Building the new rebel base at Yavin 4 turns out to be a huge project for Rhea. This one definitely won't be done in a month's time. Or even three months' time, for that matter. The work gets divided up among several rebel team members, but there is still plenty of coordination and overlap. Rhea spends many, many hours on her comlink pouring over plans and developing lists of issues and questions.
The team spends the first three weeks haggling with engineers and architects to create a master blueprint for the sprawling complex. No actual work can begin until the intensive upfront design work is completed. Unlike on Dantooine, there is no basic infrastructure at the Yavin site. That means outside there are acres of jungle to be cleared for an external landing pad and power generators to be assembled. Inside the temple, there are giant elevators to be installed, as well as lighting, plumbing, and ventilation. Only once the base has basic utilities functioning can they begin to set up the office space, barracks, and common areas. Rhea lets General Dodonna and his men handle the strategic defense issues like where to locate the shield generator and how to outfit the command center and the enormous underground hangar. She'll handle the specifics for the commissary, the supply areas, the armory, and the many meeting rooms.
Back at the Dathomir compound, Maul assigns her a small conference room of her very own to use for the project. By the end of the first week, everyone refers to it as her office. Ostensibly, Rhea's doing arms deals and helping a munitions customer set up a new base of operations in the Rim. But she's pretty certain that all living at the Crimson Dawn compound know what she's really up to. Luckily, gang members know how to keep a secret. They pretend to believe the cover story and she doesn't offer any explanations. The open secret becomes something of an inside joke when Marisol's husband Uli starts referring to her affectionately as 'the little General.' Maul overhears and snort laughs his tacit approval.
Rhea employs the same fiction for the Yavin contractors, engineers, architects, and tradesmen as she did on Dantooine. They all think they have been hired by Crimson Dawn to build a remote hideout for a notorious spice gang. So if things appear highly militarized and technical at Yavin, it reflects the violence of the underlying business.
While Rhea is hard at work constructing the new headquarters, Maul focuses on unifying the growing rebel movement. The dozen or so Fulcrum agents now crisscross the galaxy attempting to bind together local system dissidents under the overarching umbrella of Bail Organa and Mon Mothma's political leadership. Most of the existing rebel groups are very receptive to the outreach. Many are relieved to know that they are not alone in their goals. Learning that there is a larger movement afoot to coordinate and combine their efforts makes the goal of overthrowing the Empire finally seem achievable. It probably doesn't hurt that Major Draven immediately starts smuggling them credits from Darth Plagueis' bank accounts and weaponry from Maul's warehouses. The goal is to have well trained, large sleeper cells embedded in all the major systems, ready to be deployed on short notice.
But not every local rebel group is prepared to cede their autonomy. Individual cells have differing goals and sometimes widely divergent experiences with the Empire. On worlds where stormtroopers are ever present and the Empire has cracked down hard on civic freedoms, the mood is decidedly more militant. These people are true insurgents ready to fight and die for their cause. But on other worlds where the local complaints against Imperial rule are largely a question of style and degree, the local people tend to want reforms rather than revolution. They are less interested in war than they are in forcing Emperor Palpatine to the negotiating table. Maul knows that will never happen, but he counsels Draven not to alienate any supporters who are not yet ready to break with the regime.
They represent the silent majority of the galaxy, Maul contends. They don't like the Empire and they want it to change, but they don't want war . . . yet. We need to bring them along. Make them sympathizers and keep the lines of communication open. Over time, Maul predicts, they will join us. When they have seen enough of the Empire's excesses, they will reach the same conclusions we have. They will be the bell weather indicators for our timing, Maul argues. Because when the moderates are ready for revolution, it's time to go public with our call for regime change.
In the meantime, the conflict in the public sphere will mostly be a war of words in the Senate. It's tough talk in the posture of the loyal opposition. Senator Organa, Senator Mothma, and their political allies plan to keep the heat on the Emperor while still pledging allegiance. They will build the case for revolution by proposing a series of reforms they fully expect to be refused. Little by little, the rebel Senators hope to reveal the Emperor as unreasonable, out of touch, and uncaring. But they won't just call Palpatine a tyrant, they will show him to be a tyrant by his own actions.
All the while behind the scenes on worlds where open hostilities persist, like Mimban, the secret rebel army quietly supplies manpower, credits, and munitions. The rebel leadership didn't start those homegrown conflicts, but they support them wholeheartedly. Rhea's base on Dantooine becomes a busy training ground for combat volunteers, just like Maul had hoped. Crimson Dawn's boss is a frequent visitor to the base to inspect and train the troops himself. Maul is a hands-on military leader, rather than an arm's length administrator. It ensures that he knows all the Fulcrum agents personally as well as the local cell capabilities. Every so often, Maul parks a few spice freighters at the base just to maintain the fiction that it's his gang outpost. So far, the local Dantooine authorities and the Imperial secret police seem none the wiser that hundreds of rebel troops train there monthly in two-week stints.
All this burgeoning galaxy-wide coordination begets a lot of jockeying for titles and responsibility. But at this point, Maul doesn't overtly engage in the 'who's in charge' gamesmanship. He just busies himself with the indispensable task of building the rebel army. The time will come for open hostilities, Maul tells Rhea, and that's when my talents and contributions will matter most. For now, he's content to let Senators Organa and Mothma lead things. Still, Maul takes every opportunity to prop up Bail Organa's authority, Rhea notices. The two men have struck up an unlikely rapport, with Maul becoming something of a sounding board for Alderaan's Senator. That's very intentional. For Maul knows, thanks to the Force, that Bail Organa will perish along with his homeworld. Maul fully intends to step into the power vacuum that untimely death will create. But for now, he positions himself as the power behind the power. It's very Sith, he chuckles privately.
You have to be careful about angling for position, Maul explains to Rhea. People recoil from naked ambition. It intimidates them. It also invites rivals. Better to appear drafted into service as a reluctant servant leader. People eat up the guise of duty, humility, and modesty as civic virtues. Father always said that you should appear to have to be coaxed to command. It earns you goodwill, Maul maintains. That was Palpatine's strategy all along, Rhea grumbles back resentfully. She and the rest of the galaxy fell for the sham of the statesman Chancellor who stepped up when the galaxy fell apart.
But even with a unified rebellion taking shape fast, there is far too much local control for Maul's taste. This is an alliance rather than a true chain of command, he grouses about the inefficiency of it all. But Senator Mothma likes that idea. She starts speaking of their movement as an alliance of likeminded citizens much to Maul's irritation. This isn't a rebel alliance, he complains. We're not neo-Separatists. It's an armed political revolt to found a new Republic.
But Maul being Maul, he takes advantage of the rebels' decentralized organization to quietly encourage the more extremist elements. Maul finds a kindred spirit in the rebel firebrand Saw Guerrera who unabashedly favors terrorist tactics. Maul makes sure Guerrera and his loyal band of militia followers receive more than their share of credits and equipment. Do whatever you want, Maul tells the grizzled, cybernetic Clone Wars veteran. Just don't tell me in advance so I will feel compelled to stop you. And that's basically Maul's military strategy until the rebellion is ready to openly declare war: the political leadership will stay above the fray while covert local dissidents repeatedly punch below the belt. They are trying to goad the Empire into excessive crackdowns that will sway public sentiment.
To that aim, Maul crafts plans for hit-and-run raids at military targets all across the galaxy. In small, surprise attacks, they will poke at the sleeping Imperial beast until it takes a swipe back. Then, Organa, Mothma, and the other rebel Senators will resoundingly condemn the Empire's harsh response from the Senate floor. The goal isn't to win important military victories, but to influence public opinion. Father has a tendency to overreach, Maul explains to Rhea, and Vader is a blunt instrument who can't resist overkill. This will be easy, he predicts. We will stoke the spark of rebellion into the flames of war, careful to keep the moral high ground despite our terror tactics. When the Empire finally obliterates Alderaan, it will be the last straw. That will be the moment when otherwise loyal, peaceful citizens break ranks and join the rebel cause.
We need to be ready, Maul tells her as he monitors progress on the new headquarters she's building. He makes a few suggestions here and there on the construction. But for the most part, Maul delegates the project completely. It tells Rhea that Maul was very sincere in his praise of her work on Dantooine.
Time passes quickly when you are especially busy. Days slip into weeks and into months before you notice. She builds the new secret rebel stronghold while Maul knits together an integrated and armed alliance of rebels. He's running Crimson Dawn full time as well, keeping the Hutts and the Pikes on their toes. And somehow Maul also manages to search for Jedi. Revenge is still very much his priority.
As he hopes, that new lead obtained by his dragnet of private Jedi hunters pans out. It's the end to a rather long dry spell in the search. Maul seems especially excited to bring in this particular fugitive Jedi Master.
"I want you with me when he arrives," Maul tells her one night.
Rhea is instantly squeamish. "No, thanks. I don't want to watch you torture some Jedi."
"I'm not planning to hurt him unless I have to."
Really? She shoots Maul a dubious look. She's seen how these Jedi-meets-Sith conversations go a few times by now. They always end with Maul ripping into his captive's mind as they fight back in pain. She understands why he does it—finding Obi-Wan Kenobi matters—but she doesn't like it. She certainly doesn't want to see it.
But she's curious now. "How are you going to interrogate this one then? He's not just going to tell you where Kenobi hides."
"He might," Maul answers cryptically.
"Why do I need to be there?" Rhea grumbles.
"Because we're a team," Maul answers. And when he puts it like that, how can she refuse? They both know that there's nothing she won't do for him.
That's why two weeks later when the plot to capture this latest Jedi comes to fruition, dutiful Rhea is waiting by Maul's side when the unlucky prey is marched in. Maul sits behind the desk in his formal office to receive the Jedi this time. It's not the usual reception in a jail cell that Maul typically employs for these compulsory interviews. It's the first indication to Rhea that this one will go very differently from the others.
"Here he is, Boss." The men who bring the Jedi in pull out a chair and shove the captive down into it.
Maul watches this treatment and then waves away the handlers. "Dismissed."
"Guards in the hallway?" the lead man asks.
Maul declines. "That will not be necessary." He turns his attention to the blank faced captive seated before him.
Rhea does too. This Jedi Master, like all the rest of his religion's survivors, lives undercover. His clothes reflect his current profession as a physician at a children's hospital. The man wears baggy scrubs and a white lab coat with his name, credentials, and hospital affiliation embroidered near the lapel. He's even got a medical scanner poking out of one pocket ready for use along with some lollipops he must give to his young patients. The Jedi looks like he could be in the middle of doing rounds at a clinic, but for the handcuffs that restrain him.
He's a near-human Mirialan in late middle age. In his early sixties probably, Rhea guesses from his pleasantly lined face, slightly fading facial tattoos, and thinning grey hair. He's rather nondescript and professorial looking. The impression he gives is experienced and, well . . . nice. It's easy to imagine him taking temperatures and patting heads between serious talks to reassure worried parents. There's not a mark on him, Rhea also notes with relief from where she stands over Maul's shoulder.
Crimson Dawn's resident Sith lord now begins. "Welcome, Master Timmons. My apologies for the rough treatment, but we take security very seriously."
There's no trace of Maul's usual smirking, smug tone for these confrontations. For once when speaking to a Jedi, Maul is sincere and respectful. That surprises Rhea. Is Maul impressed? Could he be intimidated? This guy is no ordinary Jedi. He's an expert level Light Sider, she knows. The first ever that Maul has snared.
The captive simply eyes Maul and her with cool calm. He doesn't look afraid. He doesn't look angry. He looks composed. It's the zen dignity Rhea would expect from a bona fide Jedi Master. This man is a Knight of the Old Republic, after all. Incredibly, the guy doesn't even seem phased by her ruined face. It doesn't merit a second look as he sizes them both up. But maybe that's because he's a doctor and he's seen worse in his professional capacity.
When everyone has looked their fill and the silence hangs heavy in the air, the Jedi speaks. He quietly corrects Maul. "I am Doctor Sonic Timmons. Who are you? Why have you kidnapped me?"
Maul rises from behind his desk. As he circles the table, he gestures casually with his left hand. The Jedi's shackles open and clatter to the floor. It's ostensibly an offhand gesture, but Rhea recognizes it for the showy use of Force that it is. Maul just established that he's the equal of this Jedi Master.
"You didn't even put up a fight, I hear," Maul comments mildly as he leans back against his desk and crosses his arms. "Do you even own a sword still?"
The Jedi answers, "I heal. I do not harm."
"Relax," Maul drawls back at this stern statement of purpose. "I'm not the Empire. You're not a prisoner. Jedi, you're my guest," he says magnanimously.
"I'm not a Jedi. And neither are you. Who are you?"
"My name is Maul."
"Maul?" The older man squints. He clearly knows the name. "Maul?" the Jedi half chokes as he repeats himself. He visibly pales and recognition fully dawns. "D-Darth Maul?"
Maul seems slightly proud to elicit this reaction. "Does my reputation proceed me?"
The Jedi Master regains his blank demeanor immediately. The brief lapse in disconcerting calm is over. "You're the Sith who killed Qui-Gon Jinn decades ago. The one Master Kenobi cut in half." The man's brow furrows as he recalls aloud, "But you're dead . . . supposedly . . ."
That's Maul's cue to boast, "I'm a hard man to kill. I'm just Maul now. Formerly Darth," he smirks with no small amount of Dark insouciance.
The Jedi nods slowly as his eyes narrow. "What does that mean exactly?"
"I'm not a Sith lord anymore. You might say that I've seen the Light," Maul chuckles.
The Jedi Master sees no levity in this topic. He probes, "You're not a Sith?" He looks skeptical, like Rhea knew he would.
Maul turns the man's own words against him. "I'm no more Sith these days than you are a Jedi."
Now, the man looks even more skeptical of his host. "What do you want?" he demands again.
"I want to know where Master Kenobi hides."
"For revenge?" the man guesses, accusing, "You are still a Sith."
"I want to know where Kenobi hides. We need his help for the rebellion."
"The rebellion?" The Jedi did not see that response coming. "You know of the rebellion against the Empire?" he blinks.
"Yes. And evidently, so do you," Maul observes coyly.
"I'm in the local cell on Mirial. I am one of its founders," the Jedi abruptly reveals.
"Very good. Then you have met Cassian Andor? He's your Fulcrum contact, yes?"
"Yes. How did you know?" the Jedi squints.
"Like I told you, we're not the Empire. We're the rebellion." Maul purses his lips. "Andor never mentioned there is a Jedi on Mirial. I've read all his reports to Draven."
"Andor doesn't know. No one knows. I'm not a Jedi anymore. I'm a doctor." The man squints at Maul again. "So . . . you're in the rebellion? You . . . Darth Maul . . . are a rebel?"
"I'm just Maul now." He explains, "Draven and I conceived of the Fulcrum program together. We're building the organization across the major systems. We're also building an army. We could use the help of General Kenobi."
"And who is she?" the wary Jedi looks to her.
"Rhea is my assistant. She built the new rebel base on Dantooine. It's where we're training troops for Mimban."
"She's a rebel?"
"Yes," Rhea declares herself.
"And you're a rebel?" The Jedi does not bother to hide his shock. "How did that happen?"
"A lot has happened in thirty years. I want rid of our Sith Emperor—"
"Your old Sith Master, I presume?"
"Yes. I want rid of his fascist regime and his henchman Vader. Master Timmons, we could use a Jedi in our ranks. Especially one of your training."
"You mistake me. I was never trained for war. I was trained to heal. Besides, I'm a regular doctor now, not a Jedi."
Maul accepts the rebuff easily enough. "It's a serious offer. Think it over."
"I'm a doctor, not a warrior."
"You're a doctor who helped to organize a rebel cell to overthrow the current regime," Maul points out.
The Jedi says nothing.
Maul shifts gears. "Can you tell us where to find Obi-Wan Kenobi?"
"I don't know."
"General Kenobi could be a great asset to us. He's the only Jedi to ever fight Darth Vader and win."
"Kenobi fought Vader?" Again, the mask of utter unflappable calm slips. This Jedi is not as indifferent to his old life as he pretends.
"Kenobi is why Vader wears the mask and the suit. We need his help. Tell us where to find him."
This is the same rationale for finding Kenobi that Maul gave to the Jedi Padawan he got from the Hutt. But this more seasoned Jedi is less accepting of the tale. He cocks his head at Maul. "Why would Kenobi come out of hiding to help you of all people? You're the last person he would help."
Maul shrugs. "Times have changed. I have changed. Besides, he'd be helping the rebellion, not me." Maul fixes yellow eyes on the Jedi and asserts, "We both know that Obi-Wan Kenobi would not hesitate to fight against the Empire. He was committed to the ideals of the Republic and of the Jedi Order. He would want to see freedom and democracy restored to the galaxy."
The man doesn't dispute this. "So you're saying that politics makes strange bedfellows? Is that it?"
"Something like that," Maul agrees.
Rhea looks on in silence as Maul continues to gaslight the Jedi. She recognizes the deception as classic Dark Side manipulation. What he's saying about himself is all technically true. But she knows that for all Maul's good works for the rebellion, he's still a Sith when it comes to his revenge quest. "If you know where Kenobi is, tell us. We need his help to save the galaxy from the Sith," Maul coaxes, adding, "Like we need your help as well."
The man shakes his head. "I can't help you locate him. I haven't lived this long by keeping tabs on Jedi."
Maul considers a long moment before pronouncing, "I believe you. Do you have his holochron message?"
"I destroyed it. It's too incriminating. I left that life behind years ago . . . I keep nothing from it. Not even my sword."
Maul meets his eyes again. "I believe you. I left my old life behind as well."
He sounds utterly sincere except Rhea knows better. Maul didn't leave so much as he was cast out. And years later, she worries that he's still desperate to reclaim his old identity. His rebellion politics are more a matter of political expediency. Maul would be happy to serve Palpatine and he would be happy to unseat him. He could easily become a rebel hero or become the next Apprentice. She's not sure Maul really cares which outcome occurs, so long as he becomes something more than a crime lord with the Force.
He has one last question. "Ever been to Tatooine?"
"Never heard of it," the Jedi answers flatly.
Altogether, it's a disappointing interview that yields no further leads. This is the moment when Rhea fully expects Maul to drop his polite host routine and lift a black gloved hand to rip into the Jedi's head to ransack his memories for anything useful. But Maul surprises Rhea with forbearance. He pushes off the desk he leans on and approaches the seated man closer.
"There are other Jedi survivors," he reveals. "There is a safe haven for them in the Unknown Regions. It's a place to flee if the Inquisitors ever find you. If you're interested, I can put you in touch with a man who can get you there."
"That sounds like a trap," the Jedi is understandably wary.
So Maul answers, "Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan is who I would take you to."
"Senator Organa?"
"Yes. Senator Organa."
That namedrop gets the man's attention. It further bolsters Maul's good guy rebel bona fides. But still, the Jedi declines. "Thank you, but my life on Mirial is secure."
"I found you," Maul points out. "Vader could find you too."
"They're not looking out in the open."
"They don't need to look when your accomplishments draw their attention. Your incredible success stories are outing you. Master Timmons, you work miracles. I'm sure you're a fine doctor, but you aren't working miracles with medicine. You're doing it with the Force."
The man doesn't deny it. "Sometimes," he allows.
"My mother could heal with the Force."
"Your mother was a Jedi? No, wait—she must have been Sith."
"She was neither. She was a witch."
"Oh." Master Timmons doesn't seem to know what to make of that comment. It proves Maul's statements to Rhea that the coven on Dathomir was obscure and largely unnoticed by the two prevailing religions of the Force, the Sith and the Jedi.
"Only the Light Side heals," the man frowns as he tries to square what he's hearing with what he knows.
"That's true," Maul concedes. "But Mother's magic was both Light and Dark. The occult straddles both sides of the Force. Mother healed me after I lost to Kenobi. The Dark Side sustained me, but the Light Side healed me. She did for me what I could not do for myself."
"So, if you're not a Sith any longer, what are you now?" the Jedi challenges.
Maul sticks to the story he tells the rebels. "I'm a witch. I am my mother's son. The last Nightbrother of Dathomir."
"And that's different from a Sith?"
"Yes."
The Jedi's eyes narrow. "Is this only about finding Kenobi?"
"And recruiting you to our cause."
"I told you. I'm a doctor, not a warrior. I'm not who you need for a war. I'm a foot soldier at best, not a substitute for General Kenobi."
"Very well, then," Maul backs down gracefully. "It's an open offer."
And now, things take an unexpected turn. "Today is also about my assistant here," Maul gestures to her. "Rhea is a war orphan who was gunned down by a battle droid as a child. She needed someone of your talents, but she only received traditional medicine. If it's not too late, I want you to heal her."
Blindsided Rhea reacts before the Jedi can respond. "Maul!" she gasps.
He ignores her and makes his case to the Jedi. "She's risking her life to oust Sheev Palpatine. To bring him to justice. I want you to heal her."
"But Maul!" She is flabbergasted. And now she understands why he wanted her at this meeting. This was a set up all along. Was this ever even about finding Kenobi?
"Help her," Maul tells the Jedi Master. "Have mercy on her innocent suffering. Reward her valor."
Rhea steps from behind the desk and pushes in front of Maul to stand before the still seated Jedi. "No! No!" she vehemently objects. "Doctor, he's the one who needs your help. He—he—he's . . ." She falters. She won't reveal the full extent of Maul's injuries. It would humiliate him. "He's hurt . . . very badly . . ."
"Kenobi cut him in half."
"Y-Yes!" The Jedi clearly gets the gist. "Please help him, Mister Jedi—Doctor Jedi—"
"Rhea—" Maul growls.
"Please!" she outright begs. "He's much too proud to ask for himself. He has so much pain still. He tries to hide it, but I see it. And—"
"Rhea—" Maul's growl has true menace now. "This isn't about me."
"Of course, it is!" she hisses. "My injury is only superficial. But yours is not." Rhea will not be silenced. She pleads to the Jedi as she wrings her hands. "He has suffered so much, for so long. He's not perfect, he's made mistakes, but that's in the past. He's doing the right things now with Bail Organa and Mon Mothma—"
"Rhea—"
"He's a spice kingpin, is he not?" The Jedi raises a skeptical eyebrow at her fervent character witnessing. "That's what his men told me."
"Yes, but he's built the rebel army," she sputters and wails. "He's saved Jedi—he's going to kill Darth Vader—"
"Well, that's true," Maul concedes.
The Jedi keeps looking between them both, taking in their argument over who deserves his help more. He appears both intrigued and perplexed as he watches closely.
Maul shoots her a vicious look now to shut her up. Then, he turns to the Jedi and demands, "Heal her. She was a child maimed in the war. A victim of the revolution the Sith plotted for years. She's my victim in a way," Maul admits awkwardly with an apologetic glance her way. "Jedi, take pity," he outright implores. "Only you can help her. Traditional medicine cannot."
"But Maul—" Rhea has turned into him, her hands reaching to grip at his sleeves. "Maul, you need this . . . you know you need this," she argues as she looks up into his handsome face. He's her red skinned Zabrak prince with the crown of horns to prove it. And he needs this Jedi's talents far more than she does. "You need to be as strong as possible when you confront Vader. This could help you, but it could also help the rest of us." He starts to speak, but she boldly overrides him. "You're the hero we need! The rebellion is counting on you! The galaxy is counting on you!"
Those soulful, bloodshot yellow eyes lock with hers. She's laying on the hard sell because she knows how much Maul craves a purpose for his suffering and rejection. Backing the rebellion is a means to reclaim his power and position in a redemption of sorts. He'll either end up redeemed as the prodigal son of Darkness reconciled with his Father-Master or redeemed in the eyes of the Jedi-loving rebels as the former Sith who saw the Light. Rhea fears for the former even as she hopes for the latter.
How can he be poised to accept either side? Because however the future shakes out, she knows it may be less a choice of what Maul wants than a compromise for what he can get. Still, Rhea has a sneaking suspicion that Maul's slippery allegiances are the best evidence yet of his deep seeded Sith mindset. Because when the time comes, she suspects Maul will do and say whatever it takes to advance himself. It's all about him, of course. But that doesn't mean that the galaxy can't profit from his aims.
So she digs into her appeal. "You know I'm right," she whispers. "Maul, you matter far more than I do. Don't let my vanity stand in the way of your health and maybe even our victory."
"So Light . . . always so Light," Maul murmurs as he looks down on her selflessness with absolute approval.
Is that a yes? Rhea presses, "Let him help you," and then holds her breath.
But Maul declines again. "He can't help me." Maul sighs heavily. He looks down and away. "I wish he could, but he can't."
"He c-can't?" Confused Rhea looks to the Jedi for confirmation. "You c-can't?"
Maul is resigned and bitter. "Mother did her best but even she couldn't do much to heal an amputation as severe as mine. And this guy is nothing like Mother." Maul glances up to the Jedi and snarls, "Tell her."
Master Timmons speaks. "I cannot regenerate limbs. No one alive can do that."
"Oh," Rhea voice grows small with disappointment.
Maul now reaches to cup her ruined cheek with his gloved hand. "Let me do this for you," he whispers. "You deserve this."
"B-But—"
He turns back to the Jedi again. "Work a miracle," he commands. "She's beautiful inside. She's beautiful outside too. But she can't see it. Make her feel beautiful again."
Miserable Rhea just stands there in confusion.
The Jedi looks to her. "Do you want this?"
"I . . . I . . ."
"It's okay to want something for yourself," Maul encourages in a low voice.
The Jedi nods his agreement.
"Will it hurt?" she squeaks in a panic.
"Not usually," the doctor answers.
"What will it look like afterwards?"
"Much better, I hope."
"But not worse?" she worries. "For certain, it won't look worse?"
"It will look better," the doctor assures her.
Maul now urges, "Trust in the Force," as the doctor nods his agreement. "Don't fight him. Accept him. Like you accept me into your mind."
"Well, o-okay . . ." Rhea answers slowly as she reddens at the private reference to their bedroom antics.
She's scared now. This opportunity has been sprung on her. There isn't time to think it over. To obsess and worry . . . to get her hopes up . . . to be excited. Before Rhea knows it, she's the one sitting in the chair and the Jedi hovers over her.
"Close your eyes and do not fear," Master Timmons instructs.
Maul assures her, "I'll be here," as she instinctively looks to him for guidance. "I'll be here," he soothes again as she reaches out a nervous hand to him.
"Ready?" It's the Jedi looking for her approval.
"She's ready," Maul answers for her.
"Ready?" The Jedi is pointedly looking for her own response.
"I guess . . ." Rhea nods weakly as she clamps down on Maul's gloved hand like her life depends on it.
The Jedi begins his magic now. Rhea has felt Maul's mind in hers many times before, experiencing his yearning, driving passion during their lovemaking. But this is different. The Jedi's not so much in her mind as his power is in her body. It's a rush of peaceful calm that quiets her senses and allows everything else to recede. It balms her trepidation, for under the Jedi's healing spell there is no pain, no angst, no worry, and no hurt. Just vibrant, pulsating life, restorative healing, and also something that feel like unconditional acceptance.
"Don't fight him." It's Maul's voice. "Surrender to the Force."
She complies as best she can, not really knowing what that means. But she tries to remain calm as her skin begins to feel hot and tingly. Itchy, too. Soon it's unbearably itchy.
Maul keeps talking her through it. "Breathe deep. Let the Force flow through you."
Is this the Force? Rhea mostly feels hypersensitive and strangely adrift. It's not a bad feeling, but it's unfamiliar and therefore scary. Just when she's starting to feel really uncomfortable, it ends.
"That's it?" she breathes out.
"Well done." It's Maul's high tenor rasp. Is he talking to her? To Master Timmons? Rhea opens her eyes.
The two men are peering at her. She can't read their expressions. "Did it work?" she half-shrieks with anxiety.
Maul nods open mouthed. "It worked," he whispers, looking a little haunted.
She is alarmed. "D-Doctor?" she looks to the Jedi. He looks pleased and also a little taken aback.
"Go see for yourself." Maul points in the direction of the small bath that adjoins his office. "There's a mirror in there."
Rhea leaps up from her chair, dashes past the two men, and races to see. "It's . . . it's normal," she breathes out in disbelief. Her cheek looks completely normal. She touches her face, running trembling fingers across her now smooth, even-colored face to confirm that what she sees is truly real. Her mouth is slack with wondrous surprise. This is a dream come true. A gift like no other. She's processing it in real time. Her heart is racing and her breathing is fast. "Oh my . . ."
"Well done," Maul again commends the Jedi gravely.
Rhea can't stop staring in the mirror. She turns her face side to side to compare profiles. She never thought the left and right would ever match again. But now, you can't tell which side was injured.
From the moment she awoke in a hospital bed and someone apologetically handed her a mirror, Rhea has had to accept deformity. In time, she grew accustomed to the second looks, the pitiful glances, the outright revulsed stares, and the awkward comments from strangers. But she never mastered indifference. She might ignore others' reactions, but that's not the same as not noticing them. And no matter how steely your sense of self-worth, it is hard to combat the constant reminders of your inadequacy. Rhea knows that, in the end, how others treat you often becomes how you see yourself. For you can't help but absorb some of the prevailing attitudes of the world around you. So when the world considers you an ugly freak, you feel like one.
"Smile. Let us see," the doctor prods her.
Rhea turns to comply. It takes a little effort, perhaps because the muscles on the wounded side are a little weak. But she can smile and both cheeks lift simultaneously and symmetrically. It's a mundane thing but also completely remarkable. She turns back to the mirror to see for herself what it looks like. And it's perfect. Her new smile looks like nothing ever occurred. It's like the intervening years since the war were a nightmare that she has finally woken up from.
Rhea starts to giggle nervously even as she blinks back tears. She can't stop looking in the mirror as she processes so many overwhelming emotions. She is overjoyed and relieved, amazed and pleased, bewildered and a little shocked. But most of all, she is grateful.
"Thank you! Thank you!" she gushes while still examining herself. She's inches from the mirror now for an up-close inspection.
"Go show Mrs. Nettles," Maul suggests gently.
She needs no further encouragement. Rhea rushes into the hallway calling out loudly for the housekeeper. It's done with a childish, casual abandon that is out of place in this formal, businesslike setting. But her excitement cannot be contained. This is big news and she can't wait to share it.
Marisol hears her first. The housemaid comes running to Maul's formal office where she knows a meeting has been ongoing.
"Did someone die? I'll go get the disinfectant and a body bag," the no nonsense woman is ready for another gruesome cleanup.
Rhea's halfway down the hall, but she hears her counterpart. Rhea rushes back to the office to show off her miraculous cure. She and Marisol stand in the open doorway to Maul's formal office, squealing and exclaiming their mutual surprise and delight at the transformation.
That's when Mrs. Nettles walks up. "What's all this ruckus?" the gruff housekeeper complains. "You're going to disturb the boss with all this shrieking," she reproves with a hard look. But that's when she catches sight of Rhea's face. That brief moment is all it takes for Mrs. Nettles to understand what the fuss is about. And now, Mrs. Nettles joins in the happiness.
"Rhea, look at you! You're fixed! And you're beautiful!" the older woman pronounces as she limps forward on her bum knee. She starts a rapid-fire of commands and questions. "Let me see. Stand still. I need a good look. How did this happen?"
"The Force!" Rhea beams like the true believer she is now.
"Maul did this?" The housekeeper rears back to glance into the office beside them. She frowns at her boss across the room and barks, "What took you so long?" in her typical blunt fashion.
Rhea too glances over. She sees Master Timmons watching Maul watching her. Maul is smiling in a rare moment. As soon as the women catch him, he immediately reverts to his usual glower.
"Our Jedi guest healed her," Maul disavows responsibility.
"Only the Light heals," Master Timmons now intones with plenty of Jedi sanctimony. "All who seek the Light can be healed . . . in one way or another." That last bit is for Maul's benefit apparently. For the Jedi is looking at the one-time, maybe-still Sith lord rather pointedly.
But Mrs. Nettles and Marisol are ignorant of the lore of the Force. The distinctions of Light and Dark mean nothing to them. They shrug off the Jedi's preaching and resume celebrating with Rhea. There are tears and hugs all around.
"This calls for champagne at dinner," the housekeeper declares this good fortune party-worthy. "A toast to Rhea and a toast to the Force."
"Amen to that," Marisol seconds the suggestion cheekily. She looks around the formal office. "So no one's dead? There's nothing to clean up? If so, then I'll get back to work."
"Me too," the taskmaster housekeeper decides.
That just leaves jubilant Rhea alone with the Jedi and Maul.
"I didn't believe it would actually work," she confesses sheepishly as she rejoins Maul.
"All things are possible in the Force," he answers reverently.
The Jedi shoots his counterpart an amused look. "I was about to say that."
"The Light . . . the Dark . . . they each have their power and their place," Maul continues softly.
"I was not about to say that," the Jedi grumbles.
"That's why your religion is gone," Maul retorts. "Because you failed to appreciate the merits of your enemy." Now, he re-ups his earlier offer. "I can take you as far as Alderaan. Senator Organa can get you to the safe haven."
"That won't be necessary," Master Timmons again declines. "I won't hide."
"If I found you, Vader can find you."
"I'll take that risk." The Jedi Master gestures to Rhea. "What you just saw—all that joy—that is worth the risk. Moments like that are why I live and work in the open. I can't help people in some hidden Jedi enclave. I signed up for a life of service . . . to make a contribution. I can't do that in hiding."
"It's your choice," Maul shrugs. "My men will drop you back home. If you change your mind, come find me."
"I will." The Jedi eyes Maul as if trying to decide if he's an enemy or not. His conclusion is an unsatisfactory observation: "You're not who I expected you to be."
Maul grunts. "Disappointed? I haven't been the man you were expecting me to be for decades now."
"I sure didn't anticipate finding you in the rebellion."
"Nothing has turned out like our younger selves thought it would," Maul harrumphs.
The Jedi Master shares this pathos. For a moment, he looks truly old. "It's never too late to turn to the good side," he now makes a low-key pitch at Jedi proselytizing. "Maul, I think you're partway there already."
Maul grunts again. "It's the Light Side, not the good side."
The Jedi, of course, fails to perceive the difference. But Rhea does. Life presents many moral compromises. That's something she didn't understand as a sheltered child, but she does now. You don't get the luxury of choosing the right thing every time. Moreover, in real life choosing the right thing doesn't always yield a happy ending like it does in fairytales. It doesn't always make you good either. Life is more complicated than that, unfortunately.
Good people can have failings. Bad people can have redeeming qualities. Most of us are a mixed bag morally. What worse, many of the political and social causes we like to ascribe the weight of morality to are not true right/wrong choices. They are considerations of priorities more than anything. Layer in the Force like the Jedi and Sith religions are wont to do, and morality becomes an even more muddled matter of intentions, actions, and means. But somehow, everyone seems comfortable speaking of it in stark, certain terms anyway.
That frustrates Rhea. It's not that there is not any distinction between good and evil, it's that those choices don't always present themselves in neat packages. And that means far too much of life feels like improvised situational ethics to Rhea . . . and she's fine with that. It's in large part because she's a member of a criminal organization who plots violent treason and yet she still considers herself to be a good person. And also because Light things such as the Jedi healing her face can come out of Dark things like Maul's obsession with revenge.
The Light Side is equal parts sanctimony and truly good intentions, as far as Rhea can tell. The Jedi are always out to save your soul by convincing you of their ideology. And the Dark Side is tough love and sly thinking punctuated by violence. It's cynicism and hate that preys on your fears and mocks your ideals as naiveté. But still . . . it's undeniably effective. And it might be what the galaxy needs right now to take on Darth Sidious.
So to Hell with all the drama over who's the good guy and who's the bad guy. It doesn't matter who's Light and who's Dark. As Rhea watches Maul and Master Timmons continue to alternately respect and disdain one another, she thinks that, at least for today, they're both the good guys. They wouldn't see it that way, of course. But people rarely perceive the whole truth of themselves.
"Is that your best 'join me' speech?" Maul drawls at his counterpart. His lips have a sardonic twist.
The Jedi Master nods.
"'Join me' is my line. I'm the Sith."
"I thought you were a witch now."
"I'm not sure what I am," Maul admits. Looking away, he recalls, "I gave one of those speeches once to a Jedi years ago. It worked about as well as yours did."
"Very well," Master Timmons concedes. "It's an open offer."
"That's my line too," Maul grumbles. It makes Rhea smile.