Authors: Co-written by rhonderoo and Jedi Trace
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.
CHAPTER FIVE
The coordinates that Mara received from the Emperor did not lead her directly to Jabba the Hutt's fortress on Tatooine, but rather to an Imperial contact in Mos Espa. Mara recognized him as a former agent of the Black Sun organization.
The disheveled human met her promptly at the designated tapcaf with a satchel containing a datapad and supplies for infiltrating Jabba's palace. Mara was momentarily offended that the Emperor thought she needed such facilitation, but accepted the items without question.
Not by accident, the contact situated his case on the table so as to fully reveal its contents. Inside were several datapads bearing a faded logo that Mara recognized as one of the many fronts for Xizor's personal intelligence operations. Leaning forward, he hissed through blackened teeth, "They're for sale."
From the looks of him, Mara could see why. Tattered clothes and offensive odor aside, his eyes revealed the desperation of a man who had obviously known better times. Prince Xizor had provided well for his subordinates, but his death had left most unemployed and undesirable to any prospective employer who knew of their past affiliation.
Mara gave the case a cursory glance. While information was typically more valuable than spice, one had to be cautious about the source of both. She eyed the would-be seller carefully, "How do I know they're not blank?"
Reaching into the case, the man keyed the pads with a grimy fingernail. The index on each seemed to support a reasonable amount of data, but Mara knew better than to appear curious. She regarded him with a bored expression, "I'm waiting to be impressed."
"Ah," he grinned. "So perhaps the Empire would be interested in some of the more personal affairs of the late Dark Prince." Placing one of the datapads in front of her, he opened the index to reveal the titles of the file folders.
Mara scanned down the list of files pertaining to properties, trade routes, investments, etc. No doubt there were rivals who would pay dearly for such information, but Mara knew that Imperial intelligence had already cataloged and confiscated everything contained in the files in front of her.
The final folder was untitled and she specified it with a flick of her finger, "Open that one."
The man hesitated and then shrugged, "Nothing of value there. Mostly corrupted files." Sure enough, almost all of the filenames were garbled, but one caught her attention: Darth Vader. Mara was not surprised that Xizor would hoard information about his most hated enemy, and she found herself intrigued to see the contents.
Leaning back and crossing her arms, she indicated the pad in front of her, "How much for that one?"
Money was not an issue, of course. Mara had a sizeable Imperial account at her disposal, but she engaged in the customary haggling anyway. Shortly thereafter, the man packed up his case and slipped out of the tapcaf. If he did not spend his profit on glitterstim, he would be able to eat well for several months. Mara doubted that he would be so frugal.
xxxxxxxxxx
Secluded in her stripped-down Imperial craft, Mara inspected the contents of the satchel. The datapad provided coordinates and contact information for an audition as a dancer in Jabba's palace the next day. That certainly explained the remainder of the satchel's contents: a black mesh bodice with a scrap of blue material over the bust area attached to a flimsy excuse for a skirt, a silver headband, black wig, and thigh-high black boots. She made a mental note to find and castigate the operative responsible for such a humiliating facade.
Tossing the costume aside, she reached for the purchased datapad and opened the file titled Darth Vader. Feeling suddenly guilty, she set the pad down on the console in front of her and walked to the opposite side of the cabin. Her master would not appreciate such an invasion of privacy. Then again, the file could contain nothing but rumors and HoloNet-caliber tripe.
After several minutes of indecision, she sat down and picked up the datapad again. Should the file contain information that was potentially harmful to her master, such as the location of his private residence, he would need to be warned. No doubt, the seedy Imperial contact was pandering copies of his "exclusive" data around the Outer Rim.
She needn't have worried. Most of the data was indeed corrupted or garbled. Scrolling through the file, she stopped suddenly at the headings:
HOMEWORLD: TATOOINE
Really? Mara startled. Here?
NAME: ANAKIN.................
She squinted and adjusted the view quality, but could not decipher the rest. "Anakin"...something. The remainder of the file was blank. Mara returned the datapad to the console and gazed at it thoughtfully. She had never known her master's real name. In fact, she knew very little about his life before the Empire. He'd made a few vague references over the years, but was intensely private about his affairs otherwise.
Shaking off the reverie, she stood and cleared as much of the cabin area as possible. Mara had studied dance as part of her childhood training, but doubted that anything sophisticated would be appreciated there. Finding some appropriately gaudy music in the audio files, she began to choreograph an equally garish routine.
xxxxxxxxxx
A brief audition for one of the Hutt's minions earned Mara, or "Arica" as she had introduced herself, a position on the midnight entertainment shift in Jabba's court. Fortunately, the repulsive slug was sleeping at 0200 and Mara took advantage of the opportunity to study the layout of the main audience chamber. She quickly identified several points of origin for an attack against Skywalker, but would need to explore the area around the chamber as well.
The fact that she was unarmed was a potential problem, but she could confiscate a weapon from one of the various guards or bounty hunters scattered among the crowd when the time came. Mara was close to Skywalker's height and felt certain that she could rival him in hand-to-hand combat, but he would be armed with his lightsaber.
Mara shifted uncomfortably on the stone platform and found herself hoping for the latter scenario. She would gladly turn Skywalker's own blade against him. Maybe then the cave nightmares would stop...
She startled at a tap on her shoulder and turned to see one of the other dancers, "Shift's over, 'hon."
Mara started to follow the others down the damp corridor that lead to The Dancers' Pit, but doubled back almost immediately to continue her mental mapping of the area surrounding Jabba's court.
She spotted two Gamorrean guards ahead and slipped into a dark alcove as they passed. No sooner were they out of sight, than Mara was accosted by a seedy-looking Devonarian standing in the doorway.
"Back off," she warned.
Hissing something unintelligible with a lust-filled grin, he blocked the exit. Mara fixed him with a cold stare and stood motionless as his smile turned to horror. Clutching his throat and gasping for air, he lunged forward only to be repelled by a powerful kick to the chest.
He crumpled to his knees, still clawing uselessly at his windpipe, and five ragged breaths later, it was over. Mara stepped over his body and continued down the corridor, doubting seriously that anyone would even notice a corpse in this stink hole.
Passing the Rancor's dungeon, she continued several levels down until she reached what appeared to be a large hangar, or storehouse. In the dim light, she could see that the room was cluttered floor to ceiling with artifacts both modern and antique. Jabba was either an avid collector or simply never threw anything away.
Droid and machine parts were scattered among various unidentifiable items that had probably been presented as gifts or bribes. Around the perimeter of the room, Mara could make out the larger outlines of a T-16 skyhopper, the head of a krayt dragon, and what appeared to be the cockpit of an old Podracer.
She had seen a Podrace once, years ago, while accompanying Vader on a mission to Malastare. She remembered a drunken freighter pilot bragging that he would be in the next race, only to be scorned by the locals who proclaimed that it could not be done by a human. Sensing Vader's disagreement, she had asked him about it later; but he merely responded that almost anything could be done with the Force.
Picking her way through a rather eclectic art collection, she crossed the room to where the cockpit was partially propped against a wall. It was small with splashes of blue and silver paint partially visible beneath layers of dust. An oversized holocube rested on a stand just above the Podracer.
Mara stepped closer and inspected the holo. It was an image of a young sandy-haired boy standing in front of the same blue and silver Podracer, a huge grin spreading across his face. The inscription at the lower border of the holocube read: "Anakin Skywalker, Boonta Eve Classic."
Anakin Skywalker
Mara recoiled from the holo as if it had struck her a blow.
Surely not.
A dull pressure began building in her ears as she backed away from the cockpit and into the wall.
It couldn't be.
But the boy's eyes in the holo...she had seen them before...
And suddenly, like pieces of a giant mysterious puzzle, answers to years of unspoken questions fell into place: the two Skywalker files in the Rebel data base, her master's reaction to Luke Skywalker's name, the Emperor's apprehension about the potential Jedi, Vader's "failure" at Bespin.
The roaring pressure in Mara's head was deafening as the realization of the true reason for her assignment here dawned. Breathing in shallow gasps, she slid down the wall to the dirt floor and hugged her knees to her chest.
xxxxxxxxxx
Hours later, a ripple in the Force announced Skywalker's arrival. Mara had not moved. The pressure was gone now, replaced by a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
Resigned to her decision, she stood slowly against aching and sleep-deprived muscles and made her way carefully out of the storehouse. A damp breeze filled the corridor leading to Jabba's audience chamber and Mara wished, not for the first time, that she had something to cover her scanty attire.
Arriving at the dancers' platform, Mara observed the court proceedings with detached interest. Her attention turned to Skywalker. His hair was darker and shorter than it had been years ago at the Rebel base, but still bore a striking resemblance to the boy in the holocube. The Force, no longer latent, pulsed and glowed around him so that Mara wondered how each sentient being in the room did not see it.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion - the pistol flying through the air, the trap door giving way, the bloodthirsty crowd cheering madly as the Rancor roared below. Mara watched numbly as Skywalker departed the chamber shortly thereafter. He'd lost his cloak. The crowd adjourned to the Sail Barge and she climbed down into the Rancor pit.
The carcass of the beast remained impaled where it had fallen, the owner nowhere to be seen. Stepping over various skeletal remains to Skywalker's discarded robe, Mara lifted it out of the dirt and held it up to the dim light. The thin material was practically transparent. It was black. Had Skywalker foreseen his destiny?
In spite of the sweltering, humid dungeon, Mara shivered. Wrapping the robe around her bare shoulders, she climbed out of the pit.
