The swelling and ebbing sounds of conversation reverberated off the stone buildings surrounding the open town centre. The echoes could be felt like a gentle, welcoming wind. The feast was in full swing, and the Bayir were truly enjoying it. Having guests was apparently an occasion for great celebration, which was not entirely unusual. Obi-Wan and Anakin had encountered several such situations before.

The variance in the nature of such occasions, however, never ceased to amaze Obi-Wan. This feast showed little of the kind of grandeur of more aristocratic societies such as Alderaan. Here the diners reclined casually on soft mats around knee-height tables. Others ate sitting haphazardly on the amphitheatre-like steps around the outside of the large semi-circle courtyard.

It wasn't necessarily the quiet meeting with the Bayir elders that Obi-Wan had hoped. The Jedi had been swiftly introduced to a number of the Synod members from various surrounding towns upon their arrival. There had been such an onslaught of new faces and names that Obi-Wan wasn't sure he'd remember half of them. Anakin had seemed absolutely overwhelmed, and would most likely remember none.

The boy was, however, more at ease in the company of their small table. He had been more than willing to shed his boots in accordance with the Bayir custom. While Obi-Wan had opted to fold his legs beneath him, Anakin was leaning sideways on a pillow, as their hosts were.

"This bread is very good," the Jedi padawan said, tearing off a third hunk of the spicy loaf. "What is it made of?"

"Like normal bread," Qohel's granddaughter Susah answered matter-of-factly. "Would you want mine?" she asked.

"No, that's all right," Anakin replied with a polite smile.

"We have much. I can get more for you," she offered, shifting into an upright position.

"No, thank you. I really am almost full," Anakin insisted. Having seen how much the young man could eat, Obi-Wan doubted that. But he was pleased by Anakin's pleasant demeanour. The worry he'd felt when they'd first arrived over Anakin's sour attitude about the mission had begun to dissolve. In fact, Obi-Wan was a bit surprised at how quickly the young man had warmed to the assignment.

"This bread," Qohel said, mid-bite, "was made by Qohelya. She is very good at baking. That is what she does as a job." He smiled up at his fellow leader, who had remained seated with stately posture.

Obi-Wan was intrigued. After swallowing a troublesome bite of stringy purple vegetable, he commented. "That's very interesting. Do individuals usually continue to hold jobs while ruling?"

"Of course," Qohel answered, seeming surprised at the question. "How can a Qohel help lead his people if he is not one of his people?"

"I believe that is a reasonable expectation," Obi-Wan said, digesting the information and readjusting his thinking. A mission of this calibre may not have been his normal assignment, but he was quite skilled in carefully observing people and was determined to put his skill to use. He needn't be the only one under observation. "What is your occupation?" he asked Qohel.

"I make clothes. Most I make from chirab skin, like shoes," he gestured to the pile of sandals and boots the diners had deposited at one end of the table before eating.

"We always have new shoes in our family," his grandson answered.

"Yes, Melek uses too many. He is a shepherd. He walks too much and is too healthy." Qohel's eyes shone good-naturedly at Melek. The younger man replied swiftly in Bayir, then ducked to avoid a friendly swat from his elder.

Obi-Wan was reminded of Master Yoda and simultaneously sensed the same bemused thought from his padawan. Anakin chuckled, and Obi-Wan shook his head almost imperceptibly at the private joke. The Jedi Knight sensed Qohelya's perceptive mind focusing on the two of them.

"What kinds of jobs do you have?" Susah asked, breaking Obi-Wan's fleeting concentration on the inscrutable elder.

"Being a Jedi is what could be considered a full-time occupation, you see," Obi-Wan said. He was very aware that many people saw the Jedi as aloof from the galaxy at large. It was a false impression he hoped to avoid giving to the Bayir, so he added, "Our occupation itself brings us into all parts of the galaxy."

"Forgive me," Melek asked. "We hear very little about Jedi. What kind of work do you do?"

Obi-Wan nodded mid-drink to indicate that he would answer the question as soon as he'd swallowed. Conveniently, the timing gave him a moment to decide on the best way of replying. "A Jedi's job, as it were, entails a great many things. At its core, the Jedi Order is dedicated to guarding peace and justice in the galaxy. That work takes on many forms, and every Jedi has his or her own skills, of course."

"And what are your skills, Master Obi-Wan?" Qohelya asked, folding her hands atop the low table.

Obi-Wan was aware of everyone at the table staring at him expectantly. He chose his words delicately. "Anakin and I do a considerable amount of physical protection, but also a good deal of negotiation whenever possible." It wasn't really an answer to the question she had asked, and more than likely she knew it. But Obi-Wan did not think resorting to bragging would be a wise idea.

Qohelya seemed satisfied enough with the answer, however, and shifted her focus. "And Anakin." The young man looked up from his hunk of bread, but thankfully didn't reply with his mouth open. The silent acknowledgement proved enough. "What do you feel the job of a Jedi is?"

Anakin slowly sat up, glancing at Obi-Wan before replying in a practiced 'padawan answering what the master wants to hear' tone. "I agree with what Master Obi-Wan said."

"But?" Qohel asked, intrigued by what had not been said.

Obi-Wan was equally interested in what his padawan had to say. He tried not to show it, and while he may have fooled the Bayir, his forced expression of disinterest betrayed his expectation to Anakin. The young man avoided his master's glance.

Looking ahead at the Bayir leaders, Anakin replied carefully, "Well, I do also think a Jedi should focus on helping the people who really need it, the people who can't help themselves. I think that's our most important work." Obi-Wan nodded, and he could have sworn Anakin nearly rolled his eyes at the gesture. It gave Obi-Wan a moment of pause. Did Anakin think him disingenuous? That was clearly the signal his padawan was sending to the Bayir leaders, who took note of the young man's silent scoff and exchanged a meaningful glance.

Obi-Wan was embarrassed, and very much wanted to sharply question his padawan on his disrespect. But that would hardly help build up his esteem with the Bayir. So instead, he kept silent, which he feared also made him look guilty of what Anakin had accused him of. Obi-Wan desperately hoped someone would say something to move the conversation along.

"You make money for this job?" Susah asked, either not Force-sensitive enough to be aware of the supraconscious tension or smart enough to divert it.

"No," Obi-Wan replied, "it isn't exactly a paying job. We are provided with basic living needs and Jedi don't really have personal possessions anyway."

"My job does not really pay either," Melek replied, adding with a straight face, "But not on purpose."

His wife gave him an almost child-like affectionate shove, and they shared a brief, tender kiss. Then, she asked, "What do you do when you are not working?"

"We're always working," Anakin replied without a hint of humour.

"Always?" Melek asked, disbelievingly.

"It feels like it. Either working or being instructed."

"For a young man, there is learning in everything," Qohel said with a knowing smile. It seemed like the kind of comment Anakin would normally have balked at, but being more relaxed than usual, the boy just shrugged instead.

Melek wiped the last crumbs of bread from his hands. "This is a job you do now, being here?"

"It is a job, but it is also our pleasure," Obi-Wan answered smoothly.

No one replied, and the table fell into an uncertain silence. Obi-Wan himself sensed the hollow placation of his words only after they'd fallen heavily to the stony ground. He really must remember to hold back the usual diplomatic mask with the Bayir. Their desire for authenticity was a stark contrast to many supposedly sophisticated leaders he'd dealt with. Obi-Wan searched for some meaningful tract of conversation to fill the uneasy quiet.

Fortunately, Qohel was one to always have something to talk about. "Anakin, you are how old?" he asked, not intrusively but in a way that signified he had some follow-up questions planned.

"Seventeen," Anakin replied.

The old man nodded. "I thought so. Where you are from, is this a good age to start a family?"

"No," Anakin replied without hesitation. "It's a good age to be old enough to do work but still young enough to have to attend lectures."

A toothy grin wrinkled Qohel's dark, weathered features even more. "That is a bad age. It is very bad for your teachers," he added with mock gravity. "My father was a teacher, and I was a bad student, so I know." That provoked Anakin to a delighted grin. "This is true, Master Obi-Wan?" Qohel asked the elder Jedi.

"It can depend on both teacher and student," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "Anakin is a very good student, when he chooses to be." He gave his padawan a familiar look of half-jesting admonition. "But a Jedi Master and Padawan are different. They spend almost all of their time together and of course it sometimes becomes tiresome, for both sides." The last bit earned him a grin of agreement from his apprentice.

Qohelya leaned forward, unconsciously showing her piqued interest. "How many years does this apprenticeship last?"

Obi-Wan had already noticed the change in the direction of the conversation. It may have still validly fit the premise of "getting to know you" chat, but it had not escaped him that only the leaders were now asking the questions. "The length of an apprenticeship is different in each case. My own lasted almost 15 years."

"A very long time," Qohelya commented. "Bayir spend only a little more time than that living with their parents."

"Is your apprenticeship from birth?" Qohel asked, this time directing the question at Anakin.

"Usually from about age 10. Before that, most Jedi grow up in the Temple." He glanced at Obi-Wan, obviously uncertain as to how to describe his own situation, or whether he should at all.

The Jedi Knight gave a small downward wave to indicate it would be better not to. It would only complicate their explanation of Jedi life. Besides which, Obi-Wan was well aware that Anakin disliked having to explain his life as a slave.

"How does apprenticeship end?" Qohelya asked.

"A Master will usually confer with the Council when he feels his student is ready," Obi-Wan replied. "As I said, there is no set timeframe. The Jedi want to be very sure that each of their pupils gains a proper respect for and understanding of the Force, however long it takes." He could sense, practically hear Anakin's mind begin to churn with vastly premature worry over the subject. It wasn't something the boy had voiced as of yet, but lately it had been clear his impatience was getting him frustrated with some of the finer aspects of apprenticeship which he had yet to master.

"Forgive me, Master Obi-Wan," Susah spoke up, clearly filled with some festering curiosity. "I wonder, if you spend nearly all your time training and doing Jedi work, do you have much time to spend with your own family?"

"Oh," Obi-Wan replied. "I'm not married, nor do I have any children of my own." He carefully avoided saying he had 'no family'. By now he was certain that would not sound at all like a proper way to live. "Most Jedi don't marry for," he hesitated, "somewhat complicated reasons."

"I'm sorry," Susah replied gravely. "I did not know."

Obi-Wan gave her an easy smile, which he hoped was perceived by the whole table. "It's quite all right. The Jedi community itself is very close."

"From what you have said about masters and padawans," Qohel observed, "I would say it is a family, even if not by blood." The others murmured agreement, except Qohelya who was silently scrutinizing Anakin. For what, Obi-Wan could not quite tell; he didn't understand his padawan himself sometimes.

Fortunately, the next course of the meal arrived, stilling conversation.

It was almost a full hour later before the meal was entirely finished. The satiated diners all around the courtyard were relaxing languidly on the soft cushions and blankets they'd brought to sit on during the meal. Obi-Wan and Anakin's table had begun to disperse, its members floating away to mingle with their large network of friends and family.

Only Qohel was left with the Jedi, who were both a bit too satiated due to mores that forbade them to turn down what food was offered in their honour. The three were sitting in companionable silence. Or, rather, Obi-Wan was sitting while Qohel and Anakin were both lying back on their elbows. All three were watching a group of young men and women improvising a percussive song with various curved drums and the clanging of metal rods against one another. But as crude as it seemed at first, Obi-Wan very soon realised the musicians were actually creating an intricate rhythm.

"I see you enjoy our food." The presence of Dagan's bright voice was accompanied by his sudden appearance and plopping down right in front of the two Jedi.

"It was great," Anakin commented.

"And the music," Dagan looked over his shoulder at the makeshift band. "It's very nice." It wasn't exactly a question, but Obi-Wan would have agreed anyway. There was a quality of genuine ebullience in the tune that radiated good will.

Anakin, for his part, had more to say. "It's amazing," he commented, sitting upright and folding his arms loosely over his bent knees. "It reminds me of some of the street musicians where I used to live. They'd make great music with nothing but drums and pieces of junk. And they'd put out a little tin for people to throw spare wiuppi in." He became more animated as the memory unfolded and Dagan's interest was clear. "I knew one of those guys. Torak." Anakin grinned fiercely. "He made more money than the regular workers did most weeks. And lived in a great house. But he'd still be out there, every day, begging money off the less suspecting travellers." The apparent joy gleaming in his eye was tinged with a bit of sad nostalgia, and his tone was softer as he added, "he was talented, though," and trailed off.

By the end, Anakin wasn't simply telling the story of a Tatooine street musician. Obi-Wan could tell when his padawan drifted off into that other world, that private, inscrutable world of his, and this was one such moment. Anakin's thoughts were veiled, and Obi-Wan had always respected the young man's privacy enough that he wouldn't dare intrude. That hardly kept him from wondering.

The group was spared another awkward silence by the increasing rhythm of the drums. As it picked up, in fact, it evolved into a steady, quick beat with a definite pattern. It did not take long for several other Bayir, some young and some nearly Qohel's age, to jump up from their seats and move to the open area of the courtyard. They began a complicated set of motions, a whirl of stomping and slapping themselves lightly on the arms, the legs, the hands. It all seemed quite arbitrary to Obi-Wan at first, but it quickly became clear that there was some kind of logic to it. The dancers in fact made a synchopated echo of the beat the drummers played.

"Hus!" Qohel exclaimed in delight, springing suddenly up from the mat. "This dance is very old. All Bayir love this dance." He joined the edge of the dancers, showing an unnatural fervour and sprightliness for a man of his years.

Dagan scooted over into the place vacated by the Bayir leader, and nudged Anakin. "Will you join?" he asked, almost challengingly.

"I'm sure Master Obi-Wan would like to," Anakin replied, giving his master an angelic beam of a smile. The Jedi Knight raised one eyebrow.

"You will?" Dagan asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer," Obi-Wan declined politely. "That looks far too intricate for me. I am enjoying observing, though."

"Yes, it is a great dance," Dagan agreed. "It makes, ah," he waved a hand as if he could literally pull the words down out of the air, "the music of the Force, you know? It symbolizes that." Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure what the young man meant, but somehow he sensed the significance of it, and nodded slowly. "Do the Jedi have any dances?" Dagan asked.

Anakin let out a sharp laugh. "The Jedi? No." He laughed again, and Obi-Wan could guess at what sort of mental picture might have cropped up in the boy's mind. It was, he would have confessed, rather amusing. "I think the closest thing we have to something like this," Anakin indicated the blur of dancers, "are katas."

"Katas?" Dagan rolled the word over his tongue, as if testing its flavour. After repeating it a few times to himself, he declared, "You must do one."

"Now?" Anakin asked.

"Yes, yes," Dagan urged. "Both of you. You can both do it?"

"Well…" Obi-Wan struggled for a good excuse. It hadn't exactly been his plan to put on a display of the potentially deadly power of the Jedi to a group of people they'd just met, but Anakin had once again spoken without much thought.

Dagan, however, gave no time for a roundabout answer, and rightfully assumed Obi-Wan's reluctance indicated they did indeed have the ability to perform a dual kata. Without another word to his guests, the young man leapt up and ran to the musicians, shouting something only they could hear above the pulsing beat of drums and limbs. They exchanged a few words, then the musicians began to nod. They stopped playing in a surprisingly abrupt manner. The exhausted dancers paused mid-step. When everything had quieted down, Dagan began speaking to the whole assembly in a loud voice. He motioned towards the two Jedi, and there was a murmur of anticipation from all those listening. Then, with surprising speed, the dancers all cleared out of the semi-circle courtyard and retreated to their mats and the amphitheatre-like stone rows.

Neither Jedi needed to have Dagan's words translated.

Obi-Wan and Anakin both stood, the master deliberately taking his time as they walked towards the open area. His manner and Force disposition gave voice to the unspoken "wonderful suggestion, Anakin" that would have been out of form.

"I suppose we had better make this good," Obi-Wan said in a low voice only Anakin could hear.

"The Zilbeth sabre kata?" Anakin suggested, unclipping his hilt from his belt.

Obi-Wan followed suit. "That will do," he replied, "if you can manage to remember that it is a lightsabre-"

"Not a veenball board," Anakin finished with a touch of exasperation. "I know, Master."

The two Jedi now stood facing each other, not quite two metres apart. The crowd was completely silent as they anticipated whatever it was they were about to see. Obi-Wan and Anakin drew their hilts from their belts and simultaneously ignited the blue blades. It was a motion so fluid, so ingrained, it had become as simple as walking to the Jedi. But the sight drew an excited murmur from the onlookers.

The Jedi locked clear eyes for a moment, the mere instant needed to centre themselves on the point in the Force where their souls were joined with a bond forged through years of training. Neither had to signal when to start. In the same instant, Anakin and Obi-Wan spun towards the physical centre between them. The motion ended with Master and Padawan standing back to back with one another, each facing his own phantom adversary.

A brief pause, then the two halves of the kata exploded. Lightsabres sang as they cut through the night air, first striking, then defending. The sound of bare feet on the stone walkway was quieter than the onlookers expected. Indeed, the Jedi seemed hardly to be touching the ground as they moved through an often inscrutable azure haze. A pattern, however, could clearly be seen. Both men gravitated towards and around a central point that hovered always between them. As they moved one way across the courtyard, their centre moved with them.

Obi-Wan and Anakin circled this point, using it as an anchor in what could otherwise have been an extremely dangerous exercise. Instead, they moved as one. When Anakin's blade was striking overhead, Obi-Wan's swept in front of his padawan's torso, blocking a potentially deadly attack. Now Obi-Wan swirled about, kicking and swiping low at an imagined opponent as Anakin's blade hummed over his head in simulating deflecting a blaster bolt.

Stepping this way, then that, the Force guided better than mere training ever could. There was no need to see where the other man's arm might be. There was only one man. One set of hands knew what the other was doing. Together, Master and Padawan wove a web of protection. Out of it darted lightning-quick strikes which could come from two directions at once. Combinations impossible for any one man to achieve. This was the rare, special quality the Zilbreth kata had. It displayed in the most magnificent way that the whole was greater than its parts.

The kata intensified, then lulled, creating its own rhythm that rippled through the uniting Force every individual present could sense. The entity's four feet struck a powerful beat. It grew faster as the hum of swinging sabres grew louder. Zrooon. Thwap. Zroooon. Thwap-zroon. Thwapthwapzroon-

Then silence.

Frozen in opposite-facing defensive stances, the two Jedi emerged again from the cloud of mesmerizing, graceful movement. Their chests rose and fell, their inhaling the only sound for seemingly endless moments.

Finally, the invisible centre relinquished its hold. Obi-Wan and Anakin relaxed to neutral positions, turned to the crowd, and humbly gave the traditional bow.

They were met with expressions ranging from elated at the sight to wary at the display of Jedi power; yet all of them shared a common awe. In the silence, the ghosts of the mysterious rhythm and hum of the Force lingered in the air. It was as though the Force itself were hovering among them—indeed, it was. But the Bayir gaped as though this had been something they had never dreamed their high power could have accomplished.

Dagan was the first to move, obviously eager to relieve his guests from the mystified silence they had inadvertently brought on the crowd. Bouncing up to them, his face radiated with a smile that was obviously rooted sincerely within.

Facing the Jedi, he clapped each man on the shoulder and exclaimed gleefully, "And you said Jedi did not dance!"