Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [133]
Edging closer to Luminara, giving no sign that anything was amiss, Obi-Wan whispered a single world. “Where?”
She told him with her eyes, glancing upward and to their left.
Responding with a barely perceptible nod, he passed the information along to Anakin and their Alwari guides while she informed Barriss. It was decided not to tell Tooqui. He was unlikely to be a primary target, he would find out soon enough what was going on, and the last thing they needed was a hissing, panicky Gwurran running amok on the crowded streets.
When the snipers on the roofs that paralleled the avenue below opened fire, it was only to see their shots deflected by waiting, activated lightsabers. Not one of the shots that rained down from the surrounding rooftops came close to striking its mark. Emitting a collective cry of alarm in no less than two dozen distinct languages, shoppers and travelers, merchants and pedestrians proceeded to scatter in all directions. Jedi and companions ducked into the large trading establishment that dominated the far side of the street.
Mouth agape, Ogomoor stared down at the panic that had infected the street below. A moment earlier, the Jedi and their associates had been strolling along, to all outward appearances content and unconcerned, wholly innocent of the fate that was about to befall them. The next, they had not only repelled his carefully choreographed ambush but had taken refuge in the building opposite, out of sight of his chartered assassins. They were the best he had been able to find and hire subsequent to his bossban’s incensed orders, but good as some of them were, they couldn’t hit what they couldn’t see.
Fear fighting frustration inside him, he pulled out his special closed-frequency comlink and ordered his ground troops to rush the trading compound where the quarry had sought shelter. If the Jedi could be driven back out onto the street, then his rooftop executioners could pick them off. Even Jedi would be hard-pressed to deal simultaneously with more than one axis of battle.
“This way!” Luminara led her friends toward the back of the establishment as customers and sales personnel alike dove for cover. It was good that they did. While the Jedi were concerned for the safety of innocent bystanders, the several dozen professional killers who came barreling in through the rear entrance labored under no such ethical compunctions.
Fire erupted within the compound as rifles and blasters blazed away. Inside the establishment’s armored office, two managers and one of the owners bemoaned the destruction of store and stock as the two sets of combatants flailed away at one another. The authorities had already been alerted, but by the time they decided to put in an appearance the interior of the neatly laid-out commercial complex might well lie in ruins.
These were not the same garden-variety assassins and murderers she and Barriss had been forced to confront soon after their arrival on Ansion, Luminara decided. They advanced with much more assurance, took aim with far greater accuracy. Only Jedi skills enabled her and her companions to hold them off. Someone, she mused, had gone to considerable trouble and expense to engage this bunch.
Dealing with two assailants at once, she did not see the small shape of the diminutive but well-armed Vrot rising slowly on her left from behind a pair of terrified customers. Knowing he would probably get only one shot at the elusive and difficult-to-target Jedi, the Vrot took careful aim. As he was about to pull the trigger of his weapon, something that was all bulging eyes, flailing arms, and kicking feet landed on his head and shoulders. Startled, the murderous Vrot went down beneath a volley of uniquely inventive invective.
“Tooqui kill! Bad bad foreigner! Tooqui choke with own entrails! Tooqui—whup!”
Throwing the lightweight obstruction off his shoulders, the infuriated Vrot whirled and brought his