Like You Mean It
Scene 3
Garen Muln stood at the back of the small crowd of tournament hopefuls, rubbing at a crick in his neck and right shoulder. Performing the alchaka meditations with Master Piell – the long form, slowly, three times on a row – was not his idea of getting in some early practice. He shot a sideways glare at Obi-Wan, who stood beside him with folded arms and impassive expression. He did not appear to be sore or tired, but then everyone knew that Obi was a first class faker who could keep his composure intact despite pain, exhaustion, frustration, stress, and even anger. Well, unless you really pushed the right button. There were very few people who knew how to do that: Garen, Bant, and maybe – he hated to admit it – that gundark Bruck Chun. You had to realize that it was the impersonal things – ideas, loyalties, ethics – that really got under Obi's skin. Teasing him was as easy as womprat pie if you impugned his honor. Of course, then you paid the price in barbed witticisms and the occasional no holds barred wrestling match. But it was worth it.
He sidled closer as Anoon Bondara and the referees pored over the lists for the competition. "Your idea of extra practice is very different from mine," he growled in his friend's ear. "Good job."
Obi-Wan's eyes widened in outrage. "How was I supposed to know Master Piell was on the stairs? He ambushed me."
"It was your choice to run down the stairs to beat me. No such thing as chance, remember? You prob'ly were showing off in hopes of being chosen as his Padawan."
An amusing image – just think! A Padawan taller than his master… and likely Obi's only chance of ever achieving such enviable comparative altitude.
"I wasn't showing off," came the growling rebuttal to this accusation.
"Admit it. You're desperate."
Obi-Wan's cheeks flamed. The taunt had been too close for comfort. "It's better than hopeless," he snipped.
Garen relented, taking a different tack and leaning in closer to whisper in his friend's ear.. "Never mind – I think Master Piell is too kind-hearted for you, anyway. I hope you get the master you deserve. Somebody with no sense of humor. Somebody so strict that you end up as timid as a mussil and get your arse whipped in every fight."
"Force forbid," Obi-Wan replied, levelly. "I might be mistaken for you."
"Ha!" Garen grinned broadly. "Look, look up there in the observation balcony. There, next to Master Yoda." They glanced up surreptitiously to the crowd of elders perched in the broad upper tier. A tall man stood beside the Grand Master, long hair reaching apst his shoulders, arms crossed over his broad chest, a scowl of disdain or annoyance marring his leonine features. "That's Master Jinn. The infamous one. He looks mean enough for the job."
"He's here to escort you to the Ag-Corps after the tournament, Garen. You're to be made Chief of Organic Fertilizer Production."
"I hope you get paired with Bruck today, you pest."
A tall Nautolan girl standing nearby shot them a look which may have been intended to kill, and they fell silent, exchanging a meaningful but not quite sober look between themselves.
The swordsmaster stepped into the center of the sparring arena and called out the matches for the first round. Each student was paired with an opponent roughly equal in skill and speed; the winners would proceed to the second round. The losers would still have an opportunity to prove themselves before the observant crowd of masters in the upper balcony- a few of these might even be asked to continue in the tournament if they caught a potential teacher's eye, the purpose of the competition being merely to exhibit the range of strengths and skills possessed by each youngling eligible for apprenticeship. Traditionally, at least one among the initiates would be officially chosen by one of the Knights or Masters gathered to watch the event.
Master Bondara moved down the long list quickly."Kenobi versus Chun," he announced near the end of his recitation.
Garen nudged his companion in the arm as they moved forward to square off against their assigned opponents. The contest would not fail to be interesting now, he reflected.
