Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Evinne's face appeared over the edge of the ship, silhouetted by harsh sunlight, as they were beating out the smaller dents.

"Skywalker says we need parts."

Obi-Wan stretched a kink out of his back. "He has a list?"

"Yeah. Stuff for hull and shielding, mostly. Some circuitry." Evinne frowned past Obi-Wan at Ryn. "Is he as good with machines as he says?"

Ryn nodded. "He teaches a workshop in Improvisational Engineering."

Obi-Wan stared. "He what?"

Ryn frowned at him uncertainly. "You know. For Padawans who end up in the Agri-Corps? There are skills courses they can take, to help them out in their new lives?"

Obi-Wan did know. He'd found himself in a couple of those courses before Qui-Gon took him on as a project. They were maddeningly irregular, because they were taught by volunteers, senior Jedi who donated a few hours of their precious spare time between missions, lending their expertise to the younger ... "Wait a minute. Those courses are taught by Jedi volunteers. How ..."

"Anakin started volunteering as an assistant a few years ago. And then one of the senior Jedi had to cancel one day, and she asked Anakin to take the class for her ..." Ryn shrugged. "It went so well they gave him his own course. He teaches two afternoons a week when he's on Coruscant. Whichever days he doesn't have take Advanced Lightsaber Techniques." A touch of pride entered her voice. "You should see him. He's really good, especially with the younger ones."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. How did I not know this?

Evinne was waiting, but he focused on Ryn's puzzled, guileless face. "I take it you have seen him teach?"

"Well, yeah. I help him out, sometimes."

Obi-Wan considered opening his eyes again, thought better of it. "My Padawan has a TA?"

"Um."

"Out with it."

"I sort of teach Interaction of Nature and Technology," Ryn said, and then he did open his eyes, just in time to catch her wince. "GARD 102. It fulfills an environmental impact requirement for younger Padawans. Sometimes I do a lecture on sustainability for Anakin's workshop. MECH 357."

Obi-Wan blinked. "That's university transfer credit."

"Not in a practical skills course," Ryn said. "Anakin never teaches theory. Just application." She shot him a sidelong look. "Maybe you should be asking him about this."

"Maybe." Except if Anakin had wanted to talk about it, he would have.

Wouldn't he?

What else have I been missing?

"To answer your question," he said to Evinne, "yes, he is as good as he says."

"All right, then," Evinne said. "Well, if the sensors are right, we're about two miles from some sort of population center. Could be there's a spaceport. I'm going to try and slide us in on repulsors, so if you two will climb back in ..."

"On repulsors?" Obi-Wan repeated skeptically, following Ryn to the rungs she'd used earlier. She was still favoring that right shoulder, and a part of him wanted to be worried about her, but Ryn was tough. She'd hang in there until they could get sorted out. "That sounds ... difficult."

"Better than risking the upper atmosphere again," Evinne said. "We don't even know how deep the turbulence goes, or what's causing it. I'd rather limp in like a three-legged bantha than go out in a blaze of glory."

Obi-Wan couldn't fault her there. But he also couldn't resist glancing at Ryn as she scrambled up the last rungs and saying, "Is she as good a pilot as she says?"

Deadpan, Ryn said, "She's a record-setting fighter pilot."

"Stars' end." Obi-Wan paused to hold the hatch open for her. "I'm almost afraid to learn what dazzling talents you've been hiding."

Ryn grinned up at him, darkly careless. "I can kill a lot of people really fast."

Obi-Wan didn't quite manage to hide his shudder.


"No, I don't have a landing permit. I just told you, we crashed here -"

"Then I'm afraid you are not entitled to a berth," the oily voice on the other end insisted. "If you want to turn your ship in for salvage -"

"No, kriff it, I do not want to -"

"Then you must pay for a berth."

"I'm trying to!"

"Then I'll need the number from your landing permit."

Evinne snarled an obscene and anatomically implausible suggestion for what he could do with his landing permit and snapped off the comm.

"That went well," Anakin observed.

Evinne shot him a venomous look, evidently having plenty of wrath left to spare, and delivered a vicious punch to the side of her console, which groaned but held.

"Stang it," she gritted, throwing herself back in the pilot's chair and exhaling through her teeth.

Obi-Wa eyed her cautiously. "Perhaps we could park on the outskirts," he suggested.

"Looks like we'll have to," Evinne agreed sourly. "But that's hardly going to be inconspicuous." She imbued the word with a lot of loathing. Expressive woman.

She seethed out a long breath. "Look, I think we'd better leave two on guard, just to be safe. Orun and Aravel, that's you. The rest of us ... we'll just have to keep our heads down and take care of business quickly. No dallying. Got it?"

"Got it," Anakin and Obi-Wan murmured in unison, though Obi-Wan could see from the look on the boy's face that he didn't like it.

"Good," Evinne said, apparently unmoved by the Padawan's lack of enthusiasm. "And lose the robes, guys. This isn't the kind of place where you want to advertise as a Jedi." She flowed to her feet, a picture of female grace Obi-Wan had rarely seen matched, and tweaked Anakin's Padawan braid. "Do something about the hair, too," she ordered him. "Smart crooks will know the signs."

Anakin glared at her. "What do you suggest, Master?"

Evinne shrugged. "Cut it, pin it, let it down. I don't care. Just disguise it. And get that chip off your shoulder, before it gets us killed."

"I think I can take care of the braid," Ryn said, stepping forward. "If I may?"

Not for the first time, Ryn's cooler head prevailed, dampening Anakin's temper. Obi-Wan admired her technique, but he knew he'd never be able to match it. Ryn's soft pleading worked so well precisely because she had no real authority over him: she just asked.

When he'd first noticed that Ryn could get his Padawan to do ... well, almost anything ... Obi-Wan had been inclined to consider her tactics manipulative. She was young and beautiful, and it wasn't hard to imagine that a girl used to power would trade on Anakin's innocence and her own burgeoning sex appeal to get what she wanted. But it wasn't long before Obi-Wan realized he'd sold them both short. Instead of practicing subterfuge, Ryn was direct and honest enough to simply ask for what she wanted. And so far from being led by his hormones, Anakin said yes, most of the time, simply because, all other things being equal, he chose to make people happy.

So Obi-Wan barely had time to tense before he understood that there wasn't going to be a problem. Anakin pushed off the bulkhead where he'd been leaning and let Ryn push him gently down into the vacant pilot seat Evinne had vacated.

She stepped closer, straddling his knees, and worked the beads loose from the end of his braid with steady, careful fingers.

She worked methodically, her face set in a mask of concentration. Nimble fingers unwound Anakin's golden braid, brisk and efficient, while Anakin waited, quiescent under her touch.

His hair was longer, released from its tight bonds: falling past his shoulder in crinkles that remembered the shape of duty.

Ryn combed the freed tumble with her fingers until the kinks began to loosen, and then snapped a narrow black band off her wrist, catching the strands and wrapping them tightly, just behind his ear where the braid used to begin.

As a finishing touch, she pulled the short Padawan's tail at the back of his head loose and dug her fingers in until the last traces of restraint fell away.

She pulled back to study her handiwork - and then, finally, showed the glimmer of feeling: the ghost of a smile, softening the edges of her mouth. She brushed back an errant strand and looked down into Anakin's tense, expectant face.

"Thicker than I thought," she said softly, huskily - and turned away.

It was a curiously intimate moment, and Obi-Wan was reluctant to intrude on it. He let Ryn slip out the nearest hatch unchallenged and studied the sensor readouts in silence, giving Anakin a moment to collect himself. To control his feelings, whatever they might be.

Evinne finally broke the silence. "Can't say it's your best look, Skywalker, but no one will make you for a Jedi."

Obi-Wan guessed that was meant to pass for approval.

"Yeah," Anakin said, getting to his feet with a reluctant smile. "Well, don't get used to it."

"Don't you let Shorty get too used to doing your hair," Evinne countered. "She might like it."

Obi-Wan suppressed a wince, glad Ryn wasn't in the cockpit to hear. Evinne's sense of humor was noticeably lacking in tact.

"I doubt it will come up often," he said quietly. Repressively. "If we are all ready to go?"