Then he heard something: the distinctive sound of the skycar’s damaged engine. He let his awareness expand on the ripples of the Force, and what he sensed brought a dark smile of satisfaction to his face.
The skycar—with his prey—was returning.
Darsha could not believe it at first when Master Bondara leapt from the skycar onto the Sith’s speeder bike. Her first action was reflexive; she slowed the skycar, intending to go to her mentor’s aid.
“What are you doing?” Pavan shouted. “He said head for the Temple!”
“I’m not going to abandon him to that monster!” Darsha shouted back. She saw the speeder bike shoot past them, then rise and head for a docking ledge that protruded from a dilapidated building.
“He knows what he’s doing,” the droid told her. “Are you prepared to make his sacrifice meaningless?”
Darsha knew the droid’s words made sense, but she didn’t care. After all, she had made one mistake after another in the past several hours; why stop now? She had gone far past the point of worrying about the consequences of her actions; all she knew was that she could not leave Master Bondara to battle the Sith alone. It was hard for her to conceive of a situation in which her mentor could be bested in combat, but if anyone was capable of it, she had the feeling the Sith was that one.
She slowed the skycar and brought it around, heading back toward the landing ledge—and realized she had a problem. The damaged repulsor array had fixed the vehicle’s ceiling, and the platform was a good ten meters above them. Her ascension gun was still, as far as she knew, attached to the monad, nearly a kilometer from her present position.
It would be no problem to leap ten meters straight up; in training exercises she had used the Force to help her perform jumps higher than that. To assay such a leap onto a narrow platform and into the midst of a raging lightsaber duel was a considerably more complex undertaking, however. It would do Master Bondara no good for her to get herself killed by the Sith.
Still, there was no other choice. Her mentor might sense the skycar’s presence and leap back into it, but there was no guarantee he would be able to do so in the heat of battle. Darsha brought the skycar to a hovering stop below and to one side of the ledge. Above her, the two dueling figures were hidden by the ferrocrete slab, but she could see the variegated flashes and hear the angry buzzing and screeching of the lightsabers as they clashed. She had to take action, now. She stood, pulled her lightsaber from its belt hook, and prepared to leap.
And the world suddenly dissolved in a burst of blinding light and a deafening roar.
Darth Maul had seen the grim realization in the eyes of his foe: the knowledge that the Twi’lek could not defeat his adversary. Once defeat was conceded in the mind, its reality was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.
He pressed his attack to an even higher intensity, driving the Jedi back toward his speeder bike, intending to pin him between the dual-bladed lightsaber and the bike. With his movements thus constricted, it would be mere moments before the Twi’lek’s tentacled head was separated from his neck.
But then he saw the desperation in the other’s face suddenly give way to realization, and then to triumph. Quickly, before Maul could intuit what was intended, the Jedi whirled toward the speeder bike, raised his lightsaber—and plunged it to the hilt into the bike’s repulsor drive housing.
Maul realized his suicidal intention, but too late. The superheated energy blade melted with lightning swiftness through the housing and sank into the bike’s power cell core. Maul turned and leapt from the platform, reaching for the dark side, enfolding himself in it even as the power cell exploded, the heat and pressure wave vaporizing the Jedi in a microsecond and then expanding, reaching hungrily for him, as well.
The landing platform shielded the skycar from the main force of the explosion; otherwise the three passengers would not have survived. Even so, the shock wave hurled Darsha from her standing position back over the rear of the craft. She would have plunged to the street below had Lorn not grabbed her wrist as she fell past him. I-Five lunged for the controls and fought to stabilize the vehicle, which was pitching and yawing wildly. For an instant that felt like an eternity Darsha hung over the abyss, too stunned to use the Force to help lift herself to safety—and then Lorn managed to pull her back into the rear seat compartment.
But the danger was not yet over; the explosion had caused the platform to break free of its supports. It began to collapse, sagging away from the building wall. As it did so, Darsha caught a glimpse of the Sith’s dark form hurtling from the ledge into the darkness below. The buckling platform clipped the skycar’s side, sending it spinning out of control toward the street, as well.
I-Five fought with the controls and managed to level out as the vehicle reached the ground. The spectators drawn to the scene by the explosion scattered in panic as the skycar pancaked to a rough landing.
Darsha, half-stunned, was vaguely aware of an insistent beeping that was rising in frequency and tone. Even as realization of what the beeping signified penetrated her dazed brain, she felt herself seized in a powerful grip and pulled from the wrecked skycar. As she stumbled across the litter-strewn pavement she realized the droid was dragging her and Lorn Pavan away from the vehicle.
“Hurry,” she mumbled. “Power cell’s on overload …”
“A fact of which I am quite aware,” I-Five replied. He stopped before a kiosk. A sign on the door read KEEP OUT in Basic, but the droid ignored this and blasted the lock with a laser beam that shot from his left index finger.
Within the kiosk was a narrow, dimly lit stairwell. The three of them hurried down it as, behind them, the alarm beeps reached a crescendo. A moment later a second, more powerful explosion rocked the area. Darsha felt the stairwell shift and shudder as if in the throes of a temblor. The light went out, she felt herself falling—and then she knew no more.
PART II
LABYRINTH
Nute Gunray was in his suite on board the Saak’ak, trying to enjoy a mildew rubdown and failing utterly, when his private comlink chimed. His masseuse had slathered his naked form with liquefied green mold and was industriously kneading the muscle nodules of his upper back, which were so tight with tension that he could hear them crackle.
At his grunted acknowledgment, the image of Rune Haako formed near the massage table. The barrister did not look happy, but that in itself meant little; Neimoidians as a species rarely looked happy.
“I have news,” Haako said in a low voice.
“Come to my quarters,” Gunray replied, and the holoimage flickered out.
Whatever news Haako had for him was best heard in person, in the privacy of his sanctum. Even though there was supposedly no one on board the freighter who was not loyal to him and his cause, the viceroy was taking no chances. He knew very well just how easily the allegiance of his cohorts and underlings could be bought.
He dismissed the masseuse, donned a vermilion robe, and paced restlessly, awaiting Haako’s arrival. The intricacies of protocol dictated that he be sitting at ease in a couch or chair, his nonchalant attitude conveying the impression that, no matter what news Haako might be bearing, it could not possibly be important enough to cause him any concern. But he was beyond caring about such formalities at this point. There had been no word for nearly forty-eight hours from the bounty hunter they had engaged, and no news of Hath Monchar’s whereabouts or plans. At any moment he expected to see the holographic presence of Darth Sidious materialize again before him, demanding that he once more assemble his gang of four to continue discussions concerning the Naboo blockade. And what would happen when Gunray was still not able to account for Monchar’s absence? He winced as the mere thought of such a conversation with Sidious caused his gut sac to fill with acidic bile. He knew he was building a world-class ulcer in his lower abdomen, but there didn’t seem to be much he could do to stop it.
The door panel slid open, and Haako entered. A moment later Daultay Dofine entered, as well. Gu
nray steeled himself; one look at his compatriots’ hunched postures and furtive miens assured him that he was not about to hear good news.
“I have just heard from the consular representative at our embassy on Coruscant,” Haako said. His willingness to skip the preamble of verbal fencing and get right to the subject was ample evidence that his concern was just as great as Gunray’s. “One of our people has been killed there.”
Gunray had to will his salivary glands to moisten his palate before he was able to speak. “Was it Monchar?”
“At this point, we don’t know for certain,” Dofine said. “There was evidently an explosion, although the investigation is unclear as to whether that was the cause of death. Genetic ID verification is pending.”
“However,” Haako continued, lowering his voice and peering about as if he expected Darth Sidious to appear at any moment, “a piece of singed cloth that was once part of a miter of the office of deputy viceroy was found at the scene.”
Nute Gunray closed his eyes and tried to imagine what life as a mulch farmer back on Neimoidia would be like.
“In addition,” Dofine said, “several other bodies were discovered at the scene of the explosion. One has been conclusively identified: the bounty hunter Mahwi Lihnn.”
Mulch farming probably had its good points, Gunray told himself. For one thing, the possibility of having to deal with the Sith in his new occupation was very unlikely.
“I think we must admit the conclusion that Hath Monchar is no longer among the living,” Rune Haako said. He began to wring his hands as though he was twisting the life out of a swamp toad he planned to have for a snack.
“This is a disaster,” Dofine whined. “What will we tell Lord Sidious?”
What indeed? the viceroy of the Federation wondered. Oh, there was no shortage of lies that they could come up with—but would Sidious believe any of them? That was the all-important question. And the answer, much as Gunray hated to admit it, was, almost certainly not. The Sith Lord’s cowled face rose unbidden before his mental vision, and he could not help but shudder. Those eyes, hidden deep in that hooded cloak, could penetrate subterfuge and dissimulation as easily as X rays penetrated flesh and illuminated the bones within for all to see.
But what other option was there? Though the thought of doing so galled him on a very fundamental level, Gunray knew that they could simply admit the truth: that Monchar had absconded, to where and for what reason they did not know—although anyone with the brains of an oxygen-starved Gamorrean could extrapolate that fairly quickly. But the truth had its own built-in hazards, chief among which was the fact that it had not been presented when Sidious first noticed Monchar’s absence.
Veracity and prevarication seemed equally dangerous here. It was a Neimoidian’s worst nightmare: a situation from which it was impossible to worm one’s way out. Gunray looked down and saw that he was wringing his own hands every bit as industriously as were Rune Haako and Daultay Dofine.
Only one thing was certain. Soon—very soon—they would have to tell the Sith Lord something.
Jedi Master Yoda entered the conference antechamber, a smaller room off to one side of the Council Chamber. Mace Windu and Qui-Gon Jinn were already seated at the pleekwood table. Behind them a floor-to-ceiling transparisteel window offered a panoramic view of the endless architectural welter that was Coruscant and its continuous streams of air traffic.
Yoda moved slowly toward one of the chairs. He leaned on his gimer-stick cane as he walked, and Windu had to suppress a smile as he watched Yoda’s progress. While Yoda was easily the oldest member of the council, being well over 800 standard years of age, he was by no means as decrepit as he sometimes pretended to be. Though it was true that he had slowed slightly in the years that Windu had known him, Yoda’s skill with a lightsaber was still second to none on the council.
Windu waited until his colleague was seated before he spoke. “I have not deemed it necessary to call a general meeting of the council concerning this yet,” he said. “Nevertheless, it is a problem that in my opinion warrants discussion.”
Yoda nodded. “Of the Black Sun matter you speak.”
“Yes—specifically of Oolth the Fondorian, and the Padawan Darsha Assant, who was sent to bring him here.”
“Has there been any word at all from her?” Qui-Gon Jinn asked.
“None. It has been almost forty-eight hours. The mission should not have taken more than four or five at the most.”
“Anoon Bondara is missing, as well,” Yoda said reflectively. “Coincidence I doubt it is.”
“You think Bondara has gone in search of Assant?” Windu asked. Yoda nodded.
“Understandable,” Jinn said. “Assant is his Padawan. If he felt she was in danger, he would look into it.”
“Of course he would,” Windu replied. “But why did he not inform any of us as to his intentions? And why has there been no communication from either of them?”
There was silence for a moment as the three Jedi Masters pondered the questions. Then Yoda said, “Some infraction on her part, perhaps he knew or suspected. Want to protect her from repercussions, he would.”
Jinn nodded. “Anoon has always been one to chafe at rules and restrictions.”
Mace Windu glanced at Jinn and raised an eyebrow. Jinn smiled slightly and shrugged.
“This makes sense to me,” Windu said. “It feels right. But, however noble Anoon Bondara’s intentions, we cannot have him and Assant acting without the knowledge or consent of the council.”
“Agreed we are on this matter,” Yoda said. “Send an investigator we must.”
“Yes,” Windu said. “But who? With the current state of affairs in the Republic Senate, all our senior members are on standby alert, and may continue to be for some time.”
“I have a suggestion,” Qui-Gon Jinn said. “Dispatch my Padawan. If Black Sun is involved, he will be able to sense it.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi? Potentially strong in the Force he is,” Yoda mused. “A good choice he would be.”
Mace Windu nodded slowly. Yoda was right. Though not yet a full-fledged Jedi Knight, Kenobi had amply demonstrated his skills in battle and in negotiation. If anyone could find out what had happened to Bondara and Assant, he could.
The senior member of the council stood. “We are decided, then. Qui-Gon, you will explain the situation to Kenobi and send him on his way as soon as possible. There is something about all this …” Windu was silent for a moment.
“Yes,” Yoda said soberly. “No accident this was.”
Qui-Gon Jinn said nothing; he merely nodded his agreement, then stood. “Obi-Wan will leave for the Crimson Corridor immediately,” he told Windu and Yoda.
“May the Force be with him,” Yoda said softly.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
There is no death; there is the Force.
The Jedi Code was one of the first things Darsha Assant had learned in the Jedi Temple. As a child, she would sit cross-legged on the cold floor for hours at a time, repeating the words over and over, meditating on their meaning, letting that meaning seep into her bones.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
Master Bondara had taught her that this did not mean one should repress one’s emotions. “One of the few things that all intelligent species in the galaxy share is the ability to have feelings. We are creatures of emotion, and to deny those emotions is profoundly unhealthy. But one can feel anger, for example, without being controlled by it. One can grieve without being crippled by grief. The peace of the Force is the foundation upon which the structures of our feelings are built.”
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
“Chance,” the Twi’lek Jedi had told her, “favors the prepared mind.” Certainly the Jedi were among the most prepared in the galaxy as far as that went. She had never seen anyone as awesomely well-educated as Maste
rs Windu, Bondara, Yoda, Jinn, and the many others she had studied under or otherwise come in contact with. She had doubted her ability to hold her own in conversations with them, or even with her fellow Padawans like Obi-Wan and Bant. So she had studied assiduously, almost obsessively, taking advantage of the incredible wealth of wisdom and lore available in the Temple’s libraries and data banks. And she had found that the more she knew, the more she wanted to know. Knowledge was as addictive in its own way as glitterstim.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
At first she had thought this was merely a restating of the code’s first precept. But Master Bondara had explained the difference. Passion, in this context, meant obsession, compulsion, an overweening fixation on something or someone. And serenity was not merely a synonym for peace; rather, it was the state of tranquility that could be reached when one was able to let go of such fixations, when one could be at peace with one’s emotions and had replaced ignorance with knowledge.
Master Bondara had taught her so many things, had helped her forge her life into something far beyond anything she had thought it was her potential and destiny to be. She owed him so much, and now she would never be able to repay him.
There is no death; there is the Force.
Darsha knew that if she had truly internalized the first three maxims of the Jedi Code, she would be able to take comfort from this last one, as well. But it was obvious that she had not reached that stage yet. Because she could find no peace, no serenity, in the knowledge that her mentor was dead.
All she could do was grieve.
She had been in a state of half awareness, her only real emotion that of sorrow, for an unknown amount of time before she was jolted back to consciousness by a building vibration and roar that seemed to be hurtling toward her. She opened her eyes in time to see a huge transport vehicle thunder by, only a meter or so from where she lay. The sound of its passing was deafening; then it was gone, the roar dopplering swiftly away to silence.
Star Wars: Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter Page 12