Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [98]
The two Alwari waited next to the transport with Tooqui. As they did, gazing out into the turbulent night, Bulgan suddenly remembered something. Turning to face their diminutive companion, he slowly dropped to his knees and placed head and hands on the chill, damp ground, eyes facing the mud, rain-slicked mane arcing skyward. Recognizing what his friend was up to, Kyakhta did likewise—though he grumbled as he performed the traditional genuflection. Tooqui looked on with satisfaction.
“Okay okays. Get up now, silly softhead dip-dips.” Both guides rose, wiping away grime and rain. “Tooqui have trader deal for you now.” His eyes flashed in the intermittent light. “You no call Tooqui dumb savage anymore, and Tooqui no call you dippy stupid stupid blockhead dimwit numbskull—”
Wiping water from his good eye, Bulgan cut their savior off in midsuggestion. “We understand what you are saying, Tooqui. That’s fair enough.” Using a sharp elbow, he jabbed his companion in his tightly curved Ansionian ribs. “Isn’t it, Kyakhta?”
“Haja, I suppose,” the other guide mumbled reluctantly.
Content, their furry companion turned to look back at the darkened corral. “That better. Tooqui would have gone to help get suubatars back, but Jedi want him stay here to look look after you two, keep you safe.”
Bulgan reached out just in time to prevent Kyakhta’s long fingers from digging themselves into the Gwurran’s short, wet fur.
Undimmed by the pounding rain, shafts of bright artificial light illuminated opposite sides of the corral. They wove graceful, elegant arcs of luminous lethality that were clearly visible through the darkness and damp. Slipping through the fence, Obi-Wan gestured silently toward the farther of the two guards standing watch on their side of the perimeter. Both Qulun were hardened from years of fighting off marauding predators and raiding clans. Their senses were sharp, their fighting skills acute.
The one who turned first overcame his surprise at the sight of the two oncoming humans in time to raise his rifle and fire a single burst. Deflected by the unnaturally swift parry of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, the bolt went flaring off into the night. Before the sentry could get off a second shot, the Jedi had taken him down.
At first, Obi-Wan thought his Padawan might be having some trouble with the other guard. When he saw that Anakin was only toying with him, the Jedi frowned and started toward the battling pair. As soon as he saw his Master approaching, Anakin finished off his opponent with a quick cut to the neck. The Qulun collapsed into the muddy, short grass.
Deactivating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan looked down at the dead Ansionian, then up at his Padawan. Though a burst of lightning threw their faces and bodies into sharp relief, it could not illuminate the tension between them.
“What was that about, Padawan?” The Jedi’s voice was perfectly uninflected.
“Nothing, Master.” His face a mask of innocence, Anakin belted his lightsaber. “He was faster than I thought.”
Kenobi considered his pupil in silence. Then he nodded, once. “Have a care, Anakin, lest next time your opponent is even faster than that.” Stepping past the Padawan, he gestured curtly. “Come on. We’ve lost too much time here already.”
A sharp whistle drew Luminara and Barriss to them. “Any trouble?” As he spoke, Obi-Wan glanced not at Luminara but in the direction of her Padawan.
The other Jedi shook her head. Water spilled down her face, droplets clinging to her tattooed lower lip.
“Good fighters, these. More seasoned than those who jumped us in Cuipernam.” She nodded to Barriss. Holding up her left hand, the Padawan showed a small cut. Blood seeped from the wound, but the rain would cleanse it, and it would quickly heal.
Taking a step forward, Anakin eyed it appraisingly. “Have to learn to keep your distance.