There is a plant in the western regions called the blackberry lily. Its stem is four inches long, but because it grows atop tall mountains, it looks down into a thousand-foot abyss. - Sun Tzu

Fine white sand swept over the floor and the shoots of a small sturdy grass rose up here and there. The guests sat or lounged, murmuring to one another as they ritually passed the meal and drink bowls from hand to hand. Her Most Revered Highness, the Pure Florinate, smiled at the success of her Coruscant coming-out party and in so doing released pollen and a pleasing odor from her buds.

"I believe, General Kenobi, that you know Chairman Junker of the Marcite Arms Consortium," she said, turning to her two nearest guests.
Obi-Wan smiled pleasantly.
"By reputation, Highness."
Junker sneered. His rock-hewn features and grey-flecked hair gave his face a hardened appearance which seemed to make all pretense at social nicety absurd.
"General Kenobi and I are both artists in the same medium. In our field, it is necessarily by reputation that we are known."
He grinned, exposing teeth that any self-respecting patrician would have had replaced long ago.

The High Florinate was disconcerted by Junker's tone but remained unsure of his meaning.
"And what art do you practice, Chairman?"
General Kenobi answered for him, eyes only visible over the rim of a waterbowl. "War."

Junker nodded. "It is a broad canvas."
"And one which we approach differently."
The High Florinate shifted uncomfortably. Several of her petals closed hesitantly.

Obi-Wan passed the bowl of sweet-water to Junker, who received it with the appropriate words of thanks.
"Indeed, there seems to be a movement in our community," the Jedi began jovially, "towards the acceptance of the 'Ready-made.' I prefer the older hand-turned approach. It seems to me when we feel the artist's own presence in the work, it is rendered somehow...nobler. I wonder what thoughts Chairman Junker might have on the subject."
The Chairman bristled, "Are you implying that I won't get my hands dirty?"
Obi-Wan looked on Junker affably, as if no answer was required.

"My friend," whispered the High Florinate, holding one green-tinged hand placatingly towards Junker, "have you not recently returned from a trip to the Rim? It must have been very exciting. Pray, entertain us with your observations."
Junker grunted at this ploy to diffuse the confrontation but allowed himself to be drawn out. He gave the company two anecdotes highlighting the eccentricities and rusticism of those inhabitants of the Outer Rim as were sure to appeal to the sophisticated and cosmopolitan of the galactic capital.

"'Wouldn't it be easier if you got into the pod?' I asked him. 'Mercy, yes. But then who would watch the Tentadrulla!'"
As the laughter died down, Junker's eyes sought out the Jedi's.
"Of course, my travels were a walk in the Arborium compared with General Kenobi's. Why, everywhere he goes there seems to be a catastrophe."

Obi-Wan looked down into the dessert bowl that had just come his way and said nothing.
"What do you mean?" asked a young socialite, who, this being her third party of the evening, was already feeling the effects of the seed-wine.
"Only that poor General Kenobi's visits are invariably occasioned by some calamity. Remember that union strike on the manufacturing world of Akoalas? The one that was holding up production on the Republic's latest star cruiser design? Master Kenobi hadn't been there two days before the ringleaders were found decapitated in their boardroom. The murderers were never captured."
Obi-Wan coughed quietly and dabbed his mouth with a moss-napkin.
"Or Dentoponie-9? That religious movement. Order of the Sons of Light, or whatnot. Claimed they were immersed in the Force, a nonviolent alternative to the Jedi. Well," Junker chuckled unpleasantly, "they must have had some power - they slaughtered each other, if reports are true. Used Force powers to destroy themselves. Only left traces behind." He addressed Obi-Wan directly. "You were there vacationing, Master Kenobi. Perhaps you can shed some light on their gruesome demise."

"Are you not afraid, Chairman Junker, that this chain of unfortunate occurrences might follow me here? I would loathe to be thought the cause, no matter how remote, of any further disappearances."
Junker licked his lips. "I promise you, Master Jedi, I have no intention of disappearing."

"General Kenobi," interrupted the High Florinate in an over-bright voice, "I am told that you are also a master of the Monian lute. Is this so?"
"But a humble student, Highness," Obi-Wan bowed.
"I beg you will give us a demonstration."

The lute was quickly presented to Obi-Wan and as he tuned its pegs a silence stole over the room.
He struck softly with his plectrum, alternating between the nine strings as his hand slid over the instrument's fretless neck.

I can't understand it, why you want to hurt me.
After all the things I've done for you.
I buy you champagne and roses, put diamonds on your finger -
Diamonds on your finger -
Still, you hang out all night.
What am I to do?
My girl wants to party all the time.
Party all the time.
Party all the time.
She parties all the time - party all the time.
She likes to party all the time - party all the time.
Party all the time.

Obi-Wan winked imperceptibly to the High Florinate, who regarded him with dark and thoughtful eyes. Her supple limbs stretched gracefully over the soft white sand.

Of all his studies: diplomacy, the art of war, the Monian lute, it was xenobiology that was just then at the top of his mind.