The Sting

The Setup

It could be said with a large degree of certainty that there was not much in this galaxy that Dexter Jettster had not seen, heard, experienced, participated in, devised, thought of, smelled, created, laughed at, cried for, or cooked. But the shock and uncertainty that fluttered between his large, penetrating eyes, and his wide mouth, so often twisted in gentle and uncompromising amusement, was, to young Obi-Wan Kenobi, quite surprising.

The young Padawan had relayed his Master’s tale up to the point wherein Yoda requested his help at the diner tomorrow. The expression on Dex’s face had first belayed his intense shock, then wry humor, terror, humor again, more shock, and, finally, thoughtful understanding. Business was business and duty was never unclear when it came to Dexter and his relationship with the Jedi Order and the tentative body known as the Republic. He knew where his responsibilities lay. But that didn’t stop him from being a tad conspicuously uncertain.

“Qui-Gon, old buddy,” he began, casting an uneasy glance at Obi-Wan, who looked back at him with those solemn, deep gray eyes, “you know I would do anything for you, anything at all, but—“

“Dex, what I really need you to do is provide precisely what I ask for, and do it as soon as possible, if not sooner,” said Qui-Gon, his speech halting but flowing a bit easier after several hasty bacta applications to his nose. “I need to be ready by tomorrow evening. There’s no time to question what we must do.”

“But, Qui-Gon, you never liked Yoda! You always used to tell me that he was just striking back at the galaxy because of his size—“

“Dex,” cautioned Qui-Gon, anxiously looking down at Obi-Wan.

“Master, you used to say that Yoda is—“

“Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon, fixing his Padawan with a cold stare.

“Sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, his cheeks turning a low pink with embarrassment.

“That’s alright, my Padawan. You must remember that I was a young boy just as you are now, and the way in which I perceived things at that time differs greatly because of a change in my perspective. Perspective depends solely on where you’re standing, Obi-Wan. You will have a different view of the galaxy from the top of a mountaintop than at a crevice buried deep within the soil.”

“You mean instead of thinking he’s just trying to get back at the universe because he’s short, now you think he’s an arrogant, ronto-brained, gutless murglak?”

“Obi-Wan, didn’t I just tell you—“

“Oh, could we stop with the Jedi Ethics 101 long enough to think about our next move?” interrupted Dex, his tone thick with exasperation.

“I concur. Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, tilting his head toward the young boy, “we will continue this discussion later. Now, Dex, what do you suggest?”

“Well, Yoda says he wants to make her happy, and the Force knows that most Jedi are impossible to please. So, we need something epic. Something huge.”

“And can you do something epically huge?” asked Qui-Gon.

“Qui-Gon, old buddy, epically huge is my specialty! I’ve got everything you need right here. Now, Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Dex?” asked the Padawan, brightening.

“Do you have a comlink on you?”

“Of course!” he answered, pulling out the small grey device from beneath his Jedi robes.

“And yours, Qui-Gon,” said Dex, holding out his uppermost left hand as the Jedi Master passed him the communication device.

“Now, are these both standard Jedi xx20 models?”

“Yes,” answered Qui-Gon.

“Good,” Dex said, rubbing together his four hands with apparent glee. That strangely familiar, good-naturedly voracious glint leapt to his eyes, the light passing over him that had awarded him every skill he had ever acquired. Qui-Gon quirked a small smile of reassurance, certain, or as near to certain as he could get, that Dexter had the situation well in hand.

“Now, Obi-Wan, take these three comlinks and slave them to this master system I have right here,” said Dex, gesturing toward a battered but formidable-looking computing system near the back of the small room.

“Sure,” mumbled Obi-Wan, his eyes narrowing with focus.

“Qui-Gon, you’re going to need these earpieces that will correspond directly to the master system your Padawan is working on. All you’ll have to worry about is showing up when the little guy and his…heh heh…his girl get here, and following the instructions that I give you on via the earpiece.”

“I’ll be too recognizable. And I don’t think a disguise is very feasible in this situation. Yaddle will sense my presence as soon as I enter the diner.” Qui-Gon stroked his dark beard in thought, his eyes defocusing as he opened himself to the tender, enveloping embrace that is the Force.

“Obi-Wan,” he said suddenly, glancing down at the small boy, his fingers feverishly playing across the surface of the computer.

“Master?” asked Obi-Wan, his brow arching slightly.

“Obi-Wan will be our front, Dex.”

“Ah, that’ll work fine. Now, you two better run along before our Rodian friend decides to come looking for us. I’ll have the details worked out by tomorrow evening.”

“You’re certain?” asked Qui-Gon, more out of courtesy to Dex than an expression of lack of faith in his old friend.

“Come on, old buddy, have I ever let you down?”

“Not yet,” said Qui-Gon. And, yet, he began to wonder...

...what tomorrow would bring.