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She reached down inside herself and then listened through the Force.

Sentient One, near a cooking surface, came through loud and clear—and sweaty. There was Sentient Two, talking near One’s shoulder. Number Three scurried toward the back of the establishment. Sliding silently along behind a bank of cooking machinery, Mara tracked her. Through the Force, she wasn’t Yuuzhan Vong either, and when Three departed, Mara located a back door. The fourth noisemaker also cast a shadow in the Force—not a pleasant shadow, but not Yuuzhan Vong.

Behind her, the door slid open. She straightened and pulled her vest closer. Footsteps hustled toward her. She lowered her head and stalked toward the entry.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t … ma’am? Ma’am!”

She jerked up her head. “Plevay isobabble,” she exclaimed hotly. “Dekarra do-jui!”

A human server stood with her forehead scrunched up in bewilderment.

Mara ad-libbed again, this time pantomiming an urgency she didn’t feel.

The server spread her hands and smiled, then beckoned. She led Mara out through the door into the dining area, then pointed toward the refresher.

Mara seized her hands, nodding quickly. “Jeeaph wentz,” she exclaimed, still improvising. Then she hustled up the hall. In the ladies’ refresher, she pushed one wisp of red-gold hair back under her hood, waved the water on and off several times, counted ten, then emerged and hurried back to her table. Anakin was sopping up the last of his glockaw sauce with a final bite of scrimpi.

“Just in time,” he muttered.

Mara slid in. “He’s the only one, as far as I can tell. One of the cooks has a bad feel to him, though. We’ll grab when our quarry’s on his way home.”

Anakin shrugged. “You’re in charge.”

She made a wry face, thinking, For the moment, Solo. In about five years, you’ll probably be giving the orders. “You’re set for stun, aren’t you?”

He nodded curtly.

Spotting a target who didn’t show up in the Force would take a little extra attention. Mara posted Anakin at the Green’s back door, and she loitered in the busy skin-art parlor across the pedestrian corridor. When the early night shift ended and late workers came on duty, she caught movement out the corner of her eye as her pale, hunched target slipped into the flow of passersby.

“Thanks,” she told the attendant, who’d rolled her hookah toward the viewbubble while Mara superimposed abstract samples on her bared shoulder. “Not today, I guess.”

“No body contact,” the attendant called after her. “Entirely laser done.”

Mara was already out the door, straightening her flight suit’s neckline and hood. She located Anakin through the Force and nudged him to get moving. At the same time, she double-checked their quarry. He still wasn’t there, except to her eyes.

Mara, who was tall enough to see over half the beings between them, followed the server. Now and then, she caught a clear glimpse. He held his head straight forward, looking right or left only when necessary.

“Got him in sight?” She heard Anakin at her left elbow.

“Straight ahead, easing left.”

“Where? … There,” Anakin exclaimed. “He’s not wearing armor, just the masquer.”

“As far as I can see. They still might not stun easily.”

“We’ll find out,” Anakin said. “I’ll get off to one side.”

He edged away. Mara kept pace with the pedestrian flow while Anakin drifted left. The restaurant server reached a station where repulsor trains departed the Dometown area. Mara pushed closer, watching more attentively, flowing parallel to her target until he’d chosen a loading platform. Then she pushed through the gate behind a family of armored Psadans. She slipped one of her false IDs through the reader, then settled in to wait, keeping her head down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin pass the gate. Not long ago, he would’ve waved a hand over the reader. She was glad when he used a false ID. The more he learned to operate without using the Force, the better attuned he could stay to its flow and others’ movements. He would learn his own capabilities,