by Jude Watson
What was my name? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. My former name represents a death, not a life. I died and was born into the Sith. I was found by my Master and taken as a baby. My parents might have looked for me. But no one in the galaxy can track a Sith who doesn’t want to be found. They were powerless.
Another lesson from my Master:
The feelings of the powerless do not matter.
The feelings of those with power can be exploited.
My Master saved me. Without him, I would have been a superior being trapped in an ordinary life. He recognized even then the latent power within, the fury that raised me above all others, even as a young child. He showed me how the dark side makes that power flourish and grow. Tapping into anger and aggression fuels us. Someday I will grind that fact into the startled faces of the Jedi.
Our tradition is rich and deep. The Sith are an order almost as old as the Jedi. Our founder was a Jedi Knight who saw the truth—he knew that ignoring the dark side of the Force was foolish. Embracing it was the key to power. The Council did not have his vision. Cruelly, they banished him.
He did not slink away like a thief. He began the Sith order and enticed others to join. He planned to build an order that would defy the Temple itself. It did not take long for others to see his wisdom and leave the Temple to join him.
It was a glorious beginning. The only mistake the Sith made in the early years was that they allowed their members to become too powerful, too cunning. When you base an order on the idea of supreme domination, you create problems. The Sith Lords plotted against one another. Eventually, they destroyed one another.
But the last Sith was the smartest of all. It was he who devised the brilliant strategy that has kept us secret for a thousand years and allowed us to grow in the shadow of the dark side.
The genius of the strategy was its simplicity. Only two. Only two Sith are allowed to exist at one time—Master and apprentice.
It is because of our strength that we can do this. We don’t need a Temple full of brats to nurse and train. We don’t need a Council full of whining debaters. We don’t need a corps of Knights to poke their noses into business that doesn’t concern them just to inflate their own egos. Two of us are enough.
My earliest memories are of my Master. I learned discipline as soon as I learned to walk. If my Master deprived me of food or shelter in order to teach me, it was always a lesson of great value. If I was confined, if I was ignored, if I suffered, it doesn’t matter. A child cries when his belly is empty, when he hears a food cart rattle by his door, smells his dinner, and yet the food cart rolls on. He does not understand that this pain makes him stronger.
A punishment is a lesson, young Maul. Learn it well.
I soon learned not to cry.
Here is an example of the good my punishments did me. I was a small boy, no higher than my Master’s hip. Often I was taken to a desolate planet for outdoor exercises. There I learned how to use the dark side of the Force. Once during my training in a desolate field, a dinko surprised me. It is a nasty, palm-sized creature with sharp fangs and an aggressive disposition. Its twin grasping claws have been known to grab onto a finger or nose of a victim and not let go.
The dinko secretes stinking venom when startled. When I came across it, I flinched, and the venom sprayed against my face, stinging my eyes. I howled, then stomped it with my boot. I looked over at my Master, pleased at my courage.
“You flinched,” he said. “You were afraid of the dinko?”
“Yes, Master,” I answered. “But I controlled my fear.” I said this with the certainty of the child that I was. My Master nodded, but I knew he was displeased.
I knew a punishment would come. Yet that evening I ate my usual meal. I was not confined in the sensory deprivation suit. I was not forced to sleep on the hard floor. The heat was not turned off.
It was the same the next day, and the next. Nothing disturbed my routine. Finally I forgot about the incident. I was young.
Then one night after a particularly exhausting day I went to my quarters. My door hissed closed. I undressed in the darkness and turned back the coverlet on my mat. A dinko jumped straight at me.
Startled, I batted it away, but I missed it when I tried to stomp on it. I hesitated, afraid its claws would tear into my bare foot. Then another dinko jumped out from a corner. Then another. And another. The room was filled with them.
Frantic, I ran to the door. It would not open. The lights would not work. In the darkness one dinko jumped on my shoulder and dug its claws into my ear. Another latched on to a toe. I cried and screamed, trying to shake them off. The venom blinded me. I bounced against the walls, trying to crush them. The stench of their venom turned my stomach.
It took me a long time to kill them all. In the morning my door opened and my Master stood there. He saw my inflamed skin, my swollen eyes, my bloody hands and feet. The stench of my room rolled out at him.
“Do not flinch again,” he said.
The punishment is a lesson. My Lord Sidious taught me well. There could be no better teacher. Look at the result—my body is hard, and my mind is harder.
Always remember, my apprentice: Anger is a living thing. Feed it and it will grow.
I learned to see through the eyes of my Master. He showed me the galaxy and explained it in terms of power—who had it, who did not. He showed me that vast resources are there for the taking. The concerns of most beings are petty. Food and shelter are nothing. Love or devotion to a fellow being, a world, or a cause is not only a distraction but a danger, for it can be used against you. I have seen my Master use that weakness in others for his own ends. Did you know that there are those willing to die for someone they love? So puzzling.
I am willing to die for my Master, of course. But he is not just a being. He is a tradition, a heritage, an ideal. Someday I will be Master and have my own apprentice. He will be willing to die for me.
I am ready for whatever honor my fate chooses to show me. If my Master does not survive this mission, I will take over the role of Master and find my own apprentice. I am prepared.
Of course he will survive. But if he does not, I will not shrink from the task of achieving the same greatness. I have trained all my life for it.
The next contact from the Neimoidians doesn’t take long in coming. When my Master summons me, he has a look of irritation on his face. He dons his hooded robe. No one but me can know his identity.
Remember, Maul: What is done in secret has great power.
“Remain in the background,” Lord Sidious directs me. “I may need you. Who knows what those Neimoidian slugs have managed to bungle this time.”
He summons the ship. I stay out of the range of the hologram device. My heart beats faster. Have the Neimoidians succeeded in killing the Jedi ambassadors?
Nute starts out with the good news.
Those who serve you always start out with good news. Do not be blinded by their self-congratulation. The more they blather, the more they are trying to cover their mistakes.
Nute tells my Master about the Trade Federation’s successes. They control the cities in the north and west of Naboo. Thousands have been rounded up. They are searching for settlements that might contain pockets of resistance, but these pockets are isolated and small. Nute puffs up with his success, but his eyes dart nervously. When you rule by fear, you come to recognize the signs.
Lord Sidious directs him to destroy all the high-ranking officials quietly. Then he asks if Queen Amidala has signed the treaty.
There is a fraction of hesitation before Nute responds. I recognize the sign of an underling reluctant to impart bad news. My Master waits, saying nothing.
Queen Amidala has disappeared. Her ship got past the blockade.
This is worse news than we expected. How could the Neimoidians have bungled such an easy job?
“I want that treaty signed!” my Master thunders.
Impossible, Nute protests, his eyes glassy with fear. The ship is well
out of their range…
My Master controls himself. It is time to address the situation, find a solution.
“Not for a Sith,” my Master responds.
Yes, not for a Sith. He motions to me, and I step forward. Lord Sidious tells the Neimoidians my name, and that I will find the lost ship.
I see the look of surprise and dismay on Nute and his officer Rune Haako’s ugly faces. They try to conceal it, but nothing can be concealed from a Sith.
Lesser beings can consolidate your power for you, and sometimes, they can amuse you. Nute and Rune look at my warrior markings and my horns, and try not to back away from the image. I give them my fiercest look. A savage appearance can strike fear in the hearts of the weak. You don’t have to say a word.
Nute looks from Darth Sidious to me.
Yes, fools. There are two of us.
My Master cuts the transmission. “Those incompetents have performed worse than my lowest expectations,” he tells me. “Queen Amidala must sign that treaty.” His face is taut with his rage. “The Jedi are behind this, of course. They are becoming a nuisance and must be eliminated. Find them.”
I’ve been waiting for just this moment. “I will find them, Master,” I tell him. “I will not fail.”
Finding the Jedi and Queen Amidala in a vast galaxy doesn’t worry me.
The Sith have many methods of tracking, some of which I cannot reveal, even in my own journal. Connection traces, instinct, logic, bribes, our own brilliance… our resources are many. Our range is as vast as the galaxy. My Master has shown me time and again that there is nothing too small to escape his notice, no system far enough out of reach, no ship that can’t be found if you have the patience and cunning to look.
It doesn’t take us long to narrow the search to one small planet in the Outer Rim Territories: Tatooine. It won’t take long to find the precise coordinates of the landing site. They are in our grasp.
Lord Sidious summons me, and I come to his side. Together we look out over the lights of Coruscant. I know my Master feels the same exhilaration I do.
He has planned carefully, step by step. Caution. Guile. Subterfuge. Hidden motives, secret acts. I have watched my Master use all of these to get to this point. Now at last we will have no need to hide our power.
“They have accepted a communication from Sio Bibble,” Lord Sidious tells me. “They haven’t answered it. But we can be reasonably sure that they’re still on Tatooine.”
“Tatooine is sparsely populated. If the trace was correct, I will find them quickly, Master.”
Lord Sidious tells me that I have been well trained, and the Jedi are no match for me. Although I know this already, it gratifies me to hear it. My Master does not praise me often.
“At last we will reveal ourselves to the Jedi,” I say. “At last we will have revenge.”
“It is too late for them to stop us now,” my Master agrees, his voice soft. I can feel the strength ripple underneath the purr, the cruelty, the hard purpose that fires my own. “Everything is going as planned,” he continues, his eyes on the vast city. “The Republic will soon be under my control.”
And mine, Master. For I stand by your side.
I leave my Master and hurry to the concealed landing platform. My transport is always ready.
My Sith Infiltrator is not a large craft, but it has a powerful hyperdrive. Time is crucial now. We feel quite certain that the Queen’s ship sustained some damage while escaping the blockade. There can be no other reason for landing on such a desolate planet in the Outer Rim. I suggested that Queen Amidala might be hiding out while she makes plans to retake her planet, but Lord Sidious shook his head.
“She is not so brave,” he said. “She still trusts the power of the Senate. No, that is not why they landed on Tatooine. And the reason is not your concern. Just find them.”
When I come out of hyperspace, I pick up a distress signal from a nearby ship. I ignore it. I always ignore distress signals. What are the petty problems of others next to my mission?
Soon I can see the ship on my viewscreen. It is a small space cruiser stalled in a shipping lane. The distress signal grows more frantic as I pass it by. Someone pleads for help. Let the Jedi come to the aid of pathetic ships. Sith have more important tasks.
Suddenly, a large bulk freighter appears out of hyperspace. At first I assume it is coming to the aid of the stalled ship. But to my surprise, the stalled ship suddenly wheels around and heads straight for me, the bulk freighter maneuvering into position on the other side. They surround me in a pincer movement. Panels slide back, and I see that the innocent-looking bulk freighter is equipped with proton torpedoes.
Then I understand. Pirates. Togorian pirates, most likely. The fiercest and the most ruthless in the galaxy.
I beat the console with my fist. Fool! I should have been on my guard. How could I have left myself open like this? They have me surrounded.
Now that they have seen me, I must kill them. The mission is too important to have witnesses.
I try a series of maneuvers to slip between or around them. The bulk freighter quickly veers to cut me off. The cruiser dogs my flank. Togorians are expert pilots. A chase or late activation of the cloak would only draw more attention.
Nothing is a sufficient reason for failure.
All of these calculations run through my mind in swift seconds as the first ship fires at me. I have set the deflection shields, but the blow rocks the ship alarmingly. They have powerful weapons. I’m sure the shot was meant as a warning.
There is only one recourse.
I cut power. The ship hangs, stalled. I turn off the deflection shields.
It’s a slight gamble, but I’m rarely wrong. The next shot from the proton torpedoes could turn me and the ship into space dust. I wait, withdrawn back on the bridge so they can’t see me, even with electrotelescopes. The fools are most likely puzzled and wary.
The smaller decoy ship heads toward me. No doubt they mean to board my ship and kill all aboard. They haven’t fired again because they want the ship, too. The Sith Infiltrator is impressive. They haven’t seen anything like it before.
Irritation courses through me at this interruption. I will defeat them, but it will take time.
I race to the back of the ship. I activate the release for the escape pod and climb inside. The pod is smaller than most. It has barely enough room for me.
I wait until I see the pirate ship approach. Then I slide the release and drift out into space. I keep the engine on low power and hug the hull.
When I’m sure the pirates have all boarded, I take off, carefully keeping my ship between me and the bulk freighter. The freighter has drawn closer, greedily awaiting the outcome. They think that those aboard are prepared to surrender.
I could escape them easily and pilot the pod to Tatooine. But I will not surrender my ship.
I head for the pirate ship, straight into the heart of my enemy. A shipload of space pirates is no match for me. I will ram their greed down their throats.
They will live to regret an attack on a Sith.
I ease my craft around the hull of the bulk freighter. These ships are not built for graceful speed. They are basically boxes with hyperdrives. This ship is uglier than most. It is caked with grime and space dust. The hull is battered and pockmarked with cannonfire.
The docking bay is open, no doubt in preparation to receive my captured ship. I fly into the opening and land. The docking bay looks worse than the ship’s exterior. Against the walls are stacked metal containers that spill their contents onto the filthy floor. Spare parts are simply dumped in greasy piles. The remains of meals are scattered about, as though the pirates drop bones and food when they are finished. The lights are only on halfpower, leaving the corners in deep shadow.
My Master told me once that the greedy are the first to economize. He has never been proven wrong.
There are only two pirates in the docking bay. Togorians are tall beings of great strength, covered in fur that t
he pirates wear long and matted. Their claws are fierce and sharp. The pirates use their claws to slit open crates to see what is inside. When they hear my ship, they look up, then look down again. They assume that a fellow pirate has landed the pod.
What stupidity. This will be too easy.
I register all this, but I do not see beings as others do. Under normal circumstances, I barely register other living creatures, unless they are threats or obstacles. When I go into battle they cease to be living beings at all. They become targets.
I open the hatch and leap out of the pod to charge them, my lightsaber activated. The targets freeze for an instant, but then they move fast. Roaring and spitting, they grab weapons from a pile near them. The dull-witted cretins don’t use strategy; they just rush at me like barbarians, one with a vibroblade, the other with a vibro-ax. The one with the ax is clumsy. The other favors his left side.
I see all this as I leap. At the crest of my arc, my lightsaber is high in the air. I twist slightly to attack the first pirate from his right side. When the lightsaber comes down on his shoulder, it has all the force of my body behind the blow. He goes down with a surprised grunt, his arm and vibroblade clattering to the floor. I deliver another blow, piercing his chest, and he is still.
I move aside as the second pirate wields his vibro-ax. I am fluid as water and slip through his opening like a breeze. He grunts in frustration at his inability to touch me. This pirate is bigger than the first, taller than I am. His fur gives off a rank, sour smell.
Then he surprises me. Instead of coming at me, he wheels around and runs. I realize quickly that he’s heading for the comlink station near the door. I can’t have that. I can’t have him alert the entire ship to my presence.
Move in secret, when you can. The blow in the darkness is the killing blow.
