Sheltered

Ossk Bashaviss heaved the last guests' luggage onto a hovercart and jerked one of his four thumbs at a waiting server droid, signaling that the overloaded platform was ready to be taken upstairs. Never before had his hostelry – The Gorgonian Grotto, rated best for service, reasonable rates, three and a half stars – been so full during the off season. But then again, never before had the planetary senatorial elections coincided with the district oozball championships, hosted in the capitol city's megadome. He pitied the fool who tried to go anywhere near a spaceport in the next few days, and he pitied the fool who thought he could find lodgings available without a three week advance reservation and a hefty downpayment.

Never before had his modest establishment boasted such exotic and important guests. Due to an overflow or booking snafu at the official State Affairs Hospitality Tower, Ossk had inherited a few muck-a-mucks from Coruscant. Representative Somebody or other, an interpreter, the interpreter's secretary, the Somebody's personal retinue, another High-Up and the High-Up's public relations officer. Ossk had never been good with names, at least not foreign names, and besides: his attention had been completely riveted upon the last minute additions to this already impressive list of newcomers. The Coruscanti elite had arrived replete with a Jedi bodyguard. Two of them, in fact.

The older one- Jinn, that was his name – was in the lobby at this very moment, speaking to the High Up's Something or Other over by the sheltered bay window. The lobby was full of people drifting in between their day's shopping and the evening meal. The championship game was tonight, and the elections scheduled to begin early on the next morning. Not a soul in the city lacked an excuse to be out and about, and the security patrols had hired off planet mercenaries to help with the inevitable post-game rioting and the nightmarish traffic difficulties the following day. Ossk wondered whether looters would break the bay window if the offworlders' team won the big game – that had happened a few years ago. Maybe the Jedi could help with that.

The nervous High Up Whatsit scuttled away when he saw Ossk approach. Like the chosski had never seen a Besalisk before, or maybe like he thought people with reptilian skin were beneath him. Damned species-ist. Jinn was a human, too, but he didn't put on any airs. "Mr. Bashaviss," he said, making a small polite bow.

Ossk liked the man. "Ah, Master Jedi sir," he rumbled, wondering how to properly begin. "I was wondering, seeing as you are resident here, whether you would mind seeing to the safety and security of my guests. A few years ago we had an incident – youthful rioting, drunks smashing windows and so on – and should something similar occur tonight – "

"I am sorry," the tall Jedi cut him off – gently, though, not like a stuffed up politico – "But our first priority is to see to the safety of the delegation from Coruscant. However, I can assure you that if real danger threatened your guests or your property, my apprentice and I would do everything in our power to prevent it."

Ossk pondered this for a moment. Well, that was a start, and he should probably be grateful. Besides, maybe if he let it be known on the streets – discreetly, not in an overt way – that he was harboring a couple of Jedi under his roof, the criminal element might steer clear. It was worth a try. "I appreciate that," he answered. "It's not often – well, actually, it's never – that I have a Jedi staying here at the Grotto."

"It is our honor."

That was a polite nothing, but Ossk appreciated the gesture. He was just wondering whether to ask the Jedi about submitting a review of the hostelry to the Galactic Hotelier's Gazette – imagine the publicity a Jedi encomium might bring in – when his attention was rudely distracted by a sharp rapping at the window.

He glared at the familiar blue face peering up at him with pleading amber-colored eyes, and nodded his head in the direction of the main entrance, where a pair of burnished droid ushers kept watch over the perma-glass lobby doors. "Excuse me," he grunted, and ambled over to admit the petite figure of Nashyll Bi-Mu into the perfumed solarium. The droids creaked disapprovingly, their flat optic receptors gleaming with a stern light that said the intruder would have been summarily expelled were it not for the presence of their hulking employer.

"Oh! Ossk!" Nashyll's wide eyes darted behind her, side to side. "Listen, honey, can I stay here tonight? I don't care where, the bottom floor's fine, in a closet or anywhere, I just need a place."

He ground his two rows of teeth together. Bad timing. Nashyll was a pity case – he let her shelter in a spare room now and then, when business was slow and the weather was cold. But this was not the best time. "Look," he explained. "I'm full up. Had to move the whole top floor out for some Coruscanti big-timers who got screwed by the Hospitality Tower. Everybody else's jammed wherever I can fit 'em. I don't got so much as a closet to spare."

The Twi"lek hugged her thin arms. She must be freezing in the cycled air – Nashyll didn't wear too much, as a rule. Her painted brows drew together in appeal. "Please, Ossk!" she begged. "The inspectors are sweeping the streets – collecting anyone's who's not suitable for offworlders' eyes." She spat the last bit out bitterly, pretty mouth twisting. "You can't let them round me up in a detention center. You know what'll happen to a girl like me in there….c'mon Ossk. Have a heart."

He was on the verge of capitulating – though stars knew where he could possibly stow her without scandalizing his clients, when a pair of the Inspectors swaggered through the doors.

"Let's go, " the foremost demanded, seizing one of Nashyll's arms in a vise-like grip. "You ain't walking the streets tonight, fleema."

"No! Let me go! Let me go!"

Ossk hesitated. Some of the clients were starting to stare, wonder what the commotion was about. "She's…ah….staying here," he protested.

The Inspector raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Unless she's a guest of one of your clients, Basheviss, that's illegal. And you know it. Do I need to cite you for harboring a transient? Your rating will drop down to nothing."

The Besalisk squirmed. "Look, Nashyll," he tried to explain. Why did her eyes have to be so soft and pleading? It went straight to a fellow's heart, the way she looked at him. Even though he knew it was ninety percent artifice.

"She's with me," a deep, quiet voice said.

Oskk, the Inspectors, even Nashyll Bi-Mu stared.

"Unhand her," the Jedi ordered. The Inspectors were too stunned to object.

"There is no trouble here," the Jedi continued, making a strange little gesture with his right hand. "You can continue on your way."

And just like that, the Inspectors were bumbling in their way. The Twi'Lek grabbed Ossk's arm, still begging. "I can't go back out there. There's hundreds of them on the streets…and everywhere. Please, Ossk. Please."

"She can shelter in our rooms," the Jedi said.

Nashyll's mouth opened in surprise. "You're serious," she stuttered.

"Of course. " The Jedi glanced at the growing crowd of curious gawkers gathering in the lobby. "Perhaps it would be best if you went up now. I'm sure Mr Bashaviss does not wish to create a spectacle."

"Oh." Nashyll cast a half-worried, half-smug look at Ossk and then shrugged. "So…is this a business arrangement? I've never been with a Jedi before."

Ossk dragged one hand over his face.

But the Jedi didn't even blush. He would be a mean opponent at a sabaac table, that was for sure. "No," he replied politely. "This is merely common decency. My apprentice is in our rooms now- I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

And she left, trouncing off to the lift with her long blue lekku draped elegantly over one shoulder, her skimpy sequined slip of a dress reflecting the tastefully dimmed lobby lights. The lookie-loos drifted away, bored now that the impending arrest had dissolved into nothing more interesting than a standard liaison. Ossk released a sigh. That solved the Nashyll problem nicely.

But still. Jedi. Who knew?

Nashyll Bi-Mu adjusted her décolleté before steeping off the lift. She was far too experienced to think that common decency meant anything more than "you will not be paid because you owe me one." But it could be worse. She might have been left at the mercy of the Inspectors, and of the detention center. A tremor passed through her slight frame. Ossk had been on the verge of turning her away – she had seen it in his eyes. And that hurt, because she thought that Ossk was her friend. Now she wondered.

The rooms assigned to the Jedi were on the top level – the fanciest Ossk had to offer, which wasn't anything special. She found the correct number and hesitated before the door. What was an apprentice, anyway? A servant of some kind? Or was it more like a student? She ran her tongue over her generous lips, moistening them, and took a deep breath. The tall Jedi had a powerful build, but he seemed…gentle. She wasn't afraid of rough treatment at his hands. But an apprentice - that implied someone younger, more prone to brutish appetite, to youthful excess. She rang the chime. Even a hard night was better than what might befall her in the detention center, where her profession would automatically disqualify her from any protection or respect, much less "common decency."

The apprentice opened the door. Nashyll blinked. Well, well. If he was even a little bit of a gentleman, this might not be too intolerable. She offered her most engaging smile, tilted her hips at an alluring angle.

He didn't react as expected. A stern line appeared between his eyebrows.. "You must have the wrong room," he said, in a charming Core accent. "The politicians are across the hall." The way he said politicians made her giggle. It was as though he had said the cesspool is across the hall.

"Master Jinn told me to come here," she insisted.

At the mention of the older Jedi's name, the apprentice lost a little of his stiff composure. His mouth popped open and then shut again, sharply. "Master Jinn told you to come here?" he repeated. It made her giggle some more.

"Yes." She decided to enter, since he didn't have the manners to invite her in. He drew back against the wall to allow her passage, as though touching her might burn his skin. The door slid shut behind her. "So what's your name, apprentice?"

He was rather cute, for a human. Affront made his blue eyes sparkle. "Obi Wan Kenobi," he informed her with the most dismissively uncivil bow she had ever seen. Wow. The Jedi must work on things like that a lot – it had to take years of practice to be so impeccably rude.

She flopped on the settee in the small sitting room's center, noticing that a deep brown cloak had been tossed across its back. The fabric was very nice – smooth and warm, tightly woven yet flexible. She draped it over her own shoulders; the air cyclers were set too low. Ossk was a cheapskate when it came to energy expenditure. The apprentice just stared at her, manifestly at a loss.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bi Bi Wan," Nashyll smiled. "I'll be staying here for the night."

Now his eyebrows rose – just a trifle, but enough to convey astonished disapproval. She decided that Master Jinn must have made the offer of hospitality, or whatever you might call it, solely on his own behalf. The apprentice clearly had no interest in a good thing, even when it came walking through his front door in sequins and synthsilk netting. What a little priss. Or maybe he didn't go in for Twi"leks. Or women. You never knew. But that was fine with her. She decided she didn't really like this younger Jedi, except maybe to look at.

He studied her carefully manicured nails. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

"No," he answered, with supercilious confidence.

She uncurled. There was something else she could do – the suite was provided with a small 'fresher. "I'll just take a shower, then," she announced. When he continued to stare at her as though insulted by her very existence, she proceeded to very deliberately undress right in front of the 'fresher door. The apprentice lost that battle – he was forced to turn his back and wander off to the adjacent hallway.

Ha. Shrugging, Nashyll slipped into Ossk's outdated shower and fiddled with the water controls until a delicious torrent of hot, hot water pounded down over her skin, sending up shimmering veils of steam. It was wonderful. She decided to make this a nice, long shower – Ossk was paying, and she didn't much care for the company anyway.

The water was still running in the 'fresher when Qui Gon finally returned. Obi Wan waved the hostelry door open before the Jed master had a chance to apply his identichip to the lock.

"Master."

Qui Gon's eyebrows rose in challenge as the Force tautened between them. Obi Wan cast a single burning glance over his shoulder at the closed 'fresher door, the pile of discarded garments on the floor, and then back at his mentor's face, silently demanding an explanation for the offensive intrusion upon their privacy. The tall man merely stepped over the threshold and allowed the door to slide shut behind him.

"Is there something you wish to say, Padawan?"

There was ever so slight an emphasis on the last word, a subtle reminder of their difference in rank. Obi Wan bristled. "Are we expecting any more pathetic life forms tonight, master?"

The amused twinkle on Qui Gon's eye also had a dangerous edge to it. "I would think that one comely Twi'Lek prostitute would be enough for you, Obi Wan."

The young Jedi snapped his gaping mouth shut and clamped down hard, lest the torrent of acid disrespect welling up into his thoughts found its release in speech. Qui Gon brushed past him, his blue-grey eyes boring into his apprentice, daring him to slacken that hard-won control even one iota.

"She is in need of shelter, and I have offered her our hospitality," Qui Gon said. "You will treat her with the respect befitting any living being."

Obi Wan bowed. His mentor was given to fits of lunacy; his duty as a Padawan was to keep his mouth shut. And obey. It wasn't always a salutary arrangement.

The water in the 'fresher stopped at long last, doubtlessly because the hostelry's primitive heating unit had reached the limit of its endurance.

Obi Wan turned his back on his master and went to answer the door before the annoying server droid outside rang the chime into malfunction. "Yes?"

The antique protocol unit flung up its hands in a trite pantomime of apology. "Please excuse the disturbance," it droned. "I have come to deliver your meal." It bumbled into the room pushing a laden hovercart as soon as the young Jedi stepped aside. The cart held sufficient trays and serving platters to feed a starving Besalisk oozball team.

"Thank you," Qui Gon said, gesturing to the table at one end of the small living space. "Just set it there."

Obi Wan watched in silence as the droid dithered over the place arrangements, lit flickering glowrods – for "ambience," it explained patronizingly- and then shuffled its way back out the door.

"You forgot the flowers."

"Padawan." The Jedi master's tone forbade any further sarcasm.

Obi Wan averted his eyes as their unlikely companion finally emerged from the fresher and set about leisurely reassuming her cast off garments, in full view of anyone who might care to watch. "I'll be meditating on the balcony," he announced tightly.

"After dinner," Qui Gon corrected him, face hardening into unremitting lines. "You will join us, and entertain our guest. I'm told you can be a charming conversationalist."

Obi Wan's mouth thinned to a displeased line. The tall man raised an eyebrow, expectantly.

Another beat of silence. "Yes, master," the Padawan ground out.

"Is this all for us?" Nashyll widened her limpid eyes, formed her perfect mouth into a little alluring "o" of flattered surprise. Obi Wan timed his eyeroll to coincide with his master's short bow.

They sat, as though they were dining at one of Coruscant's most exclusive gourmet clubs. Nashyll ate daintily, though she helped herself generously to the Alderaanian wine sitting in its distinctive burgundhy tinted bottle upon the center of the table. Qui Gon politely sipped his own glass, carefully served his guest; Obi Wan did his best to ignore both of them, grateful only that Qui Gon had seen fit to order all the dishes at once rather than inflicting the lengthy and tedious formality of a seven-course banquet upon them.

The Jedi master deliberately filled a goblet brim full and extended it to his Padawan. "Drink," he ordered.

"No thank you."

Qui Gon's expression would have appeared entirely placid to an outsider, but the subtle twitch of a muscle beneath his right eye and the infinitesimal tightening of his mouth were clear and vibrant warning signals to his protégé. Obi Wan accepted the cup, in smoldering silence.

"Relax, BiBiWan, " Nashyll teased, leaning forward just-so, her artfully arranged netting revealing what it did not conceal – which was almost everything. "I'm not going to bite you….unless you want me to."

The Padawan could sense Qui Gon's barely contained amusement, dancing merrily in the Force between them. Very well. Two could play at that game. "I would not presume to impose upon you," he said, with a bow of the head. "Your professional expertise far exceeds my own."

The Twi'Lek's blue complexion attained a dusky lavender flush on her neck and cheeks. Obi Wan raised his cup in salute, and then swallowed its contents in one go. The wine was sweet, and tasted of defiance. He set the goblet down and excused himself from the table, eyes holding Qui Gon's cold glare steadily, the slight skipping of his heart masked by a lovely warmth of alcohol radiating in his chest and belly.

Outside, upon the narrow balcony, the evening air was refreshing. The Force swelled and surged, an ocean stirred by restless currents, but he did not resist its pull. His hands curled about the railing, as easily as they might curl about a saber's hilt, and he deliberately relaxed his posture.

It did not take Qui Gon long to appear behind him. "You will apologize to her for that insult," the tall man said, in a tone of quiet but taut authority.

"It's not an insult, master." He could still taste the wine on his tongue. "It's the truth."

"It is not your role to lay bare the soul of other beings. You are a peacekeeper, not a judge. By insulting a less privileged being, you expose your own flaws."

Obi Wan's eyes narrowed, no longer seeing the bustling city streets laid out below. "Which are…?"

Qui Gon stepped forward until they were shoulder to shoulder. "A lack of humility, compassion, and experience, my Padawan." The words were not delivered softly. "And do not contradict me; after all, my professional expertise far exceeds your own."

"I am sorry to merit your correction, master. ..Perhaps if I continue to cultivate my vices, I will become pathetic enough to earn your approval."

Qui Gon merely swept inside again. "Nashyll will sleep in your bed tonight. The floor will suffice for you, I believe," he shot over his shoulder as he departed.

Obi Wan's hands tightened on the balcony railing, the aftertaste of the wine now sour in his mouth.

Nashyll Bi-Mu slid between the soft sheets in the hostelry's overstuffed bed. Ossk kept his place in good order; the cleaning droids were super-efficient, and the appointments tasteful if not expensive. The meal had been a good one – the best she had enjoyed in many months – and the wine had been better than good. If she didn't have other business to attend to, she thought she could just drift off into a deep and comforting sleep, despite the distant roar from the megadome, audible even three klicks away. She rested against the mound of pillows, waiting.

And waiting.

Eventually it occurred to her that there was no light shining under the door, that both the sitting room and the other small bedroom in the suite were darkened, and that not a footfall could be heard anywhere. Had she misunderstood? Was this some kind of game? The Jedi hadn't been very explicit in his instructions. He had bade her a goodnight and then disappeared, as though expecting her to understand the subtleties of the arrangement. Did that mean she was supposed to tend to the apprentice after all?

Cursing under her breath, she slipped back out of bed, wrapping one of the decorative blankets about herself. It was still too cold – Ossk was going to lose customers if he didn't set the heat regulators a bit higher. She slid the door open and padded into the sitting room. No Jedi. Odd. The other bedroom door was open – was that an effort to encourage the scant heat to circulate into the smaller chamber, or was that a hint? Nashyll decided that she had never been with more obscure and eccentric clients. Her flesh crawled, and she was seized with the sudden suspicion that she would be ambushed and set upon by the pair of them the moment she crossed the threshold.. She had endured stranger things, certainly. In her line of work, imagination reigned supreme, at least where raw appetite allowed it room to flourish. And Jedi were strange folk.

Still, between the cold and the wine-induced grogginess, she really didn't feel so playful. It was tempting to simply retire back to her own bed, and let them sort it out for themselves. She hadn't made any promises….of course, if they weren't happy, they could expel her back into the streets, to be picked up by the ruthless Inspectors.

She steeled herself and stepped over the threshold, expecting strong hands to seize and throw her down…

Nothing happened. A very soft snore was the only sound to punctuate the placid darkness. The bed was empty, though the rumpled covers indicated that someone had been there. Glancing through the transparisteel panel to the balcony beyond, she could just make out the silhouette of Master Jinn, sitting crosslegged in the cold night air, holding perfectly still. His hands rested on his knees, and he seemed frozen in place.

There was something vaguely creepy about the scene. She turned away, stroking the ends of her lekku nervously. This was extraordinarily awkward and confusing. What did they want her to do? With a sigh, she decided that her attentions were intended for the apprentice's benefit. He was curled up on the floor, of all places, under his dark cloak. The soft snore was emanating from this unlikely bundle of cloth.

Bracing herself , she tiptoed forward and crouched down, risking an experimental poke in the bundle's shoulder region. Then she had a better thought. Smirking a little, she leaned down, and sank her teeth very softly into his earlobe. In a flash – faster than she would have thought possible – the sleeping Jedi had twisted, seized her arms, brought her gasping onto her belly and pinned her in an extremely painful hold.

Nashyll bit back tears and squeezed her eyes shut. Stars, she hated it when they were rough. Damn Master Jinn for leaving her to his younger counterpart. She tensed, waiting for the rest…but nothing happened.

"You!"the apprentice gasped, a bit hoarsely, and the pressure threatening to pop her arm out of its socket abruptly ended. The Jedi was on his feet, staring at her with mingled horror and chagrin. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

The balcony door slid open. Nashyll could only see the looming edge of the bed from her position on the floor, but she could hear the other Jedi's swift footfalls. "Obi Wan," he said, in a sharp tone.

"She…attacked me, master."

There was a tense silence. Nashyll gathered the fallen blanket around her shoulders and struggled upright, checking for bruises. There would be one or two on her shoulder and arm. She spared an accusing glance at he apprentice and then appealed to Master Jinn. The two Jedi were staring each other down, and the air in the room felt uncomfortably full, as though a thunderstorm were brewing.

"I was just ….biting him," the Twi'Lek pouted. Neither of them seemed to hear her.

"Nashyll," the tall man said in a tight voice, eyes never leaving the younger Jedi. "You should return to the other bedroom and enjoy some rest."

She took the cue to leave, deciding that they would not turn her onto the streets after all. In a moment she had barricaded herself in the other room, and buried her aching limbs under the warmth of the bed's coverlets. She found she was shaking a little. Eventually, when the adrenaline subsided, she felt heavy-lidded again and gratefully succumbed to slumber…though not before one last thought drifted across her blurring mind: Jedi were the strangest people she had ever encountered.

Qui Gon Jinn held the teacup in his right hand. Warmth seeped through the delicate Muunilisti porcelain, spread through his fingers and palm. Steam coiled slowly into the air, dissipated and unfurled into nothingness. He released his anger in the same way, dissolving it into the Force.

Obi Wan stalked through the rooms, packing their few belongings with acidic precision. His tea stood untouched upon the small table.

"She took the credit chit you left on the console table," the young Jedi remarked. "Apparently theft comes naturally to her."

"I left it there for her," Qui Gon informed him. Release…. There is no emotion.

His apprentice stopped his prowling long enough to fix Qui Gon with a wordless stare. His mouth had thinned into a hard line, the incipient frown quirking his eyebrows downward and tightening the muscles around his eyes. "You could simply have given her money, master."

"She would not have accepted charity, Padawan – and I knew she would leave before dawn. Especially after you attacked her last night."

The frown deepened into a scowl, that familiar sharp exclamation point of outrage appearing between Obi Wan's brows. "The Force was disturbed. I sensed an intruder – a hostile presence."

Qui Gon exhaled. Obi Wan was young. And judgmental, and quick-tempered, and…snotty. But young, certainly. "Her actions were not hostile in intent. If you sensed such a thing, it was your own feelings staining the Force. That is a grave failing for a Jedi. And you injured an innocent being in the process."

"I…!"

"Not another word, Padawan. We must attend the opening ceremonies for the elections this morning, and then oversee the security detail. I trust I can rely on you to keep your focus where it belongs?"

Obi Wan made certain that his silent bow conveyed every nuance of simmering resentment that he was forbidden to express in speech. Qui Gon's mouth thinned.

"Sit," he ordered. The Padawan sat, blue eyes alight with rarefied anger. Steam still coiled slowly off his cooling tea.

"There is no excuse for your behavior, Obi Wan. I invited our guest in last night to spare her a very unpleasant time in a detention area. It is my prerogative to make changes to any detail of a mission – including the arrangements for our accommodations. I expect your acceptance of such changes, and your full cooperation. Your comportment last night was tantamount to mutiny."

He paused, letting the hard words sink in. Obi Wan's breath had slowed to a very deep and deliberate pace, and his jaw was clenched so tight that it trembled slightly.

Qui Gon wasn't finished. He seldom had to discipline his Padawan, but he would perhaps compensate for the rarity of the occasion by making it stick. "More importantly, your disdain for another sentient being is most unbecoming and inappropriate. You claim to serve the Force but you let your own pride dictate the terms of that service."

He leaned back and finished his tea, letting the sting take its full effect. Obi Wan had frozen into absolute stillness, adamantine mental shields concealing any trace of emotion or reaction. His eyes dropped when Qui Gon allowed his own gaze to bore into them.

Satisfied, Qui Gon set his emptied cup down. "Let's go," he ordered.

They rose, in silence, and departed, the Padawan maintaining the proper deferent position a pace behind his master. They exchanged no words – after all, Qui Gon had not explicitly lifted the ban on speech.

They entered the lobby to be greeted by a scene of noisy disorder. A pair of the ubiquitous Inspectors – different than the patrol officers last night, but equally unpleasant, held a struggling Nashyll Bi-Mu between them, her hands cuffed behind her back in binders. The foremost of the two was arguing heatedly with Ossk Beshaviss, while a crowd of eager onlookers gathered as audience to the scandalous scene.

"I tell you!" Ossk was protesting. "She's not a thief, nothing like that! You can't arrest her for something she didn't do! What's your evidence?"

"Evidence?" the inspector snorted. "We have an early morning robbery, at a time when I've got every other lowlife in this district safely under lock and key. Guess who wasn't in a detention center last night. And if that's not enough, we found a sizeable Republic credit chit on her person. Dataries don't fall out of the sky around here. That's stolen property, or I'm a gundark."

Nashyll broke down weeping. Ossk threw up his hands in despair. The Jedi paused, one step outside the lift, taking in the entire situation in a single instant.

"I'll handle it," Obi Wan muttered, striding forward ahead of his teacher, thrusting his way through the knot of bystanders until he stood within their circle, directly before the Inspectors and their prisoner.

"She's innocent," he informed the belligerent officer.

The man's eyes flicked down to the saber at the young man's side and then up to his face, sneering. "Your authority doesn't extend to our local courts, Jedi," he snapped. "We have jurisdiction here, not you."

"I can still testify as a witness," Obi Wan retorted.

There was a murmuring in the crowd. Ossk Basheviss' eyes widened. Qui Gon discreetly drifted to the back of the crowd, ready for trouble.

"How so?" the Inspector snarled. "You got an alibi for her? Convenient explanation for the credits she was carrying?"

The Padawan flushe a little, but his bearing remained straight and fearless. "Yes. She was with me all last night."

Stunned silence. The crowd held its breath for a three count before the whispering and pointing and muttering began again. The two Inspectors stared at the Jedi in revulsion and fascination. Nashyll Bi-Mu's blue face was a study in blank incomprehension.

The second officer released the Twi'Lek with a noise of disgust. "What's your supervisor think of that, huh?" he inquired, nastily.

Obi Wan didn't even blink. "He has reprimanded me for my inappropriate conduct," he said, steadily. "But that has nothing to do with her innocence."

The Inspectors reluctantly departed, throwing snide looks over their shoulders and exchanging doubtlessly nasty remarks on Jedi morals as they exited. Ossk Beshaviss released a pent up breath, started shooing the prurient observers away. Many of them also were pointing and whispering behind raised hands. Obi Wan remained impassive, acknowledging none of it, though the telltale flush had crawled up his neck and over his ears.

Nashyll Bi-Mu straightened her clothing and stared at the Padawan for one more minute before solemnly approaching. She laid one hand on his arm. "Thank you, apprentice," she whispered, and then she was gone, scurrying away through the front entrance under the watchful eyes of the usher droids.

"That was very decent of you," Ossk rumbled. "I'm grateful ….Nashyll's not a bad girl. Not really, on the inside. She deserved better'n what she has."

Obi Wan bowed. "Thank you for your hospitality. We…must be on our way."

The Besalisk saw them out to the curved pedestrian arcade, where a government airlimo waited to take the Coruscanti delegation to the election site. The other members of the party were already settled in and waiting for the Jedi.

Qui Gon stepped in beside his Padawan, giving the young man's shoulder a quick squeeze as they sat. Obi Wan risked a glance sideways at his mentor. Qui Gon nodded once, and smiled back. The Force eased into a peaceful harmony, into mutual understanding.

Lesson learned.