It took Chloe more than six hours to clear out the horrible old storage stack. After changing out of her dusty clothes, she made her way back to the main archive hall, shivering as she walked along the left hand side of the enormous room. It was cold in here; the temperature was carefully controlled to suit the records, not those who accessed them, and the blue glow emanating from the data banks to her left made it feel even colder.
Chloe sighed. Her hair felt terrible. It probably looked even worse, and she could only imagine how bad, since there was no mirror in the 'fresher down the corridor from the archives. Perhaps Li-Sei possessed the genes for perfect grooming, Chloe thought, it wouldn't be surprising if she somehow maintained her appearance without ever actually needing to look at her reflection.
At the end of the hall, Chloe crossed the row of desks and turned right, towards the librarian's office. It was nicer here. Brighter. Shafts of sunlight slanted from windows high above her head, reflecting off the polished marble floor by her feet. Very shiny marble, Chloe thought, slowing her steps. She looked around.
Okay, in hindsight it was a stupid idea. But she only realised how stupid when, kneeling on the floor, trying to check her hair in the reflection from the floor, she heard the scrape of a chair from the direction of the main hall, the hall that had been deserted just a few moments ago. Chloe jumped and looked up.
And there he was, sat at a desk, watching her: the obnoxious Jedi from that morning. Chloe flushed red. The Jedi frowned at her. Chloe scowled back. Carefully, she got to her feet, trying to give the impression she had been doing something perfectly ordinary, sensible and Jedi-like.
He was still looking at her, but blandly now. Impassively. Chloe raised an eyebrow, but didn't wait for his reaction, instead turning sharply and walking in the opposite direction, towards the office.
Inside, she found her desk piled high with datapads, brand new and ready to be catalogued. Chloe groaned and slumped down in her chair, putting her face in her hands. She really did feel awful today; her stomach was churning with a mixture of too many things, her skin prickling with dust and irritation. Perhaps she was simply tired. Tired and annoyed.
There was knock at the door.
She ignored it. Perhaps if she kept quiet whoever it was would give up and go away.
Another knock, louder this time.
Chloe sighed. "Come in."
It was him. Of course it was.
She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see the eyes that had such a strange effect on her earlier.
"I think I owe you an apology," he said.
Yes, you do, Chloe thought, pretending to be engrossed in the details of the flimsiplast printout in her hands. She heard him walk around to the front of her desk.
"So… I'm sorry," he continued, in a formal, upper-class Coruscanti accent. "This morning, I didn't realise you worked here. I'm afraid I've been away for some time."
Chloe raised her head, and smiled at him quickly. "No problem. Don't worry about it."
"It's just…" he started again. She dared to make eye contact as he hesitated, and to her relief found that here, in the flat artificial light of the office, his blue eyes seemed perfectly ordinary.
He was still speaking.
"…so if you could have everything catalogued by this evening…"
Wait. Hold on a moment. Rewind. What was that?
He'd only come to apologise because he expected her to do some work for him?
Anger flared like a beacon in Chloe's chest.
"Sorry," she said, fixing him with a ferocious gaze. "I'm afraid that will be impossible. I've got some very important work to do for General Kenobi, and he needs it to be done by the end of the day. And he's incredibly important, and as far as I'm aware, not impolite, ignorant, or presumptuous, like you."
Chloe paused, wondering for a millisecond if she'd actually said that out loud.
Erm, yes, apparently, she had. "S-so I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow," she finished, and looked down quickly, hastily arranging the contents of her desk.
Silence. And now is the point when you leave, she thought, her cheeks burning. Now. Please.
She heard him walk to the door. Good.
Then she heard him chuckle.
Chloe looked up in surprise, to find him grinning at her, and to find something in that white-toothed, sparkle-eyed grin that urged her to laugh with him, even though he was laughing at her; even though he was almost certainly the rudest man she had ever met.
And he was STILL laughing.
He wiped his eyes. Then, noticing her horrified expression, his face grew serious. "I'm sorry." He shook his head. "But you are wrong. I'm afraid Obi-Wan Kenobi is both impolite and presumptuous."
"You know him?" Chloe asked quietly, suddenly feeling uneasy.
"Of course I do." He leant one hand against the doorframe and ran the other through his hair.
"He's me."
The tower of datapads lay untouched on her desk. Chloe's hand shook as she sipped her tea. Making the drink had been the sole productive endeavour of the twenty minutes since Obi-Wan had left. She couldn't recall what else he had said; the actual leaving had happened in a pink haze of embarrassment.
She'd spent the following ten minutes fantasising that a wormhole might open up right here in the office and swallow her whole.
It hadn't. Cursed space-time continuum.
Chloe's eyes flicked to her bag. It lay open at the end of her desk. The corner of Matty's datapad was poking out.
The datapad containing detailed notes on Jedis Skywalker and Kenobi.
Chloe bit her lip. Matty liked to summarise people, planets, pretty much everything, in a single, snappy sentence. How would she have summarised Obi-Wan?
How about, Chloe wondered, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Almost certainly a complete pain in the ass?
The temptation was too great to resist. Chloe reached for the datapad and turned it on, quickly locating and opening the file named marked with his name.
Below the title, Senior Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, was the tagline Matty had assigned to him. Chloe read it eagerly.
Something of an enigma.
Well, that didn't preclude him from being a pain in the ass, she thought, wrinkling her nose and letting her eyes wander to the first paragraph.
A phenomenal pilot who doesn't want to fly. A devastating warrior who'd rather not fight. A negotiator without peer who, apparently, would rather sit alone in a quiet cave and meditate. A gentle, noble man; a hero; a role model. But who is the real Obi-Wan Kenobi?
Chloe smiled. Matty was good.
But, Chloe discovered, as she scrolled down, her friend's question remained unanswered. The remainder of the file was in note form, bullet points and quotations neatly arranged under headings. Chloe scanned the document impatiently, reading snippets here and there.
…left the Order temporarily when he was fourteen… first Jedi to kill a Sith in approximately 1000 years, during the battle of Naboo…
She ploughed on, looking for more recent information, or, ideally, evidence of horrible personality defects.
…widely respected for negotiating diplomatic solutions to aggressive conflicts… tipped for High Council membership…
Yeah, so he was important. She'd been right about that. Didn't exclude him from basic civility.
Then, in the very last section, one phrase caught her eye.
…strong dislike of journalists…
"Gotcha," Chloe exclaimed, triumphantly, scrolling back to the beginning of the section entitled Media and personal relationships.
An intensely private man, Kenobi is known to have a strong dislike of journalists, often taking extreme measures to avoid the press. He refuses to be interviewed without prior appointment and will not answer questions about his personal life, particularly his status regarding the notorious Jedi celibacy vow, and his rumoured involvement with former royal handmaiden and senior member of the Naboo aristocracy, Lady Sabé Essara.
Chloe sat back in her chair. No wonder Matty had wanted her to try to talk to him. Sounds like it would be an exclusive. She hoped Matty wouldn't be too disappointed; what Chloe had said couldn't exactly be construed as sweet-talk.
Then, Chloe frowned, and leant forward to read the paragraph again.
…strong dislike of journalists…
…often taking extreme measures to avoid the press….
She flushed hot, and then she flushed cold.
Slowly, she turned over the datapad, already ninety-five percent sure of what she was about to see.
Just over four hours later, Chloe rubbed her eyes and yawned, surveying her completed work in satisfaction. It had been the least she could do, given the circumstances. Obi-Wan's datapads lay neatly in her out-tray, the list of newly-catalogued entries filling the screen of her terminal.
Chloe checked the wall-chrono. It was late. Li-Sei had left an hour earlier, having an "incredibly important" meeting to attend elsewhere in the temple. Chloe stood up, turned off her machine and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair, remembering her conversation with Dex that morning. The prospect of a laid-back evening meal in the diner had never been more appealing. Get out of here, back to the real world, stuff herself on comfort food, watch the patrons come and go, listen to Dex's crazy stories…
The small library office was quiet without the background hum of the terminal, and the silence was almost suffocating, dizzying. Just as Chloe finished turning off the lights and reached for the door activation panel, it suddenly swooshed open to reveal a cloaked figure.
Chloe yelped in surprise. "I… er, General Kenobi. Hi. I mean… good evening. Sir."
"Hello again," he said.
"C-can I help you with something?" She felt her cheeks flush when she remembered exactly how rude she had been to him earlier.
"Possibly. I'm looking for some information and I thought you might be able to help..." He glanced over her shoulder and into the dim room, frowning.
Chloe turned to follow his gaze to her desk. Matty's datapad still lay there, upturned. And there it was, inscribed in large white letters, reflecting the ambient light from the open door, just below the small lens of the datapad's built-in camera. One word.
PRESS.
Chloe took a deep breath, and rubbed a hand over her forehead.
"I'm so sorry…"
"I see you've…" he spoke at the same time. "Go on."
She looked up at him. "You thought I was a journalist. This morning, at the entrance."
He nodded, his expression sombre, one hundred percent the stern Jedi General. "And you're not?"
"No." She shook her head. "It's Matty's datapad, I mean I have this friend, and she's a journalist and she… well it's a long story, but I can assure you I'm not a journalist, I'm a grad student at the Academy of Sciences, and I'm sorry I insulted you, I didn't really mean… well, I did at the time, but I don't think you're-"
"-impolite, ignorant, or presumptuous?" he interrupted, calmly.
Chloe winced at every word. "No," she said quietly, looking away. "I was just having a really bad day. I'm sorry."
"Hmm. I think the single apology will be quite adequate. Miss…?"
His hand was outstretched. She stepped closer shake it. "O'Brian. Chloe O'Brian."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss O'Brian. And how long have you been working here?"
"Just over a week."
"And how are you finding it?"
"Oh, very… um, informative?" Chloe said, hopefully, trying her hardest to be diplomatic.
To her surprise, the grave Jedi General's solemn expression cracked, his lips turning upwards into a small smile.
Chloe smiled back nervously, suddenly feeling shy, dropping his hand and looking away. "I… I've finished your archiving," she said, indicating her out-tray.
"So I see," he said. "Good. In that case, I have a request…" He folded his arms across his chest, looking down at the floor and back up again.
And this is the point, Chloe thought, where he tells you to pack up your stuff, because your services are no longer required…
But when Obi-Wan spoke, it was to say something rather different. "I need information, and rather urgently," he began. "I'm looking for a detailed breakdown of the spy droid algorithms used by the Sinsu tribe in the Dakoda system. Trouble is, it's all a bit of a mystery. But if you're leaving…"
Chloe swallowed as she took it all in: spy droids, the Sinsu... it all sounded intriguing, and exactly the kind of thing she'd been dreaming of working on.
She smiled broadly at Obi-Wan, thanking the Goddess for second chances, fighting the sudden urge to laugh with relief.
"On the contrary, General Kenobi, I'd be more than happy to help," she said, flicking the lights back on and forgetting her need for food and sleep as a surge of adrenalin ran through her.
"Algorithms are my speciality".