Part The Second

Jedi Master Clee Rhara sipped delicately at the sweet-water provided for her, taking in the room with a subtle, sweeping glance without missing a word of the tiresome speech in progress. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, seated at her left, also paid close attention to their milieu; his Force-aura almost palpable and protective. Unlike Clee, however, the rogue was paying little attention to the rambling address of Kesen IV's newly-appointed Senator to the Galactic Republic.

The Jedi had been dispatched, along with their respective padawans, to attend the traditional confirmation rites establishing every Keseni leader, from the days of tribal law until this very day, as modern members of the Republic. They were then to escort the new Senator, Ivo Sk'an, to Coruscant as nebulous threats from Keseni dissidents had been made against him. With the threats' weak credibility, the Council had deemed it a good mission for the junior padawans to undertake, pursuant to their training, with their esteemed mentors.

Therefore, the here and now: two Jedi whose masterly control rendered them outwardly impervious to boredom, to hunger from skipped meals, to the miasma of cloying incense employed in the investiture ceremony, and to the burgeoning heat of the day as the environmentals struggled to compensate for overcrowding. The Force, in all, was fount and ally of their composure, rendering them the model of Jedi serenity, even as Qui-Gon leaned toward Clee ever so slightly, words barely breathed between them. "And we thought Bhel-Nar Shazae was…tedious."

The Force sparked in mild amusement, a rare thing for the ever-serious Clee Rhara, even as she sipped more sweet water and then replied just as furtively behind her glass, "Shazae at least made a point in her speeches. Eventually. I think we took a wrong turn or three in this maze."

Their lips barely moved, the sounds far too soft for any recording device to pick up, and all that registered on the security holocams was a slight rustle of movement, a glass being returned to its place, and the tall male Jedi shifting infinitesimally on the unforgiving wooden benches of the traditional Hall of Rule. It was only the faintest of ripples in their collective calm.

So far, the only truly unexpected occurrence during the five-day ceremonials had been the declaration of Kesen IV's directorate that the padawans were not of age to attend the final, day-long confirmation rites by traditional rule. Indeed, Clee's own attendance was singularly owed to her status as a Jedi Master and de facto bodyguard as she was the only female present. As befitting an accomplished diplomat, she had averted her gaze at appropriate moments, conducted herself with the utmost decorum expected of both a Jedi and a high-born Keseni noblewoman, kept her responses sedate and concise, and remained wrapped in her Jedi cloak, cowl up, in public places.

She stopped short of addressing Qui-Gon Jinn as tewan, loosely translated as 'ruler' in Basic Standard. Even as a Jedi born to serve, she had her limits.

The instruction left with their apprentices was to remain, within reason, in the general vicinity of their assigned apartments. The new-minted Senator possessed a fairly modest estate as far as such things go, affording some room for the boredom of youth to find release, again, within reason. Garen and Obi-Wan had been directed to maintain a discreet presence, to complete assignments or meditation, and to refrain from making nuisances of themselves with Senator Sk'an's staff.

Jedi comportment and training aside, a tall order for a pair of human boys fourteen Standard old, left to their own devices.

The speech came to an abrupt halt, Ivo Sk'an's voice ringing from the ceiling briefly before someone in the crowd of onlookers began to applaud, and the entire room slowly came to their feet in congratulatory adulation. Clee attentively swept her gaze across the assemblage again, sensing Qui-Gon doing much the same as they moved to flank the Senator. Guests began to file out of the Hall of Rule, heading for the concurrent celebratory reception from which the padawans were also exempted for the other, more practical concerns of shepherding youth regarding excess and propriety.

A restive, playful antagonism sparked along the Force-borne bond between Master and Padawan; Clee resisted the urge to roll her eyes and draw unwanted attention to herself. Gracefully she canted her head in Qui-Gon's direction. "I fear our apprentices are…entertaining themselves," she remarked.

The tiniest upturn at the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth was all the outward sign Clee received for a pair of beats before his mischievous reply.

"Then the penalty for such malfeasance must be just as entertaining, no?"

Her soft chuckle, slightly muted by the cowl raised in male Keseni company, conveyed her amused agreement.

The light moment was dismissed in a flash as a prickle of unease spread through her awareness, and she swept her gaze over the crowds again, already conscious of Qui-Gon's increased focus. The Force gathered around the pair of Jedi, again prompting them to greater attention. Danger.

A spark of somewhat unbecoming worry filtered between the two Masters, and Clee frowned. She reached into the Force, directing the lightest of brushes against her Padawan's mind.

"'Saberplay," she murmured quietly. "I don't sense anything inherently wrong with either of…"

"No," Qui-Gon agreed, even as he sidled a little closer to Ivo Sk'an. "It's something here."

Clee took a graceful step closer to the Senator as well, on his right, the Keseni ritual woman's place as opposed to the place of honor, on his left where Qui-Gon now stood. Nothing stood out to her, as yet, although the Force's strident alarm continued to sound in her mind. Danger. Danger! It was that warning, more than anything, that caused her to at last break with Keseni decorum, discarding her cloak in a swift motion born of long practice.

Her hand came to rest on the hilt of her 'saber, amid a chorus of loud, protesting male voices. The Force's warning screamed into a crescendo as a sharp, ragged sense of pain flooded the bond from Garen before it was choked off. A scant glance at Qui-Gon revealed he too had sensed the moment from his padawan. Despite a shared concern, they could not afford to be distracted.

"Down!" Qui-Gon commanded Sk'an seconds before someone fired a blaster that had made it past security.

The Hall of Rule devolved into chaos as everything went to the nine hells.