Wart stretched his long legs and flexed his broad, lightly muscled shoulders in the uncomfortable seat. Glancing out the viewing portal, he estimated that they were minutes away from landing and made to stand. Even as he did so, the announcement came over the loudspeaker, first in Basic, then translated into a myriad of different languages, most of which Wart didn’t understand. “We are making our final descent onto Koriban. Due to circumstances beyond the pilot’s control,” came the flat, emotionless computer voice, “we have been routed to a spaceport several miles from our intended destination. Please collect all your baggage and exit in an orderly fashion, the attendants will assist you to ground transports that will take you the rest of the way. Sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you for choosing United Republic Transports.” Wart collected the black and brown tanned Bantha-skin longcoat he wore in lieu of the traditional Jedi robes and ran a hand through his unruly black hair. Master Windu had not been happy about his refusal to wear the robes of the Jedi, but his teacher, Arkain, had defended Wart’s right to choose. He didn’t understand why, but Wart found the robes oddly disturbing... As if in wearing them he were desecrating some sacred symbol of sanctity. The only telltale distinction that likened him to the Jedi Order was the lightsaber that hung from his hip, and the strong bearing with which he carried himself. He figured himself to be about seventeen cycles, but being orphaned at birth left that open to debate. In any case, Wart was far different from most of the other Padiwan learners his age or thereabouts, and clearly stronger in the Force than even a few Knights who had already passed their trials; thusly leaving him with few friends. Those he had were older, and the majority of them Knights, therefore were gone on assignment more often than not, so he spent much of his time alone. Arkain had told him that no Jedi that could look into his own heart was ever truly alone, but Wart could not keep himself from craving the company of others. It was a burden he would bear, however, for ultimately, he was an earnest student and a fast learner. The bulk transport ship landed with all the grace of a drunken Wookiee, lurching all those already standing (which was most everybody) to hold onto something. Wart, however, didn’t budge. He’d spent most of his years in space, both as a pilot and as a passenger, and knew the ins and outs of landing large space freighters. As the rest of the passengers regained their feet, grumbling slightly at the inconvenience, Wart slung the longcoat over his broad shoulders and moved to the exit. He got there as it was cycling open and the bright light of day spilled into the musty hold of the transport, which caused another wave of grumbling from the passengers since it had been night on their side of Coruscant when they left. The trip was barely two hours at top speed for most cruisers, and this trip had only taken a half an hour longer than that. Wart moved into the light slowly, allowing his violet eyes to adjust. He could afford to, most of the other passengers had not yet gathered all their luggage. Wart traveled light, carrying only his lightsaber and a pocket full of credits. His mission was a short one, and even with the delay, he should be on the transport back to Coruscant that evening with time to spare. He left the ship and spoke with an attendant who gave him directions to the nearest transport within walking distance, and declined the offer of a ride. He breathed in the fresh air and reveled in the bright yellow sunshine. Koriban was very different from Coruscant, even though it shared the star system, and Wart felt the need to explore a little bit. He exited the spaceport and found himself in a bustling marketplace, enveloped by a cacophony of sights and sounds. Here he wasn’t a Jedi; here he was only himself and nothing more or less than he had to be. So he contented himself with blending in, enjoying and returning the nods and waves of the friendly, letting pass the gestures and neglect of the rude. For the first time in a long while, he was at peace, his life and everything that hat plagued him before was forgotten... All too briefly. Discord raked across his honed Force senses, causing him to visibly wince. The sensation was none too pleasant and Wart scanned the crowd for it’s source, a slow sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. At first he saw nothing but milling throngs of varied peoples, but then... Down a partly shadowed alleyway, half-hidden in the long black cloak of darkness and the rank filth of a nearby dumpster, he spotted the transgressors. A ratty looking Bothan and a Rodian stood in the alley, whispering suspiciously. As Wart looked on, they seemed to come to an agreement and exchanged a small package, and what looked like credit-notes. Wart glanced about for a planetary security guard, but none were to be seen. Sighing heavily, Wart approached the mouth of the alley, drawing his lightsaber from his belt. He had no idea what he was up against, but chances were, they were armed. He stepped into their view, the corner of the building cutting the light short of his face, and ignited the lightsaber. The saber sprang to life with an eager burst of energy, casting his face in blue silhouette, and effectively getting the attention of the two interlopers. “Please put the contraband on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them,” Wart prompted coldly, struggling to keep his quivering voice under control. The Bothan and the Rodian both started and turned to face him, staring at him as if they did not believe what they were seeing. Just before Wart opened his mouth to repeat the command, the Bothan gestured with his left hand, and a door that stood hidden from Wart’s view cycled open. Into the alley stepped a good many beings of varying races, all armed with blasters, all of which were aimed at his head. Wart then decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Saluting with his lightsaber, he prepared to bolt. “On second thought, scratch that,” he murmured, more to himself than his assailants, as he whirled and ran. Several blaster bolts sailed by him as he whipped around the corner onto the street. Inwardly he’d hoped they wouldn’t follow, but the pounding of many feat on the pavement proved his hopes baseless. As a Jedi Knight, he would have had a prayer to take the lot of them, but as a Padiwan Learner, he had no chance. Rash though he was, however, Wart was far from stupid. Whoever these individuals were, they apparently had no fear of police intervention, and no care for public safety, as evidenced by three more blaster bolts that narrowly missed him on the crowded street. Wart knew he had to draw their fire away from innocent bystanders, but the question was, how. Extinguishing his lightsaber, he spread his arms as wide as he could, and charged forward with all speed, a low, lasting roar rumbling from the depths of himself. Those who hadn’t already cleared off in lieu of his pursuers, took one look at the rampaging Jedi and disappeared in a hurry. Wart had bought the lives of the innocent patrons on the street at the risk of his own, but he wasn’t about to let a band of angry narcotics dealers end him just yet: All he needed was an opportunity. Glancing about with a quickness that was verging on desperation, he suddenly saw his chance. A large freight speeder lumbered through the intersection, blocking the street beyond from view. Wart increased his speed and changed directions, running headlong toward the huge vehicle, wrapping himself in the Force and leaping at the last possible moment, landing deftly on the other side of the hulking machine. He took off running once again, looking for an easy hiding place. He was already a good ways down the street when he realized his mistake: The street he was running down had been cordoned off for repairs. It was void of vehicles to provide any kind of cover. He skidded to a halt and made to turn just as six bolts of raging energy screamed passed him, singing his longcoat and slightly scorching the skin beneath. He was too late, but he still had a good lead on his pursuers, and at that point he figured running was still his only viable option. He ignited his lightsaber once again and in a Force-controlled jump, he twisted in air, deflected two shots back at his pursuers, spun once again and landed at a dead run. The end of the street seemed an eternity away, and deep down inside, Wart knew he couldn’t make it. He was just about to turn and face his fate fighting when the sound of a heavy-repeating blaster from off to the far right caught his attention. He risked a glance and saw two humans standing in the doorway of one of the many shops along the stretch of road, firing into the throng that pursued him. To his great relief, roughly half of the group scrambled to find cover and return fire. The other half, approximately seven beings, charged after him. Wart knew the odds were still against him, but he had a better chance against seven than against thirteen. He stopped and turned, waving his hand in a disarming manner. “You don’t want to kill me,” he stated calmly, loud enough for the remaining seven to hear him. All seven slowed and came to a confused stop, not quite certain what to do. Finally one of their number, a Gungan, spoke. “Wesah no wanten killim,” he murmured, and the others nodded agreeably. “You want to change your ways and do good,” Wart said, waving his hand again. It was a stretch, but he figured while he was at it. There was a longer pause, and Wart waited with bated breath, listening intently to the sounds of battle behind them, but his eyes never wavering from the group. “Wesah want changen our lives and doin’ good!” the Gungan said again, lifting the last up as almost a kind of rallying cheer. The other joined him, and the group whirled and charged their former compatriots. Wart blinked. He knew the Force had a powerful effect on the weak-minded, but he’d underestimated how weak-minded these creatures were. The battle was swift and the last of the group Wart had converted was just surrendering to the two humans who had aided him. The Gungan was promising to testify against the rest of the group in an effort to do some good as Wart neared. He quickly took stock of his assumed allies: The older of the two was a stocky, balding man with an aura of grease and metal, and given that the two had emerged from a weapon shop, Wart surmised that he was the proprietor. The other looked younger than Wart by several years, but carried himself with a rugged dignity that belied his youth. He stood a little shorter than Wart and had shaggy blond hair that he was constantly brushing out of his eyes, and wore a plain tunic and breeches. It was the youth who approached Wart, and for the first time, Wart saw the badge pinned to his chest that marked him a freelance lawman. The younger man grinned as he approached and extended a hand. “Sun Tor Way, at your service,” he stated, his voice jovial and friendly. Wart shook his hand firmly. “I’m Wart,” he stated softly, “I appreciate your help.” Sun held his gaze for a moment and then turned to the relative carnage on the street. “I wish I could say it was nothing... But with the loss of so many lives...” Sun shook his head. Wart could sense raw Force power flowing through the younger man, untrained, but not untapped. “I don’t doubt they deserved what they got,” Wart murmured, “but it is a shame.” “Understatement,” Sun commented as he moved onto what had been the field of battle, “I’ll say one thing. You sure make fast friends.” Most of Wart’s assailants who had broken off pursuit to fight Sun and the shopkeeper were dead, and Sun began a thorough search of their clothes. “I am a Jedi, after all,” Wart commented dryly, kneeling next to the Bothan he’d first encountered. The furry creator was dead by a blaster bolt to the chest. He carried no blaster himself, but a long metal pike that trembled with Wart’s nearness: A Force enhanced weapon. Wart picked it up and removed the bandoleer from the Bothan that sheathed it. He put it on and sheathed the weapon, hoping it would serve him better than it did it’s former owner. He searched the Bothan’s pockets and found the narcotics package and a few credits. He then located the Rodian and searched him as well, leaving the alien’s blaster at his side. His search was much less successful, only turning up a strange black stone. His Force senses tingled as he touched it, however, and something inside him told him to pocket the stone and ask his master about it once he returned to Coruscant. He straightened in time to see Sun just finishing his search. Sun glanced at him. “We should take the survivors in to my sergeant,” he stated. Wart nodded slightly and they gathered the survivors; the seven Wart had confronted, and two of those who still opposed him, and Wart helped Sun herd them to the nearby police station. Sun’s sergeant was sitting at his desk doing paperwork when they entered the precinct. The two who had not vowed to turn a new leaf were making quite a ruckus, which rousted the willowy Zabrak sergeant from his reports and he stepped out in time to see Wart gently trying to convince the two to keep quiet. “What’s this about then?” he demanded, approaching Wart. Near as he could tell, this civilian whelp had just disrupted his police station with a group of ruffians... And then Sun Tor Way entered with the rest of the prisoners. Sun saw his sergeant and tossed him a jaunty salute. “Got a present for ya’, sarge,” Sun informed him. “Nine of the Maritas gang behind bars, not to mention their leader with several new holes in him on Sixth and Tuskan Street.” The sergeant was without words. When he spoke, it was strangled. “You managed to take down one of the foremost drug-running gangs on Koriban,” the sergeant stated, “an impressive feat. There is a substantial reward for these criminals.” Wart nodded slightly, turning custody of his prisoners over to several officers who had appeared. “I have no need of reward. Several of these have promised to testify in court against their companions. See that they are treated well,” he said softly. It was then that the sergeant noted the lightsaber on Wart’s belt. “Of course, Master Jedi. If there is anywhere you wish to go, Sun Tor Way can take you there,” he said, and gave Wart an awkward bow. It was evident the sergeant had not come in contact with many Jedi, however Wart was not inclined to make the man appear foolish. He bowed slightly at the waist himself, and then turned to leave. Sun followed him out. “Where to, Wart?” he asked. “The transport station,” Wart said, “I have to get to the Capital and see the ambassador yet.” “Sure thing,” Sun agreed, and started walking. Wart paced him and they walked for a good while in silence. As they were approaching the transport station, Wart turned to Sun. “Would you like to join me? I could use a guide.” he offered. Sun stopped and looked at Wart in surprise. “I thought Jedi knew everything!” he exclaimed. “If only that were true,” Wart stated, somewhat ruefully. Sun chuckled a bit and continued walking. “Sure, I’ll give you a hand,” he said, “but don’t pull any of that Jedi mind stuff on me, got it?” Wart laughed. “Done.”