Stage 1: Temptation

[Jantar Keltainen]

A few blocks away she could see a wallcrawler slowly moving up its vertical track, hauling cargo containers to the upper levels. Farther still, gigawatts of purplish blue electrical discharges strobed and sputtered between enormous terminals in a generator plant.

Other, closer, lights flickered as well, all about her. Even down here, in this predominantly manufacturing district, one couldn’t escape the sensory barrage of floating advert-spheres and holo-billboards. Jagged, kaleidoscopic images pulsed at the edges of her vision as she cruised down the street, touting personal tri-dee images, sleazy HoloNet sites, even various illegal substances.

She wouldn’t have to put up with their tedious nature for long, she told herself. It was now merely a question of finding the right building. She brought the vehicle to a dead crawl on automatic pilot, high enough to prevent any skimjackers from getting impulsive ideas, and concentrated.

A Force user, even a rank apprentice, would have no trouble piloting the skimmer, and probably carrying on a conversation as well, while using the Force. But Jantar was no Jedi, or Sith; far from it.

She’d now come to believe that, according to her research, the ability to touch the Force might be encoded in her cells. But even if there were Force sensitives in her ancestry, whatever she’d inherited that powered the Force was either anaemic compared with that of her forebears – or she needed training. She was hoping on the latter.

She was hoping beyond hope on the latter.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Her intelligence aid there was something about this address – or rather the street, she’d not been able to pin her findings down to a specific building. If she was right, a Force sensitive resided in this area. There were too many stories, too many incidents for it not to be the case.

And she figured that someone this far out of society was not central to any given Order, but rather a loner, an outlier. If she was to lose face and be told she had no affinity for the Force, she’d rather be told by a hermit than anyone of note.

And if she had a high midi-chlorian count, she could then pick and choose a suitable teacher and start the conversation from a position of confidence. In her mind she had it all mapped out. Of course, it relied on having the potential for using the Force. The hope was almost crippling, a double-sided coin that was paired with fear. Fear that her hope was forlorn.

Misplaced.

Wasted.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The wave of emotion that her fear now generated helped her somehow. Before she arrived, she had calculated the odds. How many Force-sensitives could there be on any given street in a sty like this? She didn’t know that Jedi and Sith alike were able to conceal their connection to the Force – and so that would make it even harder to find her quarry.

But her lack of knowledge was a bonus. In her mind, all she had to do was try.

The skimmer moved slowly along. Jantar sitting upright, her face scrunched in concentration. What she was looking for, she had no idea. She just figured she’d know when it happened.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Nothing.

Jantar sighed and went to her back-up plan, which consisted of asking the few locals she could manage to corner momentarily if they remembered seeing anyone mysterious in the neighbourhood. A recluse. Maybe even someone that had attracted stories of strange feats.

At first, it looked like this wasn’t going to be any more successful than trolling in the Force. But then she lucked out: she encountered a droid that had obviously been down-level a long time, judging by the patina of soot and grime that coated its once-gleaming armor.

The droid belonged to a local Hutt gangster, and, though initially reluctant, it finally searched its exhaustive memory banks and produced a list of seven suspects with match probabilities to Jantar’s description.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The fourth was a male human and lived in a resicube, a thirty-meter-tall block of dark grey ferrocrete. There was one door, heavily barred, and no windows. The flickering sign over the door proclaimed this attractive piece of real estate to be the Coruscant Arms. Jantar brought the skimmer to a halt across the street. If this was where the man was bivouacking, he was more down on his luck than she could have ever imagined. Clearly the Force provided few benefits.

She stepped out of the vessel and into something soft and malodorous puddled on the curbwalk. She couldn’t tell, in the dim light, precisely what it was, which was probably just as well.

A street vendor made a bee-line for her and tried to sell her some death-sticks, but lost interest as Jantar simply ignored him.

For the first time, Jantar wondered why on earth she was here.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

There was little traffic; and she waited for a transport vehicle to pass so she could cross the street. But instead of passing, the transport slowed to a stop, hovering just in front of the entrance. A moment later five troopers stepped off and entered the hostelry. All were packing state of the art blasters and armour but did not carry government insignia. A moment later the transport lifted away.

Jantar blinked in disbelief. “What are the odds?” she murmured. Of course, the troops might be there on a totally unrelated matter, but somehow, she doubted it.

She sighed, and started across the street. She was unarmed – and not even the Force to rely on to protect her.

No guts, no glory, after all.

Not that she had anything to prove. She was here through choice, which the vast majority of inhabitants of this sector could not attest to.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

If one wished to gain a fast understanding into a species, Jantar was told that one of the easiest and quickest ways to do so was to look at its architectural styles.

Take Coruscant.

Mostly designed by humans, the posher areas were all characterized by sleek, swooping lines, and combined ancient structures, such as pyramids and minarets, with more modern technological and mechanical themes. It showed an awareness of, and even reverence for, the past, coupled with a look forward. This was good as far as it went; however, the city as a whole had little coherence. There were few discernible grid patterns or other signs of regularity; any statement made was amorphous and disharmonious at best-at worst, anarchic. Just like its creators.

Humans. And Jantar had to count herself among them. They weren’t prone to order; in fact, wherever they went, they left chaos and madness strewn in their wake. They were a blight spreading through the stars. True, so were other species, but humans were the worst.

So she sought solace in the Force, perhaps a consolation bordering on desperation.

The Force fascinated her now. She could even be described as obsessing about it. Having no training, or assurance she was sensitive to it, her research was frustrating. She felt at times like a blind being listening to someone describe the wonder of vision. On the surface, the Force would seem to be the ultimate instrument of chaos. But if one peered closer, there was a serenity beneath the roiling surface, an underlying order, just as storm-tossed waves can hide placid deeps. She understood the Jedi seem to have been granted a certain peace, as well as considerable fearlessness. Jantar hadn’t heard of a single one so far who had not died nobly. But they’d died. With an alarming frequency.

The Sith died too of course. But at least they expired serving their own ends, not for the benefit of someone that was ungrateful and unwilling of help.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Before Jantar could continue, she nearly tripped over a body lying in the shadow of a recessed doorway, either unconscious or dead. At the same time, an eerie silence enveloped the building she was approaching.

She passed several more doors, all of which remained closed. In fact, none of them had opened at any point since the troopers arrived, which was only common sense on the occupants’ parts. She was sure this wasn’t the first altercation the building had seen, though quite possibly it was the only one to involve a Force sensitive and special forces troopers.

Which was when she winced at a sudden explosion and looked up at the hole that had just been blown in the wall ahead. Jantar estimated it was on the third floor.

A hooded figure leaped from the still smoking hole – dust and debris still falling to the sidewalk. Except the figure did not follow suit and partially levitated to the ground, slowing his fall to a gentle landing, and looked around. He moved quickly into the alley behind the building.

Jantar expected the troopers to be in hot pursuit, but similarly realised it could be some time before she found as promising a lead. And if she let this one go, she’d not find the man again any time soon.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The alley was narrow and littered with obsolete equipment parts, like the sheddings of some gigantic mechanical beast. Gutted and discarded equipment that was now unrecognisable from its designer’s vision lay strewn all around.

And the place stank, as badly as if all the detritus had been organic instead of mechanical.

And when Jantar looked up, the man had gone. The alley was a dead end. Had he doubled back or was there a secret exit?

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar hid amongst the rubbish as the troopers swiftly reached the alley. He kept a wary eye on their progress and noticed that they too could not fathom where the man had gone.

A few minutes later, the transport rumbled to the entrance to the alley and the troopers climbed in.

It wasn’t as if Jantar did not believe they were thorough, but she covered the same search area they’d just worked. And she found as much as they had – nothing.

So Jantar considered the options. She’d seen the man enter the alley – and there wasn’t enough space for him to have exited and her not to have noticed. Was there?

So she went back to Plan A. She would have to sense the man and find him that way. But the mess and stench were too much of a distraction, so she closed her eyes and edged forward, a half-step at a time, seeking a sensation that told her she was on the right path.

She continued to walk slowly and, to her chagrin, realised she’d become distracted. The smell had gone and she was supposed to be focusing on the man. Or the Force. Or both. Somehow.

She opened her eyes and was about to sigh with frustration, when she noticed she was no longer in the alley.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Wheeling around she saw a brick wall behind her. She reached out and touched it, or rather attempted to. Her hand went through solid matter.

A minute later she understood. Or at least comprehended some of it.

Her hands had traced an archway – but her eyes told a different story. She’d read about this. About eyes deceiving you. It had seemed a far-fetched notion at the time. But now? Now she believed – and it merely strengthened her conviction that the man she was pursuing knew how to use the Force.

Which reminded her to bring her attention back to the matter in hand. She glanced around. No sign of the troopers, which was good. But where had the man gone?

As she surveyed her surroundings, she saw a graffiti mark on a nearby wall. It was a gang symbol.

The Manglers were lords of the Southern Underground and reputed to be one of the toughest gangs on the planet; supposedly even the Hutts would think twice before tangling with them. She was in their territory, and would have to proceed warily. She may or may not be Force sensitive, but she had no faith she’d stop a dozen blaster bolts by wishful thinking alone.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Having had success once, Jantar allowed herself to follow her instincts and quite literally feel her way to finding the man.

Her gut led her to a surprisingly clean looking eatery. In fact, the whole street looked a cut above its immediate surroundings. Jantar speculated that this was an area frequented by the gang’s upper echelons. So her delight in potentially finding the man was muted by the knowledge she was about to enter potentially the most dangerous situation she’d ever faced.

The premises was a dark and moody hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Quarren music, mostly atonal quetarra etudes, played softly from hidden speakers – her education had clearly not been wasted! And adjacent to the bar was an open plan kitchen, where chefs prepared the delicacies of the culture.

The clientele was varied: a Verpine sat at the sulyet bar, as did a couple of humans, a Toydarian, and a Sakiyan. And the man she had sought was also seated at the bar. She glanced around. It was the perfect vantage point to see both front and rear entrances. He may be reasonably confident that he hadn’t been followed, but he wasn’t taking any chances – that much was obvious.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

It was evident that the man had never tried Quarren cuisine. As Jantar approached him, he eyed with considerable mistrust the tasteful arrangement of sulyet on the platter that the barman had just set before him. “It’s still moving,” he said under his breath.

He may be a Jedi or a Sith, but he clearly knew his limitations. In here, he may be the single most powerful individual but there were sufficient numbers of guards – both visible, and Jantar presumed hidden – to deal with even a Force user.

“That means it’s fresh.” Jantar sat beside him and picked up a small oblong bar of tikit grain. It had a tiny sliver of purple coral worm arranged on it, which writhed slowly. She put it in her mouth and chewed, savouring the tang of sweet and tart. Here, in this moment, she had a degree of control. She was the one person that could expose him and, not realising how vulnerable that actually made her, she decided to press her perceived advantage.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The man gingerly picked up a grain ball with a nudibranch embedded in it. A tiny eye on a stalk opened and peered at him, and he put it down again hastily. “So it seems,” he replied and pulling a face that showed his distaste, he pushed the plate away and turned his attention to Jantra.

“Not so loud,” Jantar whispered. “You’ll insult the chef.”

“And he’ll do what? Force-feed me more of this purple sourwort garnish?”

“No, but he might make a slight mistake in preparing that nexufish he’s working on. Nexufish are deadly poison if not served exactly right.”

The man nodded.

“So,” continued Jantar, “Any particular reason you picked a restaurant where seafood is a deadly weapon, or are you just looking to branch out in your culinary experiences?”

Down the bar, the Sakiyan accepted a large order of nexufish sulyet from the chef and began devouring it. Jantar poured the man a cup of grain wine from the carafe in front of him and then filled a cup for herself.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The man appraised Jantar. Not in the way that men usually considered the young woman. His eyes did not roam over her body. In fact, there was no discernible evaluation, but Jantar sensed it. And of late, she listened to what her feelings were telling her.

“Yes,” he said, in an even voice. He did not speak loudly, but his tone demanded respect. Unbeknown to Jantar, he was able to detect the power within her. She had an inkling, he could see that, but no more.

As Jantar stared into the man’s eyes, she sought answers. Maybe even questions, but most certainly an explanation. Confirmation. The man’s voice resonated power but his appearance did not. Jantar now realised he was clean and his robes tidy, but nothing about him resonated as belonging to someone of great power. He was…nondescript. In an hour, Jantar might be forgiven for not remembering what he looked like.

Was this planned? Did he cultivate this perception of him?

“Good,” the man said. “You have an inquisitive mind.” As Jantar’s face spoke of her confusion at his words, he smiled. Not cruelly, not in a mocking way, but in the way a parent might respond to a child.

Jantar bristled at the exchange.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Realising his effect, the man’s face became emotionless. “You have an ability. One you suspected, and now can be assured of.”

He began to talk now with a degree of passion, as if remembering a favourite subject that he’d not been allowed to discuss for many years.

“The Force is a tool you can use to forge your own destiny. Allied to your own strength and cunning. I can already see you have spirit. And you recognise me for what I am. Yes, you do!”

He’d read the reticence within Jantar. If it were her face, her thoughts or her feelings, it didn’t matter. He was reading her as if she were a book.

“You show no fear and I sense in you potential. Sufficient promise to learn all I can teach you.” Her reaction made him smile. But this time it was a patronising curl of the lips, but a delighted one. “Your hunger is well-placed, as is your curiosity.”

He wondered why the young woman was so eager to seek him out. She could just as easily have turned to the Jedi – and he sensed no burning darkness within her. Maybe it was desperation: She sought answers, with nowhere else to turn for solutions. Or maybe she saw the Dark side as a path to something she was able to hide, even from him. It was even possible she had simply sensed his power and lusted to claim it as her own.

Whatever her true motivations, she was here and he was here. And every fibre of her being said she was more than willing to swear fealty to him. However, it was neither her spirit nor her willingness that made her worthy of tutelage. He had made the decision to teach her for one reason, and one reason only.

“You are strong in the Force,” he explained, his voice still betraying no hint of emotion. “You must learn to use it. To call on its power. To bend it to your purpose. As you did when you found me.”

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

He saw a flicker of doubt cross her face. “I don't know how I did that,” she muttered. “I just sort of found you.”

There was self-doubt in her voice and he was disappointed, but hardly surprised. She was young. Confused. She couldn't truly understand what she could be capable of. Not yet.

He paid the bill and they exited the restaurant.

“Nothing just happens,” he insisted, as they walked. “You called upon the power of the Force. Think back to how you did it. Think back to what happened.”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember, not properly.”

“Don’t rely on memories, use your emotions,” the man said, his voice casual. "You feel worthless. Foolish. Maybe even a fraud.” The easy tone fell away quickly as his voice began to rise in both volume and intensity. “But these are worthless emotions. They mean nothing. What you need to feel is anger!”

He took a sudden step toward her, his right fist clenched before him to punctuate his words. Jantar flinched at the unexpected movement, but didn't retreat.

He shouted as he took another step forward. “What happened was not some mistake!”

A third step brought him so close that the shadow of his frame enveloped the girl like an eclipse. She cowered slightly but held her ground. He relaxed his clenched fist. Then he reached out slowly with his hand and placed it gently on her shoulder.

“Think back to when you have been in danger. When you’ve made something happen to you’re your life.”

Jantar reflected on the three blue-skinned aliens from her recent encounter.

“Think back to what you felt,” he said, his voice now a soft, seductive whisper. “Think back to what you felt when you believed your life was threatened.”

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar dropped her head, her eyes closed. For several seconds she was still and silent, forcing her mind to relive the moment. The Sith saw the emotions crossing her face: grief, anger, indignation. Beneath his hand on her shoulder, she trembled slightly. Then, slowly, he felt her anger begin to rise. And with it, the power of the Dark side.

When Jantar looked up again her eyes were open wide; they burned with a fierce intensity. “They were weak and foolish and deserved to pay. I should have killed them.”

“Good.” The Sith let his hand fall from her shoulder and took a step back, the hint of a satisfied smile playing across his lips. “Feel the anger. Welcome it. Embrace it.”

“Through passion, I gain strength,” he continued, reciting from the Code of the Sith. “Through strength, I gain power.”

“Through passion, I gain strength,” she said, repeating his words, responding to them. “Through strength, I gain power.” He could sense the Dark side building within her, growing in intensity until he could almost feel its heat.

“Only the strong survive, and the Force will make you strong.”

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Perhaps he wasn’t as powerful a Sith as he believed he was. Or maybe he was distracted by Jantar? Or, more likely, her connection to the Force clouded his vision. For half a dozen blaster bolts peppered his chest, and a further six exploded his skull.

Jantar looked down. She was an easy target, but no further shots rang out. The Sith was their prey and he’d succumbed to the special forces troopers, who clearly patrolled the area they last saw him before stumbling across him exiting the restaurant.

What they wanted him for, Jantar never knew. She didn’t care. But the ten men she now faced had destroyed her dream. She had a teacher and they’d taken him from her.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Anger welled within her, and now she understood it was a weapon for her to use. Drawing the Dark side to her, she felt the rage within her grow. And she allowed it to blossom until she felt she could hold it no longer.

Finally, when she felt she would explode, she thrust her hands towards the men. Power, the raw power of the Force leaped from the heels of her hands as she stood with her fingers pointing towards the sky, her hands at right angles to her arms, flexed at the wrist.

The men died. Quickly. Each lay motionless on the sidewalk, their necks hanging limply.

“Through passion, I gain strength,” Jantar said, turning on her heels and heading back to where she’d left her rental vehicle.