Star Wars - Darth Maul - Shadow Hunter

by Shadow Hunter (by Michael Reaves)

  As he drew near the Neimoidian's table he felt his arms seized abruptly in an iron grasp. "Hey!" He tried to pull free, but his assailant-a Trandoshan- was far stronger than he was. His struggles alerted the Neimoidian, who looked up.

  "Are you Lorn Pavan ?" he asked.

  "That's me. Call off your bullyboy." The Neimoidian made a gesture. "Release him, Gorth." The Trandoshan let Lorn go. Lorn pulled back a chair and sat down, rubbing his arms, both of which had gone somewhat numb from the reptilian being's grip.

  "I do apologize," the Neimoidian said, his gaze darting here and there about the bar as he spoke. "You can understand my desire to have some pro-tection in a place like this. Gorth comes highly recommended." "I can see why," Lorn said. "Let's get down to busi-ness. What do you have?" As Darth Maul slipped into the rathole called the Dewback Inn, he kept his cowl up and moved to the darkest corner. When one of the weak minds sur-rounding him caused its owner to idly cast a glance in his direction, he used the Force to squelch or redirect that interest. As always when he wished it in such dens of mental weakness, he was effectively invisible.

  He had spotted his prey immediately. The urge to simply step up and sever the Neimoidian's head from his body was tempting, but he knew that would be foolishness. He would have to kill the big Trandoshan bodyguard first, and probably the Corellian, as well. Slaying three people, even in a pit such as this, would not go unnoticed. Calling attention to one's self in a public place would be bad; his master had impressed that upon Maul at an early age. The Sith were power-ful, but there were only two of them. Stealth was therefore one of their greatest strengths. Even as weak-minded and chemically besotted as most of the pa-trons of this place were, there were simply too many to control completely. He could not wipe the memo-ries of a cold-blooded assassination from several dozen heads, nor could he be sure of destroying all of them. And here and there burned an intellect too strong to be swayed by simple mind-control techniques. These he could feel; they stood out like photonic lamps on a dark-ling plain.

  And besides all that, he had to question the Nei-moidian thoroughly to find any others the traitor might have tainted in his flight.

  Nevertheless, Maul had his target in sight now. That was what was important, and it would now be only a matter of time before he was able to close the assignment. He would wait for a propitious moment to deal with him.

  The human dealer in information was speaking with the doomed Neimoidian, and likely that sealed the man's fate, as well. Later, when he questioned Hath Monchar, Maul would determine precisely what had passed between the man and the Neimoidian. If this Lorn Pavan had come to discuss other matters mid knew nothing of Monchar's treachery, he would be allowed to keep his insignificant life. But if he had become party to the subversion, then the human would die.

  Quite simple.

  Mahwi Lihnn trekked through the back streets and alleys, searching for the Dewback Inn. She was cer-tainly not overimpressed with this area of Coruscant.

  The surface streets in this sector were all twisted turn-ings and narrow byways, teeming with gutter scum looking for an easy mark. Lihnn, armed to the teeth as she was, did not present such an easy target, and the strong-arm thieves and head-bashers watched her pass but stayed on their own ground, smart enough to recognize danger when they saw it. Lihnn wasn't par-ticularly worried about her safety; she had been in much worse places than this and survived. It was largely a matter of attitude. She projected confidence and an air of danger as she walked, an aura that made it clear that, at the first sign of trouble from any of this riffraff, the troublemaker would find his-, her-, or it-self a smoking corpse on the greasy walkway, to be quickly picked over by the rest of them.

  She came to an intersection, hesitated briefly, then chose the right fork. Another person could easily get lost and stay lost in this maze, but Mahwi Lihnn had honed her sense of direction in scores of such places around the galaxy, and she knew she would eventually arrive at her destination.

  She always got where she was supposed to go, and she always came out on top when she got there. She was, quite simply, the best at what she did. As Hath Monchar would soon find out.

  After climbing a few flights of stairs Darsha Assant reached the lowest inhabited levels of the building. Here she found what passed for a pharmacy at the end of a squalid corridor. She had lost her regular credit tab along the way, though she still had her emergency tab. It was good for only a small amount-not nearly enough to rent a speeder, unfortunately, but sufficient to purchase enough antibiotic synthflesh bandage to treat and seal her wounds and even hire a taxi, if it didn't have to go far. Her robes were in pretty sad shape, as well, but the emergency fund was not up to covering replacements for those. No matter-she had more important things to worry about than her wardrobe.

  Feeling somewhat better after she smoothed the healing synthflesh into place, she looked for a quiet spot-preferably one with walls to protect her back and sides-to ponder what she should do next.

  There was no way to sugarcoat her situation. She was, quite simply, ruined. She had lost her charge; the hawk-bats were no doubt picking clean the Fondo-rian's bones by now. She had lost her transportation to a common street gang. Her comlink was shattered. The mission, in short, had been a complete and utter disaster. Master Bondara had been right to wonder about her ability.

  Darsha sat down on a graffiti-scarred bench and sought to center herself as she had been taught. It was no use; the stillness that a Jedi should always operate from was nowhere to be found. Instead she felt grief, sadness, anger-but most of all, she felt shame. She had disgraced herself, her mentor, and her heritage.

  She would never become a Jedi Knight now. Her life as she had known it, as she had expected it to be, was over.

  Maybe it would have been better to have died, to have been eaten by the hawk-bats. At least she would not have to face Master Bondara, not have to see the disappointment in her mentor's eyes.

  What was she going to do ?

  She could find a public comm station-some of them would work, even down here-and call for help. The council would send a Jedi-a real Jedi, she thought bitterly-to come and fetch her. She would be escorted back as if she were a child, taken into custody so that she could do no more damage.

  She envisioned entering the Temple with such an es-cort. That would be all that was needed to make her shame complete.

  Darsha clenched her jaw muscles. No. That wasn't how it was going to go. She had failed her mission, true enough, but she still had her lightsaber, and she still had some pride, if only a trace of what it had been. She would not call for help. She could find some way to return to the council under her own power. She owed that much at least to Master Bondara-and to herself.

  She took a deep breath, let it escape slowly, and once again sought calmness in the Force. Her path as a Jedi Knight was done. There was no way to change that.

  But she could deliver herself to that judgment without begging for help.

  She stood, took another deep breath, and blew it out. Yes. At the very least, she could do that much.

  Lorn could not believe his luck. Finally, it looked like things were taking a turn for the better. Carefully, so as not to reveal his enthusiasm, he said to the Neimoidian, "And you say you have recorded all this information- the details of the impending blockade, and the fact that the Sith are behind it-on a holocron?" "That is correct," Monchar replied.

  "And may I, ah, see this crystal?" Monchar gave Lorn a look that was plain to read, even given the differences between Neimoidian and human facial expressions: What am I, stupid? Aloud, he said, "I would not carry it around on my person in such places, even with Gorth as a protector. The holocron is safely stored and guarded elsewhere." Lorn leaned back. "I see. And you would want to sell it for-how much?" "Half a million Republic credits." Lorn grinned. The way to play this was cool and easy. "Half a million? Why, sure. You have change for a million-cred note?" The Neimoidian gave Lorn a fishy smile in return. "I'm afraid not." Lorn h
ad played this game before, and he knew it was time to palaver. "All right," he said. "If it is what you say it is, I might be willing to go two hundred and fifty thousand." "Don't insult me," Monchar replied. "If it is what I say it is-and I assure you, it is-the information on that crystal is worth twice what I am asking-more, in the right hands. We will not dicker like a couple of bantha traders, human. Half a million credits, period. You'll stand to make that much and more off it if you have the wits of a Sarconian green flea." That was true, Lorn knew. Of course, if he could lay his hands on half a million creds, he wouldn't be sit-ting in this dive trying to negotiate stolen data. But there was no way he could let a deal like this pass. He might never see another like it. "All right. Half a mil-lion. Where shall we make the exchange?" The Neimoidian touched a button on a wristband, and a small holographic projection lit up just above the surface of the table, no bigger than Lorn's thumb.

  "Here is the address of my cubicle," Monchar said. "Meet me there in an hour.

  Come alone." One hour! Lorn kept his expression carefully non-committal. "I, ah, might need a little longer than that to raise the funds." "One hour," Monchar repeated. "If you cannot pro-cure funding by then, I will seek others who are more capable. I am told there is a Hurt, Yanth by name, who would be most interested in this commodity." "I know Yanth. You don't want to deal with him. He's shiftier than a crystal snake." "Then bring me the money and we will consum-mate this transaction." Lorn memorized the address and nodded. Monchar shut the holo off.

  "Okay. No problem," Lorn said. Til see you in an hour." He stood and wended his way toward the door.

  Outside, I-Five was waiting. "Well?" the droid said, as they walked down the narrow street.

  Lorn explained quickly as they walked. "So we've got an hour-actually, fifty-five minutes-to raise five hundred thousand credits." He looked at the droid. "Any thoughts?" "It is an excellent opportunity, to be sure. In fact, it might well be the chance of your lifetime, though I ex-pect to have better opportunities myself, since I will probably outlive you by a factor of seven-point-four to seven-point-six, at a conservative estimate, disal-lowing major accidents, natural disasters, or acts of war-" "We're on the chrono and you're discussing actu-arial tables. The big question is, where are we going to get half a million credits in less than an hour?" "That is indeed the question." "We could find a card game. I'm good at sabacc." "But not consistently-if you were, we wouldn't be in this situation. And since we have no money of which to speak, who in all of the underground would give us enough of a marker to buy into a sufficiently high-stakes game?" "Offhand, I'd say... nobody," Lorn admitted.

  , "And how long would it take to win such an amount, assuming you could get into such a game? Even if you cheated and were not caught, could you do it in fifty-two minutes-not counting, of course, transit time to the Neimoidian's domicile?" "All right, sabacc is not a viable option. I assume you've got a better idea?" I-Five cleared his speaking circuits in what sounded almost like a human cough.

  "There is only one viable option: Bank fraud." Lorn stopped to stare at I-Five. A Givin blundered into him, muttered an apology, and kept going. With-out taking his gaze from I-Five, Lorn grabbed the Givin's exoskeleton, pulled him back, and retrieved his wallet. He then shoved the pickpocket away. "I'm listening," he told the droid.

  "I have been considering this idea for some time," I-Five said. "Keeping it in reserve as a final contin-gency plan. If we effect it, we will be forced to flee Coruscant, and it would be unlikely that we could ever return, unless we wished to radically change our appearances and spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders." "If we had a million credits in our account, that would take us a long, long way from here," Lorn said. "And I'd be happy to leave. We could set up shop on some outlier world where the Republic doesn't have a presence, make a few smart investments, live like kings. Tell me about this plan." They continued to walk while I-Five elaborated. They wouldn't really be able to steal the money, but the droid was confident he could jack into the data flow of one of Coruscant's many banking firms and manage a phantom transfer of funds into their per-sonal account. The auditor droids would catch it al-most immediately, so timing would be critical. But if all went well, Lorn would be able to show Hath Mon-char an unencumbered credit tab that was worth half a million. Much more than that, the droid explained, would kick in automatic inquiries, and if they tried to transfer the funds after the audit, the bank would catch that, too. The real trick would be to have the Neimoidian accept the credit tab as payment and make the transfer to his account before time ran out.

  "The window will be narrow, and it will close quickly," I-Five concluded. "But in theory it can be done." Lorn felt a warm rush of excitement. They might actually pull this off. And if they did, they could walk away with a holocron worth a million creds and leave the Neimoidian holding an empty bag. Which would be too bad for him, but that's how life was in the real galaxy. Lorn wouldn't stay awake nights worrying about it, that was for sure.

  "Let's do it," he said. "If it doesn't work, we won't be any worse off than we are now." "Save for the distinct possibility of you occupying a cell in a Republic asteroid prison for thirty years, and me having a complete memory wipe." " You worry too much." "And you don't worry enough." But Lorn knew I-Five would take the risk. Droids were supposed to be programmed with more integ-rity and honesty than humans or other natural-born species, but it didn't always work quite like that. I-Five had somehow evolved a greed circuit along the way, and the glitter of credits called to him as much as it did Lorn. Which was one of the reasons they got along so well.

  Lorn felt an excitement he hadn't known in years as he contemplated it. It would work, and they would use the money to build a new life out on the Rim. There were plenty of worlds where, with enough money, one could disappear into a new identity and live a life of ease with no questions asked.

  A new life-a real life this time. Maybe not the one he had before, but certainly a better one than this hardscrabble existence he was suffering through now.

  Of course, it would mean leaving behind any possi-bility of ever seeing Jax again.

  So what? a savage voice in the back of his head asked. Like there's any chance at all of that now? That's in the past. It's time you started living again.

  Yes. Far past time, in fact.

  He looked at I-Five, and though there was no ex-pression on the droid's metallic countenance, he felt certain that I-Five knew exactly what he was thinking.

  "What are we waiting for?" he asked the droid. "The Hurt's still expecting us to bring him a holocron; why disappoint him? Let's find a dataport and make it happen." CHAPTER 10

  The gods of fortune smiled upon Mahwi Lihnn. Just as she arrived at the Dewback Inn she saw the Neimoidian depart in the company of a hulking brute of a Trandoshan. The big reptiloid with Monchar sported a pair of blasters, one on each hip, and moved like a bodyguard, which undoubtedly he was.

  Lihnn reviewed her options. This was too public a place to take out the guard and collect Monchar, so she'd just have to follow them until circumstances were more viable. She stepped into a narrow aperture between two buildings and let them pass. She was about to fall in behind at a safe distance when some-one else emerged from the inn-a robed and cowled figure, bipedal and human-sized, who slipped into the shadow of a doorway across the alley. Lihnn didn't get a look at the face, but whoever he was, he was obvi-ously interested in Monchar.

  Lihnn quickly moved behind a stanchion and out of sight.

  A footpad bent on robbery? she wondered as she watched. Whoever he was, he had to be pretty sure of himself if he was willing to take on an armed bodyguard.

  Sure enough, the robed figure followed the Nei-moidian and the Trandoshan, keeping to the dimly lit areas and moving with a stealth that Lihnn had to ad-mire. If this fellow could shoot half as well as he could tail, he could drill the Trandoshan and be on the Neimoidian in a hurry.

  Lihnn frowned and loosened her own DL-44s in their holsters. This jo
b was threatening to become complicated. She decided the best course was to take out the bodyguard and the mysterious robed tracker as quickly as possible. If she had to, she could use a glop grenade on Monchar, seal him up in a gel bubble, and haul him back to Gunray like that, though she didn't think it would be necessary. She'd never met a brave Neimoidian, never even heard of one, and she didn't think Hath Monchar would prove the excep-tion to the rule.

  Darth Maul melded with the darkness, becoming a shade among shadows, a ghost in the fetid gloom. It was always night this deep in the ferrocrete canyons.

  Artificial lights were few and far between at best, and there were many places where lights were burned out, stolen, or shattered by vandals. He had plenty of cover, and the lumbering pair in front of him had no idea they were being followed. Now and again the bodyguard would glance around to assure himself that no threat drew close, but it was obvious that he was an oaf, without skill or much training. Maul did not need to use the dark side to hide from such a being.