Armistice


Scene 55

There were times when Ahsoka Tano permitted herself to wonder what Jedi apprenticeship in peacetime might have been like. She'd heard stories, of course – a few from Skyguy, a few more from Master Kenobi – but she'd never been granted the chance to judge the veracity of their claims through direct experience. Ever since the moment she disembarked from Admiral Yularen's private shuttle onto the ruined boulevards of Christophsis, green as seedling bamboo, wide eyed as a coltu kitling, it had been the lessons of the trenches for her. For stars' sake, her unexpected initiation into Skyguy's good graces had involved an extremely risky infiltration operation behind enemy lines.

And it hadn't got any better from there. In the standard initiate classes, they had learned about diplomacy and rhetoric, law and civics and history. Of course even now there were still interstices in the tapestry of fighting, little gaps and holes in the fabric of violence where reason might prevail for a short time – but when such rare opportunities for real peace-keeping arose, the Council always commissioned Master Obi-Wan, or else her beloved Master Plo , or someone else – anyone else really. When posed with an innocent question why this strange and seeming prejudice existed, her own teacher had brushed the implications aside.

"We're at war, Snips. We need to capitalize on everyone's inherent strengths. Obi-Wan likes to talk his way out of trouble and play dirty, so he gets those jobs. I've got other priorities."

That was true, his bemused apprentice supposed. And personally she felt sorry for whatever Seppie barve happened to be his priority at any given time. It was safer in Skyguy's shadow. She ought to know, better than most.

One of the grim collateral benefits of this harsh training in the field of battle was her hypertrophied sense of imminent disaster. Like an early warning system, her very nerves seemed perpetually attuned to storms on the horizon. When violence or unrest drew nigh, her instincts rose like a flock of carrion birds circling over the vanguard of an army on the march, darkening her inner skies until the tumult broke loose into living fact. She had asked some of the masters about it; most said it was evidence of a small premonitory gift. Some told her to ignore it, others to meditate upon its inchoate meaning. Master Obi-Wan had wryly advised her to make sure she knew where Anakin was the moment she felt the first flutters of unease in her belly.

She was acting on that wise injunction at this very moment, as she stalked quietly through the nocturnal hush of Tipoca City's sterile corridors. Her nape hairs were standing erect, her montrals quivering with nervous tension. She had no notion from whence the latent disruption in the Force sprang, no idea what pustule of hostility was about to burst. She just needed to ascertain her master's whereabouts before it happened. Master Kenobi had been serious when he gave that counsel – far more sober than his laughing demeanor suggested.

Deeper and deeper she wended, following the shimmering thread of connection that bound them together, teacher and student in the Force. She took a right, a left, entered a service corridor, and descended an maintenance stairway that ought by rights to have been code-sealed. And then just about jumped out of her boldly patterned skin upon the second landing.

"Master!" she gasped, unclenching her hands by an act of will. Both sabers were at the ready, her thumbs hovering above the activators switches, a cold rush of adrenaline sizzling through her veins in the aftermath of shock. He had no business shielding so thoroughly; it was as though a dark specter, or one of the zombie drones of Geonosis' catacombs, had coalesced from the shadows.

"Sorry , Snips." The brusque apology was accented by a pat on the back. "Thought you were one of the Kaminoans."

She saved her dignity with an impertinent eyeroll. "What are you doing down here in the middle of the night?"

Skyguy raised one censorious brow, but didn't issue the standard admonition about rank and respect. He just shot that one back at her, point blank. "What are you doing down here, my little padawan learner?"

Rrrrrnngh! She really hated it when he did that. "Something's happening," she informed him. "Can't you feel it?"… Though, now that she had a moment to consider, the trouble brewing in the Force like the tingling precursor of an ion storm was actually emanating from Skyguy. Leave it to him to be found at the center of – whatever it was.

He shoved a bit of spare wiring and a microdriver back into his belt pouch, earning another suspiciously slatted stare from his apprentice. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, shamelessly abusing masterly prerogatives.

The word sabotage formed itself on Ahsoka's lips, but she hadn't learned nothing in the past two years. Her question went down on the next swallow, the same one that stifled that funny constricting feeling in her belly. Oh not good, not good…

"Come on." He sprang up the stairs again, taking them three at a time, all brisk and incontrovertible authority.

And there was just that something about him that had her obeying without protest. He carried people along like particles swept up in a colossal solar wind, their personal scruples and reservations blown out behind in so many comet tails of irrelevance. Up and up they went, and then left right up left again right again and so to the main reception lobby for the visitor's center.

But when Ahsoka made an automatic turn for the corridor leading to their guest quarters, he imposed a detour with a single curt gesture. "This way." And then they were in a swift tube heading for the docking level.

"We're leaving?" Without a word? Without paying their respects to the Prime Minister?

"No need to stand on ceremony. We're on the same side, remember?"

Which was scant consolation. "I thought the Kaminoans were keen on etiquette," she dared to protest, wondering if their precipitous departure would trigger a "diplomatic incident."

"Yeah well, I'll go to remedial finishing school when the war's over."

He swept the lift doors open with a terse wave of his hand and stormed across the decks, his dark-clad reflection tarnishing the decks' reflective sheen.

The young Togruta took a deep breath and hurried after him.