"An Inquisitor got him, Sir."

"Dead?"

"Yes. I got close, Sir, I really did. Chased him for almost a month only to lose him at the end. It was the big Dowutin."

Maul nods. "The Ninth Sister."

"That thing's female?"

"Yes."

The hologram fuzzes out and re-forms as the transmission signal fades in and out yet again. Wherever this Jedi hunter reporting to Maul is, he must be lightyears from Dathomir, Rhea thinks.

The man now continues, looking perplexed. "It was weird, Sir. I mean I've been watching this guy for weeks learning his schedule. Where he goes, what he does. Tailing him most every day waiting for the chance to nab him and make my offer. But today when I'm ready to make my move, the Inquisitor swoops in right under my nose. It was almost like she knew what I was doing. Like I had led her straight to the guy."

Rhea watches unseen from off camera as Maul digests this unwelcome news. "Do you think they are on to us?" he probes.

"I worry they are. Maybe it was a coincidence, but it didn't feel like it at the time."

As Maul considers further, his man in the field says what Rhea is thinking. "Sir, if they're on to me, then Vader's on to you."

Maul doesn't react to the point. He moves on. "What about that one on Braca? That Padawan we were watching last year?"

"Sure, I can look him up. He's our best lead right now other than those old rumors about Tattooine."

"Nothing else?"

The man shakes his head. "There's just not many left, Sir. There were only ten thousand in the whole galaxy tops. Those in their prime died to the clone troops. The young and the old died in their temples. And those few who escaped have mostly died to Vader's Inquisitors. This many years out, we're down to random leftovers."

Maul agrees. "The ones left survive deep underground. They're also the most powerful ones. Yoda, Kenobi, and any of their peers who persist."

"So . . . Braca or Tatooine?"

"Braca," Maul decides. "Don't bring the kid here when you get him. I'll meet you."

"Will do, boss."

"If the Dowutin shows up again on Braca, we'll know we're their stalking horse."

"Yes, Sir."

"Be discreet."

"I always am, Sir."

The conversation ends and the hologram dissipates as Maul clicks his comlink off.

He looks up now to see her sitting on the couch in his office across the room. He correctly reads the worried expression on her face. "Vader doesn't know I'm connected to this."

"How can you be sure?" Rhea frets.

"Because if he did, he would have instructed his Inquisitor to let us bring that Jedi in. Then, they would have followed us to see what we would do with him. The Jedi would be the bait to entrap me and then likely Organa. Vader would want to bust the whole ring of Jedi smugglers, not just me."

"You're sure?"

Maul is very confident. "I know how Vader thinks. Plus, even in his Jedi days, General Skywalker favored ruse strategies."

Maybe so, but still . . . "Lots of people know you hunt Jedi," Rhea points out. "The Hutts know. So do others in the underworld. Even without directly connecting you to that particular Jedi, it wouldn't be hard for Vader to learn what you've been up to."

"True," Maul concedes. "But if he does know, he probably thinks I'm an ally in his quest to murder his old colleagues. In which case, Vader probably wouldn't care. Dead is dead."

Maul exhales with frustration now and leans back in his chair. "I need to find some Jedi to smuggle to Organa. I want to know what the good Senator does with them. For all I know, there's some colony of Jedi refugees somewhere living anonymously . . . and Kenobi is with them."

"How ironic that you're the Sith who rescues Jedi," Rhea muses softly. It's one of the many contradictions of this man. Maul commits mortal sins, but he does small acts of mercy too now and then. Whether Maul does them with ulterior motives matters not to Rhea. The result is the same.

Maul just rolls his eyes at her comment. "I'm helping Jedi to further my revenge, and you know it," he complains. "Plagueis is the one doing it as a good work. He's managing to thwart Father even as he props up the failing Light Side of the Force for his grand theory of balance." Still, Maul appreciates the ridiculousness of it all. He muses slyly, "One Sith lord finances the rebellion to restore the Republic he conspired to take down. Another Sith lord commissions the rebel army that will fight the new Sith Empire."

"You are a treacherous bunch," Rhea observes and Maul takes it like a compliment. She has a suggestion now. "You should ask Plagueis to find you a Jedi. Sounds like he might know a thing or two about where they hide."

"That's a good idea. Maybe I'll even ask him what Organa does with them to see what he'll say."

"Do you really think he will tell you?"

"No," Maul answers, "but I will ask all the same. There was another Force user on Alderaan. The Jedi sensed them and I sensed them as well. Organa's in deep with the Jedi survivors, I just know it." Maul meets her eyes steadily now. "That Senator is the best lead I've had on Kenobi in decades. I'm not giving up on this."

His determined look makes her nod. "Can I help you?" she offers.

"When we catch the next Jedi, you can make the call to Organa again. I'm not giving up on this," Maul says a second time, vowing, "I will get my revenge."

In the moment, Maul looks as fierce as ever. All bared teeth, sharp horns, and devil red skin. But all Rhea can think as she witnesses his menace is that killing Kenobi might be a distraction from the more meaningful task of toppling his father's regime. Killing that Jedi won't give Maul his health back or win Darth Sidious' esteem.

Maul is so amazingly capable. The more Rhea sees him operate, the more she understands his diverse skillset. Because he's a man famed for violence, few would guess that his most lethal weapon is his mind. Maul thinks and talks his way around problems far more often than he lights his sword. It makes that brute Vader on the holonet look like an angry toddler with a lightsaber by comparison. Maul's talents are wasted on that decades old vendetta against Kenobi. Rhea fully understands why he wants revenge—she, more than anyone, knows the devastation that Jedi inflicted on Maul's body and psyche. But still . . . Maul ought to be saving the galaxy from his tyrannical father and his masked villain sidekick. Because from what she's seen, the rebels are a lost cause without Maul spurring them to action.

And so, she poses the question: "Is revenge more important than the rebellion?"

It's a very serious question. Because if Jedi-loving Senator Organa learns what Maul is really up to looking for Kenobi, they will lose all credibility with the rebels. And that means Maul's chance to lead the cause to topple his father's regime could be lost forever. He'll be back to ruling his empire of vice instead.

Maul sits back in his desk chair now and smiles flippantly. "You mean would I rather kill Kenobi or kill Vader? The answer to that question is 'yes.'"

"I'm serious."

"So am I. I'm going to get my revenge and I'm going to retake my rightful place ruling the galaxy." Maul rises and crosses the room to sit beside her. "I want it all, little one," he vows. His bloodshot yellow eyes seem to glitter with intensity at the words.

Rhea knows better than to clarify whether ruling the galaxy means being the new Vader or being the new Sidious. She knows deep down Maul wants the former and he will only settle for the latter if he has to. It's largely a theoretical question anyway. With immortal Darth Plagueis hanging around, the best Maul can hope for either way is to be the Apprentice again. But that's still better than being an ignominious crime lord.

She can see that the prospect of finding Kenobi has Maul energized, as does their ongoing work on the rebellion. Crimson Dawn's boss was bored. And now that he's back in the action again, he's feeling focused. More animated, less sarcastic. More confident. Sometimes almost happy. Rhea likes to think that she helps some with that last part. It makes her loath to harp on the risks he is undertaking searching for Kenobi.

"I'm going to have to meet you on Lothal tomorrow," he says as he reaches to slide her closer. "I have some business to attend to on a neighboring world beforehand in the morning. Uli's headed that direction on the way to Coruscant. I'll get him to drop you there in time for the meeting. Then, I'll take you home with me when we're done."

"Whatever you wish," Rhea readily agrees.

"I don't want you tagging along on my first stop," Maul explains. "Things are likely to get ugly."

Uh oh. "You're going to kill someone?"

"I might."

She swallows hard and nods. Violence is part of gang culture, but she's never gotten used to it. Maul knows that and he often shields her from it. But in her other role as housemaid, she sees the aftermath often enough. By now, Marisol has taught her all she knows about cleaning bloodstains out of rugs and upholstery.

"I'll go with Uli," she declares.

"Good girl."

The next day, she hitches a lift to Lothal as planned. She lands a half hour ahead of schedule, but their meeting guests have already arrived. It's Major Draven accompanied by one of his young rebel intelligence colleagues who's about her age. He's fully human and his name is Cassian Andor. Overall, he's pretty forgettable save for his pair of soulful eyes old beyond his years. Together, the two men wait on the landing pad for her to arrive.

The local Crimson Dawn lieutenant is there as well. He's a grizzled human with a cybernetic eye and faded tattoo sleeves who everyone calls Old Archie. Archie, like the rest of the gang, thinks his warehouses full of weapons are for Maul's new arms dealing venture. He's been told that Major Draven is a prospective buyer here to assess the inventory.

"Heya Rhea," Archie calls as she disembarks and turns to wave goodbye to Uli and give him the thumbs up to take off. "The boss is incoming. He just checked in."

It's not like Maul to be late. "Is something wrong?"

"Nah. He just needed to settle a matter with the Hutts. They stole another shipment this week. This time, they didn't even pretend to hide their tracks." Old Archie spits on the ground. "Those Hutts are really gonna piss him off someday and there'll be Hell to pay." Crusty Archie looks pointedly at Draven and his associate. "Don't get on the boss' bad side. The guy is lethal. Everything people say about Maul is true."

"We are aware," the Major drawls.

"Good. So . . . you guys here to buy an army?"

"We're here to see the merchandise."

"Mercenaries?"

"Something like that."

"Yeah, you look military," the gang lieutenant observes of the buzzcut Major, who is currently out of uniform.

Rhea speaks up to inform Archie, "You're getting a new shipment of munitions tomorrow. Did you get my note?"

"Yeah, I saw it. More blasters and grenades. Rhea, I'm running out of room," he complains. "Where am I going to put that shit?"

"I've got a new pre-fab hangar building coming soon."

"Another warehouse?"

"30,000 square feet," she confirms.

"And just where am I putting that?"

"The far east corner of the landing pad."

"Won't be room left for anyone to land," Old Archie harrumphs. "I used to stockpile spice, now I run a fucking armory. You tell the boss to throw a half-price sale and move some of this equipment out of here. I've got a run coming in from Kessel next Friday. Don't know where I'm gonna put it."

Rhea has an answer for that. "It's being diverted. We'll be keeping only the bare minimum spice here going forward."

"Is that so?" Crimson Dawn's local boss crosses his arms and peers down at her. "No one told me anything about that."

"Maul's making you the headquarters for armaments."

That news softens the blow. Old Archie chuckles. "Well, look at me. Suddenly, I'm Darth-fucking-Vader."

"Did the new ships arrive on schedule?" Rhea wants to know.

"Yeah, they're here. Wanna see? Come on," Archie beckons and their group heads for the first of a series of warehouses.

Once inside, Draven's young associate lets out a low whistle of appreciation. He exchanges looks with the Major. The men are impressed.

Old Archie grins and his good eye twinkles with mischief. He gestures expansively at the starfighter parked right up front. "Check it out. A real-life TIE fighter. Brand new. It came yesterday."

Rhea frowns. "There should be four."

"The others are in the east hangar."

"Got it."

As Draven and Andor look over the ship, Old Archie confesses longingly, "I so want to take that thing out for a joyride . . . "

"You do that and you might get chased by a real TIE fighter," the Major warns. "There's a garrison here."

"It's growing by the week," Rhea reports. "But that makes it easier to get our weapons deliveries down to the surface. Our suppliers blend in with the rest of the shipments."

"I hate the fucking Empire," Old Archie curses and spits again on the ground. He looks to her. "Hey, you should tell the boss to give one of these TIEs to those rebels on Mimban so they can sneak attack the Imps."

She shoots the local lieutenant a quelling look. "We don't run a charity. That thing's going to a paying customer."

"You're a hardhearted woman, Rhea," Archie laments. "Don't you watch the newsfeeds? Mimban's a massacre in the mud."

"This is business," she informs him.

"Yeah, I know. It's just all that crap about liberating Mimban from terrorists doesn't fool me. Those guys aren't terrorists. They owned that world. The Imps are the invaders."

"This is business," Rhea announces again while the rebels listening in keep admirable poker faces.

Old Archie can tell he has spoken out of turn. "Yeah, yeah, I know. . . Maul doesn't care about politics. He cares about business. He'd sell spice and whores to ugly old Sheev Palpatine if he could."

"Now that would be something to see," the Major's young colleague smirks.

Rhea moves on. "Did the speeder bikes come too?"

"Yep. When they unloaded, I thought for a moment Crimson Dawn was becoming a swoop gang." Old Archie guffaws at his own joke. "They're back in the corner." Their host points to the far end of the building.

And that's when the sound of ion engines overhead gets everyone's attention. "There he is," Archie says what everyone is thinking. "Well, I'll leave you to it, Rhea. Got to go look busy since the big boss is in the house." He winks his good eye. "Don't pull any pins from the grenades now, you hear?"

"Thanks, Archie," she groans at his attempt at humor.

"Any time, little lady." He gives her a mock salute. Then he hurries off.

The Major's assistant watches him go, observing, "He's a colorful one. You all are rather distinctive."

Rhea lifts a hand to her mangled cheek, knowing he refers to it.

Andor immediately adds, "I meant that in a good way." He explains, "I'm a spy. I spend a lot of time blending in so I can observe people. But no one around here blends in."

She sighs. "I couldn't blend in if I tried."

"You know, you're still pretty despite the scar."

"Yeah?" Rhea breathes before she can stop herself.

"Definitely." The young man has a charming smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "I love a woman who can talk TIE fighters and grenades," he confides with the barest hint of a chuckle.

A comlink rings. It's the Major's phone. He checks the caller and excuses himself. "Gotta take this one. It will be short. Finish checking things out," he instructs Andor. The Imperial Major who moonlights as a rebel leader now walks a fair distance apart so as not to be overheard. He leaves Rhea alone with his associate to wander further into the warehouse.

It's clear that Cassian Andor fully understands the charade he's part of. Because contrary to what she just told Archie, all of what's going on is politics, not business. The young rebel cocks his head at her and speaks in his slightly accented Basic. "I've heard a lot about your boss. Never met a drug lord before. Especially one with political views. He's risking a lot for us."

She nods. "This is extremely important to Maul."

"And you?"

She confirms, "For me as well."

"How'd you get into this gig?" Andor probes as he pokes at a crate of blasters.

"Maul selected me. I work at his headquarters."

"What did you do before that?"

"I was in a local branch location until I was reassigned." Taking a page out of Maul's playbook, Rhea omits the inconvenient details about being the maid at a brothel. The rebels don't know that the handsome uniform dress she wears now marks her for a domestic and not Maul's sole female lieutenant.

"And before that?" Andor presses.

"I was a war orphan and a refugee living on the streets."

"Is that where you got—?" He motions to his own cheek by way of indicating her scar.

She nods. "I was hurt and my family was killed on Ryloth during the war."

"I'm sorry."

Rhea responds the way she always does to sympathy. She brushes it off. "It was a long time ago." Even if it feels like yesterday. Those losses are still raw all these years later. Suddenly, much to her chagrin, she finds herself blinking back tears.

The young rebel notices. He steps closer now to relate, "A lot of us have sad stories like yours, only the Empire is to blame. We understand even if we don't know the details. Ms. Cardulla—Rhea-, I know your pain. I feel it too."

It's gently and sincerely said. She nods. Then, they move on. Because that's what you do when you grieve: you hurt, you cry, you move on. Over and over again until the hurt lessens and moving on becomes a habit.

Andor keeps up his stream of questions. "What about your boss? Why's Maul doing this?" Andor is very casual about his fishing, but they both know what he's doing.

Rhea gives the answer the rebels know: "The Emperor had his homeworld destroyed and his people exterminated. Maul is last of his kind."

"A witch?"

This guy clearly knows more than he's letting on. But Rhea plays along. "That's right. He's one of the Witches of Dathomir."

"A drug lord witch with a heart of gold," Andor teases.

"No," she corrects him. "Maul wants justice for his people."

The spy doesn't quibble over the semantics. "So . . . how'd he end up running spice?"

She shrugs as they move on to inspect a used hovertank. "It pays the bills, I guess."

"It pays handsomely, I hear. Draven said his compound is something to see."

"Maul's a businessman and he's very good at what he does," Rhea volunteers loyally. Plus, she's proud of the compound. It's her home and she helps to maintain it.

Andor leans in close now as he whispers under his breath, "Tell me something-can he really kill Darth Vader?"

"I hope so," she answers.

"I was hoping for more reassurance than that." Andor now muses, "So . . . is your boss going to show up with a pretty girl under each arm and a lit spice joint between his fingers?"

"We aren't Hutts." Rhea frowns at the gangster image he suggests.

Her companion grins. "I'm picturing him like something out of a Corellian rap video. Fur cape, half naked girls, a blaster strapped to his hip, some big showy chain around his neck, and a posse of aliens behind him." He cocks his head at her. "I'm a little surprised Maul's got a female assistant. But I guess you fulfill the pretty girl requirement." The comment is followed by another one of those crinkly-eyed smiles.

"Cut the crap, Andor. Save those lines for your off-hours." It's no-nonsense Draven walking up from behind. Next to him is Maul.

"Indeed." Maul shoots the young man a hot yellow glare before he snarls, "She's not your type." He snaps his fingers at Rhea and she practically leaps to join his side.

None of that exchange is lost on the young spy, who gives Maul a cheeky, unrepentant look. It earns him another glare, she notices.

"Alright," Draven gets down to business, "Maul, what are we here to see?"

"Droids." They follow Maul into another building filled with metal soldiers. Rhea has seen them before, of course. But each time, they provoke a shiver down her spine. She has a lot of bad memories of droids.

Draven looks over the first set of utilitarian looking KX-series Imperial security droids. He's unimpressed. "The Empire's got these working in the prison system. They're only moderately effective. They're easy to fool and terrible shots."

"Like conscript stormtroopers," Andor adds.

"Reprogram them," Maul counters.

"That leads to a lot of bugs and glitches. And it takes time," Andor points out.

"They're not for combat. They're for intel. They could be useful penetrating Imperial facilities to gather information. They could do it undetected," Maul lays out his tactics.

Draven nods thoughtfully and looks to his colleague. "He's right."

"They look expensive," Andor worries.

"They are," Maul confirms. "Take one and play around with it and tell me if you want me to buy more."

"Alright." Major Draven gestures to Andor and the young spy steps forward to activate the nearest droid.

"Who are you?" the spy asks the robot as it boots up.

"I am K-2SO," the faceless mechanical man answers in his tinny speech. "Running preliminary diagnostics . . ." The droid starts to cycle through its startup protocols, narrating as it goes along.

"That's it?" Underwhelmed Draven looks to Maul. "That's what we came for?"

"No. Those aren't the droids we're looking for. These," he leads them farther into the massive building, "these are what you came to see."

"Well, I'll be damned," Draven gulps. A shadow briefly passes his face.

His colleague is similarly taken aback for a moment. "Roger, Roger," Andor then remarks wryly under his breath. "For a moment there, I thought we were fighting the last war."

"We might be," Maul responds cryptically. Only Rhea understands. "This is what you came to see."

Maul starts pacing them through neat rows of modern-day battle droids. These aren't the rough, cheap-looking mass produced models that everyone remembers from the war. These are the new and improved versions of their plenty lethal predecessors who terrorized the galaxy a decade ago. The new droids are black, not red, and extremely slick-looking. Maul ticks through their stats on shielding and firing capability, but no one is listening.

"Where did you get these?" Major Draven looks almost aghast.

"Like them?"

"I'm not sure."

"Bring back memories?" Maul taunts.

"Yes. Bad ones."

"Get over it," Maul orders brutally. "Start thinking of them as allies not enemies. They could be very useful."

Maul now looks over to where she hangs on the perimeter. This is as close as Rhea plans to get to the creepy mechanical army. But her clear squeamishness annoys him as well. Whatever happened this morning has clearly put Maul in a very bad mood. "They're deactivated," he sneers at her, "They can't hurt you. Stop being ridiculous. Quivering there like an idiot."

"Yes, Sir." Rhea nods, but she's unconvinced. Because just looking at those battle droids hurts her. Maul knows that, too.

"I thought manufacturing this sort of thing was illegal," Major Draven squints at Maul.

"It is. But as you know," Crimson Dawn's boss brags, "I'm a bit of a scofflaw, and I know some shady people."

"How expensive are these?" It's Andor again concerned about the cost.

Maul shrugs. "Less expensive than feeding and training a volunteer army. We'll get a volume discount if we order in thousand-piece increments."

Draven is reluctant. "I thought we agreed this was going to be the people rising up against the Empire."

"It will be. The droids are just a small part of the force we will build."

While the Major digests this assertion, Andor bluntly asks, "Are they any good?"

"Want a demonstration?"

"Sure."

Maul looks like he was hoping for that answer. "Let's take this outside then." He activates one of the battle droids and the group troops outside to the landing pad.

"Who's my volunteer?" Maul looks immediately to Andor. "You any good with that blaster?" His yellow eyes find the pistol strapped to the young spy's hip in a clear challenge.

The rebel nods and crosses his arms. "I can handle myself."

"We'll see," Maul smirks. He fiddles with the battle droid. "I'm setting to stun at the lowest difficulty. You're getting a ten second head start. You're the sole target. The program runs for two minutes."

"Wait—now?" Andor gulps.

"You had better run," Maul answers somewhat gleefully.

The young spy takes off just as the droid fires its first shot. Had he remained in place a second longer, he would have been hit with the stun bolt. What ensues is a cat-and-mouse game as the nimble man pulls his weapon and runs for cover first behind Maul's ship and then behind the craft the rebels arrived on. Each time, the battle droid flushes him out with a different attack tactic.

Maul explains the droid's programming to Draven as they watch the action. The rebel Major doesn't know, of course, that Maul has long experience with battle droids dating back from his Apprentice days when he helped to commission the Separatist droid army. Listening to Maul objectively explain the droid's strengths and weaknesses makes Rhea uncomfortable. It's not just because of her own war experience. It's also because she knows that the army Maul had a big hand in creating ultimately destroyed his own homeworld. Like everything in his past, it's complicated. Darth Maul was equal parts victim and perpetrator, she has decided. And Maul today? Well, now he's sided with the good guys . . . for now, at least.

"It's a draw," Major Draven declares when the two-minute drill expires. "Well done, Cassian," he calls to his underling who has fired many shots but didn't get a hit on the elusive droid.

Sweating and winded but still standing, Andor wanders back. "That thing is fast. Very fast," he pants. "I'd hate to see it on full strength."

"Then watch and learn, young one," Maul purrs. He approaches the fearsome droid himself now, calling, "Full combat mode, lethal setting, no limitations."

"Maul!" Rhea gasps. "Sir!"

He whirls and waves her away. "Stand back. All of you."

"But Sir!"

Maul ignores her.

Is he doing this? Is he really doing this? Rhea looks to the two rebels who say nothing. So, she speaks up again. "Sir, you don't have to do this to impress us—"

"I'm not." Scowling hard at her, Maul answers coldly, "Right now, I feel like killing something."

That shuts her down. Rhea looks helplessly at the two rebels who appear more intrigued than appalled.

As always, Maul keeps his long sword hilt set diagonal across his waist. He detaches it and holds it to the side to ignite both blades. Even at this distance, the distinctive double snap-hiss carries.

Rhea flinches.

Draven and Andor are transfixed.

"Oh, yeah," the Major breathes out under his breath. "It's on."

Maul doesn't take cover. He stands his ground in the open as a fierce fight commences. This modern battle droid doesn't hold a rifle like its predecessor. Both of its arms are rifles. They fire in rapid succession as Maul begins to deflect the plasma bolts. It's a dizzying display of swordsmanship. Moreover, this droid doesn't just march forward and backward on land. It takes flight with a built-in jetpack like some Mandalorian.

"Holy shit, I'm glad he set it to easy for me," Andor remarks as he watches.

Rhea too can't look away. Like everyone else, she is fascinated with the 'will he survive?' drama of the moment, except she is especially invested in the outcome. This is Maul, and the thought of losing him or what little is left of him being injured has Rhea terrified. Her heart is in her throat and she's sure that her deep regard for her boss is written all over her face for all to see. Draven and Andor don't notice only because they aren't looking. For they too are engrossed.

It's all so fast. Her eyes and her mind can't keep up. In the moment, what happens is as much an indistinct blur as it will be long afterwards in her memory. It's mostly a humming, buzzing, twirling streak of red from Maul's doubled bladed sword combined with an unrelenting barrage of lethal green plasma bolts.

Maul fights like a dancer, with graceful leaps, lunges, and dodges that when performed by another might belong on the stage. As it is, this fight feels very much like a performance. Beside her, the two men follow it with all the breathless excitement of a sporting match. The danger has them hooked.

Is this Maul's way of establishing his prowess? Or is this something else? How long had Maul been observing her and Andor before he and Draven walked up? Did Maul somehow overhear Andor's skepticism about whether he could really kill Darth Vader? Rhea wonders. Because this is a clear display of power and ability. A chance to show off and to earn respect.

"Yep, those are Jedi moves," Major Draven nods. "I remember those from the war."

"He's the real deal," still panting Andor concurs with his boss. "Raddus is right—he's our Jedi."

They're wrong, of course. Maul was trained to kill Jedi, not to save them like he does now. But Rhea keeps that to herself. From her youth, she remembers seeing holonet newsfeed footage highlighting the Jedi fighting on the battlefront. They swung their swords at droid attackers with impressive skills. But they never had Maul's delight in doing so. For as she watches in dread, Maul smiles grimly at his efforts.

He's in his element, she realizes. Violence is his happy place. Combat is his comfort zone. Frankly, she can't relate at all. Because she's sweating and her heart is racing and this feels like the longest five minutes of her life.

Once Maul has swung his sword enough, he starts throwing the battle droid around with the Force. It's shielded, so it survives the impacts. The droid simply rights itself and resumes firing. That continues for a minute before Maul decides he's done and attacks with a springing superhuman leap that ends with him stabbing his lightsaber down through the droid's mechanical skull into its body. The metal man crumples into its component parts.

Satisfied, Maul deactivates his sword and strolls back to his audience. Unlike the much younger spy, he's neither sweating nor winded. Swaggering Maul appears like he's just going about his business and nothing exciting has just occurred. Like this is all in a day's work and there's nothing to see.

Relieved Rhea can finally breathe. More than anything, she wants to run into Maul's arms. But she dares not. Besides, when his eyes briefly flit over her, they are hostile. He's truly angry that she tried to intervene, she surmises.

The two men beside her are still picking their jaws off the ground. "Okay, they're good. You're good. That Jedi stuff is impressive," Draven immediately gives praise where praise is due.

Maul nods coolly. "I'm a witch, not a Jedi."

"Right. I'll pretend I know what that means."

"Take ten of the battle droids with you," Maul instructs the two rebels. "Smuggle them to our friends on Mimban. Put them on one of Organa's humanitarian ships on some mercy mission."

Andor approves. "I like how you think."

"Will Organa do it?"

The Major nods. "Bail's a risk taker. He'll do it. While we're at it, can we put a few of those anti-tank missiles in with the food and medicine?"

"Take some of the surface to air ones as well," Maul suggests. "Let's start supplying those locals. Get some men embedded with them."

"Already done," Draven answers.

Maul raises an eyebrow. "Good ones?"

"Yes."

"Excellent," Maul approves. "Gentlemen, this will be an information gathering exercise. We're not trying to win, so much as we are learning how the Empire will respond."

"What do you mean?" Draven probes.

"We're going to poke the beast and see he how he retaliates," Maul explains. "It will tell us a lot about how we need to equip ourselves going forward. Let's see what works and doesn't work in the field of battle."

"I see." Draven nods.

"We will win by outlasting the Empire and by provoking them to greater and greater excesses. If we want galaxy-wide public support, we need to goad them into showing their worst tendencies," Maul continues.

Young Andor bristles. "You mean we're setting up Mimban for some war crime level crackdown?"

Maul states it differently. "We are covertly arming our kindred rebels. Because we believe in their cause and because they can teach us how to engage with the Empire going forward."

Major Draven now puts his own spin on it. "You mean, you're starting this war. Now. On Mimban."

Maul smiles slyly. "It has already begun. Have you seen the newsfeeds? How proud the Empire is of its slaughter? Let's not make it too easy on them. Let's give them some resistance."

"Amen to that," Draven nods heartily. He turns to his colleague. "Let's get this stuff loaded and get out of here." The Major is excited and it shows.

Maul summons Old Archie who summons the warehouse muscle. The men push one levitating crate after another into the Major's ship. When it leaves, it is stocked to the brim with droids and weapons.

Impatient Maul doesn't linger for further instructions once the ship takes off. He announces curtly, "We're done. Let's go." Abruptly, he stalks towards his small fighter. Rhea yelps goodbye to Archie and then leaps to keep up.

As soon as they are inside the ship in private, Maul whirls on her. "What were you doing?" Before she can blink, he's got her wrists held tightly.

Rhea squirms. "You're hurting me—"

"Answer me!" he roars. Very uncharacteristically, Maul has raised his voice. His usual high, soft rasp is plenty menacing. Its intensity makes you feel as though you're being yelled at even in quiet tones. But this truly shouting Maul has Rhea petrified. She's confused and befuddled at somehow having provoked him to this. Things must have gone very badly this morning with the Hutts, because he can't be this angry about her objecting to that droid fight.

"Maul—what's going on? You're hurting me-"

"What were you doing before I arrived?"

"W-Whaat?"

"Tell me!"

Flustered Rhea tries to think. "We were looking at the supplies while we waited for you . . . that's all." Her lips tremble as she blinks fast. "Archie was there a b-bit, then he left to get back to w-work."

"What were you doing with that young rebel?" Maul hisses in her face.

"W-Whaat?"

"That young spy!" Maul's grip tightens and hurts again. "I saw how you were acting—you were flirting! I saw you coming on to him!"

"I was not! He was the one flirting!" At least, she thinks. Rhea has very little experience with flirting. Back at the brothel, there was little romance to the encounters she observed. And Rhea hasn't done much flirting of her own since her high school days, and that was as awkward as it was innocent.

"You better not have been flirting! I will kill you! Do you hear me?! I will kill you!" Maul has her by the upper arms and he's shaking her now. Like a rag doll, her head bobs and her lekku dance.

"Maul, no!" she shrieks. She's horrified. Hurt, too. "N-No! I would n-never look at another man! I would n-never cheat on you! You know that!" The exchange today with Cassian Andor was completely harmless. She didn't encourage it and he wasn't threatening. It was nothing, truly nothing. She's shocked that it has elicited this response from Maul.

He stops shaking her, but she's still in his grip. "Do I need to leave you behind at the compound? Do I need to keep you away from other men?"

His yellow eyes are hard and glittery. He looks just as dangerous now as when he swung his sword earlier. Except that Maul was calm and purposeful, confident in his warcraft. This Maul looks a little desperate. Like his raised voice, the marked departure from his normal controlled demeanor has Rhea alarmed. Maul seems unpredictable in a way that scares her.

"Maul—no!" she wails. "Please no!"

"I mean it! I will keep you in a cell if you make me! I'll put a chain on you for real!" he threatens.

She can feel hot tears overwhelm her as she chokes out, "There's no need—"

"There is every need!" he snaps. His hands shift from her arms to her throat now as he jerks her forward. Maul is not a big man but what's left of him is pure muscle. Plus, he's taller than her and he has the Force as well. She is no match for this man physically in a tussle. And so, Rhea is terrified as he starts to squeeze.

"Want to go to bed with him, do you? Want to sleep with a whole man? Is that it?"

She shakes her head in furious denial, unable to form the words that she cares too much to ever do that to him. Because Maul is all the man she will ever need. And because she is loyal. It's her nature.

"Do you want to fuck him? To spread your legs and be his whore?" Maul jeers. "Want someone your own age, do you?"

Again, she silently denies his accusations. Her hands cover his gloved hands now, trying to pry open his grip. She makes no progress, and now her vision begins to blur. If this keeps up, Rhea knows she will pass out soon.

Maul has turned on her before. Berating and threatening her. But never has he physically accosted her. Each time, it's when he's feeling vulnerable. Because he's revealed something or done something that makes him uncomfortable. This is a man who promised to kill her the very first time they went to bed together, after he first disclosed the full extent of his disability. And now that he feels threatened by that young rebel spy, he's reissuing the ultimatum. And it's silly because the only thing that man has which Maul can't offer is his body. Rhea doesn't care about that. But Maul does, clearly. He cares a lot.

"If I ever catch you looking at another man again, I will kill you! I will kill him and I will kill you! Do you understand me?"

He loosens his grip and Rhea can breathe, but just barely. Eyes huge, she shakes her head up and down. It splatters her tears on her cheeks.

"Say it!" Maul commands as he loosens his grip more.

"Y-Yes!" she croaks out.

"If I kill you, then I will curse you in the Force and your soul will never know peace! You will never be one with the Force, you will always remain a ghost of who you are now! I cursed Kenobi like that and I cursed his Jedi Master I killed as well. They will always haunt this life, incapable of fully leaving it. Peace is a lie for them for forever," he snarls, "because they crossed a Sith Nightbrother."

"Oh, Maul," she gasps and heaves. "I'll never leave you." Her heart racing, Rhea throws her arms around him, trying to reassure him. To show rather than tell him how safe he is with her.

It works. She can feel his body relax as she hangs on. His words are still harsh but achingly defensive now too. "I will kill you if you hurt me! You don't get to hurt me! No one gets to hurt me!"

"Hold me. Please just hold me," Rhea cries into the fabric of his tunic. She's clinging but he clings back.

"You can't leave me. You can never leave me," he announces.

Yes, she knows. This rejected man will not tolerate rejection. "I'm here until you tire of me," she wails.

"I mean it. Little one, I mean it," he insists as he begins to stroke her lekku. And now, she's calming down as well. Her muffled sobs slow. She's far from composed, but no longer hysterical and fearful for her life.

"You can never leave me. I won't let you leave me." He says it like an endearment, not a threat.

"I know. Kill me when we're done so I don't have to live without you," she sighs into his chest. She means it.

"I could never hurt you," Maul responds.

"I know."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know."

"I won't do it again."

"I know."

And that ends the argument. His insecurity and her neediness combine to reassure them both. Because Rhea would never leave Maul for so many reasons, not the least of which is that she doubts any other man would want her damaged like she is. Guys like that rebel spy might want her for a novelty one-night stand, but they would never want her for a relationship. You don't bring your monster-faced girlfriend home to meet your parents or show her off to your peers and pals. Moreover, Maul's jealous possessiveness has just affirmed how important she is to him. It tells her she's right that their affair is more than sex.

For his part, Maul gets to rage and threaten and watch her submit, like he knew she would. He needs to assert his dominance to feel manly despite his injury. Slowly, Rhea has come to realize just how devastating the loss to Kenobi was to Maul's psyche. From the boots he sometimes wears to hide his metal feet, to the great pains he takes to conceal the true extent of his injuries, he's very self-conscious. In some ways, his disability is a bigger secret than his Sith background.

The temper that just flared hot has cooled. Rhea's fear and tears subside. It's over now and they both feel better for it. Conflicts often produce moments of truth, she is learning. For when we choose sides and state our positions, we state our wants, even if it's indirectly. A fight is rarely about the dirty laundry left on the floor or the overspent credit card. Those are the triggers, not the cause. Underlying it all are insecurities and unmet needs, maybe also unspoken expectations about roles and the future. It's all the hard stuff that people may not even realize about themselves or may find hard to own up to.

Rhea knows she and Maul aren't a holonet love story. They raise red flags with their age difference and their employment context. Inexperienced as she is, Rhea also knows that your lover isn't supposed to threaten to kill you. That sort of control shouldn't be necessary in a healthy relationship. And no one who truly cares for you would seek to harm you. Things are supposed to be equal, with a give and take between partners. That's what the experts say, in any case.

Except experts don't fall in love, people fall in love. Flawed people with desires that can be as urgent as they are embarrassing. You can't control what the heart wants any more than you can deny it for long. But can a relationship that looks toxic from the outside have good aspects as well? This one does, Rhea decides as she revels in the warmth of their reconciliation. Because as mismatched a mésalliance as her and Maul's affair is, it fulfills deep needs for both of them. And those needs have conspired to overcome both of their better judgement. They were never swept away by passion so much as they were drawn to soothe one another's hurts. For people who know pain can recognize it in others.

And so, a know-it-all psychologist might have a field day analyzing her and Maul. One of those loud feminist scolds might harangue her for not insisting on more power in their pairing. Anyone who witnessed that argument might also legitimately fear for her safety. But Rhea is content. In Maul's arms is all the acceptance and validation that has been missing from her life. He comes with a lot of strings attached, but she doesn't care.

After they take off and make the jump to lightspeed, Rhea unbuckles her seat harness and stands. She and Maul sit back to back in his cramped spacecraft. Three steps easily put her on his side of the fighter.

He points a finger and the piloting controls retract, along with the ship's throttle. It's just a lot of blinking control panels now to frame the ship's large octagonal window. Another gesture of his hand reclines the pilot seat. Maul settles in for the three-hour flight and starts unstrapping his own harness.

Is he going to work? As usual, there are at least two datapads within easy reach. If he's going to work, she won't bother him, Rhea decides as she waits for his attention.

She says nothing as she lingers. Neither does he when he looks up. He just pats his lap as an invitation. Rhea climbs on.

His voice is soft in her ear as he tells her, "Tonight, I want you to wear that Canto Bight dress and shoes for me."

She nestles closer and offers, "How about I wear just the heels with the collar and chain?" She'll be a slave for him alone. After today's fight, she wants to reaffirm him in the role of master. He needs that, she is realizing.

Maul chuckles low in his throat. "Now that is something to look forward to."

They stay there like that for the ride home. Him kicked back with one knee propped up like always. Her in his lap facing him sprawled across his chest. She holds tight and he absently strokes her back. It's what they both need but would find it hard to admit.

The brilliant blue eddies and swirls of hyperspace shine through the fighter's window, casting a pallor over them both. Maul watches the strange hypnotic patterns as he broods in deep meditation. Rhea closes her eyes and dozes. Together, they might plot to consume the galaxy in another civil war, but between them, they both want peace.