Power and Betrayal: Special Short Story

by guest author R.S., a.k.a. Vaes

It was only three weeks since the young Sith left Dromund Kaas. His master had sent him on a task to find a Jedi. A simple task, as it might seem, that could have been done by anyone, provided they had the wherewithal to travel to any Republic world and had enough brain capacity to articulate the words "Excuse me, could you tell me directions to the nearest Jedi outpost?". But no, his master Darth Veneus wanted a specific Jedi--and not just a Padawan, but a fully seasoned Jedi Knight.

Remembering back, the conversation went more or less like this:


"Master." the apprentice knelt in front of the hooded figure.

"Rise, Vermin." Darth Veneus said in a booming, commanding voice as was his custom when addressing his subjects--along with that other custom he reserved exclusively for his apprentice: addressing him by some randomly-chosen insult rather than by name. In fact, Veneus refused to acknowledge that his apprentice even HAD a name. "I have a task for you."

"Anything, Mas-"

"I'm not done talking." the Sith Lord quickly interrupted, but the apprentice could see shadow of a smirk forming on his master's face. The apprentice always wore a mask of “loyal subject”, but deep down, in his heart, he was plotting and scheming. His master could still teach him a lot in the years to come, but the time would come when he would finally make his move and take his rightful title. Such was the way of the Sith. But until that day, he would have to continue to endure this condescending treatment while biding his time.

"There was a murmur in the Force. A light tremor, easily missed if you lack the proper training. An old enemy is on the move." The Sith Lord paused, looking at the holomap of the galaxy on his desk. "You will find him and bring him to me--alive, if possible. The details have been transmitted to your ship."

"Yes, Master." the apprentice answered, then bowed and turned to leave.

"Wait, Worm!" Darth Veneus's voice reverberated across the chamber. The young apprentice stopped immediately and re-formed his face into the mask of loyalty that he always presented, before turning around to face his master again. "You are a fine swordsman." Veneus continued. "That said, do not underestimate him. He is more than a match for your skills. If you are not up to the task of taking him alive--and I expect you are not--you have my leave to kill him, if you can." Veneus smiled a bit, as if he'd just thought of something that amused him. "And bring his . . . most prized possession back to me as proof."

"Master?"

"You will know it when you find him. Now go." The Sith Lord sat in his chair, which was twice his size and waved his hand dismissively.


Now, three weeks later, the apprentice found himself on one of the least hospitable planets in the galaxy: Tatooine.

With most of that time having been wasted by a fruitless search, he was in a very foul mood. The scorching sun, violent sandstorms and pesky, biting insects only amplified his annoyance. Every hour in this sand-filled furnace felt like Hell. His once-elegant black robes were now worn and grayish. The boots seemed to age a few years and his scalp felt itchy as a few grains of rough sand were trapped in his hair. Thankfully, he was ambushed last night by a small band of Tusken raiders. Their screams as he tore them from limb to limb improved his mood a little bit.

The young Sith dismounted his speeder and looked at the small grouping of buildings in front of him. Tatooine was full of tiny settlements like this: five small farms housing five to sometimes eight families. The "bigger" settlements sometimes had a cantina or a bar for the patrons to unwind after a day's work. This particular settlement was one of the latter, judging by an old, malfunctioning neon sign on one of the buildings. After ensuring his lightsaber hilt was plainly visible to anyone who saw him, the Sith walked in, immediately drawing attention of everyone inside.

He walked slowly, his aura emanating through the Force and soaking into the minds of all three patrons looking at him. Nervous glances were exchanged and whispers ceased. Even the bartender stopped cleaning the glass in his hand and was simply looking at this newcomer who was walking towards him at a meticulously slow place that only served to make it--deliberately--more menacing.

"Wha--" he cleared his throat and tried to carefully mask his fear. "What will it be, stranger?"

"Get me one of those." the Sith answered, pointing at one of the bottles behind the bartender.

The man nodded and poured the drink into the glass. His hands were visibly shaking, making the corners of his new customer's mouth twist into a smirk.

"Anything else?" the bartender asked as he handed over the glass.

The Sith took a sip of the blue liquid before answering. It tasted horrible. "Information." he said, his copper eyes piercing the bartender’s soul.

"W...Well... We're just moisture farmers here, stranger." the bartender said, then lowered his eyes, unable to endure the Sith's gaze anymore. "Simple folk. Unless you want to learn about THAT, I don't think I can--"

"We will see. I am looking for someone: a Jedi. I've heard he's in the area."

"I don't know nothin' about a Jedi." the bartender fumbled, looking down at his shaking hands. "There haven't been any o'them here since . . . well, . . . ever. Maybe in Anchorhead, or Mos Espa, or . . . or . . ."

"I know the Jedi was here." the Sith countered, with genuine anger in his voice, and placed his now-empty glass on the counter with a sharp 'bang'. "And if I find out you've been hiding something from me...." He let his words trail off on purpose, leaving it to their frightened imaginations to finish it for him. "This is the last time I will ask this: Where is the Jedi?"

The room seemed to turn darker as the Sith spoke. The bartender was frozen in place, trying to muster enough will to form coherent sentence.

"That Jedi...?" a voice behind them asked cautiously.

The Sith turned around and looked at the man, who gulped audibly.

"Does he wear a blue coat? And a hat?" the man asked.

"Tell me about him."

"There . . . there was this guy who showed up about a month ago, out of nowhere. He helped a couple folks, killed a few bandits, chased off some Sandpeople that raided Aabory's farm last season, ...."

He paused upon seeing the Sith's hand creep up towards the lightsaber hilt on his belt. "Nevermind." he continued. "Folks been sayin' he don't even carry a gun and that he can make things move just by looking at 'em.”

"Where?"

"He likes to visit the cantina in Dreviad every once in a while. You might find him there."

The Sith nodded slowly.

"If this turns out to be another dead end...."

The man grew pale.

"I-I swear! It's true! Swear on my head."

"GOOD," the Sith said menacingly as he got up to leave. "...because if I DO have to come back here, I will be taking it."

And on that, he left the bar. Once outside, he couldn't help but smile. The hunt was nearing its close.

--

Out of all settlements he'd visited so far, Dreviad took the title of the biggest hole in the ground . . . literally. The "village" was divided into two sections: one above the ground and one below. Thankfully, it didn't take long to locate the cantina as it occupied the tallest building in the settlement. Unlike the previous one, this one was bustling with activity and so nobody even paid attention to him as he walked through the front door. The bar was littered with pilots, mercenaries, vagabonds, and other sorts of scoundrels. At first glance, it seemed doubtful a Jedi would even set foot in a place such as this, but the Sith felt faint echoes of a presence. A presence that could only have belonged to a Force-sensitive individual.

"What can I offer you today?" a Nautolan bartender said in a cheerful tone as he approached the counter. "We just received a delivery of fresh Rylothian brandy. Or perhaps you'd prefer something stronger? What will it be?"

"I'm looking for someone."

The Nautolan laughed. "Well, aren't we all? That's one of the life's greatest mysteries, isn't it? Along with why we're here and-"

"I am looking for a certain Jedi." the Sith interjected. "I've been told I would find him here."

The Nautolan's smile was gone.

"A Jedi?" the bartender asked tentatively, while leaning against the counter.

The way he positioned his arm, it was pretty easy to deduce that the bartender was reaching for a blaster hidden under the counter. But unbeknownst to him, the Sith could feel the train of thoughts going through his mind. If put into words, it'd say: Will I be able to shoot? What if I miss? Would I have enough time to fire again?

The Sith decided to quickly put this alien's concerns to rest . . . or perhaps more correctly, replace them with an entirely new set of even deeper concerns.

"You wouldn't." he said coldly, putting the hilt of his lightsaber on the counter. "I know how to perform a very interesting cut that is painful, but not lethal. I will spare you the gory details, but I will tell you that you will no longer be able to perform certain activities like running . . . or playing the kloo."

"G...Gray-haired fellow. He . . . he likes watching the band and the dancers. Likes to sit by the main stage. Front row. Usually alone." the Nautolan said very quickly, trying to get the described image out of his head.

The Sith picked up his saber and quickly made his way towards the stage. The band was playing some upbeat song as the dancers matched their moves to the rhythm. He scanned the tables in the front row until his eyes landed on a solitary man who was lazily sipping his drink and watched the band with a slightly bored look.

Blue coat? Check.
Hat? Check.
Graying hair? Check.

Rather unremarkable, the man looked more like a stereotypical old spacer from classic holovids rather than a Jedi--but this was obviously some sort of disguise, and didn't fool the Sith for a moment. The man's presence in the Force radiated like a lighthouse in a dark stormy night.

"Jedi." the Sith said as he confidently walked right up behind the middle-aged man.

The Jedi, however, completely ignored him and continued watching the dances with the same disinterested expression. Refusing to be ignored, the Sith ignited his lightsaber. The sudden sound of activating blade and crimson glow brought everything to a halt. The music grew silent and any sensible enough patron shuffled towards the exit. In the corner of his eye, the Sith saw the Nautolan bartender hastily hide bottles of the more expensive liquor.

"Face me, Jedi." the Sith apprentice hissed, moving his blade closer to the man's neck.

The man finished his drink and put the empty glass on the table before looking over at the band leader.

"Play something lively, will you?" the Jedi asked, completely disregarding the fact that a blade made out of superheated plasma was mere centimeters away from his spine.

The band members exchanged nervous looks. The lead singer cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"Kor-aaaaaaaah...." he started to sing.

"Not that!" the man interrupted with a half-amused, half-frustrated tone. "Anything but that."

The singer looked at the kloo player behind him and nodded. After a few hurried whispers, the band began playing a more popular song that was often played in the cantinas of Mos Eisley.

"You are really starting to annoy me." the Sith said in a threatening tone.

"I am not a fan of dancers." the Jedi said in a way as if he was talking to himself. "But the Holonet reception here is terrible. Can't even watch a Huttball match."

The Sith growled angrily and moved the blade so close to the Jedi's skin that blisters started forming on the his neck. That seemed to finally grab the man's full attention, since he at last turned around in his seat to face his assailant.

"You Sith have no sense of humor.” The Jedi scratched his dark beard. "Not even polite enough to start a conversation. Ah, Nyle?" the Jedi said, looking over at the Nautolan bartender.

"Y-yes, Rafa?" the bartender answered, cowering behind the bar.

"Corellian whiskey. Double. And leave the bottle on the table. I'll pick it up momentarily."

"I doubt that." the Sith interjected. "You have a choice. You can come with me in one piece or many.”

"Twenty-eight." the Jedi said in a monotonous voice.

"My master wants you alive, but I will gladly kill you if I have to."

"Hmm. Fifty-three." the man continued, with an amused glint in his eyes. "Do go on."

"What are you doing?" the Sith asked, raising his eyebrows in puzzlement.

"Oh, I've heard the whole Sith's 'evil speech' routine so many times that I've started to make a mental note whenever I hear the same thing repeated." the Jedi chuckled as the Sith's eyes burned with anger. "Your master, huh? I'm guessing Veneus. That rascal. How's old Monty doing these days?"

"You insolent-"

"Insolent?" the Jedi smirked at the Sith. "Here I was, minding my own business, when some schmuck walks in the front door, interrupts my entertainment and is now trying to impress me like I'm his alcoholic father. Be a sport and get daddy another beer, will you?"

The Sith gritted his teeth in anger and tightened the grip around his lightsaber.

"You didn’t even introduce yourself." He pointed out. “I mean . . . I suppose you must already know my name. After all, you did come all the way from . . . Kaas? . . . to recite Evil Sith Speech Number Twenty-Eight for me."

"Many pieces it is.” the Sith hissed menacingly. “And here I thought this would be boring."

"And . . . one-hundred! Bravo!"

The Sith roared furiously and kicked the table over; sending the glasses and the man’s hat to the floor.

"You shouldn’t have done that." the Jedi said coldly, amusement gone from his voice.

The Sith wasted no time with a response and swung his lightsaber at the Jedi, but the latter quickly jumped to his feet and kicked the bar stool under the Sith’s legs, momentarily knocking him off-balance. Taking advantage of the chaos, the Jedi followed with a swift punch to the stomach, making the Sith groan in pain and bend in half.

After quickly catching his breath, the Sith took a step back and assumed a defensive position, expecting an attack. Instead, the Jedi calmly picked up his hat from the ground. With unusual amount of thoughtfulness, he dusted the hat off and put it back on his head.

"You know that feeling...?" the Jedi asked with a smirk. "That little voice in your head telling you that nothing can possibly go wrong?"

Without a warning, the Sith lunged at him, slashing violently. The Jedi deftly dodged all the attacks while calmly assessing the situation and trying to figure out the attack pattern. Seeing an opening, the Jedi spun gracefully and positioned himself behind his attacker. The young Sith tried to face his adversary but was instead sent flying across the cantina by a well-placed kick to the midsection.

"Newsflash, kid." the man said with a tip of his hat, watching the Sith scramble on his feet. "Things are about to go wrong."

"Yes . . . for you!" The apprentice said angrily and threw his lightsaber at his enemy.

The Jedi ducked quickly, the blade barely missing his head.

"Nice try, but now you have no-" he was suddenly cut off as the Sith charged straight at him and knocked the wind out of him with a shoulder to the chest.

The two men rolled on the floor, exchanging punches like two drunken miners after a night shift. The Jedi tried to wrestle out of his opponent’s grip, but the Sith was unquestionably both younger and stronger. Using that to his advantage, he brutally pushed the older man against the wall, making him groan in pain. With the now Jedi pinned, he started pummeling his ribs. In his rage, he failed to notice the Jedi's hand creeping towards his belt. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the Sith saw stars after the Jedi hit him directly in the head with a metal object from his belt. As he instinctively grabbed his head, the Jedi managed to free himself and use the Force to send the young Sith flying across the room.

The older man panted and dropped the metal object--an unactivated lightsaber--to the floor as his attacker scrambled to his feet.

"Timeout." the Jedi said, as he picked up his drink from the counter.

The Sith summoned the lightsaber back into his hand and moved in for the attack.

"I said timeout!" the Jedi yelled in frustration, narrowly dodging the younger man’s blade. As the Sith charged past him, the Jedi picked up the bottle of whiskey and whacked his attacker on the back of the head.

Seeing this young upstart fall to the floor again, barely conscious, the Jedi chuckled to himself and adjusted his hat. "I have to admit: Monty definitely has a sense of humor, sending YOU to come and fight me." He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "You've got skills, Kid, but the joke's on you. He sent you after me to get rid of you. Act like a Darth all you want, but he is NEVER going to grant you a name and title."

The Sith’s hands were shaking with uncontrollable anger.

"So I'll tell you what . . . I'll bestow a Darth name on you myself: Darth Iocus.” He grinned, pleased with his own joke.

“I will not...' the Sith said slowly, "...let some poor excuse for a Jedi mock me!”

The Jedi opened his mouth with the intention of coming up with some kind of stinging rebuke, but this time the Sith did not wait for him to speak. At full speed, he lunged forward with his blade aiming straight for the heart of his enemy. The blade, however, did not meet its mark as it was suddenly blocked by a beam of purple energy that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Speaking of..." the Jedi said, giving him that annoyingly-cocky smirk again. “Keep in mind that Jedi also have lightsabers."

The Sith growled and pressed on with his attack, only to find his slashes deflected or blocked. Between the older man's experience and the younger man’s anger burning as hot as the sun, both opponents were equally matched.

Do not underestimate him. The master’s words echoed in the apprentice's mind. He noticed that the Jedi was baiting him to press on with the attack even further, but he wisely chose not to let the anger and hate fueling him take over. The Jedi, while surprised at first by the sudden change of pace, quickly adapted to the apprentice’s offensive lightsaber style and responded in kind. It was now the Sith who was on the defensive. Sensing a slight disturbance in the Force, the Sith took a step back, causing the Jedi to stumble. Seizing the advantage, the Sith delivered a left-handed punch to the Jedi's stomach while bringing his lightsaber down in a crushing blow--one that would have taken off the Jedi's head had it not been blocked at the last possible moment.

“Well played.” the Jedi congratulated him, trying to maintain his grip on his lightsaber at an awkward angle. His attacker didn’t say anything, but instead began delivering a painful electrical attack from his left hand while simultaneously using his superior size and strength to push their locked blades closer and closer to the Jedi’s face--which was beginning to show signs of concern.

"But...." the Jedi said, with a more than a bit of difficulty.

The Sith’s eyes went wide in shock as he heard another blade being activated. Too late to react, he watched in horror as the second blade cut his lightsaber hilt in half and severed his left hand in one swift, clean motion. He immediately grabbed at his wounded arm, moaning in pain as the Jedi delivered a kick that sent him to the floor.

“But I carry two.” he announced triumphantly as he deactivated both blades.

The fallen man looked at up the Jedi with exasperation.

“You might as well kill me." he said as the Jedi walked up closer to him. “You have no idea what my master will do to me if I come back alive."

“You mean, something like this?" the other man asked as he kicked his defeated opponent roughly in the chest. "I have to say, I am getting really tired of cleaning up Monty's mistakes. Make sure you tell him that, would you?"

“What kind..." the apprentice groaned out, feeling his broken ribs, “...of Jedi are you?”

“I’m done playing the friendly Jedi from next door. I’m just . . . me. And it’s time for old Rafalskimi to send a message."

With that, Rafalskimi ignited one of his lightsabers and looked down at the Sith curled up on the floor. In one quick motion, the Jedi impaled his lightsaber in the young man’s right shoulder blade. Ignoring his enemy's cries of agony, he burrowed the blade deep inside until even the hilt itself was embedded in the wound.

“I warned you: Things went wrong.” the Jedi said as he started moving towards the cantina exit.

Before he passed out from the pain, the Sith couldn’t help but agree.

--

"You have failed me, Insect." Darth Veneus said, disappointment dripping from his voice.

The apprentice held out his hand, offering up the Jedi's lightsaber as a gift. "Master, I brought you his most prized posess--"

"YOU BROUGHT ME NOTHING!" the master boomed back, and unleashed a horrific electrical attack that burned the apprentice's arm all the way to the shoulder, causing him to recoil in pain and drop the saber. "I should kill you where you stand, but somehow this failure is far, far too profound for that."

The apprentice said nothing, but kept his head bowed low in submission. All of his plans for achieving greatness were simply . . . gone now. A part of him wished his master WOULD just kill him here and now.

But suddenly a cruel smile came across Veneus' face. "Keep your little bauble, Germ. I think I know the perfect place to send you...."

Continue to Chapter 12 . . . .