Star Wars - Episode I Journal - Darth Maul

by Jude Watson

  I draw in the power of the dark side. I focus it toward the pirate. It sends him flying past the station. He hits the wall with a dull thud.

  He turns, staggering, and roars at me in rage. Then he charges. I am expecting this, of course. I wait for his momentum to make him clumsy as he begins his strike an instant too soon. It is easy for me to evade the blow. When he totters, I whip around, my lightsaber twirling, and neatly sever his hand from his wrist. His eyes widen in surprise as he gazes down at the empty place where his hand once was. Then he feels the pain.

  The howl is earsplitting. I have to take care of him fast. One side of my lightsaber slices his neck. The other hits him as he crashes to his knees, then falls over, dead.

  The targets have been eliminated, and I’m not even breathing hard.

  I race toward the bridge down filthy corridors crammed with discarded goods. I meet no one. Pirate ships are not crowded. Togorians are known for their aggressive natures. If too many of them are aboard one ship, fights break out. They have no discipline. Only greed.

  I pause just outside the opening to the bridge. I have moved so quietly that no one has heard my approach. When I’m in attack mode, I am nothing more than a shadow.

  The bridge is even more cluttered than the docking bay. Through the dim light I see discarded cartons, their contents flung on the floor. Items the pirates did not think valuable enough to paw through: console boards, clothing, survival gear. Swinging from chains overhead in gruesome decoration are giant cages filled with creatures who gape at me, wild-eyed. I realize that they’ve been stuffed, their expressions frozen at the moment of their deaths. I see surprise, horror, pain, rage.

  If only there were a few Jedi among them.

  This time there are four targets. I can smell them as well as see them. The Togorians are intently watching the console, where a fierce-looking pirate is reporting back from my ship. His fur is elaborately braided and ornamented with glittering objects.

  One of the Togorians appears to be the captain. He wears a necklace of skulls from various beings. I wait, listening.

  “I’m telling you, there’s no one on board!” the pirate onscreen roars angrily. “Of course we searched for hidden compartments, we’re not fools! It’s an unmanned ship. The course was set for Tatooine. That’s why it didn’t answer the distress signal. Have you ever seen a ship like this? I haven’t!”

  The Togorian in charge appears to be thinking. “All right, idiot,” he growls finally. “Bring both ships into the loading dock. The bay is still open. If you do find any passengers, kill them.”

  He cuts the communication. One of the other pirates turns to him. “Hela-Tan is a fool,” he mutters in the Togorian low growl. “They could be hiding.”

  “Then we’ll find them,” the other replies.

  “Or they could have escaped,” a third pirate speaks up.

  “Shut your flapping mouth. What’s the difference? We have the ship.” The Togorian captain turns away, unconcerned.

  That’s my cue. Everything on the bridge fades to gray—the screens, consoles, cages, open containers, discarded food. They are only obstacles or objects to be used, background to my targets. Even while the pirates have been speaking, my mind has been strategizing. I will move without thought, kill without mercy. And I will do it faster than those lumbering Togorians can take a breath.

  I am in the room and have dispatched the first target before the others are even aware of my presence. He goes down without a cry, the victim of a ceiling-to-floor sweep from my lightsaber that cuts him in two.

  The thud of his massive body hitting the floor alerts the others. The captain turns and sees me. Roaring, he bares his fangs.

  “Prepare to die, scum,” he screams, reaching down and coming up with a vibro-ax in each hand.

  Sorry, cretin. I’m not impressed. Why do my opponents announce their intentions with threats and taunts? Do they really think they can intimidate me? I never speak in a battle. It is a waste of energy. I prefer to concentrate on the joy of killing.

  I ignore the captain for the moment. He is several steps away, and I can accomplish much in a few steps. I will leave him for last. Let him see what I do to his crew. I am already flipping in a midair roll to take the second pirate. The dark side propels me across the bridge, and I kick the target in his windpipe, sending him flying back. He makes a gurgling sound, unable to scream, and I see fear in his eyes. It sends a jolt of pleasure through me. He has never come across an opponent like me before. I deliver a fatal blow to the chest with the lightsaber, and he falls.

  I see his life force ebb, and the dark side surges in me, pulsing, filling me. My aggression feeds on it ravenously, and I move even faster, even more efficiently, making not one mistake. I charge the third pirate with such ferocity he is unable to combat me. He waves his vibroblade, but it merely fans the air as he slashes ineffectually. I counter his moves before he can even manage to follow through on them. Then my lightsaber cuts him down.

  The dark side alerts me that the captain is taking aim at my back. He will try to crush me with a swipe from each hand, hoping to cut me in two.

  I leap, again using the dark side to add velocity and distance. I sail high above his head and grab onto one of the cages with one hand. I use the momentum to swing past the captain. I let go, make a midair reversal, and land behind him. I have done this so fast that his two vibro-axes are now meeting where my body once stood. They tangle, emitting a screeching sound that sends smoke spiraling upward. The cage above us swings crazily, sending grotesque shadows across the floor. The captain roars in frustration.

  My jump has landed me behind him and slightly to the left. It is my favorite angle of attack, though of course I am invincible from any position. He spins around to face me, already swinging his vibro-axes. They meet the handle of my lightsaber. Smoke rises, and I feel the pirate’s strength shudder up my arm into my shoulder. I like a good adversary.

  But I don’t have time to play with this one. I flip backward and reverse direction, coming at the captain from the right. I slash his arm, rendering it useless. It dangles by his side, and the vibro-ax falls to the floor with a thud.

  My blow has angered him. His eyes are filled with pain. I note this with glee and attack, my lightsaber a blur of red. He dodges one blow, catches the next, cries out. I move in for the kill. My blood pounds in my ears, mingles with the blood I have spilled. My lightsaber hums with my killing blow, a vertical sweep through the chest.

  In seconds, he is on the floor, dead eyes glazed with surprise.

  The comm unit crackles. “Approaching docking bay.”

  I whirl and hurry to the unit. I do not activate the visual monitor, but I speak clearly into the comm unit.

  “Proceed to the bridge.”

  Then I get to work. My Sith training was extensive. My Master was concerned not only with my physical and intellectual perfection, but also my mechanical skills. Many times my knowledge of starship engines and various communication devices and weapons has come in handy.

  This is such a time. It only takes me a few seconds to interface the propulsion units with the proton torpedoes.

  In other words, as soon as the engine ignites, the ship will blow itself up. Togorians always leave the scene immediately to avoid capture. I don’t think the deaths of their fellow pirates will slow them down. The returning pirates will most likely think the others killed each other in a brawl. Not an unusual occurrence among pirates.

  I run for the docking bay, hoping to avoid contact with the pirates heading for the bridge. Not that I can’t take them, but time is of the essence now. I must get aboard my ship and be well clear when the ship blows.

  Of course, I could board my ship and take off for Tatooine without destroying the Togorian ship, but I don’t like to leave those who attack me still standing, no matter how much in a hurry I may be. And my orders from my Master are strict: Do not attract attention. No one must know of the existence of the Sith.

  I make i
t to the docking bay without being seen. I have to duck into a side corridor as the pirates stumble by me, heading for the bridge, already quarreling about the division of the spoils.

  I hurry across the cluttered bay. I immediately spot the sleek shape of the Infiltrator next to the bulky space cruiser. I’ll have to leave my escape pod behind. It’s unfortunate, but I can’t take the time to load it.

  The ramp is down, and I race up and spring inside. I nearly collide with a pirate who has stayed behind—the Togorian with the glittering objects braided into his fur.

  I had underestimated the greed of the pirate. Of course he would fall behind to take the best of what he could for himself. His hands are full of the credits I keep for emergencies. I can see that a satchel at his feet is bulging, no doubt with the crystals I keep for worlds that do not accept credits.

  He is just as surprised as I am. I see now that the objects twined in his fur are sharp razors. I realize that they could serve as effective weapons in a close fight. All the Togorian would have to do is fall on someone in order to slice them to ribbons.

  I activate my lightsaber. With a grin, he drops the credits and takes his vibro-ax from his belt.

  “There you are,” he says, licking his lips with a thick purple tongue. “Think you can escape me? Think again. I’ll finish the job.”

  There are those taunts again. I don’t feel fear. But I do feel irritation. The rest of the pirates should be at the bridge now. Any moment they will start the engines. This detour is putting me in unnecessary danger.

  We are at close quarters. I need to dispatch him quickly. He is big, bigger than the others, and stronger.

  I whirl in an arc and go for his chest, but he is agile and sidesteps the attack. He misses my shoulder by a breath with his vibro-ax. It crashes down on the console. This won’t do. I need a functioning ship. I leap past him and flip down the ramp, just out of reach of his vibro-ax. It clangs as it hits the ramp.

  I turn for the attack, lunging at him as he jumps to the floor. This huge Togorian moves well. He shakes his fur, sending shards of light into my eyes. Momentarily dazzled, I lose my focus. I am in the middle of a vertical sweep when he twists, rolls, grunts, and comes up on my other side. I jump away, but the vibro-ax catches me on the leg.

  The pain sends a red haze over my vision. He grins as he smashes one massive arm against my wounded leg. I feel the razors slice into my torn flesh. The pain sears me, but I bare my teeth at him in contempt.

  If your enemy inflicts pain, do not allow him to see it. There is no pain where strength lies.

  My rage is a torrent, a burning river. I leap, twist, keeping my weight on my good leg. My lightsaber is part of my body now, merciless, hard, cruel. I dance around him, slicing his arms, chest, shoulders. I want a thousand cuts to kill him. He falls facedown without a cry.

  I leap over his body and up the ramp. My leg wound screams in protest but I do not limp. I steel myself against the pain, disciplining my mind against it. I won’t attend to it until I am safely away from this ship and have landed on Tatooine.

  Then I hear the warm-up of the preliminary ignition of the freighter. I start my engines and activate departure procedures. A warning light tells me that the hatch will not close. At that moment, I hear a roar. The pirate has wedged himself into the doorway. He is missing an arm. His face is smeared with blood and contorted with rage. I recognize the look. He means to kill me before he dies.

  Any moment, the freighter will blow.

  I push the engines to full power and blast out of the landing bay. The Togorian is half in, half out, his bloody fingers clutching at the hatch door. His face snarls at me in gruesome determination.

  I ram him with my head. His grip loosens. I kick his midsection. The pirate, incredibly, still hangs on. The dark side surges, fed with blood and rage. I tap into it, using it as I whirl and kick him solidly. At the same moment, the freighter explodes in a shower of metal and debris.

  The Togorian is blown from the hatch, but he is already dead. For a moment, his body is plastered against my viewscreen. I see a bloody cheek. An eye. One hand is still curled, gripping nothing. Then a split second later he spirals out into deep space. The shock-wave vibrations of the blast send the craft rocking.

  I return to the pilot seat. It takes a moment before I can collect myself. My battles are seldom so closely won.

  I plug in the coordinates for Tatooine. Night is falling on the planet, and lights wink on below. By the time the surface looms close enough for me to pick out features of the landscape, I am laughing, enjoying my favorite moment. I am safe, and my enemies are dead.

  I prefer night landings. Even if my Master hadn’t decreed it, I would have chosen it. As I approach Tatooine, I can see the lights of the spaceports and the occasional solitary gleam of a moisture farmer’s wretched dwelling. The lights tell me things the daylight cannot—the glare of the sun can hide, the sand can camouflage. But most creatures like to have lights at night. They reveal themselves.

  The sky is an inky blue as I land on an isolated mesa near my first search quadrant, close to Mos Espa. First, I activate detectors to make sure no one is in the area. Lord Sidious has warned me specifically not to attract attention on this mission. The probe droids will conduct the search. I must stay with the ship.

  The wind is cold as I hike to a nearby dune and climb to the top. I sweep the area with my electro-binoculars. I can just make out the spaceport of Mos Espa in the distance. There are other settlements nearby. I activate three probe droids and send them out. The probes have been downloaded with information on the Jedi. They will send back readings that will give me the coordinates of the Jedi’s location.

  By this time tomorrow, they will be dead at my feet.

  I trudge back to the ship. The sand sucks at my boots, and, thanks to my injury, each step requires an effort. Fiery blasts radiate from the wound. Sweat beads up on my forehead.

  I loathe weakness. It is time to tend to my wound now that the probes have been launched.

  Before I begin to dress my wound, I meditate, focusing on the pain until it becomes fiercer. It becomes every dark thought, every savage feeling I have felt. It becomes a power I can use.

  There is no pain where strength lies.

  My Master has told me that the Jedi look at pain differently. They embrace it. They thank it for alerting them to the fact that they’ve been wounded and need to care for themselves. They think this helps them heal.

  What fools they are. Pain is power. I will take my pain and I will use it against them.

  When I meet the Jedi, I will be even stronger than before.

  I delay applying bacta to the wound. I sit motionless, waiting out the pain until it becomes not pain, but desire. My need for revenge against the Jedi burns me. They have done this to me. My pursuit of them has brought me here. I pull the darkness around me like a hooded cloak. I surround myself with anger.

  Only then do I dress the wound and apply bacta. I feel myself begin to heal.

  As the night drags on, exhaustion from my battle with the pain that is not pain settles into my bones. I dress my wound again with bacta and bandages and stretch out on my sleep-couch. Despite my best efforts, my mind drifts. I remember back to the time I felt pain so searing I thought I would die from it. Pain so intense that I could not even remember my name.

  That was the day I became a Sith.

  It is years ago. I am old enough to feel that I am already full grown and mature, but young enough not to know what that means. I do not know how old I am, for my Master never told me how long ago it was when he took me, or what my age is. Age is of no consequence to a Sith. We live long lives. We do not track our development in such a mundane way.

  So it is not my age that tells my Master I am ready, but my abilities. I know I am strong and fast and I never break. My control of the darkness that fuels the Force is close to perfect.

  I am happy when my Master tells me I am ready to take the last tests that will allow me to
become a Sith Lord. I have already fulfilled two years of missions for my Master. I have pleased him. I am ready.

  For fourteen days, I take a series of physical tests. Lightsaber duels, endurance exercises, fasting. Some tests I take blindfolded or in a sensory-deprivation suit. It is the most grueling fourteen days I can imagine. By the time it ends, I am exhausted.

  And I find that the test has not yet begun.

  “I am sending you to a planet in the Outer Rim,” my Master tells me. “It is made up of three kinds of terrain: desert, swamp, and mountains. You will have at least three matches on each terrain. I have sent a fleet of assassin droids to attack you. Each are programmed with different strategies. Some will work together, some will work alone. They are all programmed to kill.”

  That gets my attention.

  “That is correct,” Lord Sidious says quietly. “I am prepared to lose what I most value. So must you be to become a Sith. You must be prepared to lose your own life in order to win.”

  I nod. “I understand, my Master.”

  “You will have to survive for a month,” Lord Sidious adds. “You will have only a survival pack.”

  Despite my exhaustion, I am exhilarated, too. Did I ever imagine it would be easy to become a Sith Lord? The value of anything is measured by effort. I will prove to my Master that I am the best apprentice in the history of the Sith. I shall not only survive, I shall conquer.

  I realize now how young I was. I couldn’t have known what was ahead of me.

  I land on the planet and begin my test. It is infinitely more difficult than my imagination has been able to grasp. The assassin droids are relentless. Again and again I am awakened by an attack. Again and again I fight, move camp, fight again. I am driven into the mountain snows and across the burning desert. I lose my survival pack in a battle and have to kill and forage for food.

  Ten days go by. Fifteen. Twenty.

  I grow thin and my strength begins to ebb. I have never felt such weakness, even during my fasts. And yet I have to go on. I have to fight, I have to find a place to rest, I have to fight again. I count off the days in my head.