into the future, for me and for you."

"Always in motion, is the future." Yoda prepared himself for sleep. "Look not too hard, dizzy, it will make you."

We're not on the same page. I'll close the datapad, for now. Padmé dreamed of being elected Supreme Chancellor that night.

TBC

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