Star Wars - Darth Maul Saboteur

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Darth Maul

DARTH MAUL

SABOTEUR

JAMES LUCENO

THE BALLANTINE PUBLISHING GROUP

NEW YORK

A Del Rey® Book

Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group

Conventions.

Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a

division of

Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random

House of

Canada Limited, Toronto.

Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a

trademark of

Random House, Inc.

www.starwars.com

www.starwarskids.com

www.randomhouse.com/delrey/

eISBN 0-345-44735-2

v.1

Also by James Luceno:

The ROBOTECH Series (as Jack McKinney, with Brian Daley)

The Black Hole Travel Agency Series (as Jack McKinney, with Brian

Daley)

A Fearful Symmetry

Illegal Alien

The Big Empty

Kaduna Memories

The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles: The Mata Hari Affair

The Shadow

The Mask of Zorro

Rio Passion

Rainchaser

Rock Bottom

Star Wars®: The New Jedi Order: Agents of Chaos I: Hero’s Trial

Star Wars®: The New Jedi Order: Agents of Chaos II: Jedi Eclipse

Star Wars®: Cloak of Deception *

*Forthcoming

Nearly every world in the Videnda sector had something to recommend

it—warm

saline seas, verdant forests, arable grasslands that stretched to

distant

horizons. The outlying world known as Dorvalla had a touch of all of

those. But

what it had in abundance was lommite ore, an essential component in

the

production of transparisteel—a strong, transparent metal used

galaxywide for

canopies and viewports in both starships and ground-based structures.

Dorvalla

was so rich in lommite that one-quarter of the planet’s scant

population was

involved in the industry, employed either by Lommite Limited or its

contentious

rival, InterGalactic Ore.

The chalky ore was mined in Dorvalla’s tropical equatorial regions.

Lommite

Limited’s base of operations was in Dorvalla’s western hemisphere, in

a broad

rift valley blanketed with thick forest and defined by steep

escarpments. There,

where ancient seas had once held sway, shifts in the planetary mantle

had thrust

huge, sheer-faced tors from the land. Crowned by rampant vegetation,

by trees

and ferns primeval in scale, the high, rocky mountains rose like

islands,

blinding white in the sunlight, the birthplace of slender waterfalls

that

plunged thousands of meters to the valley floor.

But what was once a wilderness was now just another extractive

enterprise. Huge

demolition droids had carved wide roads to the bases of most of the

larger

cliffs, and two circular launch zones, large enough to accommodate

dozens of

ungainly space shuttles, had been hollowed from the forest. The tors

themselves

were gouged and honeycombed with mines, and deep craters filled with

polluted

runoff water reflected the sun and sky like fogged mirrors.

The ceaseless work of the droids was abetted by an all but indentured

labor

force of humans and aliens, to whom the mined ore served as a great

equalizer.

No matter the natural color of a miner’s skin, hair, feathers, or

scales,

everyone was rendered white as the galactic dawn. All agreed that

sentient

beings deserved more from life, but Lommite Limited wasn’t prosperous

enough to

convert fully to droid labor, and Dorvalla wasn’t a world of

boundless

opportunities for employment.

Still, that didn’t stop some from dreaming.

Patch Bruit, Lommite Limited’s chief of field operations—human

beneath a routine

dusting of ore—had long dreamed of starting over, of relocating to

Coruscant or

one of the other Core worlds and making a new life for himself. But

such a move

was years away, and not likely to happen at all if he kept returning

his meager

wages to LL by overspending in the company-run stores and squandering

what

little remained on gambling and drink.

He had been with LL for almost twenty years, and in that time had

managed to

work his way out of the pits into a position of authority. But with

that

authority had come more responsibility than he had bargained for, and

in the

wake of several recent incidents of industrial sabotage his patience

was nearly

spent.

The boxy control station in which Bruit spent the better part of his

workdays

looked out on the forest of tors and the shuttle launch and landing

zones. To

the station’s numerous video display screens came views of

repulsorlift

platforms elevating gangs of workers to the gaping mouths of the

artificial

caves that dimpled the precipitous faces of the mountains. Elsewhere,

the

platform lifting was accomplished with the help of strong-backed

beasts, with

massive curving necks and gentle eyes.

The technicians who worked alongside Bruit in the control station

were fond of

listening to recorded music, but the music could scarcely be heard

over the

unrelenting drone of enormous drilling machines, the low bellowing of

the lift

beasts, and the roar of departing shuttles.

The walls of the control station were made of transparisteel, thick

as a finger,

whose triple-glazed panels were supposed to keep out the ore dust but

never did.

Fine as clay, the resinous dust seeped through the smallest openings

and filmed

everything. As hard as he tried, Bruit could never get the stuff off

him, not in

water showers or sonic baths. He smelled it everywhere he went, he

tasted it in

the food served up in the company restaurants, and sometimes it

infiltrated his

dreams. So pervasive was the lommite dust that, from space, Dorvalla

appeared to

be girdled by a white band.

Fortunately, everyone within a hundred kilometers of Lommite

Limited’s operation

was in the same predicament—miners, shopkeepers, the beings who

tended the

cantina bars. But what should have been just one big happy lommite

family

wasn’t. The recurrent incidents of sabotage had fostered an

atmosphere of

wariness and distrust, even among laborers who worked shoulder to

shoulder in

the pits.

“Group Two shuttles are loaded and ready for launch, Chief,” one of

the human

technicians reported.

Bruit directed his gaze to the droid-guided, mechanized transports

that were

responsible for ferrying the lommite up the gravity well. In high

orbit the

payloads were transferred to LL’s flotilla of barges, which conveyed

the

unrefined ore to manufacturing worlds along the Rimma Trade Route and

occasionally to the distant Core.

“Sound the warning,” Bruit said.

The technician flipped a series of switches on the console, and

loudspeakers

began to hoot. Miners and maintenance droids moved away from the

launch zone.

Bruit looked at the screens that displayed close-up views of the

shuttles. He

studied them carefully, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

“Launch zone is vacated,” the same technician updated. “Shuttles are

standing by

for liftoff.”

Bruit nodded. “Issue the go-to.”

It was a routine that would be repeated a dozen times before Bruit’s

workday

concluded, typically long past sunset.

The eight unpiloted craft rose from the ground on repulsorlift power,

pirouetting and bringing their blunt noses around to the southwest.

The air

beneath them rippled with heat. When the shuttles were fifty meters

above the

ground, their sublight engines engaged, flaring blue, rocketing the

ships high

into the dust-filled sky.

The ground shook slightly, and Bruit could feel a reassuring rumble

in his

bones. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. For the next

hour, he could

relax somewhat. He had turned from the view of the launch zone when

his bones

and his ears alerted him to a shift in the roaring sound, a slight

drop in

volume that shouldn’t have occurred.

Sudden apprehension tugged at him. His forehead and palms broke an

icy sweat. He

whirled and pressed his face to the south-facing transparisteel

panel. High in

the sky he could see two of the shuttles beginning to diverge from

course, their

vapor trails curving away from the straight-line ascent of the rest

of the

group.

“Fourteen and sixteen,” the technician affirmed. “I’m trying to shut

down the

sublights and convert them back over to repulsorlift. No response.

They’re

accelerating!”

Bruit kept his eyes glued to the sky. “Give me a heading.”

“Back at us!”

Bruit ran his hand over his forehead. “Enable the self-destructs.”

The technician’s fingers flew across the console. “No response.”

“Employ the emergency override.”

“Still no response. The overrides have been disabled.”

Bruit cursed loudly. “Vector update.”

“They’re aimed directly for the Castle.”

Bruit glanced at the indicated tor. It was one of the largest of the

mines, so

named for the natural spires that graced its western and southern

faces.

“Order an evacuation. Highest priority.”

Sirens shrieked in the distance. Within moments, Bruit could see

workers

hurrying from the mine openings and leaping onto waiting hover

platforms. Two

fully occupied platforms were already beginning to descend.

“Tell those platform pilots to keep everyone aloft,” Bruit barked.

“No one’ll be

any safer on the ground than in the mines. And start moving those

droids and

lift beasts out of there!”

A colossal bipedal drilling machine appeared at the mouth of one of

the mines,

engaged its repulsorlift, and stepped off into thin air.

“Thirty seconds till impact,” the technician said.

“Jettison the shuttles’ guidance droids.”

“Droids away!”

Bruit clenched his hands. The two rudderless shuttles were plummeting

side by

side, as if in a race to reach the Castle. The technicians had

already managed

to shut down fourteen’s sublight, and sixteen’s flared out while

Bruit watched.

But there was no stopping them now. They were in ballistic freefall.

In the control station, droids and beings alike were crouched behind

the

instrument consoles—all except for Bruit, who refused to move,

seemingly

oblivious to the fact that concussion alone could turn the booth’s

transparisteel panels into a hail of deadly missiles.

The shuttles struck the Castle at almost the same instant, impacting

it above

the loftiest of the mines, perhaps fifty meters below the tor’s

jungled summit.

The Castle disappeared behind an explosive flare of blinding light.

Then the

sound of the collisions pealed across the landscape, reverberating

and

crackling, echoing thunderously from the twin escarpments. Immense

chunks of

rock flew from the face of the tor, and two of its elegant spires

toppled. Dust

spewed from the mine openings, as if the Castle had coughed itself

empty of ore.

The air filled with billowing clouds, white as snow. Almost

immediately the ore

began to precipitate, falling like volcanic ash and burying

everything within

one hundred meters of that side of the mountain.

Bruit still didn’t budge—not until the roiling cloud reached the

control station

and the view became a whiteout.

Lommite Limited’s headquarters complex nestled at the foot of the

valley’s

western escarpment. But even there a half a centimeter of lommite

dust covered

the lush lawns and flower gardens LL’s executive officer, Jurnel

Arrant, had

succeeded in coaxing from the acidic soil.

The soles of Bruit’s boots made clear impressions in the dust as he

approached

Arrant’s office, with its expansive views of the valley and far-off

tors. Bruit

tried to stomp, brush, and scuff as much dust as he could from his

boots, but it

was a hopeless task.

Jurnel Arrant was standing at the window, his back to the room, when

Bruit was

admitted.

“Some mess,” Arrant said when he heard the door seal itself behind

Bruit.

“You think this is bad, just wait’ll it rains. It’ll be soup out

there.”

Bruit thought the remark might lighten the moment, but Arrant’s

piqued

expression when he turned from the view set him straight.

Lommite Limited’s leader was a trim, handsome human, just shy of

middle age.

When he had first come to Dorvalla from his native Corellia, he had

not been

above rolling up his shirtsleeves and pitching in wherever needed.

But as LL had

begun to thrive under his stewardship, Arrant had become increasingly

fastidious

and removed, choosing to let Bruit handle day-to-day affairs. Arrant

favored

expensive tunics of dark colors, the shoulders invariably dusted with

lommite,

which he wore as a badge of honor. If his nonindigenous status had

been held

against him initially, few had anything disparaging to say about the

man who had

single-handedly transformed formerly provincial Lommite Limited into

corporation that now did business with a host of prominent worlds.

Arrant glanced at the white prints Bruit’s boots had left on the

carpet. Sighing

with purpose, he motioned Bruit to a chair and settled himself behind

an old

hardwood desk.

“What am I going to do with you, Bruit?” he asked theatrically. “When

you asked

for enhanced surveillance equipment, I provided it for you. And when

you asked

for increased security personnel, I provided those, as well. Is there

something

else you need? Is there something I’ve neglected to give you?”

Bruit compressed his lips and shook his head.

“You don’t have a family. You don’t have a girlfriend that I know

about. So

maybe you just don’t care about your job, is that it?”

“You know that isn’t true,” Bruit lied.

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” Arrant put his elbows on the desk and

leaned

forward. “This is the third incident in as many weeks, Bruit. I don’t

understand

how this keeps happening. Do you have any leads on the shuttle

crashes?”

“We’ll know more if the guidance droids can be located and analyzed,”

Bruit

said. “Right now they’re buried under about five meters of dust.”

“Well, get on it. I want you to devote all your resources to rooting

out the

saboteurs responsible for this. Do you think you can do that, Bruit,

or do I

have to bring in specialists?”

“They won’t be able to learn any more than I have,” Bruit rejoined.

“InterGalactic Ore is becoming as desperate as LL is successful.

Besides, it’s

not just a matter of industrial rivalry. A lot of the families that

work for

InterGal have vendettas with some of the families we employ. At least

two of

these recent incidents have been motivated by personal grudges.”

“What are you suggesting, Bruit, that I terminate everyone and ship

in ten

thousand miners from Fondor? What’s that going to do to production?

important, what’s that going to do to my reputation on Dorvalla?”

Bruit shrugged. “I don’t have any answers for you. Maybe it’s time

you brought

this to the attention of the Galactic Senate.”

Arrant stared at him. “Bring this to Coruscant? We’re not in the

midst of an

interstellar conflict, Bruit. This is corporate warfare, and I’ve

been in the

trenches long enough to know that it’s best to resolve these

conflicts on your

own. What’s more, I don’t want the senate involved. It will come down

to a

contest between Lommite Limited and InterGalactic, as to who can

offer the most

bribes to the most senators.” He shook his head angrily. “That’ll

bankrupt us

quicker than this continued sabotage.”

Bruit had his mouth open to reply when a tone sounded from Arrant’s

intercom,

and the voice of his protocol droid secretary issued from the

annunciator.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but you have a priority

holotransmission from a

Neimoidian, Hath Monchar.”

Arrant’s fine brows beetled. “Monchar? I don’t know the name. But go

ahead, put

him through.”

From a holoprojector disk set into the floor at the center of the

office rose

the life-size holopresence of a red-orbed, pale-green Neimoidian

draped in rich

robes and wearing a black headpiece that aspired to be a crown.

“I greet you in the name of the Trade Federation, Jurnel Arrant,”

Hath Monchar

began. “Viceroy Nute Gunray conveys his warmest regards, and wishes

you to know

that the Trade Federation was sorry to learn of your latest setback.”

Arrant scowled. “How is it that whenever tragedy strikes, the first

ones I hear

from are the Neimoidians?”

“We are a compassionate species,” Monchar said, his heavily accented

Basic

elongating the words.

“Compassionate and Neimoidian don’t belong in the same sentence,

Monchar. And

just how did you come to hear of our ‘setback,’ as you call it? Or

was it that

the Trade Federation had a hand in the matter?”

The nictitating membranes of Monchar’s red eyes began to spasm. “The

Trade

Federation would never do anything to impair relations with a

potential

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DarthMaulDARTHMAULSABOTEURJAMESLUCENOTHEBALLANTINEPUBLISHINGGROUPNEWYORKADelRey®BookPublishedbyTheBallantinePublishingGroupCopyright©2001byLucasfilmLtd.&TM.AllRightsReserved.UsedUnderAuthorization.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyTheB...

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