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It’s not uncommon for an exasperated parent to ask, when faced with offspring who have just tried to pull of one of the dangerous bits of foolishness that are the stock-in-trade of high-spirited younglings everywhere, “So which were you supposed to be, Kenobi or Skywalker?”
- Matthew Stover, “The Revenge of the Sith” novelisation
“Yield, General Grievous! You cannot best Obi-Wan Kenobi in a fair duel!” The blue saber made a wide arc, missing their opponent by mere inches.
On her perch atop a stone statue of interlocking rings, General Grievous crossed her arms and pouted. “Hey, I wanted to be Skywalker!”
“Well, you can’t, or we’d have no reason to fight,” General Kenobi answered. “Now yield, you dirty robot!”
“They’re my lightsabers! I get to be the hero!”
Taita had gotten the lightsabers for her birthday. They were the super wizard ones, with a low-level forcefield suffused with light, the work of weeks and weeks of patiently wearing down her granmie and her favourite uncle. Her parents, in the annoying manner of parents everywhere, had forbidden their use inside the apartment. Which is why she and Breegan had stowed them away in their rucksacks and spent an agonising day at school practically vibrating in anticipation.
The park wasn’t on their way home. Not exactly. But it wasn’t exactly not on their way home – not if they really, truly needed to get new styluses from Pads&Pencils for that one art project, the one they absolutely hadn’t already done two weeks ago. The park was on the roof of an art academy that also housed a number of studios, art supply shops (including Pads&Pencils) and galleries and it was perfect, offering just the right mix of paved paths, dirt paths, trees, hillocks, raised lawns, fountains and large, climbable works of art.
As usual at this time of day, there was practically no-one there. Just one older, bearded guy in a wide robe frowning at a datapad on one of the benches. He didn’t look like an artist, but what did they know? Artists were probably not all thin beings with coloured hair and a dreamy air to them, like Danda in Year 8 who did murals. Ignoring him, they had left their packs under a tree, and Taita scrambled onto the statue and ignited her ‘saber.
It made the kisssh sound, just almost right.
Her granmie and her uncle hadn't discussed it beforehand, so she had two blue ones. She would have preferred green or purple for one of them, but blue was cool. Blue meant they could be Kenobi and Skywalker. Except that meant they had nobody to fight, because Dulp, the only other kid with a saber like this (purple), was home sick with the Galgothian Flu.
Taita and Breegan stared at each other. “Take turns?” Breegan finally suggested.
“Yeah, okay. But when I say so; not, like, five minutes before we need to get home.”
“Deal. So: yield, you rust-bucket!”
“Die, Kenobi!”
It was epic. They climbed up on the statues and jumped down from them and the lightsabers tshissed just right when they hit each other. Breegan attempted a roll that looked real silly and Taita jumped over him once and she thought it looked pretty cool.
They were banging it out on a little ridge when Taita lost her footing. She grabbed at Breegan, but then he slipped and they both went tumbling onto the bench below, knocking the man’s shoulder and making the datapad fly from his hands.
Taita froze. She knew from experience that it was never good when datapads went flying.
The man slipped back his hood and crossed his arms as he looked down at them. Breegan, who was closer, scrambled for the datapad and held it up to him. The man took it with a little dip of his head and brought a hand up to stroke his beard.
“Well now, this won’t do.”
Taita risked a glance at Breegan, carefully rubbing her shoulder where it had hit the bench. Breegan looked just as clueless. “We’re so-“
“No, no, this won’t do at all. Get up.” The man did so, wrapping his robe tighter around himself. “Weapons in hand.”
Heart in her throat, Taita grabbed the hilt of her lightsaber.
“You two are going to hurt each other this way. Now. Stand up. Ignite.”
Taita did, swallowing thickly. Next to her, Breegan followed suit. The guy looked a little strict, but he had a kind voice. Hopefully he wouldn't take away their 'sabers. It'd be stupid if they had to pack up and go home, but please don't let him take away their 'sabers.
“One fairly long step, not too long. Lock your knees.” What? Taita carefully shifted her legs, soles grinding against the gravel. “Good. May I have your weapon?” He held a hand out to Breegan who, with a quick glance at Taita, handed it over. “Now. Low left,” he stepped back, “low right,” he stepped forward, “high left, high right,” two steps back, then one forward: “overhead. Now you.” He handed the ‘saber back to Breegan.
Taita and Breegan stared at their weapons, then at the man. He raised his eyebrows and gestured. “Well, go on. Low left.”
They went through the steps a few times, feeling a little silly without an opponent. The man picked up a stick from under a tree and showed them again, sometimes correcting where their feet went. When they got through it three times without getting mixed up, he held up a hand and nodded.
“Good. Now, the counter. Low left,” a step forward, “low right,” a step back, “high left, high right, overhead.” He held the stick slightly differently this time, at more of an angle. He made them go through that several times before smiling. “Now you,” he pointed to Taita, “do the first set and you,” he pointed to Breegan, “do the second. Face each other. Salute. And go.”
It was different from the wild swings of before, less exhilarating, but the 'sabers connected and clashed every time as they went forward and back, forward and back. Vwomm, krissssh. Vwomm, krissssh.
Breegan grinned. “Think Jedi do it like this?”
“Good! One step to the side on low, the other follows. Excellent. Now on high. See? You can jump and roll however you like, but this way you will always know where the next blow will land.”
He picked up his datapad and settled back onto the bench.
Taita leaned in. “He’s a little weird.”
“Yeah. He looks a bit familiar, though.”
Taita shrugged. “You think everyone with a beard looks like General Kenobi.”
“Well, at least I don’t have a life-sized poster of General Skywalker in my room.”
“Don’t any more. My Sith of a sister managed to rip it.”
“That sucks.”Breegan waved the 'saber about. “So…”
“It’s your turn to be Grievous.”
“Aw.”
The day was doomed, because this time, after a daring jump from a statue of what looked a little like a prickly voorpak, they managed to stumbled right between a couple holding hands. There was a tangle of limbs, a shriek, a growl.
Then a laugh. “Calm down, Ani. It’s just some of our brave Jedi knights, protecting us from the evil Separatists.”
The woman had a nice smile. And really expensive-looking clothes that were now streaked with mud from the edge of the water sculpture. They looked down at their feet, mumbling “sorrys”.
“So,” she gave her companion, a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair, a sideways glance, “who are you supposed to be?”
“We’re taking turns being Grievous.”
“Grievous?” The man made a weird face. “Why?”
“Well,” Taita explained patiently, “somebody has to be the bad guy.”
The woman nodded in understanding. “So who exactly is defending us against the evil Grievous?”
Breegan squared his shoulders. “ ’M General Kenobi and Taita’s Skywalker,” he declared.
“Hmmm.” She circled Taita. “I can see it. What do you say, Ani?”
The man, who until then had seemed more annoyed that anything, was grinning. “He needs a beard.” His grin grew wider. “You need a proper opponent.”
And then, from the side of his belt that had been facing away from them, he produced a long silver cylinder. Taita squeaked and elbowed Breegan in the ribs, her heart pounding.
Snap-kwiiiiish. Vwommmm.
“Wizard.”
The man hunched over and said in a hoarse voice, the blue light from his lightsaber bathing his face in an otherworldly glow: “Kenobi. Skywalker. My greatest enemies. I finally have you to rights!”
“Your voice is too high, Ani.”
He deactivated the lightsaber and crossed his arms. “You want me to abduct you? Is that what you want? Because I can abduct you. Stick you, oh,” he made a show of aiming with his hands, like he was adjusting a scope, “right up there on that taltal tree. Nice sticky sap. Lots of tiny branches that’ll get into your hair. Is that what you want? Right before your next committee meeting? Grievous does that sort of thing to over-critical senators, you know.”
“Oh, far be it for me to interfere with the great General Grievous’ plans. Carry on.” The woman waved them away with a laugh.
“Now. Where was I. Right.” He hunched over again and coughed. “My mortal enemies.”
Taita and Breegan looked at each other, grinning so hard their cheeks hurt.
“Die, Grievous!”
“You’ll never kill a planet again, you fiend!”
They threw themselves on him with abandon and he laughed, parrying all their blows and crying out: “Skywalker! Your fame precedes you!” and “Kenobi, we meet again!” He vaulted over statues and balanced on rocks and it was just like the holovids.
At one point, he coughed so badly he started coughing for real, and that’s when Taita elbowed Breegan and said: “Wanna show off?”
This time, they came from opposite sides in the steps they had just learned. They didn’t manage to be exactly in synch, and he spun and managed to parry them both so fast he was practically a blur. It was amazing.
“Is that the first kata of Shii-Cho?” He asked, laughing. “Where did you learn that?”
Their antics had brought them back to the ridge over the area with the benches, where the Jedi (could it really be him? Were they really that lucky?) somersaulted over the reading man and landed on his feet, growling: “You will never catch me, Jedi.”
“Your voice is too high.”
It was the man on the bench, who had set his datapad aside and sat, legs stretched before him and arms crossed.
The Jedi gave him an aggravated look. “Hey! Not my fault I haven’t fought him yet.”
The other man snorted. “You’re also short a lightsaber or two. Here.” Sticks flew up from under a tree towards the Jedi. He caught two in his free hand. One of them hit him on the shoulder.
“Hey!” He smirked. “Oh, this is so on.” He turned to Taita and Breegan, a lightsaber in each hand (where did the second one come from?) and two sticks floating in the air before him. “You think you can take me, Jedi? But can you also take my boss, Count Dooku?”
The other man rolled his eyes. “Boss? Really? And why must I be Dooku?”
“You’d rather be Grievous? You have the accent. Come on, get with the program.”
“You seem to have my lightsaber.”
“Deal with it, old man. Improvise. Now,” he went back to his hoarse voice. “Kenobi and Skywalker will die!”
“Never!”
“For the Republic!”
***
Padmé Amidala, one-time Queen, long-time Senator for Naboo, leaned against a tree as she watched her husband and best friend fighting an epic battle of Good against Evil. Obi-Wan was fighting stick, one hand behind his back and a quip at the tip of his tongue while Anakin jumped and twirled and put on a show, a lightsaber blazing in each hand. The kids were having a blast.
She became aware of a tan-clad presence beside her. “Please tell me those are training sabers.”
“Not a chance,” she told Mace Windu, Master of the Jedi Order, whose expression looked pained. “But the kids have the high-end toys; I got them for my nieces. They’re really very good, they can withstand a real lightsaber on the lowest setting.”
“Do I want to know how you know this?”
“Probably not.”
They turned back to the scene, where Grievous had defected and was leading a three-pronged attack against Dooku, who was hamming it up quite dramatically, crying “Traitor!” and “I am betrayed!”.
“I got called by concerned citizens on the roof of that building who claimed they saw lightsabers flashing.” Windu pointed at the café on the roof of Prezka Incorporated.
“Well, you can tell them that, um, the war appears to have been won by virtue of tickling the Separatist leader into a yelping ball.”
“That is one of my best Councilmembers giggling on the ground. And childishly sweeping his ex-padawan off his feet with the Force. Oh, and now he's teaching a pair of twelve-year-olds how to do a takedown hold.”
“Hmmm. I think Obi-Wan misses having a Padawan to teach. He's always so happy when he gets time with Ahsoka.” She caught Windu’s unwavering gaze. She could never tell if the man had a sense of humour or not. “When’s the last time you saw him laugh? Or Anakin, for that matter?” This was fine. Windu knew she and Obi-Wan were friends, it would make sense for her to call him Anakin. Hopefully. She had never quite parsed the formalities of how the Jedi addressed each other and Obi-Wan had always waved her off when she asked and Anakin had made faces and kissed her silly instead of answering.
Mace Windu sighed. “They're due in a strategy meeting.”
“Well, it’s probably home time for the children, too.” She gave him a side eye. “Master Windu, have you ever seen Obi-Wan really embarrassed?”
“The man has no sense of self-worth. Ergo, nothing embarrasses him.”
She smiled. “Just watch.” She strode over and clapped her hands. “Okay, kids. Anakin and Obi-Wan need to go home now, they still have homework to do.” She gestured towards Windu. Anakin grinned and wriggled his fingers from the arm lock they had him in. Obi-Wan nodded carefully in his direction, as though they had crossed paths in the corridors of the Temple. Padmé brought her hands together. “Oh, I have a wonderful idea! Why don’t you boys sign their lightsabers?”
The two kids immediately let Anakin go, squealing in delight and running towards a pair of abandoned rucksacks for sharpies. Anakin’s smile widened. Obi-Wan turned beet red and tried to scramble away, but Windu was waiting, looking unimpressed.
“Oh, no, Kenobi. I think it’s the least you could do for your adoring fans.”
Anakin winked at Padmé and slung an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, trapping him. Obi-Wan gave her a haunted look she remembered from the celebrations on Naboo, all those ages ago. Padmé turned back to Windu with a grin and a tilt of her head and was rewarded with an answering twitch of Windu’s lips. Obi-Wan sighed and signed the sabers, looking like he had firebeetles under his skin.
The kids were ecstatic.
***
They were late getting home, of course. Taita's parents were Unimpressed, even when she explained about the special styli. Taita’s mother was so Unimpressed that she put her hands on her hips and let her gaze linger on Taita's trouser knees, grass-stained and streaked with mud.
Uh-oh.
Well, here went nothing.
Taita carefully reached into her rucksack for the most precious thing she owned in the world. “Mam, you’re never going to believe this.”