The Vertical City, Nar Shaddaa. They call it the Smuggler's Moon—an apt description based on the myriad of sentients shuffling back and forth with their illegal wares and hidden weapons. The narrow streets below criss-cross endlessly, soaring miles above the planet's surface. Exposed and uncovered, the streets offer a nearly perfect setting for someone with some skills with ranged weapons. From a vantage point on the ledge of a towering structure of glass and steel offers a dizzying view of the cityscape.

Simple shops and merchants peddle both legitimate and illegitimate wares. Storefronts are just as plentiful as open-market pop-up tents, and the cantina's adapt the same lowlife air as the rest of the Smuggler's Moon. Enemies could be hidden in plain sight, whether one of the Hutts’ gangsters or mercenaries-for-hire looking to earn some credits. The streets are plagued with violent gangs and the general riff raff of the poor and destitute. The streets may be an ideal place for blasters, but the winding streets are difficult to disappear from. An opponent would be easily boxed in and simple to finish with a few quick slashes of a lightsaber. The moon is dangerous—even for one gifted in the Force.

“Soboba creedas.”

Alaris Jinn shot a look back at the vendor from under his cloak. “Che da wanga?” he asked in disbelief. The fruit Alaris was examining was hardly fresh, but he was hungry. What’s more, he was running low on physical credits, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have to wait here. “Jee choba uba duba creedas.” The dark side emanated off of Alaris and flowed through the human whose demeanor changed from demanding to eager very quickly.

“Bargon!”

Alaris smiled and tossed the old man three credits. He took a bite of the soft, sweet fruit and started back off into the crowd. “Maya stupa,” he muttered under his breath. He had no qualms about letting the Force save him twelve credits. Ten credits, he mentally corrected himself. Communicating on Nar Shaddaa had never been an issue for him, but he grew up on Coruscant, so translating from base ten to base eight always proved to be a bit tricky.

He continued walking through the night market, keeping his eye open for any wares that crossed his fancy. He loved the clothing the underworld provided, especially the garments intended for those with money. He was always expanding his wardrobe. Alaris always had exactly the right piece to wear for any circumstance. One never knew when they might have to garner a boon from a politician or a Hutt, and you couldn’t exactly wear the same clothes for both scenarios.

His eye had fallen on a gorgeous vest that begged to be worn with frilled sleeves when he pressed out with the Force again and finally felt what he had been waiting for. He knew he was being watched at this point, but gave no indication in that regard. There were still dozens of souls around so it would take time for him to figure out where the hostility was coming from, but it was close.

Alaris decided to forego purchasing the vest, but made a mental note to return later. He stepped back into the crowd and pulled the hood of his cloak down, both to have a better view of his surroundings and to become a bit of a beacon; royal blue Twi’lek’s weren’t rare on Nar Shaddaa, but they still stuck out.

He paused every few minutes and appeared to gaze through the transparisteel glass of a shop at the vestments within. He took stock of who was still around him. After repeating this four times, he noticed five of the same people in the vicinity: two humans, a Twi’lek, an Umbaran, and a Wookiee. Alaris knew enough about Umbarans to know that the bright, flashing lights of the Smuggler’s Moon were not ideal for them.

“You’ve come an awful long way to find me.” Alaris approached the Umbaran with a sly grin on his face.

The much taller man looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. “Find you? I just saw what you did to that poor old man a few blocks back and wanted you to go apologize.”

Alaris chuckled. “And what exactly did I do?”

“I don’t know how, but you got him to lower his price.” The cheeky young man put his hands on his hips frowned.

Alaris cocked his head slightly to the side and decided to test the waters. “Uba stuka du huttuk poodoo.”

The Umbaran squinted his eyes in confusion and frowned.

Alaris grinned and pulled the lightsaber from his belt. He held it loosely. “Nice try.”

Adem exhaled audibly. “How did you know?”

“I almost believed you, but you don’t speak Huttese, so the only way you’d know I manipulated that sleemo was through the Force,” Alaris explained. “Where are you from?”

The dark side pressed heavily on Adem’s mind. “Arcona,” he muttered, unconsciously.

Alaris nodded. “Good to know.”

The Force rang; an itch on the back of Adem’s consciousness. With a flair, separating himself from his cloak, he vaulted backward onto a vendor’s cart, which displayed some very eclectic tunics. He looked back down at to where he was standing and was suddenly saddened when he saw that in his stead, a young human had been split along the lower ribs.

“Clear out!” he screamed to the crowd which hadn’t really needed any encouragement.

Alaris turned slightly and let the emerald blade hang loosely at his side. “Atyiru decide she wants me back in that cage?”

“At this rate, she’s hardly alone in that,” Adem replied. His lightsaber sprang to life, adding a warm yellow glow to the reflections flickering in the street puddles of who-knows-what.

“How noble of you to follow orders.”

The Arconan pounced from the tunic cart, spinning in the air to swing downward with his weight behind the strike. The lightsaber burned through durasteel and filthy water instead of flesh, and at the behest of a creeping sensation like spiderwebs breaking on his skin, Adem turned to shunt away a streak of green light bound for his temple. Alaris pirouetted backward through the night air, landing upon a flickering neon sign.

The Umbaran narrowed his eyes to see him over the harsh glare of the sign’s light, but he had noted the Taldryan’s relaxed stance, turned sideways to present a smaller target profile, and his immediate retreat to a superior position when his strike failed. He recognized the techniques as hallmarks of his own tactics.

“Ah,” Alaris called, “I see I’m in the company of culture.” Adem ground his teeth at the feeling of the Twi’lek’s mind probing his own without consent. His active thoughts were a trembling mess of strings reaching across the street and up the walls, pinned to one tactical position and stretched taut to stick into the next. “I’m surprised you know such a rare bird of a form. I didn’t think Marick was the type to leave a mess.”

The Arconan wordlessly raked the tip of his lightsaber across a puddle. Wisps of steam drifted up from the contact. His thoughts had handed Alaris too much ammunition already, he would give no more with his voice. Instead, Adem loosened the grip of his first two fingers and pulled his arm back.

“You should adjust your grip higher, around your controls,” the Twi’lek’s command slithered out as he waved.

Adem felt strangely compelled to wrap his thumb around his lightsaber’s activation stud. The hilt left his fingers not as a beautiful golden pinwheel, but as an underwhelming silver paperweight.

Alaris took initiative and sprung from the sign, not intending to give the Umbaran an opportunity to retrieve his weapon.

Adem rolled under the descending Taldryan and his lightsaber’s burning path with preternatural speed, and the positions of the duelists were reversed. Just barely audible over the worried voices of the small crowd who remained nearby was the distinct clank of metal somewhere behind Adem. The emerald blade sliced down, and the Arconan shifted out of its way to pivot around Alaris, deceptively channeling the momentum of his legs into a low kick that grazed the Twi’lek’s thigh. They disengaged, though Adem maintained a swaying stance with an occasional twitch or shuffle of his feet.

“Cute dance,” the Taldryan said, “but you won’t keep it up all night, will you?” Adem failed to respond. His eyes were fixed on the glinting cylinder sitting in a fruit bowl on a stand further back from Alaris. It would provide his retort. The Umbaran twirled into a low crouch, his hand extended as a focusing gesture, and telekinetically called his lightsaber back to his waiting palm. The yellow streak snap-hissed back to life and deflected a slash meant for his shoulder, and he shoved the Twi’lek away from him with an intangible burst of force pushed into the chest. Adem broke off to scamper up a pipe onto an enormous neon sign that stretched over the street, only to meet Alaris there.

The Arconan thought it better to remove an advantage from play than to share it with his opponent. He jumped across the sign and over Alaris, swiping his blade through the advertisement’s moorings on one side.

The Twi’lek had ducked to avoid what struck his senses as an attack, and the sign shuddered beneath his feet. He moved to the far side to better support his weight, heard the telltale hum of a whirling lightsaber coming his way, and leapt away from the sign.

Perched on an adjacent awning, Adem telekinetically guided his weapon’s course through the remaining supports and called it back to his grasp. The sign violently flickered as it separated from its power supply and crashed down to the street. The sudden flashes of light assailed the Umbaran’s photosensitive eyes. He lost his balance and tumbled down into the crowd.

There are many worlds where two lightsaber wielding foes would cause for crowds to disperse and run for cover for fear of losing limb or life; Nar Shaddaa was not one such world. The denizens of this crowded moon were not only used to such bouts of violence, but entertained by them. Instead of fleeing from the epicenter of Adem’s fall, they simply stepped aside and awaited his next move, watching him with tense anticipation.

The Umbaran pushed himself out of the puddle of Nar Shaddaa’s filth and back to his feet again, but not without some serious effort. Pain racked his body. He grabbed at his ribs. He felt a sharp pain shoot through them. He had at least cracked a rib or two if not cleanly broken one. Breathing hurt, forcing him to take shallower breaths. He coughed, which shot white pain up his ribcage.

He looked around for his weapon, which he again had managed to lose track of. His eyes darted around frantically, but with little success; the bright sparks from the destroyed sign still played shooting stars across his eyes. He turned his head and saw a small figure reaching down toward something. He shot out his arm and the Force yanked the item away from the figure. He looked down at it and frowned. He held a doll.

He exhaled audibly and stumbled over to where it had come from. A young Rodian had been the small figure. She looked up at him with what could only be fear and apprehension. He handed the doll back to her which she quickly snatched out of his grasp. She held it tightly to her chest and ran back into the crowd, likely back to whatever hole she slept in.

A lightsaber bursting to life drew his attention away from the girl who had already disappeared into the zoo. The crowd all took a step back as much as they could. They were still mesmerized, but had already seen one civilian die to this blade. The Umbaran turned to face the Twi’lek who stood slightly angled, lightsaber held loosely at his side.

“A touching moment,” Alaris spat, “but I don’t think I can let you leave here alive today.”

The Arconan, still clutching his ribs, spat blood on the street. “You had better kill me, because I will track you down again and again.”

”Kneel.”

The Umbaran was in no condition to fight the command and dropped quickly to his knees. The impact shot white hot pain up his torso, but he stifled any audible complaint. This shorter distance to the ground gave him a much different view of the landscape and he caught a glimpse of something metal by the edge of the crowd. His shallow breathing increased in pace as he watched each deliberate step the Twi’lek took: closer and closer. Adem’s eyes dropped to the ground and he let his hand fall from his ribs.

He lifted his hands to either side, as if accepting the death that walked toward him. Almost instantly his lightsaber was back in his hand, and although it took a lot of effort, he flung the now light amber blade directly at Alaris Jinn.

The dark side had given Alaris enough warning to bring up his guard and he easily deflected the blade upward. It went tumbling end over end above the Twi’lek’s head and the arch carried it directly behind him. The Twi’lek finally allowed a smile to break his face and let his sharp teeth be seen.

Suddenly, his eyes shot wide open. The smile faded instantly. He slowly looked down at the lightsaber protruding from his chest. Adem still had his arm extended, attempting to retrieve his blade, but the hilt wasn’t going to pass through Alaris’s body as easily as the plasma. Feeling weakness overtake him, Alaris fell to his knees. The hilt, and subsequently the yellow blade, didn’t move. Alaris’s own downward motion finished his life; the lightsaber splitting his skull cleanly up the middle.

Adem’s lightsaber extinguished before it returned to his hand and the crowd began to disperse. A young Rodian girl stayed behind and calmly walked toward the Umbaran. She extended her hand. Adem smiled at her and accepted her help back up to standing. He patted her head. The girl smiled up at him then darted back off into the unforgiving streets of Nar Shaddaa.

The world was a blurry watercolor mess, which vied for Adem’s attention over the dull pain rippling across his back. An unconscious man lay beneath him, the unwitting landing platform for his fall. The Arconan struggled to his feet, straining his senses to catch Alaris in the chaos. Smoke rose out of the crashed sign, which sparked pitifully.

A high-end clothing store remained open, its posh storefront smashed open by opportunistic looters. Adem limped across the shattered threshold, soothing his aching muscles with the cool salve of the Force. He tucked himself inside a rack of clothing and reached out to his surroundings to draw from their energy.

Alaris climbed atop the fallen sign and cursed. He’d lost his target. Something was being smashed inside one of the stores the Twi’lek had perused earlier. Unfortunately, it was that store. He hoped that the vest he had so wanted had survived the street’s most recent outbreak of grand larceny. Perhaps a five finger discount would be in order, once he ensured the Arconan was gone.

When he darkened the familiar vendor’s door, Alaris sensed the same presence he’d felt before. Several lights had been smashed or shorted out somehow, and what had not long ago been an opulent, golden space was sinking into a shadowy gloom. Another filament spontaneously exploded above his head in a shower of sparks.

“If you were trying to hide, you’ve done a poor job of it,” Alaris called into the darkness. The store’s intercom crackled to life, and whoever’s finger was on the button left it there for some time.

“One chance,” said Adem over the microphone, his voice lowered. “Weapons on the floor, hands behind your head, now. I won’t ask again.”

“If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not terribly funny,” the Twi’lek scoffed. The intercom shut off, and the store was eerily silent again. Alaris, lightsaber ignited and well in hand, confidently approached the checkout area. The Force pricked at his thoughts. Alaris felt something wrap around his lekku, and it pulled hard.

Adem amplified the strength in his arms and yanked the Twi’lek’s head to the floor by its tails. The back of Alaris’s skull hit the hard tile and he laid there in a daze, giving the Arconan a moment of respite. He rushed across the sales floor, swiping his lightsaber through what few lights remained. The Umbaran was finally in his element. He turned his attention to the mannequins and the possibilities they held.

The Taldryan struggled to his feet, his brain swimming from the sudden shock of force. His vision came and went, and his ears rang. It was a struggle to stay awake for a few moments. He held his lightsaber before him like a dowsing rod, his sole remaining source of illumination save for the street outside. The green glow and the sound of boots squeaking across tile guided him from aisle to aisle, but the Arconan was always just out of reach. Alaris’ head continued to pound.

Adem shifted from one rack to the next, never letting the Taldryan leave his sight and leading him further back into the store. He could not afford to give him the chance to run for the entrance. He held position in one rack to let Alaris pass, peeked out, and focused his mind on worming into his opponent’s.

At last, someone stepped into the emerald glow. Adem presented himself with a flourish and a bow. The Twi’lek ground his teeth and stepped closer, though the Umbaran made no sudden movements.

“You. . . karking choob,” Alaris growled, “that’s my vest you’re wearing!” The Dark Side welled up in him, surged through his arm, and crackled out of his fingertips in hopes of obliterating the sneering Arconan — and disappear he did.

With the illusion dissipated, Adem rushed from behind Alaris. His lightsaber flashed, tearing through the Taldryan’s hilt, just below his hand. The Umbaran sustained the movement, whipping around an augmented kick to the back of Alaris’ head. The Twi’lek’s body went limp, collapsing to the floor.

Adem exhaled and produced his communicator. “Package subdued, rendezvous for pickup.” He rubbed his shoulder, still throbbing a bit, and looked at the vest he’d copied for his trick. “Tackiest looking thing I’ve ever seen.”