The dueling droids were programmed to kill.
There were four of them, top-of-the-line Duelist Elites from Trang Robotics, all armed in different ways: one with a steel rapier, one with a heavy cudgel, the third with a short length of chain, and the last with a pair of double-edged hachete fighting blades as long and wide as a human's forearm. They had been programmed with the skills of a dozen martial arts masters, and their reflexes were calibrated just a hair faster than human optimum. Thek durasteel chassis were blaster-resistant. They had come factory-equipped with behavioral inhibitors that prevented them from delivering a death blow once their opponent had been beaten, but these inhibitors had been nullified by their new owner. A mistake against one would be fatal.
But I did not make mistakes.
I stood in the middle of the training chamber as the four droids circled me. My breathing was calm, my heartbeat even and slow. I was aware of my body's reactions to the danger – aware and in control.
Two of the droids-Rapier and Chain, I had silently named them – were within my field of vision. The other two – Cudgel and Hachete – were not, being behind me. It did not matter; through my awareness of the Force I could sense their movements as plainly as if I had eyes in the back of my head.
I raised my own weapon, the double-bladed lightsaber, and triggered the power control. Twin lances of pure energy boiled forth, hissing and crackling in crimson loops that began and ended at the two flux apertures on either end of the device. Any Jedi Knight could wield a single-bladed lightsaber; only a master fighter could use the weapon first designed by the legendary Dark Lord Exar Kun millennia ago. Unless one was in perfect attunement with it, the weapon could be as deadly to the user as to the opponent.
Rapier lunged at full extension, its metal knee joint bent almost to the floor. The needle point flickered toward my heart, almost too fast to see.
The dark side blossomed in me, the power of it resonating in me like black lightning, augmenting my years of training, guiding my reactions. Time seemed to slow, to stretch.
It would have been easy to chop the blade itself in half, as few metals could resist the frictionless edge of a lightsaber. But there was no challenge to that. I spun toward the point, twisted around the outside, and snapped my hands horizontally at chest level. The left blade of the lightsaber sheared through Rapier's sword arm. Both arm and weapon clattered to the floor.
I dropped to my left knee as, from directly behind me, Cudgel's full swing whistled over my head, barely missing my hair. Without looking, guided by the vibrations of the Force, I thrust backwards with the right blade, then forward with the left – one, two! – skewering both Cudgel and Rapier in their abdominal compartments. Sparks spewed from shorted circuitry, and lubricating fluid sprayed in a reddish oily mist.
Using the momentum of the forward thrust, we dived over the collapsing droid before us, flowing smoothly into a shoulder roll. We came up twirling our lightsaber overhead, then stepped down solidly into the Teräs Käsi wide stance called Riding Bantha. Even as we did the movement, part of us was monitoring our body's state. Our breathing was slow and even, our pulse elevated by no more than two or three beats per minute from its resting rate.
Two down, two to go.
Chain charged, its weapon whirling over its head like the propeller of a gyrocraft. The heavy links lashed toward us. We spun on our right foot and shot our left leg out in a powerful side kick, slamming our boot into the droid's armoured chest, stopping it cold. We dropped into a squat, spun the lightsaber like a scythe, and sickled the droid cleanly at the knees. Lower legs gone, it collapsed as we again twisted ourself and our weapon, flowing into the form known as Rancor Rising. We brought the right blade up between Chain's mechanical thighs, hard, using our leg muscles to augment the strike as we pushed up from the squat to a standing position.
The force of his strike bisected Chain from its crotch right through the top of its head. There was a hard metallic screech as the droid came apart in two halves. Its feet and lower legs hit the floor slightly before the upper halves landed atop them.
The acrid smell of burned lubricating fluid and circuitry washed over us. What was, seconds ago, a functional piece of high-tech equipment was now a barely recognizable pile of scrap metal.
Three down, one to go.
Hachete moved to our left, whirling its razor-edged blades in defensive movements –high, low, left, right, a blinding pattern of edged death waiting to blind the unwary and cut us down.
We allowed ourself a twitch of our lips. We pressed the lightsaber's controls. The humming died as the energy beams blinked out. We bent, keeping our eyes on the droid as we put the weapon on the floor and shoved it away with our boot.
We settled ourself into a low defensive stance, angled toward the droid at forty-five degrees, left foot forward. We watched the flickering arabesque of death as Hachete edged toward us. A droid like this knew no fear; but we knew that to put our weapon down and face a live opponent barehanded would certainly terrify anybody brighter than a duelling droid. Fear was as potent a weapon as a lightsaber or a blaster.
The dark side raged inside us, sought to blind us with hatred, but we held it at bay. We held one open hand high, by our ear, the other by our hip, then reversed the positions, watching. Waiting.
Hachete stole forward another half step, crossing and recrossing the blades, looking for an opening.
We gave the droid what it was looking for. We moved our left arm wide, away from our body, exposing our side to a thrust or a cut.
Hachete saw the opening and moved in, fast, very fast, snapping one of the blades out to cut while bringing the other blade over for backup.
We dropped, hooked our left foot around the back of the droid's ankle, and pulled as we kicked hard at the droid's thigh with the other foot.
The droid fell backwards, unable to maintain its balance, and hit the floor. We sprang up, did a front flip, and came down with both boot heels driving into the droid's head. The metal skull crunched and collapsed inward. Lights flashed and the hard-shell photoreceptors shattered.
We dived again, rolled up in a half twist into the forraderi stance, ready to spring in any direction.
But there was no need – these four were done. It would take a technician days to repair Hachete, Cudgel, and Rapier. Chain was beyond repair useful only for parts.
Darth Maul exhaled, relaxed his stance, and nodded. His heart rate had accelerated perhaps five beats above normal at most. There was the faintest sheen of perspiration on his forehead; otherwise his skin was dry. Perhaps sixty seconds had elapsed from start to finish. Maul frowned slightly. Not his personal best, by any means. It was one thing to face and defeat droids. Jedi were a different matter.
He would have to do better.
He picked up his lightsaber, hung it from his belt. Then, his muscles warmed up now, he went to practice his fighting exercises.
As she dreamed, the memories processed. Initially she was Darth Maul, his memories were her memories, she was Maul. Then she shared his memories, they were both Darth Sidious' apprentice. And finally they were his memories - but she had complete access to them - at least the ones that related to his combat training. His martial arts prowess was the main benefit she would soon reap but in addition, his ability to wield a double-bladed saber would stand her in good stead in time.
She awoke as if she had a terrible hangover. She stumbled through the camp and drunk three full bottles of water before her thirst was quenched. Breathing heavily now, she sat and closed her eyes. Her arms started to move in synch with the memories of the battle she was playing out in her head - unfamiliar moves for now - but in time they would be second nature to her.
[member="Darth Arcanix"]
