Stage 2: Imperilment

[Jantar Keltainen]

“The dark side will devour those who lack the power to control it. It’s a fierce storm of emotion that annihilates anything in its path. It lays waste to the weak and unworthy.

“But those who are strong can ride the storm winds to unfathomable heights. They can unlock their true potential; they can sever the chains that bind them; they can dominate the world around them. Only those with the power to control the dark side can ever truly be free.”

– Darth Bane


Jantar had read the warnings, and ignored them almost as swiftly as she’d consumed them. She was no Jedi. She did not seek a path through to a greater good whilst believing she could remain true to the Light. She had no consideration of such distinctions – and the only path she sought to follow would lead her to power. And for that, the doctrine of the Sith seemed entirely appropriate.

She’d read enough to know the difference between the two sides of the Force – and she’d dismissed the grey as not having sufficient focus to choose one side or the other.

The Jedi’s hidden strength angle had an appeal – there was no denying that. But she would take obvious power despite its danger every time. She was no stream, she was a flame.

The only question was, how large and hot was the fire?

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

But reading only got you so far. There was no on-line manual to become a Sith – or at least if there was one, she hadn’t found it – and she’d exhausted all of the search engines.

So reading was all she had until she found a Master. And she figured she’d find someone on Coruscant. A planet this big couldn’t just have one dark-sider on it, could it?

She drank in the information with a thirst that could not be slaked. And everything she read simply affirmed her gut feel to become a Sith. Her desire – no passion – for power and strength. Her need for change and evolution.

She read the so-called negatives too. That dark-siders were selfish. She dismissed this as part jealousy and part lack of ambition. What was the point of having all this power and not using it. Even a Jedi used the Force for their own ends. They may say it is for the greater good – but whose definition of greater good? The Jedi’s of course!

Hypocrites.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

And she was intrigued by the notion of it being addictive. She’d yet to confront an addiction but figured it couldn’t be that bad. Surely being addicted to something that delivered everything you wanted could only be a good thing. Why would anyone desire to give it up?

Jantar surmised these were those incapable of dealing with power – and she did not count herself amongst those.

She also read about physical decay due to accessing the dark-side. She suspected that those with most power were able to counter this process and also wondered if this was just a story told to dissuade Jedi from accessing the power of the dark-side.

She took great comfort in the concept that there was no light or dark side but simply good or malevolent intent on the part of the user. And she was hardly wicked was she? She was simply sure of what she wanted and planned to get it. Nobody would be harmed unnecessarily. Only those that got in her way.

And was that so different to the Jedi’s philosophy – who punished those they perceived to be wrong-doers or evil?

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

In very simple terms, the more Jantar read, the more attractive the dark-side appeared. She could not imagine how anyone would not be drawn to it.

Even the Jedi admitted the path to power and strength was easier through the dark-side. And from where Jantar sat, these were two excellent reasons to seek a Sith Master. Throw in the lack of endless rules the Jedi seemed to impose, the decision to eschew worldly goods and avoid emotional connections and you had a job advert that Jantar suspected had limited appeal.

A life of passion, action and emotion – or one of sterile servitude?

One quote she found summed it up perfectly. The power of the dark side is an illness no true Sith would ever wish to be cured of.

And she couldn’t wait to get infected.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar stood on a balcony three stories up from one of the larger streets in the Blackpit Slums. Even at that height the stench of organic refuse, industrial pollutants, and various species cooking outdoors was noticeable.

The constant twilight seemed to keep everything in suspended time, as though she was trapped in some nether dimension. She could hear horns, imprecations, cries of fear, snatches of music, bits of conversations in a plethora of tongues, the buzz of badly tuned repulsors as vehicles swooshed by, all merging into a melange of hostility and despair.

Flickering phosphor signs advertising lubricious thrills were everywhere. The chemicals in the air stung her eyes.

She felt the sudden pressure of a hand on her shoulder.

“Death sticks?” the dealer said. “Dream-dust? Glitterstim? Whatever you want, I got it.” He plucked at the pockets of his vest as if to illustrate the variety of drugs on offer. “Top quality assured, no additives.”

“You don’t want to sell me death sticks,” said Jantar, concentrating.

“Yes I do,” he countered.

“No you don’t.” Her face was turning blue with concentration now.

“No I don’t,” the dealer responded. Jantar felt a thrill of success, but it was short-lived.

“You’ve clearly already taken some bad poodoo and I don’t want your imminent death to reflect on the quality of my merchandise.”

He turned tail and went looking for his next mark. Jantar could hear him muttering under his breath as he walked away. She heard ‘karking’ quite clearly. And ‘crink’ and ‘farkled’ too. And the final snippet of speech she heard she was sure was ‘e chu ta.’

The last one she hadn’t heard before, but it did not sound complimentary.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

It was like a game of dejarik; a cliched comparison, perhaps, but Jantar had learned that the reason clichés were clichés was because there was a lot of truth in them. You thought far ahead, you planned your moves in advance, and you prepared, as best you could, for any eventuality.

To use another metaphor, the world here was a jungle world – despite the lack of trees. Survival required more than keen senses and quick reflexes; it also took the courage to stalk the enemy, even as he was stalking you. You set your snares and your traps; then, having camouflaged your deadfall as best you could, you waited in the hope that whatever crafty beast you’d set your sights on blundered into it.

But your opponent set snares as well. Survival depended on knowing this, expecting this.

Which was why she was in The Works, one of the seedier areas of Coruscant’s lower levels; not as dangerous as the Corridor or the Slums, but still beneath the smog layer.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Flitters and skimmers passed overhead in more or less ragged formation about ten metres over her head; the hum of their repulsor drives, along with the incessant conversations going on, all blended into a background white noise.

The foot traffic was the usual heterogeneous cavalcade: Duros, Toydarians, Mon Calamari, Twi’leks ... and, of course, humans. All with somewhere to go, dashing here and there, hustling, hoping, their eyes – the ones that had eyes, of course – shining in desperation.

The underdwellers.

And, for all intents and purposes, right now she was one of them.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar smelled the spicy tang of roasting meat from a nearby vendor’s grill, and realized suddenly that she was ravenous. She bought a strip of meat on a stick. This far above the street, it stood a pretty good chance of actually being hawk-bat, as the vendor had claimed, instead of armoured rat or something even less appetising. It was hard to tell by the taste, because it was so heavily spiced.

It didn’t matter. She ate it, chewing on its gristly toughness until her jaw ached.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar could not stay in one spot for too long. It was too dangerous. So she patrolled an area, waiting for some sort of connection. Her research paid off last time and she believed it would do so this time too. Somewhere near here was a Sith. If she was a Master, she had no idea. But she was definitely dark-sided.

Jantar got back on the slidewalk and let it carry her along, just another face in the crowd.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

It was a fairly deserted area near a bank of huge vaporators that sieved the urban air of moisture. Jantar stood near the base of one, listening to the almost subsonic growl of its dynamos.

She looked up. The sky, what little of it she could see, was a baleful red. Centax 1, one of the moons, showed a sliver in the west. And all around were the buildings, the towers, cloudcutters, and skyrises, all looming impossibly full and close. It was said about unfortunates, newly arrived on the ground floor, that even if they managed to survive the dangers of the streets, they still stood a good chance of going mad from pure claustrophobia, especially if they hailed from a world with wide-open spaces.

It was bad enough uplevel, but down here the cyclopean structures seemed ready to topple at any moment, burying one under megatons of debris.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar turned, and there she was, standing atop one of the vaporator units, silhouetted against the stuttering glow of a faulty neon advertisement. Even if she hadn’t spoken, and even if the Force hadn’t told her loud and clear, Jantar would have known her to be a Sith. The woman was not easy to forget.

The woman leapt down from the unit. No, not a leap, she glided down – much as the Sith she’d previously met had.

Then she walked towards Jantar – although on reflection, the young woman realised it was she that was moving. Her feet were now a few centimetres above the ground and she was being pulled towards the older woman. She felt no pain, no pressure – she was simply moving.

Jantar glanced at the woman’s clothing. Similar to the male Sith, this one wore a cloak, although her hood was down. Underneath she wore utilitarian clothing. All neat and clean but jet black, and clearly chosen to allow ease of movement. And hanging from her belt was a blaster and what appeared to be a torch. Jantar’s eyes widened.

Was this a fabled light saber?

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Despite her advancing years, the woman was lean and muscled, with eyes that suggested they had seen too much.

Up close now, Jantar noticed a her clothes were not black but shades of black – if that were possible. A black synfleece vest over a black pullover, black thinskin breeches, and knee length leather boots.

“You found me,” the woman said, her voice raspy and her accent definitely spoke of someone well educated. There was no pre-amble, no game of cat and mouse, she’d simply got straight to the point.

“So what do you want?”

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The answer, for Jantar, was a simple one. Yet surprisingly hard to articulate. She held none of the cards but wanted to cling to even the slightest vestige of control in this exchange. To sound needy or desperate would not bode well for the relationship. But to act too defiant would risk alienating the woman before they’d been properly introduced.

But, above all, Jantar was Jantar. And Jantar did what Jantar did. She could not be subservient if she tried. It was why she wanted the life of a Sith after all.

“You knew I was coming. So you must know why I was coming.”

Jantar did not measure the degree of challenge in her response. She simply spoke as her brain dictated, with no filter applied.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The woman paused for a few seconds. To Jantar, it felt an eternity.

Then the woman laughed. It started as a low sound in her throat, then developed into a chuckle before erupting into a real belly laugh. “I like you,” she said, offering her hand. “My name is Loysia.”

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

After the events of the past few days, Jantar felt she was due a little respite time, but she was too excited about her future to relax.

But Loysia must have been reading her mind – which in truth, despite the well-worn phrase – she probably was.

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about your needs, for now we need to get to know each other. See if there is a fit.”

Jantar glanced around, hoping not to see a squad of special ops troopers with blasters trained on Loysia. Assured there were none, she relaxed.

“I’ve heard considerable praises sung of Tangor Square and the entertainments to be found therein. And in particular, I’d like to share with you its shronker salon.”

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

When they arrived, the salon was fairly lively; there were five shronker spheres, all of them in use. The Sith Master ordered a bottle of something that sparkled and offered Jantar a glass before sipping at her own.

Then she turned her attention to the game nearest them. It was between a Chiss and a Yevetha. This was slightly surprising in itself, as Yevetha tended to consider other species as hardly worth their attention. Perhaps this one was a bit more liberal-minded. Of course, the fact that he was kicking the Chiss’s backside in the game probably helped keep his mood pleasant.

It didn’t take long for the Chiss to be defeated. The Yevetha looked at Loysia. “Care to play?” he croaked.

“No,” the Sith replied, “but my friend here will give it a whirl.”

Jantar was about to protest, when Loysia put her finger to her own lips. “I know you don’t know the rules. I therefore know you don’t know how to play or what tactics to employ. So consider this an audition. Demand the Force helps you. Make it bend to your will.”

“And if you need motivation, if you lose, then I’ll cut and run. Win, and we’re Master and Apprentice.”

Jantar stepped up to the control panel that the Chiss had just vacated.

“Configuration?” the Yevetha asked.

“You won, so you get to choose.” Jantar hoped that this was a reasonable bluff. She also hoped the game would last long enough for her to grasp the rules.

“Hot Bespin then.”

Jantar nodded as if she knew what he was talking about.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

If only Jantar knew, the rules of the game were fairly simple, albeit Hot Bespin was the most challenging. Within the holosphere was a stylised image of a solar system; when starting the game, the players could choose setups based on known systems, or create their own. There were four types of worlds: gas giants, twin worlds, planets, and moons. In the sphere’s centre was the primary. Each player controlled a comet, which was the only object in the game that could change course.

The game began with the planets in established orbits. The object was to use one’s comet to impact the various worlds, and be the first to send them spiralling into the system’s star.

Jantar smiled. “Prepare to have your butt kicked,” she said, shrugging, loosening her neck and shoulder muscles, then settled into a relaxed stance in front of the control stick. The Yevetha watched, his black eyes as expressionless as stones.

The Yevetha moved first and lined up his comet and took his first shot. It struck one of the planets, ricocheting toward the outer reaches while the planet spun out of the plane, settling into an elliptical orbit.

Each of the worlds had different properties. The gas giants were massive, and thus possessed greater inertia; a direct impact shifted one of them only slightly. A hot Bespin orbited extremely close to the primary, whipping about it faster than the others, making it more difficult to send an outlying world caroming to a fiery end, whereas a cold Bespin, orbiting in the system’s outer reaches, tended to intercept the comets and protect the inner worlds. Binary worlds, orbiting about a barycenter, could be separated by a properly angled shot, and either or both dropped into the primary’s gravity well. Ordinary planets presented no particular challenge, while moons were the smallest and most difficult to hit; they also had a tendency to be captured by the other worlds. A moon was usually the last one to be incinerated, thus ending the game.

It was soon apparent to Jantar that her opponent was very skilled at shronker. It was equally obvious to them both that Jantar was not. But through a large degree of luck, she kept the game going.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

The game gradually drew the attention of the other patrons, partly due to the virtuoso playing by the Yevetha, and partly to the marked difference in their attitudes. Jantar, despite her apparent lack of ability was casual and relaxed; after another glass of sparkling wine, she was even verging on garrulous. She complimented her opponent on the particularly well-placed shots and modestly decried her own abilities, putting it all down to luck.

And all the time Jantar wanted to understand how the Force was going to help her.

The Yevetha said nothing during the entire game, but his expression grew more and more intent; the skeletal alien’s physiognomy was close enough to humanoid to have similar body language.

Which is when Jantar stumbled upon a theory. She was doing this all wrong. What had Loysia said? ‘Demand the Force helps you.’ Jantar was hoping it would help her.

She shook her head at her own incompetence. It was only fortune that had allowed her to remain in the game this long.

But how to demand the Force did what she wanted it to do? She thought, to the onlookers it was likely she was deep in thought over her next move. Which, in truth, she was.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

She needed to better understand the rules.

No, she rejected that idea. The previous player understood the rules, he was just an inferior player.

She needed to know how to defeat him. Better, but not good enough. The Force won’t play the game for her, or suggest moves.

She thought again.

And then it occurred to her. She needed to know what the Yevetha was thinking. What his next move was. That would help. But it wasn’t enough. The game was not about not losing, it was about winning. What she really needed to know is what he feared. What he hoped she would not do in reply to what he did.

Fortunately, the controls were easy enough to operate. This was a cerebral contest, not one of hand-eye coordination. All she had to do was use her opponent's knowledge against him.

It sounded easy when you said it quickly.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Jantar focused on the alien in front of her. She breathed deeply and imagined what would happen if she lost. The heartache she’d endure. The pain of having come so close a second time. The fear of never learning to use her gifts.

Yes fear – that was the trigger.

She felt power surge through her, so physically, she imagined everyone could see it. But glancing around, nobody appeared to have noticed. Except the Sith. She had a broad grin on her face.

She knows, thought Jantar. She knows.