Chapter Five:

Mara panted with exertion, her body trembling as it fought the effects of starvation mixed with hand-to-hand combat. The latest man they'd sent in here was now lying unconscious on the floor, his nose and right arm broken.

He had tried using force when his sickly-sweet attempts to lure her into a false sense of security had failed miserably. He hadn't been expecting her to fight him off… literally. It had been two days since Garris had visited her with his warning. Forty-eight hours of fighting off the wayward men her new 'boss' kept sending her way.

Two days since she had eaten anything… and now her body was fighting against her too. Mara tried to breathe as she'd been taught to gain control of herself, and it worked for a while.

But apparently Garris wanted to break her, because the door opened to reveal the guard. He took the limp form away and ushered in an even burlier person who looked ready to put Mara 'in her place'.

"Hey sweet cakes," he said in a deep voice rich with an outer rim accent. "It's my turn now. Let's get this rodeo started."

Mara sniffed imperiously. "It's your funeral."

He grinned, showing stained teeth that made Mara want to retch. The thought of this man's mouth anywhere near her, let alone on her, was disgusting. The man approached as the door closed, and she heard the guard laugh at her just before the lock clicked into place.

Mara readied herself for another battle, trying to hide her weakening strength. She didn't know how much longer she could fight without losing. Her will was stronger than durasteel, but her body needed nourishment to keep up with that.

He noticed her quivering frame thought, his keen eyes roaming over her lustfully. Mara tapped into her Force abilities, and waited for him to move. She had already used the Force multiple times, but she had to be careful not to reveal herself as a Force-user less someone thought she was a Jedi.

Jedi were far from welcome on many planets, and while she didn't know where she was, she knew anti-Jedi people when she saw them.

"Now, when a man wants a woman, it's the woman's place in the universe to grant him his desire." He spoke as though he were instructing a class.

"Show me a man, and I will consider it." Mara remarked coolly.

His lip peeled back in a snarl, and she mentally gave herself one point, taking great pleasure in his offense. He backhanded her, which Mara rolled with, but the weight of his meaty fist still made her see stars.

She recovered quickly, however, shoving her pain aside to grab him with her legs. She heaved and sent him head-first into the bed frame. He howled in agony and Mara struck again, aiming for the back of his head, but he ducked and caught her hand, twisting the limb painfully.

Mara yelped in pain… and then screamed as he continued to twist the limb. She had a thought and grabbed the chain that held her prisoner with her foot, hoisting it to hand-level. Taking it, Mara wrapped it about his neck and tightened it.

He instantly dropped her throbbing wrist to dig his nails into her forearms. Mara gritted her teeth and tightened the make-shift noose. He flailed about frantically, and when he turned purple, Mara leaned to whisper in his ear.

"I belong to no one, least of all a filthy scumbag like you!"

Some small part of her wanted to kill him: a remnant of her days as Emperor's Hand when she asked few- if any- questions. But she was a new woman now, and she didn't kill needlessly; even if it was saving the life of a worthless criminal.

Just before her internal chrono reached the time-limit that would have killed him, Mara released him and his body thudded to the floor.

She was trembling more violently now, her wrist giving her hell. Mara had to wonder if the bones hadn't splintered a little, but the limb was most definitely sprained. She fell back against the mattress, praying to the Force for a respite.

00000

Luke stood before the mirror of his ship's refresher, inspecting the stranger's face gazing back at him. He had dyed his hair a rich black, and even given himself a little trim to make the look more convincing. Then he had applied small amounts of cosmetic-putty to alter his facial features to where he no longer looked like Luke Skywalker with a new hair-style.

He sighed, nervous about his impending rescue attempt. It had been three days since he had left Han and Lando on the deck of Home One. In just under twenty-four hours, he would land on Nar Shaddaa… and hopefully get right back off with the red headed woman.

But something told him it would not be that simple. Either way, he despised the roll he would have to play to even get to her.

Luke paused, realizing not for the first time that he didn't even know her name. For some strange reason he felt like he should know it already, but the information kept eluding him. Well, he would find out soon enough.

His task at the moment was to get in to see her, and then he could go from there. But he loathed that he would have to pretend to be so desperate for female company that he had to resort to those chained to a bed.

A shudder passed through him, but he hardened himself against such emotion: he had to willingly play the part to make it believable. As much as he wanted to simply barge in guns blazing, he knew that would get him nowhere.

With another sigh, he exited the refresher to find Artoo holding aloft his new false I.D card. Luke took the proffered item and inspected it closely. The picture looked like the man he had become with the cosmetics, and the homeplanet was also believable.

"Treg Hardspa of Borleias." He read aloud. "Looks good, Artoo."

The droid bleeped at him, and Luke smirked. "So, how do I look?"

The droid inspected him closely, making Luke feel like a child under inspection by a school-house teacher who thought he'd broken the dress code. At last the little blue and silver astromech beeped positively, and Luke's smirk became a temporary grin.

"Thanks Artoo." He took the pilot's seat once more and glanced at the navicomputer.

Eighteen hours to go. He felt the stirrings of impatience seep into his mind, but he firmly pushed it away.

Such emotion would do him no good. He would have to be careful and calculated in order to pull this off.

But even so, he could not help the feeling that he was cutting things a little too close. The longer it took Luke to get to the mysterious woman, the more she had to put up with this Garris person and his goons.

And Force only knew what the poor lady was dealing with in that wretched place…

Luke utilized his time as Han and Lando had suggested: fine-tuning his plan, practicing his act with Artoo as judge until he was able to convince even himself of his 'intentions'. After that, he donned one of the blasters from the pack on his hip and a vibro-knife in his boot. On a whim, he placed a second knife in his other boot.

Finally he removed the unnecessary items from the bag and kept inside it the rest of his gear. He only prayed he would not need any of the heavier weaponry while on Nar Shaddaa.

To his surprise the timer beeped, indicating that what he'd thought would be a long last couple of hours had passed by while he'd been prepping. Hands on the hyperspace levers, Luke waited for the counter to reach zero, and then dropped the ship from hyperspace.

"No turning back now, Artoo," Luke murmured.

"Boo-eep." Was the subdued response.