A Wet, Pretentious Story ch. 28

[pronker]

 

Part Twenty-Eight

Anakin lowered his head respectfully as Ry-Gaul began his report. "Strenghis' last rival, the incumbent for twenty years, took a long 'vacation' after the election. He claims that his health was damaged by the strains of politicking and now he doesn't speak publicly. This, from someone whose entire family history is one of public service. Sounds like intimidation to me."

And you would know about that, wouldn't you, Master Ry-Gaul? Anakin knelt to adjust his sandals.

Maybe Master Ry-Gaul had spare footgear on the cruiser? His toes and heels were taking a beating. Ry-Gaul sat rigidly on one of the Green Room's benches. The Presidential Villa's decor emphasized solid wood furniture, cunningly carved with not a metal fastening in view. All the joints were dovetailed in fine craftsmanship.

Obi-Wan turned in his seat back to regarding his appearance in the modest dressing table's mirror. He twisted his head and shrugged his shoulders. Ouch.

Ry-Gaul winced in sympathy as he continued. "The Separatists have been here sporadically for over one year, distributing a few pieces of higher technology to various authorities. The citizen we interviewed was an elderly man, Grunbi, with plenty opinions as to why Strenghis changed things. First the facts: Strenghis is registering everyone from young adulthood to late middle age for a draft into a three-year national service, not just here in the southern region, but planetwide. Grunbi thought I was an agent for Strenghis, prying for dissenters. It has not gone as far as detainment camps, nothing like we saw on Nington, Obi-Wan, but the seeds are here. It helps that Trow's population is small and that there are so many rural citizens. Strenghis has held off committing for a year. Something has to pop soon. Strenghis doesn't have to have the Force to realize that."

Ry-Gaul watched in silence as Anakin anticipated his Master's next movements and stood behind his chair, lifting both inner and outer tunics away from Obi-Wan's sunburned neck. Obi-Wan flicked Anakin a grateful glance in the mirror as he opened the pot of soothing cream and smeared a thin line on his neck where the tunic would irritate the still-rosy skin. He took a few minutes to think as he rubbed his hands to dissipate the cream. "Strenghis is mobilizing his forces, and if Qikal has a small stash of weapons, he's in on it. Could Strenghis be fool enough to play both ends against the middle? Use the Separatists' bribes, because that is what the 'gifts' were, back on them in a show of arms, and even on us if we try to sway them?"

The same thought flashed on all three Jedi's minds.

"You're going to have to show the Ohma-D'un vid, Master," Anakin voiced. "Trow doesn't realize the full scope of this war."

"Perhaps. Let's hope it doesn't come to it, but if that is what it will take ... "

A gong sounded nearby. "I'm ready. Padawan, you may observe with Master Ry-Gaul in the gallery this morning; perhaps in the afternoon session, you and he will speak your impressions firsthand. I shall open with a joke after the invocation, I think, perhaps an amusing anecdote about our Supreme Chancellor to show his more fallible side to them, compare him to a father-figure whose only wish is to protect his supplicants ... "

"No, please don't, Obi-Wan." "Erm, humor isn't your strong point, Master." Ry-Gaul and Anakin spoke together.

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow.

"Remember the Yimpian incident, Obi-Wan," Ry-Gaul intoned solemnly.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Perhaps you're right. A straightforward presentation, then." He rose and nearly tripped over his sandals. "Ry-Gaul, is there any way to ... "

"I'll see what I can do at lunchtime, Obi-Wan. May The Force Be With You."

Anakin echoed the farewell.

The river descended.

OoOoOoOoOo
A/N: The Yimpian Incident is recounted here.