• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Maul sharpened his faculties, extending the range of his hearing to monitor nearby conversations. Most were as prosaic as he had expected them to be, revolving around gossip, flirtation, petty complaints, and future plans that would never be realized.

Then he heard the word sabotage, and his ears pricked up. The customer who had uttered it was a stout human, seated off to Maul’s right in a booth along the cantina’s rear wall. Another human sat opposite him, tall and dark complexioned. Both men wore the gray lightweight coveralls that were standard issue for employees of Lommite Limited, but the lack of lommite dust in their hair or on their clothes made it clear that they weren’t miners.

A third man, straight-backed and robust-looking, approached while Maul watched out of the corner of his eye. Maul took a sip of water and turned slightly in the direction of the booth.

“I figured I’d find you two here,” the new arrival said.

The stout one smiled and made room on the padded bench seat. “Step into our office and we’ll buy you a drink.”

The third man sat, but declined the offer with a shake of his head. “Maybe later.”

The other two traded looks of surprise. Maul read the lip movements of the taller one: “If he’s not drinking, then something serious has come up.”

The third man nodded. “The chief has called a special meeting. He wants us at his place in half an hour.”

“Any idea what it’s about?” the stout one asked.

“It has to be the shuttle crash,” the man opposite him surmised. “Bruit probably has a line on the culprits.”

Maul recognized the name. Bruit was Lommite Limited’s chief of field operations. The three men were probably security personnel.

“Like there was any question about the culprits,” the stout one was saying.

“It’s bigger than that,” the third man said, lowering his voice almost to the point where Maul had to strain to hear him. “Word has come down from Arrant on how we’re going to respond.”

The stout man sat away from the table that bisected the booth. “Well, it’s about time.”

“I’d say that calls for another round of drinks,” his partner said.

Maul continued listening, but his eyes were no longer fixed on the men but on something he had glimpsed on the wall above the booth. It resembled the bioluminescent flitter he had captured earlier on. This one, however, wasn’t moving from its spot on the wall. The reason became apparent once Maul probed it through the Force. Not only was it a fabrication, it was also a listening device.

Maul scanned the room, then turned to face the mirror. The device wasn’t very sophisticated; its large size was evidence of that. Even so, that didn’t mean that whoever was eavesdropping on the security men had to be inside the cantina. But Maul suspected that they were. Without looking at it, he focused his attention on the artificial flitter and screened out all extraneous sounds—the pulsing music, the dozens of separate conversations, the noises of glasses clinking or being filled with one inebriant or another. Once he could discern the muted beeping of the device’s transmitter, he listened for signs of the receiver with which it was in communication.

At a round table in the adjoining room sat a Rodian and two Twi’leks, ostensibly engaged in a game of cards—sabacc, in all likelihood. Maul watched them for a moment. Their playing was desultory. He observed their facial expressions as the security agents continued to converse. When one of the men said something of interest, the Rodian’s faceted eyes would flash and his short snout would curl to one side. At the same time, the Twi’leks’ head-tails would twitch and their pasty faces would flush ever so slightly.

The Rodian’s left ear was sporting an earbead receiver, while the Twi’leks’ receivers took the form of dermal patches, disguised as lekku tattoos.

Maul was certain that the trio were in the secret employ of Lommite Limited’s onworld competitor, InterGalactic Ore. He recognized the Rodian from the disk Sidious had given him. It was possible that they were the saboteurs