The Korun whom Mace had kicked sat on the angled armor skirt of a steamcrawler beside the ring of akks, glaring at Mace as the Jedi Master diffidently approached. The Korun’s shields were pushed up onto his forearms, freeing his hands, which were engaged in massaging a massive lump of black bruise over his right eye. The skin there had split, and half his face was painted with blood that had sprung from that bruise to join another trickle from a similar swelling on the same side of his mouth.

A flash of intuition connected the Korun’s glare, the lumps on his face, and what the lor pelek had said to Mace as he had left the bunker.

Vastor must have a devastating left hook.

“Want what, you?” the Korun growled. He rose and pushed his shields back down to his fists, and they whined to life. “Want what?”

“Back off,” Mace said expressionlessly. He walked past the bigger man. “I seem to have been looking for someone to kill. Don’t let it be you.”


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 8