Star Wars Darth Maul: Saboteur

by James Luceno

  Bruit and the Falleen led the final charge, their combined forces going hand to hand with Weequay and Aqualish members of the clan, whose weapons were exhausted. The miners showed them no mercy, and in moments the battle was over, with Bruit, the Falleen, and five others left standing amid the carnage.

  Maul wondered briefly if he could leave things as they stood. Bruit would report back to Lommite Limited’s executive officer that the Toom clan had double-crossed both companies, and that they had paid with their lives for their betrayal. But it was unlikely that Bruit would let it rest at that. He would want to know who had assembled the adulterated recording, and he might even learn that the information about LL’s shipping route to Eriadu had been accessed through his personal computer. Then he would begin to think again about the cantina bug, and perhaps he would scrutinize whatever surveillance recordings were available. For all Maul knew, images of an Iridonian with a face full of red and black tattoos might appear in one them.

  Of course, there was no danger of his being traced to Coruscant, much less to his Master’s lair. But the last thing he wanted was for Darth Sidious to see his apprentice’s face turn up on some HoloNet most-wanted list.

  Maul had to finish what he had begun.

  He drew his lightsaber, ignited it at both ends, and leapt down to the floor of the prefab bunker.

  Bruit, the Falleen, and the others spun around when they heard the resonant thrumming of his weapon, which Maul whirled over his head and around his shoulders. But no one fired. They stood staring at him, as if he were some hallucination born of bloodlust or snow blindness.

  Maul realized that he would have to goad them into doing what he needed them to do. He began to march forward, glowering at them with his yellow eyes and showing his teeth, and at last someone fired—the Rodian from the cantina. Maul deflected the bolt straight back at him with the lower of his blades and kept coming.

  “We have no fight with you, Jedi,” the Falleen yelled.

  The remark brought Maul up short.

  “This is our business,” the humanoid went on. “It doesn’t concern Coruscant.”

  Maul growled and advanced.

  Crouching suddenly, a Twi’lek fired, and Maul twirled, deflecting the bolts with his twin crimson blades. The Twi’lek and another security man dropped.

  Then the rest opened fire at once. Maul leapt and jinked, spun and rolled, an acrobatic wonder, impossible to target. He stopped once to raise his hand and pepper his opponents with a flurry of Force-hurled glassware and sharp instruments. He turned blasters against each other and wrenched one fighter down onto a table with enough force to snap the man’s spine.

  His hand weapon depleted, the Falleen rushed him. Maul spun through a fleet kick, breaking the Falleen’s arm. Then, without lowering his leg, he broke the security chief’s neck.

  Only Bruit remained. Gaping at Maul in disbelief, he let his blaster drop from his rigid hand. Maul continued to approach, the lightsaber held off to one side, its blades horizontal to the floor.

  “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why,” Bruit began, “but I know that you must be responsible for everything that’s happened.”

  Maul decided to hear him out.

  “You recorded my conversations. Then you altered the recordings to trick the saboteurs you had identified in the cantina. You probably arranged for us to find this place.” Bruit gestured broadly. “Can I at least know why before you kill me?”

  “It is something that had to be done—for a larger purpose.”

  Bruit cocked his head, as if he hadn’t heard Maul correctly.

  Maul gazed at him. “You needn’t dwell on it.”

  He raised his energy blade, preparing to thrust it into Bruit’s chest, then restrained himself. A lightsaber wound wouldn’t do, not at all. Deactivating the blade, he raised his right hand and made a vise of his gloved fingers. Bruit’s hands flew to his windpipe, and he began to gasp for breath.

  Jurnel Arrant was in his office when he received the details of Bruit’s death on Riome. The messenger was a judicial agent, who had been dispatched from Coruscant at Arrant’s request.

  “I’m to blame for this entire business,” Arrant said in a tone of anguished confession. “I’m guilty of ordering Bruit to bring in outsiders to do the dirty work. I escalated this conflict.”

  The lommite ore could still be mined, but LL no longer had enough barges to transport it. Replacing them would cost more than the company was currently worth. From what Arrant had learned, InterGalactic was in the same fix.

  Anger gripped him. “I’m convinced that the Neimoidians with the Trade Federation got to the Toom clan and paid them to sabotage our ships, along with InterGalactic’s.”

  “That will be difficult to prove,” the judicial said. “The Toom clan has been effectively wiped out, and unless you can produce evidence to support your theory, we can’t show good cause for interrogating the Neimoidians.” He was about to add something when Arrant cut him off.

  “Bruit was a good man. He shouldn’t have died as he did.”

  The judicial frowned, then prized a wafer-thin audio device from the pocket of his tunic and placed it on Arrant’s desk. “Before you beat yourself to a pulp, you might want to listen to this.”

  Arrant picked up the device. “What is it?”

  “A recording found at the Toom clan’s base, here on Dorvalla. It’s incomplete, but there’s enough to warrant your attention.”

  Arrant activated the wafer’s play function.

  “I wish to see both Lommite and InterGal brought down,” a male voice said, “so that someone with real foresight could build a better organization from the dregs.”

  Arrant’s eyes widened in nervous astonishment. “That’s Bruit!”

  “I understand,” a second male voice was saying. “I want some of the action.”

  Arrant paused the playback. “Who’s—”

  “Caba’Zan,” the judicial supplied. “Former head of security for InterGalactic Ore.”

  Reluctantly, Arrant reactivated the device.

  “We need to team up to accomplish this,” Bruit said. “No one will suspect us, and Arrant doesn’t need to know any more than he has to.”

  “He’s not that clever.”

  “The Toom’s have the means to get the job done. We’re going to make a move against everyone at Eriadu—”

  Arrant silenced the device and pushed it away from him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  The judicial agent nodded, tight-lipped.

  Arrant got to his feet and spent a long moment gazing out the window. When he turned, his expression was bleak. He touched a key on the intercom pad, and seconds later his protocol droid secretary entered the office.

  “How may I be of service, sir?”

  Arrant glanced up at the droid. “I need to make two holocalls. The first will be to the chief executive of InterGalactic Ore, to discuss terms of a possible merger.”

  “And the second, sir?”

  Arrant took a moment to reply. “The second call will be to Viceroy Nute Gunray, to discuss terms of granting the Trade Federation exclusive rights to the shipping and distribution of Dorvalla’s lommite ore.”

  In a dank, fungus-encrusted grotto on the Neimoidian homeworld, Hath Monchar and Viceroy Nute Gunray received a startlingly sudden holovisit from Darth Sidious. First to reach the holoprojector and the cloaked apparition that was the Dark Lord of the Sith, Monchar inclined his lumpish head in a servile bow and spread his thick-fingered hands.

  “Welcome, Lord Sidious,” he said.

  Though his eyes remained concealed by the cloak’s raised hood, Sidious seemed to be gazing through Monchar at Gunray, who was perched atop his claw-footed mechno-chair a few meters away.

  “Viceroy,” Sidious rasped. “Dismiss your underling, so that we may speak in private about recent events on Dorvalla.”

  Monchar stared openly at Sidious, then whirled on Gunray. “But, Viceroy, I was the one who made contact wi
th Lommite Limited. I deserve at least some of the credit for what has occurred.”

  “Viceroy,” Sidious said, with a bit more menace, “advise your underling that his contributions in this matter were inconsequential.”

  Gunray glanced nervously at Monchar. “You had better leave.”

  “But—”

  “Now—before he gets angry.”

  Monchar’s gut sack made a sickening growl as he hurried from the grotto.

  Gunray slid off the mechno-chair and approached the holoprojector. He had a jutting lower jaw, and his thick lower lip was uncompanioned. A deep fissure separated his bulging forehead into two lateral lobes. His skin was kept a healthy gray-blue by means of frequent meals of the finest fungus. Red and orange robes of exquisite hand fell from his narrow shoulders, along with a round-collared brown surplice that reached his knees.

  “I apologize for the indiscretion of my deputy,” he said. “He is high-strung from too many rich foods.”

  Sidious’s face betrayed nothing. “Apology accepted, Viceroy.”

  “Hath Monchar regards me much as I regard you, Lord Sidious: with a mix of awe and fear.”

  “You need fear me only if you fail me, Viceroy.”

  Gunray seemed to take the remark under advisement. “I have been anticipating your visit, Lord Sidious. Though I confess that I had no idea you were aware of events on Dorvalla—much less that the Trade Federation had an interest in the planet.”

  “You will find that there are few matters of which I am unaware, Viceroy. What’s more, we have not seen the last of Dorvalla. There is something we will need to attend to in due course.”

  “But, Lord Sidious, the matter has been resolved. Lommite Limited and InterGalactic Ore have merged to become Dorvalla Mining, but the Trade Federation will transport the ore, and will now represent Dorvalla in the Galactic Senate.”

  “More important, you have a permanent place on the directorate.”

  Gunray bowed his head. “That, too, Lord Sidious.”

  “Then the stage is set for the next act.”

  “May I ask what that will entail?”

  “I will inform you at the appropriate time. Until then, there are other matters I will see to, to secure the power base of the Trade Federation and to strengthen your personal position.”

  “We are not deserving of your attention.”

  “Then strive to make yourself deserving, Viceroy, so that our partnership will continue to prosper.”

  Gunray gulped loudly. “I will do little else, Lord Sidious.”

  In his lair on Coruscant, Darth Sidious deactivated the holoprojector and turned to face Darth Maul.

  “Do you find them any more trustworthy than before?”

  “More frightened, Master,” Maul said from his cross-legged posture on the floor, “which may achieve the same end result.”

  Sidious made an affirmative sound. “We are not through with them yet—not for some time to come.”

  “I begin to understand, Master.”

  Sidious’s mouth approximated a grin of approval. “You did not disappoint me at Dorvalla, Darth Maul.”

  “My Master,” Maul said, slightly bowing his head.

  Sidious studied him for a moment. “I sense that you enjoyed being out on your own.”

  Maul lifted his face. “My thoughts are open to you, Master.”

  “I see,” Sidious said slowly. “Temper your enthusiasm, my young apprentice. Soon I will have another task for you to discharge.”

  Maul waited.

  “Familiarize yourself with the workings of the criminal organization known as Black Sun. And while you’re doing that, return to your warrior training. Your lightsaber may very well come in handy for what I require next.”

  About the Author

  JAMES LUCENO is the New York Times bestselling author of two Star Wars®: The New Jedi Order novels—Agents of Chaos: Hero’s Trial and Agents of Chaos: Jedi Eclipse. He also coauthored the popular ROBOTECH series with his close friend the late Brian Daley, and wrote the film adaptations for The Shadow and The Mask of Zorro. He lives in Annapolis, Maryland, with his wife and children.

  Want more Darth Maul? Don’t miss Star Wars®: Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter by Michael Reaves, the full-length print novel available right now wherever books are sold.

  And be sure to look for Star Wars®: Cloak of Deception by James Luceno, a full-length print novel of intrigue set in the time just before Star Wars® Episode I: The Phantom Menace, on sale June 2001.

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