News travels fast. Because five days after the Jedi Master heals Rhea, Maul receives a surprise visit from none other than Darth Plagueis the Wise.
Maul positions himself in his formal office for the interview. As the zombie Sith Master limps in, he crosses his arms and greets his guest with tepid enthusiasm. "You're not supposed to be here until next week."
"Happy to see you too," the blithe Muun shoots back. As always, he is never cowed. The man's effortless aplomb is both envy inducing and irritating. Maul can't help but wish he had Plagueis' wellspring of confidence. The guy loses his Empire to his Apprentice and ends up looking like a walking corpse. But if he's perturbed about the state of affairs, it doesn't show much.
"I came to see for myself," the gargoyle faced Sith Master croaks out. "Where is your little green girlfriend?"
"Rhea? You came to see Rhea?"
"Yes, yes." Plagueis is impatient. "Where is she? Let me see her."
Maul's eyes narrow. "What's this about? Mad she's spending too many credits on Yavin?" Rhea is spending a fortune on the new rebel base. It's budgeted at half of Crimson Dawn's annual profits.
But filthy rich old Plagueis is indifferent to the cash outlay. "I don't care what she spends. I want to see her face. I came to see her new smile."
Oh. Maul squints at the Sith elder. "That's what this is about?" He never would have guessed.
"Yes. Fetch her."
Hold on. "Who told you?"
"Bail Organa. Now, fetch her forthwith. I wish to see this miracle for myself."
Plagueis actually crossed the galaxy to see a Jedi Master's healing skill? Well, naturally, Maul figures. He must be thinking of the possibilities for his own broken body. "Very well." He summons Rhea from her office with his comlink.
Rhea reports immediately as requested. She hovers in the doorway, eyeing Plagueis curiously. "Sir, you wished to see me?"
Maul nods. "Come in, Ms. Cardulla."
Plagueis snorts at this show of arm's length formality between them. "Do you two keep up this charade for everyone? It must be exhausting. No one's fooled, you know."
Maul ignores him. "Our guest has heard of your recovery. Show him, Rhea, so he will go away and let us go about our business."
"Of course, Sir." Rhea is graceful in her obedience. She steps forward to present herself for inspection.
Plagueis is all over her in an instant. Apparently, the decrepit Muun can move plenty fast when he wants to. "Let me see, my dear. Now don't be shy," creepy old Plagueis coos as he lays giant clawed hands on her slight shoulders.
Maul bristles at this physical liberty. It's unnecessary and far too familiar, even if it's chaste.
"Allow me to admire your beauty," the Muun purrs as he lifts Rhea's chin with a spindly finger. "Astounding . . . absolutely astounding . . ." he marvels at the Jedi's work.
"It is, isn't it," Maul quietly agrees.
"Yes. Behold the power of the Force," the Dark Master intones reverently. Yellow eyes dart to find yellow eyes. They are suspicious. "This was no first attempt. This is the work of a very experienced Force healer."
When Maul makes no reply, Plagueis snorts, "Now, she's definitely too good for you."
He decides that the Muun has seen enough. "Take your hands off her. Show's over."
"So beguiling she is," Plagueis strokes Rhea's healed cheek even as her wary eyes silently plead for him to intercede. "She was always unconventionally beautiful. Now, she's sure to turn heads."
Maul takes a step forward and the Muun stops pawing Rhea. Plagueis' attention is all for him now. "How you must enjoy her. Oh, wait—I forgot," the exiled lord smirks. "You can't enjoy her."
Enough of this. Maul hisses, "Rhea, get out. That will be all."
"Yes, Sir." She can't run away fast enough.
"Run along to my ship," the cheeky zombie calls after her. "Runaway with me to the Unknown Regions—"
"Plagueis—"
The dirty old Sith is unrepentant. "Can you blame me for trying?"
Rhea pauses in the doorway. "Don't try. It won't work," she informs her unwanted admirer flatly. She's looking over her shoulder, those pretty lekku swaying with her abrupt halt and the pointed look she's flashing.
"Now I want you even more!" the leering Muun chuckles deep in his throat. "I love a loyal woman. They're so rare. And look at all your new confidence, my dear. Your doing, I presume, Maul?"
Maybe their relationship has given Rhea a new sense of security and self-worth. But Maul thinks her work with the rebellion and her newly healed face have contributed far more to her resolve. Still, whatever the reason, he loves seeing her blossom into a more poised version of her sweet self. But right now, Maul would prefer that Rhea be safely away from this confrontation masquerading as a conversation.
"Rhea, get out," he orders again.
She nods and flees.
Maul now advances on his obnoxious guest. "You got what you came to see. Time to leave."
"Oh no, Lord Maul. I want to hear all about the Force healing. All about it." To underscore this point, his guest collapses into the nearest chair. He makes himself comfortable and starts arranging his voluminous robes.
Maul groans audibly.
Plagueis ignores the hint. "Well, fess up. You had a hand in it, did you not?"
Did he? He located the Jedi, that's all. Then he helped to convince Rhea to try the Force healing and held her hand while the Jedi worked. But he didn't actually perform any healing himself. He was more like a helpful bystander.
Plagueis notes his hesitation. "Well, did you? Don't dare lie to me, Lord Maul. Have you been hiding skills from me all this time?"
"A Jedi Master healed her. He works undercover as a doctor at a hospital on Mirial."
"Yes, that's the cover story, I understand."
"It's the truth."
"The whole truth? Your mother could heal. Did she teach you to heal?" the Muun demands.
"What do you care? Go find that Jedi if you want to look prettier," Maul scorns.
"This isn't about me." Darth Plagueis abruptly stands to his full seven foot height. He wags a finger under Maul's nose as he complains, "I want to know if you heal with the Light."
Maul cocks his head and stands his ground. "Come to preach about balance? Save your breath."
"I'll ask you again: did you help heal her?" the Muun growls.
Why are they arguing about this? "I told you. The Jedi healed her. His name is Dr. Sonic Timmons."
"I'm asking about you, not about the Jedi." Darth Plagueis peers down at him now. "There was a time long ago when I thought that you might be the one. It made a certain sense at the time. A child born neither Jedi nor Sith, destined to live outside their orthodoxies."
"I was raised a Sith," Maul reminds him.
"Yes. That was no accident. That was very intentional. So I ask you again, did you heal her? Do you secretly practice the Light?"
This feels like an interrogation, maybe even an accusation. "What do you take me for?" he snarls back. "I am every bit as Sith as you are—maybe more since you're the one playing Padawan with your Jedi conclave in the Unknown Regions! I might no longer be the Apprentice, but I am still trained for Darkness," he retorts. His ego is pricked and he's feeling stung. Like he's being called out for being a Jedi lightweight. "Do not underestimate my Darkness!" Maul spits his words into the Muun's ruined face.
"Hmmmm . . . " is old Plagueis' cryptic reply.
And what the Hell is that supposed to mean? Maul fumes at the implication of doubt.
"Sheev said she was so certain . . ."
"Who was certain?"
"Mother Talzin."
"Certain about what?"
"You."
What? Maul is lost in the unspoken subtext of this confrontation. What is the Muun really getting at?
"She claimed that you would never be one of us. She told Sheev he could take you, but he'd never have you, no matter what he did. Said she had foreseen what you would become."
"Mother hated Father." She was irrational where Darth Sidious was concerned. Mostly because she loved her stolen firstborn son so much. And Maul could never fault Mother for that.
"It was more than spite. It was destiny . . . or so she claimed." And, yes, that sounds like Mother. She could be every bit as grandiose as Father is wont to be at times.
Who is he? Is he really Sith all these years later? Maul's not entirely sure lately. But he's not about to admit that to Darth Plagueis the Wise.
And so, he huffs, "I am a Nightbrother, the last of my kind. And I am a Sith lord, even if I am no longer the favorite son. But I am not now, nor will I ever be, a Jedi. I leave that folly to you, you old heretic!"
The Muun disbelieves him. He asks under his breath, "Have you tried dabbling in the Light?" like he's asking about something highly personal and embarrassing.
Maul recoils reflexively. "Why would I do that?"
"To heal your disfigured girlfriend. To heal yourself."
"I can't heal. I told you—a Jedi Master healed her. He didn't bother trying to heal me. I'm a hopeless case," Maul sighs.
"All things are possible in the Force," Plagueis replies softly. And he might be right, but the Force in its infinite wisdom has not seen fit to bestow the power he needs on anyone volunteering to help.
"There's no one left alive who can heal me," Maul bemoans the awful truth.
"The Chosen One might do it."
That reference to his latest replacement is like rubbing salt in his wounds. Maul jeers, "Do you think Vader wears a suit, a mask, and a respirator because he's secretly the most miraculous Jedi healer ever?" That's ridiculous. "You're getting gullible in your exile, old man. Stop listening to those Jedi you foster telling you tales of the Light Side savior who'll come to save us all. It's a lie!"
That gets a reaction out of the sanctimonious zombie. "Do not doubt the Force—"
"I don't! But neither do I believe in legends and fairytales. Especially the Jedi variety."
The Muun takes the rebuke. He settles on a neutral topic to end the argument. "I'm glad that Rhea is healed."
He nods. "She's happier than I've ever seen her."
"Still, I will miss that fascinating face," old Plagueis muses thoughtfully.
"She doesn't."
"More men will now see what you saw all along—that she is beautiful. Be careful that you don't lose her. Men will begin to approach her."
"I'll kill anyone who approaches her—including you," Maul growls.
The hideous Muun just smirks. He shifts gears now. "Enough about that. Tell me why Ahsoka Tano still lives."
"I haven't had time to kill her."
"Make the time," his Master's Master orders. "As long as Skywalker's Padawan lives, the seed of the Jedi Order lives. They kicked her out, and she became more Jedi than ever. I want her dead."
The conversation moves on from there. But Plagueis' warning—that Rhea will be lured away by a rival—hits home. It burrows deep. And now, Maul has yet another concern to keep him up at night.
He has long hid his personal insecurities. From using frontmen like Dryden Vos, to the shiny boots he wears in public, to his mysterious past, Maul takes pains to hide his shortcomings. But still . . . he is ashamed of his embarrassing crime career, of his ruined body, and of his failure to reach his full Sith potential. Maul routinely obsesses over all the ways he merits Father's disdain. And now, he obsesses that Rhea too may one day come to reject him. And then, he will be alone again. The thought terrifies him.
Plagueis was not wrong to notice the subtle change in Rhea. As days become weeks, she grows more accustomed to her healed face. She also grows more confident. That confidence is attractive. Rhea now has that elusive trifecta of lures which makes a woman irresistible: she's smart, she's poised, and she's beautiful. Add in youth and a sweet demeanor that's eager to please, and any man would want to have her. But instead of making Maul proud to call her his own, those qualities now have him feeling threatened. Very threatened.
Dark Sith that he is, his first inclination is to control her. To make certain that Rhea has no opportunity to leave him. He will possess and own her. She will be his . . . forever his. But that strategy is all wrong and it could backfire spectacularly, pushing Rhea away rather than keeping her at his side. He knows better than to clip her wings. He won't restrict her activities or intrusively monitor her comlink. Those heavy handed, overbearing tactics belong to a brute like Vader. All that underlying mistrust smacks of paranoid Father. Well, he is neither of those men. He is better than that. And besides, Rhea brings out the Light in him. Plagueis has seen it all along. Even that Jedi Master healer saw it. So, Maul plots an unexpected strategy. It's a charm offensive. He will woo Rhea so she won't be tempted to stray.
But how? He wishes he had more time to give her. They are both so busy that they are lucky to get a full hour a day together. Some days, she's already asleep when he comes into the bedroom. Last night, she fell asleep on the couch with her datapad in her lap waiting for him. Rhea had looked adorable as she rather prosaically snored away. The snoring is a side effect of the Force healing for some reason. Rhea never used to do that. But at least she was home. More and more lately, she's been away at Yavin. It means limited opportunities for romantic dinners and languid seductions. Most evenings together are quiet, homey affairs filled with hasty meals, showers, shop talk, and gang gossip.
But maybe that's the real risk for losing Rhea—that familiarity will breed contempt. His boring humdrum existence in a quiet corner of the galaxy will bore a young hottie like her. Same old, same old is the enemy, Maul decides.
He settles on a two-prong approach to keep his lover. First, he will demonstrate his appreciation with tangible means. He buys Rhea a new ship of her very own. It's a flashy midsized transport with the zippy hyperdrive of a military light fighter and the shielding of an Imperial cruiser. It's painted crimson red with the gang insignia on its underside. He figures that it's far better for Rhea to get arrested as a gang member than as a traitor. And if the Empire ever comes to suspect that her gang affiliation is merely a cover for her rebel activity, then hopefully they will seek to use her to get to him. Maul doesn't want Rhea fighting his battles for him. He won't let her take the fall for his treason. Hopefully, this conspicuous ship will shift attention to him as the bigger target.
Rhea likes the ship, but she likes the new jeweled headband he buys her even more. Twi'lek females are accustomed to wearing decorative head wraps. Some have chin straps, but this one does not. It is elegant in its spare size and design, even though it sparkles aplenty. It comes complete with matching optional cords to wrap her lekku for a truly dazzling effect. Worn together, Rhea looks like Ryloth's princess in exile, not like the former housemaid and gangster's moll that she is. It's a big upgrade from the plain brown leather variety she has long worn that shows wear at its fraying ends.
Rhea shrieks with surprise when he presents the gift. It's so extravagant, she gushes. But he insists that she wear at least the headband and one of the new dresses he buys her when she accompanies him to important meetings. Rhea drips with diamonds at his side while he does his best to radiate intimidating power. Together they are the beauty and the beast of Crimson Dawn.
But is he fun enough for Rhea? Maul worries that her life is all work and no play. That she's surrounded by a staff of coworkers who are mostly twice her age. So he resolves to give her—and him—more amusement and some glamour. It's part two of his strategy to keep her. His go-to solution? Canto Bight. With Rhea flashing her new jewelry and an even brighter smile, they descend on his most exclusive casino for a night on the town. She's a low stakes gambler who mostly enjoys seeing and being seen. Rhea sips on champagne and happily feeds credits into the slot machines while he conducts business from the rear table at a bar just off the main casino floor. From his vantage point, he can see her clearly.
That means he's watching when a high roller approaches her. It's not a test, but Rhea passes all the same. For she smiles at the guy prettily even as she promptly heads for his side. When the man persists in following her into the bar, Maul nods to the floor manager and asks him to intervene. Rhea dutifully reports seconds before the floor manager arrives with the guy who hit on her in tow. Maul plays it cool. He slips a conspicuous arm around Rhea even as he invites the high roller to sit down and gets him a drink. They make a pretense of small talk as Maul silently claims Rhea as his girl. The high roller is respectful about the whole thing and takes all of Maul's cues. Maul ends the interview by wishing the man luck at the tables and comping him a top tier ultraluxury suite for the weekend.
Rhea snuggles up under his arm and whispers she approves. I couldn't kill the guy for having good taste, Maul grouses back. Then, Rhea goes back to the slots and he gets back to business.
Date night at Canto Bight becomes a habit for them. He gets to be a frequent and visible presence at the territory he shares with his shifty Pike investors. Rhea gets a break from the monotony of construction timetables and procurement lists. It's the change of scenery they both need and a chance for some couple time. Plus, seeing Rhea rebuff a near continuous string of admirers helps ease his worried ego.
She's gorgeous sashaying across the casino floor in high heels, those graceful lekku gently swaying. He's seated yards away in the back of the bar observing, but it's still excellent foreplay. Watching other men watch Rhea makes him want her more than ever. Something about knowing other people covet what you have makes you value it higher. So some nights, Maul takes Rhea upstairs to a room in the casino rather than wait until he gets her back to their ship. She's just too enticing.
But sex is yet another source of insecurity for him. Because is he enough for Rhea in bed? His virgin lover doesn't know anything other than him. But . . . what if Rhea gets curious? What if she wants to sleep with a whole man . . . with a real man . . . not with some eunuch cyborg? What then? He's always resisted the whole robo-dick thing. He deemed it unnecessary, unsatisfactory, and, well, kind of pathetic. But that was before Rhea. He has more than himself to think about now. So, he starts entertaining the idea.
Like every good Sith, he knows that fear is a great motivator. Fear works on others and it works on him as well. For fear of loss is one of the most potent versions of dread. It can lead you to do things you would otherwise never do. Like installing a robo-dick on your prosthesis.
He knows Rhea loves him, but he also knows that love is not enough. Father loved him and still spurned him. Could Rhea do the same? Moreover, if their roles were reversed, would he stay in the relationship long term? Could he be content with a limited sex life with a disabled woman, even if he loved her? Of course, not . . . well . . . maybe . . .
Maul debates at length with himself. Finally, worried that he's overthinking things like usual, he takes the plunge on what he views as a compromise solution. But he spends so much time obsessing over whether to try this option that he omits careful consideration of how to broach the topic with Rhea. That turns out to be a mistake. His direct approach one night after dinner begins smooth but devolves quickly into a downward spiral of awkwardness.
"I have something for you. Well, for us." He retrieves a box from a locked drawer of his desk and hands it to her.
"Is this another gift? You are spoiling me," Rhea complains even as she smiles wide enough to show dimples.
"Open it." He's nervous and he wants this over with.
Rhea dutifully tears into the nondescript package that looks very intentionally like it could contain anything. Rhea fishes around inside and finds the gift encased in a small black velvet bag. "More jewelry?"
"No. Not this time."
She opens the bag and plucks out the contents. "Huh." He watches as she turns it over in her hands. She squints at it. "Is it a tool? It's kind of squishy for a tool." She squeezes it hard.
"Guess again."
She considers further. "Is it art?"
He snorts.
"Okay, I give up. What is it? Tell me," she laughs at his flummoxed expression.
"You really have no idea?" For a girl who worked years changing bedsheets in a brothel, Rhea can be surprisingly sheltered at times. Has she really never seen a sex toy before?
She giggles and leans in. She's embarrassed as she confides, "Well, it looks a little like a—"
"It is."
"It is?" she gasps, eyes wide.
"It is." There. He said it. Sort of.
"Oh!" Rhea shrieks and drops it. Maul stifles a groan. That's not the reaction he was hoping for.
He frowns at the rejected appendage laying on the floor. This is not going over well.
Rhea gingerly retrieves it and stares at it curiously. She's acting it might bite her, and that's all wrong. "Er . . . where does it go?" she asks after a long moment.
"The usual locations."
Rhea nods slowly. "It looks big."
"It's not big. I used to be bigger," he boasts. "Much bigger."
"Are you sure? Because it looks big. Like it belongs to a rancor."
"I was very big. Rancor big," he bristles at her dubious tone. He doubles down on his machismo even as he worries he shouldn't have opted for the XL size and should have instead stuck with the 'humanoid normal' selection.
Rhea takes the lie gracefully. "Got it. Were you also green? Because this looks like the wrong color too."
"You can change the color."
"Really?"
"There's a button. It's the . . . uh . . . multi species model."
"Oh, right." She begins pressing the button and the gift takes on a rainbow series of hues. "Green . . . purple . . . blue . . . I guess that's for the Twi'lek customers."
"Green could be Falleen. Blue could be Chiss."
"Neither are you. Pink . . . hmm . . ."
"No, not pink." Definitely not pink.
"Red, right?"
"Red." Of course, red. What is she thinking?
"There's no red. There's a pink, a brown, and a maroon." Rhea displays the colors in succession for his benefit.
He shifts his stance uncomfortably and gripes, "Does the color matter?"
"Uh . . . I guess not. Maybe it needs some tattoos. You know, so it looks like it belongs to you."
He cringes at the thought of tattooing that particular spot. "No. No tattoos. Not there."
"Oh. Right." Rhea is still staring at it, trying to decide what she thinks. She casually—too casually—wonders aloud, "So . . . you . . . uh . . . wear this?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"It straps on."
"Okay," she gulps.
"We don't have to—"
"Let's try it." He catches her eyes questioningly and she blurts out gamely again, "Let's try it. I think I like the maroon best. Yes, definitely maroon." She pokes at the button to select the color and then abruptly shrieks and drops it yet again.
Maul can't help it. He winces.
"It's buzzing!" she explains fast. "I mean, what the—"
"You can make it vibrate."
"Why ever would you want that? A real one doesn't vibrate. Er . . . does it?"
Maul face palms. "How long did you work in that brothel?"
"Years. But er . . . all the equipment was organic . . . so to speak. I never saw a buzzing droid dildo around. The sex toys were handcuffs and gags and stuff."
"I love a blindfold," he sighs, feeling foolish.
"I know." She smiles at him a little too brightly as she picks up the fallen faux phallus. "Tell you what—I'll wear the blindfold and you wear this. But . . . uh . . . uh . . . "
"Yes?" he yelps.
"Please be g-gentle . . ."
He immediately volunteers, "I bought the smaller size too."
Instantly, she looks relieved. "You mean the non-rancor size?" she teases.
He just shrugs. "Will you wear the slave collar?" he asks hopefully. Because he won't feel quite so silly if she's playacting a bit too.
Force bless the woman, because she lowers her eyes and says, "As you wish, Master." It's just what he needs to hear.
Their new bedroom antics aren't life changing, but they add some variety. Will it be enough to keep his little one from seeking consortium elsewhere? He hopes so. Rhea, of course, knows of his insecurity. It's near impossible to keep his performance anxiety a secret when their minds are joined during sex. He knows her thoughts and, even without the Force, she inevitably senses his mind a bit too.
Only once does the actual topic come up. They are in each other's arms in bed when she dabs at some seepage with the sheet. Rhea is always kind about the grosser aspects of his health condition, but he's still embarrassed. He sits up abruptly and turns away. This humiliation is everything he hates about living the way he does.
She reaches out. "Hey—it's no big deal—"
"It is." He cruelly shrugs her off. "Don't pretend it's not."
"You know I don't mind."
"You should mind," he snarls, feeling full of self-loathing and self-pity in the moment. "I don't know why you stay with me . . . "
"You'd never let me go."
"That's true."
"But I'd never leave you anyway. So . . . I guess we're stuck with each other," Rhea reasons.
"You deserve better."
"There is no one better," she answers.
He snorts and rants. "I'm only half a man! A whole man—any whole man—would be an improvement." A whole man certainly wouldn't leak feces from time to time like he does.
"What do I have to say to get you to believe me?" she sighs. She tugs at him from behind. "Maul, look at me."
He glances back and scowls.
"You're more than enough for me. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."
She means that declaration. Sincerity is written across her face and truth resonates in the Force. But Maul thinks it more a statement of how wretched her life was before him than commentary on their relationship. But it helps when she adds, "If you even look at another girl, Sith or no Sith, I'm going to kill you."
Rhea has a jealous streak and he loves it. It's feels good to be wanted. He relents to smile a little now as he tells her, "If I am ever foolish enough to look at another girl, you should kill me. For being stupid."
On the Dark Side, passion is inextricably linked to pain, even if it's just threats. But now that the violence has been alluded to, it's time to move on to the devotion. "Maul, I love you," Rhea whispers.
"I love you, too," he nods back.
"I'll go get a towel," she volunteers as she gets up from bed. She returns to kneel naked before his exposed, ruined body to dab at the drips. Watching her in silence, all he can think is that this woman is one in a billion.
Two weeks later, a strange ship appears requesting to land at the compound and to speak with him personally. It turns out to be the Fulcrum operative Cassian Andor who has smuggled the Jedi Master who healed Rhea out of Mirial two steps ahead of Imperial agents. The Jedi has fled to Dathomir to accept the offer of help to get him to sanctuary.
"Vader's onto him," Andor succinctly summarizes the situation as they confer on the compound landing pad.
"Were you followed?"
"I don't think so."
"Is the cell compromised?"
"It might be. For certain, the Empire will be alert to suspicious activity now that they know there was a local Jedi," Andor answers.
One glance at the undercover Force doctor bears testament to a fight. Master Timmons looks bruised and battered. "Inquisitor?" Maul guesses.
"Two," the Jedi Master answers.
"Dead?"
"I presume so." Master Timmons looks troubled as he quickly adds, "It was self-defense."
Maul shrugs. "You don't have to explain anything to me."
He turns back to his rebel conspirator. "Alright, Andor, I'll take it from here. It's best you don't know what happens next. Go do some damage control and report this to Draven."
The young rebel agent takes the dismissal and re-boards his ship as Maul invites Master Timmons inside the compound. They head first for Rhea's conference room office. She makes the call to Senator Organa on Alderaan and a plan is arranged. It's a repeat of the handoff they did for the Jedi woman Marlo the Hutt gave him last year.
"Go get dressed to visit a palace," Maul tells Rhea. "You need to look convincing in case this doesn't happen on the landing pad as planned. I can't be seen publicly anywhere near Organa."
"Yes, Sir."
While Rhea disappears to change out of her everyday housemaid dress, Maul looks the fugitive over. Timmons looks rough and his clothes are torn. He's sure to attract attention and that's the last thing Maul wants. "Can you heal yourself?"
"Of course."
Maul watches with fascination as the Jedi Master works his Light Side magic on himself. It's just as amazing as when he helped Rhea.
"I'll never get tired of watching that," Maul grunts afterwards. "That's a very good trick."
"I hope I'm doing the right thing," the Jedi Master confesses doubt. He was the victor against two Inquisitors, but the man looks very defeated right now.
"Hanging around to become a martyr is always a bad idea," Maul counsels dryly.
"I'm hoping that when some time has passed, I can re-emerge."
"Perhaps." Or maybe, if this rebellion succeeds, the Purge will be over because Jedi-loving Darth Plagueis will be back in power and Master Timmons will be able to Force heal out in the open. "In the meantime, pass on what you have learned. There's a lot of half trained adult Padawans where you're going." Maul marvels again at the Jedi's skill. He came in bruised and bloody, and now there is not a mark on him. "That's a good trick," Maul compliments him again.
"It's not all the Light can do," the Jedi says pointedly.
Rhea now arrives back dressed formally for a royal visit. She helps Mrs. Nettles scrounge up a change of clothes for the Jedi. The doctor's torn and dirty hospital scrubs are replaced with a nondescript tunic and pants that are a reasonably good fit. The jacket he wears atop these clothes has a Crimson Dawn logo on the arm, but that can't be helped. They go with it as is. It matters less that the Jedi appears to be a gang member than that he no longer looks like the wanted fugitive doctor all Imperial commands are now actively seeking.
Continuing with that tactic, Maul opts to take Rhea's new ship to Alderaan in lieu of a larger transport. They leave immediately per the Senator's instructions. They come alone—just their trio.
He gets back to business once they are en route, working the whole flight to Alderaan. Rhea does the same. The Jedi passes the time in deep meditation.
"Done praying for guidance?" Maul smirks when Master Timmons finds them in the cockpit just as they enter the Alderaan system.
"No," the Jedi answers. "I was praying for you, Maul."
Before he can come up with a suitable comeback for that comment, the escort ships Bail Organa has promised hail their transport to form up a convoy. Maul busies himself with piloting the descent and the landing process.
Everything proceeds smoothly according to plan. They touch down on the private palace landing platform, just like before. They follow instructions to disembark and to wait. So far, so good, but Maul keeps his senses on alert. And that's how he detects an unseen presence.
"Maul, what is it?" Rhea tugs at his sleeve. She must sense his growing unease.
"There's a Jedi here."
"Yes," she nods and gestures to their companion. "Master Timmons."
"No," he breathes out. "It's someone else. But a Jedi Master for sure." He senses power. Great power. Somewhere close and getting closer.
"How can you tell?" Rhea frets.
"They feel enormous in the Force."
He thought he sensed someone last time he was here. Now, he is certain of it. There is a Jedi Master on Alderaan. A Jedi with blinding Light that blazes forth with no effort at concealment. It's almost brazen.
"I feel it too," Master Timmons speaks up in that unnervingly calm way of his.
"Where is Organa? What's taking so long?" Maul is discontent and he's not sure why. It's not the unseen Jedi Master. At least, he doesn't think so. This danger is something else. The Force is jumpy. Almost nervous. It's got him rattled.
"Here he comes." Rhea spots the Senator striding fast out of the palace. She turns to Timmons to say goodbye. "Good luck," Rhea bids the Jedi Master. "I will never forget what you did for me. Maul and I hope that in some small way this will repay your kindness."
"He doesn't believe in luck," Maul complains. "You know that."
"I appreciate the sentiment, all the same," Timmons intones with all due gravitas.
"We will welcome you back into the rebellion at any time," Rhea promises. "We could use someone of your expertise to supervise the infirmary at Yavin."
The Jedi is noncommittal. "Thank you. I will consider it."
"Lay off, Rhea," Maul inserts himself again. "I'm sure Bail will give him the hard sell on the long flight they have ahead of them."
As if on cue, up walks a slightly breathless Bail Organa to greet them. "Maul. Rhea."
He makes the introductions. "This is Sonic Timmons, Jedi Master."
"Senator," the Jedi responds, "it is an honor."
"Master Timmons? You're the healer who helped Rhea?"
"Yes."
"Talk inside, Bail," Maul rasps sharply as he scans the horizon for peeking eyes. "This is too public." He feels uncomfortably exposed standing out in the open on the mostly empty landing platform. Anyone could see them here. This is a prime target for a sniper or an ambush.
"We are safe, this is my home," the Senator brushes off the concern. "All are loyal to me here."
Maul is having none of it. "Get him on a ship and get him out of here. He's a wanted fugitive and an enemy of the state. I cannot assure that we weren't followed."
"We've all done this before, Maul. It will be fine."
But he is worried. The fact that they have done this before means there is a pattern of behavior to observe. It makes them predictable. Maul is mindful now of his Jedi hunters' on-again, off-again speculation that they have been followed. More than once an Inquisitor has appeared out of nowhere without explanation to kill a Jedi his men have been stalking. Moreover, Bail Organa is a man who once kept a colony of Jedi on his homeworld until the Empire showed up to ruin the fun. He's a known sympathizer to the victims of Vader's Purge.
His trepidation must make an impression because Organa takes the hint. "Right this way, Master Timmons." He gestures to the Tantive IV cruiser that is the only other spacecraft parked on the landing platform. "My ship is prepped and ready. We just need one more passenger. Ah, here she comes." The Senator beckons to a young girl in a fancy dress and flying hair braids who runs across the landing pad to his side. "Meet my daughter, our Crown Princess, Leia Organa," Bail Organa says proudly as the little girl collects herself to nod regally with poise beyond her years. "She will accompany us."
Maul doesn't respond to the introduction. He just stares hard at the Senator's daughter. He's taken aback at her feel in the Force. Suddenly, the invisible energy field that binds the universe together is nearly screaming in his ears. It's deeply unsettling and it gets his adrenaline pumping. Looking from father to daughter as the Force buffets his mind, Maul decides that this moment raises far more questions than it answers.
"Hello, your . . . uh . . . Highness?" Rhea's voice ends up like a question, indicating she's uncertain of the protocol for how to meet the Crown Princess.
But he cares not for the niceties of court titles. Maul turns to Bail Organa to hiss, "You need to leave. Now." Especially now.
The Jedi Master quietly seconds this suggestion. "I think he's right."
Maul whirls. "You feel it too?"
The Jedi nods.
The young princess apparently agrees. She turns to her father. "Dad, maybe we should go."
"Get into hyperspace," Maul orders gruffly as his eyes keep wandering involuntarily to the very young, very intriguing Crown Princess. Does she even know about her power? He wonders.
"We're going, we're going," The Senator agrees even as he downplays things. "We're flying a consular ship, broadcasting a diplomatic mission. The Empire cannot legally stop or search us."
"Tell that to Vader," Maul snaps back. "It won't go over well."
"It's the law," the Senator points out.
"Are you willing to stake your life on that?" Maul retorts. The Senator's faith in the rule of law annoys him. Bail Organa of all people understands how much contempt Emperor Palpatine has for the galactic legislature. But just to underscore the point, he spells it out for everyone.
"He's a Sith! Vader can take whatever he wants and do whatever he wants. Remember that. You might be a Senator married to a Queen, but there are no rules on the Dark Side. No limits! Don't say I didn't warn you." He turns to Rhea now to rasp, "Let's go."
"Maul—" It's Master Timmons speaking up. "May the Force be with you."
He nods and replies tersely with the customary response, "And also with you." Then he nabs Rhea's hand and drags her fast back up the ramp of the ship they just exited.
"What's wrong?" she mutters as she struggles to keep pace with his strides.
"I'm not sure. But I have a bad feeling about this . . . and it's getting worse." His gut tells him something is wrong, even if his senses can't pinpoint any immediate danger. But the Force is fairly crackling with anticipation of something.
"Is it a trap?" she worries.
"I don't know. But now, I understand why Organa helps the Jedi."
"Why?" she asks as they nearly run for the cockpit.
"His little daughter has the Force."
"Oh. Wow. Really?" Rhea stops short in surprise and glances out the nearest window to where the Senator and his daughter walk with the Jedi towards the Tantive IV.
"Come on," Maul swipes at her to pull her forward again. "If Vader finds that little princess, he'll kill her. Bail will have to bring her to Plagueis' safe haven if he wants his daughter to live."
"But why?"
"She's a threat."
"She's ten. Maybe even younger."
"I was about her age when Father stole me."
"Why didn't he kill you?" Rhea asks the obvious question.
"Because he wanted to use me."
Maul himself now hazards a glance out a window at the retreating figure of the little princess. If Father finds her and doesn't kill her, could she become his latest replacement? The Lords of the Sith are traditionally men, but times change and perhaps it is time for a female Apprentice. It's a glum thought. It makes him especially terse as they enter the cockpit. "Strap in. We're leaving."
He plops down, guns the engines, punches the repulsolifts, and breaks gravity immediately.
Rhea staggers on her feet as the ship lurches aloft. "Whoa—Maul—"
"I said strap yourself in!" he snarls. He's getting them out of here before that nagging tickle in the back of his mind signaling danger comes to fruition.
Rhea immediately complies as he starts climbing high into the sky above the palace complex. Behind him, he sees the Tantive IV do the same. But the Senator's ship naturally gets priority. For this time, there are no escort ships from the Royal Guard to part the sea of traffic for them. It means their ship is quickly swallowed up by the mass of intraplanetary congestion.
"The traffic on this planet is as bad as Coruscant," he grumbles. But maybe it's not all bad to get lost amid these everyday transports to confuse any observant eyes. Still, the best strategy is to get to lightspeed where the Empire can't track them. And so, figuring he can get a pardon from Bail Organa if he's tagged by the local cops, Maul starts weaving recklessly through the mass of ships, jumping the line to the outermost orbital layer reserved for hyperspace jumps.
He doesn't normally fly this dangerously nor does he routinely flout local law enforcement. Crimson Dawn does not seek to draw attention as a general matter. But this is different.
"Almost there . . . " he speaks his thoughts aloud. He busies himself with the navicomputer a moment, deciding not to select any of the preprogrammed jumps to Dathomir, Yavin, or Lothal. Just to be safe, he's going to make an intermediate jump to another Core system first.
But Rhea's yelp gets his attention. "Look out!"
He glances up just in time to correct his course before he plows into the starboard shields of an Imperial star destroyer that is emerging from hyperspace.
That wasn't there a second ago. Maul's heart skips a beat.
Rhea shrieks with alarm as immediately he disengages from the navicomputer and grabs the controls. A dozen TIE fighters spew out from the gigantic capital ship just as up ahead, the priority status Tantive IV disappears into the safety of hyperspace. The rebel Senator, his Force-strong daughter, and the fugitive Jedi Master are safely away. That just leaves him and Rhea as the only conspirators left to capture.
This is not good. Maul swallows hard at the turn of events. Then, he springs into action. He puts the ship into a near vertical dive and starts evasive actions. The TIEs that swarm behind him aren't shooting, but they give chase very effectively.
Beside him, Rhea looks petrified. "We're dead," she breathes out.
Not if he can help it. "That was an old trick, and a good one. They waited until we were aloft so they wouldn't be seen storming the palace with all the political drama it would cause. They waited for the right moment to emerge to ambush us with their fighters poised to launch." It's a classic Clone Wars Jedi General Anakin Skywalker tactic, Maul recognizes.
"There's more coming!" Rhea wails as she points.
Sure enough, more fighters emerge from the belly of the beast star destroyer. Maul knows they are going to try to cut him off. He's being herded to be captured.
"We're dead," Rhea whispers again, sounding like she's trying hard to accept their fate.
"No," he answers bluntly. "If they wanted us dead, they would be shooting. He wants us alive."
"He? Who?"
"That's Vader's ship." That's the super star destroyer Executor, the only one of its kind in the entire Imperial fleet. It's a ridiculously large eyesore that perfectly befits the current Apprentice who lacks both discretion and finesse.
"I know all about the rebels," Rhea groans. "He'll torture it out of me . . ."
Maul shakes his head. He won't let that happen. He'll give Rhea a quick, clean death if he has to. He won't let that brute Vader vent his Dark savagery on her. But hopefully, it won't come to that.
"I always knew this was a risk . . . " ashen faced Rhea says quietly. She's talking through her fears to process them. "I knew one day it might come to this . . . I just didn't think it would happen today . . ."
She sounds resigned as he yet again sends their ship on a twirling, zig-zagging path to evade capture. Next comes another stomach-churning dive in the not-quite weightlessness of Alderaan's upper atmosphere. He's methodically racing away from the big ship bearing down on them to keep out of range of its strangely silent turbo lasers and its no doubt powerful tractor beam.
"We may have to ditch and hide," Maul decides grimly after yet another ineffective series of aerial gymnastics. No matter what maneuvers he tries, he's unsuccessful at making any headway getting around the Executor. Without getting past Vader's ship, he can't safely make the jump to lightspeed. As it stands, it's nothing short of a miracle that they haven't been caught already. If he weren't an experienced pilot with Force-attuned reflexes, this chase would have been over minutes ago.
Since Plan A is a bust, it's time to improvise Plan B. "I can fly for the palace and hope the political stakes will deter them from following. Bail's people might hide us."
"You'll implicate them all," Rhea states the obvious.
"Organa's already busted. This ambush is proof," Maul counters. And whew, that was close. That wide, banking turn almost slammed them into the side of another civilian ship that thankfully took immediate evasive action.
"Can't we hide on the surface and sneak into the palace?" Rhea suggests frantically. She sounds like she's in tears but Maul doesn't dare take his eyes off the controls to see for himself.
He shakes his head. "They'll be on us as soon as we land. That's when the shooting will start. We need to land someplace they can't follow."
"You said yourself that Vader will do anything. Maul, landing at the palace won't stop them!"
She's right. As always, his undereducated, but very intelligent girl has good instincts and pragmatic insight. She's been to the school of hard knocks and has plenty of street smarts. And yet, gang life hasn't stolen her innate goodness. It's that mix of Light and can-do pragmatism, tempered by her vulnerability, that hooked him from the outset.
Suddenly, Rhea shrieks, "They're shooting!"
It's a warning shot, but it just upped the ante. Now, Maul has laser fire to dodge as well as over a dozen ships working in concert against him. He had been using the civilian traffic as a buffer to shield himself, but now the large queue of transports waiting their turn to jump to hyperspace has scattered. Everyone has fled from the scene of this desperate chase.
"Can't you shoot back?" Rhea urges.
So far, he has disdained that escalation. Taking out a few TIEs only benefits him if it gets him a clear route to make his jump. Moreover, he suspects Vader has no shortage of TIEs to continually launch against him. But since they're shooting now, he'll shoot too.
As he fears, at the first volley of return laser fire, the big Executor opens up its battery of cannons. Now, he's dodging a dozen firing TIEs plus the looming, heavily armed capital ship. It tips the strategic balance immediately. Maul is outmanned and outgunned when he strays too close to the Executor in a near vertical climb to outrun a proton torpedo.
The torpedo whizzes past their craft harmlessly. But their ship stalls, and the sudden gravitational pull yanks him and Rhea hard against their seat restraints.
"We're hit!" Rhea screeches as he grunts.
"No. We're caught." Swearing, sweating Maul gulps at the realization.
"Caught?" Rhea turns terrified eyes on him.
"That's the tractor beam you feel. It's pulling us in. I'm at full power—I have to shut down." Maul immediately starts salvaging the ship on the off chance he can kill Vader and make a run for it with Rhea. He'll need all the speed and firepower he can get in that instance. He can't risk melting the engines in a futile attempt to resist.
"Caught?" Rhea echoes weakly as she watches the flurry of TIEs immediately disengage. It's very visible proof that the chase has ended. They are the losers.
There is a long moment of silence between them as their ship is towed into the nearest Executor hangar bay. Up close, the oversized star destroyer is an intimidating sight. Rhea pants hard beside him as she attempts to master her fright. She's always been a tremulous little thing, and her newfound confidence now evaporates in the face of their predicament.
"He's not going to get me without a fight," Maul promises her. She's his lady and he will fight for them both. His fate will be the same as hers, and vice versa.
Rhea looks at him blankly and nods out of habit. It's a pretense of optimism. For all hope is lost from his girl so full of Light. Fear consumes her and it radiates out in the Force. It teases him to panic as well. Fear is contagious that way.
"But it's V-Vader . . . " she stammers.
"Kenobi beat him," he reminds them both. It's a bit of a self pep talk, actually.
"This isn't how it is supposed t-to h-happen . . . The war hasn't e-even b-begun . . ." Rhea laments.
She's right. The timing is all wrong. It's too soon. This confrontation is supposed to be the culmination, not the beginning. He's supposed to meet Vader as an equal on the battlefield, not as a captured prisoner. They should be rivals in an ongoing civil war, with him as the upstart hero change agent and Vader as the incarnate bastion of the status quo. But he's not a declared rebel and there is no overt insurrection. He's just a gangster who returned a favor to a Jedi Master and got caught red-handed.
Is this really happening now? It is. Maul fights the urge to despair. Destiny, it seems, has very bad timing where he is concerned.
Their ship enters a cavernous docking bay that is devoid of ships but full of stormtroopers. At the forefront of this show of force is their leader, Darth Vader. He's his usual subtle self, Maul sniffs. The guy's not even bothering to cloak his considerable Force imprint. Hiding in the Force is the first lesson of being a Sith but apparently the Jedi Chosen One thinks he's too good for it. That rankles. Well, everything about the current Apprentice rubs Maul the wrong way.
With a quick prayer to his Dark patron saint, the disruptor Lord Bane, and a muttered charm for cunning in combat that is a time honored Nightbrother tradition, Maul unbuckles his seat restraints. He stands to unholster the weapon at his waist. The sword hilt feels good in his grip. It yields a rush of much needed confidence.
He can do this. He has to do this. Time to step up and prove that the first Apprentice is the best Apprentice.
"Stay in the ship," he orders Rhea before he heads to deploy the ramp.