Star Wars: Duality

CHAPTER THREE: WANDER

    Prosperity was a defiantly large city, built like a broad tower with four levels. The richest inhabitants' penthouses and luxurious clubs dominated the highest and thinnest layer, Level One, like the maw of a beast greedily devouring as much of the sky as it could. Just underneath, businesses and middle-class homes made Level Two the bulky base of the tower, its foundation resting on the plateaus surrounding Prosperity.
    Following the city down, it descended into a scattered series of wide canyons and gorges, twisting every which way and delving deeper into Tyrne's surface. Closest to the surface (for convenience and proper ventilation) was Level Three, all factories and agriculture toiling to keep Prosperity functional as its topsiders lived in comfort. And of course the poorest inhabitants, factory workers and the like, were buried under all of it, making their homes in slums and warrens built into Level Four's canyon walls.

    Needless to say, Drystan felt very small and very lost.

    He should've expected this; showing up on Tyrne was all the plan he had put together. Maybe in the back of his mind, he expected the Force to guide him more directly to his Master's trail; instead, all he found was uncertainty, danger, and grim reminders of what he'd lost.

    Even the lost are better off than those who do not seek.

    Drystan laughed to himself, softly and sadly. Jedi Master Yoruuk Vohz had always had a way with words, words that stuck with Drystan even so many years after his Master's disappearance.

    Walking across the bridges and down the stairways of Level Three, Drystan couldn't help but be swept up in memories of his upbringing. Raised in the Jedi Temple from an age too young to recall, he trained first under Master Yoda with the rest of his youngling clan. However, from there his experience took some unique turns. Master Vohz was a Jedi of great authority and renown, and even he received no small backlash when he announced he would take Drystan on as his padawan; Master Vohz was the one to bring Drystan to the temple as an infant, and continuing on to become Drystan's master bent the Order's doctrine on forsaking attachment to near its breaking point.

    Additionally, becoming a padawan as young as 13 years old like Drystan had was almost always indicative of prodigious abilities. Even the purple Kyber crystal he had chosen on Ilum (or that chose him, according to Master Yoda) was typically a sign of great talent for combat; Drystan was certainly in tune with the Living Force in a powerful way, but his lightsaber skills and physical prowess never painted him in a "gifted" light. For close to two years he had traveled the galaxy with Master Vohz, always battling the feeling that he somehow didn't deserve the opportunities he'd been given, but never ceasing to follow his master's example.

    Opportunities are not earned, they are only capitalized on.

    But then the Clone Wars began, and Yoruuk Vohz and his every wise saying disappeared.

    From the masters who fought at Geonosis to the temple guards, not one being (Jedi or otherwise) could offer any evidence or explanation as to Master Vohz's whereabouts; Drystan simply awoke one day to a brief, handwritten note of farewell and a nightmarish feeling of freefall. Without his Master and with no motivation to continue studying under another, Drystan spent his days during the war assisting with temple duties, or occasionally providing care to soldiers in medical bases throughout the galaxy. Now, he was on his own and he wondered if he would ever find a way to feel like he belonged.

    "You don't belong here, do you, boy?"
    Drystan was pulled out of his reminiscence by a husky voice, and he looked around. He had wandered all the way down to Level Four, into a particularly grimy alleyway and into the path of a group of beings who weren't much cleaner-looking. Two Falleen males flanked a human woman who rivaled their muscle, if not their height. Drystan's heart sank as he sensed another presence behind him, a Trandoshan, cutting off his retreat. The woman sneered at him.
    "You're a nosy schutta, aren't you? We don't appreciate having our business interrupted..." Her companions chuckled, and Drystan finally noticed the suspiciously blaster-shaped cases piled next to them; panic began to cloud his mind. The woman cracked her knuckles as she walked slowly forward, and the Trandoshan closed in behind. Master Vohz's words echoed in Drystan's ears again.

    Never let a lack of options result in a lack of action.

    Drystan harnessed his feelings of fear and used them to influence the Trandoshan to pounce. Dropping low, Drystan ducked the lizard's grab and shoulder-threw it at the other thugs; he took off in the other direction, ignoring their myriad curses and threats.

    He thought his chances of outsmarting the thugs were much better than his chances of fighting them off; instead of trying to flee the area, he wrapped around the warehouse and found an unlocked door into the building and ducked inside. Although, once he saw where he had chosen to take shelter, Drystan felt like he had a snowball's chance on Tatooine of outsmarting anyone.

    He was standing at the edge of a cluster of speeder chassis and other vehicle parts, like a banquet set for the warband of workers at the other end of the long building. Barrels, crates, and industrial metal shelves lined the walls all the way down to a series of tables and workbenches where droids and organic gangsters alike dismantled and devoured their salvage with fervor. Their work kept them from noticing Drystan's entrance; but of course, as he tried to move slowly back to the door and escape, the alley-goers from earlier crashed through a gate on the workshop side of the operation and pointed at him.
    "Get that little rat!" yelled the woman. More than a dozen heads turned. Drystan swallowed hard.
    Either blaster pistols and oversized vibroknives were considered useful engineer's tools down here, or these criminals wore them like fashion accessories; either way, Drystan suddenly found himself outmanned and outgunned by a frightening margin. He dove behind a speeder carcass as shots rang out and peppered the wrecks around him. He frantically rummaged in his bag for his lightsaber, and found it with screws missing and some of its wiring exposed.
    Drystan cursed himself. He could've sworn he had finished the maintenance he started before his flight to Tyrne, but then, he had been running late... nothing to do now but slide the saber's metal sheath over its circuitry and pray for no electrical problems. He ignited his weapon (successfully, thank the Force), stood, and began to attempt to deflect some shots back across the workshop.
    Attempts that somehow couldn't have gone worse OR better.
    Lasers ricocheted away from Drystan, but with such inaccuracy they might have had an astromech randomizing their flight paths. Some hit barrels that were presumably filled to the brim with fuel, because the following detonations incinerating groups of two and three and workers before they could even cry out. Other bolts went into the floor, or into piles of rusted metal sending spark showers into the air.
    But Drystan was undamaged, and more importantly he felt a strong presence; something (or someone) was getting close, making waves in the Force. Drystan was excited, and he let himself believe that Force had led him to this place, that this was where he would find what he was looking for.

    And then his lightsaber short-circuited, and flickered out.

    Scared, Drystan looked for a place to dive for cover, but everything in front of him was shot full of blaster holes. The remaining thugs realized their prey was defenseless, and stopped shooting to take aim for one last barrage of fire. The Trandoshan flashed Drystan a wicked, toothy grin. A presumably Imperial voice demanded an immediate ceasefire over a loudspeaker outside the warehouse.

    Drystan closed his eyes, resigned to the consequences of his actions. He heard blasters fire, a loud crash, and right in front of him a soft thud. When he realized he wasn't dead, he summoned the courage to take another look at the situation and saw the workers staring dumbfounded at a thin young man standing in front of him.

    The man looked over his shoulder at Drystan and smirked, his fair hair slicked back and his eyes glittering with confidence. In an instant it was clear, that this was the presence Drystan had felt! The man pulled a lightsaber from his jacket, and once more Drystan let himself believe that things were finally going to be okay.
    His hope turned to dread, however, as the saber ignited.

    Its blade burned crimson.