Mace Windu – The Glass Abyss, annunciato lo scorso 8 dicembre, avrà come protagonista il Maestro Jedi Mace Windu, in missione per compiere le ultime volontà dell’ormai defunto Qui-Gon Jinn. Il romanzo verrà rilasciato oltreoceano il 15 ottobre 2024 e riceverà un’edizione con copertina esclusiva all’ormai prossimo New York Comicon.
PREORDINA QUI IL ROMANZO IN LINGUA ORIGINALE
Di seguito le parole dell’autore da noi tradotte:
Poter tornare a lavorare su Star Wars è stata per me un’occasione per portare le abilità marziali di Mace Windu a nuovi livelli, ricorda molto il Mace Windu visto nella serie Star Wars: Clone Wars di Tartakovsky del 2003.
Come fan, vedere Samuel L. Jackson nei panni di un Maestro Jedi è stato incredibile, ma come autore il mio compito è stato quello di tracciare un percorso piscologico e spirituale che rispettasse quanto visto nei film. È stato particolarmente divertente giocare con la testa di Mace, ma prima di scrivere mi sono dovuto chiedere: “Che tipo di persona sarebbe Mace Windu?”
Nelle profondità di New Xaxxis, Mace si confronta con sfide che lo spingeranno al limite, ho dovuto essere molto attento affinché gli elementi tematici fossero più incentrati sulla risonanza emotiva che sul ‘cosa succederebbe se?’ della fantascienza classica. L’universo di Star Wars supporta magnificamente questo tipo di pensiero.
Mace Windu: The Glass Abyss è destinato a offrire ai fan di Windu tutto ciò che hanno desiderato. Amo sinceramente il mito, e ho cercato non solo di soddisfare i fan di Star Wars, ma anche i lettori di fantascienza e i fan di Steven Barnes, che si aspettano da me certe cose a livello filosofico.
Il mio obiettivo era rendere la lettura facile, veloce, ma profonda, con tutta l’emozione che ci aspettiamo… e alcune sorprese umanizzanti.
Estratti del romanzo
Nei giorni scorsi sono stati pubblicati sui siti starwars.com e gizmodo.com due estratti, il primo narra dell’arrivo del Maestro Jedi nei bassifondi di New Xaxxis, il secondo del funerale di Qui-Gon Jinn e dei pensieri di Mace
Ecco il primo estratto rilasciato:
Staff in hand, the stranger arrived in the slums of New Xaxxis, capital city of the planet Metagos. In days past, the underground caverns housing New Xaxxis had been derisively referred to as the Glass Abyss, thanks to the gigantic crystal obelisks towering proudly from the ground like stalagmites or hanging from the ceiling like jagged, broken fangs. The entire city was laid out like a wagon wheel, with roads and canals sectioning it off. The very poorest section, sometimes called the Children’s Maze, was situated at the hub.
Swathed in black leather, the stranger was tall, lithe, and human. His face was almost as dark as his ankle-length bantha-hide coat. With his every step along the slum streets, moisture oozed around the edges of his boots, drawn from deep artisanal wells.
Gaping volcanic vents in nearby vacant lots jetted steam that drifted upward toward the ceiling, forming into wispy clouds, which personal flight craft, birds, and leather-winged reptiles glided through.
Three armed enforcers appeared: one human and two Zilka, much like four-legged, armored bugs. “Here’s an ugly one!” the human cried, laughing. He and one of the Zilka were armed with shock prods. The other bug carried a halberd with a smear of dried blood on the blade.
“All you humans are ugly,” the halberd-wielding Zilka said to his human companion. “But this one could give lessons.” They cackled at the mild witticism. The stranger seemed to ignore them, but if they thought he hadn’t noticed, then they’d missed the angry glint in eyes as black as a blaster’s barrel.
“Checkpoint, stranger,” the first enforcer—the Zilka carrying the shock prod—said. “Citizen or newcomer?”
“Newcomer. Rim-runner. Just landed.”
“Are you armed?” he asked.
The newcomer nodded and carefully thumbed aside his black cloak, revealing the hilt of a holstered blaster. Under the triple threat of their weapons, they disarmed him of the pistol but ignored his two-meter brown staff, formed from some seamed and knotty wood.
“Gotta have the right credentials,” the second said, the human—a big male with outsized hands. Strangler’s hands.
“No weapons. You can enter,” the third said, and the second laughed.
“He won’t live long,” one said, as if the newcomer were not standing directly before them.
“Welcome to New Xaxxis,” the third sneered.
The stranger scanned a few buildings and spotted a placard promising gaudy entertainment a few steps away. He walked half a block, ignoring solicitations and questioning eyes, until he found the sign reading Vin-Vin’s wheelhouse and pushed through the door. The interior was crowded with tables and noisy, but the bar proper seemed underpopulated, and he found himself a seat.
The bartender’s name was Vin-Vin Sunfall. He was a reptilian Metagosan, with all the dense, almost casually brutal musculature famous among a similar breed, the Trandoshans. It had been a busy night with patrons enjoying their drink and food and the music of the Xaxxis Axis Quartette and acrobatic dancers (“Hot Licks! Cool Tricks”). But he noticed the stranger when the doors opened. Vin-Vin noticed everything.
It was one reason he was still alive when the rest of his family fed the Web.
Without speaking a word, the stranger pointed a finger at a glass of foamy brown bitters currently being drained by a Muun miner, then lifted that finger in request. He seemed a man whose fondest wish was to be left in peace.
When the stranger had entered, he’d moved as if gliding on rails. His brown eyes suggested a soft yet focused gaze. This was a man of action who was seeking calm. No. He was the center of calm and would remain so even amid violent action. Vin-Vin’s fingers brushed Bloodhammer, the massive peacekeeper under the bar. He hoped he wouldn’t have to reach for it, at least in part because the thought of fighting this newcomer twisted his gut.
Vin-Vin poured, served, and took a coin in return. He’d have then moved his attention elsewhere, but two enforcers, a human and one of those annoying Zilka bugs, swaggered through the door, wafting attitude and unwashed skin. The Zilka’s powerful musk glands reeked of adrenal danger. The pair pushed their way through the crowd and bracketed the stranger. It seemed to Vin-Vin that they were attempting to renew a discussion that began outside.
“You strut in here like a Harch on death sticks,” the human said. “Who are you working for?”
No reply. The Zilka, the taller of the two, leaned over and drooled a greenish gob of sputum into the stranger’s drink and then stepped back, smirking, awaiting a response.
Nothing. The musicians continued to play their percussion and wind instruments, and the dancers writhed in display of skill. The murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses and cutlery continued as if nothing had happened. When the stranger didn’t react, the shorter said, “He’s a brave one.”
They chortled, jostling each other merrily as they left.
Huh. Did they think the stranger was afraid of them? Or had they sensed the same danger signs that had raised his own hackles?
The stranger calmly pointed again, raised the same finger a second time, and slipped a coin onto the bar.
This one is interesting, Vin-Vin thought.
The dark, strong face exhibited no fear and no anger in response to the provocation. In fact, there was no reaction at all.
“What brings you here, ssstranger?” Vin-Vin asked, the sibilant hiss typical of his species lengthening the last word.
“Heard there’s work.”
The bartender polished a glass. “For the right kind of man.” He chuckled slyly. “Or maybe the wrong kind, if you know what I mean.” Vin-Vin gave a practiced wink.
The stranger raised an eyebrow. The rest of his face didn’t move. Impressive.
“How about one who doesn’t mind dirtying his hands?” the stranger said.
Maya-12, a holodroid who appeared to be wearing a business suit, sized the stranger up. She morphed her appearance to resemble a severe, alert dark-skinned human female and approached him. She was a regular. Her “sister” droids Maya-8 and Maya-14 were the acrobatic dancers in the Xaxxis Axis.
Maya-12 used Vin-Vin’s Wheelhouse as a base of operation, connecting with clients for everything from bodyguarding to therapy, language lessons, massage, and private investigation. She and her sisters had never created a problem for Vin-Vin, and that was mostly what mattered.
“New here, stranger? Need orientation? A tourist guide? I have connections to the Sa’ad. Care to meet a spider-worm?”
The stranger smiled. “Not at the moment. But if I did, you’d be the one. Here, please. Whatever the lady wants.”
He placed another coin on the bar.
“Lady . . . ?” the droid said, surprised.
“To my eyes, yes.”
Right answer. She slid in next to him. “My name is Maya-Twelve. You’re new here.”
“Just a tumbling fasha-weed, looking for a place to root awhile.”
She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “It isn’t safe here. Not for a . . . gentleman. Might be better to move on.”
“Appreciate the advice.”
She pocketed the coin, shrugged, and spotted a table where the two other Maya-series holodroids were hailing her. The music had paused, and they were taking a break. Maya-12 headed over.
The stranger slid another coin onto the bar.
“The sssame?” the bartender asked.
“Information.”
Vin-Vin wiggled his claws, and the coin disappeared. “About what?”
“The layout hereabouts. What might a fellow seeking employment need to understand?”
“Well, now. Information. I can do that. New Xaxxisss is a sssnake with two headsss, and sssooner or later anyone who kissesss one gets bit by the other.”
“Who are you aligned with?”
“Oh, I’m happy where I am, friend.”
“So what are these two heads?”
“Chulok and Sssybil. Everyone knowsss that.” His forked tongue flickered to lick thin reptilian lips.
“Hiring?”
The bartender laughed. “Sssybil rarely hiresss other than her own children.” He paused, wondering if he should say the next thing, and then decided to. “Sometimes her children hire outsidersss.”
“Got a lot of kids?”
“A new one almost every day.”
“Busy lady. And this Chulok?”
“Oh, they hire. When there’sss an opening.”
“And how often does that happen?” He raised that isolated eyebrow again. Again, the rest of his face didn’t move. Either nerves had been severed in that dark flesh or the stranger had a unique level of muscle control. Vin-Vin considered such a man, even one centimeters shorter and kilos lighter, to be extraordinarily dangerous. His hackles trembled.
“Haven’t heard of anything recently. And even if there were, you’d need to be recommended by sssomeone they trust. Ssshow some unusssual ssskill.”
“Huh.” Something happened behind the dark eyes. And to them as well. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the brown irises had deepened to black. Vin-Vin had the sense that some relays had clicked in the stranger’s brain. Some decision had been made. And not a pleasant one, either.
“What’sss your name, friend?”
The stranger didn’t answer.
“All right. Maybe the wrong question. What’sss your professssion?”
“Problem solver,” the stranger said, then pushed away from the bar.
“Where are you going, Problem Sssolver?”
“To solve my problem.”
Vin-Vin watched him leave. A spot of moisture remained on the bar, and the reptilian smeared it away with one scaly finger, as if it had never glistened there at all. A moment later, he’d erased the stranger from his mind just as completely.
There were new tough guys in New Xaxxis every day. Most didn’t make it to breakfast.
Ecco il secondo estratto rilasciato:
Lush and green and peaceful, Mace thought. Qui-Gon wouldn’t have cared for this.
The cremation spot between four-meter statues of winged guardians was one of the most honored locations in Naboo’s royal cemetery. Qui-Gon Jinn’s body rested atop a wooden pyre, his hands folded across his mighty chest. In one sense, it was the perfect place for his mortal remains to be consumed in flame, here where so many great warriors had been laid “to rest.” There was no real way around it, but Mace suspected Qui-Gon himself would have enjoyed the irony.
The Jedi Master had met his end at the hands of a Sith while helping Queen Amidala liberate her planet. Death was always and ultimately a private affair, but a Jedi’s death often became a matter of public mourning and official sobriety. So the funeral pyre was attended by key dignitaries from the Galactic Republic, the Jedi Order, and the people of Naboo.
Mace Windu did not dwell upon the city of Theed’s natural beauty, all flowing water and greenery, but it did not deceive him. His face may have been peaceful, but his heart roiled with the realization of the real implications of Qui-Gon’s death: the return of the Sith.
Qui-Gon’s former Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, dressed in the ceremonial plain cloth of traditional Jedi robes, was speaking of his mentor, but Mace heard only snatches of the eulogy.
“He was the greatest friend imaginable, for any who knew him. A mentor who saved my life more times than I would want to remember, a man of deep wisdom and a warm heart. He seldom smiled, but when he did, it was like the sun emerging from behind a thunderhead…”
And so he continued. It was all sincere and all true.
None of it comforted Mace.
Obi-Wan had killed the mysterious Sith, a feat of skill that made Mace proud. So their adversaries were not the immortal monsters some feared, but creatures of flesh and bone. Flesh could be seared, and bones broken…
Master Yoda at his side. The Grand Master Jedi was a fraction of his size with twice his wisdom, Mace was convinced. If there was anyone in the galaxy whom Mace Windu looked up to, it was this little green titan.
Even a hint of Yoda’s disapproval caught Mace instantly, and he snapped his attention back to the ceremony.
Obi-Wan had just finished recounting Qui-Gon’s wisdom, dedication to the Force, and commitment to his personal version of the Jedi Code. As a symbol of respect, in sync with the others, Mace drew and triggered his lightsaber. All were raised high in a bouquet of sacred fire, casting a reverent glow over the gathering.
Queen Amidala then added her thoughts as the lightsabers blazed. Mace later remembered something about sacrifice and duty. The rest slipped from his mind. Even in one so young, the familiar cadences of politicking had been learned by heart. Politicians were necessary, he understood, but politics was not his natural mode of thought and emotion. He considered it an art of compromise and deception, one that could be, and had been, corruptive to those walking a higher path. It was ironic that politicians so often mocked the warriors, then demanded they bleed to correct political misfires.
Some even thought that the Jedi should lead the Senate. That was another potential disaster. Power might not corrupt absolutely, but it was like sun and rain, facilitating the growth of whatever lurked in a soul’s shadows. Mastery of the Force was already temptation enough.
The funeral concluded with a traditional Jedi ritual: Master Yoda ignited the pyre with Qui-Gon’s own lightsaber. As flames rose, the attending Jedi collectively meditated, focusing their energy on Qui-Gon’s journey into the Force.
This, finally, resonated with Mace Windu, in tune with that deep sense of calm within him that some mistook for detachment. Enemies who had mistaken that calm for weakness had paid with their lives more times than he wanted to count, but fewer than his future dictated.
Something was coming, he had no doubt. The return of the Sith portended greater conflicts ahead. And the Jedi had just lost one of their stoutest allies.
As the flames dwindled, aided by special potions within the wood and within Qui-Gon’s body itself, naught remained, save ash.
Mace bid a silent goodbye to his old friend and comrade. Then, while the others milled about and conversed, he returned to his ship as soon as decorum allowed.
Public mourning was not his way.
Sinossi
Di seguito vi proponiamo nuovamente la sinossi dell’opera da noi tradotta:
Il Maestro Jedi Mace Windu si reca su un pianeta remoto e pericoloso in una missione che mette alla prova anche la sua mortale abilità, tutto per soddisfare l’ultima richiesta di Qui-Gon.
I Jedi sono sconvolti dall’improvvisa dipartita di Qui-Gon Jinn per mano di un Sith. I sentimenti del Maestro Jedi Mace Windu nei confronti di Qui-Gon sono sempre stati complicati e non sono stati resi più semplici dalla morte. Sebbene spesso fossero in disaccordo, Mace apprezzava la prospettiva unica di Qui-Gon e la loro comune dedizione alla Forza li aveva resi alleati. Senza Qui-Gon e le sue opinioni non ortodosse, Mace si sente fuori equilibrio. Mentre considera l’eredità del suo amico caduto, Mace è sorpreso di ricevere un messaggio finale da Qui-Gon, contrassegnato per essere consegnato a Mace in caso di morte di Qui-Gon. Il messaggio contiene un’ultima richiesta: un appello per aiutare il pianeta dell’Orlo Esterno di Metagos. Molti anni fa, una violenta eruzione solare trasformò la superficie del pianeta deserto in un paesaggio di vetro irradiato, tanto bello quanto pericoloso. Ora la maggior parte degli abitanti sopravvissuti vive sottoterra, dove clan rivali combattono per il controllo delle risorse limitate del pianeta. Da giovane Jedi, Qui-Gon proteggeva il clan di contadini Sa’ad dalle fazioni meno scrupolose del pianeta. I Sa’ad praticano l’arte della tessitura dei sogni, mantenendo la mente sveglia durante il sonno per comunicare e convivere con le creature selvagge che li circondano. Qui-Gon ha promesso di tornare se mai avessero avuto bisogno del suo aiuto, ma ora spetta a Mace mantenere quella promessa. Il leader dei Sa’ad, KinShan Nightbird, ha implorato l’aiuto dei Jedi per liberare Megatos dai signori del crimine che minacciano di sradicare lo stile di vita del suo popolo. Intenzionato a soddisfare gli ultimi desideri di Qui-Gon, Mace si reca a Megatos e si infiltra tra i nemici dei Sa’ad. Ma mentre il Maestro Jedi indaga sull’intricata rete di avversari e alleati, Mace si ritrova spinto ai limiti del codice Jedi, mettendo alla prova le sue convinzioni e il suo rapporto con la Forza stessa.
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