"Must we stay Master?" Obi-Wan said, not in protest but faint annoyance.

Qui-Gon glanced to his Padawan, looking down ever so slightly to his young charge, and gave a nod, "If we are to find the suspect, we must first acquaintance ourselves with the suspicious."

"Such a powerful metaphor Master, but is it relevant when we are dealing with so many suspicious beings?"

Qui-Gon did not reprimand the tone, but replied calmly and firmly, "Relevant or not, this is our acquired task, remember. It must be accomplished somehow."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan kept his temper close in check, continuing to follow behind his Master through the thrush of people. The air around him was warm and thick, being constantly used and reused, and he was surprised there still was oxygen left. The lateness of the hour seemed not to bother the attendees, and it would be an understatement to say it was a busy night.

A steady beat resounded in his ears, the one some of the beings danced to in a slight clearing ahead, and the remaining noise consisted of loud conversation, the ringing of slot machines and the buzz of vidscreens. Obi-Wan was forced to shout over the noise, "When you said it may be crowded, I didn't think you meant hundreds upon hundreds."

"Neither did I."

"Couldn't we have come when it wasn't so . . . busy?" Obi-Wan winced as his foot was stepped on for the seventh time.

Qui-Gon smiled, his blue eyes creasing at the edges, peeking out from the lip of his cap, "This is a very popular club, Padawan, one of the most popular on Coruscant. It is always busy."

"Of course, Master. Whatever you say." Obi-Wan sighed to himself, raising a hand to his collar to ensure his buttons were secure strictly to the top. The outfit he wore was constricting, unlike the freeness of his Jedi tunic, and Obi-Wan found it uncomfortable to move about in.

The navy blue suit was custom tailored as was his Masters matching one, equipped with silvery brass buttons, high strap boots and a snug black-lipped cap. In Obi-Wan's opinion, his Master did not look too far from being a lieutenant, though he himself felt only like a cadet. Obi-Wan casually touched his right ear, tucking his Padawan braid safely under his cap again, and then put the hand in the same pocket, aching for the feeling of his lightsabers cool, familiar casing.

If all other regularities failed, his lightsaber would comfort him, instilling confidence by simply having it at his hip. Unfortunately, Qui-Gon had assured him it would not be needed, and that it would blow their cover, and a blaster was in its place. Their cover, the Master had insisted, was the most crucial part of their task.

Stay here, Padawan.

Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon's voice ring in his mind, and he reluctantly slowed his pace to a stop, watching his Master drift and slip into the dim lights of the club, and the expanse of the crowd. Are you sure?

Yes, Obi-Wan. Keep searching.

Nothing was wrong, Obi-Wan knew, but things were beginning to roll. He flicked his young eyes through the crowd, recognizing diplomats and senators amongst other high-society beings. Wealth, power, class – he could see it in their makeup laced eyes and expensive headdresses, their tone of voice and sound of laughter. He could not yet see the senator they were searching for, the one he needed to see: Thor-Chio Dawn, representative of Lordar-3.

After an assassination attempt, many if not all targeted victims went into hiding; doing otherwise was very ill-advised. Thus was the case with Senator Dawn, after nearly being poisoned in his home one-month prior. A Senate leave had been granted with fervor, but neither the leave nor the senator's protection was the problem.

Senator Dawn, maybe renewed with a sense of freedom or possibly assassinated truly, had not returned within his allotted two-week span, and after the fourth week passed, the Senate had grown alarmed.

The Council of Twelve had been very willing to intervene on the Senator's behalf, nearly too willing in Ob-Wan's eyes. The Jedi, for obvious and well-proven reasons, usually evaded political problems, hasty to avoid being thrown into the Republics eye. The Jedi were, as all Padawan's Obi-Wan's age knew by then, peacekeepers, not problem solvers or security measures for the Republic in times of desperation, which was often times what they unwillingly became.

Obi-Wan personally agreed, knowing full well that even the most honest, sincere diplomat was not to be trusted. The disappearance of Senator Dawn came as no surprise to him, and he had not been very eager when the Council had assigned his Master and him the task of finding the Senator.

Master Yoda had insisted that the task was crucial, and a funny look in his green eyes had appeared at the words; Obi-Wan figured the Council knew something he did not, for they most often did. The little Master had also mentioned briefly, privately to Obi-Wan alone, of a heightened attentiveness, an unwavering devotion to training Obi-Wan would require for the mission. Obi-Wan never wavered, and for it to be requested of him confused the Padawan. What would he find that could waver him? Would he waver?

Qui-Gon had assured him that he was one of the most dedicated youth he knew; save for the Melida/Daan crisis, and he had been fully devoted to the Order without fail. One mission could not change years of discipline and training. Could it?

Obi-Wan shoved the thoughts away, focusing in on his task at hand; he didn't have the time for another "be mindful of your thoughts" lecture. He squinted, still unable to see the senator, annoyingly being shoved by the rambunctious beings around him. No wonder he didn't go to nightclubs. His Master, though, had seemed to be enjoying himself. Obi-Wan was eager to find the senator and leave. Before I'm suffocated to death.

Qui-Gon had been sure to check and recheck the location Thor-Chio Dawn was to be multiple times: the Crystal Enchantment, a nightclub for the high-class citizens of the galaxy, a place to gamble and taste the latest cuisine and interact with the aristocratic, Waitresses bustled about with platters of expensive entrees, beings mulled about the bar to the Padawan's left, and watched the pod and blob races on the vidscreens to his right.

The security level was top notch but Jedi were prohibited due to political disagreements. Somewhere between five hundred to one thousand beings passed through on a slow night, and tonight there was at least that. The club was substantial size wise, but even so the place was packed. The close-knit bustle of people unnerved Obi-Wan, discouraged him. Again he attempted to shut out thoughts, but these ones lingered, were stronger and much more difficult to rid.

Only two weeks ago he and his Master had been on a mission on a rugged mountainous planet, assisting with a civilian revolt in order to prevent a tyranny. To make a long story short, the government had illegally attacked the citizens, who lived in the deep caves close to the core of the planet, while they were there, and after a major detonation to the caverns system, a serious cave-in had threatened their lives.

Being underground was one thing Obi-Wan had disliked the entire mission, but after the cave-in he hadn't been able to handle it. Ever since he was a boy he had been a bit claustrophobic, and he had thought he'd grown out of it until the recent mission. Something in the core of him had ached as the beings had shoved him and were gathered so close constantly. He had been tempted to run away or curl up close to himself and wait for it to end. He had not told his Master of his discomfort then, and hadn't still. Qui-Gon and him had worked for hours bustling out civilians through man made escape routes, the people screaming and yelling and some trapped beneath the rocks; there had been so many stuck and crying for help, so many left behind to die.

At one point, seeing a little girl struggling from beneath a rubble pile, screaming for her mother who was pushed out of the child's reach, watching her silence and shudder a last weak breath, he was pushed past the brink of his tolerance. He had felt his breath stop and his head spin, his stomach had felt hollow and intensely ill, and he had slipped unconscious. Upon awakening, safe in their escape shuttle, he had insisted to his Master he had only hit his head. Qui-Gon, though Obi-Wan suspected he knew better, had accepted the explanation. After such a harrowing experience the Order had let them take a small break from missions, and this was their first mission since then.

The thoughts had broken the Padawan into a sweat, and Obi-Wan wiped his brow, using his breathing techniques to calm himself, fidgeting with his collar. This mission renewed the sense of terror he had experienced, a feeling he had never wished to feel again. He could not let the thoughts control him. Despite his lingering discomfort in the crowd, the small space, the renewed feelings, he had to control his fear. He was not a boy; he would be a Knight someday, if not soon.

A little claustrophobia never killed anyone, he though ruefully, pressing further into the crowd a bit and attuning his senses sharper. Suddenly, the bustling group cleared and became individuals, giving him relief, if only for a moment's time. Yet, he still could not pinpoint any being that may be Senator Dawn. Strolling, or at least trying to, further forward, Obi-Wan spotted his Master from sitting at the bar in the distance, chatting with two young waitresses.

Qui-Gon smiled as one of them touched his false badges, insignias of Ansion, and they both seemed intensely interested in him, as did he with them. The Padawan rolled his eyes, Great. More pathetic life forms

A presence approached him from behind, and Obi-Wan turned to see another waitress in a close fitting dress shoving a platter under his nose, "Appetizer, sir?'

Obi-Wan shook his head, turning about again to assess the crowd –

"Please, I insist." The waitress tapped his shoulder, and Obi-Wan reluctantly faced her, "They're soma crackers with our signature smoked offar meat in a blasel sauce."

It sounded – and smelled – delicious, but Obi-Wan again refused, "No, thank you –"

"Are you new here?"

Obi-Wan shifted his feet, seeing in the girl's eyes that she was not just looking to give away food, but to gain his attention. Her dark eyes sparked with attraction, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure exactly how to respond to it. He kept his tone cool, though inwardly he was warm with quick thinking, "Yes, first time."

"No wonder; you look nervous." Her voice was bubbly and kind, and her giggle lit up her eyes.

Obi-Wan cursed himself for being so transparent, and emitted confidence, then, in his voice, even if it was forced, "This place makes me anxious, being so new and all."

"I know. Lots of people. I'm new too." The girl outstretched her free hand, "Emalie."

"Ben." Obi-Wan took the offered hand and kissed it lightly. He decided he'd play off of her attraction to him, if only for help. Qui-Gon did that sort of thing all the time – attracted life forms of seemingly little use and put them to it. It couldn't be that hard, could it? "You're eyes are beautiful."

The waitress quickly blushed, "Are you a general?"

"A cadet. My father's here with me, he's the general. We're from Ansion." He explained the cover story naturally, with no skips, like he had rehearsed.

"Well Ben, the entertainment begins soon. Have you found a table?"

Table? Obi-Wan was baffled that there were enough room for anything else in the place, but shook his head, "Not yet –"

Emalie grabbed his arm and pulled him through the crowd. Obi-Wan nearly tripped over his own feet, let alone the hundreds of other shuffling about, as she led him along, still attentively searching for the Senator. His eyes stopped on another sight. Emalie slowed before a set of stairs leading to a round dip in the floor, a circled in area of tables and chairs before a round stage. The lighting was blue and hazy and sophistication eked through. Many beings already sat at the tables, other waitresses serving food, waiting for the entertainment to begin.

"Come, I'll show you the best place to sit." She tugged at him again, and directed him toward a table ear the front and center. "Here's where the rich people watch. It must have good acoustics."

Emalie took a seat, and Obi-Wan followed her lead once again. He asked curiously, as she leaned her elbow, which supported the platter, on the table, "Doesn't your arm get sore from carrying that thing?"

"Are you kidding? I'm surprised I haven't been hospitalized yet, and this is only my third day here." She set down her platter, "Are you sure you don't want any?"

Obi-Wan's stomach, though very unruly didn't speak louder than his mind, though it was a tough battle, "No. I've eaten. I don't mean to offend you –"

"No, no." She refused, though Obi-Wan could tell she was, a bit. Qui-Gon had said not to even touch the food or drinks; the suspicion of another poisoning was eminent.

An odd silence, which wasn't truly silent amidst the banter people noises, fell between them, and Obi-Wan let it. Silence was one of his favorite sounds.

"How old are you?" Emalie asked, though she continued, "I'm guessing . . . eighteen."

Obi-Wan didn't correct her. He was only just recently sixteen, "And you?"

"Eighteen. Did you study on Coruscant? Oh right, you're from Ansion. I did, though. Just finished."

Obi-Wan listened to her vaguely as she continued speaking, his attention shot elsewhere to an approaching presence. He looked casually over Emalie's shoulder to see an opulently dressed Togrutan male, followed by three waitresses and an entourage of other attendants, take a seat at the table a few feet behind him. Obi-Wan quickly scanned the Senator's Force essence, and found neither fear not anxiety, which was a good thing. He spoke quickly to his Master through their bond, In my sights. Should I do anything further?

In an instant the Master responded, and Obi-Wan could nearly hear the voice speaking to him audibly, No. Let me do the dirty work.

The dirty work always seems to be the fun work, Master. Obi- Wan falsely complained.

Qui-Gon replied, Fun, my serious Padawan? I am appalled such a word is permitted into your vocabulary.

Only because of you Master –

"Ben?"

Obi-Wan looked back to Emalie, apologetically as he saw the concerned expression on her face, "Sorry, I was distracted."

"Are you alright? You want some water?" Emalie touched his arm gently ash she rose, "Just one minute. Stay here, alright?"

"Alright." Obi-Wan didn't bother to stop her, for he wasn't sure he would have been able to if he tried.

Just as Emalie left, an announcer cam over the loud speakers, a male with a very fluent voice, "Welcome enchantment seekers! Tonight for our special entertainment was have a favorite of ours, a master of the keys, a twister of melodies, an all-around crowd pleaser! Please give a warm welcome to one of our very own . . . ."

At the name, Obi-Wan turned, his throat catching and heart slowing at the sight. Little did he know he would never forget the moment, not for his entire life, as the speaker uttered the name.

". . . Wisper Morro!"