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So she waited for his orders, and after a few seconds more he was ready to give them. “Rise,” he said, his tone as indulgent as the rest of him. “Come here.”

She did so. Up close he was even more repulsive, his vaguely greasy aroma approaching suffocation level. But Jabba himself, she knew, would be worse. Maybe this was part of the test.

“You dance very well, Arica,” he said, looking her up and down. “Very well, indeed. Tell me, what else do you do well?”

“Whatever my master Jabba the Hutt would require of me,” she said.

He smiled, his small eyes almost disappearing into folds of flesh. “Very good,” he said. “Not what I would require, but what Jabba your master would require. A wise answer; but perhaps not wise enough. Tell me, would it surprise you to know that I once was Jabba the Hutt?”

She blinked, giving him her best stupid-helpless-lost look. “You were—? I don’t understand.”

“I was Jabba the Hutt,” he repeated smugly. “Not really, of course, but for a time many on Tatooine thought so. I was the one, you see, whom Jabba always sent outside the palace to meet with people. Kept his anonymity that way. A good smuggler always keeps a few secrets.” His smug smile vanished. “You see now who exactly you’re dealing with here.”

“Yes, I see,” she said. She did, too. He was the expendable one, the man Jabba had sent out to take whatever blaster shots his many enemies might care to fire in his direction. The stupid one, moreover, too dazzled by the pseudoglamour and pseudopower of the role to realize he was little more than assassin bait.

But for all that, a man Jabba must have trusted at least enough to finalize his deals and not flop the charade in the process. And who thus had probably earned whatever microscopic gratitude the Hutt was capable of.

Someone not to be crossed. At least, not openly.

“Good,” the fat man said softly. “Well, then. You’re hired. You’ll start on the midnight shift—you never know when Jabba might want some entertainment.” He looked at the door and snapped his fingers. One of the Gamorrean guards detached himself from the door and lumbered over. “The guard will show you the way. I’ll see you later, Arica.”

“I will be honored,” she said, bowing humbly as she backed away. Groveling before him.

But that was all right. Let the petty man revel in his petty power oyer her. Trusted underling of one of the most powerful crimelords in the Empire, he was still nothing. She could crush him with a word; could bring down Jabba’s entire organization on a whim; could burn this backwater planet to a core of glazed sand with a single order. And if none of that happened, it was merely because she had more important matters to attend to.

For she was Mara Jade, the Emperor’s Hand. Here to await the arrival of Luke Skywalker. And to kill him.

The Emperor’s face seemed to hover in the air in front of Mara, his yellow eyes glittering with satisfaction. So you are inside, his thoughts said. Skywalker has not yet appeared?

Not yet, she thought back at him. But Solo is still here. When Skywalker comes, I’ll be ready.

The eyes glittered again, and Mara felt the warmth of his approval fill her mind. Excellent, his thoughts said. Such a threat must be eliminated.

Mara permitted herself a small smile. He will be, she assured her master. Jabba may even get to him first.

Abruptly, the warmth withdrew, leaving an icy chill behind. Do not underestimate this opponent, the Emperor warned, his thoughts dark. Remember Bespin.

Mara grimaced. Yes. Cloud City on Bespin, and the duel between Skywalker and Darth Vader. Skywalker had acquitted himself well in that battle—far better than either Vader or the Emperor had expected him to.

And in the midst of that battle, Vader had proposed that the two of them form an alliance against the Emperor.

Vader had later denied it, of course, claiming that the offer had merely been part of his lure to confuse Skywalker and entrap him to the dark side. But the Emperor knew Vader’s thoughts and feelings, and he knew that was not the entire truth.

Which was why Mara was here,