Like You Mean It

Scene 1.

"Garen. Garen. Wake up, Garen."

The victim of this pestering summons opened one eye and squinted through the darkness of the clan dormitory. Two straight rows of sleep-mats were laid out along the central aisle, all of them but one occupied by a gently snoring bundle of thermal blankets. The lamps were still powered down for the night, the Force flowing steady and serene over and around the tranquil younglings sheltered beneath their common roof.

"Go 'way, Obi," he grunted. "'S not time to get yet."

"It's time for you to get up," his friend insisted, impatiently accenting the words with a vigorous shake.

"This is a stupid idea," Garen Muln groaned, seizing the blanket's hem and pulling it out of his tormentor's determined hands. "We'll get in trouble."

"You mean you don't like the idea and you're afraid to get in trouble," the other young Jedi student lectured him, primly. "That's different."

"I'm not afraid," Garen hissed, wincing as his bundled clothing was dumped unceremoniously upon his chest. "I'm right. And I'm tired…. I hardly slept the last three nights, thanks to you."

"Sorry," Obi-Wan replied without the slightest trace of sympathy. "We have to practice."

Garen flicked a hand and sent his small cylindrical pillow flying through the air at his companion's head. The missile thumped into something soft on the far side of the room, eliciting a snuffling grunt. Obi-Wan must have dodged it, confound him.

"'Member what Master Koi said yesterday? About fret not for the future?" Garen pulled his boots on with a sour expression. "I thought he made you meditate specially on the meaning of that." He tugged the straps tight. It was nice to have real boots – a sign that he was maturing, almost ready to be chosen as a Padawan. He wriggled his toes inside the firm nerf-hide, and suppressed a huge yawn. "You're slacking off on your studies."

They tiptoed to the entrance, past Master Troon's smaller bedchamber, through the darkened common room, shielding tightly all the way. Obi-Wan waved open the main door, grinning broadly as the portal slid open at his Force-manipulation.

The dim lights in the passageway outside picked out his profile in a soft blue glow. He half-turned to Garen, eyes bright with challenge. "I did meditate on it. And the best way to not fret about the future is to do something about it. So I'm out of bed addressing the problem instead of lying in bed fretting about it." They moved quickly down the corridor, senses stretched taut for signs of others' presences. "Or in your case, just lying in bed."

Garen socked him in the arm.

"Ow. Do you want to be chosen or not?" Obi-Wan demanded as the two of them moved into the adjoining concourse and trotted silently past a row of sealed doors to the arched opening at the far end. "You only have maybe two more years, you know."

"Yes! I know!" Garen exclaimed in a fierce whisper, exasperation edging his tone. "Two years! When are you going to learn patience?"

They were a long hallway distant from the nearest turbolift, the one that would carry them all the way down to the junior dojo level. Obi-Wan paused, pretending to think it over. "When you can beat me in a footrace."

They spared one more glance at the lift's burnished doors, and sprang into motion at the same instant, dashing headlong down the narrow passage. Garen was slightly leggier than his agemate, which gave him an edge in running competitions, at least when his friend was playing fair. They sprinted along the corridor, head and head; Garen smirked, summoned the Force, tripped his competitor a few meters short of the lift, and then slammed into its heavy doors in his triumphant haste. He pushed the controls breathlessly, only to find them jammed and unresponsive.

"You bantha-head!" he yelped at his friend, who was still sprawled on the carpeted floor, but successfully holding the lift closed with an upraised hand, palm held outward.

Two could play at that. Garen replied with his own effort, using both hands to counteract his opponent's Force push, concentrating on shoving the doors open against the invisible resistance. The metal panels creaked slightly beneath the combined pressure.

Without warning they flew apart, a second well-placed shove between Garen's shoulder blades sending him stumbling forward into the open compartment. Grinning in triumph, he spun on his heel and closed the doors, reaching for the control panel –

-only to realize that the emergency maintenance override had been activated from outside the carriage. It would return the lift to basement level, many stories beneath his destination. Grinding his teeth, he leaned against the handrail and waited to be released as the small box lurched downward, affording his cunning foe a vital head start.