He activated both sides of his lightsaber and swung it around, getting used to the feel of the blades this close to the walls. It would be tight quarters. He would be able to bring all his physicality to bear. His master disapproved of so much punching and kicking in his fighting style, but there was nothing better than the feel of bone fracturing under his touch. A lightsaber was nice, but there was something to be said for working with his hands.
~ Queen's Peril Chapter 20
She could see Maul, not far from her now. Smoke wreathed his black-and-red face, though it didn’t seem to bother him. He’d already put aside his cloak; battle-readiness oozing from his stance. He was in one of the plazas that wasn’t burning yet, pacing while he waited for her. If she hadn’t known that his legs were artificial, she never would have guessed they weren’t the limbs he’d been born with. The prosthetics didn’t slow him down at all. She walked toward him, determined. After all, she knew something she was pretty sure he didn’t.
~ Ahsoka Chapter 1
He took a flying leap and easily crossed over the chute in the floor. He spared a thought as to where it emerged, and then decided it didn’t matter. Soon he would face the Jedi here, and he would bring all his hatred down on them. He was very much looking forward to it.
~ Queen's Peril Chapter 20
His master had told him to go straight to Naboo, so straight to Naboo he had gone. The Neimoidians who met him at the palace had fallen all over themselves to make him welcome. They had shown him to a room, and he ignored them.
Instead, he prowled the palace corridors. It was a pretty place, full of bright colors, even when viewed by early morning light. He explored the palace from top to bottom, searching for all the access points. He knew he had a fight coming up; his blood sang with readiness for it. And he was determined to choose the battleground himself.
The hangar near the Royal Palace was the most likely place for any infiltration force to strike first. He didn’t bother to tell the Neimoidians that. They would figure it out or they would not. It didn’t really matter to him.
What did matter to him was the series of corridors that led from the hangar down to the power generation facilities. There were two Jedi, which meant they had the advantage of attacking him from multiple directions at the same t
Aphra took a slow step toward him, holding his gaze.
“And you’re here, with a gun pointing at some chatty lady, and you’re always going to remember this day…”
And half a step, pulling the tool from her waistband, trying to remember the code she needed…
“People are going to ask us all where we were today. Where were you when Alderaan died? And you’re going to say, That’s the day I went for a walk into some beautiful woods on Dantooine and shot that weird innocent scavenger lady.”
Aphra almost dropped the tool, and tried not to twist her face in anger. Don’t mess up now, Aphra.
The base itself was elegantly integrated with Dantooine’s endless tree canopy. From orbit, you’d likely think it was a larger example of one of the planet’s many sap farms. It’d take an expert eye to notice the snubfighter bays in a circle around a low, main bunker. In her time picking over the sprawl, Aphra had learned a couple of things. Firstly, it was definitely a rebel base. Secondly, rebels were worryingly efficient in cleaning up after themselves. She felt sure actual criminals would have left more of a useful mess. Curse the Rebellion.
When Tagge ordered the trooper to take her to the trees, execute her, and return to the search, Aphra had to fight every urge in her body not to run and kick and lash out. Her head screamed. Her face twisted. If she ran now, she would be shot. If she fought, she’d be dragged out by a mob. Instead she complied, and the stormtrooper guided her. Every step, she looked for her opening. There had to be something. Her luck got her into this kind of situation. Her luck got her out of it. That was how it worked.
A voice inside her added a taunting, That’s how it works until it doesn’t.
She winced. She knew it would eventually be It. Maybe this would be It.
“So, is this the first time you’ve executed someone?” she asked, voice breaking.
“Don’t speak, prisoner,” said the trooper. His voice was unsteady, too.
The stormtroopers questioned her, searched her, and escorted-cum-dragged her toward the compound. They found both blasters and the knife, but they’d left her with her tools, which was probably a mistake. If they’d scanned her, they’d have found the explosive putty in the lining of her hat, stored safely in two inert packages. If she could work out an excuse to remove her hat and play with the putty for the better part of a minute, that’d be useful. Maybe she could offer to show them clay animals?
Working their way unknowingly toward the Ark Angel were three stormtroopers, making a perimeter sweep. It was an obvious problem for her. It was also a problem for them, in that they were about to hit the layer of micromines she’d left to cover the approach. A moral dilemma. Or, as Aphra preferred to think of them, dilemmas. “Moral” never really came into it.
Option one: She lets them hit the mines. She finishes anyone left with her blasters. She gets the Ark Angel into orbit, trying to dodge the inevitable Star Destroyer that brought all these troopers here. She almost certainly has to abandon the droideka hulls she’s left in Dantoo Town, and has to burn through another transponder identity on the Ark Angel. Oh, and she murders a bunch of people, too.
Alternatively…
Aphra sighed, holstered her blaster, and stepped forward, hands raised, smile wide.
“Hey, guys!” she shouted. “How can I help you fine gentlemen of the Imperial Army?”
Aphra decided she didn’t really need the 3.23 colicoidic pulse field modulator that badly and ran back to her ship through a purgatory of thorns, viscous sap, and all-permeating forest damp.
She almost burst through the undergrowth into the open when she saw the camouflaged curve of her pocket cruiser’s unusually towering curved nose peaking beneath the holo-webbing she’d left to conceal it.
Aphra had made it to safety.
A second later, she realized that she hadn’t.
Working their way unknowingly toward the Ark Angel were three stormtroopers, making a perimeter sweep. It was an obvious problem for her. It was also a problem for them, in that they were about to hit the layer of micromines she’d left to cover the approach. A moral dilemma. Or, as Aphra preferred to think of them, dilemmas. “Moral” never really came into it.