Star Wars_ Darth Maul 02_ Shadow Hunter - Michael Reaves [21]
Darth Maul leaned forward. “Think again,” he said softly. He could easily use the Force to get whatever information might be had from this weak-willed creature, but there was no need. He knew he could get what he wanted by intimidation.
The Baragwin’s nasal polyps began to quiver—a sign of nervousness. “Upon further reflection I do seem to remember a representative of that species imbibing here perhaps an hour ago.”
“Did he speak to you or anyone else?”
The Baragwin’s polyps were vibrating almost too fast to see now. “No. That is … he—he ordered agaric ale.”
“And did he speak of anything else?”
“Yes. He inquired of me how one might contact someone proficient in the buying and selling of sensitive information.”
Maul leaned back. “And you told him—what?”
“I gave him a name.”
“You will now give me that name.”
The Baragwin rippled his dewlaps from bottom to top in acquiescence. “Lorn Pavan. A human—Corellian, I believe. He is well known in this city sector as one who traffics in such merchandise.”
“And where might I find this Lorn Pavan?”
“I do not know.”
Maul leaned forward again, his yellow eyes blazing. The Baragwin backed up hastily. “I speak the truth! He comes in here occasionally, always accompanied by a protocol droid called I-Five. I know nothing more.”
That was interesting news, Maul reflected. It should help to narrow the search; personal droids were not that common in this area of Coruscant. “Describe this Lorn Pavan.”
“Tall. Muscular. Black filamentous cilia on his scalp, but none on his face. Brown ocular pigmentation. The females of his species would probably characterize him as ‘handsome.’ ”
Maul nodded, then raised his right hand in a focusing gesture as he mentally reached for the Force. He had to make sure that this next question was answered truthfully, because the answer would determine whether or not he had to kill the Baragwin.
“Did the Neimoidian speak at all to you about the nature of the information he wished to sell?”
The dewlaps quickly undulated downward. “He did not. I have told you all that I know.”
Maul sensed no negative vibration in the Force as the Baragwin spoke. He turned away without another word and exited the tavern.
He was glad that he did not have to kill the Baragwin—not out of any moral sense, or even out of pity for the pathetic creature; his relief stemmed purely from having avoided the inevitable difficulties brought on by killing someone in a public place. Nevertheless, if the Force had told him the Baragwin was lying, he would have struck him down without a second thought and dealt with the consequences. Darth Sidious had told him to kill everyone with whom Hath Monchar had shared knowledge of the blockade, and Maul would follow his master’s commands, as always.
He strode along the outdoor concourse, pondering his next move. Though the walkway was crowded, his passage was not impeded, as most of the pedestrians gave him a wide berth. Which was as it should be. Darth Maul had nothing but contempt for the masses. Of all the uncounted trillions of sentient beings that populated the galaxy, only one was deserving of respect: Darth Sidious. The only man who dared to dream of conquering not just a world or a star system, but an entire galaxy. The man who had taken the young Maul from a backwater planet and raised him to be his successor. He owed Darth Sidious everything.
It had not been an easy path that he had been set upon. To be a truly superior being, apart from and above the senseless herd, required absolute devotion and dedication. He had had to learn self-sufficiency, both in body and in mind, almost from the time he had learned to walk. His master would accept nothing less than the absolute best that Maul could offer. When he was younger, if he had flinched during his training when the edge of a weapon found his flesh, or when an incorrect block or defensive maneuver resulted in a cracked bone, his punishments had always