Shocked at his own success, Obi-Wan Kenobi leaned over the air shaft and watched Darth Maul's body fall away from him in sections. Amazingly, the Sith Lord was still screaming as he fell, although by all rights he should have already been dead.

Or will be soon enough, Obi wan thought to himself as he spun around on his heel, desperate to get back to his master, to Qui-Gon’s side, before it was too late. Too late. . .

"I promise," said Obi-Wan, his breath mingling with his master’s last. And then he wept.

***

Darth Maul fell. He tumbled down, out of control, bouncing against walls and intake pipes but unable to grab hold of anything. He screamed an unheard scream, fear and chaos finally replacing arrogance and well-deserved pride.

And then, almost too late, he focused.

Drew deep within himself. . . no whistling wind in his ears, no pain from slamming walls, nothing – but the Force.

The Living Force, flowing through him, giving him strength where there should be only death. He focused his anger on the weeping Jedi above him – the lucky, lucky Jedi. No skill could have given him that shot; it was Maul’s own fault for letting down his guard, and the damned Luck of the Good.

Hatred, hatred and pain – and power. The Dark side fed on it, fed him, and slowly, slowly, he began to change his rate of fall. Burned robes flapping about him, he reached out not with his hands, but with the all-encompassing hand of the Force, and pulled himself together - both mentally and physically, although the irony of that dual adhesion would not occur to him until some time later. Tenuous nerve endings fused, bits of spinal column met, and new waves of pain flooded through him. Pain which he embraced. More power from the Dark Side.

Feeling now as though he were falling in slow motion, Darth Maul reach out his left hand and placed it on of the intake valves flying past him. At the same time, he reached his right hand down past his still mostly severed waist and grasped firmly under his crotch.

His grip caught with a jolt.

And held.

And there he stayed, swinging in a less than dignified position, but very much alive and almost in one piece. Maul smiled through a rictus of pain. Too bad the mourning Jedi up above didn’t know anything about the innate healing properties of the Zabrak race; without removal of head or heart, death was nearly impossible. They had an annoying habit of regenerating.

Too bad for the Jedi indeed.

He would never get to fulfill his promise.

***

Queen Amidala sat stiffly on her throne and looked impassively down at the supplicants before her. Serene and austere, dressed in royal robes and face paint with flair that bordered on the theatrical, the queen of the Naboo calmly apportioned justice in the lives of her people. She was well trusted and well liked; everybody said that she was old and wise beyond her years – all fourteen of them.

The supplicants finished their case, a matter of grain fields and poor people, and waited for her to speak. She sat where she was, immobile, just breathing. After a moment of thought, she spoke. "The proprietor of the border fields must make allowances for the edge wave of the grain deposits and the needs of his workers," she said. Her subjects gaped at her stupidly.

"But. . . . but. . . your highness," stuttered one, an older man with many grandchildren and more than enough money to support them all. "If the proprietor – that is, I – allow these. . . these people to glean from my fields. . . the cost, the property damage. . ."

"The property damage will be less per capita then you would have to pay were you to hire the machines to clean the fields for you," interrupted the Queen, still cool and gracious in her manner. "You need to solve the problem of the extra wheat in order to avoid scavengers and other animals inhabiting your fields," continued Amidala. "And these people, in spite of their hard work for you, do not have enough food. Therefore, allowing them to glean your fields for no pay will take care of both problems. Food for them, grounds ready for fresh planting for you." She paused a moment for emphasis. "This will cost you nothing, Proprietor Morton. Allow these people access to your fields after the harvesting. And as for you, Terson," she said, now addressing the other, slightly less well-dressed individual before her, "you and your people shall have exactly two hours per day, on three days of the week of Morton’s choosing in which to glean. If I discover that any of you have been treating any piece of Morton’s property as though it were anything but a priceless piece of your own land, I will see to it that your privileges are suspended. Now go in peace," she said, and the two men bowed deeply and left, neither completely happy with her judgment, but both placated for the meantime.

Amidala sighed. Despite its extremely peaceful exterior, Naboo had its share of internal problems. The relationship of proprietor to worker, similar to the serf-landlord scenario in other cultures, was fast reaching its end in the modern day and age. The proprietors could not or would not properly provide for the people under their care, and the workers neglected or mistreated the land under their care because it did not belong to them. In Amidala’s mind, she was not sure which was the worst crime, so she was forced to make concessions to both groups, usually pushing aside the most controversial issues and leaving no one very happy.

Queen Amidala decided it was time for a break. She signaled subtly to her handmaidens, and as one they moved about her. Standing gracefully, she stood and glided out of the room to the traditional accompanying fanfare and flourishes from passing potentates. She looked at them all as she passed; her trusted advisors, fellow heavy weights at court, the rulers and doers of Naboo.

Not one of them really knew her.

Oh, she was old beyond her years, there was no doubt about that. But being older than you actually are can have its disadvantages.

***

Senator Palpatine walked confidently through the corridors of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He smiled and nodded at all the appropriate people as he passed, pausing to converse pleasantly if superficially with some of his more important contacts. Strange, that he felt at home here. True, as Chancellor of the Republic, he should feel at home here - this was, after all, supposed to be the safest place in the galaxy.

And it probably would have been if he were not walking through it.

He paused a moment to bow in reverence to Yoda, the Jedi Council's senior member.

"And how goes young Skywalker's training?" he asked by way of conversation. Yoda's answer was carefree, easy, a tossed-off statement of well-known fact.

"Learns quickly, does he, and well. Obi-Wan a fine teacher makes - young Skywalker will achieve much in the ways of the Force." A confident, happy answer. Of course, after 800 years, one would expect Yoda to be a well practiced liar.

"That is wonderful, Master Yoda. We in the Senate expect great things from him. And now, if you would be kind enough to excuse me, business awaits. Appointments, you know," intoned Chancellor Palpatine in a confidential manner, as if sharing privileged information with the old Jedi.

Yoda did not answer. He simply hobbled away.

No one saw the look of cold disgust that flicked across Palpatine's features as he watched the ancient Jedi go. No doubt Yoda trusted him less than he trusted Yoda - that many years with the Force, even the weaker Good Side, was bound to lend some perception into the hearts and souls of men - but that was not important. What was important was that Palpatine had had more practice in the fine art of communication - both true and false - than Yoda had ever dreamed, and he knew a lie when he heard one.

They were having trouble with Skywalker.

And it was perfectly possible that young Kenobi did not even realize the extent of danger his pupil was in. Nor the danger Kenobi himself was in because of his pupil. . .

Ah, Skywalker. Already that name had a sweet taste to Palpatine's lips. More midichlorians than any known living being, even the great Sith Lords of the past, and by a twist of fate, old enough to have already formed some of the essential characterstics of controlling the Dark side of the Force before the meddling Jedi got to him. Anger, fear, hatred; beautiful words, truly.

Palpatine smiled as he walked along. Converting this boy should be fairly easy, upset as he was already by the separation from his mother. Almost a shame that Maul were not here to see.

Palpatine stopped as a familiar beeping sound reached his ears. Turning in his place majestically as though bestowing a favor on his entourage, he waited for the messenger droid to catch up with him. Small, round, silver, resembling a floating orange with a computer screen plastered to the front of it, these Senate message droids each had a slightly different body casing to indicate ownership, and were usually only used for emergencies. The yellow beacon flashing on the front of the unit confirmed that the sender placed the highest priority on the intended message.

Palpatine sighed and moved into one of the vacant meditation rooms of the palace to receive the droid's message in confidence. He fervently hoped as he secured the door behind him that the message would not take him away from the Jedi Temple; he dearly wanted to see Skywalker train.

He did not recognize the droid body housing until it came closer.

It was one of Lord Maul's.

***

Darth Maul concentrated on breathing. It was very painful work. He had long ago lost feeling in his left hand, but the med bots would take care of whatever damage had been done later, so that was nothing to worry about. Somehow - it was all rather fuzzy in his mind at the moment - he had activated his wrist link and signaled for one of his Sith hoverdroids to come to the main reactor, swoop down the intake pipe, and carry him to the top. It was only as he traveled back up that he realized the distance he had fallen - at least half-way to the planet's watery core. Once out of harm's way, so to speak, he had sent an emergency com unit to contact Lord Sidious - he knew the Sith lord would think him dead, and would already by looking for a replacement. That must not happen; there could only be two Sith Lords at the same time - so the rules had stated for a millenia, ever since the original Sith had destroyed one other a futile struggle for power.

Maul's face contorted in disgust at the very thought of it; such a waste of power! The Jedi had not even had to do anything; the Sith had destroyed themselves.

Not now; not ever again. Only two at a time, the older and the younger, and when the younger was ready, after years and years of training, he would replace the older and take on his own apprentice.

Lord Sidious had better not have chosen another apprentice, or Darth Maul would be forced to destroy that unfortunate interloper in self-interest. Such an action could put a strain on the relationship between the two reigning Sith. Just a little.

Maul grimaced in pain and waited for help to come.

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