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It was all Breha’s idea.
“I had nothing to do with this, Obi-Wan, I swear,” Senator Bail Organa insisted.
“I trust the accommodation is to your satisfaction?” the porter droid asked.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes, this is excellent, thank you,” Bail said, pointedly ignoring Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi’s quirked eyebrow and amused expression. “Perfect, actually. Please pass along our sincerest expressions of gratitude to the hosts.”
A binary beep of perfunctory acknowledgement, and then a moment later the door to the guest room was sliding automatically closed with a soft thump behind the departing porter droid.
To Bail’s ears, the sound of the shutting door had a depressing finality to it. He’d thought they’d gone over every conceivable eventually a thousand times — the etiquette, the negotiating position, the initial offer, the degree of leeway, the polite fiction of their complex relationship. But somehow, they’d never bothered to consider that they’d be on-planet for a standard week and that this would necessitate sleeping arrangements. Ah, did you say ‘sleep’, perchance? Ahahaha! Sleep was for the weak! Who needed sleep while on a sensitive diplomatic mission?! Just why had he allowed himself to be persuaded of this course, again?!
“I’ll take the floor. It’s not a problem, Bail. Don’t concern yourself,” Obi-Wan said.
Honestly, Bail didn’t see how any of them ‘taking the floor’ would be possible. The bed — the one, sole, single, not especially large bed — monopolized virtually all of the room’s available floor space.
~*~*~
Cynthastra was practically in the Unknown Regions. It did not sit along any major trade routes, and it certainly wasn’t a galactic hub of culture or industry. The planet was, however, the single largest known untapped source of raw tibertherium gas, a performance-enhancing additive to refined hyperdrive fuel, yet remaining anywhere in the galaxy. And as Republic forces encircled the Separatists and cut off their supply lines, remote Cynthastra was fast becoming too tempting a target to resist.
The Cynthastrans would need to be persuaded not to permit natural resource extraction on their homeworld … even in the face of strong Separatist pressure, every conceivable underhanded tactic short of outright hostile military takeover and occupation which, thank goodness, was beyond Separatist resources at present. And persuasion would be neither easy nor straightforward because the Cynthastrans were both notoriously eccentric and notoriously reclusive in equal measure.
“They’re polyandrists,” Breha had explained to Obi-Wan with a characteristic bluntness she reserved for private discussions. “Also, they reject the society of anyone who does not share their values.”
“I think it’s fair to say that they can be rather, er, isolationist and inward-looking …” Bail had interjected.
“Exactly. They’re polyandrists and xenophobes.” Breha had said, consigning Bail’s delicate euphemisms straight to the demolition heap with a dismissive toss of her elegantly coifed head. “I will be assuming the role of lead negotiator for the Republic. I will need both you and Bail to accompany me into the negotiations as my husbands.”
‘Husbands’. Plural. Bail had winced. Just why had he allowed himself to be persuaded of this course, again?!
But Obi-Wan had simply nodded once in acknowledgement, stroking his chin. He was always so measured, calm, and thoughtful, Bail had reflected to himself at the time. In the course of their various collaborative efforts on behalf of the Republic, Bail had come to appreciate that about Obi-Wan.
He’d come to appreciate a whole heck of a lot more about Obi-Wan since then. Obi-Wan’s apparently bottomless wellspring of tolerance for insult, for one thing. Not even Saint Shinosh of Aldera herself would have been more magnanimous.
“Thou hast brought only two husbands with thee on thy journey?” the Cynthastran Matriarch asked Breha during an interlude in the day-long itinerary of ceremonial welcome preceding the commencement of formal diplomatic talks at sunrise tomorrow. Her vestigial wings whirred with skepticism. “We have over two hundred husbands, and no less than two dozen accompany us on any and all journeys beyond the capital. We would be driven mad with boredom, otherwise. And these two” — her eight compound eyes flickered with near-contempt — “don’t appear to be especially impressive specimens.”
Breha’s reply was all elegance and charm. “I decided to let quality trump sheer quantity in this instance,” she said. “My first husband,” she said, indicating Bail, “is my most trusted advisor in matters of interplanetary politics. My second husband for the purposes of this journey is my single most … shall we say, talented. Athletically.” Her careful choice of words was significant, and the Matriarch could not mistake her intended meaning.
“We must confess that we find this difficult to believe in light of the evidence before our eyes,” the Matriarch said.
And it was true, alas. Obi-Wan had the Force, not extraordinary outward physical characteristics. Nevertheless, the Matriarch’s refusal to take Breha’s assertion at face value bordered on open hostility. If they were unable to redirect the direction of discussion — and redirect it quickly — these negotiations with Cynthastra would collapse before they’d even rightly begun.
“Perhaps a brief demonstration is in order,” Obi-Wan said lowly to Bail and Breha.
“Er, wait, what — ?” Bail began.
“Trust me.”
Obi-Wan stepped forward and bowed deeply at the Matriarch. “If you will permit me this indulgence?” he asked.
The Matriarch folded her wings back tight against her thorax. It was a sign of permission — and anticipation.
Then, Obi-Wan began to dance.
And it wasn’t just any dance. It was to dance what a dewback-drawn buggy was to an A-wing starfighter. Obi-Wan looped and spun and twisted and tumbled, so fast that Bail couldn’t track the transitions from one maneuver to the next, so graceful and rhythmic that there seemed to be music playing which only Obi-Wan himself could hear. It went on and on and on, with Obi-Wan never faltering or flagging.
And just when Bail thought that, surely, Obi-Wan had no more new dance moves in his repertoire, he took Breha by the hand and proceeded to whirl her off her feet in a balletic and exquisitely beautiful couples’ dance. Obi-Wan had to be using the Force somehow to augment their movements, but Bail could not detect how it was done. Whatever it was Obi-Wan was doing, though, Bail could tell that Breha absolutely loved it. Her face was flushed and ecstatic. She was laughing as they danced together, actually, genuinely laughing, and really, she’d never looked more beautiful to Bail.
“He’s impressive,” the Matriarch had admitted later. Grudgingly.
Impressive indeed. It was going to be, Bail knew, an auspicious start.
~*~*~
“That will not be necessary, Obi-Wan,” Breha interjected smoothly. “You shall share our bed.”
“But — ” Obi-Wan began, readying a protest.
“No ‘buts’. However, I am expecting another unforgettable dance between the sheets tonight.”
“But — ”
“And I’m sure Bail would wish to be included. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll be willing to give him some lessons,” Breha continued.
“But — ”
“Advanced techniques, of course, Obi-Wan. Bail is by no means a novice dancer.”
Breha was smiling warmly. Obi-Wan returned the smile. Bail realized that he was smiling too.
It was going to be a most eventful week on Cynthastra, and it had all been Breha’s idea!