Atton thought the maintenance hatch had to have been designed for some comically thin type of droid or alien, such as a Muun, because he had to practically squeeze himself sideways to get through it. Cole cut in front of Kaevee, grunting as he emerged second. They came out onto a grid of catwalks attached to the ceiling of a docking bay, providing access to illumination banks, cargo cranes, and other hanging machinery that buzzed or hummed idly. On the deck twenty meters below, Atton spied an Aryspeck J-24 Glipgnash-class assault shuttle, looking like a Mandalorian mercenary's wet dream.
Strip off the guns and countermeasures, and you could still sell it for a fortune, he thought absently. Too bad her crew's stuck back in the spaceport somewhere.
As for how that mess was going, it was anyone's guess. The sounds of commotion down on the ground level didn't reach them up there.
Looking left, Atton spied a door to the neighboring hangar bay, and they crisscrossed their way over. The clang of their boots on the metal catwalk was almost painfully loud, and Atton didn't like the way it echoed down into the cavernous bay, but it was sort of late to worry about keeping a low profile.
The door was locked, but security in the maintenance area of an illegal spaceport wasn't going to be top-notch. Atton went to work on the control panel with a slicer's spike and had it open in a few seconds. With the exception only of a few single-minded repair droids, they encountered nothing and no one as they crossed four more hangar bays, putting them next door to the Ebon Hawk's.
All the while, the Sith on their tail was catching up fast. Though he might've been concealing his Force presence before, he definitely wasn't being subtle now. Atton didn't have to try to sense his approach; it was like the rising scream of a swoop bike as it tore across an open field.
No doubt Kaevee also sensed it. Wound up and stiff as usual, she and Cole covered their backs as Atton worked on unlocking each door. For a change, it was Cole who seemed the less steady of the pair; from all his fidgeting and sweating, one would think the Force was warning him, too. He kept hefting his blaster pistol, reassuring himself with its weight, though he obviously knew how much good it would do him in a straight fight against someone with a lightsaber.
Jedi and Sith, they're outta my league, he'd complained after Malachor. I'm not cut out for this. I run cargo.
Since it had become clear that Cole was stuck with the Ebon Hawk for the foreseeable future, Atton had taken him at his word and made a point not to push him too hard. There were certain things the guy was good for, so Atton currently had no plans of getting him killed.
They came to the last hangar before the Ebon Hawk's. Halfway through, a cargo crane loomed beside the main catwalk, connected by a small platform with a dust-smeared computer terminal. As they neared it, the beacon of Force presence blared, and Kaevee sent a ghastly look back over her shoulder. "He's close. I can feel it."
"Great! That's real great!" snapped Cole, his voice high with poorly-masked dread. "Anyone want to stay behind and make a heroic last stand for the rest of us?"
"Sounds like a job for me," said Atton, who figured now was not a good time for Kaevee and Cole to renew their little spat from back in the T-junction. Coming to a stop, he pointed ahead to the last door. "Get that open. I'll be right behind you—just gonna slow down our friend for a minute."
When the two hesitated, he pulled the lightsaber hilt out of his jacket and handed it to Kaevee, who took it with a bewildered look. "If the door gives you trouble, open it the Jedi way. Now move."
That got them going. Atton turned toward the crane, ignoring the machine itself and going instead for the computer terminal. Brown dust scattered as he popped off a panel on the side and started rummaging through its inner components, security spike in hand. What he had in mind was a crude trick, but that was the kind he could count on with most Sith, whose focus on harnessing the esoteric mysteries of the universe led them to lose sight of things that a drunk cantina scrapper would notice.
He finished his work and, not quite trusting it, stepped hurriedly back from the terminal in time to see the door from the previous hangar open, admitting a lone figure. The Sith was shorter than average, but broad-shouldered, and the catwalk thundered beneath him as he strode across it. Even ignoring the gleaming lightsaber in his fist—and the fact that Atton had parted with his own—Atton didn't think getting near him would be particularly fun.
"This is the end for you, Republic scum," the man announced. He was following the script perfectly; he thought he'd already won.
Republic scum. Atton took hold of that phrase and stamped it onto his mind so that, as he drew his blaster pistol, he became the person his opponent believed him to be. The mere sight of an active lightsaber was daunting to those who knew little of Force-users and their weaknesses; by the same token, Force-users often were accustomed to having this effect on such enemies.
So Atton conjured the fear he was supposed to be feeling, the almost religious terror that had disarmed many a soldier in the wars of Jedi and Sith. It was as easy as opening a valve; just a little mental twist, and the feeling billowed out over the surface of his thoughts like the cloud of a smoke grenade. Catching the mental scent like an Alderaanian wolf-cat smelling blood, the Sith turned his march into an impatient trot.
To sell the whole performance, Atton snapped off a burst from his pistol as he backed away—pretending to panic, not really aiming. Only one bolt came close to his target, and the bloodshine blade turned it aside with an effortless flick.
Seconds passed as the Sith drew nearer, waving his saber before him in a fancy, one-handed twirl; his grin seemed to say, Try again, sucker. Just try it. Atton bared gritted teeth, seemingly hesitating but really just waiting to fire again. Hopefully, though, he wouldn't need to.
Atton's work on the crane terminal's power conduit had been guesswork, as far as the timing went. When it finally went critical and blew up with a shriek of electricity, the Sith had already gotten a pace beyond it; still, the man staggered as a stray arc lashed his back, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
Letting his ersatz fear dissipate in an instant, Atton fired another burst from his pistol. The first bolt grazed the Sith's shoulder, leaving a gold scorch on the cloak there, but his lightsaber caught the second, third, and fourth. The last one came back at Atton, and had he not instinctively twisted sideways to reduce his profile, it would have gone through his forearm.
Then the Sith sprang forward, stabbing low.
