MEMBERS OF THE WEDDING
by ardavenport
- - - Part 1
Rrrrrrr-rrroooonnnnngggggg.
Qui-Gon Jinn opened his eyes. And saw the fluffy, powder blue canopy above, gray in the night-time gloom of the room.
Rrrrrrr-rrroooonnnnngggggg.
It had to be the door summons to the suite. Pushing aside the soft coverings, he rolled over on the padded, raised sleeping mat and slid over to the edge. Grabbing the dark mass of his Jedi robe, he swept aside the diaphanous curtains and stood. He stretched out one arm behind him and his lightsaber flew up into his hand from where it had rested next to his pillow. He tucked it into a long inner pocket of the robe.
The light coming in through panes of the tall peaked windows from Saffast's brilliant night sky was enough to see by. The door to the private chamber slid aside for him as he shrugged his robe on over his plain sleeping shift. Other than the urgency at the door, he sensed no other disturbance in the castle other than the expectation of the day's celebrations.
Bare feet on the cool polished floor, he crossed the outer sitting room to the suite's entryway. His Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, stood similarly attired in the doorway of the other chamber.
Qui-Gon raised his hand. A Force impression of the control panel on the wall across the entryway grazed his fingertips. The light on it beeped a glowing green. White light came on from above. He folded his arms inside the sleeves of his robe as the wide golden door slid aside.
"Oh!" Dirrim Dirchard, the Archbishop's Steward, let out a little gasp, obviously startled by the Jedi standing several paces back in the room, under the entryway light. The heavyset, older man blushed pink in his cheeks and chin and hastily bowed. The pinkness went all the way up to his balding head. The Saffisti were Humanoid with all their limbs and facial features in the most common places, but their highly variable skin-color was rumored to be a remnant of some unrecorded shape-shifters in their long distant past.
"Master Jedi, my apologies for calling at this early hour. But a . . . uuh . . . situation has come up concerning the nuptials tomorrow. Today, actually. And I believe that you might be able to help us with it."
"Certainly. We are here to serve." Qui-Gon nodded to the jittery official. Steward Dirchard's facial colors faded back into his usual neutral and diplomatic gray.
He waved a hand at the wall panel again and the rest of the room lights came up. Dirchard startled again with a new pink flush to his face, but Qui-Gon ignored it.
When they sat down on opposite sides of the low table in the social area, Dirchard's skin color had gone back to formal and unemotional gray. The low cushioned chairs and settees formed a circle under tall windows that curved upward, blending into the skylight, allowing an excellent view of the brilliant display of stars. Obi-Wan silently sat next to Qui-Gon. Though he was twenty-two, an experienced and senior Padawan, Dirchard had favored the Master with his attention at the pre-wedding reception the night before and he did so again now.
"Again, Master Jedi, please forgive me for disturbing you at this hour. But it seems that the Bishop of Swigley has sent his regrets. He cannot perform the ceremony tomorrow. Or rather, will not."
Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "Has he been threatened?"
"He wouldn't say, but that is strongly implicated."
"Can the Archbishop perform the service?"
"No, tradition forbids her from performing a marriage service for anyone in her immediate family."
"You have been unable to convince another member of your order to perform the ceremony?"
"Alas, not of sufficient rank." His face sighed into a more featureless ashen-gray. "Though I am sure the Monk of Kammi would be delighted to step in, his presence would be too much of a distraction if that drunken fool officiated. And there are too many people who would simply laugh." Pale orange flushed his cheeks before vanishing. The Jedi had not been introduced, but they had seen the Monk dancing on a table at the pre-nuptual reception attended by all the arriving dignitaries the night before. The Saffasti around them had been been either amused or disgusted.
"That is regrettable," Qui-Gon answered sympathetically, "but I fail to see how we can help. If you are concerned about security for the wedding and wish assistance from the Republic, you should speak with Senator Chochard immediately - - "
Hands raised, Dirchard stopped him. "No, please Master Jedi, expanding our security arrangements would only expand the problem. Most of the threats are just hot gas, coming from people who would never act on them and the few who would act have been detained. But there still remains the possibility of someone, with more money and power than sense, hiring an off-worlder to do harm to the Archbishop."
"If you believe that the greatest danger is from hired off-worlders then that is even more reason to discuss this with Senator Chochard."
Again, the Steward shook his head, hands raised. "No, please, Master Jedi. The political situation is delicately balanced. The Archbishop has a majority who will accept her son's dis-inheritance. But if any outside power is seen, that could change in an instant. Of course. . . ." Dirchard's eyes narrowed, " . . . . the Chancellor seems to have considered the possibility of covert help by sending you."
Qui-Gon showed no reaction to this speculation. "We have merely been sent to represent Coruscant at the Archbishops son's wedding. If the problem is security, you should speak with Senator Chochard first." Their orders were to only help the Zembu if they were directly asked. Or if someone happened to try assassinating the Archbishop right in front of them. But neither Jedi had sensed any serious danger since arriving and security looked adequately tight at the castle and the reception.
"Really? And do you think that Senator Chochard will be conscious at this hour? Or appreciate being roused to do any special favors for the Archbishop?"
Qui-Gon frowned. The Saffasti Senator had spoken derisively about the coming change and then later, after drinking great quantities of intoxicants at the reception, inebirately proclaimed that Archbishop Nealdine was a heretic who would get what she deserved if the galaxy had any justice in it.
"Well," Dirchard said, his facial color going to slate gray. "The Archbishop's security is not exactly what I came to you for." He folded his hands together. "You see, as a Jedi Knight, you have the curious dual position as keeper of the peace for the Republic and . . . . clergy. And as such it is possible that you could perform the wedding service today."
Qui-Gon's eyes widened.
"Steward Dirchard, Jedi do not perform marriage services. The Jedi are not a ceremonial order - - "
Again, the Steward held up a hand to interrupt. "Yes, yes, I am aware of that. However, from what I understand of Jedi ethics, coupled with your status, education and oaths of service, those all make you eligible to be elevated to the Zembu Order. At least . . . " His words, coming out all in a rush, paused long enough to appraise Qui-Gon's reaction. " . . . long enough to preside over the ceremony."
Sitting back, Qui-Gon glanced toward his young apprentice. Seated next to him on the settee in his pale sleeping shift and robe, Obi-Wan minimally shrugged, blue-gray eyes equally surprised.
"Would an off-worlder performing the service not cause just as many complications for the Archbishop's political situation?"
"No," the Steward shook his head, "The Jedi are accepted neutrals and a multi-species Order in which Saffasti have served in the past, though, regrettably not at the moment. And you do have all the clerical qualifications."
"You are sure you have no other substitute for the Bishop of Swigley for this . . . . duty?"
Dirchard's face and hands remained gray. "Most of our highest ranking members oppose the Archbishop's proclamation - - thought the populace is strongly with her - - and the others are only willing to accept it, but nothing more. And none of them have . . . .your unique qualifications. . . . To be honest, if any of these rumored off-world assassins made an attempt on Archbishop Nealdine's life during her own son's wedding, they would find it a bit more difficult if you were in the immediate vicinity."
The Saffasti did not want Republic help . . . . but they did.
Qui-Gon finally nodded to Dirchard. "We come to serve."
The Steward flushed a faint and controlled green, only on his cheeks. "Thank-you. Of course, you must be invested by the Archbishop to perform the ceremony, which should be only a formality."
"I will need to review the ceremony, if I am to credibly perform this service for you."
"Of course. I have already arranged for an archive droid to come with a servitor with an early breakfast for you. It will have all the data you should require. And now . . . ." He pushed himself up off the chair cushions. ". . . . I have many more arrangements to make today."
As he hurried to the door, a new thought occurred to Qui-Gon.
"Steward."
He stopped and turned.
"Does the Archbishop actually know of this plan?"
Dirchard's complexion paled with surprise before he regained his composure.
"I was just about to inform her of it."
He hurried out, the golden door sliding closed behind him.
- - - End Part 1