Senior Planter Kenobi did not like to lie. He didn't operate like that; when there was something on his mind, he sought out relevant company and shared it. But some topics you never breached.

This - irregularity, this someone who was coming to settle with them out of her own free will, it made him uncomfortable. Nobody just up and decided to join the 'Corps, it wasn't done. You could be advised to do it, you could be declared unfit for field work - there were dozens of nuances, certainly, but nobody woke up one morning and thought, I'll go waste my life in that stupid stinking backwater losers' colony -

He froze in shock. This was wrong! They weren't like that! They did valuable work!

And yet.

Nobody did come to AgriCorps out of the goodness of their hearts, not even Qui Gon with his passion for the Living Force. Big people were forever doing big things out in the Galaxy. And what of it? Hadn't he made his peace with it years ago?

But he was going to have to lie, about Shmi Skywalker. Lots of times, day after day. Maybe it was better to call off this thing.

Anakin didn't get it.

'So what? If I could hide a hundred people from their owners, and bring them out and make them free, I'd say a thousand lies! Ten thousand!'

'Yes, and... I mean I agree that...'

But he couldn't finish that sentence, because he wasn't certain what he agreed with. He just - he liked being open with people.

'Is it against the Code?' Anakin asked, disappointed.

'Probably. Yes.'

'Then the Code is wrong.'

'Anakin!'

He couldn't even discipline the boy - in what way? Give him more to do? That would simply cut into his sleep time, and Kenobi refused to do that. There weren't many deniable luxuries to have, either. Maybe if the boy worked with cattle he could be given some obstinate old beast to care for, but Animal Husbandry didn't want Anakin after the Loud Music Incident. Obi Wan grit his teeth and tried to think of a way of exercising authority he clearly didn't have.

He said posessions were forbidden, attachment was forbidden.

'Mom's not an attachment! She's not a possession! She's a person!'

No, he meant it differently, he meant that strong feelings of loss, anger...

'You don't have to like my Mom. Just let her live here!'

Just don't betray.

They went back to what they were doing. Anakin traced maps of ventilation systems, because there was a problem somewhere in Hothouse 5 - a treacherous withering little draught that refused to shake candle light but dried tender Muja leaves.

Obi Wan stewed.

Fine, he could give away half of his room. Giving generously, having no possessions - all of it was easier when one had nothing of value. He thought back to the half-forgotten Coruscant and had to release a distinct sour feeling into the Force; Jedi of the Order might own nothing, but somehow it accumulated to a fine old Temple, VIP transport and a hundred perks they all took for granted.

No, this was unbecoming.

'Explain to me again, how was she able to escape if you have these chips in you,' he said, wishing he was an asserting, self-sufficient Jedi Master, a wordsmith instead of a petty curmudgeon.

'I'm not sure,' Anakin muttered. 'I told her where hers was, but it was dangerous to cut yourself there.'

Obi Wan shivered for the matter-of-fact way the words were said.

'Has anybody done this before? Cutting out the transmitter?'

Anakin Skywalker looked up in a flash, a strange smile on his face.

'And lived?'

There was an uncomfortable pause, Obi Wan leaning over his accounting sheets to hide from his blunder. Blast it, he thought, they get more difficult each year; can't the Order send them to MediCorps instead? And then his chirped.

'Kenobi.'

'We've come,' Drasa whispered. 'Open the garage and don't fuss.'