Chapter II: Opportunities
Master Vrook Lamar stormed down the corridor of Dantooine Jedi Enclave gravely, random Padawans scuttling from his path. Rounding the corner, he almost tripped over Master Vandar.
"Master Vrook," came the surprised rasp as the small Master stumbled back.
"Master Vandar, we must speak at once!"
"Indeed. What matter is of such great importance, Master Vrook?"
"Not here," Vrook said quickly, eyes darting around the empty corridor. "This is something that must be discussed in private. Come."
Vandar looked like he was about to say something, but then only rushed helplessly after Vrook. Even in his hurry, Vrook took the time to strictly scold a Padawan as he walked by. The young man seemed enamored with a blushing Twi'lek girl, apparently intent on explaining this matter or the other in great detail.
"Wipe that smirk from your face, Padawan. Such reckless abandon leads to the Dark Side."
The flustered Padawan stammered, entangling himself in his feet and bowing clumsily, only to begin the procedure again as Vandar passed by, paying him no heed.
The heavy-set door assembled itself together, closing after Master Vandar. He glanced around the empty conference chamber briefly, shuffling over to where Vrook stood uneasily.
"There is great darkness afoot," Vrook declared before Vandar even had the chance to speak. "The Endar Spire has been destroyed! Bastila and her dangerous assignment have disappeared!"
"She has not yet become one with the Force," Vandar croaked firmly. "There is still hope."
"Yes, I can sense her as well," Vrook sighed in frustration. "We never should have sent her out like this. She is too inexperienced!"
"What other choice did we have? There is no one else that we could send on this task."
"But at what risk? Without her Battle Meditation the future looks grave indeed. And I do not even want to think of the other dark routes things may go down."
Master Vandar looked down, pausing momentarily.
"We must trust in the Force. Bastila will resist the Darkness with all her being."
Master Vrook made a pained expression.
"Let's only hope-"
The door slid open, admitting Master Zhar and another Jedi.
"I apologize, I did not know anyone was here," the Twi'lek Master looked at them with a small smile.
"No need, Master Zhar," Vrook waved dismissively. "We were merely engaged in idle conversation."
His eyes rested on the newcomer pointedly.
"I was waiting to introduce him to the Council this evening, but since we are here: Masters, allow me to present Knight Navash Orai, a former student of mine. He has just arrived from Coruscant to coordinate the war convention with the Academy."
The younger man bowed respectably, his voice calm and collected.
"I am honoured, Masters. I've been looking forward to this visit for a long time. If only it would not be necessitated by such tumultous circumstances."
"How is the situation on Coruscant, young Navash?" Vandar asked sincerely.
"Not as good as one might hope, Master, but holding up pretty well, all things considered. The Senate is holding irregular sittings every day, and the High Council is attempting to coordinate and gather the scattered Jedi. The Sith advance each day a little more, but our resolve also strengthens a little more."
Vandar nodded grimly.
"I…have heard of Jedi Bastila's disappearance…" Navash began uncertainly.
"That is a matter to be discussed at the Council meeting this evening," Vrook said quickly. "Until then you should settle in your quarters and perhaps enjoy the tour of our Enclave."
Navash smiled politely.
"Yes, Master Zhar has already graciously seen to that. I shall delay you no longer, Masters."
With another bow, he turned gracefully and left. Master Zhar was about to follow, when Vandar indicated for him to stay.
"Close the door," said the short Master simply. The heavy red door slid closed with a hiss and a clunk.
XXX
Zelka Forn was going through the supplies absently, worries etched on his face as they stormed turbulently within. The occupation has brought anything but peace, and the blunt, violent manner in which the Sith enforced it had made his small hospital a lot busier in the recent months. He just couldn't understand how someone could harbour such blatant disregard for life. Typing in some numbers into a datapad, he rubbed his forehead wearily. As if he didn't have enough worries already, now he had the added burden of worrying about the Sith finding out his secret patients. Sighing, his eyes glanced briefly over the locked door that lead to a restricted area. He couldn't just let them die, even if he knew he couldn't help them much either. One by one, they were brought to him from the lower levels, shortly after many bright trails ripped the sky apart. He heard about the battle above the planet, and he knew what the Sith would do to them. Or to him, for that matter, if they found out he was hiding them.
But he couldn't just leave them to their deaths, he swore an oath that he would preserve all life as a doctor, even at the risk of his own.
His eyes stopped on the small package on the shelf. It contained some food and medicine, already prepared to be taken down to the Undercity to help ease the lives of Outcasts. They had it bad enough already, even without the Rakghoul disease and the swoop gang raiders, he only wished he could help them more. He shuddered unvoluntarily at the thought of the hideous plague.
It has been limited to the lower levels at first, but more and more Upper City citizens have been contracting it lately, and were immediately banished from their former circle of friends and life. People were afraid, and rightfully so. Still, the diseased didn't deserve to be treated the way they were. The gleaming spires belied the blackness below.
Before the occupation, he had some hope that the cure would be soon available, but the Sith shut down all efforts when they took over. Not that they didn't took advantage of it for themselves, he scowled stormingly.
No, the patrols in the Undercity had regularly carried the antidote serum should they get infected, denying its existence publically. Not denying, Zelka corrected himself bitterly, simply not caring what anyone thought. And nobody was stupid enough to go attack one of the Undercity patrols for it.
His focus was drawn to the two people entering his facility, he quickly dismissed his introspection to give them the full attention they deserved.
From the looks of them, they weren't regular Upper City citizens, which was never a good thing. The weapons they didn't even try to hide unnerved him even further. They were probably some thugs working for Davik, although he couldn't imagine what they could possibly want from him. He wasn't running a profitable revenue, he couldn't pay anything to them.
He sighed inwardly, at least they weren't the Sith. Drawing up, he collected himself before speaking clearly.
"Can I help you? If you're in need of medical assistance I'll gladly provide, and I have some basic pharmaceutical provisions for sale."
He studied the men as they looked around the facility surreptitiously. They had the look of someone who has seen combat a lot about them, and their manner suggested they weren't afraid of confrontation.
"Is this some sort of medical facility?" one of them asked, his tone subtly demanding. Zelka didn't like the man from the look of him.
He had short, close-cut hair, a noticeable scar just below his right eye, making Zelka wince inwardly as he thought how he might have gotten it. His features were sharp and radiating confidence, despite which his face did not appear entirely unfriendly. His eyes stared unwaveringly, dangerously, the dull light reflecting on his polished battle suit only adding to the overbearing appearance.
"Yes, I can offer all sorts of medical assistance, like I said. Except for the Rakghoul disease, of course."
"Rakghoul disease?"
The other man had softer features, his voice lacking the silky coldness of his companion.
"Yes, the horrible disease that eventually turns those infected into flesh-eating mutants. It's mostly spread in the Undercity among the banished, but it's been spreading into the upper levels with frightening speed."
Must have been off-worlders then, if they don't know about the Rakghoul disease. Or just pretending to be.
"The Sith," he continued reluctantly, "Have the cure, but they refuse to let civilian scientists have a look at it," there was obvious animosity in his voice. "If I could get my hands on a sample of it, I could-"
"Do you know anything about the Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity?" the other man interrupted impatiently, in a manner that put Zelka on guard.
"No, no, I don't know aynthing. Nothing about any escape pods!"
The man's face darkened ever so slightly as he took a step forward.
"You seem terribly protective about this. Are you hiding something?"
"What? I'm not hiding anything…I don't know what you're talking about!"
Zelka's façade was starting to crack under the intense glare, but he remained collected even as the man kept drilling with threats.
"Start talking or you'll be dealing with the Sith!"
"The Sith were already here and I told them what I told you – I don't know anything!"
The man's glare intensified as his voice lowered, chillingly so, but never losing momentum.
"If you don't tell me what you are hiding this instant, you may accidentally injure yourself by tripping and hitting your face on my foot," his suddenly calm tone belied the malice contained within.
Zelka paled, he had no doubt this unpleasantly overbearing man would carry out his threat without hesitation. He had dealt with such people before.
"Alright, I don't want any trouble," he said apprehensively, leading them to the door in the back. "I'll show you."
With a keycard he unlocked the door, revealing the medium-sized room behind. Vital function support kolto tanks were lined on the far wall, containing floating bodies of Republic soldiers.
"What is all this?" the other man asked, with alarm.
Zelka's features dropped. This is it, it was over. They'll shut down his hospital and throw him in prison…or worse.
"They're crashed Republic soldiers," he said emptily. "They brought them here from the Undercity, and I…I couldn't just leave them to die, or fall in the hands of Sith! I did what I could, but I'm afraid they'll never wake up again."
Only when one of the strangers put a hand on his shoulder calmingly did he relax somewhat.
"It's alright. We're Republic soldiers," he said reassuringly.
"Republic soldiers?"
Zelka's hope soared again, as he looked at the man's warm brown eyes and glanced at the other man in disbelief.
"Then all is not lost yet. I'll keep these men safe, no one knows they're here."
"We appreciate what you've done here."
Sad expression crossed Zelka's face.
"I did my best, but all I can do now is make sure they're not in pain."
The man sighed, looking up at the tanks gravely.
"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone about this."
"This…cure you spoke about, if I brought it here, could you make use of it?" the other man spoke up suddenly from the door, grabbing his attention.
"Well yes, I could manufacture the antidote and stop the spread of the disease, but…"
"Maybe you'll get your cure," he said enigmatically.
Zelka's eyes widened as he looked at the other man in surprise.
"Look, I just said that, I didn't mean…I don't want you to get in any trouble because of me-"
"Don't worry, we won't," the man said brusquely, turning to leave abruptly. The other one offered an apologetic look, going after his companion.
Zelka let out a quivering sigh, feeling the weight lift off his chest. There was hope still, even if he didn't put much trust in these men, Republic or no. But hope was a persistent emotion, not easily snuffed, and it only took a microscopic spark to light up its warm fire again.
Zelka had hope, maybe better days were in store for Taris.
"Hey, wait a minute," the dark man put a hand on Vren's shoulder as he and Carth passed him by.
Vren looked down on the man's hand like it was a stain on his uniform, making him retreat it with haste.
"I heard you talking with Zelka about a cure for the Rakghoul disease."
"Why should I be even remotely interested in anything you have to say?"
The shifty man licked his lips quickly, eyes darting around nervously.
"Well, I just might have a proposal you'd be interested in. I'm Gurney, Zelka's assistant, and let's just say I represent another who is interested in the cure. If you happen to "find" that cure, speaking hypothetically of course, there might be a way to make lots of credits with it."
"Go on," Vren said impassively, while Carth's glare pierced the man derisively.
"Davik wants to get a sample of the cure, has been for quite some time now. He's willing to pay one thousand credits for it."
"Who is Davik and why is he so interested in this?"
"Everyone knows who Davik is!" his eyes lost a touch of their gleam as he noted Vren and Carth's blank expressions. "I guess you're off-worlders, right? You wouldn't know about Davik then. He's the man running Taris, or at least the Taris underworld. And he's even got people in high places in Taris government," his voice lowered to a whisper, "He's in the Exchange, you know, and I don't have to tell you about them. Anyway, he's got everything; money, women, power. I'm going to be like him one day…" he trailed off realizing he already said more than he wanted to.
Vren scoffed, but said nothing, his hands resting on his belt as Gurney went on quickly.
"If he gets the cure, he'll synthesize it and sell it to the highest bidder. He'll make a fortune!"
"Sure, the rich get the cure and the poor suffer because they can't afford it, like they always have," Carth snapped.
Vren shot him a quick annoyed look, motioning him to be quiet. Gurney eyed Carth distastefully for a few moments, then turned back to Vren.
"If you manage to obtain the cure, take it to Zax in the bounty office in Javyar's Cantina. He'll arrange you get paid handsomely for your trouble."
"I've no interest in being a petty crimelord's errand boy," Vren's hostile tone painted a surprised look on Gurney's face.
"What? Davik'll pay you a fortune for the sample, how can you miss such a chance? Zelka can't pay you anything for the cure, he's practically broke!"
He calmed slightly at Vren's stonecast expression, licking his dry lips nervously.
"Why don't you think this through, huh, there's no rush. Just think of the all credits you'll earn
for a simple job. Others would kill for a chance to earn this kind of money," he tried to persuade.
"Why are you so interested in this? How will you profit from Davik getting the cure?"
Gurney's expression fell a little with a sigh.
"What does it matter to you? I get a cut on the side from Davik, sure, and I'm still working my way up the hierarchy," he paused uncomfortably, collecting his thoughts.
An awkward silence choked the air.
Vren looked like he might say something more, but then just turned abruptly toward the door, hands clasped behind his back. Carth gave Gurney a disgusted look as he stepped past him.
"One more thing," Vren paused briefly, turning back to regard him with intense eyes. "I suggest you forget all about this. Because we will not forget."
Gurney avoided Vren's eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly, the unspoken warning not escaping him.
XXX
The bustling city streets served them well, disguising them from the curious eyes. Which was another advantage a couple of soldiers had over a Jedi. Nobody knew their faces, while Bastila's was no doubt imprinted in the memories of most Sith Commanders in the city.
They made their way across the wide walkways, toward the Cantina, trying to look casual. Briefly they stopped as Carth leaned on the durasteel and duracrete fence to peer down over it.
"There's a long way down," he said quietly as he leaned over, staring into the vast sea of skyscrapers.
"What are you doing?" Vren's voice was tinged with impatience.
"Look," Carth said simply, indicating with his hand subtly.
Vren followed his finger and saw what caught Carth's interest. The top of one large building held a landing bay, which was currently occupied by a lifting-off vessel. The ship didn't seem to be military, even if it was luxurious and obviously not just a common transport.
"That's not an atmospheric ship. And it's not a Sith vessel, either. So what is it doing taking off when there's a lockdown in effect?"
"Exactly," Carth agreed as they watched the ship disappear beyond the blue. "Maybe they think they can outrun the Sith."
"Nobody who owns a ship like this would be stupid enough to try that. Such ships are built for leisure and prestige, not speed. No, it's got to have the launch codes."
"Which makes you wonder," Carth continued the thought, "Just who the owner is."
They exchanged a thoughtful look.
"We're not going to find out by standing here all night."
Vren turned back to the walkway, and Carth closely followed. They made their way to the Cantina, with Carth giving the Sith guard outside a tempestous scowl.
The Cantina itself was a large complex, with many adjacent rooms from where music and loud talking could be heard. The smell of alcohol and perfume scents drifted on the waves of unobtrusive music. The general feel of ease permeated the area, with off duty Sith troopers mingling freely with Taris commoners and nobility. Nevertheless, Vren could feel the tension hanging thinly in the air. Despite the first impression one might get, the Cantina was not a place of indiscriminate enjoyment.
Carth went to secure them a table and order some drinks as Vren delayed himself at the Pazaak table. Carth really had not much interest in Pazaak. Sure, he played it, but who didn't? He never got that good to really make some money off it, and the war occupied all of his thoughts presently. He looked around tentatively.
Scanning the crowds, his trained eye searching for potential threats subconsciously. Rather loud music emanated from one of the antechambers of the main cantina hub, and he decided to investigate. A band, not unlike many such stereotypical bands that played the smoky cantinas, was ripping it on stage, with a small group of Twi'lek dancers lining the stage. Patrons were seated at the tables alongside each wall, engrossed in quiet conversation. A few of them were swaying to the music under the stage, others yet danced fluidly. Carth let his weary eyes rest on the dancers for a few moments, soaking in the music.
Maybe he could gather some information here. Casually he approached one of the women that held her eyes firmly on the band, the scent of her perfume attacking him from afar.
"They're pretty good, aren't they?" he offered one of his engaging smiles, his tone conversational.
The woman measured him with her eyes slowly, making a disgusted sound at his apparel, then proceeded to ignore him.
Carth exhaled through his teeth, pursing his lips. The nobles of Taris probably didn't look with fondness upon combat armours worn in such clubs. He was really beginning to hate this planet.
His eyes wandered around the lively place again. He has seen better, but also much worse. Picking up the drinks at the bar, he let his thoughts flow once again. There seemed to be some commotion in one of the siderooms, he stole a few glances before proceeding to the table he previously reserved.
Making himself comfortable, but not too much, he poured himself a drink. The rich, almost sweet flavour of Tarisian Ale burned down his throat with calming ease. Vren emerged from the smoky darkness of the Pazaak room, dropping into a chair next to him with an air of accomplishment.
He offered Carth a smug look, looking through some credit chips.
"Hey, I'm pretty good at this," he commented, pocketing the credits.
"You beat that guy?"
Vren made an indignant sound.
"Please. He is a novice. If only I had some better cards…" he trailed off wistfully.
Carth pushed a glass in front of him.
"I don't know what you drink, so I ordered you some Tarisian Ale. It's not exactly cheap, but good stuff."
Vren peered into his glass, putting it back down.
"I don't drink alcohol. It is counterproductive when you're trying to keep in top shape."
"Yeah? Sometimes life's counterproductive to you, no matter what you do," Carth said as he brought his glass up.
Vren leaned back, eyes gliding over the crowd lazily.
"We still haven't finished our discussion from before," he said suddenly, in a casual tone.
"And I told you I don't want to talk about it," Carth put his glass down abruptly.
"Yes, but I'm bored, so spit it out already."
"Cute. Nice to see you're so full of concern. Alright, though I don't know why you're so hung up on this. I've had bad experience in the past with people I trusted the most. People that betrayed the Republic, and everything they once stood for."
"Go on."
"Revan and Malak – they were the best Jedi Knights, hailed and celebrated by everyone, and even they betrayed us and became the Sith. If even the best of Jedi can go over like this, what does that tell you?"
"They have fallen to the Dark Side, obviously."
"But there's still others, soldiers and people like you and and me, people who didn't fall to the Dark Side. They joined the Sith willingly. And they deserve no mercy!" he motioned wildly with his hand for emphasis.
"And they'll have none. But I didn't join the Sith, Carth," Vren pointed out dryly.
"I know. I probably owe you an apology. But that doesn't mean I'll stop watching you."
"Watching me for what, exactly?"
Carth gave a tired sigh.
"Forget it, okay? I don't want to be talking about this now, let's just try to focus on the task at hand here."
Vren just watched him in silence, searching his face for any indicators of what went on behind it.
"Very well. But this conversation is far from over," he finally acquiesced, looking away.
Uneasy silence enveloped them again, diagonally broken by the relaxing music and rain-like chatter of the other patrons, accentuated with occasional burst of laughter or breaking glass.
"I hear there is much credits to be made in the dueling ring," Vren commented off-handedly as he looked around slowly.
"Yeah, I saw the dueling room before. It looks like something's happening in there. Maybe we should go and take a look."
"Splendid idea," Vren murmured, already getting up.
The dueling room was actually more a foyeur of sorts, with entrance to the arena and duel pits, a handful of sentients sitting around, the Hutt in the corner being the most notable.
Vren spared a glance over the odd assortment of people, before following Carth over to the arena viewscreens. A duel was about to start, judging from the semi-excited crowd that filled the seats, the Hutt watching the screen in his register countertop lazily.
Announcer's voice presented the upcoming fight between Deadeye Duncan and Gerlon Two-Fingers, and Vren snorted quietly at the ridiculous monickers. Even as the announcer spoke, the combatants emerged from the opposite doors, wallowing in the praise of the audience. Deadeye Duncan, an older man with already thinning hair, gestured provocatively, sneering at his opponent. His adversary, the hardened Gerlon Two-Fingers, only curved his mouth down in a gesture of contempt, eyes narrowing and fingers stretching slowly a few centimeters from his holstered blaster.
As the announcer's booming voice faded away, a long, low-pitched siren sounded the beginning of the fight.
Deadeye Duncan pulled his weapon out, but somehow managed to drop it in the rush of the adrenaline. Either that, or he was motorically impaired. Gerlon fired two precise shots from his poised blaster, just as his opponent was bending over to pick up his weapon. The blasts struck him squarely in the chest, throwing him back and to the floor. He did not get up.
The crowd cheered, even though the commentator announced this victory as no big surprise; Deadeye Duncan was the bottom of the barrel, apparently. But the audience cheered nonetheless. They were happy just to see the blood they craved for, and feel the euphoria they sought to escape their dull mundane existence. The momentary exhilaration, as they were one with the combatants for the duration of those short minutes, falling and rising together with them, without the actual pain and with synthetic fear. The excitement and entertainment all rolled into one, with the loss of credits the greatest risk they took. The arena was the only place where the Tarisian nobility mingled freely with the lower classes, all bonded in the simple expression of the most primal sentient urge.
Bloodlust.
"That was quite thrilling," Vren offered sarcastically, stepping away from the viewscreen.
Carth gave a sour smile and a soft snort, looking about.
The mass of people poured from the arena spectator entrance, those who returned to the Cantina instead of leaving through the outside exit, to either celebrate their victory or drown their loss.
A smaller group emerged from a sidedoor, the regular combatants from the looks of them. They spread themselves over the tables near the west wall, some of them leaning on the counter where the Hutt was eagerly collecting and paying out the bets.
Vren made his way over to the duelists, pushing past the excited patrons to the Hutt. The corpulent alien looked up at him with bulbous eyes, a streak of excitement lighting up somewhere in their depths.
"No more bets human, there are no duels scheduled for the time being. Unless…"
He appraised Vren with calculative eyes, one small hand going to scratch the side of massive head slowly.
"You look like you could hold your own in a fight. You interested in the duels?" he asked, unable to keep the hopeful tone from his voice.
"I may be. Tell me more," Vren's tone was neutral.
The Hutt laughed rumblingly, obviously pleased, if unimpressed by Vren's knowledge of Huttese.
"Good, we could use something to freshen up the ranks. I am Ajuur, the duel organiser. If you think you can stand against the Taris' best, listen up. The duels are strictly non-lethal, and you can use melee or blaster weapon, it's your choice. You fight until one is knocked out cold. Once your opponent goes down, you don't finish them off."
"Blasters and vibroblades and nobody gets hurt? Sounds like you're feeding us a line here," Carth interrupted, sharply.
Ajuur grumbled, shifting his weight a little.
"Deathmatches have been illegal since Bendak Starkiller. The arena is lined with energy suppressors, it takes the edge off weapons and makes any combat non-lethal. Keep that in mind when fighting."
His voice picked up with more excitement as he continued, obviously a thematic he was more fond of.
"People bet on you before the fight, and you get twenty percent of the purse. You supply your own weapons and armour, and the medics patch you up for free after each fight. You go see them, if you can still walk," another scraping laugh escaped him, amused by his own poor attempts at levity. "So, what you say?"
"I might be interested, but I want thirty percent of the winnings."
Ajuur made a disgruntled sound, eyes narrowing.
"Bah, I give you more, then everybody wants more, and I go bankrupt!"
"I find that difficult to believe. Not much people have come to see the fights lately, have they? You are in desperate need of a novelty, someone like me. Thirty percent is nothing compared to what you'll make," Vren said quickly, his tone non-negotiable.
Ajuur glared at him for a few moments, then let out another deep laugh.
"Hah! I like you human, bargaining with a Hutt. If you fight as well as you talk, you'll bring me fortune. Thirty percent it is! I make money, you make money, everyone's happy," he said somewhat reluctantly.
Vren shook hands with him, nodding sharply.
"You'll need a name, before you can go into the ring, something to arouse the public's mind, a nickname that suits you…" Ajuur paused with half-closed eyelids, thinking of a suitable name. Suddenly his eyes widened, brightening with sudden insight. "I know! How about "Mysterious Stranger"?" he tossed the name out for Vren's scrutiny.
Vren nodded slowly, rolling the name over in his head.
"Mysterious Stranger…I like it, yes," he said softly, shifting back to Basic.
"It's perfect. You've got no past, nobody knows you, it makes you seem like you've got some dark secret. Mystique always makes people bet more."
"And keeps your identity hidden, in case Sith got a hold of the crew rosters back on the Endar Spire," Carth whispered in Vren's ear discretely. "Not to mention we could use the funds from the fights."
"When do I fight?" Vren asked firmly, still focused on Ajuur.
The Hutt stopped to consider something, giving an indecisive rasp.
"You're still new, you'll fight Deadeye Duncan first. He never wins, and he's the worst duelist I've ever seen. There won't be a big purse, but it's your initiation into the Taris dueling scene if you defeat him. I'll schedule a fight for tomorrow's evening term. That's at nine-thirty in the evening. Be here at nine, so you can get warmed up and ready for the fight. Maybe you should get to know the regular duelists here before that," he ended with a recommendation.
"Very good. I'll be here."
Nodding to Ajuur, he made his way to the area where combatants lingered, Carth in tow. They appeared to be a rather diverse bunch. Gerlon Two-Fingers, the earlier victor, was sitting at a table, scowling somewhere into the distance sourly. A little further stood a tall woman, leaning back on the bar counter, her expression emotionless as she watched him with cold eyes. Next to her, an older man was sitting, his hair already lined with streaks of grey. Spinning his glass slowly on the table, he gave Vren a curious stare. Off to the side, an armoured Rodian was muttering something to a computer panel, his face twitching occasionally. One of the arena service doors opened, letting out Deadeye Duncan, his hand still rubbing his chest absently.
"Hey, that's my seat!" he called out angrily as he spotted Vren, motioning towards him wildly.
Vren stopped, looking back from the chair he was about to settle into. The middle aged duelist walked up to him, brushing past him indignantly as he plopped into the plasteel seat.
Vren stepped around him, so that he was looking him in the face.
"Just the man I wanted to see," he said with a quiet edge.
Deadeye gave him a critical glare, making an irritated face.
"And who are you, fresh meat? Don't waste my time, do you know who I am?"
Vren kept his voice level, fluorescent ad panel lights illuminating his face as he spoke.
"I want to ask you a few questions."
"I'm Deadeye Duncan, the fifth-ranking duelist around here, I don't have time for your questions. This is the duelist area, you shouldn't even be here. Unless you want to test your luck in the ring," he sneered condescendingly, amused.
"Fifth-ranking out of how many?" Vren asked acerbically, fully aware of how many duelists there were.
"Well, there's only five of us," some of Duncan's bravado deflated from his voice. "But that's soon to change, when I get my break. Maybe with fresh meat like you, but I already see you don't have the guts to step in the ring with me."
"Actually, I have already booked a duel with Ajuur, for tomorrow evening."
"You did?" Duncan's eyes widened in surprise. "Great, I'll show you then who's Deadeye Duncan!"
"I can only hope it is as spectacular as the display you put up today," Vren mocked.
"Big words, tough guy," Duncan retorted derisively. "We'll see who's laughing tomorrow at this time!"
Leaving him behind, Vren stepped over to Gerlon, getting his attention by sitting on the edge of his table.
"What do you want?" the man asked in annoyance, looking up sharply.
"I saw the match earlier. Pretty unimpressive. I have some questions for you."
Gerlon gave a dark scowl, tensing in his seat.
"Ask someone else. Just because you've signed up now, don't think I'm suddenly your best buddy."
"Wouldn't dream of it. What happened to your hand?" Vren asked abruptly, indicating Gerlon's crippled hand, which he quickly pulled under the table.
"Here's some free advice for you; mind your own business! And leave me alone!"
Giving a mirthless smile, Vren slid off the table, casually walking over to the bar where Carth was already waiting. He was looking around the room with an analyzing frown, his hands crossed over his chest defensively.
The tall woman gave a low exasperated sigh as Vren approached, shifting her position slightly.
"Don't bother, I've heard it all before; you really like strong women and you're my biggest fan. Forget it, I'm not signing any autoprints," she said scoldingly before he even had the chance to speak.
Vren stopped in front of her to appraise her curiously, arms crossed, the fingers of his right hand drumming on his biceps absently.
"Who are you?"
Her eyebrows raised infinitesimaly.
"I am Ice, a duelist in the Taris arena. And so are you, apparently. But just because you are a fellow duelist now, it doesn't mean I have to talk to you or pretend I'm your friend. The truth is, I wouldn't have anything to say to you, even if I wanted to."
She held Vren's eyes evenly, completely devoid of any warmth. Vren clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly, saying nothing.
"Ice is not much for conversation," the old man spoke up, drawing Vren's attention to himself.
"So I see," he gave Ice one last glance before turning away. "And you are?" inquiringly, he arched his brow.
"My name is Marl, Stranger," he indicated a free seat next to him. "I've been wondering when you'll come to talk to me."
Vren took the offered chair, glancing at the man in surprise.
"Really? Do I know you?"
"No," he shook his head lightly. "But you've got the look of someone who isn't a stranger to combat. And there's that spark in your eyes, I saw the way you handled that cheapskate Hutt. You remind me of myself in my younger days."
"How quaint," Vren let a hint of venom enter his voice.
Marl ignored his tone, taking a pull from his glass.
"So you want to be a fighter? It's not easy, I'll tell you now. I've been in the ring for over twenty years, and have seen a fair share of fighters come and go. I used to be the Dueling Champion once," a faded glint entered his eyes, quickly subsiding. "But those days are gone, and now I just do my best to stay above the surface."
Vren leaned back in his chair, giving him an unreadable stare.
"I've heard something about a fellow called Bendak Starkiller, who is he?"
Marl let out a long breath, looking down at his glass momentarily.
"He used to be the best there was. Hell, probably still is, if he ever came out of retirement. He was good, real good, but crazier than Twitch. His bloodthirst got such that he wouldn't fight anyone unless it was a deathmatch, used to kill hundreds in his day. But then deathmatches got banned, and he went into retirement. Just couldn't be bothered to fight if he couldn't kill anyone, I guess."
He made a bitterly bemused face as he emptied his glass.
"Maybe it's for the best. I don't know if anyone here is crazy enough to go up against him, if he ever came back into circulation."
"What of these other combatants, can you tell me more about them?"
The old man shrugged, looking at Vren with sharp green eyes.
"Sure. Who do you want to talk about?"
"Tell me about Ice," Vren inclined his head, glancing at the woman in question quickly.
"I figured she'd grab your attention, she usually does. Don't get any delusions, though; she's as cold as her name. She's got skill, and lots of it. I saw her climb up to where she is now all the way from the bottom, and I don't think she's planning on stopping just yet."
"What is keeping her from reaching the top?"
"I am, for one thing," Marl said lightheartedly, giving a small smile. "I used to be the Dueling Champion, like I said, until Twitch came along," his voice carried a hint of bitterness now.
With a nod he indicated the hyperactive looking Rodian in the corner. He was now spinning his twin blasters on his finger, quickly holstering and drawing them at some imaginary opponent.
"He's as crazy as they come, but damn good," Marl continued as Vren looked over the Rodian. "He's also the current Taris Dueling Champion. In all honesty, he's the only fighter I can say I wouldn't stand a chance going against, not that it stops me from trying. He shot through the ranks like a blaster bolt, and has been unchallenged ever since," he gave a shrug. "It's been getting pretty boring lately anyway. But people still come and bet on the fights. Maybe you'll stir some dust, if you're good enough."
Vren gave a dismissing sound, bringing an amused expression to Marl's face. After a brief period of silence, Vren asked again, as Marl knew he would.
"The other two combatants, Gerlon and-"
"Deadeye Duncan, yes. Gerlon used to be among the best, top gun in the arena. At least until the accident."
"What accident?"
"His blaster malfunctioned and overheated. It exploded in his hand and paralyzed most of it. That's why he's called "Two-Fingers", because he's only got two good fingers left. He never fully recovered from it, and has been pushed down the ladder ever since. But people still respect him, for how good he once was. It's a damn shame," he looked over at where Gerlon was sitting, staring off into the distance. "That's why I never use energy weapons, myself."
"And Duncan?" Vren's eyes shifted back from Gerlon to Marl.
Marl gave a quick laugh, more pitying than derisive.
"I wouldn't worry about him. He's been in this business for a while now, and he just can't seem to get off the bottom. He just doesn't have it in him. Some people do, some don't. He doesn't, that's where "Deadeye" comes from - because he couldn't hit anything if his life depended on it."
"You call this business?" Vren's tone was more than a little scornful.
"That's what it is, I don't have any delusions. But it's also so much more than that. The excitement of the ring, the rush of battle, it gets in your blood after a while. I can't describe it, maybe you know what I mean. Yeah, it's a business, but it's also a passion."
"I see," Vren still eyed him somewhat distastefully.
"You're fighting…tomorrow?"
"That's right. With Duncan, in the evening."
"Well, good luck, not that you'll need it. I'll make sure to watch the fight."
"You do that," Vren spotted Carth from the corner of his eye, apparently attempting a conversation with Ice.
"I guess you'll be going now," Marl said even as Vren began to rise. "I'll see you around, Stranger."
Vren nodded in goodbye, heading over to Carth. He arrived just in time to catch Carth's agitated words as Ice turned to the bar and away from him indifferently.
"-hey sister, no skin off my back!"
He greeted Vren with raised eyebrows as he noticed him, turning his attention away from the woman. Vren glanced at Ice and back to Carth again.
"Come on Carth, let's go."
"You found out anything useful?"
Vren took a moment before answering.
"Yes, but not as much as I would like. You?"
"Pha," Carth waved his hand in frustration. "People here are self-absorbed and stuck-up. We won't find much help in the Upper City," he ran a hand through his hair. "Between the Sith and Tarisian nobles, I'm really starting to dislike this place."
"It could be worse," Vren offered unhelpfully as they made their way back to their table. "We could be dead."
"Good point."
Carth dropped himself into the chair with a loud sigh, eyes wandering around the Cantina unfocused. They sat in silence for a while, each burdened by his own set of heavy thoughts. People whirled around them, in vortex of joy and excitement and passion. In the heat of loss, loneliness and yearning. In the heat of the night, the endless pulse of the city. Taris was alive, by its smallest fragment accommodating the tears of the whole. It was nights like this, and moments such as these, that brought Carth closest to the precipice. The chasm, with sharp razorblades of frozen memories neatly arranged at the bottom and waiting for his tired body patiently.
It was in moments like these that Vren found himself in awe of the depths and meanders of what surrounded him, of the reflection it revealed inside him. He pondered, trying to find some purpose for his life in these reflections. Recent events somehow shook him more than they should. He had been in worse situations, after all. It was strange, so strange and dull.
Yet he still had his eyes clear on the path ahead and his fire firm in grasp. It was only these strange moments, filled to the brim with melancholy and sudden dread that came from who knows where, that gave him pause. The moments that tore him away from struggle and sweet tension that came with it.
Perhaps…peace.
Carth reached for his glass and Vren took a deep, steadying breath.
"That Sith at the Lower City lift…if only we could get our hands on some authorisation papers," Vren said distantly, thinking aloud.
"Good luck with that. Unless you want to ambush a Sith Commander, we're not going to get them."
"Perhaps there is some other way down there. Surely there can't be only one way between the levels."
"Most of them are for speeder traffic, you saw so yourself. And they're checked even more thoroughly at the control points. No, that lift's our best chance, if we get the authorisation. It's got only one guard, and is relatively out of sight."
"With the military base right around the corner."
Carth gave a resigned shrug.
"I told you, it's practically impossible to break through with force. We'll have to think of another way."
"Or," Vren began slowly, but stopped as one of the women that have been standing at the near bar approached.
"Hello, boys," she said coyly. "Is there a room for a lonely girl at this table?"
"Actually-"
"Of course, make yourself comfortable," Vren interrupted Carth, offering a sweet smile.
Carth gave him a dumbfounded stare. Still keeping his smile, he shot Carth a pointed look, prompting him into silence.
"What are a couple of handsome boys like you doing all alone in here?"
"Maybe we're just waiting for the right lady to come along," Vren's tone made Carth roll his eyes as he emptied his glass.
"I am Sarna," she said with a slightly surprised smile, offering a slender hand. Vren took it, and held it for a couple of seconds.
"Enchanted, I'm sure. I am Oni, and my friend here is Maqe," he nodded toward Carth, who shot him a surprised look.
"We came here for a business sympozium, but got stuck because of the quarantine."
The woman's smile faltered, but Vren continued quickly, staring deeply into her eyes.
"Ah, it's not so bad, really. Especially if all the women here are as beautiful as you."
The woman's smile returned spontanely, she indicated to the glasses.
"Looks like you've run out. Why don't you let me buy you a drink?"
"Of course. What'll you have, Maqe?"
"Oh, I," Carth stammered as the attention was suddenly on him, "I'll just have some more Tarisian Ale, thank you."
"And some Belaria juice for me," Vren winked at her.
Gracefully she got up, slowly moving toward one of the bars through the crowd.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Carth whispered fiercely as soon as she was out of range. "We don't have time for-"
"Calm yourself. We might just use this to our advantage."
"What advantage, what are you talking about?"
Vren glanced absently at Carth in momentary silence, chewing his knuckle in thought.
"Here she comes. Just shut up and follow my lead."
Carth's objections died down as the woman returned, carrying the drinks. She reclaimed her seat with a small smile, eyes glittering with excitement, her cheeks slightly reddened from the potent liquor she already consumed.
"You're off-worlders, you said?"
Vren nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, we got stuck here because of the quarantine, like I said. Perhaps it's a good thing, I don't know. It offered us a chance to closely get to know the local scene, at least."
"It's not much, is it?" there was a hint of bleakness in Sarna's voice.
Vren shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. Uncomfortable silence fell as Sarna seemed to lose herself in thoughts, while Vren watched her closely and Carth was getting visibly more irritated with each passing minute.
Vren re-captured Sarna's attention by clearing his throat slowly.
"So you are a Sith," he pointed to her division signet ring.
Carth tensed visibly, but Vren clamped a hand on his thigh under the table, giving him a warning look.
The woman's expression seemed to darken.
"Yes, I am. Does that bother you?" she asked with a wisp of challenge in her voice.
"No, it doesn't bother us at all. We're not much into politics, to tell you the truth."
"Yeah, well, I don't like being stuck on this backwater planet any more than you do, believe me. I was hoping to see so much of the galaxy when I joined the Sith, and I got stuck here. Just my luck," she sniffed as she took a delicate sip of her drink.
"I don't know much about the Sith, or the military in general, but I do know that you've got to make the best of a given situation," Vren commented off-handedly.
"Exactly! That's what I always say! People here are always complaining about the quarantine, and I know how much they hate us just because we're Sith. All those quick dirty glances and brusque manner, they don't even know me!"
Vren waved his hand dismissingly.
"They don't understand. You just follow orders, right? And you're not a machine, sometimes you've got to blow off some steam, relax a little."
The woman nodded, her face brightening.
"Your friend seems awfully quiet," she commented abruptly, looking at Carth inquisitively.
"Well, he had it rough lately. His mother died just before we left on this trip, and he's still a bit shaken," Vren said somberly, earning an incredulous look from Carth.
"I'm sorry," she said, somewhat uncomfortably.
"Oh, it's alright. I think he's cheered himself up a bit, didn't you?"
Carth nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched. Vren's hand squeezed his thigh and he put on a plastic smile.
"Yes, it's nice," he said lamely, giving Vren a deadly glare.
"So, you have any plans for the evening?" she asked hopefully, turning back to Vren.
"Depends," Vren flashed another smile, "On what yours are."
"A few friends from the barracks are having a party later on in a private apartment. I would very much like to see you there."
"We'll be there, just give us the address."
"It's nothing fancy, just a few of us together for a little wind down after the shift," she explained as she typed the address into Vren's datapad. "We're not even taking our uniforms back to the base to lock them up."
Vren and Carth exchanged meaningful glances.
"Some of those rules are really stupid. I mean who's going to steal our uniforms from under our noses?" she said lightheartedly.
"Who indeed?" Vren replied, as if tremendously amused.
He glanced at his chronometer.
"Bloody hell, we're late! We've got to send the message to your father, or he'll be in worries again," he said urgently to Carth, who choked on his drink.
"I'm so sorry, we'll continue this later, at the party," he said apologetically as he was getting up, pulling Carth with him. "He's got a very rich and very strict old man," he leaned in conspiratorily, nodding toward Carth. "He's keeping him on a tight leash, since he's the only heir to the family fortune."
Sarna nodded emptily as Carth pushed Vren away, giving him a subtle punch to the kidney from behind.
"Come on, we don't want to keep dad waiting," he gritted out, nodding the woman goodbye.
Vren shot him a murderous glare as they departed through dancing crowds.
"Let's get out of here before you lay out my whole family tree," Carth muttered as they were leaving the Cantina. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
Vren gave him a condescending look.
"I always know what I'm doing."
The doors closed shut behind them, trapping the loud music and laughter inside.
XXX
"Is this the place?"
"Yes, right that apartment block over there."
Vren indicated the large set of towering buildings a little off to their right while consulting a map on his datapad.
"Let's go then," Carth urged, his unease amplified by the proximity of Sith patrols that wandered the streets constantly.
They made their way across the crowded walkway, although the crowds were beginning to thin as the evening stretched on, numerous smaller clubs and cantinas lighting up with vibrant music and flavour.
There seemed to be something going on in the shadow of a large building that overlooked the walkway intersection with speeder tunnels, slightly hidden from the eyes of the pedestrians above.
An older human was being accosted by some thugs, a human and an Aqualish. They carried their weapons openly, brandishing them in a threatening manner.
"It's time to pay up what you owe to Davik," the Aqualish rumbled.
"Davik doesn't like it when he's being made a fool of," the other one, a dark-skinned human said maliciously.
"I'd never do aynthing against Davik intentionally! I don't have any money left, all I need is just a few days, that's all!"
"Davik needs the entire sum, not just forty credits! Others might get funny ideas, thinking they can get away without paying to Davik. You're coming with us, we're going to have to make an example out of you."
"No!" the man's eyes widened in uncontested fear as the two men advanced on him slowly. "They're trying to kill me! Somebody, help!"
The human thug stopped, noticing Carth and Vren staring.
"What's this, witnesses?"
"Davik doesn't like witnesses," the Aqualish warned quickly.
"You better turn around and walk away if you know what's good for you," the human threatened.
Vren glanced at Carth, he was glaring at the two men, his hands resting on the handle of his blasters.
"I go where I want to," Vren retorted in an eerily calm tone, eyes smouldering. "I don't like your attitude. I think I need to teach you a lesson now."
He exploded into motion even as the thugs fired their weapons, twin blades flashing from their sheaths in a deadly whirl. Two bolts were absorbed by his armour as he crossed the distance to the Aqualish in two charging steps. The other man was trading shots with Carth, using the merchant as a living shield. The Aqualish retreated back in rising panic as Vren disarmed him by cutting of his blaster hand, his other sword stabbing through the alien's eye and coming out at the back of his head.
The remaining thug pushed away the merchant, wounded by Carth's precise shoots. With dismay he noticed his companion's body hit the ground with a wet thunk as Vren pulled his sword out, focusing his attention on him. Dropping his weapon, he pulled out a vibrosword, facing Vren head-on.
Carth swore softly, not being able to make a clean shot without fear of hitting Vren. The exchange was quick and brutal, with the man only making a couple of clumsy parries, before receiving a slap with one of Vren's blades that sent blood, teeth and the majority of his jaw flying.
Emitting gurgling sounds, he fell to his hands and knees, bleeding all over Vren's boots. His head was split apart a moment later with Vren's blade.
"Thank you so much!" the merchant began as he recovered from the initial shock, uneasily glancing at the bodies of his assailants. "I should have listened to my wife and never borrowed money from Davik!"
"It's alright, we're glad to help. How did you get entangled with these people, anyway?"
Carth holstered his blasters, coming closer. Vren approached too, swearing under his breath over the tarnished state of his boots.
The merchant was about to say something, but Vren interjected demandingly.
"I hope you at least have some reward for all the effort we went to for you."
Carth shot him a dark scowl.
"Come on, we don't need this guy's credits. He's suffered through enough as it is," he turned to the man. "Go on, get out of here."
Mumbling out a quick thank you again, the man practically ran off, disappearing in the vast complex behind them. Carth quickly checked if any Sith patrols noticed the scuffle, noting the silent glare Vren was giving him.
"What?"
Vren just shook his head slowly, starting off in the direction of the South City passageways.
Sarna's building wasn't too far of, a good few minutes on foot.
"I still don't think this is such a good idea," Carth commented as they reached the large open park in front of the apartment complex, complete with abstract sculptures.
"I am always open for any suggestions."
"I don't have any," Carth admitted. "But that doesn't mean there isn't any other way."
"Really? You can get us the authorisation papers then?"
Carth gave an undefined sound as they entered the building foyeur, heading for the lifts.
"So, I'm curious. How exactly are you planning on getting those uniforms from an apartment full of Sith?"
"Apartment full of Sith on leave," Vren corrected, pressing the button for twenty-seventh floor. "Opportunities, they are everywhere around us. One just has to learn to recognize them and take them on time."
Carth let out a drawn-out sigh.
"Yeah, this is probably our best bet to get down to Lower City. Just let me know before you again decide to use me in your plans, this time."
Vren's mouth curved upward slightly.
"Of course. I really improvised back in the Cantina, grasping the opportunity as it presented itself. You just be ready for anything in there."
"Don't worry about that," Carth patted his holstered blaster subtly.
The elevator came to a halt with a soft chime and they stepped out. Muffled, but still discernible music could be heard the moment they walked out of the lift. Normally, such disturbance in a fairly upper class building such as this would warrant immediate complaint and provisionary police intervention, but seeing as the police was the source of disturbance in this case, nobody really dared to do anything about it.
Slowly they made their way across the padded hallways to the indicated apartment. The apartment door they were looking for had an unmistakable aura of loud music penetrating even through the thick durasteel, echoing dispersively over the corridor.
They stopped in front of it, exchanging silent looks of readiness.
"Here we go."
Vren pressed the buzzer.