Star Wars - Darth Maul - Shadow Hunter

by Shadow Hunter (by Michael Reaves)

  "Now I have another task for you." "Whatever my master wishes shall be done." "Hath Monchar, one of the four Neimoidians I am dealing with, has disappeared. I suspect treachery. Find him. Make sure he has spoken to no one of the impending embargo. If he has-kill him, and everyone he has spoken to." The holographic image faded away. Maul straight-ened and headed for the door.

  His step was firm, his manner confident. Anyone else, even a Jedi, might have protested that such an assignment was impos-sible. It was a big galaxy, after all. But failure was not an option to Darth Maul. It was not even a concept.

  CHAPTER 2 Coruscant.

  The name evoked the same image in the mind of nearly every civilized being in the galaxy. Coruscant: Bright center of the universe, cynosure of all inhabited worlds, crown jewel of the Core systems. Coruscant, seat of government for the myriad worlds of an entire galaxy. Coruscant, the epitome of culture and learning, synthesis of a million different civilizations.

  Coruscant.

  Seeing the planet from orbit was the only way to fully appreciate the enormity of the construction. Prac-tically all of Coruscant's landmass-which comprised almost all of its surface area, its oceans and seas having been drained or rerouted through huge subterranean caverns more than a thousand generations ago- was covered with a multitiered metropolis composed of towers, monads, ziggurats, palazzi, domes, and minarets. By day the many crosshatched levels of 16 skycar traffic and the thousands of spaceships that en-tered and left its atmosphere almost blotted out views of the endless cityscape, but at night Coruscant re-vealed its full splendo^ outshining at close range even the spectacular nebulae and globular clusters of the nearby Galactic Core. The planet radiated so much heat energy that, were it not for thousands of strategi-cally placed CO2 reactive dampers in the upper atmo-sphere, it would long ago have been transformed into a lifeless rock by a rampant atmospheric degeneration.

  An endless ring of titanic skyscrapers girded Cor-uscant around its equator, some of them tall enough to pierce the upper fringes of atmosphere. Similar, if shorter structures could be found almost anyplace on the globe. It was those rarefied upper levels, spacious and clean, that constituted most peoples' conception of the galactic capital.

  But all visions of soaring beauty and wealth, no matter how stately, must be grounded somewhere, somehow. Along the equatorial strip, below the low-est stratum of air traffic, beneath the illuminated sky-walks and the glittering facades, lay another view of Coruscant. There, sunlight never penetrated; the end-less city night was lit only by flickering neon holo-projections advertising sleazy attractions and shady businesses. Spider-roaches and huge armored rats in-fested the shadows, and hawk-bats with wingspans of up to one and a half meters roosted in the rafters of deserted structures. This was the underbelly of Corus-cant, unseen and unacknowledged by the wealthy, be-longing solely to the disenfranchised and the damned.

  This was the part of Coruscant that Lorn Pavan called home.

  The meeting place had been suggested by the Toy-darian; it was a dingy building at the back of a dead-end street. Lorn and his droid, I-Five, had to step over a Rodian sleeping in a pile of rags near the recessed entrance.

  "I've often wondered," the protocol droid said as they entered, "if your clientele all subscribe to the same service-the one listing the most disgusting and disreputable places in the galaxy to meet." Lorn made no reply. He had wondered the same thing on occasion himself.

  Inside was a small lobby, most of its space taken up by a ticket booth made of yellowing plasteel. In the booth a balding human male lounged in a formfit chair. He looked up incuriously when they entered. "Booth five's open," he grunted, jerking his thumb at one of a series of doors lining the lobby's circular wall. "One credit for a half hour." He looked at I-Five, then said to Lorn, "If you're taking the droid in, you gotta sign a release form." "We're here for Zippa," Lorn told him.

  The proprietor glanced at them again, then shifted his bulk and pressed a button with a grimy finger. "Booth nine," he said.

  The holobooth was even smaller than the lobby, which meant it was barely big enough to contain the four who were now crowded into it. Lorn and I-Five stood behind the single contour couch that faced the transmitter plate. Zippa hovered slightly above the plate, facing them, the sound of his rapidly beating wings providing a constant background buzz. The dim light darkened his mottled blue skin to an un-healthy shade of purplish-black.

  Behind the Toydarian stood another, bulkier form; Lorn could tell that it was nonhuman, but the light was too faint for him to guess its species. He wished that Zippa would stop hovering: whatever the being behind the Toydarian was, it stank like a silage bin at high noon, and the breeze generated by Zippa's wings wasn't helping matters any. It was obvious that Zippa hadn't been any too fastidious about bathing lately, as well, but fortunately the Toydarian's body odor wasn't offensive; in fact, it reminded Lorn of sweetspice.

  "Lorn Pavan," Zippa said, his voice somehow sounding faintly of static, as if it were tuned just a hair off true. "Good to see you again, my friend. It has been too long." "Good to see you again, too, Zippa," Lorn replied. Thinking, you really had to hand it to the old crook. Nobody could fake sincerity like he could. In reality, the best thing that could be said about Zippa was that he would never stab you in the back unless it was ab-solutely... expedient.

  Zippa changed the angle of his wings slightly, ro-tating to one side as he gestured to the shadowy mass in the corner. "This is Bilk, an... associate of mine." Bilk stepped forward slightly, and Lorn could now see him well enough to recognize him as a Gamorrean. That explained the stench.

  "Pleased to meet you, Bilk." He gestured at I-Five. "This is my associate, I-FiveYQ. I-Five, for short." "Charmed," I-Five said dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, Til shut off my olfactory sensor before it overloads." Zippa turned his bulbous gaze toward the droid. "Chut-chut! A droid with a sense of humor! This I like. You want to sell him?" The Toydarian drifted closer and slightly higher, the better to evaluate I-Five's worth. "Looks pretty cobbled together. Are those Cybot G7 powerbus cables? Haven't seen them used in years.

  Still, he might be worth something as a curi-osity. I'll give you fifty creds for him." Lorn kicked the droid in his lower left servomotor coupling before I-Five could voice an indignant pro-test. "Thanks for the offer, but I-Five's not mine to sell. We're business partners." Zippa stared at Lorn for a moment, then broke into a wheezing laugh. "You got a weird sense of humor, Lorn. I never know when you're kidding. Still, I like you." .

  Bilk suddenly narrowed his beady eyes and rumbled deep in his throat, leaning truculently toward I-Five. Probably only just now realizing that the droid's ear-lier remark had been an insult, Lorn surmised. Gamor-reans weren't the brightest species in the galaxy, not by several decimal places.

  Zippa drifted in front of his hulking bodyguard. "Relax, Bilk. We're all good friends here." He turned back toward Lorn. "My friend, this is your lucky day." The Toydarian dug knobby fingers into a pouch and pulled out a palm-sized crystal cube, which glowed a dull red in the semidarkness of the booth. "What I have here is an authentic Jedi Holocron, reliably chronon-dated to be five thousand years old. This cube contains secrets of the ancient Jedi Knights." He held the cube at Lorn's eye level. "For an artifact such as this, you must agree that no price is too great.

  Never-theless, all I am asking is a measly twenty thousand credits." Lorn made no attempt to touch the object that the fence held before him. "Most interesting, and cer-tainly a fair price," he said. "If it is what you claim it is." Zippa looked affronted. "Nifft! You doubt my word?" Bilk growled and cracked one set of knuckles against the horny palm of his other hand. They sounded like bones snapping.

  "No, of course not. I'm sure you believe what you say is true. But there are many unscrupulous vendors out there, and even someone with your discerning eye might conceivably be taken in. All I'm asking for is a little empirical proof." Zippa twisted his snout into a grin, exposing teeth scrimshawed with the remnants of his
last meal. "And how do you propose we get this proof ? A Jedi Holocron can be activated only by someone who can use the Force. Is there something you're not telling me, Lorn? Are you perhaps a closet Jedi?" Lorn felt himself go cold. He stepped forward and grabbed Zippa by his fleekskin vest, jerking the sur-prised Toydarian toward him. Bilk growled and lunged at Lorn, then stopped cold as a hair-thin laser beam scorched his scalp between his horns.

  "Settle down," I-Five said pleasantly, lowering the index finger from which the beam had iked, "and I won't have to show you the other special modifica-tions I've had installed." Ignoring the face-off between the droid and the Gamorrean, Lorn spoke in a low voice to Zippa. "I know that was intended as a joke-which is why I'm letting you live. But don't ever-ever-say anything like that to me again." He glared into the Toydarian's protruding watery eyes for a moment longer, then re-leased him.

  Zippa quickly assumed a position just behind Bilk, wings beating harder than ever. Lorn could see him swallow the surprise and anger he was undoubtedly feeling as he smoothed away the wrinkles in his vest. Inwardly, Lorn cursed himself; he knew it was a mis-take to let his temper get the best of him. He needed this deal; he couldn't afford to antagonize the Toy-darian fence. But Zippa's remark had taken him by surprise.

  "Touched a nerve, looks like," Zippa said. During the altercation he had held on to the Holocron; now he stuffed it back into his belt pouch. "I didn't know I was dealing with someone so... temperamental. Maybe I should find another buyer.** "Maybe," Lorn replied. "And maybe I should just take the cube and pay you what it's worth-which I figure is about five thousand creds." He saw Zippa's cavernous nostrils flare. The Toy-darian couldn't resist bargaining, even with someone who had laid hands on him. "Five thousand? Pfaht First you assault me, then you insult me! Twenty thou-sand is a fair price. However," he continued, stroking his stubbly, practically nonexistent chin, "it's obvious that you've had some sort of bad experience with the Jedi. I am not without compassion. In recognition of your past tragedy I might be persuaded to lower my price to eighteen thousand-but not a decicred lower." "And I am not without some remorse for my be-havior. As a gesture of apology, I'll raise my offer to eight thousand. Take it or leave it." "Fifteen thousand. I'm cutting my own throat here." "Ten thousand." "Twelve." Zippa leaned back in midair, folding his spindly arms in a gesture of finality.

  "Done," Lorn said. He had been ready to go as high as fifteen, but of course there was no reason for Zippa to know that. He pulled a thick wad of Republic credits from a belt compartment and began counting them. Most transactions uplevels were handled by electronic credit chips, but few people used the chips down here. Zippa brought the Holocron back into view and handed it to Lorn simultaneously with Lorn handing him the bills.

  Lorn accepted the cube. "Well," he said, "it's been a pleasure doing-" He left the sentence unfinished when he saw that Bilk was now pointing a blaster di-rectly at I-Five's recharge coupling. Zippa, his smile now decidedly unpleasant, floated forward and plucked the Holocron and the remainder of the credits from Lorn's hand.

  "I'm afraid in this case the pleasure is all mine," the Toydarian said as both Lorn and I-Five raised their hands. Then Zippa's smile vanished, and the next words came out in a sinister hiss. "No one ever threatens me and lives to tell about it." One three-fingered hand made a pass before a sensor plate, and the booth door slid open. Til tell the proprietor that booth nine will be needing some extra cleaning," he said as he exited. "Hurry up, Bilk-I want to find another buyer for this item." The booth door closed after Zippa's departure. It was impossible to tell if the piglike snout of the Gamorrean was smiling, but Lorn was pretty sure it was.

  "What's the galaxy coming to when you can't trust a Toydarian fence," he said to I-Five.

  "Disgraceful," the droid agreed. "It just makes me want to... scream." Lorn still had his hands raised, and now he quickly jammed his two index fingers into his ears as deeply as he could as a deafening high-pitched screech came from I-Five's vocabulator. Even with his ears plugged, the volume was excruciatingly painful. Bilk, caught with no defense, reacted exactly as they had hoped he would: he howled in pain and reflexively clapped both hands over his ears, dropping the blaster in the process.

  I-Five stopped the scream, caught the weapon be-fore it could hit the floor, and in another second was aiming it at Bilk. The Gamorrean either didn't notice this fact or was too enraged to care. Snarling, he lunged at Lorn and the droid.

  The particle beam punched through Bilk's armored chest plate, seared its way through various internal or-gans, and exited between the shoulder blades. The beam's intense heat instantly cauterized the wound, stopping any visible bleeding-not that that mattered much to Bilk. He dropped to the floor like a sack of meat, which was essentially what he had become.

  Lorn waved his hand over the exit plate, and the panel snapped open again. "Come on-before Zippa gets away!" he shouted to the droid as he charged through the lobby. The proprietor barely glanced up as they dashed by.

  They both emerged into the dim light of the dead-end street, Lorn now holding the blaster, which I-Five had tossed to him. But there was no sign of Zippa. No doubt he had heard I-Five's scream, realized Bilk's probable fate, and let his wings carry him out of sight as fast as possible.

  Lorn slammed a fist against the graffiti-scarred wall. "Great," he groaned.

  "That's just great. Fifteen thou-sand credits and the cube gone. And I had someone on the hook to pay fifty thousand for an authentic Holocron." "Perhaps if you hadn't committed that slight blunder earlier..." Lorn turned and glared at I-Five, who continued, "But now may not be the most appropriate time to discuss it." Lorn took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Dusk was falling fast. "Come on," he said. "We'd better get out of this sector before the Raptors find us. That would be the perfect end to the day." "So," I-Five said as they started walking, "was it a real Jedi Holocron?" "I didn't get a chance to examine it closely. But from the cuneiform on it, I'd say it was even rarer than that. I think it was a Sith Holocron." Lorn shook his head in disgust-mostly self-disgust. He knew I-Five was right; his burst of temper had probably precipi-tated Zippa's reneging. He'd dealt with the Toydarian before and never been double-crossed. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  But there was no point in self-flagellation. He was out of credits, and this was a bad part of Coruscant to be in with no assets. He needed a hustle, and he needed it soon-or he might very likely wind up as dead as Bilk.

  Not at all a comforting thought.

  CHAPTER 3 Darsha Assant stood before the Jedi Council. This was a moment of glory that she had dreamed about ever since she had begun her Padawan training. For nearly her entire life the world within the Jedi Temple had been, to all extents and purposes, her only world. During those years she had studied, had practiced weapon and bare-hand forms, had sat in meditation for hours on end, and-in many ways the most difficult task of all-had learned to sense and manipulate, to a small degree, the power of the Force.

  And now she was close to the culmination of her training. Now she stood in the topmost chamber of the spire known as the Jedi Council, with its spec-tacular view of the planetary city spreading away in all directions to the far horizon.

  Seated in twelve chairs around the perimeter of the rotunda were the members of the council. Though she had seen them but rarely during her years of training-indeed, this was only the fourth time she had been in the Council Chamber-she knew their names and histories well from her studies. Adi Gallia. Plo Koon. Eeth Koth. The ancient and venerable Yoda.

  And, of course, Mace Windu, a senior member of the council. Dar-sha felt more than a little giddy just being in the pres-ence of this august company.

  At least she was not standing there alone. Behind her and slightly to one side was her mentor, Anoon Bondara. Master Bondara epitomized what Darsha hoped to become one day. The Twi'lek Jedi Master lived in the Force. Always still and complacent as a pool of unknown depth, he was nevertheless one of the best fighters in the order. His skill with a ligh
tsaber was second to none. Darsha hoped that one day she might be able to exhibit a tenth of Anoon Bondara's adeptness.

  Darsha had entered the order at the age of two, so like most of her comrades she had no real memories of any place other than the cloistered hallways and chambers of the Temple. Master Bondara had been parent and teacher to her for as long as she could re-member. She found it hard to conceive of a life in which her Jedi mentor was not involved.

  Yet now she was taking a big step into just that sort of life. For today she would be given the final assign-ment of her Padawan training. If she completed it suc-cessfully, she would be deemed worthy to assume the mantle of a Jedi Knight.

  It was still so hard to believe. She had been or-phaned in infancy on the planet Alderaan and was being raised as a state foundling when Master Bon-dara happened across her in his travels. Even as an in-fant she had shown strong Force tendencies, so she was told, and she had been brought to Coruscant in hopes of qualifying for training. Darsha knew she had been phenomenally lucky. As an orphan raised by the state, her best hope would have been some obscure midlevel government job.