The valley stretched for nearly a hundred fifty kilometers in a roughly east-west direction, but at this point its north-south dimension was only a few kilometers. Mara kept up her pace, continually revising her course to avoid crowds and other impediments. Gradually, the houses and shops began to give way to light industry; and, finally, she judged she’d come far enough. If her quarry had kept with the leisurely pace of a man who didn’t want to lose a tracker, she should now have enough time to prepare a little reception for him.
There was, of course, always the possibility that he’d shifted to one of the other north-south streets somewhere along the way, changed direction east or west, or even doubled back completely and returned to Karrde’s townhouse. But as she looked carefully around the corner of a building into the street he’d first turned onto, she discovered that his imagination was as limited as his surveillance technique. Halfway down the block, he was crouched motionless behind a row of storage barrels with his back to her, his blue scarf thrown back out of the way across his patterned green tunic, something that was probably a weapon clutched ready in his hand. Waiting, no doubt, for her to stroll into his trap. Amateur, she thought, lip twisting in contempt. Watching him closely, not even bothering with her blaster, she eased around the corner and started silently toward him.
“That’s far enough,” a mocking voice said from behind her.
Mara froze. The figure crouched by the barrels ahead of her didn’t even twitch : and it was only then that she belatedly realized that it was far too still to be simply waiting in ambush. Far too still, for that matter, to even be alive.
Slowly, keeping her arms stretched straight out to her sides, she turned around. The man facing her was of medium height, with a somewhat bulky build and dark, brooding eyes. His undertunic hung open to reveal a lightarmor vest beneath it. In his hand, of course, was a blaster. “Well, well, well,” he sneered. “What we got here? `Bout time you showed up was startin’ to think you’d gotten lost or somethin’”
“Who are you?” Mara asked.
“Oh, no, Red, I’m the one what’s askin’ the questions here. Not that I need to, `course. That fancy stuff on top pret’ well tells me aw I need t’ know.” He gestured with his blaster at her red-gold hair. “Shoulda gotten rid o’ that-hide it or dyed it, y’know. Dead give’way. Pardon the `spression.”
Mara took a careful breath, forcing her muscles to unknot. “What do you want with me?” she asked, keeping her voice calm.
“Same thin’ every man really wants,” he grinned slyly. “A pile o’ hard cold cash.”
She shook her head. “In that case, I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong person. I’ve only got about fifty on me.”
He grinned even wider. “Cute, Red, but you’re wastin’ your time. I know who y’are, aw right. You ‘n’ your pals are gonna make me real rich. C’mon-let’s go.”
Mara didn’t move. “Perhaps we can work a deal,” she suggested, feeling a drop of sweat trickle down between her shoulder blades. She knew better than to be fooled by the other’s careless speech and manner-whoever and whatever he was, he knew exactly what he was doing.
On the plus side, she still had the blaster hidden beneath her sleeve; and she would give long odds that her assailant wouldn’t expect that a weapon that potent might be small enough to conceal there. The fact that he hadn’t already searched her seemed to confirm that assessment.
But whatever she was going to do, she had to do it now, while she was still facing him. Unfortunately, with her hands spread apart there was no way for her to get at her weapon without telegraphing the movement. Somehow, she needed to distract him.
“A deal, huh?” he asked lazily. “What kind o’ deal you got in mind?”
“What kind of deal do you want?” she countered. If there’d been a box anywhere near her feet, she might have been able to scoop it up with her foot and throw it at him. But though there was a fair amount of junk littering the street in this part of town, nothing suitable was within reach. Her half-boots were firmly fastened around her ankles, impossible to get loose without him noticing. Rapidly, she ran through an inventory of items she was carrying or wearing-nothing.
But the Emperor’s intensive training had included direct manipulation of the Force as well as the long-range communication abilities that had been her primary value to his regime. Those skills had vanished at the moment of his death, reappearing only briefly and erratically in the years since then.