“Did you know the population of Was-4 is predominantly influenced by their rituals of intimacy as opposed to their rituals of initiation?”

“What?” Qui-Gon looked up from his datapad, confused. “I’m trying to read.”

“Oh. Is that what you were doing? It was hard to tell, seeing how you were sitting there with your eyes closed and all.”

“I was concentrating.”

“Oh, that’s a good Jedi mind trick. Reading while sleeping. Oh, sorry. Concentrating.” Bel-San smirked, walking over to the kitchen to fill his mug with tea.

“You know what--”

“I’m home!” The familiar sound of the door sliding shut, accompanied by the avalanche of school supplies falling from Obi-Wan’s arms, interrupted Qui-Gon’s tirade.

“We’re in here, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan entered, a datareader still clutched in his hands. “Hi, Teacher Bel-San.” Dragging his feet across the carpet, he finally climbed up onto the couch beside Qui-Gon, and tossed the reader onto the low table, scowling at it as if it had personally insulted him.

“Want some tea?” Bel-San offered from the kitchen.

“No.”

Qui-Gon looked down at his Padawan. “What do we say around here?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “No, thank you, Teacher Bel-San.”

“That’s better.” Qui-Gon set aside his datapad, reaching out to inspect the reader Obi-Wan had pushed away with such disdain. “So what’s this?”

“Master Heri came into my class today, and she um, picked me and Slade and some other kids and we have to read this thing and do this thing in two weeks and I have to be somebody else and I don’t know.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, his short legs sticking out over the edge of the couch.

Qui-Gon flicked on the monitor. “The Bravest Jawa. I thought you liked that story.”

“I like the story, but I don’t want to be the Bravest Jawa,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes.

Bel-San returned to the common room with his mug of steaming tea. “So let me get this straight. Heri’s decided to run a children’s play in that free time that she has. You know, between the four kids she has in her apartment, plus her Creche duty. That woman is insane.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. She said it’s for Master Yoda, because he’s getting knighted.”

Qui-Gon ruffled his Padawan’s hair. “I think she’s a little slow on the uptake. He’s been a knight for a very long time.”

“No, Master. He’s getting knighted again, because he gets knighted every year.”

“What? Oh. Oh, you mean his ceremonial anniversary.”

Bel-San nodded. “Yeah, I forgot about that. They must be making a big deal about it, considering the recent...unpleasantness.”

Qui-Gon studied the script, shaking his head. “So, in honor of Yoda, they’re doing the Bravest Jawa, as a children’s play.”

“When eight hundred years old I reach, sit through a children’s play I will not,” Bel-San said.

Obi-Wan clapped a hand over his forehead. “I don’t even want to be in the play. And now, I have to be the bravest jawa. I’m not a jawa, Master. Can’t you talk to Master Heri and get her to change her mind?”

“I don’t know, Little One. I think drama might be one of your particular gifts. But why don’t you go excavate the ruins you left in the hallway and take your findings to your room, and I’ll see what I can do.”

The small boy beside him looked up at him imploringly, then sighed. “I’ll be your best friend.”

“Yes, well, you’re already my Padawan. So go take that stuff to your room.”

“Yes, Master.”

When Obi-Wan had finally dragged the last remnants of his classroom paraphernalia into his room, Qui-Gon picked up his comlink from the table.

“Who are you calling?”

“Heri.” He scanned the lines of the play critically. “You know, this isn’t that bad. But the bravest jawa seems to have a lot of lines.”

“So? Obi-Wan’s chatty.”

“Okay, not the same thing. There’s a difference between six-year-old diatribe and memorizing lines to be performed in front of an intimate gathering of, oh, the Council and friends.”

Bel-San sipped at his tea. “You have a point.”

Qui-Gon entered in Heri’s code into his comlink, waiting for a response.

“Yes?”

“Heri? It’s Qui-Gon.”

“No, no, no. I know what it is you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.”

“Look, the bravest jawa--”

“What part of no don’t you understand?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit much for him, Heri? He’s only six.”

“You’ve got a problem with the play? Hmm? Well. Why don’t you talk to your good friend Mace? He was the brilliant mastermind behind this little endeavor. Evidently he’s only busy enough to decide that those of us living with four six-year olds and running the Creche should be engaging in the dramatic arts as well.”

Bel-San choked, wiping tea from his chin. “What? Mace? The Bravest Jawa?”

Qui-Gon waved a hand at him. “Are you serious? Mace is responsible for this damage?”

“You sound surprised, as if you haven’t known him your entire life.”

“Well, I guess I never took much notice of his taste in books.”

“Yes, well, I have two weeks to put together a seamless performance with actors between the ages of six and thirteen to honor Master Yoda for his ceremonial anniversary, and I do not have time to go searching for another Bravest Jawa. Obi-Wan is smart, and funny, and above all, short.”

“You picked him because he was short?”

“Among other reasons. So the answer to your question is no. Don’t ask me again. You want to be helpful? Run his lines with him and stay out of the infirmary. I’m not kidding. I need your help.”

Bel-San snickered. “You’re going to need a lot more than our help.”

“I heard that, Bel-San. I’m calling you later. Tech director, anyone? And you have no excuse; you have no kid. Heri out.”

Bel-San rubbed his temples, a bewildered expression on his face. “What? Did that conversation just happen?”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “Tell me how the production meeting goes, Bel-San.”

“Oh. You’re funny. Don’t forget you’re acting coach extraordinaire to the Bravest Jawa. I hear he’s very difficult to work with. Something of a prima donna. Especially when he hasn’t had his nap.”

“You. Out. Go write some lighting cues or something. And I would not say such things about my Padawan if I were you. I think he’ll handle fame just fine.”

“The padawan falls not far from the tree. Just remember that.”

“I thought I said out.”

Bel-San sat his mug on the table, a grin on his face. “I wonder if they do children’s productions on Was-4?”

“Why don’t we call Mace and find out?”

“I think I’ll take my leave before that conversation begins. Last time I stuck around, I got slapped with an assignment only slightly better than the old Bantha feces sample collection. Who knows what Mace has up his bell-shaped, Council-pining sleeve?”

“Maybe it’s copy of the Poky Little Droid or the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Mission.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“No, Heri said I need to stay out of the infirmary. You’d better keep your mouth shut.”

***

Obi-Wan stared at the stuffed Wookie on his unmade bed, trying to focus. “The night is dark, the sand is cold, and I am quite afraid, but I will bring that droid back home, no matter...no matter...ummm...” He paused, closing his eyes. “I don’t remember. I hate this play. I hate it a lot.” Scowling at his Wookie, he flopped down on the bed next to it. “And you’re no help.”

“Obi-Wan, who are you talking to?” his Master called from the hallway.

“Nobody.”

“But I can hear you talking. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Stupid play.”

His Master stepped into the doorway, leaning on the frame. “You want some help?”

“No. I don’t want to do it at all.” He pressed his face into the blankets as he felt his Master sit beside him on the bed, his large hand spread over Obi-Wan’s back.

“I know you’re frustrated, and I know it’s a lot of work for you. But I also know that you’re going to be the best bravest bravest Jawa that the Temple has ever seen. You are going to make so many people happy, especially Master Yoda.”

“Master Yoda’s a thousand years old. He doesn’t care about the Bravest Jawa.” “I happen to know that Master Yoda likes the Bravest Jawa very much,” his Master said hesitantly, “but all that aside, Master Yoda likes you very much, and he’ll be honored that you’ve gone to so much work especially for him.”

Obi-Wan let out a slow breath. “But how I am supposed to learn all these lines? I thought jawa didn’t talk.”

“Well, you have to use your imagination, Obi-Wan.”

“I am. I’m imagining I don’t have to do this play, and that I never heard of the bravest Jawa.”

His Master picked up the datareader, scanning through the scene Obi-Wan had been working on. “So this is when the bravest Jawa discovers that the droid is gone, right?”

“Yes.”

“And none of the other jawas want to look for the droid.”

“Stupid droid.”

“Obi-Wan, that’s not helping.”

“Well, it’s still stupid.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“I know.”

“Okay. And what does he say?”

“Um, the night is dark, the sand is cold, and I am quite afraid, but I will bring the droid back home, though all the others stayed.”

“There! You did it. You said the line perfectly.”

Obi-Wan nodded slightly, sitting up. “Okay. Now you be the monster in the next scene.”

“What does the monster do?”

“He’s very scary. He holds the droid hostage, and he chases the bravest Jawa and he tried to eat the bravest Jawa, and he roars a lot.”

“He roars a lot? Like this?” His Master threw his head back and howled, then lunged for Obi-Wan, swinging him around in the air.

“No! Not like that!” Obi-Wan shrieked, his words drowning in laughter as the room spun around him.

***

“Hey, Kerge! Wait up!”

Kerge turned, his eyes slightly narrowed as he scanned the corridor. He thought he’d escaped Teacher Rularella and his Interspace Biology review session for those who’d failed quizzes, and he looked quickly for a place to hide.

“Kerge! Do you have a second?”

Teacher Bel-San ducked out from behind a group of particularly tall padawans, finally catching up to him. Kerge exhaled in relief. “Sure, Teacher Bel-San.”

“Are you and your Master currently involved in any preparations for Master Yoda’s ceremonial anniversary?”

Kerge shifted his pack over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Exactly the answer I wanted to hear. Well, you are now, my friend.”

“Um, what did you have in mind? Because sometimes my Master and I leave the planet at a moment’s notice. Very sudden, you know. I wouldn’t want to flake out on you or anything.”

“Right,” Teacher Bel-San nodded. “Well, I checked it out, and all missions of a non-emergency nature have been postponed until after the celebration, so it’s a pretty safe bet that I can monopolize your time.”

“You don’t want me in the classroom again, do you, because I already put my hours for this term, and I’m not spending another second as Obi-Wan and Slade’s lab lackey.”

Teacher Bel-San waved his hands in front of him. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. It’ll be much less. . .academic. But you’ll get to be in charge.”

“In charge of who? The year sevens? That’s not so tempting.”

“It’s a mixed age group, and it’s co-ed. As in, winged co-ed.”

Kerge’s eyebrows raised, shifting his stance. “You mean, Padawan Keleran?”

“The very same. She plays a rather large role in this production, and she’ll probably need extra assistance and technical support. You think you’re up for it?”

Kerge couldn’t contain his smile. “When do we start?”

“Excellent. I knew I could count on you. Congratulations, Kerge, you’re now the official stage manager of the Bravest Jawa.”

***

“What?” His Master growled, his furry arms crossed over his chest.

Kerge stared at his boots. “He kind of talked me into it. And I figured, since you two are such good friends and all, he might have talked to you about it first, Master.”

“Yes, because Bel-San is in the habit of approaching me with all of his ill-begotten educational schemes. Oh wait, Bel-San’s afraid to come within two light years of me without Qui-Gon as backup. You know that. So unless Master Jinn was part of this recruiting session, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“I just wanted to be a part of the ceremony to honor Master Yoda for his many, many years of service to the Force and the Temple and the galaxy and--”

“You’re reaching, Padawan. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“But Slade and Obi-Wan are in it, and they--”

His Master tossed back his head, snorting. “Oh that’s comforting. What’s this play called? How to sneak onto a starship without even trying?”

Kerge sighed. Everything was always so difficult with his Master. “It’s called the Bravest Jawa.”

“You’re kidding me. You expect me to believe that you are going to subject yourself to the indignity and frustration of herding a flock of hyperactive, snot-nosed Force-sensitives dressed as jawas to honor Master Yoda?”

“They’re not all jawas. There’s a droid, and a monster, and, uh, a desert fairy.”

“Hmm. Who plays the desert fairy?”

Kerge looked up at the ceiling, as if a better answer hovered above his Master’s head in the corner. “Um, Knight Warez’ padawan. I don’t remember her name.”

His Master stared at him for several seconds, and Kerge tried not to sweat. A razor-sharp smile spread across his Master’s face, and he nodded. “Nice.”

“Um, excuse me? Master?”

“They’re not worth it, you know. But I’ll let you figure that out on your own. Have fun with the jawas. And stay out of Alla’s way.”

Kerge ducked his head, smiling. Every once in awhile, he felt like he and his Master were actually somewhere in the same star system. “Thanks, Master.”

“Don’t thank me. And just remember, this is your project. I am staying blissfully ignorant of all jawa activities.”

***

Bel-San led the way into the Garden of Thespos, trailed by several cargo droids, each laden with large bags of sand. He hoped he’d ordered enough.

The amphitheater was already occupied with a milling group of children, with Heri at its center as she stood by the lip of the stage, counting out loud.

“Cross two three four, and kick, and kick, and cross two three four and turn a-round.” Several children in makeshift jawa costumes nearly knocked into each other as they spun awkwardly, attempting to follow her directions. “You’re getting it. Good job.”

Bel-San stood behind her, wincing. “They look like a Hutt cantina dance troupe after too much Rybian wine. This is why Jedi don’t dance.”

Whirling, Heri opened her mouth to protest when she caught sight of the cargo droids. “What is this?”

“What does it look like? Sand.”

“Bel-San, I wanted to keep this simple.”

“Which is why you’re trying to teach them the intricate celebration dance of the jawa people.”

“You’re missing my point. Who’s going to clean this up?”

Bel-San shrugged. “I’m just the one with the artistic vision. You can ask your stage manager about the menial details.”

Kerge stood up, appearing behind a two-dimensional rock. “I thought I was supposed to have a stage crew. Delegation, you know? Nobody said anything about carting sand around.”

Heri swiped back a stray piece of hair from her forehead, then clapped several times, and the twirling jawas lurched to a halt. “We don’t have time for this. We need to run the desert fairy scene, and then discuss our tech rehearsal. Got it?”

Bel-San smiled as he watched Kerge usher several of the children offstage with the edge of his clipboard. “Obi-Wan! Where are you? Get in place. The fairy’s coming.”

A waddling mound of jawa robe ran into the edge of the stage, falling to its knees. “I can’t see. This is too big for my Master! I thought jawa were small.” Obi-Wan poked his small blond head from beneath the copious folds of cowl. “The bravest jawa’s going to fall off the stage. I don’t even know where it is.”

Heri sighed, her face stretching into an over-bright smile. “We’ll fix it, Obi-Wan. Just run the scene, okay?”

Kerge unceremoniously deposited Obi-Wan in place, and then ran to stage left, where he crouched in the shadows. Smothering a laugh with his hand, Bel-San watched Kerge’s expectant expression, barely able to stifle his amusement.

“Okay! Let’s begin!” Heri called, her voice sounding only slightly less high-pitched than the whine of a hyperdrive engine.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and began his lines. “I’m out in the desert without a soul in sight, why isn’t there someone who can point me through the night? A poor lost droid awaits me, shivering in the cold, but by the time I find him, I’ll be very old!”

Bel-San heard Kerge’s voice call out from backstage. “Cue lights!”

Two giant spotlights temporarily blinded him, and Bel-San held up a hand to shield his burning eyes. From out of the glare, a slight shimmering form descended from the Garden ceiling, and Bel-San nearly had to chew on his robe to keep himself from bursting out with laughter. “Kerge! I think Keleran is magnificent enough without maxing out the lights. Take it down to half power, okay, and we’ll cut the Temple power bill.”

Keleran dropped lightly to the stage surface, stretching out a shimmering hand in Obi-Wan’s direction. Although he could see her mouth moving, Bel-San couldn’t make out a single word.

“Keleran! Darling. We can’t hear you. Speak up!” Heri called, her hands on her hips.

“Oh. Sorry.” Keleran cleared her throat, starting again. “OH BRAVEST LITTLE JAWA! OH BRAVEST LITTLE SOUL! I AM THE ONE YOU WISHED WOULD COME DIRECT YOU THROUGH THE COLD!”

At the end of the staggering soliloquy, Keleran leaned over to plant a kiss on top of Obi-Wan’s head. Bel-San heard Kerge sigh behind him, “I wish I were the bravest jawa.”

Obi-Wan’s face screwed up in a scowl. “I hate this part.”

With a flutter of her wings, Keleran lifted herself into the air, descending into the dark behind the spotlights. She tucked her wings behind her self-consciously, walking over to where Kerge and Bel-San stood. “Was I all right, Kerge?”

Kerge gave her a sloppy grin. “You were--”

“Overwhelming,” Bel-San interjected, stepping between them. “Kerge? Why don’t you go round everyone up? Keleran, why don’t you go stand next to Master Heri?”

Bel-San felt Kerge’s eyes burning into him as the boy glared intently. “Oh. Is that your Master over there, Keleran?” Bel-San asked.

Both padawans vanished, one on foot, one in flight, and Bel-San allowed himself a self-satisfied nod. He patted one of the sand droids on its head as he walked over to where Heri stood, a large cluster of small Jedi humanity at her ankles.

“Okay. Tomorrow night is the tech rehearsal for our show. I’ve already spoken to all of your Creche Masters and Jedi Masters, so they know you’re supposed to be here. You will be here at four o’clock. Some of you already have your costumes; some of you will be putting on your costumes for the first time. All of us will be putting on our makeup for the first time.”

“Makeup?” Obi-Wan’s mouth opened wide enough for Bel-San to see his tonsils.

“Yes. We all have to wear makeup so the audience can see our expressive faces,” Heri explained, and Bel-San could see the tension beginning to collect in the space between her eyes.

“Jedi don’t wear makeup! I’m a boy. We don’t wear makeup, right Slade?”

Slade tugged on the false mohawk that fell over his forehead. “If I have to wear this, I’m not wearing makeup. I feel like an idiot.”

“Slade, let’s not use that word, okay? Obi-Wan? You’re going to be fine. Only Jedi on special missions get to wear costumes and makeup, so consider this your special mission.”

Bel-San turned to observe the cargo droids unloading the sand across the set, and caught sight of a tall, robed figure watching them all from the back of the theater. “Well. If it isn’t the source of all our problems come to throw a hydrospanner in the smoothly operating machinery of our little production.”

A pained look washed across Heri’s face before she turned to face the children with her brightest smile of the day. “Okay! That’s it. See you at four tomorrow! Don’t be late.” The children dispersed, and Heri stalked across the stage to meet Mace halfway. “Well. If it isn’t the Deus ex machina himself. What do you want, Mace?”

“Relax, Heri. I just came to make sure everything’s in order for the celebration tomorrow.”

Heri’s eye’s widened. “You mean ready for the day after tomorrow.”

Bel-San felt his own throat begin to close as Mace shook his head. “No, I mean tomorrow. Slight change of plan--Sorry, Heri. The Council has scheduled a private group meditation on Master Yoda’s actual ceremonial anniversary, which is what I’ve come by to let you know. And to see that you’ve got all your costumes, and the children have their lines learned--”

“Sorry, Heri?” Bel-San stepped back to avoid being run over as Heri advanced on Mace. “You’re ‘Sorry?’ No. No. No no no. There is no sorry. There is no word to describe how sorry you are, Mace Windu, and certainly not to describe how sorry you are going to be when I get through with you.”

“Now, Heri,” Mace held up a poised hand. “It couldn’t be helped.”

“What would you know about help?” Heri hissed. “Were you here when I received a box of five extra-extra-large jawa robes for seven extra-extra-small children? Or when two of them came down with some kind of bizarre, somehow theater-related galactic flu? Or when Keleran’s wings got caught in the sprinkler system above the garden? Or when Obi-Wan fell off the stage?”

Mace snorted. “Obi-Wan falls off things all the time.”

“That’s not the point, you Council-serving lackey!”

Bel-San placed a hand on Heri’s shaking shoulder. “Mace, this is your cue to exit stage left.”

Mace began to open his mouth, but Bel-San shook his head. “I know you’ve always had such a way with women, Mace, but I think you’ve met your match. Run along now. See you tomorrow night.”

Mace paused for a moment, looked at Heri’s almost snarling face, then seemed to think the better of it and turned to leave. Bel-San released his hold on Heri, who turned towards the sand-spreading droids and twisted her fingers into her hair.

“Never in my life...Never, never, never in my life!” She began to pace back and forth, leaving angry tracks on the sandy stage.

“It’s going to be fine,” Bel-San soothed, careful not to come too close. “The kids are ready, they know their lines, the sand is here, and Master Yoda is very forgiving.”

“I am so done with this, Bel-San,” Heri whispered. “You have no idea how done with this I am. And when I say done, I mean DONE. I mean, no more Creche, no more Master Heri--Off planet--Done.”

“Okay, Heri. Come down from your crazy tree. I have a banana for you.”

Heri stopped pacing and gave him a wry half-smile. “Unless it takes the form of a very large, very strong drink at SsBob’s, I’m not interested.”

Bel-San nodded. “Tomorrow night. I promise. We’ll drink to our success and the end of our dramatic careers. We just have to be two brave little jawas until then.”

***

“How did you get that to fit on him?” Kerge stood in the common room of the apartment he shared with Payter, his head cocked in the direction of the hem of Obi-Wan’s costume.

“Lightsabers have many uses,” Qui-Gon said. “Are you ready? Where’s your Master?”

Kerge shrugged, and briefly hung his head. “He’s busy.”

Qui-Gon scoffed. “Doing what? All duties and missions are suspended tonight until after the ceremony.”

“I don’t think he wants to go.” Kerge turned quickly to the door. “I’m ready.”

Qui-Gon looked towards the door of Payter’s room and frowned. “Why don’t you go ahead with Obi-Wan? I don’t want to ruin the whole show for myself by going backstage. I’ll meet you there.”

Kerge only hesitated for a moment, then placed his hand on top of Obi-Wan’s hooded head and went out the door. Obi-Wan turned and waved at Qui-Gon.

“You promise you’ll sit in the front?” he said.

Qui-Gon smiled a small, warm smile. “I promise.”

“Payter!” Qui-Gon shouted as the doors slid shut. “Get out here! What are you doing?”

Payter appeared, looking slightly sleepy. “Oh, I don’t know, Qui-Gon, I’m sabotaging the communication systems of the entire Temple. What do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re being an insensitive bastard, actually.”

Payter placed his furry hand over his chest, trying to appear shocked. “Such language! To what do I owe the pleasure of that distinguished title?”

Qui-Gon motioned towards the door. “Your padawan is on his way to the performance of the play he’s worked very hard on, Payter. And you’re napping. How can you not see the problem here? Did you miss that day in Jedi school?”

“It’s not a big deal--He doesn’t want me to come. He told me so.” Payter flopped down on the couch. “He’s only doing it because Keleran’s in it, anyway.”

“Uh, Payter, he’s thirteen. You can’t believe a word he says. And while hormones may provide the initial inspiration for many of things we do at thirteen years of age, sometimes really important things grow out of those adolescent ravings. I think he really wants you to see what he’s accomplished.”

“He’s the stage manager! He’s not the, whatever it is...”

“The Bravest Jawa.”

“Yeah. If he’s not even onstage, what’s there to see?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Fine. Look at it this way. I have to go. Bel-San has to go. Mace even has to go. So you’re going. Now put on a shirt and some boots and let’s go watch some jawa.”

Payter raised an eyebrow as he stood up. “Oh, that just sounds all kinds of wrong.”

***

The audience sat within a circle of softly glowing hololamps, hushed by expectation. The stage, covered with sand and bordered by two-dimensional painted rocks and cliffs, was empty. Behind him, Qui-Gon could feel the Council shifting in their seats. It had been a good three minutes since the lights had dimmed, and from where she was crouched at the lip of the stage, Heri was beginning to look, well, harried. Beside him, Payter was growling almost silently under his breath.

“I can’t believe I’m wasting a perfectly good evening waiting for some kid dressed like a half-sized droid-hawker...”

“Shut up, Payter. That’s my kid.”

Suddenly, a tiny hooded head poked out on stage, withdrew, and was then propelled out onto the sand by an unseen backstage force. The robed figure picked itself up and looked resentfully at stage right, where a line of cowering, similarly robed figures was issuing forth.

“This is the story...” whispered Heri.

“This is the story,” the hooded figure mimicked, “of the Bravest Jawa, the smallest of our band. But he was not afraid to go and lend a helping hand.”

Heri motioned the speaker forward, and as the jawa stepped into the light, Qui-Gon recognized the blue hair sticking out from underneath the robe. It was either Finn or Nifan, one of the twins who roomed with Slade.

As the prologue wore on, Qui-Gon found himself actually anticipating Obi-Wan’s appearance onstage. When the Bravest Jawa finally crossed the sand, he didn’t drop a single line, although his usually boisterous six-year-old voice was slightly less confident than it had been in their common room during rehearsals.

Soon there was another pause as the unfortunate droid in question, played by Bant, had to be moisturized before coming out to play her scene. The audience stifled giggles as she whispered to Kerge, “I’m drying out, Kerge! Where is the spray bottle?” Kerge obliged her, then steered her in the right direction as she was obviously having difficulty maneuvering in her droid get-up.

Even Payter laughed in earnest when Slade let loose with an obviously Wookie-inspired roar, then chased Obi-Wan around a very stationary Bant. The Bravest Jawa led the Monster, who was dressed like an under-funded bounty hunter, into a gap in the set that Kerge made appear, then placed a comforting arm around the long-lost droid.

“The terror of the desert sand won’t bother us again,” the bravest jawa intoned.

“Thank goodness for you, Jawa, my rescuer and friend,” Bant piped from inside her tin can.

“Oooo. Ahhhh,” said the audience as Keleran descended again from the heights of the Garden. The other jawas joined Obi-Wan and company onstage for the last scene.

“Finally!” Payter muttered.

“YOU ARE THE BRAVEST JAWA,” said Keleran, “THE BRAVEST JAWA IN THE LAND.”

“Who knew such a big sound could come from such a little padawan?” Payter said. Alla turned around in her seat and smacked him on the knee, which was all she could reach. Qui-Gon gave his former padawan a smile.

“AND YOUR NAME WILL LIVE FOREVER IN THE EVER-MOVING SAND.”

“It is not easy to be brave when you are very small.” Obi-Wan delivered his last line with bravado. “But sometimes it’s the smallest who are the bravest of them all.”

The cast as a whole turned towards the audience. “Thank you, Master Yoda,” they said in unison.

“Oh, very subtle, Mace,” Payter grunted, covering his mouth with his hand.

Music poured out of speakers at the stage’s base, and the main characters made way for the dance the heretofore superfluous jawas were stumbling through. Heri clapped her hands desperately, trying to establish something like rhythm, and Qui-Gon joined in, leading the audience in applause. It seemed as if they were out of the woods--or, at least the desert.

“Knock it off, Nifan! You’re stepping on my robe!” Finn cried, and gave his sister a shove. Nifan toppled backwards into a fabricated cliff and brought the whole thing down with her.

Jawas scattered, screaming, as a hololamp broke open on the upset scenery and ignited. Qui-Gon bolted out of his seat, but before even Heri could rush the stage, Kerge emerged from the chaos, dousing the flames with Bant’s hydrating bottle. The cast stood mesmerized as he picked up the somewhat singed set piece, righted it, and helped Nifan to her feet. He turned to face the stunned audience.

“Let’s hear it for the jawa!” he said, and led the children into curtain call.

***

Qui-Gon shouldered his way through the backstage crowd, looking for his Padawan. He was nearly taken down as hard as the collapsing set when Obi-Wan wrapped himself around his knees.

“Master!” Obi-Wan was irrepressible. “Did you see me?”

“Yes, I sure did, Little One.”

“Did you see the fire, and the set fall down? I bet Finn’s going to be in big trouble. Did you see Kerge?”

Qui-Gon forced himself to relax the muscles in his neck and release the image of what might have happened to the tiny cast had Kerge not been so responsive to the Force. He picked Obi-Wan up and hugged him tightly. “It was kind of hard to miss, Obi-Wan. I was very proud of all of you.”

Heri appeared at his elbow. “Obi-Wan, you were fantastic. Everyone was fantastic!” She looked happy, but exhausted. Qui-Gon hoped Mace had the good sense to stay out of her way until after she’d had a chance to recover.

“Kerge!” she cried, stretching out her arms. “Our Bravest Stage Manager!”

The crowd around them applauded again as Kerge made his way over to Qui-Gon. The boy blushed and rolled his eyes, embarrassed by all the attention. His blush deepened when a slight, shimmering figure materialized beside him. Qui-Gon hid his smile in the top of Obi-Wan’s head as she spoke.

“Oh, Kerge.” She wound two sparkling arms around Kerge’s bent neck. “If you wanted to be onstage, I’m sure Heri would have let you be a dancing jawa.”

“Right,” Kerge said.

By the time Qui-Gon sense the familiar, irritated presence behind him, it was too late to warn the padawan of the hour. He could practically count down Alla’s explosion--three...two...one...

“Kerge!” Alla said, breaking through the bodies surround them. Keleran slipped away as if she’d never touched another padawan in her life. “Nice job with the fire,” Alla put a protective and insinuating hand on Keleran’s shoulder. “You just keep concentrating on...dousing flames. Say goodnight, my desert fairy.” Keleran mumbled her good-byes, and Alla guided her through the crush at the stage door.

Kerge sighed and looked back at Qui-Gon, who shifted Obi-Wan in his arms so he could run a hand over Kerge’s shaggy black hair. “Don’t worry, Kerge. She can’t be on planet all the time. Besides, I can put in a good word for you. I know Knight Warez and her idiosyncrasies pretty well.”

“Probably because you’re pretty much the cause of them,” Payter said, effectively parting the last of the backstage well-wishers. Out of the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon saw Kerge’s mouth drop open.

“Master!” Kerge swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Well you know, I’ve lately cultivated a deep interest in the folklore and dances of the jawa.”

“Right,” Qui-Gon said.

“You didn’t have to come,” Kerge interjected. “I know you’re busy. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Payter dropped to one knee and took hold of Kerge’s arm. “No,” he said. “It was a big deal.”

“Big deal, indeed,” a raspy voice came from behind the pressing bodies.

Qui-Gon set Obi-Wan on his feet and greeted his former Master with a smile as Yoda tapped towards them with his gimmer stick. “I trust you enjoyed the festivities, Master.”

Yoda jabbed his stick in Obi-Wan’s direction. “Much bravery have I seen tonight. First Padawan Kenobi, difficult it is to be so small before so many eyes. Know this I do.” Resting his hands on his stick, he turned to Kerge. “And to be the biggest and the strongest, this is also difficult. But reacted well, with much readiness and peace from the Force, did you. A fine padawan are you. Your master, lucky he is.”

Qui-Gon felt his grin grow wider as Payter squeezed Kerge’s arm again.

Then Yoda swung around and pointed his gimmer stick accusingly at Mace, who had just managed to make his way past congratulatory Council members. “Yes, Master Yoda?” Mace asked.

“When your ceremonial anniversary you reach, hope I am still living, I do. Choose your entertainment, I will.”

Unsure of how to respond, Mace was entirely caught off guard when Heri emerged from behind him. “Master Yoda, I’m so pleased you enjoyed yourself. And Mace,” she continued, looking him right in the eye. “It’s so good of you to volunteer yourself to watch the children while the other Masters and I go out and celebrate the play’s success. You are truly a humanitarian.”

“Don’t worry, Mace,” Qui-Gon added. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you take the children to your apartment, as you suggested--They can all sleep at my place, and I’ll take over when I get home from SsBob’s. But thanks for being so selfless.”

“I...” Mace said as Master Yoda gimmered away.

“Come on, Bel-San,” Heri cut him off, pulling Bel-San out of the shadows, where Qui-Gon discovered he’d been smirking. “You owe me a banana.”