Predictably, at their next meeting Darth Plagueis stonewalls him on his Jedi questions. Curiosity earns Maul another lecture.

"Focus on the task at hand," the towering Muun chides from his seat across the room as they conduct their monthly parley in his office at the compound. "The rebels desperately need your leadership. They are hungry for it, my Lord. Why waste your time and talents chasing Jedi?"

He fixes his Master's Master with a hard look. "You know why."

The Muun waves away the concern. "Kenobi is the past—"

"He's not dead."

"He's as good as dead. He's irrelevant."

Maul digs in. "I can do two things at once."

"You also have a business to run, do you not?"

"Three things, then."

Old Darth Plagueis shoots him a look of annoyance. The zombie Sith abruptly changes the topic in the face of his doggedness. "I'm glad to hear that we are smuggling help to Mimban. Finally, we're getting somewhere."

"Does Mothma know?"

"Organa told her. He tells her everything."

"And?"

"She was irked you didn't ask permission."

Maul grunts. "I'd rather beg her forgiveness."

"She likes to act as gatekeeper for all major decisions. That one has a huge ego," Plagueis complains.

"Takes one to know one."

The Muun takes the puerile hit gracefully. "So true, so true." He's in a genial mood today and eager to talk. It's like he wants to hang out casually shooting the breeze while they plot high treason. Plagueis continues: "Raddus was thrilled, of course. He can't wait to declare an open revolt. You have a big fan in that Mon Cala."

"He and Draven are the only ones who realize what we're up against militarily."

"Agreed."

Maul tries again now, undeterred. "What does Organa do with the Jedi he collects?"

"Are we back to that again? Move on, my Lord."

"Indulge me."

"Very well," the senior Sith relents, "since you insist. For a time, Organa let Jedi live in a remote forest in the Alderaan countryside. They even built a temple."

"Surely, that's long gone."

"Uhmmm . . . yes. Vader arrived and pretended it was the end of the war all over again. Close to seventy were slaughtered, I believe."

"Good riddance," Maul casually dismisses the bloodshed. These are Jedi they're talking about, after all.

"It was foolish to think they could coalesce in significant numbers and not be found out," Plagueis observes. "Organa's a layman, so he can't be faulted for the misjudgment. But those Jedi should have known better. That concentration of the Light was bound to attract the notice of my Apprentice."

Maul piles on. "Alderaan was a stupid choice. It's a Core world."

"Yes, and one with historical significance to the Sith. Sheev cares about those sorts of things. He gets caught up in meaningless history no one alive cares about," the undead Sith Master sniffs.

"So where are they now?" he persists.

"With me."

Maul chokes. He leans forward in his seat behind his desk. "You're serious?"

"Oh, yes." Sly old Plagueis grins ear to ear at the sheer cheekiness of it all. "There aren't many, I'm afraid. I let them come and go. They leave and then return to me to lie low when the Inquisitors get too close."

Maul picks his jaw off the ground and his eyes narrow. "You're—you—Darth Plagueis the Wise—you are keeping a colony of Jedi survivors?" The idea is preposterous since this is the man who plotted the downfall of the Republic and the Jedi Order in the first place. Except that was before he saw the Light—quite literally—and reconceived the nature of the Force and the meaning of Darkness into his current pet cause of balance.

Plagueis is enjoying his reaction. He pulls at his scarred chin in a good imitation of a Jedi Master as he settles his sprawling self deeper into his chair. "We average between fifteen and twenty most months," he volunteers offhand. "I've had a few true knights come through, but mostly they are youngsters. Little lost waifs with the Force seeking safe haven."

"Are you training them?" Maul can't contain his curiosity.

"Oh, no. They have no idea I wield the Force. They think me a rich eccentric who admires their ways and feels sorry for their predicament. I let them study their craft among their brethren. I support them so that they can catalogue their knowledge."

"Is this your balance idea?" he frowns.

"Of course." The Muun wags a spindly finger at him. "The Light will endure, Lord Maul, despite anything we do. So, I have decided that the best of it shall endure . . . through me."

It's a grandiose statement that befits the smug megalomaniac Muun. But it's also an unsettling thought. Maul now accuses, "You're not training them, they're training you!"

"It's fun, really—"

"So, you're a Jedi now?"

The comment earns him a sharp look of rebuke. "My lord, you offend me. I am Sith, but a new breed of Sith. I will have all the power at my disposal—the Dark and the Light." And now, yet again Plagueis launches into a diatribe on his unorthodox views. Maul only half listens, as usual.

The creepy old master manipulator is not a reformer, Maul has decided. He is a true iconoclast. In universities, iconoclasm has a benign meaning. It's academics rethinking hoary pieties and staid conventional wisdom with a new rigor. Not so with this Muun. Plagueis is the real deal—a zealot out to obliterate the past and remake the Force in his own image. He is a prophet on a mission to cleanse the galaxy of the old truths, to destroy all that the Jedi Order held sacred and much of what the secret Sith taught behind closed doors as well.

Sidious and Vader did the first part of the job for him, murdering Jedi in a galactic scale pogrom and desecrating their pretty temples. The pair impugned their Light Side values as well, tearing down their cherished Republic and making it their own. What gets lost is that it was all by design—by the design of the careful, patient mastermind, Darth Plagueis the Wise. Sidious might get the public credit as Emperor while Vader gets the public blame. But it is false attribution. Father is merely the implementer who coopted his Master's aims and made them his own.

Now, Plagueis is poised to finish the job, Maul fears. On the surface, the rebellion he pushes is personal payback. It's the vengeful Sith Master punishing his brilliant, upstart Apprentice. But it's more than that. Two profoundly different understandings of the Dark sacred are about to come into conflict. And like all conflicts among the Dark lords of the Sith, it will be vicious combat to the death.

Except here's the new twist: Plagueis can't lose because supposedly he can't die. Maul suspects that like Mother, the Muun zombie probably doesn't even need his corporeal form. Why does the Force allow this? Why is Plagueis permitted to endure past his natural life? For that matter, why was Mother permitted to endure for a time as well? Maul has only one answer—it's the obvious answer—that the Force is with them both. That somehow the old ways of the Witches of Dathomir and the newfangled ideas of Darth Plagueis represent the future.

It puts him in a terrible position. Maul either adheres to a creed he does not fully believe and betrays both Father and Father's teachings. Or he chooses the man who raised him as a son and as a Sith and perhaps positions himself against the tide of history.

That is a deeply troubling dilemma. Made all the worse by the fact Maul is certain that he's not privy to Plagueis' true plans. For a man so scheming does not reveal all to his allies. Moreover, surely Plagueis is well aware that he himself is far from a reliable conspirator. No doubt it has occurred to the Muun that he might betray him to Lord Sidious. And so, that subtext of distrust from both sides makes these meetings more a delicate mix of concealment and revelation than a true discussion. It's made all the more complicated by the fact that he senses the Muun truly does like him. And, well, though he would never admit it, he kinds of likes the Muun as well.

But at least, there is always Kenobi. If nothing else in life is certain, his quest for revenge remains. So, he keeps poking around for information. "How much of your Jedi activities does Organa know?"

"Very little. He learned the hard way with his first scheme that it's best he is kept in the dark."

"Or Dark, as it were," Maul smirks.

Plagueis appreciates the pun. "Yesss."

"And this conclave of Jedi is located where?"

"In the Unknown Regions."

"Of course."

"It seemed both safe and fitting, since in its heyday that was the old Sith Empire," devious Plagueis grins.

"I want to meet these Jedi of yours."

The request is denied. "Focus on the task at hand. I grow tired of telling you that," the Muun grumbles. "We digress enough—"

"One of those Jedi could know where Kenobi hides. Maybe even the location for Yoda."

The elder Sith shrugs. "That is irrelevant. They are irrelevant."

"Not to me!" he hisses. He's tired of being told to forego his revenge by a Sith Master of all people.

That sets Plagueis off on another lecture. The Muun yet again shakes a spindly finger at him. "Lord Maul, the last thing you need right now is a rematch with Kenobi. I need you plotting a war—"

"Worried I'll die and you'll lose your lackey?" he challenges.

"No. I'm worried that you will get your revenge but be exposed for who you are. And then, you will never be the upstart rebel hero I plan for you to be," Plagueis grouses.

"But Kenobi—"

"Maul," the Muun overrides him. His ruined face softens and his tone as well. Plagueis assumes the role of elder Sith statesman now. "My boy, I know what it is to desire revenge. I understand how important it is to you. But let us wait and see if Kenobi comes out into the open of his own accord. Perhaps a growing rebellion will tempt him out to join our cause."

He cries foul at this possibility. "So you can recruit a Jedi Master to your personal Light Side cult? You want to ally with him! Admit it! This is one of your balance schemes."

Plagueis equivocates. "Who knows if Kenobi will ever rejoin the galaxy? But if he does, he will join us, or die. I do not intend to let him live as an enemy." The Sith Master reproves him now. "Think, Lord Maul, of the possibilities Kenobi might bring to the table."

He is thinking, much as it pains him to contemplate that particular Jedi among the living. "Maybe he can kill Vader for us. He nearly did it once."

The Munn smirks. "Lord Maul, you might have to get in line for your chance at revenge. Vader will want a crack at him too."

"Maybe I'll just kill the winner of that matchup," Maul considers. "It will be a tournament of grudges with sudden death elimination."

The Muun rolls his eyes. "Stop getting ahead of yourself. Let us see how this all plays out." He shifts the discussion back to war yet again, telling him, "Take care to keep Organa out of the limelight on Mimban. Use some of his liberal Senator friends to conduct the mercy missions to smuggle in men and armaments. We need to keep Organa insulated as much as possible. He's already too suspicious."

"He's a brave one," Maul allows.

"Indeed, he is. We must make sure that the House of Organa does not fall under further investigation."

"Why? What else is Organa hiding?" he challenges.

"Bail Organa is a bridge between the factions of the rebels. If he falls, there may never be a unified movement."

"There's Mothma."

"She's more effective at giving speeches than she is at leadership. She values consensus too much," Plagueis gripes.

"You mean she likes democracy too much," he observes.

"Whatever." Plagueis rolls his eyes. "The point is that we need Organa. Protect Organa," the Muun insists. "If we need to throw down a rebel leader to Sheev's forces, we'll sacrifice Mothma. I would be glad to make a martyr of that one. She'd probably enjoy it."

"Fine," he agrees. "So . . . you are actually studying the Light?" He can't get over that news. It's just so . . . so . . . shocking. Bizarre, really. Father would not approve. He doesn't approve either, for that matter. "That's very unexpected," Maul gives the understatement of the century.

"Saving Jedi started as a selfish endeavor but then it morphed into a more philosophical endeavor," Plagueis explains.

"Why did you want to find Jedi in the first place?"

"I wanted a healer."

Ah, that makes sense.

"Sheev mangled me even if he could not kill me. Luminous beings are we, Lord Maul, not this crude matter." Plagueis reaches up to touch his scarred face. It's far worse than Rhea's, and that's saying something. "But still . . ." the down-but-not-out Sith Master sighs, "I would like to function better."

Maul can relate wholeheartedly to that soft-spoken lament.

"Those Jedi healers—the Master healers—they worked miracles on cases beyond the reach of modern medicine."

"It would take a miracle to make you pretty again," Maul observes brutally just to take the uber confident Muun down a peg.

Plagueis does not take issue with his petty insult. He simply responds, "How you remind me of Sheev sometimes." It is a withering insult. Maul can feel his face flush beneath his tattoos. He knows the Force reveals that Plagueis scored a hit that time.

"If I ever find a healer, I'll send them your way," the Muun promises. He's sincere.

Maul scoffs. "What Jedi healer is going to heal a Sith lord?"

"Ah, but we are not Sith lords to them. We are valiant rebels and daring Jedi rescuers now. Why wouldn't they help us after all we are doing to preserve their institution and bring back the Republic?"

Damn, this guy has an angle on everything. No one plots like Darth Plagueis, Maul has to concede. Shooting the Muun an appreciative look, he commends, "You are a wily Sith."

That comment provokes a low chuckle. "There's no other kind."

"Mother could heal," Maul recalls wistfully. "She was very good at it." Mother healed his mind when it was lost from despair. She healed his heart when it was rejected and desperate. She did it with love and for love, since healing with the Force is a function of the compassionate Light. The Dark Side sustained him after his catastrophic injury. It gave him the fortitude to endure the pain. It gave him the revenge motive that kept him alive. But it could not heal him. Only Mother's love could heal him. And even then, she could not make him whole again.

"If only your formidable mother were around now. She would be an excellent ally." As usual, old Plagueis thinks in terms of power and strategy above all else. But Maul can only think of Mother Talzin in terms of her sacrifice for him.

Irritated, he jeers, "Mother didn't need her body. She manifested as a spirit for a time. She was that powerful."

Plagueis nods. "She was a remarkable woman by all accounts. I never met her, but I wish I had."

"She'd probably kill you," Maul boasts.

"She could try. More likely, she'd take me to bed if the tales are true. . ."

He takes offense. "That's my mother you're talking about!"

"Sheev said she was entrancing," Plagueis recalls.

He scowls. "That's my mother you're talking about!"

The Muun is undeterred. In fact, he might just be encouraged now. "All that beguiling Nightsister magic combined with an elegance of form and a rapier wit. She thoroughly intimidated him. He'd never met a woman he couldn't control."

"She hated him," Maul hisses.

"For good reason. You are a good son, my Lord. We will get our revenge for Mother Talzin," Plagueis promises. And now, the Muun has come full circle yet again with his admonitions. "Lord Maul, focus on that revenge. Killing Kenobi settles a score but it does nothing in the larger scheme of things. Humbling Lord Sidious achieves revenge and advances us both."

Maybe, Maul thinks to himself. But then again, maybe not . . .

Hours later, it's past nightfall and Rhea is at his door with dinner for them both. They get about halfway through the meal, each giving the report on 'how was your day?' when she gives him an impish look. She's in a playful mood. It's just the levity he needs. And now, he's feeding her dinner with his own fork. Then, dinner is forgotten and she's straddling him on the couch up on her knees kissing him deeply, her arms encircling his neck. She pulls him close and tells him that tomorrow will be a better day. She's wrong, of course, but it's just the sentiment that he needs to hear.

He knows he shouldn't keep doing this, but he can't stop himself. She's so enticing. So willing. Rhea's a bad habit he can't quit and doesn't want to end. He starts kissing and touching her and he can't stop. He gets them both panting and worked up and he still doesn't stop. He knows he needs to stop. But he refuses. He wants more. He's driving them both wild with the promise of lust he cannot truly fulfill. Well, not for himself. But for Rhea things are different. She is gasping his name as she quivers beneath his touch. She's beautiful as she reaches her climax. He loves it every time.

It feels so Dark to seduce his perpetual virgin lover. She's untouched and yet his hands and mouth and even his horns have been everywhere. He experiences the pleasure secondhand, for tonight he's in her mind as has become their custom. And that reflected satisfaction is something, but it's not enough. Like always, he wants more than he gets . . . in this and in everything else in life.

Afterwards, Rhea immediately falls into a deep slumber. She sleeps on her side, those pretty lekku streaming about him as he holds her close from behind. Sleep eludes him, of course. It's early and he has work to do. Plus, he's far too keyed up. Lustful still and extraordinarily frustrated.

He loves their intimacy, but it's a doubled edged sword. Sex brings up a lot of Dark emotions that he cannot resolve. Rage at Kenobi for unmanning him, insecurity over whether Rhea will remain satisfied with him, sadness at the loss of physical consortium with the one woman he has ever cared about. Also, anger at his masochism. He did this to himself knowing full well this existential misery would be the result. But he just can't resist Rhea's allure. Amid a crowded backdrop of difficult, confrontational people, she's eager to please. His life is full of complex problems, but she's not one of them. Rhea is easy to make happy. All you have to do is give her attention.

He has watched her confidence grow with her involvement in the rebellion. Rhea can converse and present like she's a peer to almost any of the rebels. But her poise is limited mostly to those settings. He's not surprised. Confidence is highly situational.

He has yet to see Rhea assert herself in other contexts. Here at the compound, she's the timid, helpful housemaid who everyone likes but orders around. She's unobtrusive as she runs and fetches datapads and caf for his team, slipping in and out of rooms unnoticed except by him. In private, Rhea is as deferential as always, whether they are discussing treason or in bed together. She's becoming bolder about asking questions now, sometimes probing ones. But she accepts his opinion and rarely questions it. It's in Rhea's nature to be a follower, not a leader.

Was she born like that? Or did her experiences conspire to lower her expectations? Or maybe she just never got the encouragement she needed at the right time to kindle her ambitions? He himself was a Mother Witch's son, stolen away when his promise was recognized at a tender age by the now reigning Sith Emperor. He was raised for greatness, groomed with every preparation in mind, with expectations now left unfulfilled. Is that legacy of failure worse than Rhea's circumstance of never having attempted much? Is it better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all?

Here he is again back where he always ends up: wishing his life had gone differently. But he's trying now with Plagueis and the rebels. It took far more courage than he would ever admit to anyone—even Rhea—to work up the nerve to oppose Father. To try again to reclaim his rightful place after all these years. The task is daunting and Plagueis is a very unreliable conspirator. But it helps that he has his sidekick Twi'lek at his side, looking at him with trusting eyes that believe he can do anything. He is used to being feared, but lately he finds he relishes being admired more.

Damn, there's no way he can sleep now. So he rolls away from slumbering Rhea, yanks on some clothes, and grabs his sword. He needs to kill something. But since he doesn't have a Jedi captive in his cell currently and there are no others around deserving punishment, he will vent his Darkness on training. Again and again, he twirls his sword in his private gym, slicing through the battle droid opponents he orders by the dozens to keep him in fighting form. He needs this violence. It's not the same as killing, but it helps. He is sweating and panting now for a completely different reason, lusting for victory in place of lusting for sex.

He showers, works some, and then climbs back into bed. Rhea must sense his arrival, for she rolls over and snuggles close. "Mmmmm Maul," she slurs. And that makes him smile. She wants him. That's mostly because she has no opportunity to comparison shop. But if she's settling for him because no one else will have her, he's fine with that. This woman is undervalued and she doesn't know it. Telling her won't help because the years of curious stares and repulsed looks are too ingrained in her psyche.

She's damaged. He's damaged too. But damaged is not the same as worthless. He still has plenty to offer the galaxy, just like Rhea has plenty to offer him. Someday soon, his Master will see it. Father will welcome him back with open arms and repent of his past rejections. And, if not, then Father will be punished for his faithlessness. He will lose his precious Empire and his substitute son Vader. Father will be forced to confront the Dark majesty and cunning of his spurned original Apprentice.

He falls asleep to fantasies of confronting Darth Sidious. Of announcing the deaths of Vader and Kenobi and presenting his little Rhea. See? See? He will be the one to do the rejecting this time. Telling his father he no longer needs his love because he has Rhea. She never belittles and humiliates him. She couldn't if she tried.

He overreacted on Lothal about that rebel spy. He regrets that. But life has conditioned him to expect betrayals. He's hypersensitive on that point. It's why he punishes disloyalty among his gang swiftly and harshly. If you're not with him, you're against him. Everyone knows that. But still . . . he regrets scaring her. He wants her more confident, not less.

If he had Mother's healing power, he would take away Rhea's injury and give her back all she has lost in life. But he can't. Not without one of those miraculous Jedi healers Plagueis spoke about this morning. And not without searching for her probably-dead father who she refuses to let him pursue. Still. . . the inclination plants a seed. He now has yet another reason to search for Jedi.

The next day is a busy day, like all the rest. Plagueis is correct that he's doing the work of several men. Running the gang is a full-time job. Planning for a war is equally time consuming if it is to be done with any sense of urgency. But there are only so many hours in a day, so Maul finds himself hopping from meeting to comcall to yet another meeting in a frenetic schedule. Add in travel time for obligatory in-person visits and it makes for an exhausting pace.

It also means that he doesn't always get sufficient prep time. These days, he's walking into meetings cold more often than he would like. Today, he finds himself docking his fighter at the Tantive IV for another rebellion meeting. Rhea is with him, of course, but he hasn't had time to brief her. He was on an internal comcall getting details on the worsening Hutt situation during the entire flight from Dathomir. There's barely time for a quick prep session as he and Rhea march from the ship's hangar to the usual conference room.

"We're here to talk about getting organized," he tells Rhea. "We have an army but no one to use it. There are rebel cells on systems all across the galaxy, but they don't function as a group. Most are largely autonomous. Apparently, they like it that way."

"So we need to induce them to change? To accept a chain of command?" she asks.

He nods. "Draven says they need reassurance. They're scared to be discovered. Worried that some guy four systems away will get caught and tell the Empire all he knows, implicating everyone."

Gang member Rhea is familiar with that sort of risk. She dismisses it. "A galaxy-wide conspiracy of thousands has danger. They need to get over it."

He agrees, but that's not a solution in this case. "Draven sent me his plan. It's a classic wheel conspiracy model with a hub and spoke."

Rhea squints at him. "Sir, what does that mean in Basic?"

"It means we all unite for the common purpose of toppling the Empire. The individual system cells act through a common leadership but do not act in concert. Knowledge of the other cells is limited to keep their secrecy."

"So if Lothal gets busted, they can narc on us but not on Alderaan?" She uses gang slang for an informant.

"Yes. Precisely." Rhea is not overly educated, but there is no denying her intelligence. His girl is sharp and street smart. She's intuitive but also analytical. Had she achieved the right credentials, there's no telling what she might have become in a legitimate business setting. But she's got the underworld taint now, so those opportunities are lost from a practical perspective. The upside is that she's his forever.

He continues, "The individual system cells function as silos and cross-cell communication is kept to a minimum. Most things are 'need to know' with respect to the leadership."

She nods. She and everyone else in his enterprise understands secrecy. It is the hallmark of a well-run gang. Rhea observes under her breath as they keep walking, "You ought to know a lot about this sort of thing."

"I do." Criminal conspiracies are his thing. "A wheel has its advantages and disadvantages. It's not how I choose to run Crimson Dawn. But if it gets us moving forward, I'll gladly do it." He's grown tired of the disorganized rebels dragging their feet.

Rhea thinks out loud now. As usual, she instantly gets to the crux of the matter: "You need to limit the hub to just a few people."

"Draven wants just one."

"No, not one. One is too risky. Unless it's you," she reconsiders. Rhea seems to think he can do anything, and he loves her for it. Chief among Rhea's best attributes is her unflagging cheerleading.

But he agrees with her on the substantive point. "There is too much work for one person. It will create a bottleneck and concentrate our risk. The hub can use the same name to confuse the Empire, but it needs to be different people."

"What do the others think?" Rhea shoots him a commiserating look. "Is this going to be another discussion full of polite disagreements? Where everyone talks but nothing gets decided? I know you hate those meetings."

It's true. He functions as a chief executive, and this team of rivals concept the rebels embrace is an awkward fit for his style. It tends to yield endless debates. How Father managed to persist decades as a Senator with people like Mothma around is a bit of a mystery to him now. Father is not known for his patience.

"Draven is bringing the operative he wants to use as the hub with him today. He plans to sell us on both his idea and his candidate."

"Whoever he is, he better be good," Rhea grumbles.

"He is a she. He's calling her code name Fulcrum. Draven vouches for her on skillset and loyalty. She's the model spy apparently."

"Well—wait. What is it?" Rhea reads him well. Nothing gets past his girl even without the Force.

He halts now and she does too.

"Maul, what is it?" Concerned, she steps close.

"Someone's here." His hand instinctively moves to his sword as the Force floods awareness to his mind. Someone is here, in close proximity. Someone with the Force who feels slightly familiar, but not close enough to immediately place. Still, their mental imprint is like a waft of a long-forgotten aroma that conjures old memories along with the sensation. This person—whoever they are—reminds him of Mandalore. Of a ruse that didn't work in the waning twilight days of the old Republic.

"Who? Who's here?" Rhea whispers with alarm.

"A Force user. Jedi, I assume."

She grabs for his arm. "Maul, let's go—"

"Relax. This could be good. Let's see where it goes." Maybe Bail Organa has brought one of his Jedi friends with him today. That might present an opportunity to poke around about Kenobi.

Rhea is increasingly concerned. Looking around like at any minute a Jedi is going to jump out at them with a lit sword. She mutters, "I have a bad feeling about this. Maul, let's go. Please."

He resumes walking purposefully, telling her, "Keep your cool and follow my lead," under his breath. He shoots her a look. "That's an order, little one."

"Yes, Sir," Rhea dutifully answers. "But you keep your hand on your sword," she retorts, sounding downright imperious. It makes him smile. Rhea gets worked up over only two things in life: the rebellion and him. Those are the sole topics for which she tends to lose her reticence and speak her mind.

"Do you know this person?" Rhea wonders, still looking around.

"I'm not sure," he replies. A few more steps and they are at the conference room now where Bail Organa, their host, awaits outside. He's alone.

Rhea morphs into her lieutenant role and smoothly does the greeting for them both. Only he notices that her hand is trembling as she offers it. "Senator. Good to see you."

"Ms. Cardulla. Maul. Draven's waiting inside for us. Raddus is running late. We're going to get started without him. Right this way." Organa activates the door and ushers them into the conference room.

When they enter, Draven is on the far side of the room in deep conversation with a cloaked figure. When the Major turns, his shorter colleague does as well. It's a Togruta woman with a blue striped head crest and tails. A familiar Togruta woman he remembers from the war's end.

So she lived, he thinks to himself. He didn't expect that.

The woman reacts fast. In one fluid motion, she leaps onto the conference room table and shrugs out of her cloak. Sinking into a hostile crouch, looking ready to spring again at any moment, the one-time Jedi Knight lights two white lightsabers of mismatched length.

"Maul." She says his name like a snarled curse.

"Lady Tano," he greets her coolly with the poker face he uses for the Hutts.

The Force around them fairly crackles and pops with possibilities. But most of all, with danger. The faces in the room are shocked and confused. Fear radiates especially strongly from Rhea. She's afraid . . . for him.

Suddenly this meeting has taken on a new importance. No one's going to be talking about conspiracy structures now. Everyone is looking to him. Wondering how he will react. Rhea's eyes are almost begging for him to light his sword. But he doesn't. In fact, he makes a show of crossing his arms and declining the challenge.