Whenever he thought of the powers of the Dark Side, he would remember pain; he would remember suffering.
The Mandalorian sat in the darkened metal crate of a room. The lightrapier tossed around lightly in the air, held by his powers by the thought of old photographic sensations of bleeding scars. Only the smaller ones. Darth Gelna did not watch but only existed in the memory cube by his belt like she always did when nothing interested her.
A memory of burning let the rapier's red sheen unfurl from the empty edge of the handle and hum angrily as the weapon danced in the air. Pins continued to hold the weapon midair as he sat and wondered about this Darth Vader.
Vader. He had never seen Vader except in holographic scenes of the few Empire's ceremonies that the common people were allowed to see; a man in black armor with a cape like a robe that could not hide the presence of a well-used lightsaber any better than the monochrome glaze of the videos that he had seen in bars. An empty figure, it seemed, a shell of armor and a weapon, perhaps, just like himself. He would finally meet the man, in a place called Cloud City.
"Master," he remembered when Poddo said it, while he was drinking what little water the Master would allow him. "Darth Vader has decided to make his move."
"Do not call him that," the shimmering figure hissed back. "Tell me his destination."
"It seems he has plans to chase some Rebels in a more neutral area. The droids seemed not able to catch more than that, but they are going to Bespin."
"Excellent. You will give us a craft."
Poddo's mechanical legs kneeled with a loud humming noise before they made a hard tang on the stone floor of his office.
"Master, please let me join you."
"You will stay here."
The droid's blank gaze almost showed an actual sense of zealous sympathy through the neon red of its eyes.
"There are no use for droids here. In time, you will find your use again." It was almost as though the Sith Lord showed sympathy between cold but falsely-spoken words.
"Thank you, my Lord." It remarked through sparks of speaker words, no hesitation apparent in the quickness despite the lack of tone.
Darth Gelna's shimmering form then turned to the Mandalorian and stared at him through the brightness of the flickering hologram eyespot through the black robe. "It is time to show Sidius your strength. You will not fail." The last sentence was not hopeful; it was a threat. "You will not fail because you will learn more about what it means to suffer."
His arm spiked up with memories and needles. A "gift" from his master; an electronic bracelet that constantly spiked with a needlelike sensation that may have once made his paled flesh flare with pain. All it offered the Mandalorian was a reminder of what such a device could have done to a younger soul, and provided a gust of life to the sleeping handle that bounced in levitated air; a mindless dance twirled through a mind of toleration of a braced torture.
With enough pain, one could even move items without so much as a thought. It was the sign of understanding true limits with the Dark Side, another realm of power that some Sith could never reach, let alone the ignorant Jedi.
"Approaching Cloud City." The mechanical voice of a navigation droid's warble grated through harsh speakers. The Mandalorian forced a slit of stinging into his wrist and the handle of his weapon flung itself into a familiar grip against his hand before it returned to his belt.
The Mandalorian's steps barely echoed as they tapped against the metal hum of life in the cargo shuttle. The pilot, an R2 unit salvaged from one of Poddo's many trades, handled the operation of the brick-like space barge. The unit did not pay much attention to him, and the Mandalorian would not have cared either way. Neither did the com operator that recognized the beeps and whistles of the unit. Cloud City, after all, was like all the other worlds the Empire did not care much for, and believed that trade superceded race. At least, as long as the money was good enough.
Through the window was the byzantine spires of the conch bronze civilization graced above the cotton floor that gave the city its name.
"Cleared to land," buzzed the speaker.
The Mandalorian punched his arm, and felt a surge of the Force spike in his vein. Darth Gelna's personage stared through, the hologram resting in an empty chair now made full with her electronic ghost. Her hood was up, but the Mandalorian could feel enough of her emotions to know that there was a smile hidden in the shadow cowl.
"Yes, I can feel him here. Them here. Jedi and Sith, interesting..." Darth Gelna always reminded her the fault of Jedi, how they were worse than the Sith. There was respect in her voice at how they were wise enough to understand the use of counsel, of the usefulness of having more than one apprentice. But they never understood the value of emotions. Controlling emotions only weakened their stock, weakened their powers into miniscule entities. She spoke of their extinction the same way one speaks of the creature that they ate for dinner.
"Face Vader, destroy him. Get distracted here and you will only regret it."
The Mandalorian did not look at her as she said it even as the ship touched into the ground and shook as the supports took the ground. Nothing else would distract the chance for more power. Nothing else could.
The depressing hiss of the cargo lift bathed them and leaked some of that golden light, the Mandalorian turned, made iron gongs into the floor, and then was stopped with a sound of Darth Gelna's voice.
"You will not go in dressed like that."
The Mandalorian reached for the helmet.
"No. A robe." To his side hung a brown drape of greased cloth that hung down heavy. He did not need to smell it, it looked rancid. The robe slipped over his body. There were people he had seen in places like these that looked even worse. Shadows hid the armor that hid himself. His wrist bled with the Force and his Master's holocube went to his hand.
"You will not say anything. I can detect him. He is... occupied with the Jedi. The fool. The Jedi had potential, but he's untrained... even you could best him." The voice spilled with laughter as the Mandalorian stepped into the light, and as his master's voice died away.
The halls of Cloud City were clean, organized, unusually polished over into a pearlish glare that made the scum that walked through there seem all the more filthy. Around the halls marched men in white and black armor with gargoyle helmets: stormtroopers of the Empire. They did not pay attention to a filthy bounty hunter in rags without even a presence of a gun against his body. The voice of his Master wormed in his brain.
Around the corner. Past the three doors, then to the right. A door will open and three men will step out. Underneath, a maintenance shaft. Raise the third grate. Through the third door. Past the double doors. Past the double doors. Go past the double doors. You will go now, speck.
But as the Mandalorian stood at those double doors, he saw before him three stormtroopers flanking behind a man in the drab gray of what must have been the Empire's colors, obviously an officer of sorts. He held a hard metal case that was ajar revealing its contents. None of them seemed to notice the man next to those doors. Neither did the person that the officer was speaking with; the man in Mandalorian armor.
Speck. Move past those double doors.
His hand unconsciously touched the handle of his belt.
You are not ready, speck. A Sith would easily destroy any bounty hunter, but you are still an apprentice. Move past those double doors.
The flickered hum of the lightrapier came to life as it flew in a circular arc towards the bounty hunter.
"FETT!"
The robe swung free, revealing the jet armor that stared back. The bounty hunter's free arm went to face the flung weapon, and a blaster shot caught the deathly red glow and killed its flight.
Imperial troopers went for their rifles upraised, but the Mandalorian's other hand already held his blaster and left them to lie on the ground in a clutter with their official.
"Imposter," Fett's helmet hissed back.
"Murderer!" A pistolwhip to the brace in his wrist and the rapier's flight returned to his hand.
The one called Fett froze for a moment and he knew that the hesitation was the realization of just what he faced.
The blaster missed Fett's chest, missed his legs because of that jetpack that flung him back as he replied with his own firearms. The rapier touched the shots, returned them but also could not predict the jaunt that controlled Fett's flight and his own predictions of being stricken.
He was quick.
Another pistolwhip to the Mandalorian's wrist and he was able to make himself quicker.
Fett was already running, but the bounty hunter knew he would come straight on and fired before peeling a corner. The red light of the rapier caught the stray shots, but they flew off in arcs somewhere else. A storm trooper attempted to interrupt him. The third deflected shot stopped him quick.
A stronger punch into the pain, and the Mandalorian bled a harder sensation into his numbing rapier arm, but it was enough to bring himself quicker.
He is leading you to a trap.
But the Mandalorian would not care. He would numb his body with the shock of death if it meant vengeance. If it meant revenge like it was meant to be.
Another corner. A troop of heavy blaster fire went for his body. The rapier caught almost all. A blast went for his arm. A bang that offered a dent, a wound, more of the Force. He could see Fett soon enough, going to a hangar.
"FETT!"
He will escape.
The doorway led to a large collection of ships, and something that bounced to his feet. The thermal detonator on the ground chirped loudly enough to say that it was primed.
The helmet could not see through the smoke. Above him was the doorway. He faced the roof. There was no way to pick himself up. He forced himself to stand, but he could not.
Pathetic. You have learned nothing.
Revenge lusted his body up. Blaster rifles faced him in a circle of white and black. Soldiers.
"Eliminate target," was the last command they had. But it was still too late. A ship that launched a few seconds ago already shrank into the clear sky, leaving only the trace of its engine's echoed howl to mock the one that lost.