Star Wars: Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter

by Michael Reaves

Lorn glanced at Darsha. Green Hair waited placidly beside them. “Do we bring Fashion Plate here with us, or leave him?” he asked her.

  Darsha turned to the youth. “Are there any other traps or codes we need to know to get through the tube?”

  The Raptor nodded. “Only the door access code at the other end. One-one-three-four-oh.”

  The Padawan looked at Lorn. “Leave him.”

  Lorn nodded and untied their captive. Darsha laid her hand on the youth’s shoulder and spoke to him one more time. “You will forget all about us.”

  “I will forget all about you.”

  “Be on your way. If danger threatens, you will come to your senses immediately. Otherwise, you will become yourself again after an hour. Go. And,” Darsha added as he turned to leave, “get a haircut.”

  Green Hair nodded and wandered off, still in his Jedi-induced daze. Lorn couldn’t help smiling at the Padawan again. Not bad, not bad at all. He glanced at I-Five and saw the droid watching him, his blank expression somehow even more noncommittal than usual. Lorn cleared his throat and motioned the droid into the pipe. He wasn’t looking forward to climbing a ladder ten stories.

  Darsha followed Lorn and I-Five up the ladder. It was a long, claustrophobia-inducing climb, and on top of all the other exertions she had been through, it was fairly grueling. But the thought of finally leaving the lawless abyss that was the Crimson Corridor helped propel her upward.

  There was another access hatch at the top, which I-Five popped open easily. They followed him through.

  They were in a large chamber that, by the look of it, once had been a central power-dispensing agency for several blocks’ worth of buildings. It was two stories high and filled with conduits of all types, a bewildering array of catwalks, and what looked like several old thermal generators. At some point the plant must have been closed down and turned into a storage facility. At the far end of the room was a thick durasteel storage chamber designed for hazardous wastes. I-Five took a look inside it.

  “More junk,” he reported, “including a small carbon-freezing chamber.” The droid looked around the room, noticing the various containers of fuel and tanks of gas for welding stacked all over the place. “I wouldn’t fire any blasters if I were you,” I-Five said to Lorn.

  “If I have anything to say about it,” Lorn said with heartfelt intensity, “I’ll never fire a blaster again.”

  Darsha looked at I-Five and would have sworn the droid was smiling. Across the room was a door. There were several windows in the upper walls, and through them streamed bright sunlight. She grabbed Lorn and hugged him.

  “We made it!”

  He looked surprised, then uncertain—then surrendered to the moment and returned the hug. Before he could say anything, however, Darsha felt her joy wash away in a flood of dread.

  She could feel him before she could see him. She let go of Lorn and spun toward the door, lightsaber already in her hand.

  The door opened.

  The Sith was there.

  Darth Maul stood in the doorway and gazed upon his quarry, feeling the surprise and horror of the two facing him ripple across the room. They were trapped. He knew it and so did they, and it made this moment all the more glorious. He grinned slowly.

  He had arrived at the lower end of the conduit quickly, using the patrol speeder’s strobes to clear a path through the traffic. He had missed them, of course, but a quick reconnaissance of the conduit had revealed the only logical destination of the group. All the while he had acted with just the barest awareness of the Force, cloaking himself from its embrace. He had lived within the powerful boundaries of the dark side for so long that to not do so had left him feeling naked and blind at first, but it was necessary in order to not provide any warning to the Jedi apprentice who had sided with his quarry. He had circled the building, seeing only a few high transparisteel windows and one main doorway to the interior. He could not have devised a better trap had he tried.

  Still further removed from the Force than he had been in years, he had extended the tiniest tendril of awareness to the edge of the door leading into the building. There he had stood, waiting for confirmation that his prey was at its final destination.

  After a time, it had come, and he had stepped back into the Force, enjoying the sensation as the dark side enfolded him. Immediately he had felt the Padawan react, and then he had opened the door.

  Now Darth Maul stepped forward, igniting both blades of his lightsaber. The moment had been perfect, but like all such, it was fleeting, already over. It was time to create another, far more satisfying one: the triumph of finally completing his mission.

  For a few incredibly long heartbeats Darsha was paralyzed by shock, defeated by her emotions. Fear, despair, and hopelessness clawed at her, sapping her will. She faced the ultimate enemy; the Sith was far more powerful than she in the Force. He had slain Master Bondara, one of the Jedi’s best fighters.

  Give up, an insistent voice in the back of her mind whispered. Drop your weapon. Give up …

  But as the Sith activated his lightsaber’s twin blades, years of training that had grown almost into instinct flared within her. The council of despair in her head was stilled.

  She embraced the Force.

  There is no emotion; there is peace.

  Her fear evaporated and was replaced by quietude. She was still conscious of the fact that the Sith was well capable of killing her, but it was a distant concern. If death was inevitable, then what mattered was how she faced it.

  There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

  She had attended a lecture on battle techniques given by Master Yoda earlier this year, and the memory of it came back to her now.

  Yoda had faced the assembled students and spoken, his thin reedy voice somehow carrying to the far corners of the lecture hall without benefit of amplifiers.

  “Better than training, the Force is. More than experience or speed it gives.”

  And he had given a demonstration. Three members of the council—Plo Koon, Saesee Tiin, and Depa Billaba, excellent fighters all—had come forward and attacked him. Master Yoda had not been armed, and had not seemed to move more than a meter or so, his tread slow and measured. Nevertheless, none of the three had been able to lay a finger on him. The lesson had struck powerfully home: Knowledge of the Force was infinitely better than technique.

  Now Darsha let herself sink into the Force, not trying to maintain any control over it, letting it take over as she had when facing the taozin and the Raptors. How many times had Master Bondara told her to simply relax, to let go? She did so now, feeling herself reach a deeper place in the Force than she had ever been before. How she knew this she could not say—it simply was. She felt her senses heighten to diamond sharpness, and every feature of the abandoned power station came into focus, both the visible and the invisible. She knew every wall, door, and piece of machinery, each particle of dust.

  And she knew what she had to do.

  All this, in less than a second’s time.

  With a small wave of her hand behind her, Darsha telekinetically pushed Lorn and I-Five backwards, sending them shooting dozens of meters into the storage chamber that she knew had been designed to be strong enough to hold dangerous, volatile waste. The hatch slammed shut. The Sith would not be able to reach them immediately, which would give her time. With a thought she scrambled the lock mechanism so that the door could not be opened, then ignited her lightsaber, its golden glow shining in the dimness of the old power station.

  The twin ruby blades of the Sith’s lightsaber spun as he leapt toward her, and she stepped forward to meet him.

  Lorn pounded on the door of the waste-containment chamber, but it would not open.

  “Darsha! Open the door!”

  He tugged frantically at the latch, but the lock mechanism had been scrambled. There was a small port of yellowed transparisteel in the hatch, and through it he could see Darsha and the Sith battling, the energy blades colliding in showers of sparks.<
br />
  This was madness! What had she done? She had to know she had no chance against the demon who had killed her Master. The three of them together, with I-Five’s finger blasters and his own blaster, might possibly be able to take him. But there was no way she could face him alone.

  She was going to die.

  After her, in all probability, he would be next—but Lorn barely thought about that. All that mattered was getting that hatch open so that he could reach her, somehow help her!

  He pulled the vibroblade from his pocket and tried it on the locking mechanism. No good.

  “I-Five, get us out of here!” he shouted. When the droid did not respond, he turned to see why.

  I-Five had powered up the carbon-freezing unit. A cloud of bilious smoke—carbonite vapor—misted the small chamber.

  “What are you doing? She’s going to die out there!”

  “Yes,” the droid said. “She is.”

  Darth Maul felt a change in the Force as the woman stepped forward. Interesting—she was more powerful than he had thought. It did not matter, of course. He, who had trained his entire life to kill Jedi, could certainly not fail to kill a mere Padawan. But a more challenging opponent would take more time. Still, there were no other exits from the building; his target and the droid weren’t going anywhere.

  He might as well enjoy himself.

  Maul twirled his twin blades in an overhand arc, the better to separate her upper body from her lower.

  And she caught the strike on her weapon’s yellow length of plasma, deflecting the first blade, then sparking on the second to twist it past.

  He changed direction, stabbing forward in the form known as Striking Sarlacc to pierce her heart.

  Which was deflected by her in a downward stroke, the tip of her blade then arcing out to gut him.

  But he wasn’t there, having backflipped to land in a defensive posture.

  Darth Maul bared his teeth at her. For a Padawan, she was a worthy opponent. No Jedi Master lived within the Force more fully than she did at this moment.

  But he was going to kill her. He knew it, and so did she.

  The Sith apprentice launched a simultaneous attack, using the Force to throw a rusty power-wrench and a bucket of old fasteners from a worktable at her as he launched himself forward, lightsaber dancing a variant of a teräs käsi Death Weave.

  This entertainment was beginning to pall. Time to kill her and move on to his primary target.

  There is no passion; there is serenity.

  It was true. Every action she took was committed and well-defined, but there was no emotion, no conscious thought preceding it. The Force guided her, helped her make the lightning-fast movements necessary to deflect the Sith, and even to counterattack.

  But it was not enough. The Sith was the best fighter Darsha had ever seen. His movement was precise, his control of the Force that of a musician playing an intricate solo. All of which made it even more mandatory that information about him reach the Temple.

  Using the Force, she deflected the tool and bucket of parts he hurled at her. Several of the latter got through, striking her legs and torso as she leapt five meters up and onto a catwalk that ran the length of the chamber. As she landed, she caught a glimpse of Lorn’s stricken face, framed in the viewport of the containment unit’s hatch. She barely had time to catch her breath before the Sith was there in front of her. His eyes were hypnotic, their golden hue an eerie counterpart to the bloodred and black tattoos covering his face. But they did not prevent her from deflecting his strikes as he again moved within range, his twin blades spinning so fast they seemed to merge into a crimson shield.

  There was a sizzle as her blade intersected his, a flash of sparks as they separated, she to deflect, he to attack with the blade opposite.

  Darsha slashed backhand, feeling a weakness in his defense.

  But it was a trap, carefully laid, and he spun a ruby shaft to intersect, which would have hit her at the same time.

  But she wasn’t there, having propelled herself sideways to a new position a meter away, her lightsaber pointed at his chest.

  And the Sith dived forward, striking left-right-left in a series of attacks that left her winded, even assisted as she was by the Force. She deflected, forcing her mind to disengage from following his technique, to relax and maintain her deep connection to the Force. Thoughts were a hazard.

  He did not share that weakness; she could feel the truth of that. He had more conscious control of the power at his command, and that gave him the edge. If she tried to increase her control of the Force, she would reduce her ability to simply react—but if she did not, she could only defend.

  The problem reverberated within her as she maintained her connection with the environment, her senses reaching out, her mind searching for answers.

  When she found one, she tested it and realized it was her only chance.

  Lorn grabbed the droid’s arms and tried to pull him away from the unit’s controls. He might as well have tried to pull a skyhook down from orbit. “What are you doing?”

  I-Five did not stop working as he answered. “Trying to ensure that her sacrifice is not a futile one.”

  “It won’t be, if you’ll just blast that damned door open!”

  I-Five kept talking, his voice maddeningly even. “Even my reactions are no match for the Sith’s—and I am far faster than you and Padawan Assant. She is doing for us what her Master did for her—buying time.”

  “What good will that do? We’re trapped in this chamber—”

  “With a carbon-freezing unit that can be adapted to put us both in cryostasis.”

  Sheer surprise kept Lorn from protesting for a moment. The droid continued, “It’s theoretically possible for living beings to be frozen in a carbonite block and later revived. I read an interesting treatise on the subject once in Scientific Galactica—”

  Lorn turned, a snarl building deep in his throat, and aimed the Saurin’s blaster at the hatch lock. One way or another he was going to reach her.

  “Stop!” I-Five commanded. “This chamber’s magnetically sealed. The ricochet would most likely destroy us both.”

  Lorn spun about and pointed the blaster at I-Five. “Get over there and open that door,” he said, in a voice that did not sound remotely like his own, “or I’ll blow you to scrap metal.”

  I-Five turned his head and looked at him for a moment. Then the droid reached out and grabbed the blaster, taking it away from Lorn before the latter had time to pull the trigger.

  “Now listen to me,” I-Five said as he returned to his work. “We have one chance to survive this, and it’s not a very good one. The Padawan has no chance. She knows this.” He finished entering a final bit of data on the unit’s control panel. “Get into the unit.”

  Lorn stared at him, then turned and looked back out of the hatch window. He couldn’t see Darsha or the Sith directly, but he could see their shadows moving on the floor, cast by the light from the high windows. He realized they had taken the battle to one of the overhead catwalks.

  She is doing for us what her Master did for her—buying time.

  He had known her for barely forty-eight hours, and in that time he had gone from hating her and everything she stood for, to—this. This frantic pain, this frustration, this welter of emotions he had not allowed himself to feel for years. He did not love her; there hadn’t been enough time for that. But he had come to feel fondness for her, to deeply respect and admire her. If all the Jedi were like her …

  He didn’t want to finish the thought. He forced himself to.

  If all Jedi are like her, then what happened to Jax was the best thing for him.

  “Hurry!” I-Five said. “The unit’s on a timer. We have less than a minute.”

  Lorn pressed his face to the transparisteel, trying to get a last look at her. He failed. He could dimly hear the crackling and buzzing of the lightsabers, could see the flashes and cascades of sparks as they clashed against each other or sliced through met
al as though it were flimsiplast. But he could not see her.

  I-Five took him gently but firmly by the shoulders and turned him away from the hatch. Lorn let the droid lead him over to the carbon-freezing unit. He felt no fear as he stepped into it. The temptation was to not feel anything at all, to just be numb.

  No, he told himself. He had lived too long that way. If these were to be his final moments—which they could very well be; the odds of the droid’s plan succeeding were slim indeed—he would not live them in an emotional void.

  It was the very least he could do in acknowledgment of her sacrifice.

  He stepped into the open cylinder of the device. I-Five crowded in beside him. There was barely enough room for both.

  Lorn looked at the droid.

  “If we come out of this alive,” he said, “I’m going to kill that Sith.”

  I-Five did not reply; there was no time. Lorn felt freezing-cold steam boiling up around him. His vision was obscured by mist, which turned to darkness—a darkness as deep and complete as death.

  Darth Maul felt a slight disappointment as he realized that the Jedi was not truly as powerful as she had first appeared. Her depth in the Force was impressive, but her methodology did not match it. Both of them knew it was only a matter of time now. He focused his attacks, forcing her to use a more technique-based defense.

  She leapt down to the floor, and he followed her. He felt a Force-powered pressure move toward him and deflected it, sensing several large tanks and canisters being shoved around behind him. She was growing weak. Such an attack was a sign of desperation. Soon it would be over.

  He dived forward, rolling to come up alongside her, deflecting her attack as he did so. Another invisible pressure wave knocked over more equipment behind where he had been.

  Pitiful.

  Maul thrust upward with his blade and was met with hers, thwarted for the moment. A deliberately left weakness in his attack was not exploited, and again he felt a loss of respect for her.

  It was too bad, but there would be other missions, other challenges more worthy of his skills. Someday the Jedi Temple would be in ruins, and he would be there to see it, after having killed many of the Jedi himself. But now it was time to end this.