Maul slowly paces. His metal legs are muted as they connect with the stone beneath his feet. There's a thick layer of grime, dead leaves, and moss to dampen his footfalls as he ventures further away from where the others are gathered. The room he's canvassing is large and dimly lit from narrow windows high above. The light doesn't quite penetrate to reach the corners, giving the chamber a foreboding gloom. The Force tells him there's nothing hidden in the shadows to lunge out at him, but that's not how it appears.
This place is a holy place. He's no archaeologist, but even he can see that. There is an altar table on a high dais up a flight of steps. The central open space he stands in has stone incense bowls. Empty iron torchholders line the walls. Yes, clearly some lost culture held its sacred rites here long ago. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd think this was a Sith temple. The enormous stone structure is a pyramid shape that strongly resembles a giant Sith holochron. The language he sees engraved on the walls even looks oddly reminiscent of Kittat, the ancient language of the Old Sith Empire. But this isn't the Unknown Regions. This is the fourth moon of the Yavin system in the Outer Rim. Five thousand years ago, it would have been Republic space most likely. Now, it's an uninhabited world of dense jungles and swampy rainforests. It's teaming with life, just not sentient life any longer. Whoever the people were who constructed this temple, they are long gone. And that makes Yavin 4 feel disconcertingly like present day Dathomir.
Just at the edge of earshot, Maul hears Rhea talking of construction and logistics with Jan Dodonna and members of his local rebel cell. They are discussing the feasibility of locating the main rebel base here. It's talk of heavy equipment and supplies. Of timetables and milestones. Of whether the local water supply can be made potable and if any of the indigenous wildlife poses issues for power generation. Mostly, it's a practical discussion of 'can we do this?' and not the issue that concerns him: 'should we do this?'
"What do you think?" It's Senator Bail Organa who is here to sell him on the idea.
"Who built this? What do we know of them?" Maul responds as he cranes his neck to look up high.
"They were called the Massassi."
"Human?"
"No. At least, we think not."
"What happened to them?"
"Unclear."
"This place is strong with the Force," Maul comments as he resumes his pacing.
The tall Senator joins in at his side. "That's good. Right?"
"Yes."
Up walks Dodonna now. He too asks, "What do you think?" But before Maul can answer, the man launches into a long explanation of how he and his men have used this location as a hideout on and off for years. No one knows to come look here and there are no Imperial patrols in the system. That makes Yavin 4 an easy refuge for fugitive rebels.
That all makes sense, but it's not what's bothering him. He turns now to ask Jan Dodonna the same questions he just put to the Senator. "Who built this? What do we know of them?"
"The Massassi. Red aliens who legend has it were warriors. They're long gone," the local rebel leader assures him. "This place is ours now."
Maul looks pointedly at the two-foot-thick stone wall they're standing next to. "They built all this and left?"
"I guess. So, what do you think? It's perfect, right?"
When Maul frowns and hesitates, Bail Organa speaks up. "The Empire won't find us here. There's nothing of note in any of the neighboring systems. This is practically dead space."
That's all true. There is a logic to choosing this site that is undeniable. Yavin 4 has considerable benefits and little downside risk. But still, Maul is troubled.
Enough stalling. He just comes out with it. "I don't like destroying this temple."
Dodonna has no such qualms. "Ah, no one will care," he cajoles. "These people are dead. Their religion is dead. It won't matter."
It matters to him. "This is a sacred space," Maul points out. "Whoever these Massassi were, they worshipped here. This was their hallowed ground." He eyes his white-haired colleague now. But the man doesn't even have the good grace to squirm beneath his stare.
Quite simply, Dodonna is unimpressed with his scruples. "Who cares?" he shrugs.
Who cares? He cares. Looking around at what remains of some long-lost tribe's consecrated space, he can't help but see the parallels to his own people. Someday, someone will march through what little remains of Mother's grotto and order it bulldozed as well. The past will yield its ground to the future. And then, the Witches of Dathomir will fade a little further into obscure legend. Like the Massassi of Yavin, no one left alive will know or care.
Well, he cares. When Dodonna repeats his comment, Maul snarls back, "I care."
History truly is indeed the winner's side of the story, Maul thinks as he looks around again at the massive temple. Did these people die out? Were they conquered? Did they flee? Only history knows and it's not talking. No one glorifies or romanticizes what it means to lose and fade away. For victory has a hundred fathers but defeat is always a lonely orphan. That means few people know to exhort the courage and fortitude that it takes to pick up the pieces after failure and loss. Well, he does. He's projecting again—it's a habit. But still, he barks gruffly, "Build your base somewhere else."
"That's not practical. The jungle is very thick and will take too much effort to clear. It's much easier just to knock down these ruins and build here."
"Build it somewhere else," Maul digs in. "Try that Hoth system instead."
"This is far more convenient and a much better climate—"
"Hoth it is. Where's Rhea? We need to get going," he complains. He's got a long flight to Nal Hutta ahead of him. Time to leave.
"I don't understand. What's the issue?" Dodonna looks to Bail Organa in confused frustration. The General truly is perplexed. There is nothing insidious about his desire to locate the new base here. His casual ambivalence about destroying the ancient ruins has no animus. It's a matter of practical convenience.
But Maul still objects. He attempts to phrase it in a way these Jedi-loving rebels will understand. "Would you tear down Jehda for your base?"
"Jedha's a war zone," Dodonna answers.
He tries again. "Would you tear down the Coruscant Jedi Temple?"
"The Emperor already did that," the General reminds him.
Maul frowns at his blunt answers. Who's the fool here? Is he the fool? The silly, sentimental one who acts with his heart instead of his head? No, there is a principle at stake here. For all religions are the Force. The creeds differ, the rituals differ, and the teachings differ. Because different cultures draw different lessons when they confront their creator. But the creator—the Force—is the same for all. And whether he is Darth Maul, the former Sith lord, or he is just Brother Maul Oppress, Mother Talzin's firstborn son, he will not tolerate disrespect for the worship of the Force.
Father would be aghast if this were Exogol. If this were Dathomir, he himself will kill to keep off-worlders from profaning Mother's lair. But there are no Massassi loyalists left to safeguard their sacred spaces. So why is he doing it? He has no connection to these people. This isn't about him. Troubled, he resumes looking around as the Senator and the General peer at him with consternation. Maul ignores it.
This stalwart temple they're standing in is the march of time showing, he knows. It is the consequence of fate. The galaxy has winners and losers. Civilizations rise and fall, and there are remnants scattered about. It's uncomfortable to know that he himself is one of those remnants. Like the straggler Jedi fugitives who Plagueis gives safe haven to, Maul knows he too is a leftover who exists out of place. The coven is gone forever. And though he decries his Sith upbringing, that creed is the only creed that matters now.
This brewing civil war he plots with Plagueis is not about restoring the Republic, it's about the future of the Sith. About the core values of Darkness—everything from the application of the Rule of Two to the amorphous goal of balancing the Force. Sly Plagueis will make sure that this fight is Dark versus Dark, too. Maul is certain that is a motivating factor behind his desire to eliminate Ahsoka Tano. Unlike those half-trained Padawans Plagueis shelters, Ahsoka is far too capable to keep around. For like this old temple, she will eventually need to go.
But is he too capable as well? Too unreliable in his loyalty to his own Master, like Vader's old Padawan? This is the real risk, Maul judges. That he himself will be used and then discarded. That like this temple the rebels seek to knock down, he too will be judged an impediment to progress. That like all the Nightsisters and Nightbrothers he knew, he too will fall victim to the treacherous Sith. What's worse, he will have been complicit for his own ambitions.
Maul stops pacing now. He swallows hard. He hates when he gets in these spiraling Dark moods. Only Rhea understands his survivor guilt. How it motivates him and yet traps him. The past is a complicated thing. It weighs him down. The legacy of his Mother's people pits him against his Father's success. The obvious answer is to side with Father, the winner. Except Father doesn't want him and now Plagueis has crawled out of exile.
He swallows hard again. He knows he needs to stop. He needs to snap out of this funk. The rebels are choosing a spot for a new base and yet he manages to make it all about him. This is what failure does to a man—it consumes him. It becomes the prism through which everything is viewed.
"Maul." It's Rhea appearing at his side. "Perhaps there is a compromise. What if we got an engineer out here to evaluate things? What if we could retrofit these ruins and use them for the base? That lower floor we saw earlier would make a great hangar."
"You mean build inside these structures?" Dodonna, as always, inserts himself.
"Why not?" Rhea suggests. "Then, when the Empire comes to scan, things will look basically the same as always." She looks back to him. "It would preserve the past. At least some of it. It might even be faster and cheaper to build," she offers. "I don't know . . . we'll have to see."
"That's fine by me," Dodonna doesn't care. He just wants to build the main rebel base here on Yavin where he can be in charge.
But the heretofore silent Bail Organa seems to appreciate Maul's objection. "Would that be acceptable?" he asks.
Would it? Maul's not sure. All eyes are on him again for guidance now. Father always said that you should give a straight answer with conviction, no matter how uncertain you feel. But in this, he cannot follow that advice. "I don't know . . ." he gives an unsatisfactory response. He's feeling very unsettled for reasons he cannot explain. This place is very evocative for him.
"What would Mother Talzin say?" Rhea murmurs.
That's a question he can answer. "She'd consult the Force."
"Then let's do that."
Dodonna sighs, but Jedi-loving Bail Organa nods his approval. "Good idea. We want the Force to be with us."
"Amen to that," Maul grumbles with a quick, hard glance at the General. Slowly Maul climbs up the dais steps and turns to face the ancient assembly room. He blinks and sees flashes of an expectant crowd of red aliens. They're not really present. This is a peek at the past. No doubt the memory from a priest who stood in this very spot long ago for an important ceremony.
"This place is strong with the Force," he mutters aloud again. That's the only explanation for how readily the Force beckons to him now.
He blinks again and the crowd he sees is mostly human now. It's soldiers in uniforms who stand in neat rows as a trio of heroes march through their midst. This is not the past. This is the future. These are rebels celebrating their own.
The Force is practically teasing him to take a look. So, Maul inhales a deep breath and reaches out his mind as he lifts his arms. It's effortless to connect with the Force here on Yavin 4. It rushes up fast like an unrelenting tide. Maul loses all but distant awareness of what's actually happening as it takes over. And that's when a vision floods his consciousness.
He feels a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. A wave of death and destruction washes over him, leaving behind the scattered debris of civilizations gone and lives lost. Something terrible has happened. Something Dark. Too Dark for the Force to tolerate.
That's no moon. Is it a space station? A planet? He's not certain how to describe it other than as a weapon. It destroys an ancient, holy city and then proceeds to vaporize a Core planet in a heady rush of Darkness. There is no preamble to either act. No deadline, no dialogue, no ultimatum. Just devastation. Whatever this is, this technological terror is now the ultimate power in the universe and someone is using it with ruthless expedience.
"What the Hell is he doing?"
"I don't know." It's Bail Organa talking. "Master Yoda used to just close his eyes for a second. That was it. This is . . . uh . . . uh . . . dramatic," the Senator finishes, for once sounding less than his polished public speaker self.
"Yeah? Well, it's making me uncomfortable. Make him stop."
"Shhh!" That's Rhea. "Please. Let him concentrate."
He watches in stunned fascination as a cold green beam of energy obliterates a planet. This power is green like Mother's timeless, primal magic, green like the laserfire shot at two meager squadrons of attacking rebel ships, and green like the navigational projections at the Yavin base that is the weapon's newest target. The rebel base is in range now. You may fire when ready.
This is it. The underdogs are outgunned, their secret base is discovered, and their demise is imminent. The Empire is about to crush the rebellion in one swift stroke. For what good are snub fighters against a superweapon of this magnitude? Plenty good, apparently. For the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of the Force.
"His eyes are glowing green. They're freaking green, Bail-"
"His magic is green." It's Rhea again. "Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you."
"Oookay. If you say so. But is it going to end soon? Because I would like this to end."
"Shut up." It's Rhea sounding stressed and being very uncharacteristically rude to anyone other than Ahsoka Tano. "Trust in the Force," his girl now admonishes the men like a good Sith's lady.
How does this end? He must know. Maul concentrates harder.
The weapon is destroyed. The rebels win. The Force is with them.
"This is weird," Dodonna grumbles. "Is he done? He looks like he's done."
"Is he alright?" It's Bail Organa again. "Rhea, are you sure he's alright?"
"He's fine," Maul answers for himself. He blinks fast and wipes at his eyes. Then, he stands to his feet from the kneeling crouch he has found himself in. Rhea's at his side looking worried as he exhales wearily, "Build the base here. Like she said. Build it in the ruins."
Rhea is looking him over, fussing that he's hurt. "What did you see?" she asks as she lifts hands to cup his sweat streaked cheeks. "That was a Force vision, wasn't it?"
"Yes. I saw the future." He's still turned into her, hiding his weakness from the others as he regains his equilibrium.
"Well, Maul? What's the future?" It's that skeptic Dodonna now asking for answers from the Force he doesn't respect.
Shooting him a resentful glare, Maul replies, "There is a battle here. We win."
"Good to know," Dodonna gladly accepts that answer.
"If we win, then why don't you look happy?" Bail Organa probes quietly.
Maul looks the Senator in the eye and an immediate understanding of the premonition he just saw occurs in his mind. The planet that will be destroyed is Alderaan. Bail Organa will die along with his entire homeworld.
"Maul?" the doomed Senator prods him softly.
He is evasive. He doesn't reveal the knowledge of Alderaan just like he doesn't reveal the existence of the Empire's superweapon space station. There's no point in telling people the future. It will just cause them to try to change things, but they will fail inevitably. For you cannot subvert the will of the Force, you only subvert yourself. It's best not to know the future, Maul has always believed. And so, he responds to the Senator gravely, "We win, but only after many people die at the hands of the Empire."
"I see."
"I saw a battle. Only a battle."
"But we win that battle?"
"Yes." He anticipates the next question. "I cannot tell you if we win the war."
"Well, I guess that settles a few things at least," Dodonna harrumphs. "Thanks, Jedi, for the preview. I love a good spoiler myself."
"He's not a Jedi," Rhea bristles on his behalf.
"Right, I forget. What are you again?" Dodonna squints at him in confusion.
"I'm a witch," Maul declares.
"Right. Got it."
"You're sure you're alright?" It's Rhea still hovering protectively.
"I'm fine. Let's go. The matter is settled."
"Go? Now? But, we're not done yet." Dodonna looks displeased. "You're always leaving in a hurry," he accuses.
And while that has recently been true, it's also true that Maul has little patience for the consensus 'let's talk this out ad infinitum' work style of the rebel leadership. At Crimson Dawn, he functions as an executive. That means he takes charge, makes decisions, delegates, and accepts responsibility. Dodonna here would do well to take notes. Maul eyes the complaining man. "I have a day job, or haven't you heard?"
"I've heard. We've all heard."
"Then you should know that I've got a long flight to go see an angry Hutt," Maul informs him.
"I guess that's in your ordinary course of business, eh? Visiting vile gangsters."
"That's right."
"What do you guys talk about?" the General wants to know.
He gives the standard euphemism. "Business."
"Spice?"
"Sometimes."
"What else?"
"I have other product lines."
"Like what?"
Does this guy really want to know? Maul starts in on the litany of the vices he peddles. "Gambling. Women. Money laundering. Contraband goods. Now arms trafficking too."
"We're grateful for the time and expertise Maul gives us," Bail Organa inserts himself now to smooth things over. He sends a quelling look at bristling Dodonna. Then, the Senator nods at him. "We understand that you're busy. If you want to leave Rhea behind to discuss the details here, we'll make sure she makes it home."
"Negative," he refuses. "Rhea comes with me. She can join in by com once we get in hyperspace."
Dodonna digs in. "If she's going to help me set up this base, she needs to be here now."
"She comes with me to see the Hutt." Maul grabs for Rhea's hand. "Let's go. Time to get in your slave girl collar."
"Yes, Sir," she demurs.
"Slave girl collar?" Bail Organa looks intrigued for the briefest of moments before he catches himself and dutifully disapproves. "Maul, you can't be serious."
He's very serious. He's not walking into a Hutt palace without a lightsaber concealed in Rhea's tether handle. Especially now that tensions are so high between the gangs. So, he looks from the Senator to the General and explains, "I can't walk into a Hutt's audience chamber without a pretty girl on a chain," like it's common knowledge and they're the ones being unreasonable.
"That's barbaric and demeaning," Dodonna sniffs. "Does Mon Mothma know you treat women this way?"
"It wouldn't matter," Maul informs him coolly.
"Well, get some other girl to do it and leave Rhea here," Dodonna grumbles. "We need her. She's vital to this project."
"She's vital to me." Maul turns yellow eyes on Rhea now. "I need you wearing that chain." She knows that chain is not just a chain. She also knows the whole context for the upcoming meeting.
Rhea immediately nods. "Of course."
"Good girl," he approves. "Let's go."
"Rhea's staying," Dodonna maintains. "There is work to be done—"
"She works for me, General," he reminds everyone softly. "She's not one of your rebels to order around."
"Come on, let's go," Rhea must be tired of hearing her whereabouts discussed, because now she rallies to take charge. With an ironic assertiveness, she proclaims to their audience, "I'm the only girl who gets to be chained to Maul."
He can't help it. He snorts at her bold words. He loves it when Rhea gets possessive and protective. She might just have well proclaimed 'he's mine!' to the rebels.
"Last time we saw this particular Hutt, he gave me a Jedi." Maul turns to Bail Organa. "Senator, I'll be contacting you if I get another parting gift of a fugitive."
"He gave you a Jedi?" Dodonna chokes in disbelief.
"Umm, yes. I once gave that Hutt a rancor beast. In return, he gives me women."
Dodonna blinks. "Wait—that's not where Rhea came from, is it?"
"General—" It's Organa giving him another 'shut up' look.
"Er . . . don't answer that," Dodonna cringes as he retracts the question.
Too late. Rhea lifts her chin and replies, "Maul didn't get me from a Hutt. He found me in a brothel."
"Right . . . " The General and the Senator exchange somewhat aghast looks.
Maul smothers a smile at her artless, but true, reveal. "Well, there you have it, gentlemen," he snickers at their uncomfortable reaction. "Any other questions, General?"
"No," the Senator answers firmly for Dodonna.
"Oh, don't be shy," Maul coos with cold sarcasm, "ask away. We own who we are at Crimson Dawn." His band of maladjusted losers comprise one of the galaxy's leading criminal enterprises. Whether they know it or not, each member in their own way reflects a version of their leader's own personal struggles. For whether they cope with addiction, loss, rejection, mental health issues, or crippling insecurities and fears, they all inevitably struggle with Darkness. Like he does.
It turns out that General Dodonna does in fact have a question, just not for him. He and Rhea are not quite out of earshot as the man wonders aloud to Bail Organa, "What the Hell are we doing with a guy like that? He's a thug."
The Senator answers, "He's going to kill Darth Vader for us."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. So, unless you're good with a lightsaber, don't scare him off. We need him. Besides," Alderaan's covert rebel observes, "he's not nearly as bad as he seems."
Maul scowls as he overhears. If he wasn't in a hurry, he might just turn around and correct that misapprehension. Because, yes, he is every bit as bad as he seems. Maybe a little Force lightning will help that annoying General realize it.
"Ignore them," Rhea whispers. She too has overheard. She tugs him toward where their ship is parked.
Maul allows himself to be led. "That temple was a Sith temple," he confides under his breath.
"Wait—really?"
"Yes. The Massassi must have been a part of the Sith Empire."
"How do you know?"
"I just know. I can't prove it, but I know it. The locals must have fallen prey to the Republic at some point. Maybe that's why they're gone."
"Are you going to tell the rebels?"
"No. They say they're fine with locating the base here. I'll take them at their word." But the irony does not escape either of them: the rebellion against the new Sith Empire to restore the Old Republic will be headquartered on an Old Sith Empire world. These strange coincidences of Dark and Light converging and switching sides keep occurring. They stoke Maul's suspicions that Plagueis may be on to something with his balance ideas.
"I've never seen you have a vision," Rhea remarks as they climb into his two-seat fighter.
"They are rare for me. Father has marvelous foresight. But I don't." It is one more metric by which he failed to measure up as the Apprentice. "The coven had its share of seers, but I am not one of them. When I experience the future through the Force, it is usually through visitations."
"Visitations . . . you mean the Force possesses you?" she guesses.
"Something like that, but nowhere near as scary as it sounds. It's comforting, really. It's always Mother."
"You talk to your dead mother through the Force?"
"Yes. Does that sound crazy?" It does sound crazy. He should know. He's been crazy.
"It sounds nice." Rhea is wistful now. "I wish I could see my family again . . . "
Yes, he knows. He hasn't told Rhea that he has men looking for her father. He'll only tell her the good news if he finds him. Not the bad news to confirm he's dead if that's the outcome.
"What's it like? That vision looked like it hurt."
"It's intense, but it doesn't hurt."
"Are you sure?" she frets.
"I'm fine."
Once they are in hyperspace en route to Nal Hutta, he proceeds to tell Rhea everything he remembers of the temple vision. It's actually very helpful to talk about it. It helps him to better process what he saw. For when the Force teases its secrets, it's images and feelings mostly, rather than a narrative. Visions are rarely linear in their presentation. For the uninitiated newbies, they can feel like a frightening mix of disjointed events. The skill comes in processing their meaning, and that requires insight and context, some of which you only discover over time. That is why augury is an inexact science. If you're not careful, you can mislead yourself.
The Jedi tended to reject premonitions for that reason. They urged their knights to focus on the here and now. Even Mother taught to accept what you foresee and understand, and then discard the rest. But the Sith are slavish devotees to teasing out the whole truth of visions. With all their emphasis on plots and manipulations, they always want a peek into the future. The Sith of old were forever conjuring visions in elaborate ceremonies to reassure themselves of their power.
"Are you going to tell the rebels about that superweapon?" Rhea wants to know.
He shakes his head. "Plagueis doesn't want to tell them yet."
"So it's for sure real?" she gulps.
"Oh, yes. Father's been lusting after a weapon like that for decades."
"And Plagueis knows?"
"He claims it was his idea in the first place. That Muun knows far more than he lets on."
"Oh. Well, let's stay away from Alderaan," Rhea suggests worriedly. "I don't want to go back to Alderaan . . ."
"Plagueis says that weapon is at least five years away from completion."
"I don't care. We're not going to Alderaan," she informs him. Her insistence makes him smile.
He gives Rhea all the details he remembers from the vision, but he doesn't confess what worries him the most about today's revelation—that he is a man privileged to see the future, but not to shape it. That he has the burden of the knowledge, but will reap none of the glory. That he is merely a spectator of events and not a true architect of the future. This latest vision reminds him uncomfortably of years ago when the Force showed him the fall of Anakin Skywalker and the rise of Darth Vader. He had watched helplessly as another man replaced his own replacement. In the end, Maul had been powerless to stop it. Even had Ahsoka Tano accepted his offer, he knows they would have been unable to thwart Father's plans. He'd have been killed. Likely, the Togruta too.
Did Ahsoka Tano turn him down so that he would survive? The Force works in mysterious ways like that sometimes. Was the point of his second failure at Mandalore for him to survive to plan this rebellion? Because it must mean something for that Jedi and him to have finally joined forces. Perhaps it was simply too soon at the war's end . . .
"What does your mother tell you in the Force?" Rhea asks him. She has a layman's curiosity about the Force but a growing respect as well.
"She tells me that she loves me."
Rhea's double face splits into her slightly crooked smile. She gushes, "Oh, Maul, that's wonderful. She's looking out for you?"
"Yes."
"What else does she say?"
"She warns me about Vader."
"Oh."
"She's always warning me away from being the Apprentice," he explains.
"Do you listen?"
"She warned me when she was living too. Rhea, she hates Father. Those warnings are to protect me. She's trying to scare me away from approaching Father again."
His little Twi'lek clearly agrees. She eyes him. "Maybe you should listen."
"Little one," he sighs as he levels with her, "there is no rebellion without confronting Vader. You said it yourself—ultimately, this ends in Father's throne room, not on a battlefield."
"But I don't want you hurt," comes her rejoinder. He can't tell if she's worried about Father hurting his feelings or actually killing him. Maybe both.
But he brushes aside her fears. "Risk comes with the territory." He fixes her with a raised eyebrow. "We just came from plotting treason and now we're going to confront a Hutt. Danger is what we do."
"Now, you're bragging," she accuses.
"Maybe a little," he smirks.
With the location of the rebel base settled, Maul now turns his attention to a far more pressing matter: the trouble afoot in the galactic underworld. Long ago, Father taught him that when your enemies converge, divide them. And so, when the Hutts began to circle with the Pikes against him, Maul set to work sowing discord.
First, he intercepted a Pike shipment and pulled the same stunt the Hutts pulled on Crimson Dawn. Two Pike gang members get blasted out the airlock of their ship and their spice freighter is stolen. A camera records the entire episode. This time, the perpetrators are not Hutts. They are Crimson Dawn guys pretending to be Hutts pretending to be Crimson Dawn guys. Some clever editing produces a hologram recording clearly showing the faces and voices of the actual Hutt gang members who pulled the original heist on Crimson Dawn that the Pikes were in on. To make the setup even more credible, Crimson Dawn dumps the stolen Pike freighter at a known Hutt port of call, conspicuously leaving the transponder functioning so the vessel can be easily located.
Next, Crimson Dawn sends the Pikes the hologram recording of the murders and the heist, claiming retribution. Crimson Dawn then hacks the comlink of a prominent Hutt capo and uses that account to send a message to one of the minor Hutt family members confirming that his instructions have been carried out. This message alludes to a Hutt plan to break the uneasy alliance between Crimson Dawn and the Pikes so that the Hutts can make a move for the casino business on Canto Bight. In the coming gang war, the message predicts, the Hutts will be the big winners. Conveniently, the message also contains the same hologram recording that Crimson Dawn sent to the Pikes, bragging about how easy it is to play their competitors off one another.
It all unfolds like this:
Within one standard rotation day, two Pikes are dead, their shipment is stolen, and Crimson Dawn has claimed credit.
The irate Pikes bypass the usual channels and go straight to Maul to demand an explanation. He denies any involvement. Moreover, he thinks the Hutts are behind all this, and he's going to prove it. He wants five days to get to the bottom of things.
The next day, the Pikes locate their missing ship in Hutt territory. Now, the irate Pikes confront the Hutts for an explanation.
The following day, the completely fabricated but very incriminating message purportedly sent by the Hutt capo is found on a Hutt server when Crimson Dawn hacks it again. Maul produces the fake message to the Pikes as proof that the Hutts are behind the ruse. He also shows a forensic analysis of the recording of the Pike heist proving that the perpetrators match the perpetrators in the Crimson Dawn heist that started the trouble in the first place. We're being played, Maul contends to his so-called allies. The Hutts are sowing trouble and blaming us for it.
It's a muddled mess of fact and deceit. The Pikes don't know who to believe. But they have a lot invested in Canto Bight. So the Pikes being the Pikes, they side with their credits. Bygones are agreed to be bygones between the Pikes and Crimson Dawn. As a show of goodwill, the Pikes give Maul a list of upcoming Hutt shipments they are acting as supplier for just in case Crimson Dawn wants to harass them a bit as payback. He's no fool. Maul takes that list and decides to give it to the Hutts. To Marlo the Hutt, to be exact. And that's why he can't linger long with the rebels on Yavin 4.
The flight to Nal Hutta is uneventful. In orbit, he docks his small, light fighter with a waiting Crimson Dawn ship. It's carrying Uli and the rest of the men who will accompany him for the audience with Marlo. As usual, Maul plans to appear with a full entourage. But this time, the meeting will be in private. By prior agreement, this will not be a command performance stare down before a slew of drunk, high Hutt hangers-on. This business will be conducted away from prying eyes.
The security process is the same as before. On the landing platform, he and his men are searched and scanned while a Hutt guard unwittingly holds Rhea's chain with his concealed lightsaber. Someone hands back her tether and they are marched inside to meet their host.
They are escorted into a room that appears to function as Marlo's office. It's a dim chamber with a low ceiling that makes the giant alien slug loom larger than ever even though he's not perched on the usual floating dais. There are no bevy of sycophants in attendance, but there are drooling Gamorrean guards lurking in the corners by the louvered windows. There are also several Hutt capos standing around posturing with conspicuous weaponry and even more prominent frowns. These must be Marlo the Hutt's inner circle of consiglieres. His underboss Hutt cousin is nowhere in sight, however.
"Maul," the gangster worm croaks out his name with a marked lack of enthusiasm. There will be no pretense of welcome for this tense interview.
"Marlo," he drawls back as he plants his feet and crosses his arms, surreptitiously tucking the lightsaber end of Rhea's tether into the crook of his elbow. There is a lot riding on this meeting. Maul now summons the Force to heighten his senses and concentrates hard.
"I didn't think you'd have the gall to show your face here," his host growls in his own language.
Maul doesn't bother with the pretext of waiting for the interpreter droid to translate. He answers back in Basic, which he knows the Hutt understands. "Did you think I would let your aggression go unanswered? I've lost twelve men to you in the last month."
Marlo also dispenses with the pretext of a language barrier. He continues speaking in guttural Huttese. Clearly, he too thinks this is a moment for plain speaking. "You fabricated that stunt with the Pikes. We know it and they know it."
"They might be a little less certain than you are. The Pikes just gave me a list of your upcoming shipments. Time, date, vessel identification, and nearest coordinates. Here. Have a copy." Maul reaches into a pocket before he lobs a datafile right into the grip of the giant slug's hand. "Now what do you suppose they thought I would use that information for?"
The Hutt does not respond to his sarcasm.
"They gave you a list like this for our shipments, didn't they? And we know how you used it."
"Maul—"
He impatiently overrides his host. "We can chip away at each other. You steal our shipments and kill our men. Then we steal your shipments and kill your men. It will be a low-grade war before long. Is that what you want?"
"You're the one who wants a war," the Hutt accuses.
He looks the bloated snake in the eye. Marlo is no hothead. He's a veteran of the underworld who has seen a gang war and a real war in his lifetime. So Maul speaks slowly but without hesitation. He is genuinely sincere and he hopes it shows.
"I told you when I was last here that I don't want a syndicate war. I'll say it again: I don't want a war. But do you know who wants a war?"
"The Pikes."
Maul grins appreciatively at the immediate answer. Marlo the Hutt is no lightweight. "Like I always say, you're the smartest Hutt."
"Stop smiling," the big slug on the dais orders curtly. "You only smile when you lie, Maul. Don't think I haven't noticed."
The smile becomes a smirk as he plays through the likely scenario. "Let's just say for the sake of argument that you went to the Pikes with concerns that I'm preparing for a syndicate war. They were only too happy to aid and abet your fears—"
"We are not afraid of Crimson Dawn."
"—because the Pikes are interested in moving beyond their monopoly on production and into distribution. They have the wholesale spice market and the Clan and my gang have the retail spice market. A war between us would disrupt that retail market. We shoot up your cantinas and bars, and you lose clientele. You set fire to my brothels or invade my casinos and execute a few high rollers, and we lose clientele. Once it happens enough times, people will go elsewhere for their vice. No one wants to risk their life for a night out. We both lose credits and customers. And all the while," he concludes, "the Pikes stand ready to step in to meet the unmet demand. While we kill each other, they wait to pounce."
"We are aware of their ambitions," the Hutt intones. His consigliere all nod their heads to underscore their boss' point.
Maul continues with his theme, playing to the longstanding ill will between his competitors. For the Hutts like the Pikes only slightly more than they like Crimson Dawn. "The Pikes think that because they control Kessel, they ought to control the entire underworld. They are threatened by the idea that other narcotics might one day eclipse spice. And they are increasingly threatened by diversification within our organizations. We are both far less dependent on spice than we were a decade ago. Our friends at Ona Diah know that."
"Tell me something I don't already know," Marlo snarls.
Maul eyes his host. "What I don't understand is your angle on things. Were you foolish enough to believe that you could start a gang war and you could win it? That you could take us out as competitors and then deal with the Pikes afterwards? Because I promise you that if our organizations go to war and you win, the Clan will emerge shattered. Crimson Dawn will not go down easily, and I'm a hard man to kill."
The Hutt digests this boast. Is he going to issue one of his own? No. He answers with a threat. "We're not starting a war. You're the one starting a war. I know what you're doing on Dantooine."
"We've had a presence on Dantooine for years."
"I'm not talking about bars and brothels. I'm talking about the training camp where you are assembling a private army."
"It's a new business venture. I have started dealing in arms and now I've expanded to include mercenaries in my inventory. I can sell you guns and the men to use them. Why—are you interested? Are you in the market? Because I can sell you some good soldiers. Not clones. Real soldiers." He looks askance at the clumsy, axe-wielding Gamorreans and sniffs, "Looks like you could use an upgrade."
Marlo scoffs, "I won't buy your soldiers to act as spies in our ranks."
"I can get you a good deal," Maul offers with a wiseguy's mocking tone.
"That won't be necessary. Maul, I know what you're doing on Dantooine. I know who's buying your arms and soldiers."
He feigns unconcern even as he senses Rhea tense up behind him. He plays it cool, like always. "Selling arms is the same as selling spice and selling women. We sell to whoever pays good credits."
"Is that what you plan to tell the Empire?" the Hutt coyly inquires.
Maul doesn't miss a beat, offering, "We'll sell to them too. Marlo, you know I have no political persuasions."
The powerful Hutt now calls him out. "You tried to take over Mandalore. Twice. Save your denials about politics for someone who'll listen."
"That was long ago. The war was over years ago. The Republic is long gone. The Empire is in charge now."
"Not if your customers have anything to say about it," the Hutt counters.
Again, he shrugs with an indifference he doesn't feel. Because he doesn't dare show doubt or weakness when cornered by his rival. Maul replies matter of fact, "I don't ask my customers what they do with the guns I sell them. That's their business."
"Is that what you plan to tell the Empire?"
"Yes."
"You are starting a war," the Hutt again accuses, "just not a syndicate war."
Maul doesn't bother denying it. He just flashes a sly smile. "War is good for business when you sell munitions."
"War is bad for business," the veteran Hutt sternly disagrees. "The last war cost the Clan hundreds of millions of credits."
"My customers aren't actually going to win," Maul points out.
"I don't care who wins. I just care that the fighting hurts business," the gangster slug is pragmatic, as always.
"The fighting was ongoing before I supplied the arms," Maul reasons, "It's all small scale, so don't pretend that pockets of malcontents in flyover systems are hurting your margins."
The Hutt grunts and then abandons the point. Instead, he wags a finger as he threatens, "If you frame us again to the Pikes, I'll be telling the Empire about Dantooine."
This is Marlo's style—he likes to threaten. It works well with other adversaries, Maul suspects, just not with him. A Sith is not easily intimidated. In fact, he refuses to acknowledge the hit. Instead, he steps forward to answer Marlo's threat with one of his own.
"If you or the Pikes steal another shipment or kill more of my men, I will start a syndicate war. I'll take all those trained soldiers and weapons I've promised to customers and use them myself. I'll give them one target: the Clan." He summarizes bluntly, "If you want a war, I will give you a war. But I don't want a war."
As Marlo glowers at him in silence, Maul takes measure of the Hutt. The big slug knows what he's doing. In between the obligatory sarcasm and the tough lines, he's trying to diffuse the tensions and give Marlo a way out that they both want. This is all just preamble to an agreement, hopefully. But neither side can actually make an offer without appearing weak. So they puff and posture a bit first. Like two prize fighters trading jabs and feints, they attempt to intimidate one another.
Has this gone on long enough? Maul assesses yes. He asks point blank, "Do you want a war?"
"No."
"Then don't start a war."
"I don't control the Pikes."
It's a veiled threat. But Maul takes the statement at face value. "The Pikes won't move forward on their own. They have too much to lose if we decide to team up against them."
Marlo's huge, expressive eyes narrow as he observes, "The Pikes are your allies, Maul, not ours."
"The Pikes are not allies. They are investors in our casinos, nothing more."
The Hutt considers a long moment. They are at a stalemate, just as Maul has hoped.
Finally, Marlo declares, "The Clan does not want war."
"Neither does Crimson Dawn."
"We are agreed on peace?" the Hutt nods.
"Peace," Maul nods back.
Inter-gang politics is a delicate thing. He works hard at managing it. But still, it flares up now and then. Thanks to his latest deceit, the Hutts don't trust their sometime conspirators the Pikes. And the Hutts certainly don't trust Crimson Dawn since their concern that he plots a gang war kicked off this latest round of treachery. For their part, the Pikes have reestablished their frenemy relationship with his gang, siding with Crimson Dawn against the Hutts who they fear have betrayed them. Basically, the three largest galactic crime syndicates are back to their normal status quo: no one trusts anyone and everyone is vigilant to further funny business. It's just how Maul likes things. Everyone is a predator and a prey, but no one has the upper hand consistently.
It's a strategy he learned from his Master. As a Sith Apprentice long ago, he watched as Father stoked trouble and then resolved it, only to stoke it anew. Father alternatively positioned himself as the villain, the victim, and then the peacemaker, as it suited his aims. That example turned out to be excellent preparation for leading Crimson Dawn. From an early age, the ruthless pursuit of self-interest was drummed into the mindset of young Maul.
His work here is done. He, Rhea, and the rest of the Crimson Dawn delegation walk back to their ship in silence. Once they are safely onboard, Uli swears, "Fuck their peace!" emphatically to a chorus of nods from the others.
He turns back from where he is unfastening the collar around Rhea's neck. He addresses his men: "We will get revenge." Father taught him long ago to always get mad and get even. When the time is right, the Hutts will pay for the lives of the dozen they killed.
"So . . . fuck their peace?" Uli looks to him hopefully with eyebrows raised.
"Indeed," Maul concurs gravely. For every Sith knows that peace is a lie. And this peace, in particular, is a grievous lie. But it averts a gang war in the near term, which will allow him to focus on the rebellion. At a different time, a war might actually hold appeal. The conflict might allow him to grow his enterprise and increase his market share. But if he is to become a dashing rebel hero soon, he needs to abandon the goal of dominating the underworld. It's time to burnish his good guy cred. A brutal gang war will hinder that objective.
He decides to ride the big ship home rather than fly himself in the fighter. He's tired and drained from the Force vision and the Hutt confrontation. But it's all in a day's work. He's just checking today's receipts from the casinos when Rhea approaches to lay her hands lightly on his shoulders.
"Come to bed?" she whispers as she drops a kiss beneath his right ear.
"In a minute." He's got one more message to read. It's from his Jedi hunters, and it's good news. That new lead has panned out. They have found a hidden Light Side practitioner. And this time, it's a Jedi Master.