Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [129]
Barriss spent a moment digesting this. Then her smile returned. “Whatever else anyone says about what we did here, I think holding off not one but two opposing armies without killing anyone on either side qualifies as something special. You were amazing, Master. Most of the time I was too busy to watch, but I had glimpses enough. I’ve never seen anyone so calm and so fearless under such pressure.”
“Calm? Fearless?” Luminara laughed. “There were moments when I was scared to death, Padawan. The trick at such times is not to show it. Always know where in your mental closet you’ve hung your bravery, Barriss, so you can put it on whenever you need it.”
She nodded. “I will remember that, Master.”
And she always would, Luminara knew. A fine apprentice, Barriss. Tending a bit to the pessimistic at times, but a devoted student. Not like that Anakin Skywalker. Greater potential there, but also greater uncertainty. She had observed him during the battle. More than any other non-Jedi she had ever known, she would have wanted him defending her back. It was what he might do after such battles that concerned her. More than a bit of an enigma, that young man. That was not only her opinion.
Obi-Wan had indicated as much to her on more than one occasion. But he had also insisted that the boy held within him the potential for greatness.
Well, as she had just more or less told Barriss, that was one of those outcomes only time could decide. Skywalker was not her responsibility, and she was glad of it. She was not sure she would have been as patient with him as was Obi-Wan. An unusual teacher for an unusual student, she reflected. She urged her suubatar to lengthen its stride slightly.
Unity delegate Fargane’s stomach was not all that was growling. The senior delegate was tired. Tired, and angry. He missed his home in distant Hurkaset, he missed his relatives, and the family business never did as well without him around to dispense the worldly advice of which he was a master. It was all the fault of these representatives of the turgid, pompous Republic Senate. These “Jedi.” Prior to their arrival on Ansion, delegate Ranjiyn had declared that their reputation preceded them. Well, haja, as far as Fargane was concerned, their reputation had receded with them. They had been accorded respect and greeted as potential saviors of the peace, only to vanish into the endless plains of Ansion.
It was time to make a decision. Though he was still not certain which way he intended to vote, he was certain of one thing: that vote was long overdue. He said as much to his colleagues.
“They are still out there somewhere,” delegate Tolut insisted. “We should maybe wait a little longer.” Standing by the third-floor window, the bulky Armalat gazed pensively northward. Even his patience was beginning to wear thin. During their only encounter, the Jedi had impressed him mightily. But clever parlor tricks were no substitute for substance. Where were they—and more important, where was the treaty they had promised that would at last settle long-standing matters of disagreement between the city folk of the Unity and the Alwari nomads?
“I’ll tell you where they are.” Everyone turned toward the speaker. As official observer for a coalition of Cuipernam merchants, Ogomoor had no power to affect the proceedings of the Unity Council. He could only offer an opinion. But as day after day continued to pass with neither sign nor word from the visiting Jedi, his views acquired greater and greater weight.
“They’ve gone.”
The human delegate Dameerd frowned. “You mean they’ve left Ansion?”
Soergg’s majordomo feigned indifference. “Who knows? I mean that they are no longer with us. There are other ports besides Cuipernam, and a good ship can touch down anywhere. Perhaps they’ve gone back to Coruscant, or perhaps they’re dead. Either way, they’ve failed to deliver on what they promised: the acceptance by the Alwari of a new social understanding on Ansion.” He gestured meaningfully.