Vision of the future

and lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

'So I guess that means it's down to just you folks and me,' the old woman said. 'My New Rep friends have left— which you probably already know—and the vast organization you've been pretending to be doesn't exist. So. You and me. Should be fun.'

Klif was staring at Navett, a bewildered frown on his face. 'What in blazes is she talking about?' he hissed. 'Is she challenging us?'

Navett shrugged.

'Oh, and help yourself to something in the galley if you want,' she added. 'Especially whichever of you was stuck out there watching my ship today. Stakeouts can be such thirsty work. Just put everything back in the cooler when you're done, okay? Well, see you later. Which is not to say you'll see me, of course.'

There was a soft click, and the recording stopped. 'This woman is nuts,' Klif declared, looking around. 'Does she have any idea at all who she's dealing with?'

'I don't know,' Navett said, eyeing the datapad thoughtfully. 'She implied she knows we're Imperials; but she never once said anything about our covers here. Or whether she even knows she's talked to us.'

Klif grunted. 'So she's fishing.'

'She's fishing,' Navett nodded. 'More to the point, she's fishing alone. If she had any proof or official backing she'd have had more than just trick lights and a recording waiting here. Sounds like her plan now is simply to draw us out.'

'So what do we do?' Klif demanded. 'Keep after her?' Navett rubbed his chin. 'No, I think we'll back off,' he said slowly. 'If she starts wandering in too close again, we can reconsider. But with Antilles and his partner gone, she's not going to be all that effective.'

He peered down the corridor toward the flight deck. 'Unless she's still in here somewhere trying to get a look at us,' he amended, hefting his blaster. 'In which case, she's automatically vaped.'

'Now you're talking,' Klif growled.

'Just watch it,' Navett warned. 'She might have set up some booby traps.'

* * *

They were there another hour, running a fine mesh over the ship before they finally gave up and left. Only three or four times after the recording shut off did they get close enough to the comlink hidden in the datapad for Moranda to pick up anything of what they were saying. In most of those brief snippets, they were sounding pretty irritable.

Watching through her spy hole from inside the empty crate she'd set up on top of a stack of similar ones fifty meters from her ship, she watched the two of them slip out again into the bustle of activity. So she'd been right, she and Corran and Wedge. The Imperials were here, and they were planning something nasty.

And they were sufficiently rattled that they were willing to risk a murder right in the middle of the spaceport. That was very interesting.

And unless her ear had totally failed her, that careless and highly unprofessional conversation beside her rigged datapad had given her their identities: the earnest but stupid proprietors of the Exoticalia Pet Emporium.

Of course, knowing was one thing. Proving was something else entirely. And for possibly the first time in her life, that vast legal gap was going to work against her.

The Imperials had joined the pedestrians on one of the major walkways now, their postures and strides midway between casual and decisive. Imperial Intelligence, most likely, or even some of the folks from the Ubiqtorate underhanded tricks division. Either way, definitely experts who knew what they were doing.

Unfortunately, the New Republic rep in Drev'starn wouldn't be interested in any of this without proof. Neither would the Bothans.

In fact, come to think of it, there were probably still a couple of warrants outstanding against her on Bothawui. That definitely let out the Bothans.

The Imperials were gone now, vanished toward the western entrance and presumably out of the spaceport. Still, as Moranda had long ago learned, 'presumably' never fed the sabacc pot or took the pets for a walk. Her new playmates might just have been irritated enough by her sneaking out on them to have left a spotter behind.

Opening her pocket flask, she took a sip of the tangy blue liqueur and consulted her chrono. Another two hours, maybe three, and it should be safe to move.