Chapter Twenty-Eight: Kill His Apprentice
Tainted waves lapped at the landing struts of every galleon parked along San Sestina's shoreline. The water was marred with streaks of old ship fuel; the sand dotted with bits of ancient cargo hauler. The skyline out at sea was scarred with the skeletons of great spacefaring vessels from a bygone era—their collision with the ocean the source of San Sestina's environmental blight.
The pirates who had founded the fortress of San Sestina had inherited a broken world. But Dorran Treskov did not mourn this fact. It was, at least, their broken world. The castoffs and the outcasts, banding together to rescue a planet no one wanted anymore. They'd done a fine job, he thought—especially on an afternoon like this one, the beach of the San Sestina pirate fortress felt like a home.
As hauler droids ambled down the boarding ramps of the pirate starships, the shining water splashed against their treads. Along the stretches of sand, pirates huddled around bonfires, roasting skewers of meat and drinking bottles of whatever some enterprising ship's mechanic had managed to distill in the depths of his engine room.
Dorran inhaled the seaside air, savoring the sensation of the salt and oil tickling his nostrils. This was his favorite part. When the attacking was done, and the ships returned to safe harbor. When the hauler droids did all the grunt work while the crews cracked open every cargo crate to marvel at the spoils of their latest raid. The ship's cooks would set up their food stands, the helmsman would bring decks of cards, and everyone would drink enough moonshine to make day turn into night and into day again. It was a beautiful celebration of their collective efforts in the field of piracy.
Closing his eyes, Dorran took a moment to savor the glow of the sun and the comfort of the coastal breeze—until it was replaced by an unnatural chill. It was as if someone had sucked the warmth out of the surrounding air.
He opened his eyes. "Valis?"
The woman said nothing. Going corporate had changed her, Dorran thought—there was a harshness behind her eyes, a cold and brutal intensity that had lingered long after she'd come to San Sestina and shared her secret plan to betray the CIS. She wasn't even looking at him, and he could still feel it—strange as it was, the pirate admiral was staring past Dorran, gaze affixed on some distant (or perhaps nonexistent) object.
"Don't usually run into you at these things," he added just to fill the silence—though he regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. By the look of her, Valis wasn't actually here to join the festivities. She had no food or drink in hand, and wasn't adorned in any sort of pirate garb—rather, she wore a black tunic and robe, an outfit she only seemed to wear when she spent time with the Zabrak warlord.
Finally, Valis' eyes shifted toward Dorran. "Let's take a walk."
Without waiting for him, she spun on a heel and marched away.
Dorran jogged to catch up with her, falling in step as Valis moved along the length of the beach.
"You managed quite the haul on your last raid," Valis observed as they moved past one of the parked galleons—Dorran glanced beyond her, to the stack of cargo crates forming at the base of the boarding ramp.
He had known her long enough to know that was supposed to be a compliment. "Thanks." Dorran continued after several seconds of tense silence. "I almost feel sorry for the shipping companies doing routes through old Confederate space. Hell of a choice: take the main hyperlane and run right into a warzone, or go the long way around and fly into our open arms." He grinned and spread his hands wide—and noticed the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Valis' mouth too.
"When are you headed out next?" she asked.
"Tomorrow afternoon, if everyone sobers up in time." Dorran turned to look at her. "Why? Got a job for me?"
She nodded, keeping her gaze forward. "Smuggling run."
Dorran chuckled. "Been a while, but I like to think I've kept my skills sharp. Where to?"
"Coruscant."
A snort forced its way out Dorran's nose. "That's funny," he said, his words woven with a low chuckle.
Valis came to a halt, her hand reaching out and clamping around Dorran's arm. Her eyes narrowed into a piercing stare. "It's not a joke."
"Oh, yes it is," Dorran said, pulling his arm free of her grip and turning to face Valis. "We made it one with our little"—he gestured in the air, mimicking the arc of a crashing spaceship—"demonstration. Coruscant is going to be impenetrable for at least another year, maybe longer. I already know of two guys, top-notch smugglers, who got picked up trying to sneak stuff through customs."
"Were they going in or out?"
"Doesn't matter," he answered with a shake of his head. "I won't do it." As Valis turned to leave, he raised a finger into the air and continued. "And don't you go asking someone else around here who's too scared to say no to you."
At this, she whirled around and glared at him, a sudden fire behind her eyes. "What the hell did you just say to me?"
Dorran felt himself start to sweat, and tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat—though he noticed it took a fair bit more effort than it should have. His eyes flitted to one side; he noticed some pirates on the beach had started to stare at them.
"Listen," he said—his voice was quieter, and a bit raspy. "You asked me to do this because you know me, yeah?"
She nodded.
"I'm just telling you what you need to hear. Coruscant is off the table. It can't be done. You will get caught." He exhaled, then breathed back in—the phantom pressure on his chest had disappeared.
Valis sighed and took a step back toward Dorran. "Just keep your voice down if you're going to talk back to me. I don't want anyone else around here getting ideas."
"They're pirates," Dorran said, waving a dismissive hand. "You can trust them"—he shot her a knowing grin"—as much as you can pay them." He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the seaside gathering. "The people feel taken care of. You've got nothing to worry about."
Valis' head moved up and down in a thoughtful nod. "If Coruscant really is impossible, that's going to be a problem. I need to get a message to someone there."
Dorran raised an eyebrow and tilted his head sideways. "And that someone never leaves the planet?"
Something seemed to click in Valis' head—her gaze shifted toward the ground, and she lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck. "Let me think."
The unnatural chill returned to the air for a moment—Dorran shivered, and a tickle of discomfort danced down his spine. It lingered for longer than he would have liked, but once Valis looked back up at him, the warmth returned to the air.
"Want to attack the Techno Union?"
Dorran's eyes narrowed. "I thought you said CIS targets were off limits—"
"I'm making an exception. You and your crew can hit the Techno Union. Sabotage their coolant lines and fry their data centers, disrupt a couple chip fabrication assembly lines. Take as many people as you think you'll need. Pay them in salvaged electronic components—that stuff is easy enough to flip on the black market."
"Worth a fair bit too," Dorran added.
"So you'll do it?"
He shrugged. "Sure. I just don't see what it has to do with smuggling something to Coruscant."
When Valis spoke again, she did so just above a whisper. "Your job is to leave a message capsule among the wreckage. The person I'm trying to contact will find it there."
Dorran glanced from one side to the other, then shot Valis a look of confusion. "We're still talking about the same person? The one from Coruscant?"
"I'll have the capsule delivered to your ship by morning, along with some payment for your troubles," she interrupted. "Hopefully your crew sobers up fast." She spun around to leave, then glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Oh, and Dorran? Don't tell anyone else about the message. Right now that part of the job is need-to-know, and they don't."
He felt a smile forming on his face. "What's the matter, you don't trust them?"
She shot back with a grin of her own. "Only as much as I can pay them."
Valis marched off the beach and back toward town, the slight chill in the air disappearing with her.
Valis felt herself relax as she stepped off the boardwalk and onto the stone streets of San Sestina. She much preferred the confined safety of being surrounded by buildings—the relative openness of the beach felt exposed. Vulnerable.
In an instant, the relaxation vanished as the Force whispered a warning—mere milliseconds before a raspy voice whispered in her ear. "Well?"
She jumped away from Maul, nearly tumbling into the scrappy patchwork side of one of San Sestina's buildings. "Dammit!" she hissed. "Don't do that."
The Zabrak shook his head, some approximation of disappointment playing across his tattooed face. "You must hone your senses in the Force. If I can sneak up on you, so can Vader."
Valis rolled her eyes. "There's not going to be any sneaking. We decided to invite him here to talk, remember?"
"You decided," Maul spat.
"You disagree?" Valis asked, making no attempt to hide the frustration in her voice. They had talked about this. Reached an agreement, even—and plans were already in motion.
The Zabrak bared his teeth in some sort of primal threat display. "We don't need him."
"No, we don't," she agreed—hoping that agreeing with his point would put him in a more cooperative mood. "But we can't deny that he has knowledge about Sidious. Knowledge we have no other way of learning ourselves."
"Vader will never join us," Maul said, clasping his hands behind his back and hunching forward before falling into his typical pattern of pacing back and forth. "Sidious cannot afford to have someone betray him again. He will have replaced me with a loyal apprentice."
"It's at least worth asking, isn't it? If Vader says no, we can just kill him." Valis felt the desperation creeping into her voice, and forced herself to stop short of begging with the Zabrak.
"And give up the element of surprise?"
Now he's grasping for any excuse—she allowed the thought to linger at the top of her mind, hoping Maul might sense it. "There are two of us and one of him. We don't need to attack him by surprise—"
"Stop." Maul froze in place for a moment, then turned to face Valis. Slowly he stalked toward her until they stood with their faces just inches apart. "I must show you something."
Before she could say anything, Valis felt a wave of energy in the Force. It was erratic, untempered—Maul's aura in the dark side was expanding to envelop both of them. It felt like someone had at once injected ice water into her veins and liquid fire into her heart.
The ground seemed to collapse beneath them, and they were both consumed by a growing maw of darkness.
Infinite blackness expands outward from where Maul and Valis stand. Fog rolls in wisps at their ankles—as Maul begins to pace, each step sees the fog ripple outward as if someone had dropped a stone into a pond. The waves collide with each other until the fog is an undulating blanket beneath their feet.
Maul speaks—and yet, he does not speak. His mouth is not moving, and his voice is coming from everywhere at once. The farthest distance, the closest point in front of Valis' face, even inside her own head.
"Ever since Sidious found me, he raised me to do one thing: kill his apprentice."
Two cloaked figures appear before them—the first wears a hood so large it obscures all but the most pronounced of his facial features. The other is a child tattooed from head to toe in patterned black and red. In his grip he holds a lightsaber. The blade springs to life, and the figures are swallowed by the fog.
"There were apprentices before he found me. There were apprentices after. I am still here. They are not."
Dozens of robed phantoms appear around them, then wink out of existence as fast as they materialized.
"Whether by stealth, or by direct action, I killed them."
More foggy phantoms—Maul, approaching another Sith from behind and stabbing him in the back with a dagger. Dual saber blades whirling around in a deadly dance, slicing a man in half as he fails to parry the Zabrak's onslaught.
"Whether by the blade of a lightsaber, or by my own hand, I killed them."
Valis hears the whir of a lightsaber, though its movements are obscured by the fog. Then she spins around—behind her, more spectres in the fog. Maul's hands are wrapped around another man's throat. They struggle until the human collapses to the ground, his body limp and lifeless.
"It is what I was taught to do. Designed to do. It is what I am meant to do. Kill his apprentice. I will do it again, and yet this time will be different. I will kill his apprentice, and then I will kill him.
"We must kill Vader."
The darkness faded away, replaced by the rising towers of San Sestina's central square. Valis looked toward the sky—it was already showing hues of orange and purple. Afternoon had turned to dusk.
"We must kill Vader," Maul repeated—though this time, the words came only from him.
As the statement hung in the air between them, Valis felt her knees wobble—the back of her neck itched, and a thin sheen of sweat seemed to coat every inch of her skin. Whatever Maul had just dragged her into, she hoped to the heavens he'd never do it again.
She tried to speak, and found the inside of her throat was like sandpaper. Valis swallowed and tried to talk again. Her voice was hoarse, but the words came.
"I see you won't be swayed." She coughed, then continued. "Perhaps we should compromise. We will invite Vader here, and I will speak with him. Alone."
Maul bared his teeth and growled in apparent protest, but Valis talked through his attempt at an objection.
"We will use the layout of the city to lead him into a vulnerable position, laying several traps along the way in case he tries something. You will wait in the shadows, ready to spring the traps and attack him if the need arises." There's your element of surprise, she thought, hoping he might pick up on her mental sneer.
The two Sith stared at each other; the Zabrak's eyes narrowed—it was as if he were urging Valis to continue.
Sighing, she did just that. "Even if he agrees to join us, it will be a temporary alliance. Once Sidious has been dealt with, we will kill Vader anyway."
There it was: a smile—or at least Maul's approximation of one. The closest thing the warlord could express to satisfaction was painted on his face. "That," he began, "is acceptable."
She wanted to echo his final word back to him, to spit it in his face. To yell about how it should be more than bloody "acceptable." He was getting what he wanted regardless of Vader's decisions, throwing away a possibly useful ally because he was meant to kill him.
Instead, Valis held her tongue and turned on her heel. She would have the satisfaction of the last word. There was no time to stand in the street and have a staring contest with the Zabrak.
Let Maul have him, she told herself as she marched out of town, toward the mountain of wrecked starships where she had made her home. Vader's just a piece of the puzzle, one pawn in the game.
It was time to plan her next move.
The bridge of the Fractured Iris glowed with the warm hues of low power emergency lighting, and of the sunset streaming through the bridge viewport.
Valis stared through it, not at the view beyond but at the view painted atop it. Her life's work—or at least the accomplishments of the last several years—laid bare before her. A hand-drawn star chart showing just how little she'd accomplished in this farce of a war.
The Republic not only held the territory they'd had at the war's onset, they'd gained more—Palpatine was nothing if not an aggressive expansionist. The Confederacy, though . . .
No, she scolded herself. She was looking at it all wrong. Yes, the red cross marks dotted around her old sectors of space made it seem like Vader's work. Like the Executor had been the one to shatter the monolith of secessionist space.
Perhaps he had—but all he was doing was breaking apart a fallen giant. She'd been the one to make the first push. Going rogue, banding together with her old pirates to strike Coruscant and standing by Maul as they killed the Board. All in service of turning a sham war—one in which the Confederacy was never meant to emerge victorious—into a very real one.
Now they had to win. And to do that, she had to start over.
Bending down beside her, she picked up a bucket of soapy water and threw its contents at the window. Liquid and suds mixed with the marker ink, causing it to bleed down the transparisteel in flowing ribbons—a melting rainbow. She sopped its contents up with a sponge and began again, washing and rinsing and wringing out rags until the viewport looked cleaner than it ever had. A pristine, unbroken view of the San Sestina port.
This was it. The stage for their trap. Their new theater of war. Valis grabbed the set of feltpens and got to work.
She outlined the roads in a bright blue, marking the intersections of each street in black. Most buildings were colored green—except for the few that she knew stood on shaky foundations. Those could be rigged with explosives, toppled over to cut off escape routes and trap Vader in alleyways—she shaded those ones red.
Slowly, the puzzle started to come together.
He'd enter the port here, be railroaded down that street there—if he tried anything, they could collapse that tower to trap him in this square. She circled key choke points, drew arrows where Maul could make his approach for the kill. The window was her canvas, the new map that sat upon it her latest masterpiece.
This may all be for nothing, she thought as she stepped back to admire her work. Vader could agree to help you, and you'd just have to find another way to kill him later. After he tells you what he knows about Sidious.
Pocketing the feltpens, she shook her head. No. It was better to be prepared for the worst, to have a plan in place if Vader did try something once he arrived here.
Treachery, after all, was the way of the Sith.
Republic Archives: Corporate Resource Wars
Near the turn of the millennium, an Outer Rim fabrication company known as Vantage Tectronics attempted to buy out a smaller competitor that had established an outpost in the same sector as Vantage's primary resource drilling operations. When the company refused to sell, Vantage Tectronics performed a violent and hostile takeover—forgoing backroom deals and corporate mergers in favor of outright war. It worked.
In the wake of the first "corporate resource war," several copycat conflicts sprung up throughout the Outer Rim. Without the looming threat of galactic law to stop them, rival corporations ran rampant. Executives deemed it more profitable to attack a competitor than to coexist with them or buy them out. Board members became military councilors; shareholders became war financiers. These conflicts often left a trail of destruction in their wake; one no company would risk their bottom line to bother cleaning up.
When a company used starship drives to cause thermonuclear explosions on worlds held by several of its competitors, authorities finally stepped in. Though the wars happened entirely outside Republic jurisdiction, the Senate convened with the goal of halting any further ecological damage. To this day, the Environmental Conflict Oversight and Intervention Act of 997 grants the Galactic Republic the authority to step in and stop conflicts outside its borders that risk "long term or irreversible ecological damage to a world deemed habitable by sentient life and/or of critical importance to the galactic community."