Peer Pressure
Scene 11
The docking bay attendant permitted them entrance free of charge, assuming that they were a security patrol sent expressly from the Temple.
"Our reputation precedes us," Garen remarked, guiding the air-car into the allotted space.
"Let's hope it doesn't follow us," Obi-Wan muttered. Then, "How long do you think it would take to fix a faulty nav system?"
Reeft, a diligent cybertronics enthusiast, pondered the question gravely. "Well, by the time you made your diagnosis, and found the relevant fused wires or circuit breakers, and then effected repairs, it could take as long as two hours."
Garen shut the vehicle down, frowning. "Of course, a responsible Padawan would call the Temple for assistance as soon as he set down."
"No," his friend argued. "A responsible Padawan would not waste the Order's resources on a problem he could solve himself. He would assess the situation, find a solution, and get himself to his original destination in a tardy but acceptable time frame."
"He has a point," Reeft agreed.
Garen chewed on his bottom lip, peering with critical acumen at Obi-Wan. "What's got into you?" he asked, bluntly.
Vos inserted himself between them. "Enough talking. Let's check out this place." He leapt gracefully over the car's side panel. Reeft shrugged and followed suit.
In the pilot's seat, Garen Muln fixed his friend with a disbelieving stare. Obi-Wan placidly returned his gaze, making a polite gesture at the hangar deck. "After you."
They left the vehicle docked in the crowded public bay, some with more reluctance than others, and took a lift tube to the pedestrian plaza overhead. Holoboards blared flashing images; pulsing Uuntzi music throbbed from massive amplifiers; milling sentients swelled in a herd toward the fancifully bedecked entry gates. A striating marquee proclaimed this to be the site of the 154th Annual Starside Expo.
The boys stood in a dizzy cluster for a moment, sorting out the overpowering influx of emotion and excitement pounding through the overwrought Force.
"Heady stuff," Vos remarked.
Garen's reservations dissolved in the face of the much-longed for reality.
"Mmm… fried mollu…. Shneppel cakes… roasted yorn…." Reeft intoned.
Obi-Wan braced himself and led the way forward. "Well? What are we waiting for?"
"I like your style, Kenobi," Vos informed him, socking him in the shoulder again. "Let's go."
