Star Wars - Darth Maul - Shadow Hunter

by Shadow Hunter (by Michael Reaves)

  Darsha kept moving slowly but steadily forward. She stepped past Green Hair and was now in the midst of them, only a step or two away from her craft. She had them now; she could feel their minds, some strug-gling feebly, others willingly surrendering to her sug-gestive power amplified by the Force. Another moment and she would be in the skyhopper.

  A scream echoed down the dark street.

  Startled, Darsha whipped around, staring back toward the source of the cry. It was Oolth the Fondo-rian, staggering out into the middle of the narrow thoroughfare, shaking and kicking his leg frantically to dislodge a large armored rat that had clamped its jaws onto his shin. Even as she realized who it was, she realized, as well, that her tenuous mind-lock on the Raptors had been shattered by the unexpected sound. Blinking and shaking their heads as if awak-ening from slumber, the Raptors realized that their prey had obligingly delivered itself right into their midst.

  Darsha had no choice now but to fight. She reached for her lightsaber, but before she could seize it they were upon her. where he had an apartment. He was not staying in his apartment on this visit, however. That would make him too easy to find. Instead he had rented a cheap domicile near the Galactic Museum under an assumed name. He had seriously considered buying a holo-graphic image disguiser that could change his appear-ance to that of another species, as well. His paranoia hud warred with his parsimony for quite some time on that one, and finally the stinginess had won out, I hough just barely.

  Hath Monchar had come to Coruscant because the capital world was the best place to move information quickly and anonymously. That was what he had to sell-information. Specifically, information about the upcoming blockade of Naboo and the fact that the man behind it all was a Sith Lord.

  It was a dangerous scheme, to be sure. If his cocon-fipirators found him, Monchar knew they would quickly give him up to Darth Sidious's tender mercies.

  The mere thought of being in the Sith Lord's clutches was enough to make the Neimoidian start to hyper-ventilate. Even so, Monchar couldn't resist the oppor-tunity to make a quick fortune.

  He took another gulp of the agaric ale he was drinking. Yes, the risks were high, but so was the po-tential for profit. All he needed was to contact the right person as an intermediary-someone who knew the people who would pay handsomely for the news he had. All it would take was a bit more fortitude on his part. He had come this far; he was not going to stop now, not with his goal nearly in sight.

  Hath Monchar signaled the Baragwin bartender.

  CHAPTER 6

  Hath Monchar was afraid.

  This was not a particularly surprising state of affairs to anyone who knew the deputy viceroy of the Trade Federation. Even among Neimoidians, Monchar was considered remarkably timid. Which made it all the more amazing that he had done what he had done.

  Monchar was afraid, yes, but underneath that was another emotion, one far less familiar to him than! fear. This emotion was pride-a nervous and fragile pride, it was true, but pride nevertheless. He had taken a chance-a big chance. He had dared to steer his life in a new and, with any luck, more profitable direction.

  He had a right to feel proud of that, he told himself.

  He glanced around at the patrons of the tavern he was sitting in. It was a different establishment than the one he usually frequented when on Coruscant.

  That tavern was in the affluent Kaldani Spires monad, One more flagon of ale ought to give him the fortitude! he needed.

  Mahwi Lihnn had been a bounty hunter for going on ten standard years, ever since she had been forced to leave her homeworld after killing a corrupt govern-ment official. During that time she had traveled nearly the length and breadth of the galaxy on various as-signments. She had pursued fugitives from justice on such diverse worlds as Ord Mantell, Koon, Tatooine, and dozens of others. Oddly enough, however, she had never been to Coruscant, and she was looking forward to seeing the capital of the galaxy.

  The assignment from the Neimoidian viceroy's lieu-tenant seemed straightforward enough. Lihnn did not anticipate any great trouble in finding the missing Hath Monchar, even on a crowded world like Corus-cant. As her ship descended on autopilot toward the landing pad at the eastern spaceport, she reviewed her equipment and weaponry. Her garb looked like no more than a simple utilitarian tunic and pants, but they were made of densely woven shell spider silk, a material capable of resisting even a vibroblade's thrust, as well as reflecting low-power particle beams and lasers. It was armor that did not look like armor-to the uninitiated. Experts would spot it, of course, but she didn't expect to run into any opposition. She wore twin DL-44 blasters on each hip, and a small disrupter pistol in a concealed ankle holster. Strapped to each wrist was an MM9 wrist rocket, and in her right hand she wore a palm flechette shooter. On her utility belt she carried, among other things, a set of stun cuffs, a stun baton, and three glop grenades.

  Mahwi Lihnn believed in being prepared.

  Her first stop after disembarking from her ship was the Kaldani Spires Residential Apartments. She seri-ously doubted that Monchar would be foolish enough to stay in an apartment registered to him, but one never knew. More than once Lihnn had saved herself needless trouble and time by looking in the most ob-vious places for her quarry.

  As she entered the lobby the security droid on duty asked whom she wished to see. "Hath Monchar," Lihnn told him. The droid checked a monitor screen, then informed her that Monchar was not in; indeed, was not even on Coruscant. Lihnn nodded pleasantly and clapped the circuit disrupter she had pulled from her belt onto the droid's chassis. The droid stuttered for an instant before its photoreceptors went dark.

  Lihnn took the lift tube up to the five hundredth floor and strolled down the corridor to Monchar's apartment, where she used an electronic lock breaker to void the security system. Once inside, she quickly checked the rooms. The droid had been telling the truth; Monchar was not there. Furthermore, the apart-ment appeared to have been vacant for some time.

  The large suite was decorated in what was, to a Neimoidian, the epitome of tasteful decor; to Lihnn it looked and smelled like a fetid swamp. She did some more investigating, hoping to find a clue to Monchar's whereabouts. In this she was disappointed.

  At last she left, going back down to the lobby and pulling the circuit disrupter off the security droid.

  Before it could reaccess its memory banks sufficiently to realize what had happened, Mahwi Lihnn had left and was strolling along one of the skywalks fifty sto-ries above the surface.

  It would certainly take some time to search a city the size of a planet for one person. Fortunately, Lihnn felt fairly sure that such a search wouldn't be neces-sary. Even though Monchar was smart enough not to stay in his apartment, she was willing to bet that the Neimoidian was somewhere in the general vicinity. This was the part of Coruscant with which he was most familiar, so it made sense that he would be holed up not too far away.

  Lihnn stopped at an observation deck and enjoyed the view for a few minutes. The descriptions she had read and the holos she had seen did not do justice to the stupendousness of the real thing. The last census put the population of Coruscant at somewhere in the neighborhood of a trillion living beings. Even if she could investigate one person every second, she would still need the life span of a hundred Tatooine Sarlaccs to get to them all. But there were ways to narrow the search.

  Paranoid as Monchar no doubt was, he still had to eat. Lihnn pulled a portable HoloNet link from a pocket and consulted it, entering search parameters for restaurants in the area that specialized in the dis-gusting swill Neimoidians called food. As she had thought, there were not all that many. She glanced at her chrono and saw that it was almost the hour when most species eat their evening meal. She would go check out a few of these restaurants. It was worth putting up with the smell if it meant an early resolu-tion to this case.

  Darth Maul signaled for an air taxi. Even though his speeder was not far away, he did not wish to risk anyone connecting him to it, now that he was clo
se to his quarry. The taxi pilot-a Quarren-looked some-what dubiously at his passenger as Maul got into the backseat, but said nothing as he was given the ad-dress.

  The taxi rose rapidly straight up through two strata of traffic, its lift repulsors humming barely within the threshold of Maul's hearing, then veered north in a long arc toward a cluster of towers in the distance.

  The taxi landed gently at a terminal within fifty me-ters of the tavern. Maul entered, stepping immediately to the shadows near the door while he looked about. His vision adjusted far more quickly to extremes of light and darkness than did most species; he was able almost at once to see the tavern's dim interior and its customers.

  He saw humans, Bith, Devaronians, Nikto, Sniv-vians, Arcona-a cornucopia of species, all drinking or otherwise imbibing various substances capable of altering their brain chemistry. He did not see Hath Monchar. For that matter, he did not see any Neimoid-ians at all.

  Maul approached the bar. The bartender was a tall gaunt Baragwin, his folds of facial dewlaps as leathery and creased as a Bantha's skin. "I am looking for a Neimoidian," Maul said to him. "He would have been in here within the last few hours." The Baragwin sent a ripple running through his dewlaps from top to bottom-the equivalent of a human shaking his head. "Many beings come in here," he said, his voice absurdly high and flutelike coming from such a massive head. "They come, they drink, they talk, they go. I do not recall seeing a Neimoidian recently." Darth Maul leaned forward. "Think again," he said softly. He could easily use the Force to get what-ever information might be had from this weak-willed creature, but there was no need. He knew he could get what he wanted by intimidation.

  The Baragwin's nasal polyps began to quiver- a sign of nervousness. "Upon further reflection I do seem to remember a representative of that species im-bibing here perhaps an hour ago." "Did he speak to you or anyone else?" The Baragwin's polyps were vibrating almost too fast to see now. "No. That is... he-he ordered agaric ale." "And did he speak of anything else? " "Yes. He inquired of me how one might contact someone proficient in the buying and selling of sensi-tive information." Maul leaned back. "And you told him-what?" "I gave him a name." " You will now give me that name." The Baragwin rippled his dewlaps from bottom to top in acquiescence. "Lorn Pavan. A human- Corellian, I believe. He is well known in this city sector as one who traffics in such merchandise." "And where might I find this Lorn Pavan?" " I do not know." Maul leaned forward again, his yellow eyes blazing. The Baragwin backed up hastily. "I speak the truth! He comes in here occasionally, always accompanied by a protocol droid called I-Five. I know nothing more." That was interesting news, Maul reflected. It should help to narrow the search; personal droids were not that common in this area of Coruscant. "Describe this Lorn Pavan." "Tall. Muscular. Black filamentous cilia on his scalp, but none on his face.

  Brown ocular pigmentation. The females of his species would probably characterize him as 'handsome.' " Maul nodded, then raised his right hand in a focusing gesture as he mentally reached for the Force. He had to make sure that this next question was answered truth-fully, because the answer would determine whether or not he had to kill the Baragwin.

  "Did the Neimoidian speak at all to you about the nature of the information he wished to sell?" The dewlaps quickly undulated downward. "He did not. I have told you all that I know." Maul sensed no negative vibration in the Force as the Baragwin spoke. He turned away without another word and exited the tavern.

  He was glad that he did not have to kill the Baragwin-not out of any moral sense, or even out of pity for the pathetic creature; his relief stemmed purely from having avoided the inevitable difficulties brought on by killing someone in a public place. Nevertheless, if the Force had told him the Baragwin was lying, he would have struck him down without a second thought and dealt with the consequences. Darth Sidious had told him to kill everyone with whom Hath Monchar had shared knowledge of the blockade, and Maul would follow his master's com-mands, as always.

  He strode along the outdoor concourse, pondering his next move. Though the walkway was crowded, his passage was not impeded, as most of the pedestrians gave him a wide berth. Which was as it should be. Darth Maul had nothing but contempt for the masses. Of all the uncounted trillions of sentient beings that populated the galaxy, only one was deserving of re-spect: Darth Sidious. The only man who dared to dream of conquering not just a world or a star system, but an entire galaxy. The man who had taken the young Maul from a backwater planet and raised him to be his successor. He owed Darth Sidious everything.

  It had not been an easy path that he had been set upon. To be a truly superior being, apart from and above the senseless herd, required absolute devotion and dedication. He had had to learn self-sufficiency, both in body and in mind, almost from the time he had learned to walk. His master would accept nothing less than the absolute best that Maul could offer. When he was younger, if he had flinched during his training when the edge of a weapon found his flesh, or when an incorrect block or defensive maneuver re-sulted in a cracked bone, his punishments had always been swift and inevitable.

  He had soon learned to think of pain as his teacher. From fearing it, he had actually come to welcome it, because he knew it would test his willpower and his courage; it would make him stronger. To be content, to be comfortable, was to be complacent. No one learned anything from pleasure. Pain, on the other hand, was a most efficient instructor.

  He returned to the problem at hand. Perhaps track-ing down the human Lorn Pavan would lead him in turn to his primary target. In all probability the Corel-Han would have to be killed, as well. The longer the Neimoidian was alive, the more likely his information would be disseminated. Still, Maul was not worried. If he had to wipe out this entire city sector in order to contain the news about the blockade, he would do it without a qualm. Lives, even hundreds of lives, did not matter.

  CHAPTER 7 The first blow came from behind, half stunning Darsha and causing her to drop to her knees. A booted foot impacted against her side, driving her breath from her.

  Half-blinded by pain, Darsha reached for the Force as the Raptors closed in, felt its power enfold her, cloak her like an invisible shield. She stood, thrusting out one arm in a warding gesture, and felt the reverberating ripples flowing outward, hurling back her surprised attackers. For a brief moment she stood clear of them, and she used that moment to draw and activate her lightsaber. The yellow energy blade boiled out from the hilt's projector, extending to its full length.

  "She's a Jedi!" one of the Raptors, a Trandoshan, shouted. He seemed surprised, but not particularly awed or impressed.

  "She's still dead meat," Green Hair said. But none of his gang seemed particularly anxious to be the first within reach of the lightsaber.

  "You should have listened to me," Darsha said as she moved slowly until her back was against the sky-hopper. "I don't want to hurt any of you. Walk away now, while you can." She saw Green Hair and the Trandoshan exchange a glance-just a flicker of eye movement. It was enough to warn her, however, and even if it had not been, she had already sensed the disturbance in the Force coming from behind her. Darsha spun and raised the blade in a high defensive movement just in time to in-tercept a stocky Gotal who had leapt over the craft, aiming a vibroblade at her. The lightsaber sheered ef-fortlessly through the Gotal's wrist, sending the blade, still clutched in the severed hand, arcing back to land in the empty vehicle. The Gotal shrieked and fell in a heap on the pavement, clutching his cauterized stump.

  There was a moment of utter stillness, save for the Gotal's whimpers. Events hung in delicate balance, Darsha knew. Would they swarm over her to avenge their comrade, or flee in fear?

  It was Green Hair who decided which course to take: He turned and ran up the street. The rest of the gang members promptly followed his lead, two of them dragging the wounded Gotal with them. In a matter of seconds the street was completely deserted save for Darsha and Oolth the Fondorian.

  Darsha moved quickly to Oolth, who was lying on his back, m
oaning and still kicking feebly in an effort to dislodge the armored rat. Darsha touched the tip of the lightsaber's blade to the creature's neck, right at the soft juncture between the head and body cara-paces, and the rat released its grip and bolted toward the shadows.

  Darsha deactivated the lightsaber and pulled Oolth to his feet. "Let's go-before they come back with reinforcements." "What took you so long? That blasted rat nearly gnawed my leg off!" A pity it wasn't your bead, Darsha thought. "Just be grateful I was able to chase them away. Now let's get out of here." She helped him climb into the passenger side of the skyhopper, then settled herself behind the controls.

  And realized that they weren't going anywhere.

  "Come on-what're you waiting for? Lift off!" "I can't." She pointed at the console, where the acti-vated vibroblade, still gripped by the Gotal's severed hand, had sunk to the hilt in the panel. Sparks and smoke were still faintly visible, and she could hear the faint hum of the weapon's high-frequency oscillation. "It's cut through the controls for the stabilizer vanes. We'll spin like a corkscrew if we try to fly in this." Oolth stared at the blade, then at her. "I don't be-lieve this. Some Jedi you are! You managed to disable your own ship!" Darsha bit back on several scathing replies that came to mind, saying instead, "It's just a setback. I've got my comlink; I'll just call the Temple for-" She left the sentence unfinished, for as she was speaking she was reaching into her tunic for her com-link. The moment her fingers touched it she realized it was unusable, as well. The plaeklite casing was shat- tered, no doubt by that kick she had received from one of the Raptors. It had probably protected her from a broken rib; although, all things considered, at this point she would rather have had the injury.