1. Twin Suns

Let the Hutts on a planet, and they would drag slime all over it. Granted, Nar Shaddaa was a moon, and he couldn't feel what was hidden under the slums before, but he could always see the ugliness. Atton cringed and walked faster, trying to tune out the tide of the Force beating against its prison walls. He was still uncomfortable with the whole Force sensitivity deal. Let the Disciple fool himself and call himself a Jedi. Atton had a pretty good idea where he stood. Where they both stood, really. A properly trained twelve year-old padawan would have beaten the pants off the both of them in the olden times where it came to the Force. Sure, Disciple was younger, so maybe he had an edge on him, but he would be damned if he let the boy ahead. How old was Disciple anyway? Eighteen? Whatever, the boy sat out the wars, so he was centuries younger.

Atton slipped through the doors of the cantina and immediately felt better. The lowlifes were closer now, and en masse they tuned out the primal wailing of the moon. He made a beeline for the bar, scanning the room for a likely looser he could clean out of a few credits. Just enough to buy a drink, ma'am, and make it interesting. Nothing wrong with Senate rules, of course, oh no. He focused on his glass, willing his thoughts to a halt. Master Quinly wasn't there, but with the Force you never knew, she might have heard him. The last thing she needed was his thoughts on pazaak, being how she was walking into an obvious trap just about now. Juma juice swirled gamely on the way to his lips, and it wasn't even half bad. He closed his eyes, savoring the drink.

Then the hair prickled at the back of his neck. He looked above the rim, to see what it was: two peas in a pod, and as pretty as they come. Dancer's walk, and as generous of hips as they were economical of clothes. The exquisite pair flashed hungry smiles as they approached.

"Well, hello, beautiful man. You look lonely tonight."

"Mind if we join you?"

"I will be thrilled," Atton replied truthfully. They reminded him strongly of Master… of Quinly, well, of any woman who was used to handling a blade, but mostly of Quinly. Murder, no matter the reason, marks a woman. Or a man for that matter. He bet they could smell it on him too; three peas in a pod, really. Again, he willed his thoughts to a halt and fell back on an old trick, forcing lust and over-confidence to the surface. It could buy him a moment to think up a way out. He leered: "So what are you, dancing girls?"

"Oh, we were, we were dancing girls once, but slaves no more."

"Our master… he was made to let us go."

Atton was starting to like them finishing each-other's sentences. Or, anyway, it was the only thing that felt right about them.

"What are you doing on our beautiful planet?" the woman asked him softly, one arm on his knee, the other snaking behind her back. He watched the second, the now silent one, waited for her to chime in. The words did not come: a favored pattern, no doubt. He felt the blade before he saw it. Well, he wasn't that proud; Jedi tricks will do to save his neck. "I am visiting here with a friend," Atton said, leaping on the bar, away from the hungry point. "A friend that does not need the complications from your lot." The twins smiled, happy that the game was up and four swords slashed at his legs. He jumped again, over the blades, over their heads, flipped in the air, let the energy pulse forward from the hilt. Now, that was a pure joy! That alone was worth all the troubles the Force brought upon a man. Even when it was one lightsaber against four swords.

What did Quinly said? "On its own, a lightsaber can win a fight no more than a blaster could, Atton. You have an advantage of already knowing it. Do not forget it now, that you are not on the receiving end." He scoffed at her, but, yes, the shimmering Jedi sword had an intoxicating effect. Made him feel righteous and invincible.

Good thing one could still stick the pointy end in a woman's back. Which is what he did, right before landing on his feet. One of the hellcats slipped down, leaving a bloody smear on the bar. "I have a few good cards, lady."

The remaining twin lunged, her mouth set in a straight line now. It became personal. He parried a few blows, barely. One sword slipped under, cut through the armor. The second, he managed to parry just above his neck. Sparks flew in his face. A lightsaber is only as powerful as a Jedi that wields it. Maybe he should have shot at the assassins. Do not forget it now, that you are not on the receiving end.

"I am on the giving end," he thought frantically, as the huntress chased him across the room, towards a corner, towards –

-another cut, shoulder this time-

Atton Rand closed his eyes. Lightsaber was not a sword, not a blaster, not a tool. It was the Jedi. Sparks did not bother him anymore, and for a few hits his mind seemed to parry the woman's blades, not his arms guiding the lightsaber. That was how Quinly did it. That was why she was so improbably fast. It was damn tiring. Atton started to feel lightheaded and rushed his assailant with his last, feverish jolt of energy. Sensing his near collapse, she took a measured step back, goading him, looking for an opening. But he stuck a needle in his thigh, dropped the lightsaber and kept running past her, like there was a squad of Mandalorians on his heels.

Finding his footing on one of the patron sprawled on the ground, covering his head in a practiced gesture, Atton Rand jumped on a table. The pounding of blood in his ears stopped as soon as he felt the cold weight of a blaster in his hand. He took an aim like he had all the time in the world. The blast threw the swordswoman backwards. She staggered and went down with a furious, frustrated yelp. He shot her one more time just to be sure. The women jerked with the impact and went still. He jumped off the table, stepped over her and walked back to the bar. The owner shut his teeth with a clank after one look at his face, the old coward. Atton was sure he had looked worse.

He finished his glass (the juice was passable, no need to waste), threw the credits on the counter, and walked out, scooping the lightsaber off the floor as he passed. He doubted anyone in the cantina had gone running to tell Disciple on him. So it was up to Atton to get to Ebon Hawk as fast as he could. There was a threat brewing in the air, and the Force hummed with it.