RotF Chapter 4

Enthea sits beside Master Laki on a delightfully clean bench in a bright, sterile, white lobby. Quiet music plays and droids roll around industriously. The place has no odor at all, but the air is chilly.

“I feel your thoughts straying, Enthea,” Laki murmurs.

“I’m sorry, Master Laki. It’s difficult for me at times like this.”

“When you’re bored?”

“Yes.” Enthea keeps thinking about her first meeting with Laki and wondering what Laki would have done.

“I suppose that Obi-Wan would tell you to meditate,” Laki muses. She sits casually while Enthea sits properly with her back straight.

“Probably,” Enthea admits.

“But you’re not good at meditating, are you?”

“No, Master Laki.”

“Your thoughts stray, and you inadvertently use the **** to strengthen your fantasies and imagined sensations. Don’t you?”

Enthea looks around, embarrassed. But they are alone. “Sometimes,” she concedes.

“Have you ever tried giving into it?”

“What?”

“Why fight it? There’s no one here. Nothing better to do. Instead of forcing your thoughts to break out of prison, why not just open the gates?” Laki shrugs. “Mastery of the **** means balance and understanding. The Galaxy has given you this moment of peace. Don’t waste it by fighting.”

Enthea considers that. “Then I would be sitting here in an uncomfortable state,” she says from the corner of her mouth.

“You’re wearing Jedi robes, Padawan. Nobody’s going to notice.”

That’s true, but… Enthea can’t quite wrap her head around it. She glances surreptitiously over at Laki, whose outfit is less concealing than traditional robes. There’s no sign of arousal or anything.

“Padawan, I’m able to sit on a bench without this problem,” Laki says, reading her mind.

“Then I should be able to as well,” Enthea replies stubbornly.

Laki laughs. “As you wish.”

A door opens and a tall, slender humanoid emerges. Enthea tenses.

“I don’t know this species,” she says.

“Few do. That’s a Kaminoan. They’re lovely,” Laki assures her.

“Greetings, Master Jedi,” the Kaminoan says. She’s a soft-spoken, elegant female.

Laki politely stands up, and Enthea does the same. Laki gives a little bow.

“How did it go?” she asks.

“Well, Master Jedi. It is traditional to bring clothes in this situation,” the Kaminoan replies, extending a hand.

Laki balks. “Obi-Wan can wear what he came in.”

The Kaminoan is difficult to read, but Enthea thinks she looks a little disapproving.

“As you wish. Your companion will join you shortly.”

“Bill the procedure to the Jedi Council on Coruscant,” Laki calls at the Kaminoan’s retreating back as they take their seats on the bench again. “I’d like to see Master Yoda’s face when he sees this invoice.”

Enthea covers her mouth to stifle a giggle, but then she sobers. “Do you think we’re safe here?”

“What do your feelings tell you?”

Enthea looks around, taking a deep breath. “I sense danger.”

“Good. So do I,” Laki replies.

“You don’t look worried.”

“Worrying usually doesn’t help. And a little danger always helps get the juices flowing,” Laki says, patting Enthea’s leg. She gets to her feet. “Do you hear that?”

Enthea rises and listens. It sounds like raised voices behind the doors at the other end of the lobby.

“Trouble?” she says, looking up at Laki for confirmation.

“Of a sort.” Smiling, Laki sets off across the lobby, and Enthea follows. The doors slide apart, revealing the polite Kaminoan bent over to speak to someone: a petite brunette, who is very angry and swimming in the oversized Jedi robes that she wears.

“This is outrageous,” she says, her voice new and melodic, but at the same time familiar.

Enthea freezes, covering her mouth. She thought that this procedure would leave Obi-Wan looking more or less the same. He’s completely unrecognizable.

Obi-Wan, whose face is now round, delicate, and feminine, glances over at Enthea and Laki. His ears and cheeks redden, and he throws out a finger.

“I’m hardly taller than my Padawan! This was not the deal!” he says shrilly.

“But Master Kenobi, you made no stipulations for height and appearance. In the absence of these provided details, the procedure defaults to your appearance as it would be had you been born female. The height differential is not unexpected.”

“Yes, it is!” Obi-Wan rages, stamping one tiny foot and nearly slipping on the hem of the robes.

“Anger, Obi-Wan,” Laki says mildly.

“Even if I was a woman, I would be taller than this,” he protests.

“Master Jedi, your DNA says differently,” the Kaminoan replies.

Obi-Wan clenches his jaw, glaring at the Kaminoan. Or is it her jaw?

“What are we doing for pronouns?” Enthea whispers to Laki, who shrugs.

“Whatever you want. I think it suits him,” Laki replies. “Maybe he’ll like it and stay this way.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Enthea replies. She’s never seen Obi-Wan like this.

“He’s not as angry as you think. He’s got hormones now that he doesn’t understand,” Laki whispers. “He’s also still waking up from the anesthesia.”

“I heard that!” Obi-Wan shouts. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of this place.” Enthea darts forward to catch him as he trips over his robes. He’s soft, light, and delicate. “Thank you,” he grumbles, storming off toward the lobby. Enthea and Laki hurry to catch up. “Can’t even walk,” he mutters.

“Of course not. Your hips are a completely different shape now,” Laki notes. “Your center of gravity—everything has changed. We’ll need to find you some clothes.”

“I’ll wear Enthea’s. This is a lot of trouble just to visit one person,” he says over his shoulder to Laki as they leave the medical facility. A droid rolls away to fetch their speeder.

“You might have just let me take Enthea to Modre,” Laki replies with a shrug. “This was your decision. Don’t worry. It’s quite reversible.”

“If you think I’d leave one of the most promising Padawans of this generation alone with someone like you, you have completely taken leave of your senses,” Obi-Wan tells her.

Enthea feels a spark of embarrassment at the compliment, but keeps her eyes down and follows without a word.

“I suppose you will need the both of us, Obi-Wan,” Laki says lightly as your speeder arrives. “One to teach you to walk. The other to do your makeup.”

Obi-Wan ignores that and tries to jump into the speeder, only his robes are in the way and he’s not as tall as he used to be. He falls against the side of it, clinging on. Irked, he adjusts and uses the ****, leaping over and strapping in… but even Enthea can see the awkwardness in his movements. It’s not just his body—his control of the **** has been affected. Maybe it’s the anesthesia.

Enthea and Laki get in to see Obi-Wan scowling at the throttle. He straights his back, pushing up on the armrests.

“I can barely see over the controls,” he complains.

“Shall I drive us to the spaceport, then?” Laki asks, doing a much better job than Enthea of pretending not to laugh.

Obi-Wan disconnects his straps with jerky movements.

“Yes,” he grinds out.