"Obi-Wan, no one is going to believe we're lovers," Qui-Gon insisted, "unless you agree to masquerade as a woman." He had not seen his padawan glare at him like this since he was a boy of fifteen.

"Let them not believe," the younger man said. "Or let you wear the wig and the jewels and the three-inch spike heels for a change."

Qui-Gon sighed, adopting his best Put-Upon Master face. "My heart," he said, "I know it's uncomfortable, and I know it makes you feel self-conscious, but it's just for the evening. The Kraalae have unconscionably attacked their neighbors, the Lenesi, with neither provocation nor explanation. Only by infiltrating their society can we understand why they felt it necessary to do this -- they wouldn't confide in total strangers." Obi-Wan continued to glare. "And, happily, their chief big man's daughter is to be married, and weddings are events to which the whole community is welcome, and even expected."

"None of this has explained why I must dress as a woman."

"My love, surely you learned in Comparative Cultures that there are some societies in which anything but male-female pairings are completely unknown. This must be a social visit, so you cannot appear as my partner or my student; there is not enough physical resemblance for you to be believable as my brother or my son; and they will not believe you are my lover if they see you as a man."

Obi-Wan sat down heavily and sighed. "And you won't be the woman because ...?"

"Look at me."

"Oh, fair enough, Master," the apprentice said, exasperated. "But only for the wedding."

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

"And we leave as soon as we've discovered their sore point with their neighbors."

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

"And I don't have to shave my legs."

Qui-Gon laughed out loud. "Very well, my dear one."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes once more, stood and accepted his master's kiss on his cheekbone, and stalked off to put on his evening gown.

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