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Chapter 4
"-for your future calls you ever-ever onnnn!" Saché sings, dancing around wildly in the back of the taxi, her hair flailing.
The driver, an irritable Toydarian who reeks of cheap cologne, glares at her in the rear view mirror, muttering swears at her with each turn. Saché hardly seems to care.
"You're a lunatic you know that right? We'll be lucky if the driver takes us all the way to the Temple," Sabé warns her, voice low enough the driver won't hear.
Shaking off the criticism, Saché continues her dance, singing louder when the Toydarian makes a sharp comment about Corellia.
She finally begins composing herself when the Temple slides into view.
"This is going to be a disaster, you do know that, right?"
Sabé ignores her and gives the grumpy driver his pay, quickly exiting the cab and pushing her sister out when she hears him muttering about 'obnoxious Corellian whores'
"I'm only half-Corellian, you scruffy, scum sucking-"
"Saché!"
Settling for a rude gesture, Saché straightens her dress and turns to Sabé.
"Are you finished?"
Crossing her arms, Saché nods.
Finally, Sabé turns to the temple and feels her stomach roll.
It seems even larger than when they'd left it. Cold and impossibly uninviting.
Judging by her sister's grim expression and stiff posture, Saché feels the same.
"Let's get this over with," she finally grumbles, pulling her cloak tighter around her body and heading up the steps.
The main hall is chilly, despite the warm sunlight streaming in. Across from the entrance they spot a large desk with a lone female figure setting behind it. She's occupied with a pair of children, directing them with her bony fingers to somewhere down the hall.
Once the children are on their way down the hall, the old woman's eyes drop back to the desk.
Sabé steps forward, waits, but the woman ignores her.
"Hello there," Sabé finally greets her, when it becomes obvious she's not going to acknowledge them.
Slowly, the woman's eyes rise, brows arching as she takes in the pair. She doesn't so much as smile.
"I'm afraid you're lost," she finally says, gaze dropping back to the datapad on the desk. "The Crimson Corridor is about ten kilometers from here."
The smile slips from Sabé's face and Saché's teeth grind.
"We're here to see the Council," Saché tells her, words clipped. "We're terribly important."
Eyes raising, appraising them once more, the woman sighs and looks at her datapad.
"Lindzee?"
Sabé nods, forces a smile. "That would be us."
Raising an aged hand, the woman points wordlessly at a turbolift, down the hall and to the left.
Muttering a thank you, Sabé grabs her sister and hurries down the hall, half running onto the turbo.
"That dried up old hag," Saché mutters as the turbo jettisons them up. She looks down at her dress. "We stole these out of Padmé's closet!"
Sabé frowns, inspecting her own dress until the doors silently slide open.
Smoothing her dress, Sabé takes a breath and steps out into another wide, airy hall. She exchanges a worried look with Saché. Where do they go?
It's empty except for a female Togruta, waiting across from the turbo, eyeing them curiously.
"Lost?"
Saché rolls her eyes. "No, we always look like this."
The Togruta stares blankly, uncertain how to respond until Sabé intervenes.
"We're here to speak with the council," she explains, though she suspects the woman already knows that. "Could you direct us?"
The Togruta Jedi nods and silently leads them down the hall, then turns and walks a short way further until they're in front of an entrance and the Togruta turns back to them.
"The meeting hasn't started yet. If you both would wait here."
She vanishes into the room, leaving the girls standing in the noiseless hall.
"This place is weirdly cold," Saché whispers, pulling her hood further down on her face and hugging herself.
Sabé copies her, shivering as the chill in the air permeates to her bones, the hairs on her arms standing on end.
Nearly an hour passes before the door reopens and one of the Jedi comes and beckons the girls.
"Finally," Saché mutters, scowling as she follows Sabé in.
The moment she's in the room she wishes she were back in the hall.
If the Jedi think this is a few members, they can't be trusted with counting.
There are Jedi everywhere. They're seated around the room, standing along the walls, and a few resting on the window ledges. Their presence seems to suck all the warmth from the air, setting Sabé's already frayed nerves on edge.
Glancing over, she finds Saché looks no happier than she feels. Her expression is impassive, but Sabé can read her body language as easily as basic.
She's furious and certain they're planning something.
"Good morning ladies," the cheerful voice of Kit Fisto greets them.
"Good morning, Master Kit," Saché answers, her expression warming fractionally.
Kit's grin widens, his nonexistent eyebrows rising. "No longer Twi'leks I see."
Saché's lips twitch up as she shrugs. "It would seem not."
"Very impressive. It's not every day someone is able to fool a Jedi with a simple disguise," a bald, dark skinned man's clear voice comments, earning a rumble of agreement.
"Simple?" Saché's voice rises. "Those disguises were hardly simple Do you know the trouble it is to work with lekku?" She looks at Sabé, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Simple, Sabs."
Sabé almost laughs at Saché's indignation.
"You're quite gifted mimics. And quite accomplished liars, too," the bald Jedi notes as he presses his fingers together, gazing at them unhappil.
"Liars?" Saché actually manages to look confused. "When did we lie?"
Kit chuckles. "You said you were with the Senatorial Bureau of Intelligence."
"No," Sabé corrects him, shaking her head. "We said we were with the senate and that we are investigators."
"All perfectly true," Saché points out, still maintaining a look of absolute innocence.
Kit laughs, the tentacles on his head twitching in amusement. "Yes, I suppose it is."
None of the other Jedi find the misunderstanding as amusing as Kit though, whose laughter quickly dies out.
"Master Fisto tells us you have information about some political outsiders we've been following for some time," a polished Cerean finally says, his stern eyes focused on the girls.
"Yes," Sabé answers, trying to keep her voice even.
Reaching into her handbag, willing her hands not to shake from cold and nerves, she pulls a small data file from inside and gently places it on the projector.
The images she and Saché had carefully loaded onto it spring up, systems and planets they had visited that show sympathies toward Count Dooku, a somewhat incomplete list of people and organizations as well, and images from the hobnob parties and a few from closed door meetings they had managed to spy on.
Taking a breath of the icy air, Sabé forces a smile.
"For nearly a year now my sister and I have been investigating the 'Separatists', as they are called, gathering intelligence on their intentions and those whose sympathies lie with them…" Sabé clicks a small device in her hand and several labeled planets come into focus, "From what we can gather these are the key systems with leanings toward their ideals." Another click and many of the various organizations, the Trade Federation among them, pop up, "These groups have all felt the pangs of the taxation levies. They feel they are being unfairly targeted and unjustly punished for doing well and are receiving little to no compensation for their pains."
Which, unless they'd been living under a rock in the Outer Rim, they should already know.
Pausing, she takes a breath before continuing, "The most troubling of all this isn't their seeming desire to leave the Republic, which is well within their rights as it is, but the particular assortment of individual and organizations being courted. They are all strong and disillusioned, no doubt, their financial backing is considerable, but they also have another common thread: either the capability to create or the possession of armies."
"This is what worries Senator Amidala. It's as though they want to go to war. They're gearing themselves for a bloody revolt. There have been talks in the Senate about forming an army, which the Senator feels would only further antagonize the radicals, it would show a lack of willingness to use negotiations and a readiness to use brute force."
"Agree with Senator Amidala on this point, I do," the little green Jedi Sabé recognized from Master Jinn's funeral says, tapping his cane to punctuate his point.
"This is all very fascinating, but why exactly did you want to tell us all this?" A dark skinned woman asks.
Saché's expression gets grimmer as she takes the lead.
"Because, we have proof that among the main recruiters is a former Jedi, Count Dooku."
The low hum that fills the quiet room is sucked out the instant the name leaves her lips, but Saché battles on.
"His intentions, from what we have been able to gather, are less than amicable toward the Republic. It almost seems as if he is intentionally trying to goad us into a confrontation, he wants the Republic to strike against the dissention to give them validation. Which it would undoubtedly do. We believe he is willing to go to great lengths to ensure these ends."
She stops, glances around the room to make sure she's got their full attention, then continues.
"As you saw the Trade Federation was among the groups leaning toward cession, and as you know they harbor no kind feelings toward Naboo or our Senator and former Queen. We fear their intense dislike of Senator Amidala coupled with the desire to push the Republic into further instability by creating an army, which she will continue to fight tooth and nail, are catalyst for assassination attempts. We've been informed that Count Dooku has had contact with bounty hunters, further adding to our suspicion. He's been becoming more…aware of our presence. Actively avoiding us, despite our best efforts. We would like Jedi assistance in gathering evidence of the Count's consolidation of forces to use against the Republic and, if necessary, detain him."
The last of the warmth seems to evaporate from the room.
Something, a buzz or a vibration, something supernatural, permeates the air, and Sabé pulls her cloak tighter to her body, wondering if it's the force and all its wielders she's feeling suffocating her in cold and white noise or nerves.
Looking at Saché, she already knows her sister's assessment of the situation.
A waste of time. They'll get no help here. Protecting Padmé and chasing the ghosts threatening the Republic is going to fall to them.
After several minutes the bald, dark skinned Jedi finally turns to them, grim expression intact.
"What you tell us is undeniably unsettling. We have long been aware of something brewing, growing stronger within the Republic and you have shed some light on certain particulars of that. However on the point of Count Dooku we must disagree. As a former Jedi it is against his nature to even plot such a thing as murder."
"Former Jedi, sweetness," Saché reminds him, eyes narrowed, smile cold.
"Leaving the order doesn't change a person's basic nature," the Cerean tells her, seeming to think he's explaining something exceedingly simple.
"The Jedi are hardly infallible," Sabé counters softly, trying to keep her sister from ripping the Council apart right then and there. "Perhaps another part of his personality is seeking to serve a higher purpose? One that demands some small sacrifice?"
"Perhaps he feels it's the will of the Force?" Saché mutters darkly.
"Valid, your concerns are. Unlikely, though, I feel they are," the little green Jedi tells them, leaning on his cane, humming an agreement to himself after.
"You feel?" Saché grinds her teeth. "I'm sorry Master…whoever you are, but I would rather place the life of my friend in the hands of some kind of facts rather than your feelings. I wasn't even aware Jedi had feelings."
"Miss, you're upset," the bald Jedi notes, his brow furrowing, apparently confused by her tone.
"Am I? Was my blatant mockery enough to clue you in or did you have to use the Force to divine that?" Saché snaps, all pretense gone.
"Saché!" Sabé hisses. She needs to get herself under control.
Saché takes a deep breath, teeth grinding as she continues to glare, lips still tight in an insincere smile.
"My apologies. I'm sure you can understand why I'm upset. You're shaking off our concerns with very little thought. You haven't even discussed this. We aren't asking you to smother the man in his sleep, just help us monitor him. Bring him in if need be."
"Monitor him, we will," the little Jedi croaks, cutting her off. "Too few of us, there are, to supervise him as you want. Spread thin, the Jedi are. Many pressing matters at this time that demand our attention, there are."
Sabé deflates.
They'll not receive any aide from the Jedi.
Saché lets out a long breath, glancing at Sabé.
This is, no doubt, exactly what she'd expected. She has no faith in the Jedi, but Sabé does, and the sting of the rejection is enough to make her want to cry.
They're supposed to help protect the galaxy, but they won't even consider it.
Biting the inside of her cheek, Sabé dips in a little bow. "Thank you for your time."
Saché snatches up the data file from the projector and gives a terse bow of her own before marching out, Sabé at her heels.
Once they're on the turbo lift Saché roars in agitation, "Bastards! Arrogant-self-absorbed, Hutt-tails!"
"I was sure they would help," Sabé mumbles to herself while Saché rants on.
"How can they be so blind!" She half shouts, then drops her voice in an imitation of the bald Jedi, "He's a former Jedi, he's above such things. Idiots!"
Pulling her hood down over her entire face she muffles a scream of frustration.
#######
"It'll be the end of them soon if they don't pull their pompous little skulls out of their asses," Saché grumbles as they exit the turbo and hurry to the exit.
Sabé smiles sadly, nods in resignation.
"I know, Sach. But losing your head isn't going to get us anywhere."
Saché snorts. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was a delight."
Clearly Saché's definition of a delight is wildly divergent from everyone else's.
"You were awful." Entertaining, but awful.
"Ah well," Saché shrugs, unconcerned with her behavior, "I'm not sorry. Everyone needs put in their place, even the all-powerful Jedi."
"If that's what you call it," Sabé sighs, stepping out the front doors of the temple and into the warmth to hail an air-taxi.
"Sabé?"
The voice is familiar but different. Older and stronger, but still easily recognizable.
Turning, Sabé feels her heart speed up at the sight of the man stepping closer, smiling at her.
"It is you."
Obi-wan smiles warmly, melting the cold of the temple a little bit.
"Obi-wan," Sabé grins, unable to stop herself. "I-how are you?"
He shrugs. "As well as ever."
His smile drops fractionally when he greets Saché, probably sensing her sour mood. "Hello there."
Saché grunts a salutation.
Obi-wan raises his eyebrows in question and Sabé grimaces.
"We, er…had a meeting with the Council. Saché…it didn't go as well as we'd hoped," she answers his look.
"Oh?" He frowns. "May I ask why?"
"They're jerks," Saché grumbles before cutting her eyes to Obi-wan. "What's up with your hair?"
Sabé bites her lip. "Well, yes, but…oh Saché, go get the taxi."
Saché shrugs then wanders off, muttering to herself again.
"Sorry about her," Sabé apologizes.
Obi-wan, simply smiles. "I highly doubt you have any control over her, or that anyone does for that matter."
Grimacing, Sabé nods before taking a chance to take in his appearance.
She hadn't seen him since before she and Saché had been set on the Count.
His hair is longer, and she can't say it suits him. His beard is scrubbier, not as neatly kept as she would have expected. His eyes are the same though, sweet and twinkling, just as she remembers, and his smile is as handsome as ever.
Her nose scrunches up when she notices his clothes. "You just get back?"
He's got bits of plant debris clinging to his tunic and muck is caked on his boots. It stands out against the stark cleanliness of the Temple.
He vaguely notes his attire. "Oh, yes."
Reaching out, Sabé plucks a piece of some unknown plant from his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground with a plop.
"Very stylish. I imagine it'll be replacing shimmer silk on the runways soon."
"That is my dearest hope," he chuckles before taking in her appearance. "What exactly were you and your ever charming sister discussing with the Council? If I may ask."
"A great deal, that came to no end I'm afraid," she answers, knowing it's no answer at all but unsure how much she should divulge.
"That's…vague."
"Yes, well, your friends in there will probably give you a lovely account of our exploits. That's why we we're here, we we're trying to…recruit? I guess you could say. It ended…badly," she explains, gesturing hopelessly.
He glances towards Saché, at the bottom of the steps, grumbling darkly to herself.
"I would have never guessed."
Sabé makes a face. "Yeah."
Hoping to change the subject, she turns from Saché, and realizes he's missing his most prominent accessory.
"Where's Anakin?"
He gives a long suffering sigh. "He's off at a retreat. I'm free of him for at least three days."
Sabé frowns. "Don't say that. I know you're fond of him, even if he is a bit…trying."
"I suppose," he agrees. "He does have a few strong points I suppose."
"You'll finds them someday."
Chuckling, he shakes his head. "I hope so."
Feeling a bit awkward and sweaty under the rising sun, Sabé jerks her head toward Saché.
"I think I should remove her from the premises."
"I'll see you out," he tells her, gesturing toward the steps.
He walk beside her, until they're at the bottom of the steps, several yards from Saché who'd rushed off to hail the taxi when she spotted Sabé coming.
Obi-wan bows his head slightly. "It was good to see you again Sabé."
"Yes," Sabé pauses, her mouth beating her good sense as she suddenly she blurts out, "Do you want to get dinner tonight?"
She isn't sure what prompts her to do it, the heat of the sun thawing her too quickly, or maybe simple stupidity, but the second the question is out she wants to take it back. She's only hurting herself.
Obi-wan, however, is oblivious to her distress.
"That would be nice. Do you have any particular place in mind?"
Sabé freezes. She hadn't expected him to say yes. "No, not really."
"There's a small diner, Dex's, I doubt you'll have been there before. It might be an interesting change," he offers.
Sabé nods, a little too enthusiastically, barely manages to not stumble over her words. "Oh-yes, that's-that's fine. Just send me directions."
"I'll see you tonight then. Nineteen hundred?"
Sabé continues to nod stupidly, unable to stop herself.
"I expect to be given a more complete rendition of why you were here," he tells her as she backs away, toward her sister.
"Of course, and the same about your little adventures," she calls back, nearly tripping.
Saché arches an eyebrow as her sister approaches. "What was that about?"
"Nothing," Sabé answers, forcing her grin down.
Saché narrows her eyes, her lips flattening into a line. "Oh Sabé..."
"No. Get in the taxi."
She pushes her sister into the cab and crawls in after her, pulling the door shut with her foot.
Straightening up, Sabé turns to her sister, already wearing an uncharacteristically serious expression, and holds up a hand before she can speak.
"I know what you're going to say. I know we're just friends. I'm not getting any ideas."
"Are you sure?" Saché's voice is low and full of concern. "Sabs, I've watched you pine for that ninny for nearly ten years. Don't set yourself up for disappointment."
"I won't," Sabé promises. "We're just friends."
Saché snorts loudly, earning them a look from the driver. She frowns deeply at her sister, nose wrinkled in worry and dislike of the situation.
"Please be careful Sabs. I mean it. And you know me, I hardly ever mean anything."
"And I mean it," Sabé tries to fix a reassuring expression on her face. "It's just two old friends getting together to catch up. Nothing more."
Sighing loudly, Saché shakes her head at her, still thoroughly unconvinced.
"He's still a Jedi. And I don't trust them. Especially not with you."