Star Wars_ Darth Maul 02_ Shadow Hunter - Michael Reaves [62]
For the craft had been gutted. There was little left of it except the frame; the drive turbines, the power generators, the repulsor engines, and just about everything else that wasn’t too heavy to carry had been stolen. The instrument panel had a huge gash in it, as if some kind of vibroblade had punched through it, although there was no weapon in sight.
Obi-Wan checked the craft’s interior carefully, using a small but powerful glow light. He found no evidence of foul play in the vehicle, but he did see a few spots of blood on the ground nearby. It was impossible to tell if it was human blood or not.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision.
Obi-Wan froze, then slowly turned to look. He saw nothing threatening in the vespertine shadows. Nevertheless, there had definitely been movement—stealthy, furtive movement. He had been thoroughly briefed on the dangers of street gangs and predators, both human and nonhuman, in the Crimson Corridor. It did not take an overactive imagination to assume that one of these threats might be lurking nearby, ready to strike. If there was a whole gang of footpads sizing him up, he would be hard put to defend himself, even with a lightsaber.
Fortunately, the lightsaber was not the only defense at his disposal.
Obi-Wan Kenobi reached out for the Force. It was there for him, as it always was. He let his awareness expand outward along its invisible corrugations, a psychic radar that searched and probed the darkness. If danger existed, the Force would find it.
His mind touched that of another: a will that felt weak and serpentine, more used to striking furtively from the shadows than in direct confrontation. A human mind.
Before the lurker was fully aware that he was being probed, Obi-Wan seized his will. The Force, Master Qui-Gon had told him more than once, can have a strong influence on the weak-minded. Though Obi-Wan was by no means anywhere near as accomplished a practitioner as his tutor, it didn’t take much more than the skill of a novice to influence a mind as weak as this one.
“Come here,” he said, his tone quiet and authoritative.
From out of the dusk emerged a young human male—probably around sixteen or seventeen standard years old, Obi-Wan estimated. He was wearing mostly rags and leather, topped by a ten-centimeter-high thatch of green hair held in place by an electrostatic field. The Padawan could feel the sullen guilt and fear in the other’s mind—the fear that his captor somehow knew that he and his gang had assaulted the other Jedi.
“Where is she?” Obi-Wan asked.
“I—I don’t know who you’re—”
“Yes, you do. The Jedi Padawan who owned this skyhopper. Tell me quickly, or—” Obi-Wan let his hand drop, to rest suggestively on the lightsaber hilt hanging at his belt. He wouldn’t go so far as to actually use it, but even a veiled threat could work wonders.
He could feel Green Hair’s fear and hatred, like an acid in his brain. It was difficult to keep his composure.
“All right—we messed with her a little, but we took the hint when she chopped off Nig’s hand, y’know? I mean, she wanted the ship so bad, she could have it, right?”
“Where did she go?”
Green Hair shook his head and shrugged. Obi-Wan listened to the Force and knew he was telling the truth.
“Was there a Fondorian male with her?”
“Him?” Green Hair grinned crookedly. “The hawk-bats got him. What was left, the street trash dragged off.”
Obi-Wan felt despair pushing in on him, as bleak as the downlevels darkness that surrounded them. It appeared that Darsha’s mission had been a total failure that might very well have culminated in her death. He would, of course, comb the area, ask any other locals he could find, and try to sense her through the Force, but given the time that had passed and the inhospitable environment he was