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a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_002.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER ONE
Tatooine's twin suns hung low above the horizon. Once he had thought they looked like demonic eyes, threatening him.
Warning him.
Daring him.
Now they were almost welcoming.
"Prepare for landing," commanded the youth at the console of Slave I. He stared out at the red suns, shadows pooling like blood beneath them. Despite himself, he smiled.
It's good to be back, thought Boba Fett as he leaned into his seat. In the cockpit behind him was a pair of shriveled hands - all that remained of Boba's last mission. He had gone to the Dune Sea to hunt down the Noghri assassin Jhordvar. The lithe, lidless-eyed alien had made the mistake of betraying Boba's employer.
Bad idea, Boba thought, recalling Jhordvar's contempt when he first peered from his desert hideout to see the young bounty hunter standing before him.
"Jabba sends a lackey to do an assassin's job!" the alien hissed.
"Wrong," said Boba. His blaster was already aligned with Jhordvar's eyes. "He sent the best bounty hunter of his house." Their battle had been brief but intense. Boba offered Jhordvar the chance to accompany him back to Jabba's B'omarr citadel, but the alien refused to surrender.
Jabba the Hutt had wanted the traitor dead or alive. Well, he got one out of two, Boba thought as he guided Slave I into the docking bay of Jabba's palace. A desert sandstorm had stranded him for several days in the Noghri's lair, with the alien's body caught outside in the storm. Sand and heat had mummified what remained of Jhordvar. The hands had literally been snapped off by the fierce winds; Boba decided that Jhordvar's ring would be enough to identify him, and so he left the body but took the hands.
"You know, Jhordvar, you should've surrendered when you had the chance," said Boba as Slave I touched down. "But you fought bravely, I'll give you that." Boba commanded the ship's computer to shut down, then picked up the Noghri's withered claws. He looked at them, grimacing, then slung them into his pack and disembarked. He left his Mandalorian helmet in the cockpit - he'd get it after he reported in to Jabba.
"I'll see you again soon," he said, letting his hand slide along Slave l's hull. "Real soon."
A pair of Gamorrean guards lolled by the entrance to Jabba's castle. As Boba approached, one of them nudged the other. The two looked at each other in surprise, but quickly straightened.
One of them grunted questioningly.
"I had a slight delay," retorted Boba. He shifted his pack so the hulking boars could get a glimpse of Jhordvar's claws protruding from the top. "Nothing serious. Just a sandstorm." The Gamorrean guards' eyes widened with respect and - yes! - fear. Boba fought the urge to grin triumphantly. That was almost all the reward he needed. Almost - but not quite. He tipped his head back and stared pointedly at one of the Gamorreans. Hastily the guard turned and opened the massive door for him. Boba strode through proudly.
He would take all the respect he could get. One earns respect, his father had always told him. As for those who are foolish enough not to give it to you - well, for them, there is always fear.
Boba paused. The heavy door behind him slammed shut. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside the fortress. He waited for his skin to adjust to the touch of cool air, and for his ears to catch the distant sounds of revelry from the throne room. Fear and respect, he thought with grim satisfaction. Everything I've learned about those things can be summed up in three little words: Jabba the Hutt.
Boba turned, and began walking down the corridor. Several protocol droids hurried past him, on their way to do Jabba's bidding. Two of the Huttese crimelord's Drovion security guards swaggered up and down the halls. Boba watched as they stopped a pair of Jawas, frisking the small yellow-eyed scavengers before letting them pass. As Boba approached, he had the satisfaction of hearing one of Jabba's lackeys mutter his name.
"G'wan," the Drovion spat, waving him past. "You're expected. As a matter of fact, you're early - no one thought you'd be back this soon."
"Some hoped you wouldn't make it back at all!" his companion laughed. Boba gave him a cold look. "I'll be sure to mention that to Jabba." The lackey cringed as Boba went on. Being Jabba's favored bounty hunter definitely had its advantages.
When he reached the passage leading to the throne room, he stopped. He could see a dozen or so shadowy figures milling inside the corridor. He recognized several of them by their weapons and body armor: bounty hunters. Something's going on, thought Boba. But what?
From inside, shrill music and harsh laughter echoed - the usual sounds of depravity that surrounded Jabba the Hutt.
There was another sound, too, almost as loud. Boba's stomach was growling.
I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, he thought. And it's going to take a while to tell Jabba the whole story about Jhakva. Plus, this will give me a chance to hear any gossip about what's happened since I left.... He glanced back toward the throne room. Besides the bounty hunters, he saw droids and several ragged-looking space pirates, a young Twi'lek dancer twitching from nerves, and an Arkanian holding a very young and very active Arkanian dragon on a leash.
Looks like Jabba might be distracted for a few more minutes, Boba figured. Quickly he turned and hurried down a side passage.
"At last! You've come with the new worm castings!" A Selonian wearing a white chef's robe over its sleek-furred body peered out from a doorway. When it saw Boba, its face fell.
"My mistake," it said, and turned back to stirring something disgusting in a bubbling pot.
Boba kept moving. He passed several doorways, each with a sign on it in Huttese characters. KITCHEN FOUR, KITCHEN FIVE, KITCHEN SIX...
"Kitchen Seven," said Boba with relief as he came to the last door. He adjusted his pack and went inside.
Immediately, he was greeted by the warm simmering scents of baking pod-bread, yowvetch custard, scry-mint. A gnarled figure was bent over a steaming oven. Beside him, another figure was putting the finishing touches on a white worm souffl©.
"Am I too late for breakfast?" asked Boba.
"No breakfast till tomorrow," the elderly figure said without looking up.
"Not even for a starving bounty hunter?" The two cooks turned.
"Boba!" cried the younger one. She swiped the hair from her eyes, leaving a smudge of flour. "You're back! And you've gotten even taller!" Boba grinned. "Maybe you're just shrinking, Ygabba." Ygabba shook her head. She looked him up and down. "Nope. You're definitely taller. You're going to need some new body armor soon, Boba." Boba took the pack from his shoulders and set it on the floor. "Tell me about it," he said. "That'll be my first order of business with Jabba. Second, actually." He cocked a thumb at what was in the pack. Gab'borah looked down. He was Ygabba's father. As Jabba's head dessert-chef, he was accustomed to seeing all kinds of revolting things. But even he was impressed by Boba's trophy.
"Jabba will be very pleased," Gab'borah said. He poked at one of the withered hands approvingly. "I didn't even recognize your voice, Boba. And Ygabba's right - you've grown."
The old man smiled and pointed to the wall behind Boba. There, over the past two years, Gab'borah had lined up Ygabba and Boba, drawing a line where the top of their heads met the wall. Boba looked at the most recent mark, and, yes, he was many centimeters taller now.
"Bounty hunting must agree with you," said Gab'borah with a wink. He turned and took a plate of yowvetch custard, still warm and quivering from the oven. "Here, Boba - you look half-famished." Boba began eating ravenously. "Mmmm - this is great," he said.
"Don't take too long with it," Ygabba warned. "Something's happening. There's a bunch of bounty hunters who've been waiting for the last three days to see Jabba. He's been putting them off - I think he was hoping you'd return - but I don't think he's going to wait much longer."
"Mmmmff." Boba swallowed the last bit of custard, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Thanks, Ygabba. And Gab'borah. For the food, and the news." He grabbed his pack and headed back into the hall. Ygabba grinned and waved after him.
"See you, Boba!"
"Make sure you drop by before you leave again," Gab'borah called as Boba strode back toward the throne room. "You'll need more provisions to fill that new body armor!"
This time, Jabba's hangers-on made a point of moving out of the way as soon as they saw Boba coming. He caught the sideways, suspicious looks the other bounty hunters gave him as he passed.
Yet he also saw them gazing at him with grudging admiration especially when they saw the pair of mummified hands sticking out of his pack. When he reached the entrance to the throne room, he stopped. A short distance away, he could see Jabba's huge form, rising from clouds of incense and smoke like a mountain of sand from the Dune Sea. Even now Boba could not help grimacing at the sight of his employer. Man, that is one gross Hutt, he thought. He gestured at a protocol droid standing nearby.
"You," commanded Boba. The droid swiveled, fixing him with its glowing lidless eyes. "Tell Jabba the Hutt that Boba Fett is here." The droid inclined its gleaming head slightly.
"Yes, sir," it intoned, and walked smoothly into the throne room, past the guards. The waiting bounty hunters watched as the droid approached the throne, then cried out in its clear robotic voice.
"Lord Jabba! My Lord - "
Heads turned and the music grew still as Boba strode into the room. The droid turned and bowed.
"As you can see, 0 Mighty Jabba - Boba Fett has returned!" |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_003.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER TWO
"Hoh hoh hoh!"
Boba stiffened as familiar deep laughter thundered through the vast room. On a platform in the center of the hall reclined the huge, sluglike form of Jabba the Hutt. Behind him, Jabba's Twi'lek majordomo, Bib Fortuna, stood at attention.
The notorious gangster's yellow eyes fixed themselves on Boba. As the young bounty hunter strode closer to the throne, the great Hutt raised himself to gaze down on him.
"So!" boomed Jabba in Huttese, a language that Boba now knew well. "The prodigal hunter has returned!" The crime lord's eyes narrowed as he stared fixedly at Boba. "But he has returned alone. I see no sign of Jhordvar!"
"That's because the boy has failed!" hissed a voice from the shadows. Boba glanced aside. He saw another bounty hunter, a bulbous-eyed, snout nosed Aqualish, staring at him hungrily.
"Failed?" Jabba reached for a basket of squirming white worms. He grabbed a fistful of the repellent grubs. "Is this so?" Boba shot a cold look at the gloating Aqualish. "It is not, 0 Most Heinous of Hutts," Boba said. He swung his pack from his shoulder and stepped toward the throne. "I did as you commanded, Lord Jabba. I gave the assassin Jhordvar the choice of returning with me, or - "
"Or getting away!" cried the Aqualish. Rough laughter came from the other bounty hunters. Boba ignored them.
"Or accepting his own death," Boba continued cooly. "He chose the latter. Unfortunately for him. But not, 0 Mighty Jabba, for you." With a flourish, Boba lifted his pack and turned it over. Jhordvar's remains fell to the floor. The withered hands curled upward, as though trying - too late - to escape. Gasps echoed through the throne room, followed by excited murmurs.
Jabba looked at his major-domo.
With a bow, Bib Fortuna moved quickly toward the trophies. He stooped and grasped one skeletal hand. Then he turned it so that Jabba could see the gold-green amaralite ring glittering on a mummified finger.
"It is indeed Jhordvar," said Bib Fortuna. He flashed Boba an admiring look. Then the Twi'lek yanked the ring from the assassin's bony hand, and returned to hold it up to Jabba.
"Hmmmm," mused Jabba. He had Fortuna hold the ring up to the light and inspected it. He looked at Boba. Very slowly, Jabba's lipless mouth parted in a smile. "Hoh hoh hoh! Come - "
Boba let his breath out in a silent whistle of relief. He took the steps toward Jabba at a near run, stopping before the throne.
"Your hand," commanded Jabba. Boba extended his palm, and Jabba dropped the ring into it. "You will receive your usual fee, young Fett. This is a bonus. Amaralite is worth much in some parts of the galaxy." But not on Tatooine, brooded Boba, while making sure he only looked back calmly at his employer.
"Thank you, Lord Jabba," he said. "I will take good care of it." Jabba stared at him as though he could read the young man's thoughts. The Hutt's flaccid tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth as he reached for more grubs. "You may find it useful, young Boba," he boomed. "On your next adventure..."
Boba stared at him, trying not to let his confusion show. In the hall behind him he could hear the assembled bounty hunters whispering angrily among themselves.
"My next...?" he started.
"Yes." Jabba gestured disdainfully at the other hunters. "You see them? Jackals! Arrak snakes! They are predators. They are good hunters but they are not great ones. They lack vision. They lack endurance," his voice boomed. "They lack the will to succeed." Boba allowed himself a small, grim smile. "Endurance I can understand, " he said.
"I know," said Jabba. "That is why I have waited for your return. I have an important job for you. It will take many bounty hunters - but only one will be given the most rewarding task."
"This I understand, too," said Boba.
"These bounty hunters," Jabba went on, pointing at the others, "they have been here for a week. Some did not have the patience to wait. They left. They will not return."
Boba shivered at Jabba's tone. The crime lord's voice rose as he cried out so that all in the hall could hear him. "Return in one hour! You will receive your orders then. There will be glory for all of you - and blood for all," he finished, his wide mouth curling in a smile. Throughout the cavernous room, the other bounty hunters cursed. Some laughed. The rest made threatening gestures and stalked away angrily. After a few minutes only a few remained, looking hopefully at Jabba. One of them was the Aqualish.
"What are you waiting for?" Jabba bellowed at them. He turned to Bib Fortuna. "These guests do not know their manners! Perhaps they would enjoy sharing a meal with my pit beasts?"
"By all means, master," said the Twi'lek with a nasty smile. Boba looked over. The remaining bounty hunters hurried toward the arched doorway. The last to leave was the Aqualish. He glared back at Boba, then followed the others.
"Now," thundered Jabba from his throne. He leaned forward, his tail twitching slightly, and beckoned Boba toward him. "You have done well for a young bounty hunter."
"Thank you, Lord Jabba," said Boba.
"So well, in fact, that I have no more use for you here," Jabba continued.
Boba looked at him, startled. "But you just said...?" he asked. "No more use for me?" He swallowed, trying not to let his alarm show. But all l want is to be a bounty hunter, he thought. The very best and only the very best work for Jabba!
"That is not what I said." Jabba's voice was calm, with an edge of menace. "I said I had no more use for you here, on Tatooine." Boba stared at him, hardly daring to believe his ears. Jabba nodded. "That is right. Tomorrow you begin a new job for me, Boba - off-planet!" |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_004.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER THREE
Off-planet! Yes!
Boba wanted to punch the air in excitement. "When do I leave?" he asked.
Jabba watched him approvingly. "I am glad to see you are pleased at the prospect," he boomed. He picked up a squishy, star-shaped glubex, unpeeled its head from its body, and ate it, slurping loudly. He held out the empty skin to Boba.
"Uh, no thanks," said Boba.
Jabba belched and went on. "Many would be terrified at the very thought of traveling to Xagobah in these troubled times. But I think my instincts about you are correct. You do not seem afraid." Boba hesitated. "My father taught me that fear can be overcome," he said at last. He felt a pang at the memory of his father, Jango Fett - the mighty bounty hunter, slain by that murderous Jedi, Mace Windu. "He always said that a good bounty hunter ought to know his prey as well as he knew himself.
Knowledge is power. Fear is energy. And with power and energy, one can conquer anything. One can defeat any enemy."
Jabba stared at him through slitted amber eyes. "Your father taught you well, Boba Fett."
"What he did not teach me, 0 Jabba, I have learned from you." Jabba's enormous mouth opened in a bubbling laugh. He reached for the withered stalk of Jhordvar's arm and waved it as though it were a fan. "Hoh hoh! In that case, you have learned well indeed!" Jabba tossed Jhordvar's arm into the shadows. "But you will need all your knowledge, young Fett," he said. "And luck wouldn't hurt - not where I'm sending you."
Boba waited patiently. He knew better than to interrupt Jabba. At this point, Jabba's major-domo took over. "Last week a high-ranking member of the Republic Senate contacted the great Jabba. Completely confidential, of course," the obsequious Bib Fortuna said with an evil smirk. "They want it to appear that they are working through the proper channels. They have put a bounty on the heads of many leading Separatists. Our Lord Jabba had agreed to help them hunt down these scum. Everyone knows his bounty hunters are the best," Bib Fortuna added, gloating. "Even the Republic!"
Boba smiled. His hand moved instinctively to the blaster nestled at his hip. "So you want me to hunt them down?"
"No." The Twiilek gestured dismissively at the empty hall. "Lord Jabba will let those others do that."
Boba glanced at Jabba. The crime lord was watching him closely. Boba kept his expression calm. He waited as Fortuna continued. "Jabba has something much more hazardous in mind for you." Boba nodded. "Great!"
"Have you ever heard of a Separatist named Wat Tambor?"
"No," said Boba.
"He is the Separatists' Techno Union Foreman, as well as a combat engineer. A brilliant strategist. And extremely dangerous - an expert at fighting machines, and a master of defense technologies. He is also an expert at escape. The Republic captured and detained him at a high-security facility. But several of Tambor's followers from the Techno Union freed him, with the assistance of a Clawdite shapeshifter."
"A Clawdite," repeated Boba, scowling. "I have grown to hate Clawdites."
He didn't say why - namely that a young shape-shifter had robbed him while Boba was on Aargau, trying to regain his father's fortune.
"Lord Jabba's sources inform him that Wat Tambor is now on Xagobah," said Bib Fortuna. "He has taken refuge in his fortress there. Republic troops have laid siege to his hideout, using a clone army led by a Jedi Master named Glynn-Beti."
At the word "Jedi," Boba's face grew grim. He didn't explain that he had actually met Glynn-Beti, back on the assault ship Candaserri. She had even shown kindness to him; she had never learned his real name or parentage. Glynn-Beti was a Bothan, cream-furred and small - less than a meter and a half in height. But she had great presence and command despite her diminutive size - the power and authority of a Jedi. And nothing could change Boba's mind about that. He said, "I hate the Jedi, too."
But not Ulu Ulix, Glynn-Beti's Padawan, Boba thought. Ulu was the one Padawan he genuinely liked.
Jabba nodded. Fortuna continued, "I know. And the Separatists supporting Wat Tambor have assembled a huge counterforce - hailfires, spider droids, the most technologically advanced battle droids anyone has ever seen. To reach Wat Tambor you will first have to get through Republic and Separatist lines - no member of the Republic forces on Xagobah must know you have this assignment."
"I understand," said Boba.
"Do you?" Jabba's mouth suddenly split into a cold smile. Fortuna resumed speaking. "Once you have breached the Separatists' forces - if you can - you still have to enter the Citadel. Wat Tambor designed it himself. He focused all of his technological knowledge to one end: to make that fortress invincible. No one has ever penetrated its defenses. No one - not even a Jedi. And even if they did, inside, there are traps everywhere. Hidden doors. And there's a rumor that Tambor is protected by something more terrible still!"
Jabba leaned forward. His huge girth shifted on his throne, like a mud slide in slow motion. "You saw those other bounty hunters, Boba. Every one of them wanted this job. Some of them would be willing to kill for it! Are you?" |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_005.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER FOUR
"When do I leave?" asked Boba. He tried not to look impatient.
"Almost immediately."
Jabba turned and spoke to Fortuna in a low voice. The Twi'lek listened, glancing at Boba, then gave a nod, bowed, and left.
"I have commanded that your ship be refueled and supplied," said Jabba. "The other hunters have already received their assignments from Bib Fortuna. They will be departing soon as well. But only you will be going to Xagobah."
Jabba reached into a vivarium. He plucked a single wuorl from the mass of froglike creatures squirming inside the tank, plopped it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully.
Ugh! thought Boba. He quickly looked down, adjusted the relay on his blaster, and waited for Jabba to finish.
"There is a small matter we still need to discuss," Jabba said. He gave another hearty belch. "Your fee."
"My fee?" Boba pretended to mull this over. He knew he must choose his words very carefully. He did not want to appear too anxious, like those other bounty hunters. He must be clever, and sly. Even more clever than Jabba himself - only Jabba must never know that.
"It is a very difficult bounty," Boba said at last. "The most perilous I have ever heard of. I have been working for you for several years now, 0 Most Humongous of Hutts. You, more than anyone, know how loyal I am to you. And how grateful I am that you have considered me for this task, knowing that I am still young."
Boba lowered his head. His voice was respectful; but not even Jabba the Hutt could see the determined look in the young bounty hunter's eyes. "Lord Jabba! I will accept whatever fee you feel is appropriate." Jabba's vast body seemed to balloon with delight. "Once again, a good answer! You alone show appreciation for my care! You alone I can always depend on. Therefore I will split the fee the Republic has promised me. I will keep seventy percent. The rest is yours, Boba." Only thirty percent! Others might laugh, or argue, but Boba knew better than that - Jabba usually kept ninety percent. Boba bowed. "Thank you, Most Generous of Gangsters. As you say, I am still young, and learning. And when I return from this mission, I will continue to work for you. By then my apprenticeship will be over. My fee will be higher. But my loyalty will remain the same." Boba's heart beat fast as he spoke these last words. He was taking a chance, and he knew it.
But being the best bounty hunter in the galaxy was all about chance. He stared unflinching at Jabba and waited for his reply. For a moment Jabba was silent. His yellow eyes blazed.
"When you return? When you return?" he said at last. His body began to shake with laughter. "Hoh hoh! Don't you mean if you return?" Jabba drew back upon his throne. "Go - now! Ready yourself for your adventure! If you return, we will discuss this further!"
"Yes, Lord Jabba," Boba replied. With a small bow he turned and very quickly left the throne room. That was a close one! he thought. Jabba's tone and the angry look in his eyes told Boba that he had gone perhaps too far this time!
Boba went to his quarters, a small set of rooms in the easternmost tower of Jabba's sprawling palace. When he got there, he hesitated and stood before the door.
It had been several months since he had been back. He was never here for more than a few days or weeks at a time, between jobs. Still, these rooms were the closest thing he had to a home.
He knew what he would find inside. His quarters were simple, almost spartan. The rooms of a warrior, with no frills besides a small stack of holobooks at his bedside. Books on strategy, navigation, Mandalorian weaponry techniques, scouting, and hunting; ancient texts on war. Most precious of all was the book left to him by his father. It contained his father's words and images. Along with his father's helmet, and the remnants of his father's armor, the book was Boba's most prized possession. He had learned more from that book than he had from any other. But he had learned even more from his own experience. Thinking about his father still made Boba sad. But he knew his father would be proud of his son. After all, he had just received a prize assignment from Jabba the Hutt!
Boba opened the door and went inside. His room was exactly as he had left it. Or was it?
"Hey..." Boba frowned.
Hadn't he left his Mandalorian helmet on board Slave I? Yet here it was, in the middle of his bed. Boba glanced around the room suspiciously.
But there was no sign of anyone. The door showed no signs of forced entry. His hand hovering above his blaster, he crossed to the bed. There was something else there, next to his father's helmet. A set of armor.
At first he thought it was the body armor that had belonged to Jango armor that Boba had longed to wear, but which was still too big for him.
"Huh," he said. He picked up the chest-piece, molded to fit Jango's muscular frame. "Wait a minute - something's different." The body armor was smaller than his father's. Boba held it up - and yes, it was sized to fit him. Perfectly.
He examined the armor carefully, still frowning. "Wow," he breathed in amazement.
There, slightly below the left side of the rib cage, a small indentation showed where long ago Jango had barely survived an assassin's blast.
Boba whooped in delight.
It was Jango's body armor!
"This is great!" he exclaimed aloud. Quickly he shut and locked his door. Then he changed from his customary uniform - a young Mandalorian soldier's pale blue tunic and trousers, the black knee-high boots that had been too small for him for almost a year. "I hope this fits!" It did - as if it had been made just for him. Blue fire-resistant pants with steel-colored armored kneepads and shinpads. An adult's tunic, much heavier and more durable than a youth's, with shoulder and chest armor, heavy weapons belt, wrist holsters, and protective gloves that felt like a second, sleeker skin. Last of all, Boba pulled on the boots - his father's boots, but with newly reinforced soles and heels that could withstand temperatures hot enough to melt iron. He had just grabbed his helmet when there was a knock at the door.
"Boba?" asked a familiar voice. "It's me, Ygabba - "
"And me, Gab'borah," chimed in a second voice. "Can we come in?"
"Sure!"
Boba yanked the door open. In the hall stood Ygabba and Gab'borah. Both of them were grinning ear to ear.
"It fits!" cried Ygabba. "I knew it would!" Boba stared at her. "You did this?"
"Yes! With his help." She cocked a thumb at her father. "Why do you think we were so careful to get your height measurement last time you were here? We knew you'd grow from that - and it looks like we were right!" Boba shook his head. He looked down at his new body armor, then at Ygabba and Gab'borah.
"This is the best thing anyone has ever given me," he said. He held up his helmet. "Except for this. And this - " He reached for his father's book, carefully slipped it into a pocket. "Ygabba. Gab'borah. How can I ever thank you?" Gab'borah shook his head. "You saved my daughter from that horrible Neimoidian, Gilramos," he said. "I will forever be in your debt."
"And don't forget - you saved all those other kids, too, Boba," said Ygabba. She looked at him, then pointed to his helmet, grinning. "I hope you didn't mind me picking that up for you from Slave I. I thought you'd want to try it on with the rest of your body armor. And you know, it wasn't the first time I've held on to that helmet for you." Boba laughed. When he first met Ygabba, she had been a street urchin, forced to steal for the evil Gilramos Libkath. And one of the things she'd tried to steal was his helmet!
"It sure wasn't," he said. "But it might be the last. Jabba is sending me on another bounty hunt." "So soon?" said Gab'borah. Boba nodded. "Yeah. But this is the great thing - it's my first job off-planet!"
"Awesome!" said Ygabba. Her voice held a touch of envy. "Where?" Boba hesitated. More than anything, he wanted to tell them of his prize assignment. After all, Gab'borah and Ygabba were the closest thing Boba had to a family.
But he could not afford the risk. He was in the first rank of Jabba's bounty hunters now.
And he wanted to stay there.
"I can't tell you," he said. "It would be too risky. Not just for me, but for you, too."
Ygabba looked disappointed, but her father nodded.
"We understand," he said. His voice sounded wistful, but his blue eyes shone. "We are very proud of you, Boba. Your father would be proud, too." Gab'borah reached into the pocket of his chef's robe and withdrew a small packet. "Here. These will last a long time. Wherever you're going, you'll need food." Boba took the packet. He peeled back a corner to see what was inside.
"Gleb rations!" He made a face, then said, "I mean, thank you, Gab'borah." Gleb rations didn't taste very good, but a single small cube provided enough energy and nutrients for a day's hard work.
"We'd better go," said Ygabba. She gave Boba a wistful smile. "I have one more thing for you. Not as exciting as gleb rations, but..." She held out a small object, about the size of Boba's hand.
"What is it?" he asked, taking the object. It was heaver than it looked, encased in a gray plasteel container.
"A surprise," said Ygabba. "Wait till you get wherever it is you're going. Then open it."
Boba nodded. "Thanks, Ygabba."
"You're welcome. I hope it helps." She grinned at Boba, pointing at his helmet. "You take care of that, too. I won't be around to watch it for you!"
Boba smiled. "Don't worry, " he said, waving good-bye as the two of them turned and walked back down the hall. "I will." |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_006.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER FIVE
Boba had been off-planet before, of course.
He had been born on rainswept Kamino, and had buried his father on Geonosis, a desert planet even more desolate than Tatooine. He had been to Aargau, where he retrieved what remained of his father's fortune and explored the planet's treacherous, mazelike Undercity. And before that he had been on a moon of Bogden, and the poisoned world of Raxus Prime. Raxus Prime was where Boba had met up with the man his father had called "The Count."
Some people knew the Count as Dooku, a leader of the Separatists. Others knew him as Tyranus. Darth Tyranus was the agent who had chosen Jango Fett as the source for the Republic's vast clone army. Now the Republic and the Separatists were at war. Count Dooku and Tyranus were on opposing sides of the conflict.
And only Boba Fett knew that Tyranus and Dooku were the same man. This knowledge had saved Boba's life on Aargau. This knowledge was a weapon.
Like a weapon, it gave Boba great power.
And like a weapon, it had the power to kill those who used it. In the cockpit of Slave Boba made a last-minute check that his firearms were stored and ready for use.
"Jet pack, blaster, jet pack generator, ion stunner, grappling missile." Boba counted off his deadly array. "Dart shooter, rocket launchers, whipcord thrower..."
Jabba might be greedy and disgusting and power-hungry. But when it came to outfitting his favorite bounty hunter, he was as generous as his Gamorrean guards were stupid.
New weapons gleamed from Slave I's storage bays: blaster, ionizers, plasma missiles. And, at Boba's request, Jabba had arranged for brand-new sensor-jammers to be installed on Slave I, as well as a state-of-the-art interstitial stealth shield. But best of all was the shining set of Westar 34 blasters on Boba's weapons belt.
"I'll never let you down, Father. Not as long as I have these," Boba murmured as he checked a blaster's power cell cartridge. Once the Westar-34s had belonged to Jango Fett. Now they were his son's. The blasters had been designed by Jango, and specially made for him. Compact enough to fit in a jet pack, the weapons were cast of a nearly priceless dallorian alloy, designed to withstand furnace heat. Boba wasn't sure what was in store for him on Xagobah. But he was pretty sure things would heat up once he got there. He settled behind the ship's console and set his course for Xagobah. He glanced out the viewscreen.
"Looks like I'm not the only bounty hunter anxious to leave," he said. In the docking bay around him, dozens of other ships were getting ready to depart Tatooine. Astromech droids and Ughnaught mechanics were everywhere, scrambling to make last-minute adjustments to starships and speeders. In the hazy, red-tinged air above him Boba could make out more starships, flashing like falling stars. He pressed Slave I's thruster igniters.
With a deafening rumble and an explosive burst of flame from its fusion reactors, Slave I shot from the landing bay.
"Yes!"
Boba's heart pounded with the thrill that accompanied every new mission. Below him, the Dune Sea spread like flame across the surface of Tatooine. And like flame the brilliant red-and-orange dunes almost immediately faded into black, as Slave I pierced the planet's atmosphere and headed into the vast realm of space.
Boba checked the coordinates for Xagobah. He glanced out the viewscreen and saw the usual flash and flare of planets and distant stars. He frowned. "What's that?"
At the bottom of the viewscreen, something glittered and darted like an asteroid. Something that shouldn't be there.
"There's no asteroids in this sector," said Boba. "No recent planetary upheavals..."
Boba quickly checked Slave I's flight plan. There was no sign of meteor activity. The glittering spark grew larger on the viewscreen. Boba leaned forward.
"That's no meteor!"
Instinctively he reached for the control unit of Slave I's missile deployer.
"That's a fighter!" he cried. "And it's tailing me!" His fingers flashed across the console. Immediately the enlarged image of a Koro-1 exodrive air-speeder filled the screen. Furiously Boba punched at the console. He needed that vehicle's registration data... Silvery letters filled the screen. Andoan registry, licensed to Urzan Krag of Krag Fanodo.
"The Aqualish," Boba breathed. "He wanted this assignment, too. Well, he's not going to get it!"
Before him on the viewscreen was a white-hot burst. Slave I shuddered as though it were starting re-entry.
"He's firing on me!"
Immediately Boba went into attack mode. The Andoan vessel blinked from sight.
"He has a cloaking device," muttered Boba. "Well, so do I." Boba deployed Slave l's sensor jammers, then activated the protose detectors. They indicated that the Andoan ship was somewhere behind him.
"You want to play hide-and-seek?" said Boba. He grasped the controls of Slave I's laser cannons and fired. "Well, hide from that!" The energy bolts streaked through the black emptiness outside the ship. They found their target and seemed to liquefy around it. The Andoan speeder's outlines appeared, cloaked in a blazing plasma skin. The Andoan vessel seemed to hover like a teardrop waiting to fall. An instant later a blinding flare of blue-white plasma engulfed the Aqualish's ship.
"Gotcha!" exclaimed Boba.
Backlash waves of energy from the blast pulsed around Slave I, then dispersed. Where the Andoan speeder had been, brilliant specks of debris floated, like a miniature asteroid field.
"What a great way to start the day!" gloated Boba. His eyes shone as he activated Slave I's navigation program. He leaned forward, his fingers automatically programming the coordinates for his destination.
"Next stop - Xagobah!" |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_007.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER SIX
Boba was not surprised that Wat Tambor had chosen Xagobah for his citadel. This entire sector was known to be a favorite of smugglers making their way between more habitable regions. Jabba had underworld contacts on various planets there.
Still, until he had received his assignment, Boba had never heard the crime lord mention Xagobah.
He had never heard anyone mention it. "But there it is," he murmured. Dead ahead of Slave I, a planet shimmered into view. Boba blinked, wondering if his eyes had gone funny.
The planet seemed out of focus. Its outlines were blurred, as though a vast hand had drawn it with colored ink, then smudged it. Yet as Slave I drew nearer, Boba saw that the problem was not with his eyes. The problem was with Xagobah.
The entire planet seethed with colors. Purple, violet, lavender, maroon, plum: every shade of purple Boba had ever seen, and many he could not have imagined. The colors shifted and moved above the world's surface like an immense, restless demonsquid. Tentacles of indigo and violet spiked thousands of kilometers upward into the atmosphere, then retracted. As Slave 1 began its descent, Boba glimpsed jagged flashes of lightning below Xagobah's violet haze.
Atmospheric storms.
"That's not good," he said to himself. He saw something else, too. It hovered hawklike, safely out of reach of the lightning storms - one of the largest vehicles he had ever seen. A Republic assault ship.
"They sure mean business," Boba said grimly. Quickly he checked to make sure Slave l's cloaking device was still activated. "Now - let's take a closer look."
He drew Slave I as close as he dared to the troopship. It was an Acclamator, one of the military transports specially built by the Republic to carry clone troops across the galaxy. Each ship held up to 16,000 clone troopers, as well as armored walkers, gunships, speeders, and ammunition supplies.
And there would be Republic command personnel on board as well - and Republic military commanders on Xagobah's surface.
"Which is where I'm headed," said Boba. "Better get there, fast!" He took a final look at the Acclamator. Then he hit the thrusters. Slave I shot toward Xagobah.
Outside, streamers of purple and lavender whipped past. Boba thought about the troopship. It certainly looked like the Republic had sent an entire clone army to lay siege to Wat Tambor.
From what Boba knew about the Separatists, they would have their own army, geared to fight back.
A droid army. Battle droids, super battle droids, spider droids, the works.
Boba's grip tightened on Slave I's controls. He had successfully fought droids back on Tatooine, when he rescued Ygabba and the other kids from the evil Neimoidian.
But he'd never had to fight an entire army of them! "Good thing I have my body armor," said Boba. "And my blasters..." The ship's nav program showed he was fast approaching the surface. He still wasn't sure what Xagobah looked like, close up. But he knew what he would find there - Trouble. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_008.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER SEVEN
Boba locked Slave I into cruising mode. Outside, shreds of dark purple mist flew by like flocks of winged mynocks. Boba watched the haze grow thicker - and darker - the closer he came to Xagobah's surface I still have no idea what kind of life-forms are native to this place, he thought. He peered through the writhing fog. It was almost impossible to see anything, which meant it would be difficult for others to see him.
"That's a good thing, too." Boba reached for his jet pack. "The Republic is after Wat Tambor. And Wat Tambor will be busy defending himself against the clone troops - and none of them will be happy to see me coming! "
He turned back to Slave I's console. Outside, the mist no longer moved. Instead, it hung like a heavy, purplish curtain over everything. As Slave I cruised a short distance above the surface, Boba got his first glimpse of Xagobah.
And what he saw there was disgusting! "Mushrooms?" exclaimed Boba. Only these weren't ordinary mushrooms. They were as tall as trees; as tall as the rock formations that surrounded Jabba's fortress. He saw orange fungi shaped like towers, with long rubbery appendages dangling from them like arms. He saw entire forests of umbrella-shaped mushrooms, yellow, crimson, poisonous green. In spots the ground was covered with a carpet of wriggling things like hair or fur. They waved and changed color as the ship passed overhead, darkening from pink to darkest violet. Some of the tallest mushrooms sported fungi like ladders crawling up their sides. Really crawling, like slugs or gigantic swollen caterpillars.
"Gross!" said Boba.
Though it was also sort of cool, in a horrible way. He stared at a huge fungi that looked like a bloated jellyfish. It pulsed and belched clouds of purple-black smoke as Boba's ship hovered above it. Only it wasn't smoke, but spores.
"That's what the fog is," Boba realized in amazement. "Not mist, or clouds - but billions and billions of mushroom spores! I wonder if it's safe to breathe?"
Quickly he logged into the ship's medical computer and read the data there.
It is recommended that you take an antidote before setting foot on Xagobah, as a precaution. Most of the fungi are harmless, but some have toxins that can be fatal if swallowed or breathed. Others can cause changes to non-native biological entities.
"Like me?" asked Boba, as he took a small inhaler out of his med kit. Boba breathed in the antidote, then tossed the empty inhaler.
"Changes," he mused. "I wonder what kind of changes? Well, I'll have plenty of time to find out - later. Right now I'm out to find Wat Tambor." Slave I was cruising well below the mushroom forest's canopy now. But in the distance, Boba could see something other than rubbery fungi and coiling tendrils. Laser fire.
He stared out as bolts of bright blue flame erupted through the haze of purple and black. For a moment the flares illuminated the scene below.
"There it is," breathed Boba.
In the center of a large clearing an immense structure loomed: Wat Tambor's fortress. It was too dim to see clearly. But Boba could make out dark slashes about 500 meters from the citadel - a series of trenches engineered by the Republic's troops. More laser fire rose from here, streaking toward the fortress walls. Boba could just make out myriad forms moving through the shadows.
"Clone troopers," he said aloud, preparing to land. "This is where the action is. Which means - that's exactly where I'm going!" Back on Tatooine, one of the first things Boba had done was arrange for his ship to be completely overhauled by Mentis Qinx. At the time, Boba had no credits to pay for the work. He'd bluffed his way into it, projecting enough confident authority that he'd fooled Qinx's administrative droid.
And the bluff had paid off. Qinx had upgraded Slave I's power cells. He had installed a series of camo covers that concealed new turbolasers and concussion missile launchers. He had upgraded the engineering console. He had even replaced the existing hardware grid with a larger one. Someday, that grid would accommodate more advanced stealth hardware. Unfortunately, Qinx hadn't installed it yet. "That'll be your next big project, Qinx," muttered Boba.
He stared up at the vast Republic assault ship hovering just beyond the planet's atmosphere. Slave l's interstitial shield had worked beautifully out there, with the Republic's eyes trained on the surface of Xagobah.
But would it work here on the planet itself?
He activated all the ship's auxiliary cloaking devices and began to land.
Below, the mushroom forest swayed and tossed as Slave I descended. Clouds of spores drifted across the viewscreens. In the near distance, flickers of blue and gold exploded through the violet haze. He had landed behind the front lines; if he'd tried to fly directly to the citadel, both Republic and Separatist forces would've been alerted to his presence. And Boba needed both stealth and surprise if he was going to capture Wat Tambor.
More laser fire.
The Republic's forces were very close.
With a shudder, Slave I touched down.
"Here we are," Boba muttered. A chill crept across him, but he ignored it. Facing down fear had become second nature to him. He glanced at his father's book, stowed safely beneath the console. Not long ago, Boba would have taken it with him for good luck, and to give him confidence. But not now. Boba had developed discipline, and with that came confidence. And he had memorized every word of Jango's advice. Now Boba carried the memory of his father inside him, along with the knowledge of his own strength.
As for luck? Boba took a deep breath. We make our own luck, Jango had told him. Caution, cunning, preparedness - that's what luck consists of. Oh - and a great set of weapons doesn't hurt, his father had added with a rare smile.
Thinking of Jango made Boba smile sadly. "Well, I've got the weapons, that's for sure," he said.
He did a brisk check of his firearms, sliding a palm shooter onto one hand. With the other he checked the array of weapons on his belt. A vibroshiv; a single CryoBan grenade that Jabba had given him as reward for an earlier success; his blasters. The Mandalorian body armor, stronger and tougher than chyrsalide hide, as supple as Boba's own skin. Man, this feels great! he thought, flexing his arms. He checked that his Westar blasters were fully charged. That should be enough.... He started for the hatch, then stopped. His gaze fell upon a small object resting alongside the flight console.
Ygabba's gift.
He picked it up, feeling again how heavy it was for something so small. Carefully, he opened it.
"Whoa!" His eyes widened in delight. "A holoshroud!" He examined it closely: compact power cell, hologram generator and projector, hologram cartridge and tuner. As he turned it, a small text doc slid out. Boba recognized Ygabba's neat handwriting. Boba Bet you didn't expect this! I used Jabba's hologram recorder to scan an image for you on the hologram cartridge. Seeing that'll be your next surprise!
The bad news is you can't check it out until you actually use it and the power cell only lasts for two minutes. So save it for when you really need it. Can't wait to hear how it all turns out! Your friend, Ygabba
Boba shook his head, marveling.
"Ygabba, you definitely have the best taste in presents," he said at last. He locked the holoshroud in place on his belt. "Guess that's it..." He was ready to go. For a moment he looked longingly at his jet pack. That would sure make it faster to get around.
But as he reached for the jet pack, he heard a burst of laser fire from outside. There was an answering volley, followed by an explosion. Boba shook his head. "Too risky."
Reluctantly he left the jet pack where it was. He adjusted his helmet so it covered his face and stepped forward, opening the airlock. For one last instant, he stopped and stared back at the interior of his ship - he hoped he'd make it back here. Then he closed the airlock and opened the outer door.
A rush of warm, marshy air surrounded him, thick with the smells of rot and stagnant water. A flare of cannon fire made the towering mushrooms shake like grass in the wind. He heard distant comm static and shouting, the scream of something that was not human.
Boba smiled. "Wat Tambor, here I come!" His hand poised above his blaster, Boba Fett took his first step onto the surface of Xagobah - and into the unknown. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_009.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER EIGHT
Slave I had landed in a small clearing in the mushroom forest. After checking that the area was safe, Boba ran quietly until he reached the edge of the clearing. He stopped and looked back.
His ship was gone.
For a moment Boba's heart stopped. "What?" Could the Republic forces have found him so soon?
Suddenly he remembered. Jabba's interstitial shield! He laughed hoarsely. "Guess that proves the cloaking device works!" Boba gazed to where his ship was hidden. I'll be back as soon as I can, he thought. With Wat Tambor - dead or alive!
He touched his helmet in farewell, turned and began to make his way through the forest. "Ugh!"
Boba swatted at a thick, slimy purple-green tendril that reached for him from an overhanging branch. The tendril recoiled like a cratsch preparing to strike. A cloud of green mist puffed out from it, and a smell like rotten meat.
Boba grimaced. "Funny, Jabba didn't mention moving, stinking mushrooms!"
He activated his helmet's filtration system. As he stepped forward his boots sank into sticky ooze. "Ugh!" Boba groaned again. From the air, Xagobah's fungus-covered surface had appeared solid. But now that he stood on it, or in it, Boba saw it was about as solid as mugruebe mucus. He pulled his foot up. There was a loud belching sound, as the ground beneath sucked at his boot hungrily.
Maybe leaving the jet pack behind hadn't been such a good idea.... Before he could take another step, a deafening sound tore the air overhead, followed by a blinding burst of flame. Instinctively Boba flung himself back toward an umbrella-shaped fungus three times his height. That was his first mistake.
"Hey!" Boba shouted.
The huge mushroom had a gash in its side, big enough to hold Boba. He thought he could hide there from whoever was firing. Instead, great slimy folds of fungus suddenly extended from the mushroom, like huge mynock wings. They covered him until he was wrapped in a slimy cocoon, with only his head free. Then they yanked him backward to the base of the fungus tree. A putrid scent filled his nostrils. Boba's hands lashed out, struggling to free himself.
That was his second mistake.
The instant his fingers touched the rippling fungus, they were stuck fast. And the more he struggled, the worse it got. Within minutes, he was entirely stuck. He could feel his blaster at his waist, but he couldn't move to retrieve it. His fingertips grazed the handle of his vibroshiv, but he couldn't free it. He could scarcely breathe.
And that, unfortunately, seemed to be the point. Because Boba could still see. And what he saw was that he was slowly, inescapably, being pulled toward the gash in the side of the great mushroom-tree.
Only it wasn't just a gash. And it wasn't a hole. It was moving, opening wider and wider the closer he drew to it.
And suddenly Boba knew what it was - A mouth. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_010.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER NINE
The fungus was like some horrible hybrid of mushroom and spider. The folds enveloping Boba were like a web.
And the mouth - well, it was exactly like a mouth! Boba could smell it, the rotting scent of whatever its last meal had been. And he could see it, row upon row of crimson, razor-sharp teeth stretching deep inside the mushroom's trunk.
Now what?
He tried kicking again.
Nothing. He was completely immobilized. The fungal tree's mouth was only meters away now. Boba glared at it through his helmet. He couldn't move them, but still his hands clenched angrily.
Wait a minute...
Just beneath one hand he could feel the tip of something hard and smooth: his Stokhli spray stick. Boba had taken it from a Stokhli nomad who'd given him a hard time in Mos Eisley one day.
He'd stuck it on his weapons belt and, truth to tell, he'd almost forgotten about it, despite the fact that spray sticks cost a lot of credits. It was small and slender, with a stun pad at the very bottom and spray mist cartridges a few millimeters above.
Blllaaaerghhh...
A sound came from the fungal tree, a disgusting moan of pleasure that Boba interpreted as "dinnertime!"
"Not yet," he grunted. He clenched his hand again, his fingertips grazing the spray stick. He had no way of taking aim at the fungus, no way of adjusting the spray mist net or the electrical charge it delivered. If it backfired, Boba would find himself entangled all over again, still unable to move
Not that it would matter!
Aaaaergghhhh!
A pale purple tongue protruded from the mushroom's slobbering mouth. Flecks of foul-smelling saliva splattered across Boba's helmet. With every ounce of strength he had, Boba focused on moving his finger toward the spray stick.
Just an iota, just the merest fraction - And
There was a muffled report. At Boba's side the spray stick shuddered as though it would explode - and then it did!
"Gotcha!" crowed Boba.
A shimmering mist erupted from the stick's tip. It surrounded Boba, but it did not adhere to him. Instead it fixed itself to the slimy membrane that wrapped him like a cocoon. It formed a second web, a net strong enough to hold a charging myntor.
A powerful electrical surge pulsed through the spray mist net. Good thing I have my helmet and body armor! Boba thought. As the pulsing charge stunned its prey, Boba flung himself forward. Around him the fungus membrane slackened then recoiled. He was free!
He heard an unhappy slurping sound, then a sort of sizzling groan. The next instant he was on the ground, rolling away from the mushroom tree. He stopped himself, then clambered to his feet. His hand felt for the stun stick, disabling it.
"Well, that came in handy," he said.
A few meters off, the mushroom tree quivered and moaned. The stun-net covered its mouth. Its pale tongue poked pathetically at the webbing, while above it the tree's umbrella crown drooped.
"Only a great bounty hunter could have pulled that off!" boasted Boba as he brushed himself off. "And - "
He stiffened. His hand hovered above his blaster as he turned, as slowly as he dared, to face the creature behind him.
"And only a fool would have approached a flimmel tree during feeding hours," it said coolly.
"Who are you?" demanded Boba.
But he might have asked, What are you?
The creature regarded him calmly. It was reptilian, a little taller than Boba and with long, muscular arms and legs clad in what looked like a carno uniform of purple and gray. Its large, almond-shaped eyes were coldly intelligent, its lipless mouth curved in a slight smile to reveal sharp teeth. Its wiry forearms were curled around a blaster rifle. And the blaster was pointed right at Boba Fett. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_011.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER TEN
"Who am I?" repeated the creature. "On Xagobah, we like to ask questions before we answer them. But - "
The roaring whine of a missile passed overhead. Boba flinched. A moment later the missile impacted a short distance away, sending him falling to his knees. He looked up to see the creature staring down at him, still eerily calm.
"But we seem to find ourselves on the same side for the moment," the creature went on, as though nothing had happened. The muzzle of its blaster remained fixed on Boba as it motioned for him to get up.
"And what side is that?" snapped Boba.
"The wrong one," retorted the creature, as another missile whizzed overhead. "Quickly!"
It jammed the blaster rifle into Boba's side, gesturing toward the mushroom forest.
"No way!" Boba shook his head. "I've already made dinner plans, and they don't include being the main course!"
The creature made a low growling sound. Boba stiffened, then realized the thing was laughing. "Dinner plans!" it repeated. "That is good! Feeding time is over - " It poked him again, harder this time. Reluctantly, Boba began moving toward the fungi forest.
"The flimmel trees share an underground root system," the creature continued. "They are thousands of years old, and when one is hurt, they all suffer. And that one was very badly hurt!"
It indicated the flimmel tree that Boba had escaped from. Its canopy had retracted completely. It looked like a closed - and very mournful umbrella.
"None of them will be hungry for a little while." The creature shot Boba an admiring glance. "That was a good jolt you gave it."
"Thanks," said Boba. He regarded the creature warily. But its own expression as it stared back at him was mostly curious. Boba positioned his hand so that it was near his blaster.
What's the best way to deal with this thing - whatever it is? he wondered.
The alien was armed, but so was Boba. He could blast it - but what if there were others nearby?
He looked at the alien from the corner as his eye. As he did, the echo of laser fire made the surrounding mushroom forest shake as though a gale tore through it.
don't even know what side of the conflict it's on, Boba brooded. A sudden staccato burst of comm static made up his mind. That was way too close, Boba thought. And he could tell from a glance at the alien that it felt the. same way. Boba decided to take matters into his own hands. He adjusted his helmet, squaring his shoulders to make himself seem as tall as possible.
"We better find shelter - fast," he said. To his surprise, the alien nodded. "This way," it said, turning to lope into the forest. Boba followed, trying not to trip over clumps of dimly glowing mushrooms like tiny, domed cities scattered underfoot. He kept his hand on his weapon, scanning the shadowy fungus-growth around him for signs of an ambush.
Thankfully, he saw nothing, save the clusters of gleaming mushrooms and the occasional flimmeltree. They ran for several minutes. A second burst of comm static sounded - much closer this time. Boba could even make out words: Tambor Angalarra, Ulu, Suspect Ambush..
Suspect ambush. Boba's grip on his blaster tightened. Scant meters ahead his reptilian guide paused in front of an enormous mushroom tree the color of demonsquid ink. Like the flimmel tree, it was topped by a parasol shaped crown. Unlike the flimmel tree, this one had wobbly limbs protruding from it. They reminded Boba of the spokes of a wheel - if the spokes had started to melt.
"This way!" hissed the alien. It made a running leap and nimbly swung its clawed forearms over the lowest branch. The entire fungus seemed about to keel over. Almost immediately the plant straightened, its limbs coiling and uncoiling like fingers.
"Hurry!" the alien called urgently. "Come here!" Boba stared up at it. Its lidless jade-green eyes stared back. Then it turned and began clambering farther up the fungus stalk. As it did it made a soft clicking sound, as though it were talking to the mushroom. The entire tree shuddered as a low rumbling sound shook the air.
"Uh, thanks, but no thanks!" Boba yelped. He started to back away. Before he could move, the tree's lowest branch snaked toward him. It looped itself around his waist, firmly but gently; then quick as lightning pulled him into the air.
Kafl000m!
Fragments of dirt and shattered fungus pelted him. Boba stared at the ground in horror. Where he had stood, there yawned a mortar hole the size of a speeder. Flickers of flame ran around its perimeter. He smelled the ozone stink of a pulse grenade.
"That was way too close!" exclaimed Boba. Beside him the alien nodded.
"Indeed," it said.
Boba blinked. For the first time he realized where he was: halfway up a huge fungus, with an armed and possibly hungry reptile next to him. He was outnumbered, at least for the moment.
Better play dumb, he thought.
"Uh, I know you don't like to answer questions - but can you tell me exactly what's going on?"
The alien regarded him with its calm, intelligent eyes. It looked him up and down, taking in his Mandalorian body armor and helmet, his weapons. One of its clawed hands absently stroked the stalk of the fungus tree. After a moment it spoke - but not in answer to Boba's question. It gave a series of clicks and growls, seemingly directed to the tree. The tree responded by extending a long slender tendril toward Boba's head. Ulp! he thought, but stood his ground. The tendril touched his helmet, then his chest. It remained there, pressed against the smooth body armor. Boba could feel his heart pounding. After a moment he realized the tree could feel it, too.
It's checking me out!
Boba felt a sneaking admiration. The alien reptile looked at Boba and nodded. Its mouth parted in a razor-toothed smile.
"The fungus has a primitive sensory system that responds to heat and motion. It detects an elevated heart rate. Your garb indicates you are a warrior and, I suspect, a mercenary one intending to attack me. I am not a warrior."
The alien leaned against the fungus stalk. Its jade eyes grew clouded. "But I have learned to bear weapons, as you see. My name is Xeran. I am a Xamster. My family has been bound to this malviltree, Malubi, for one thousand turns of Xagobah. Once hundreds of us lived here and harvested Malubi's spores. Now only I remain."
Xeran's voice grew sad. "War has come to Xagobah. Though we wanted no part of it, still war claimed us. Many of my people have been forced to serve one side or the other. Many others fled, only to be shot in flight. Our malvil-trees are dying of neglect and loneliness. And now I am caught between two armies - " It lifted one clawed hand and pointed. "There. Can you see them?"
Boba strained, but even adjusting his helmet's focus didn't help. "No, " he replied.
The alien made another series of clicks. The fungus tree - Malubi extended another tendril. This one was thicker and less rubbery. The alien hopped onto it, then motioned for Boba to do the same. He did, and the alien grasped him as the tendril bore them up, up, up, until they were at Malubi's very top.
"Wow," breathed Boba in amazement.
Up here they were above the velvety haze of purple spores. Boba could see the canopy of the mushroom forest waving gently beneath. He could see the little clearing where he had left Slave 1, though of course his ship was invisible to him behind its cloaking device.
And Boba's breath caught in his throat. He grasped tightly at Malubi's rubbery appendage. He was glad Xeran could not see his face behind his Mandalorian helmet. Because the top of the malvil-tree also gave him a clear and terrifying view of what he had come here for. From the air, the Republic's trenches had looked like slashes in the ground. Now Boba saw how carefully constructed they were. Each held a line of thirty or so clone troopers, heavily armed. Waves of fire erupted from the trenches, arching through the air toward the fortress. With each bombast, a group of clone troopers would charge from the trenches - Only to be met by an opposing charge of droids! Boba whistled. The Republic's forces were impressive - he figured there were hundreds, maybe a thousand, clone troopers arrayed on the battle field below. But the citadel was so well-defended that Boba could not suppress a gasp.
"Jabba was right about Wat Tambor," he muttered. A master of defense technologies, the gangster had said of him; and now Boba could see how true that was. Through the haze of spores and laser fire, Boba got his first glimpse of the Separatist's droid army: lines of battle droids marching relentlessly, tirelessly, toward the clone troopers to breach the Republic's lines.
That looked bad enough. But what made Boba's hand tighten on his blaster wasn't the clashing armies.
For the first time, he could clearly see Wat Tambor's citadel. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_012.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"So that's it," murmured Boba.
"Yes," said Xeran. "The Mazariyan Citadel. The cause of all my troubles."
"And the beginning of mine," Boba replied, trying not to shiver. Mazariyan rose from the planet's surface, unimaginably immense, a looming dull black. Its sides were stepped, like the sides of an ancient pyramid of Yavin. But even from this distance Boba could tell that the edifice was not just a building.
The dull black, smooth surface seemed to pulse with life. Flickers of energylike lightning ran up and down its sides. On the levels above, shining black spines protruded. The spines were twice the length of Boba's body and as sharp as javelins. He could see where dark shapes had been impaled upon them. Even as he watched, one of the spines began to slowly retract, like a machine. Boba watched in horror as a limp form slid from it, falling and bouncing down the fortress's side.
"The tyrant who is holed up there has twisted the evolution of Xagobah's lifeforms," said Xeran. His tone was steady, but Boba saw that the alien's face was strained. "He has taken fungus that were benign, feeding only on bacteria. He has taken our gentle malvil-trees. He has bio engineered them so that they are now perverted and kill things without feeding on them."
"Things like humanoids," said Boba in a low voice.
"That is correct," agreed Xeran. "And Xamsters."
"What is this tyrant's name?" asked Boba. But he already knew what the answer would be.
"Wat Tambor," said Xeran. "He is evil. And as you can see, he has brought evil to us - "
Xeran pointed to where a dark mass stretched about five hundred meters from the citadel in its long shadow. "Those are just some of the Republic's troops gathered there. They have laid siege for weeks now. No matter how many arrive, few are able to gain entrance. And when they do, we hear rumor of what they find inside. Wat Tambor's command of technology has made him ruthless. There are no prisoners inside his citadel. And no survivors." Boba looked back at Mazariyan. He found he could not take his eyes from the sight, horrible as it was. "The Republic's using clone troopers," he said, more to himself than Xeran.
"Yes. Sometimes the Republic has forced my people to fight, paying them well. Yet the Republic has lost many non-clone fighters. Fighters they could not afford to lose. So their chiefs have sent in a Jedi General named Glynn-Beti to lead their forces."
Boba's eyes grew cold and hard. "Glynn-Beti?" He didn't speak his thought: She's the Jedi who Jabba told me about.
"Yes. Glynn-Beti is a Jedi Master, and a fearless warrior. Also a shrewd one."
"She can't be that shrewd," said Boba. He smiled coldly. "Otherwise her troops would have already captured Wat Tambor and taken the citadel." To Boba's surprise, the reptilian alien once more made the growling sound that passed for Xamster laughter.
"That is very amusing!" Xeran's jade-green eyes fixed on Boba. "It is a rare gift, to be able to find amusement when faced with danger. Or death. "
He peered at Boba more closely. "You have not told me your name, stranger, or your business here. And I will not ask you. I suspect we share a common enemy. And if that is the case, it is best I do not know your intent. That way I cannot betray you."
Boba nodded. "Thank you," he said.
"Though I can, perhaps, help you." Xeran glanced at Boba's weapons belt. "You are already well-armed. Better armed than I am," he said, and patted his own blaster. "My weapon came from a trooper I was forced to slay in self-defense. He would have harmed Malubi." The Xamster stroked the malvil tree. "No, stranger. I do not think I can offer you better weapons. But I can offer you advice.
"All of this territory is disputed, with battles erupting at anytime." Xeran pointed to the battlefield below them. "Your only hope of approaching the citadel is to come down from the north - that is the far side, there." Boba's heart sank. "There are a thousand clone troopers between here and there!" He patted his blaster, then shook his head. "But I have no other choice, so - "He started to climb down.
"Wait." Xeran's cool scaly hand gently restrained him. "You may not have a choice. But you do have a means of approaching without being seen." The Xamster turned. Standing on tiptoe, he extended his claws to pluck a dark purple globe from the malvil-tree's stalk. As he did, a small puff of violet smoke emerged from the globe, then disappeared. Once more Boba felt the malvil-tree tremble, then grow still.
"This globe contains Malubi's spores," explained Xeran. "The spores are harmless in themselves. Yet they are not useless. They act as a powerful camouflage agent. Organic life-forms cannot see through the haze produced by the spores. Neither can the droids - the spores reflect light too high on the spectrum for the droids to register through their optics. Wat Tambor has exploited the spores for his own purposes, to camouflage his vessels. But when the spores are carried by the wind, they act as chemical messengers between the trees."
Xeran's lipless mouth curved in a smile to reveal white razorlike teeth. He held up a small pouch, opened it, and took a pinch of what looked like lavender powder between his claws.
"Here," he said, gesturing at Boba's hand. "Take this. Put it into your eyes, beneath your helmet. It will enable you to see through the haze. "
Boba held out his gloved hand. Xeran dropped a small amount of the lavender powder into his palm. Boba stared at it, then at the Xamster. Could Xeran be trusted?
Boba hesitated. He had learned over the last few years to trust his instincts - one of a bounty hunter's most powerful assets. And his instincts told him now that Xeran was telling the truth.
"Thanks," Boba said. He turned away, momentarily raising his helmet. He tilted his head back, and let a few grains of the powder fall into his eyes. He felt a faint prickling, but that was all. He blinked, lowered his helmet, and turned back to Xeran.
The Xamster nodded approvingly. "The effect is not permanent. But it may help you. And here - - "
He held out a small purple orb. "Take this globe with you. Malubi has already imprinted you as one who means us no harm. The other malvil-trees will recognize you. They will not harm you. But if you have need of camouflage, crush this globe. The spores will be released." Boba took the globe. "Thank you," he said. Carefully he slipped it into his utility pouch.
"Something else I will tell you," added Xeran. "There is a fungus we call Xabar. It has many small tentacles. It is a very deep purple in color, with brilliant red tips. Wat Tambor has taken this fungus as well and made it into a weapon. Its tentacles release a toxin. The toxin causes paralysis. Not permanent, fortunately. But very effective. Anyone who comes into contact with it is immobilized. Completely. Consciousness remains, but not the ability to move."
"Thank you," said Boba. "I will remember." From somewhere beneath them came a burst of laser fire.
"I have to go now," said Boba. He looked down at the battlefield that stretched between him and Wat Tambor's living citadel. Then he turned to Xeran. "I owe you one, Xeran. Thanks again." The Xamster nodded solemnly. Its jade-green eyes narrowed, and it smiled. "You do not need to thank me. When you destroy our shared enemy, do so in the memory of my malvil. That will be thanks enough for me. And for Malubi," he added.
Boba smiled. As he did, one of the malvil-tree's tentacle branches snaked around him. Very gently it lifted Boba, then slowly brought him to the ground.
"I will not forget!" Boba called back as Xeran waved at him. "For Malubi!"
"For Malubi!" Xeran echoed.
Lifting one clawed hand in farewell, the alien slipped back into the violet shadows of his malviltree. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_013.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER TWELVE
A hundred meters up in Malubi's violet canopy, Xagobah had for a little while seemed a quiet, even peaceful, place.
That peace was shattered as soon as Boba's feet touched the ground.
"Captain! Intruder in your sector!" a voice shouted from only a few meters off.
His father's voice.
For an instant Boba froze. Then brilliant blue flame exploded, close enough that he could feel its heat through his body armor.
"Whoa!"
With a muffled shout Boba dove for the underbrush. The voice shouted again. "Captain! Did we score a hit?" Boba crouched beneath an overhanging net of webbed fungi. He peered out and saw a figure stalking into the clearing.
His father's figure, cloaked in the gleaming, gray-white body armor and mask of the Republic army. A clone trooper.
"Captain, do you copy?"
Boba tried not to breathe as the trooper moved with sure, heavy steps, until he was just an arm's length from where Boba was hidden. He was close enough that Boba could clearly see the back of his helmet. Boba had seen the clones many times before, of course. He could remember them being raised by the thousands on Kamino. And he had met a young clone, 9779, on Aargau. Clones were known mainly by their numerical designation.
Could this be 9779, grown to his full size?
The thought made Boba feel slightly sick. He forced it from his mind, and stared from the shadows at the trooper. Like all the clones, the captain had his father's build. It also had Jango's strength. Boba could tell from how easily it hefted its weapon, a DC-15 rifle that would have made Boba's arm ache.
"Checking it out," the clone answered into its comlink. "I see no sign of an intruder. Hold your fire."
It gave one more look around the clearing. Then it slid its rifle back into an upright position, turned, and strode off.
"Whew." Boba let his breath out in relief. That was close! He waited until the clone trooper was just a pale fleck among the mushroom trees. Then Boba began to follow it. He kept within the shadows of the overhanging fungus, moving swiftly and stealthily as a stalking cratsch.
Now and then a slender mushroom stalk would reach out tentatively to brush against his helmet, or touch his hand. Whenever this happened Boba would pause, holding his breath.
But it seemed as though Malubi's spores must have warned the other fungus of Boba's coming. Their tendrils would only touch him. Then they would withdraw. Sometimes a small puff of purple would appear above him. Then he would see other mushroom trees ahead of him swaying gently. Thanks, Xeran, Boba thought. And Malubi.
He patted the trunk of a very young malvil-tree, then stopped. In front of him, the mushroom forest abruptly ended. Beyond it, the ground looked scorched. When he looked up he saw the hovering shadows of Republic ships, like black clouds in the purple mist. When he looked down, he saw black circles where transport vehicles had landed and departed. In other places, there were holes and small craters left by exploding weaponry. Smoking bits of vegetation were elsewhere. And other things, too. Things Boba wished he hadn't seen.
For reassurance he made sure the purple globe was still in his pocket. His hand tightened on his blaster.
He waited, trying to figure out what to do next. There was no point running out into the middle of a battle. Nine-tenths of any bounty hunter's success is proper planning, Jango had always told him.
"So all I need is a plan," Boba muttered. He squinted through the haze of smoke and spores. From here he had a clearer view of Wat Tambor's citadel.
It sure didn't look any better. It was well-guarded, for one thing. In addition to the gigantic black spines that protruded from the fortress, there were droids patrolling its perimeter.
Battle droids, Boba noted grimly. He counted thirty - not enough to fight a war, but more than enough to keep intruders at bay. There were other droids, too. Crablike defense droids swarmed around a triangular opening that seemed to be Mazariyan's entrance. He saw several hulking modified super battle droids and mounted laser towers. And, hovering above the peak of Wat Tambor's fortress, a great, dark, shapeless mass. It was like, a purplish-black thunderhead or a huge amoeba, floating over the battlefield.
"What's that?" Boba adjusted the focus on his helmet, then blinked, feeling a faint prickling behind his eyes as the form above him took on more solid outlines.
Xeran's spores were working. Suddenly he could see clearly. And what he saw was that the massive shape was not a cloud.
It was a fleet of Separatist fighters, cloaked by the spore-haze. As Boba watched, one of the droidcommanded fighters fired upon the Republic's assault lines. A spurt of flame exploded from one of the trenches. A direct hit!
Boba steadied himself as the impact shuddered through the ground like an earthquake. He looked up again, and this time could make out something else - a darker, misshapen silhouette that hung directly above the citadel's peak. Droids swarmed around it, loading it. With a shock, Boba suddenly realized what the huge shadowy object was. A ramship.
Boba shook his head in dismayed disbelief. Robot ramships were manufactured in the most notorious reaches of the Outer Rim. They were designed and outfitted by criminal techs
But wasn't that exactly what Wat Tambor was?
A ramship had no organic crew. It used the hull of an abandoned probably stolen - warship, with enough firepower to destroy a huge starship in a single explosion. The entire vessel was nothing but a massive bomb, piloted by a kamikaze robotic drone with no goal except destruction. In this case, the Republic's destruction.
Boba craned his head back. His eyes tried to pierce the violet haze of Xagobah's atmosphere.
Somewhere up there was a Republic troopship. And while Boba had no love for the Republic, at the moment, they shared a common enemy. Wat Tambor.
And that ramship was Wat Tambor's vessel.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Jango had once told his son. Boba had been too young then to understand those words. They sounded like a puzzle.
A puzzle he had just solved.
He saw clone troopers just within the borders of the mushroom forest. The Jedi General Glynn-Beti would be there somewhere, acting as commander. Presumably there were other Jedi as well, fighting as part of the Republic forces.
But he didn't see any life-forms, human or alien, defending Mazariyan. No Xamsters; no humans. Not even any mercenaries from lawless places like Carratos or Ord Mantel!.
Only droids.
He's going to have that ramship smash into the Republic troopship! Boba sucked in his breath with excitement. Wat Tambor thinks that will end the siege - and it will!
Boba looked around furtively, thinking fast.
If Wat Tambor's vast flying bomb struck the troopship, it would destroy the Republic's chances of capturing the dangerous Separatist. It would also destroy Boba's chances of capturing Wat Tambor. Which meant it would destroy Boba's future as Jabba's favorite bounty hunter!
Can't have that happen! Boba thought.
But what if the ramship could somehow be commandeered into destroying Wat Tambor's citadel - and with it, Wat Tambor?
Two can play this game, thought Boba. He crouched in the shadows at the edge of the mushroom forest. He stared up at Mazariyan. Two can play this game - but only one can win.
And that one will be - me! |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_014.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
So now he had a plan. All he needed was a way to use it. My jet pack's no good, he thought with regret. Not enough strength or speed to go up against a ramship. Gotta try to find a vehicle... a speeder would be nice... Boba scanned the area surrounding Wat Tambor's fortress. He knew that Mazariyan was well-guarded by droids.
But Wat Tambor was not a droid. And surely not all of his guards or accomplices were droids. They would have used some form of transport to get here....
"Yeah," Boba whispered. "And that's exactly what I need." He started to run along the edges of the forest. He kept a close eye on Mazariyan, but saw nothing he could steal - er, use. But as he circled closer to the area behind the fortress, things began to look more promising. The Republic seemed to have concentrated its forces near the citadel's entrance. This back area was void of siege trenches. There were crates and cartons of supplies here, along with piles of twisted metal and plasteel. He saw demo droids and wrecker droids, a load-lifter piling big boxes near an opening. A single security drone appeared to be monitoring them. But it was an older model, and seemed to be busy scanning the area closest to the citadel's main entrance.
This must be a freight entrance back here, thought Boba. He hesitated and looked for signs of hidden Republic forces, but saw none. He might be able to dodge the security drone and clear the freight entrance. I could try to get in that way. But what would I do once I actually got inside?
He hadn't worked out that part of his plan - yet. Later, he thought. Quickly he turned and continued to circle the fortress, searching.
And then he saw it - he almost stepped on it! Camouflaged with torn mushroom fronds and malvil-limbs, it was so rusty and battered that it blended right in.
A swoop bike.
Boba looked around the mushroom forest furtively. But if there were clone troopers nearby, they were being even more stealthy than he was: He saw no one. He looked up.
And yes, the ramship was still there, like a volcanic cloud hanging above Mazariyan. The droids loading it were obviously close enough to see. through the haze. Boba glanced back at the worker droids on the ground. The security drone was gone - it must have continued on its own circuit of the fortress.
And those other droids were all labor units. None of them would be programmed for surveillance or security.
"It's now or never," Boba muttered. He paused beside the swoop bike, looking over his shoulder. Then he shoved aside the dried-up mushrooms and jumped on. "And I say - now."
For one heart-stopping moment, he thought it wouldn't start. Then it sputtered and coughed. Finally, with a low buzzing sound it lurched forward.
Someone's modified it so that any sound is muffled, Boba noted approvingly. He leaned over the controls and pulled up on the throttle. The swoop shot up through the malvil-trees. Not as fast as Boba would have liked - whoever did the modifications obviously preferred stealth over speed.
Maybe they know something I don't, he thought, and looked around. The worker droids were still laboring mindlessly by the freight entrance. Boba adjusted his helmet, increasing the focus until he could just glimpse the front of the citadel. Nothing new there, either. Above the citadel's peak, the ramship hovered in place. Boba swung his swoop around, then brought it up to full throttle. Fungus fronds lashed at his helmet as he flew up, up. When he hovered just below the canopy of the forest, he turned the swoop and started to cruise in a careful circuit.
Might as well do a little recon of my own, he thought. That clone trooper came from someplace. But where?
In a minute he had his answer. Not too distant from Wat Tambor's citadel, something moved.
Something big - something really big!
A Republic All Terrain-Tactical Enforcer!
"Man, they mean business," muttered Boba. That AT-TE would be loaded with more clone troopers - dozens of them-not to mention some serious firepower.
There was no way he could commandeer an AT-TE, of course. But where there were incoming clone troopers, there would be Jedi nearby to command them. They would have vehicles of their own - gunships, starfighters, maybe even airspeeders.
If I can get my hands on an airspeeder, I might be able to decoy that ramship back toward Mazariyan. The ramship doesn't move very fast - but in a speeder, I could! Then I could reach Slave I and get out of here - back to Jabba to claim my bounty!
He angled closer to the AT-TE, being careful to stay out of sight. There were several smaller vehicles accompanying the walker and, in the distance, more AT-TEs.
That's more like it, Boba thought with grim satisfaction. Things might not be so bleak for the Republic, after all. He adjusted the long-range focus on his helmet, until he could make out even more shadowy shapes far behind the approaching AT-TEs. Gunships, each carrying a payload of still more troops and walkers.
And, sure enough, there were speeders, too - and a starfighter.
"That'll be Glynn-Beti," said Boba. He scowled, but brought the swoop down lower to get a better look. As he did, something flashed past him Another swoop!
"Huh?" For a second, Boba was too startled to do anything. Then he grabbed his blaster.
But whoever was on the swoop wasn't intent on catching Boba. He was heading for the citadel.
But not just the citadel. As Boba watched in amazement, he realized that he wasn't the only one who'd been coming up with a plan. The swoop was flying up - straight toward Wat Tambor's ramship! |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_015.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Great minds think alike!" Ygabba used to tell Boba, joking. But right now, watching the other swoop flying at the ramship, Boba thought maybe this particular idea hadn't been such a great one. The swoop looked like a squirmite attacking a sandcrawler.
"He's doomed," Boba groaned.
He'd had only a glimpse of the person flying it. But a glimpse was all he needed to recognize him. Ulu Ulix!
Boba had met the young alien back on the Candaserri. Of course, Ulu hadn't known Boba by his real name - Boba had called himself Teff, and had said he was an orphan from Raxus Prime. He'd guessed Ulu was about the same age as he was, though Ulu had horns and three eyes. They'd been friendly well, as friendly as Boba could be to anyone back on the Candaserri. He'd never recognize me now, Boba thought with pride. Not with my Mandalorian helmet on, and my body armor.
As Boba watched Ulu's swoop approach the ramship, he remembered the other thing about the three-eyed alien.
Ulu Ulix was a Padawan, a Jedi apprentice - and his Jedi Master was Glynn-Beti!
Quickly Boba looked back to where the AT-TE was moving in the forest. A starfighter kept pace with it, high above the tops of violet malvil trees. If Glynn-Beti was in that fighter, she must suspect the ramship was headed for the Republic's assault ship. But did she know her Padawan was headed for the ramship?
Boba wondered if Glynn-Beti was crazy - or if Ulu was. He didn't get to wonder long.
KA-FL000SHH!
Meters from where Boba's swoop hovered, a malvil-tree exploded. There was a second flash of blue flame. Boba was spattered with purple gunk. He wiped fungus goo from his helmet, yanked on the throttle, and swerved away from the forest.
He needed a better view of what was happening:
What he saw wasn't good, at least not for the Padawan. The sentry droids had spotted Ulu Ulix!
Boba's swoop shuddered as another burst of flame struck a giant mushroom not far off. BLAM!
The mushroom exploded. Fiery blobs of fungus flew everywhere, setting other trees aflame. The droids were firing! Boba's swoop shot straight up, safely out of range. He was close to the citadel now - too close, probably - but the droids weren't firing on Boba.
At least, not yet. Boba frowned. What - who - were they after? He risked bringing his swoop down lower, and nearer to the fortress. From here he had a clear view of the droids below, laser fire crisscrossing the air as the Republic's troops began to counterattack.
But the droids weren't firing on the Republic troops. Their target was Ulu Ulix.
Boba swerved abruptly as a blast tore the air just meters away. When he looked back, he saw the ramship give a sudden surge upward.
"They've released the ramship!" he exclaimed, just as the other swoop suddenly shot toward the massive vessel. Boba waited for a volley of fire from the ramship to destroy the swoop.
But the ramship didn't alter its swift course one meter. Instead it sped upward, oblivious to Ulu Ulix pursuing it.
And why should that surprise Boba? The ram-ship had a drone-mind. Nothing could cause it to alter its course. Attempting to lure or attack it had obviously been a really, really bad idea.
That could have been me, Boba thought.
He watched grimly as Ulu's swoop dipped and swerved clumsily. The alien was trying to avoid the barrage of fire from below. But his swoop didn't seem to have any more thrust than Boba's.
"Still, he could fly it better," Boba said. He clung tightly to his swoop, flying it closer still to the citadel's black peak, and glanced back into the forest.
The convoy of AT-TEs had stopped at the very edge of the clearing. The speeders were gone, and the starfighter. Boba's jaw clenched. Glynn-Beti doesn't even care that her Padawan is under fire. She's too concerned that her own attempt to attack Wat Tambor's citadel will be affected!
Typical Jedi arrogance, thought Boba angrily. He looked out to where Ulu Ulix's swoop swung dizzily around the top of Mazariyan. With a sudden BOOM, the three-eyed alien's vehicle was engulfed in blacksmoke. Sparks flew from it. There was a terrified cry.
And Boba watched in horror as a small figure tumbled into the air and plummeted straight toward the waiting spines of Mazariyan! |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_016.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Boba had no time to think. He yanked back on the throttle. At the same time he opened the stop to feed it as much fuel as possible. With a garbled roar, the swoop shot forward. Laser fire and explosion's rocked the air around Boba. Below him, the spines waited.
"Master... help...!"
A cry echoed above the sound of laser fire. Boba leaned forward as far as he could, arms outstretched. His swoop raced toward the shining black pinnacle of Mazariyan. One huge, curved spine thrust upward. It positioned itself to impale the small form falling like a stone. Boba's swoop dipped as he reached out. With a groan, something heavy crashed onto the front of the swoop. Boba swerved away from Mazariyan.
"Th-thanks!" Ulu Ulix blinked. He kept a tight hold on the swoop's fuel tank. His three large eyes stared gratefully at Boba. "I thought I was dead back there!"
"Well, there's still a chance you might be!" Boba shouted over the thunder of crossfire. "Keep your head low - "
BLAM!
Laser fire ripped past them. Boba wrestled his blaster from his belt. He turned and fired in the general direction of the sentry droids. Then he glanced down. Battle droids were everywhere now. Some were still firing up at Boba. But most had bigger targets in their sights. With a deafening rumble, the first of the AT-TEs had drawn up at the edge of the clearing. Its hold opened, and a wide gangway swung down. More than a dozen clone troopers came running out, blasters firing. There was the whoosh and roar of battle droids rushing from hidden entrances in the citadel. They marched in formation toward the Republic's troops. Bolts of pure energy zoomed toward the clones. Wat Tambor's fortress glowed like the sun as laser fire rippled up and down its sides.
Ulu Ulix's three eyes widened as he stared at the carnage below.
"Wow," he breathed.
The attack on Mazariyan had begun.
"Keep your head down!" Boba commanded. He abruptly swung the swoop to the left.
A blinding burst of energy exploded behind them. Boba cut back on the throttle. The swoop dropped sickeningly before he pulled it out of the dive.
He yelled, "We've got to get out of here, fast!"
"There!" gasped Ulu. He pointed to where another AT-TE waited. It was surrounded by a squad of heavily armed clone sentries. "General Glynn-Beti! "
Boba squinted through the thick smoke. "Where?"
"She's standing by the transport - see? She should be in her speeder, keeping track of the battle. I guess she was worried about me. Boy, she looks really, really mad."
Ulu Ulix gulped. Boba looked at him. He couldn't help grinning inside his helmet. "Mad?"
"Yeah... the siege was ready to begin, anyway, but..." The three-eyed alien looked back to where his swoop lay. It was now a heap of smoldering wreckage. It was surrounded by battle droids who were busy firing on the Republic's troops.
"But maybe the siege started a little earlier than scheduled?" Boba finished Ulu's sentence for him.
The alien nodded miserably. "Yeah. Something like that." Boba steered the swoop to where Glynn-Beti stood. He glanced at Ulu Ulix. It was weird to think that the horned alien didn't recognize him in his helmet and body armor. Weird, but good.
I was more of a kid back then, Boba thought proudly. But now I'm a real bounty hunter.
The swoop approached the edge of the forest. The sentries guarding the AT-TE snapped to attention. They stared up at Boba. They raised their weapons. They were ready to fire
"Get Glynn-Beti's attention!" Boba shouted at Ulu Ulix over the roar of battle. "Otherwise we're dead!"
"Master!" yelled Ulu. "Master, here - !" On the ground, Master Glynn-Beti looked up. She was small and slender, with a vaguely feline face crowned by flowing reddish hair. Even from this distance, Boba could sense the power she held.
A Jedi's power. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_017.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Ulu Ulix!" The Jedi's voice rang out sharply over the din. She sounded angry, but also relieved, She turned to the, clone sentries. "Hold your fire!"
Boba angled the swoop down to within a few meters of the AT-TE. It landed with a bump. Ulu clambered off. He smoothed the folds of his Padawan's robe. Then he looked at Boba.
"I don't know how to thank you," said the three-horned alien. "I don't even know your name. Although there is something familiar about you...." Ulu frowned slightly, thinking. Boba said nothing. He felt light-years older than Ulu. Light-years older than he had been when they first met. Fortunately he didn't need to say anything. Because General Glynn-Beti was bustling toward them now. And she looked like she had plenty to say.
"Ulu! What were you thinking?" She glared at the young alien. Ulu Ulix stared at his feet, abashed. "You put this entire mission in jeopardy!"
"I am sincerely sorry, Master," Ulu said. "I am ashamed of my actions. But I only wanted to help."
"Help?" Glynn-Beti scowled at him. Then she looked at Boba, still on his swoop. "This stranger is the one who helped!" The Jedi bowed slightly. "I am in your debt, stranger. My profound thanks for saving the life of this most foolish of Padawans."
Boba nodded. "You're welcome." He was uncomfortably aware of Glynn-Beti's keen gaze boring into him. But an instant later her attention was elsewhere.
"Trooper!" she commanded. "You may all resume your watch! As for you " She turned to Ulu Ulix. "You will remain by my side for the rest of this maneuver. Unless you prefer to wait on board the troopship?" Ulu Ulix shook his head swiftly. "No, Master! I will obey this time."
"Good." Glynn-Beti began to walk away. But she had only taken a few steps when she stopped. She turned and stared at Boba. Uh-oh, he thought.
"What is your place in this battle, stranger?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but there was a threat hidden in it. "You are not part of my battalion. And you are obviously not working for our enemy. You have not come from there - " She tilted her head at the citadel of Mazariyan. When she turned back to Boba her gaze was piercing. "We have sent some of our most valued soldiers inside - ARC troopers. They seldom fail us. Not one has returned from that place. Have you?"
Boba hesitated. The Jedi might be able to detect a lie. If she did, she could take him prisoner, whether or not he had saved her Padawan. At worst, he might languish in a Republic cell. At best, she could send him off-planet, back to Tatooine - where he would face the rage of Jabba the Hutt.
A prison cell might be preferable to that.
Boba stared back at Glynn-Beti. He was very glad she could not see his face behind his helmet.
"No. My sympathy lies with the Xamsters," he said. The Jedi seemed to mull this over. Finally she nodded. "Very well. I will not detain you. The natives of Xagobah are in dire need of whatever help they are given." She beckoned Ulu Ulix to her side. "Come. We have much to do."
"But Master - " Ulu stopped. He gazed up at a dark blur in the violet haze of Xagobah's atmosphere. "What about the ramship?"
"We are well aware of the ramship, Ulu. Someone more experienced - and wiser - than you will deal with it."
Ouch! thought Boba. Wonder who that might be? He watched as the Jedi and her Padawan headed back toward the AT-TE.
Just before they boarded the AT-TE, Glynn-Beti turned and shouted back to Boba, "Yes. Someone else will take care of the ramship. You, stranger, might want to launch your solitary attack at that moment. Mind my words!" The Jedi Master then disappeared from view.
Boba quickly powered up his borrowed swoop. It gave a hoarse cough and sputtered into the air.
Boba circled back to where the siege was in full swing. The air blazed blue and black and silver with laser fire. Everywhere around the fortress, clone troopers were attacking Wat Tambor's droid forces. What did the Jedi mean? he wondered.
It looked like the Republic was in trouble.
The Separatists had launched a counterattack! "This isn't good," Boba muttered. "Not for me, at least!"
Boba had thought that Wat Tambor's citadel was well-guarded before. Now he realized the canny Separatist had deliberately hidden the full power of his forces. Because suddenly the gaping maw of Mazariyan yawned open. There was a horrible, thunderous clattering sound, and hundreds - maybe thousands - of droids came streaming from the fortress. Spider droids, super battle droids, even dreaded and lethal droidekas, like gigantic insects rolling out of a rotten stump.
Boba gaze down at them, transfixed. "How am I going to get through that and into the fortress? There's no way I can land without being seen and pulverized!"
He steered the swoop down for a closer look. Too close. With a grinding noise, one of the droideikas came to an abrupt halt. It swiveled and uncurled into firing position, its black, eyeless head pointed straight up - directly at Boba.
It fired.
"Aghhh!"
Too late, Boba yanked at the swoop's controls. A blast of heat struck the swoop. At the same instant, Boba dove from it. He could feel the surge of fire through his protective boots. He could hear the concussive blast roaring through the air like a seismic charge.
But all he could see was the explosion of laser fire all around him as he plummeted helplessly-right into the battle. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_018.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ummmpphi" With a grunt Boba smashed onto the ground. His body armor absorbed the blow, but it took him a moment to catch his breath. There was such a thick haze of smoke and spores he could barely see. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.
What he was able to make out was not good: a clone trooper, just millimeters from his face!,
"No way!" yelled Boba. He rolled onto his back and kicked, out, just as the clone took aim. Boba's, feet connected with the clone's knees. He wasn't strong enough to knock down the trooper. But Boba did throw him off balance.
And that was all it took. Boba was on his feet again, blaster raised. The clone towered above him, its face invisible behind its helmet. But something in the way it stood, something in the way it held its blaster, made Boba hesitate.
Because, just for a flickering moment, it wasn't a clone trooper there.
It was Jango Fett - Boba's father.
Boba recognized Jango's stance. He recognized Jango's strength. He even recognized the way Jango's head drew back slightly as he aimed his weapon. Only this wasn't Jango Fett. This was a clone trooper who had decided that Boba was an enemy.
"You're not my father!" Boba's voice was drowned in the blast from his Westar. "You're a clone!"
The trooper's aim was excellent - but Boba's was better. In a blaze of flame and vapor, the clone trooper fell.
One down! thought Boba. Only a couple thousand to go. He whirled, and found himself smack in the middle of the battle about 200 meters from the citadel walls. Above him, droid fighters shot from the citadel's peak. Battle droids swarmed around its base, blasting away. Clone troopers ran in formation. As they neared the fortress, the formation broke up. Individual troopers raced toward the battle droids. One clone got caught by a hailfire missile and vanished into a thousand pieces. Yuck! thought Boba. He looked away quickly. BARRAAAMMM! Brilliant multicolored pulses of laser fire erupted from the clones' blaster rifles. All were now aimed at the rolling, firing hailfire.
KRRRAARRROW!
A direct hit! One of the hailfire's wheels disengaged and the clone's body was dragged into the ground by the still churning second wheel. A few moments later it exploded in a fiery blast.
But the Republic's troops were still in danger. They were vastly outnumbered, for starters. And somewhere above them, the ramship was headed for their assault ship.
That was bad enough. But what was worse - the droidekas were laying waste to the clones. They rolled across the battlefield, safe within their shimmering forcefields. Laser fire bounced from them harmlessly. Harmless for the droidekas, anyway. Some of the pulses ricocheted back and mowed down the very troopers who had fired them.
With a cry Boba dodged a sudden flare of blue. A super battle droid stalked toward him, took aim and BLAAM!
Boba fired. The upper half of the droid disintegrated into shards of flaming plasteel. Boba whirled and blasted another droid. It fell. Boba staggered backward, struggling for breath.
I can't keep up with them, he thought desperately. There's too many! The droids are fighting the clone troopers. The troopers are fighting the droids
And they're all firing at me!
Around him was chaos. Black smoke mingled with clouds of purple spores from malvil-trees and giant mushrooms caught in the crossfire. Boba adjusted his helmet, striving to see through the haze. Xeran's powder is wearing off, he thought with dismay. The Republic's getting wasted. Not that he cared about the Republic. But if Wat Tambor was powerful enough to destroy them, what chance did Boba have?
Plenty, Boba thought grimly. I'm not giving up. A sudden roar made him look up. For a split second, every battle droid paused. As though they shared one mind, they all looked up, too.
"Starfighters!" cried Boba.
A phalanx of starfighters arrowed through the haze. Wat Tambor's air defenses fired at them in a blaze of blinding energy. The starfighters' leader banked sharply to the right. Boba stared up at it, admiringly.
"He sure knows what he's doing." He thought of Ulu Ulix, and smiled. Then he adjusted his helmet's focus as he took cover behind a wrecked vehicle. "Let's get a better look at this guy..." But now the battle droids had also seen the fighter. A barrage of ground fire shot up toward it. The starfighter dove. Pulses exploded in the empty air as the ship raced downward through the flak generated by the citadel's air defenses. It made a lightning pass at the heads of the droids, decapitating dozens as it flew incredibly low. It was so close to the ground that Boba could see who was piloting it.
"Skywalker!" Boba felt a spike of excitement. He had seen Anakin Skywalker from a distance in the arena of Geonosis. The young Padawan was older now, but Boba recognized Anakin's defiant gaze - and his skill. "He can really fly that thing!"
Anakin's starfighter pulled up once more. A blaze of Separatist fire sparked around it. Then, without hesitating, the ship went into another dive. It came in low, pulling up at the last moment as it lobbed an energy charge at the citadel.
KARRR000M!
The charge exploded. Flaming spikes of durasteel flew everywhere. A raw smoldering hole appeared in the citadel's side.
"Yes!" said Boba.
Wish I could do that! Boba thought as another spasm of flame arced by him. Boba jumped, then ran through a throng of clones. He was now using all the skills he'd acquired as a bounty hunter. His blaster fired without pause. Droids exploded in orange sparks - and clones fell left and right, as he fought his way toward the fortress.
This time, Boba didn't feel bad at all. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_019.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Near the foot of Wat Tambor's citadel, a homing spider droid had fallen. Its large form slumped over on two of its legs, forming a small, protected area.
Boba headed for this makeshift refuge. He had to leap over several dead clones, and the smoking wreckage of a swoop. But once in the shadow of the droid he was safe. For a few moments, anyway.
Now what?
Boba crouched, panting, and stared out at the battlefield. The clone trooper reinforcements were holding their own against the Separatists, but were unable to advance. Boba doubted they'd be able to defeat Wat Tambor's forces. The clones were organic and could be killed. And they were being killed in great numbers. The droids couldn't regenerate, but there seemed to be an endless supply of them streaming from the citadel's mouth. But could it really be endless? Surely even Wat Tambor's army had a limit?
Boba peered out from the crook of the fallen droid's elbow. Far above him, Anakin Skywalker's starfighter led the Jedi forces in the air attack. They were targeting the spider droids.
As Boba watched, he saw another hailfire come spinning out of the shadows of the malvil-trees. It rolled toward the center of the battlefield, scattering clones like leaves. It stopped. It raised its missile launcher, taking aim at one of the starfighters. With a deafening burst of energy, a barrage of plasma pulses went soaring upward - directly toward Anakin Skywalker's yellow starfighter.
He's doomed! thought Boba.
But the Padawan had other plans. Just as the plasma bursts approached it, he arrowed his starfighter to one side. The energy bolts continued onward, up, up, up through Xagobah's violet sky
And found another target - the ramship!
"Whoa!" Boba whooped.
An immense starburst of pure energy like a thunderbolt surged out from where the ramship had been. Boba tensed, waiting for fallout; but none came. The energy stored in the ramship was so dense and powerful that the explosion caused it to self-implode.
Score one for the Republic!
Quickly, Boba scrambled between the fallen spider droid's legs. He stared out at the battlefield. For a moment, everything had come to a standstill. Battle droids and clones alike gazed up at the waves of energy rippling through Xagobah's atmosphere violet, scarlet, gold.
"Very pretty," muttered Boba. He glanced at the entrance to Mazariyan. He couldn't believe it. No droids were there!
Boba looked around again. And yes, battle droids and sentry droids alike all seemed distracted. This was the moment Glynn-Beti had foretold! It's the energy surge! Boba realized. It's momentarily scrambled their command centers.
This was his chance!
Staying as low as he could, Boba darted from the shelter of the spider droid. He raced toward the fortress, breathing hard. The entry to Mazariyan gaped, faintly gleaming. Just a few more meters and he was there. None of the clone troopers would make it in time; they were still too far off. Boba paused, hand on his blaster. Behind him, the sounds of battle began once more. In front of him was a problem: The maw of Wat Tambor's citadel opened onto the Separatist's stronghold - and blades of purple fungus ringed the entrance like razor teeth. Rows of spines stuck out threateningly, ready to pierce any intruder. He recalled what Xeran had told him and suddenly Boba understood.
Wat Tambor had perverted Xagobah's fungus to his own ends - inside his citadel.
I have to get in there, Boba thought desperately. But how? Boba shoved his blaster into his belt. He drew his vibroshiv. No, he thought, and reluctantly replaced it. That will just make it worse.
Boba's hand moved from his belt. That was when he felt something in his pocket. Something round.
And suddenly Boba remembered.
Xeran's spore-globe.
What was it Xeran had said?
"If you have need of camoflage, crush this." Boba pulled the globe from his pocket. He stared at the purple sphere in the palm of his hand.
It looked harmless. And Xeran had said it was harmless - to Boba. But he had also said the spores acted as chemical messengers. Could they somehow damage the citadel?
Well, here goes nothing!
Boba glared up at the massive structure. Then he raised his hand, and, hoping this wasn't a mistake, he crushed the globe. It was like the energy surge that had destroyed the ramship. Only this surge was darkest purple and smelled faintly of spices. And it was, somehow, sentient. Boba watched in awe as a vast spore cloud enveloped the base of the fortress. The cloud moved like a gigantic paramecium. And as it did, the spines nearest to Boba drooped. As Boba stared, fascinated, he saw more metallic spines struggling to emerge. But for the moment the spore-cloud was stronger. The spines withered. New ones wriggled helplessly, then seemed to melt away. But more kept coming, needle-sharp, and Boba quickly realized that the spores were just a temporary solution. And whatever camoflage they offered would be temporary, too.
Now! he thought, and turned back to the entrance. Sure enough, the rows of spines had withered. They hung in limp black ribbons around the opening. Boba lunged forward, head down. Around him the spore-cloud was already starting to disperse.
If I can just get inside...
Tiny spines began to poke through the entryway. Tiny razor-sharp petals thrust from the edges of the opening. Boba grabbed his vibroshiv and slashed at them. Then, with one last desperate lunge, he leaped forward. Metallic strands of fungus slashed at his helmet. Writhing silvery vines slithered from the entryway
Too late!
With a gasp, Boba's feet connected with the ground. He staggered forward into a murky purplish tunnel, heedless of the spikes behind him. Beneath his boots the floor trembled like kallil-virus jelly. From the curved durasteel walls, pale silvery fronds and stems waved like dead fingers. There was a smell of scorched metal - and a faint, ceaseless thrum as if some unimaginably vast machine heart was beating somewhere out of sight.
Boba took a deep breath. Then, with every bit of courage he could command, he stepped forward
Into the citadel of Wat Tambor. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_020.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It took several minutes for Boba's eyes to adjust to the dimness. Yet it was not completely dark. An eerie greenish/haze hung over everything. Glowing orbs appeared to be set into the fortress's curved, metallic walls. When Boba drew close to one, he saw that it was not an orb, but a mushroom - a luminous mushroom. Wat Tambor had bioengineered the fungus to merge with metal and plasteel circuitry. Phosphorescent bacteria made it gleam. When Boba touched it, glowing pale green slime stuck to his glove.
"Ugh." Hastily Boba wiped it off. He didn't want to be any more noticeable than he already was!
He began walking down the hallway. The walls were smooth and metallic and curved, as was the ceiling. They were covered by a film, of squishy, violet fungus that squelched beneath his feet. But there were other things in the walls, too. Blinking chips and miniature monitors, shining crimson threads of circuitry like blood vessels.
Wat Tambor's genius had not been content with changing the malvil trees' genetic code. He had developed all kinds of nanotechnology. This had enabled him to fuse computer intelligence into the fungus citadel as well. Yet the monitors did not seem to be alert to Boba's presence. He stopped in front of one, holding his breath: nothing. The power surge from the ramship blast must have scrambled their circuits, he thought. But that won't last long... better hurry! Boba moved as quickly and stealthily as he could. He watched for droids but saw none. Now and then another curving passage would join the central tunnel. Boba peered down these.
What he saw made him content to stay in the main passage. The walls in those tunnels had strange, lumpy shapes in them. Shapes that sometimes moved or kicked or flailed. Boba wasn't certain what they were. But he had a pretty good idea - he remembered the last ARC troopers Glynn-Beti had spoken of.
And Xeran's people - the Xamsters who had struggled against the evil Separatist. Boba gritted his teeth. He thought of the gentle malvil-trees. He thought of the gentle Xeran, forced to take up arms against Wat Tambor. Boba's hatred of Wat Tambor grew. I will show no mercy, he thought fiercely. Xeran's people can no longer avenge themselves. I will take vengeance for them!
And, of course, I'll get Jabba's bounty, too.
The passage began to climb slowly upward. As it did, it curved, as though Boba were climbing some gigantic spiral staircase. He passed shimmering walls where monitors flickered yellow and green and red. He passed a room like the hollow chamber of a human heart, pulsing slowly in and out. He passed tube-shaped openings that gave him a fragmented view of the battle below.
But he passed no droids. He passed no clones. As far as Boba could tell, he was the only thing that walked inside of Mazariyan. And that made him nervous.
Could Wat Tambor have left? Could he have somehow escaped before Boba arrived here to capture him?
Boba frowned. I sure hope not.
Things had been bad enough outside, with the citadel under siege. He suspected they could get much worse if he was found inside by Wat Tambor's troops - or the Republic's.
He continued his journey, in and up. The air grew thick and heavy. Boba made sure his helmet's intake filter was working. He thought of the violet haze of spores that surrounded this planet. He could only imagine what kind of disgusting, protective spores were produced inside Mazariyan. Sometimes an unpleasant thought would work its way through Boba like a splinter.
What if I never find him? What if I can't find my way out? He was working on pure intuition now. The curved passage seemed to spiral endlessly up into the fortress. Sometimes it would branch. When that happened, Boba would choose one way or another, on instinct. He came to another place where the tunnel divided. To his left, it curved upward, its smooth walls gleaming purple. To Boba's right, the passage curved slightly downward. Here the tunnel had a deeper glow, almost indigo.
Wonder what that means? thought Boba.
For a moment he paused, thinking. Then he placed his hand on his blaster, and walked boldly into the right-hand passage. He hoped he'd made the right choice.
Up until now he had - but not anymore.
Boba didn't know it yet. But his good fortune was about to dissipate like the malvil's spores. |
a-new-threat | Star_Wars_-_050_-_Boba_Fett_05__split_021.txt | Star Wars - 050 - Boba Fett 05 - A New Threat - Elizabeth Hand
CHAPTER TWENTY
The air there was warmer; As deep and dark a blue it was almost black. Boba didn't want to risk shining a light in the tunnel. He adjusted the infrared on his helmet, but that seemed to make it worse. So he moved very slowly, feeling his way. His gloved hands stuck to the slick walls. The soft, dank floor sucked at his boots. Worse, the faint thrumming sound was louder here. He could feel the floor vibrating under his feet. Ahead of him, the tunnel's walls grew uneven. As Boba drew closer, he quickly yanked his hand away.
Flabby, pale, fingerlike growths extended from the wall's surface. As Boba stared, they wriggled like the tendrils of a Bestine sea anemone. The tendrils were dark purple. Their tips were crimson.
"The Xabar fungus!" Boba exclaimed, recoiling. He remembered Xeran's warning: The tentacles released a paralyzing toxin.
"Who goessss there?"
A hissing voice slashed through the air. Boba looked up sharply.
"Stranger - identify yourself!"
Boba felt his stomach clench - but not with fear. Anger had been building inside him ever since he entered the fortress. Now it boiled over.
A shadowy figure stood before him. Tall, with greenish skin, cold deep-set eyes, a lipless mouth. Even in the indigo darkness Boba recognized him.
The Clawdite, Nuri!
It had been two years since Boba had last seen him. That was on Aargau. The shapeshifter had been smaller then. So had Boba. But Boba was definitely bigger now - bigger, and stronger, and heavily armed. And this Clawdite had betrayed Boba. Boba had trusted him. In return, the shapeshifter had stolen what remained of his father's fortune.
"Nuri," Boba said in a low, controlled voice. He saw the Clawdite's eyes narrow. "You owe me."
"Owe you?" The Clawdite did not recognize him. His gaze shifted uncertainly from Boba to the passage behind him.
"That's right," said Boba. He drew his vibroshiv. He lunged for the shapeshifter. As he did, Nuri's form seemed to melt. His neck grew longer and longer. His arms and legs shrank into nothingness. His head narrowed. Long, knife-sharp teeth filled his mouth. Feathered scales covered his body. Where the Clawdite had been, a huge arrak snake drew back to strike. Its glittering green eyes fixed on Boba. Then, hissing furiously, it wrapped its coils around him.
"Not so fast!" Boba yelled. He struggled against the thick, powerful serpentine shape. The arrak snake's coils began to tighten. Boba fought for breath. His vibroshiv fought to discover some weak spot in the snake's scaly armor
And found it! Just beneath the snake's fanged jaw there was a patch of flesh unprotected by scales. Boba plunged the vibroshiv there - when once again the shapeshifter's form changed!
In place of the arrak snake was a copper-colored dinko. It had crushing jaws, and pointed talons the length of Boba's arm. Its jaws snapped at Boba. When he kicked back at it, a foul-smelling spray squirted from the dinko.
"Ugh!" Boba staggered backward. For a moment even his Mandalorian helmet was no help - the fumes choked him. Then his secondary filters kicked in. Coughing and shaking, Boba struck back. The dinko snarled, lashing at him with one long, pointed talon. Boba's hand fumbled for his blaster. He grabbed the weapon and was just raising it to fire, when the dinko abruptly faded. Going, going... gone.
"Hey - !"
Boba blinked, trying to find whatever the shapeshifter had become. And saw a giant fefze beetle, the same color as the walls. It crawled through the toxic Xabar fungus. Then it scuttled into the shadows.
"No!" Boba shouted and lunged after the escaping insect. But he could barely see it in the darkness. Desperately he took aim with his blaster. No, wait - Boba shook his head. That's what he wants! If I fire, I'll alert everyone in the fortress - assuming there's someone here! He shoved his weapon back onto his belt. He could just make out the beetle skittering down the tunnel. Boba took a step back, then took a running leap. As he flew through the air he leaned forward, keeping the black shape in sight.
Uuumph!
With a grunt Boba fell. The slimy floor beneath him shuddered. His hand grasped at darkness for the beetle
And got it!
"You're not going anywhere!"
This time Boba kept a firm hold on the slick scales. Moments later he was grappling with the full-grown Clawdite.
"Don't forget, I have this," Boba hissed. His vibroshiv suddenly hovered inches above Nuri's neck. He felt the shapeshifter slump in defeat.
"That's better." Boba stared coldly at Nuri. The Clawdite glared back at him. "Now - I need an answer. Fast. Where is Wat Tambor?" Nuri bared his teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about." Boba drew the vibroshiv to within a hairbreadth of Nuri's flesh. "Do you want to feel how much closer this can get?" he whispered menacingly. "I know who you are, Nuri. I know you helped the Techno Union spring Wat Tambor from prison. Now I want to know - where is he?" The Clawdite hissed. Its evil eyes glittered. It stared at Boba's vibroshiv. Then it drew a long shuddering breath.
"That way - " Nuri's head twitched, indicating the passage leading down. "The central chamber. He's there."
"Is he well-guarded?"
Nuri's eyes fixed on Boba. The vibroshiv hummed above the Clawdite's neck.
"No," said the shapeshifter reluctantly. "He sent the last of his droid forces to join battle with the Republic. But Grievous is coming - and he will bring reinforcements."
"Grievous?" Boba frowned. "Who's that?"
"The General." The Clawdite stared at him with hatred. A slow, nasty smile spread across his face. "Whoever you are, I can see that you are working alone. The Republic will not come to your aid. You will meet General Grievous soon enough, stranger - and when you do, he will destroy you!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Boba snarled in rage. "Those were your last words, Clawdite!" He began to press the vibroshiv against, the shapeshifter's jugular vein. Then he stopped.
If Nuri's body is found, Wat Tambor will know there's an intruder inside his fortress, But if I let him go, he'll sound the alert.... Boba looked around the dim tunnel. His gaze lit on a clump of the paralyzing Xabar fungus. That's it!
He began to drag the Clawdite toward the fungus. Nuri fought furiously. But Boba was stronger.
"I've been really curious about how this stuff works," he said. He pinned the Clawdite to the ground, then grabbed the shapeshifter's arm. "Now I can find out."
Nuri struggled as Boba pushed his arm down.
Sensing prey, the Xabar's tentacles reached upward, wriggling in anticipation.
Closer... closer...
The Clawdite's hand hung above fungus. Then, like pale, grasping fingers, the tentacles grabbed him.
"Unnnhhh...!"
Abruptly the Clawdite went slack. He hung, dead weight, from Boba's hands. Boba recoiled, worried that the toxin might somehow reach him.
"Nuri?" he said in a low voice. "Nuri?" The Clawdite sprawled before him. He looked dead. He had no pulse. He was not breathing. His eyes stared upward, blank and cold as stone. When Boba gingerly touched his arm, it felt stiff.
"Well," Boba said, scrambling back to his feet. He gazed at the fallen Clawdite lying beside the Xabar fungus. If anyone found him, they would assume he had accidentally stumbled upon the paralyzing mushroom. "I hope that stuff works for a good long time. Long enough to get me to Wat Tambor, at least."
He began to run down the passage. It was noticeably warmer here. And there were more signs of Wat Tambor's technological genius. Ribbons of circuitry gleamed along the tunnel's soft, slimy walls. Phosphorescent globes hung alongside shining plasteel tubes that crackled with electricity. Computer monitors the size of Boba's thumb blinked like crimson eyes. Xabar fungus sprouted from discarded bits of droids like hair.
And always there was that steady, powerful thrumming, like the beating of a massive heart.
Boba tried not to think about that too much. He didn't like to imagine what kind of creature would have a heart that size. Ahead of him the deep-blue glow of the tunnel began to brighten. Now it was hard to see the walls of the passage behind all the layers of metal and computer circuitry. The tunnel turned, and turned again. Boba's steps slowed. He crept alongside the wall, eyes fixed on what was before him. Just a few meters away, the tunnel ended. A high, smooth archway opened into a single large chamber. Silvery violet light spilled from it, threaded with deep purple and blood red.
The light was so intense it hurt Boba's eyes. He paused and adjusted his optical sensors. Then he checked his weapons. His blasters, his vibroshiv, Ygabba's holoshroud, ion stunner, dart shooter... Which would help him capture Wat Tambor?
All of them - or none?
Boba's stomach clenched. For the first time a shiver of apprehension went through him.
Fear is energy, he told himself. Use it.
He took a deep breath. Then, keeping as low as he could, he ran the last few meters from the tunnel through the archway. And found himself face-to-face with Wat Tambor. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Boba sucked in his breath sharply.
He was in a large chamber, more like a cavern than a room. Blinking and shimmering circuits covered the slivery walls. Banks of monitors stretched everywhere. There were heaps of parts belonging to droids - arms, legs, blasters, power cells. Clumps of Xabar fungus sprang up between them, and other mushrooms as well.
None of this surprised Boba.
But what was in the center of the chamber did.
Thrusting up from the floor was a huge, shapeless, purple mass. It pulsed and shuddered like a massive slime mold. Flickers of crimson flame raced inside it. From it protruded dozens of tentacle-like tubes. Each time it pulsed, Boba could see darkly glowing violet liquid stream through the tubes, feeding outward into the walls.
There were other veins as well. These rippled from the walls and into the bioengineered nerve center, feeding it. The liquid that surged through them was deep red.
Boba stared at it, revolted. This was why none of Glynn-Beti's ARC troopers returned. He was gazing at Mazariyan's heart! That was how the enormous fungus received its power - by feeding on what it found inside! A deep voice shattered Boba's thoughts. "You are not who I was expecting."
Boba looked up. In the center of the room towered the Separatist. His own expression was momentarily as surprised as Boba's. Wat Tambor was tall and powerfully built. His body was encased in combat armor that he had designed himself. Only the top of his ridged skull was visible above it. His eyes were hidden behind round optic sensors. A heavy metal cowl covered his mouth and the lower part of his face. When Wat Tambor spoke, his inhuman voice was calm. "So. An intruder. That is no matter. I will make use of you - one way or another!" He raised his hand. A ray of scarlet light surged from it. With a cry Boba dove to one side. The ray struck the floor, pulverizing plasteel into smoking goo.
Wat Tambor cursed. Boba rolled, drawing his blaster. He fired.
BLAM!
The blast from his weapon arced straight toward Wat Tambor! Boba's joy abruptly died. Tambor was quicker than he looked, and dodged the blast, which was then seemingly absorbed by the chamber wall. Boba felt the entire room around him shudder. The huge nerve center gave a powerful surge. The shimmering circuits glowed even brighter.
"Your weapons only serve to feed it," announced Wat Tambor in that calm, mechanical voice. "As you will yourself!" Boba staggered to his feet again. "No!" he shouted. Mazariyan's tentacles were everywhere. Writhing, wriggling, crawling along the floor - dozens of them, with a single target. Boba Fett!
With a cry Boba drew his vibroshiv. He slashed at a huge vein and felt his blade cut into it with a satisfying slurp. Shimmering liquid splattered out. He ducked to one side, nearly falling on the slick floor. But the chamber floor was already at work, sucking up the liquid greedily.
"Take that!" cried Boba. A cobralike tentacle swooped toward him and he grabbed it. It lashed up, scraping the ceiling. Boba hung on with all his strength. He waited until he was just above where Wat Tambor stood beside Mazariyan's beating nerve center. Then he let go.
"Yaaah!" he shouted.
He lunged for the Techno Union Foreman, blaster firing. Too late. Wat Tambor moved too quickly.
The Separatist whirled, sending another bolt of energy flying from his hand. Boba lunged for the floor. If he could just reach that pile of broken metal...
"Agh!"
A blazing burst of pain struck his leg, so powerful it overwhelmed his body armor, which now cracked and smoked. Boba crashed against the ground. He had a glimpse of Wat Tambor's figure searching for him. Then the Separatist suddenly looked away, toward the chamber's entrance. I've got to hide, thought Boba in desperation, before he sees I'm down....
He rolled and began to drag himself to the heap of droid parts. It was darker there. He might be able to gain a minute, enough time to get Wat Tambor in his sights once more.
Boba drew himself up by the wall. The shattered droids gave him enough shadow to hide, for a moment. In the middle of the room the tentacles were still gulping eagerly at the fluid leaking from the severed vein.
"Where is he?" Boba murmured. He rubbed his leg. The pain was subsiding - it had only been a glancing blow. "Gotta find him - " Boba strained to see Wat Tambor. But the Techno Union Foreman was out of sight, hidden by the bulk of the nerve center.
Boba could hear him, though. He was talking to someone - but who? Nuri?
I should have killed the Clawdite! Boba thought angrily. Now he's betrayed me again! He began to ease himself from the shadows. One hand remained firmly on his blaster. The other was on his belt, ready to draw whatever weapon he might need.
But as Boba looked up, he realized he'd be needing all of them. Because into the room strode the most terrible, vicious figure he had ever witnessed.
Its head nearly touched the ceiling - a head composed of interlocking bands of an alloy he'd never seen before. A pale, cowled robe cloaked its body. Through its folds Boba glimpsed its true form: gleaming metallic limbs, six-fingered hands like robotic claws. When it turned its head, searching, Boba saw its eyes. Golden reptilian eyes, the pupil a black slash set within blood-colored sockets. Even Mazariyan's tentacles seemed to sense his awful threat. They retracted into the heart, like a carnivorous snail into its shell, waiting.
Boba's blood froze. Suddenly, and with horrible certainty, he knew he was looking upon the most powerful, most lethal threat he had ever faced. The terrifying general of the droid army
Grievous!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Boba's mouth went dry. Grievous was flanked by two droid bodyguards, nearly as tall as he was. Their eyes were huge and round and crimson. They scanned the room methodically, heads sweeping back and forth. Any moment they would find Boba!
Now what? he thought. His hands moved quickly over his weapons belt. The blasters' energy would just feed Mazariyan. And his vibroshiv would be useless against a droid.
Suddenly his hand felt something else. A small compact object, fitted neatly on his belt.
Ygabba's holoshroud.
Yes! Boba moved so that he was sitting upright. He peered out. Grievous's bodyguards had started circling the room, scanning for the intruder. Grievous stood ominously in the center of the chamber by the heart, waiting. Wat Tambor was near a monitor, busily inputting information.
Grievous hasn't seen me yet, Boba thought. He doesn't know exactly what I look like, or who I am.
Boba had no idea what image Ygabba had scanned into the holoshroud. But it was this or nothing.
This is my best chance for living long enough to thank you, Ygabba, thought Boba. It better be good!
His finger hovered above the holoshroud's button. He took a deep breath. Then he pressed it, and stood.
There was a hum from where the cell hung at Boba's waist. Then he was surrounded by a glowing halo. It extended high above his head. When he moved his arm, the halo moved. When he stepped forward, it moved too. From inside the holoshroud, Boba could see only this shimmering cloud. But others, he knew, saw something completely different. They saw whatever image Ygabba had scanned into the cell.
But what image was that?
As Boba stepped forward, the droid bodyguards snapped upright. Their empty, glowing eyes burned even brighter. Boba moved to one side, heading for the arch that led out. As he did, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a monitor screen. At the same time, the bodyguards spoke.
"Durge!"
Boba almost yelped with joy.
His friend had scanned Durge's image into the holoshroud! And that was what the droids saw: not Boba Fett, but the hulking figure of one of the galaxy's most feared bounty hunters!
"Destroy him!"
An icy commanding voice thundered through the chamber. Grievous pointed at his bodyguards. As one, they lunged forward, firing. Boba leaped aside, and the blasts struck the wall behind him. It exploded in shards of plasteel and oozing fungus. One of Mazariyan's tentacles poked out from the pulsing heart of the citadel. Grievous turned and raised a hand threateningly. The tentacle shrank back.
"I said, destroy him!"
The droids stalked across the room. Boba fired back at them. His blasts bounced off their armored forms. He yanked out his ion stunner and fired. A surge of ionic plasma flared from it. One of the droids fell back, momentarily stunned.
"Yes!" crowed Boba.
He could see his own reflection mirrored in viewscreens across the chamber, tall and powerful. For an instant it seemed that the bodyguards might be taken aback as well.
"It is indeed Durge," one said in its cold robotic voice. Grievous turned his horrible eyes upon Wat Tam-bor. "You said it was a Mandalorian warrior," he said.
Wat Tambor looked at him. "He must have brought reinforcements," he replied.
"It is no matter," said Grievous.
Boba sent another bolt flying from the ion stunner at the bodyguards. Then he turned and started racing for the door.
The holoshroud's illusion would last for only two minutes. How much time was left? Enough to make the bodyguards hesitate before attacking him again?
Everything around him was a glowing blur as he ran for the arch. If he could only escape from this chamber, he could hide within the citadel. He already had a plan for utilizing those tentacles to capture Wat Tambor. If only he could Vvvvvvmmmmmm...
The hum from the holoshroud's power cell suddenly grew silent. Around Boba, the veil of Durge's image flickered into pixels of color. For a second he could see himself clearly, as the others had seen him: not Boba but Durge, his mighty arm raised to fire, Boba's weapon shrouded in the image of Durge's own blaster.
Then the holoshroud's illusion was gone. The power cell had run out. And so had Boba's luck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"That is him! The intruder!"
Wat Tambor's voice rang out like a clear bell. Boba watched as Grievous and his two bodyguards turned to stare at him.
"You are not Durge, as I suspected." Grievous's voice was cold, with no trace of human emotion. "But you will die all the same!" He lifted his arm. Before Boba could move, Grievous gave a command. A blinding flash of energy leaped from an unseen weapon held by one of his bodyguards. It struck Boba in the chest and he fell, another piece of his father's armor smoking and cracked.
"Get him," commanded Grievous.
The droid bodyguards sprang forward. But Boba's body armor had absorbed the blow's impact. He rolled to one side, struggling to his feet and backing against the wall.
"You won't take me!" he yelled.
"Maybe not alive," said Wat Tambor calmly. "But dead will suit us just as well."
The droids stalked toward Boba. He grasped a blaster in each of his hands and raised them. He waited until the droids were just meters from him. Then, ducking, he fired and darted to one side.
KABLOWWW!
The blasts bounced harmlessly from the droids. They swiveled, firing in staccato bursts. Boba fired back.
KABLAAM!
He inched along the wall, blasters flaming. If I can just reach the door, he thought desperately.
There was another blast of power from the droids. Right above Boba's head the wall fragmented. He took advantage of the cloud of splintered metal and mushroom ooze, and ran.
Beside him fresher, cooler air streamed from the dimness - the tunnel. Boba made for it, his breath coming in short, deep bursts as he ran. He could hear the clack of the droids' measured footsteps behind him. He could imagine their arms raised, and that terrible, cloaked figure watching Don't think! Move!
He dove for the entrance. Cool air embraced him, and blessed darkness. His feet touched the now-familiar, slimy surface. Before him stretched the passage. Just up ahead it divided.
If I can make that fork, I can lose them, Boba thought. His heart strained as he raced toward it. If I can just
Searing pain tore through him.
Boba cried out in agony.
He struggled a few steps more.
Another torturous stab penetrated his armor from behind. He fell.
"So," an icy voice echoed through the tunnel "Now I see you as you truly are."
On the ground, Boba writhed, trying to reach his blaster and turning to look behind him. Above him the cloaked figure of General Grievous loomed into view - and in one hand it now gripped a lightsaber glowing in the haze.
How could this be? Was the general a Jedi?!
Grievous's eyes were yellow orbs within a skeletal, silvery mask. Behind him stood Wat Tambor, flanked by the droid bodyguards.
"Not that it matters," the icy voice continued. Grievous's other hand slid from the folds of his cape and then emerged with a second lightsaber ignited. "Because you are going to die now." Boba struggled vainly to reach his weaponsbelt. Pain lanced through him, as though flames ran through his veins. He fell back.
"It looks as though he is in death convulsions already," said Wat Tambor.
And suddenly Boba had an idea. Without turning his head, he let his gaze flicker across the floor of the tunnel. There, not a millimeter away, a pale clump of the paralyzing Xabar fungus sprouted. Can't - be - seen - moving! Boba thought. His hand crept toward the fungus. Must - reach it!
Grievous drew back both lightsabers to strike. Boba tensed. He let his hand rest upon the ground. He moved his wrist, fractionally, so that his glove slipped upward.
A tiny patch of his skin was now exposed. "He's dead," Wat Tambor repeated. "Our troops await us outside, General." The young bounty hunter held his breath. From the corner of his eye, he could see fingers of faintly glowing fungus. They were so close that he could almost feel them - almost touch them
Now!
Something cool and damp licked the patch of exposed skin upon his wrist. His hand, and then his wrist, grew numb. A freezing breath seemed to exhale into his lungs.
"General," urged Wat Tambor.
The icy numbness spread through Boba's body. He tried to breathe but could not. He felt his heart pump feebly. His vision began to dim. His mission to capture Wat Tambor had failed.
What would his father have thought?
Xeran said the paralysis was only temporary, Boba recalled as he drifted off. He better be right....
Around him the chamber began to grow even more dim. A flicker of consciousness raced through Boba's brain. He recalled how Jabba would sometimes have his prisoners brought to him, frozen in carbonite. Wonder if it feels like this...
It was the last thing Boba thought.
"General, please!" said Wat Tambor. "Look at him - he's dead. No one could have survived those blows!"
Wat Tambor came up to him and nudged at Boba's senseless form. The bounty hunter's body moved, but did not respond. Grievous swept past the Techno Union Foreman, in turn. Disengaging the lightsabers, he kicked Boba.
"Dead," echoed one of the droid bodyguards. "Dead," the other repeated.
"Leave him," said Wat Tambor. "There will be plenty of time to dispose of the body when we return. And plenty of others to join him, too," he added with a malicious mechanical laugh.
"Come!" commanded Grievous. "He is no Jedi. I will not waste my skill any longer on such a lackey." He turned, then stalked down the passage, Wat Tambor at his heels. The bodyguards followed, the citadel echoing as they passed. In the tunnel, a dark form remained, motionless, senseless, upon the ground.
Outside, the siege of Mazariyan raged on. Inside, Boba Fett's battle for life was just beginning. |
a-new-threat | titlepage.txt | Cover |
crossfire | 04_c1.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER ONE
“Hello!”
Silence.
“Hello!?”
No answer. The hallway outside his door was quiet.
Boba Fett was all alone.
That was okay. Boba was used to being alone.
Ever since he had buried his father, he had been by himself—a ten-year-old against the galaxy. He missed his father but he didn’t mind being alone. Sometimes.
Sort of.
…whrr…
Movement! Boba ran to a bend in the corridor. “Hey! Hey!”
…whrrr…
It was just a droid. A small, shoe-sized house droid, the custodial kind that dusted and cleaned continually. While other creatures bustled in other corridors of the Count’s underground
lair, only the custodial droids came into this hallway.
That explained why Boba felt so isolated. But it didn’t explain why he had been brought here, and what was going to happen to him. Only the Count could do that.
The Count, a tall, thin, powerful man with a cold smile, was known as Tyranus—or Dooku, depending on whom you were talking to. Boba’s father, Jango Fett, had left instructions that
Boba was to find the Count if something happened to him.
Something had happened to Boba’s father. He had been killed in a battle with a Jedi. Boba had buried his father on the planet Geonosis. He had gone to his home planet of Kamino
only to find that it wasn’t home anymore. With his father gone, there was no security. With his father gone, there was no safety. There was only the need for escape.
Boba’s father had left him a book. Find Tyranus, it had told him, to access Jango’s credits and find self-sufficiency.
That suited Boba. He wanted to learn how to become a great bounty hunter like his father. To start out he’d need credits—then he’d earn more. But Boba hadn’t had time to
find the Count. The Count had found him first, sending a bounty hunter named Aurra Sing to capture him on Coruscant and bring him to this underground hideout on Raxus Prime. She’d taken his
ship, Slave I, as payment. But she hadn’t explained why the Count wanted Boba.
Only the Count could answer that, and Boba couldn’t find him. The Count had welcomed him to this hideout—sort of—and had given him a room with a table, a chair, and a bed. Boba
had immediately gone to sleep, exhausted. Now that he was awake, the Count was nowhere to be found.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Walking around, Boba had seen rooms half-empty or filled with mysterious equipment, some of it still in crates. He had heard strange sounds in the distance. Voices, many languages. He passed
figures half-seen as they scuttled down dimly lit corridors, hurrying around corners.
There was something going on. But what? Clearly, the Count wanted to keep him separate from others. Boba hoped this was because the Count was going to train him, was going to employ him like he
had employed Boba’s father.
That was his hope.
The room Boba had been put into was painted white and lighted by glow panels set in the ceiling. Like everything he’d seen so far in the compound, it was thrown together, ramshackle.
Clearly the Count had just moved in. And he might not be planning on staying for long.
Boba knew the lair was underground—he had entered through a hillside, after being dropped off by Aurra Sing—but that was all he knew. He was far from the outside world, and even
farther from any place he had ever known. He was isolated. The Count controlled everything.
Boba knew he couldn’t stay in the room all day. If he’d learned anything from the terrible days following his father’s death, it was that he couldn’t hesitate to take
action. Boba kept walking down the hallway, which led to another dim hallway, the far-off voices a little closer. How will I find my way back to my own room? Boba wondered. The room where
he had slept was where he had left his flight bag. It was his only property, the legacy from his father.
He would worry about that later. First things first. That was a lesson his father had taught him. First he had to find the Count and figure out what was going on.
“Hello?” Another empty room. But wait…this room was different.
It had a window.
The window overlooked a lake, surrounded by woods. A blue sky overhead was flecked with white clouds. But how could that be?
Raxus Prime was the most toxic planet in the entire galaxy. Boba had seen the skies, thick with smoke; the hillsides piled high with wreckage and garbage; the oily waters choked with debris and
waste. Everything on Raxus Prime was foul and filthy. So what was this lake out the window? Had it all been cleaned up while he slept? Or had he been moved somewhere else?
Boba crossed the room toward the window. He was just about to try to open it when he heard a stern, forceful voice behind him.
“Not allowed.”
Boba turned. Someone—or something—was standing in the doorway to the room, making the empty space seem suddenly filled. He was huge, his bald, reptilian head crowned with a
clawlike crest. He wore a gray jumpsuit with gold braiding and buttons. His broad mouth was filled with too many big square teeth, and his tiny eyes were cold.
“Not allowed,” the giant in the doorway said again, this time with a stomp of his tall, heavy boots. The ground shook beneath his statement.
Boba felt a chill of fear, and remembered his father’s words: Welcome your fear as a friend, but never show it to others. He made his voice sound casual, almost friendly.
“What’s not allowed?” he asked.
“The unpermitted,” was the terse reply. “Now come with us, young sir.”
Us? There was just him, just the one giant. But that was enough. “Come—where?” Boba asked.
“The Count, ready to see you. Follow us, please.”
Boba knew he had no choice. The creature wasn’t going to move until Boba did as he said. |
crossfire | 05_c2.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TWO
Boba followed the giant past more closed doors, to an ornately carved door at the end of a long hall.
The giant knocked, then entered to a signal Boba hadn’t heard. Inside, the room was larger than the others. It had furniture, too. A desk with carved legs had a holoprojector on it. A
holographic comm unit was ready for transmissions in the corner of the room.
Behind the desk was a tall picture window. The window faced a different direction than the window in the other room, but overlooked the same view, surrounded by the same woods. What’s
going on? Boba wondered.
A man in a long cloak was standing at the window, looking out. He turned when Boba entered the room. A smile as thin and as sharp as a dagger creased his long, narrow face, slicing his white
beard in two. In a single glance, Boba could feel his dark presence. This was something more than strength. It was power.
“Young Boba Fett,” the Count said in a sonorous voice. “I hope you slept well. I see you found the clean clothing that was left beside your bed.”
Boba nodded, fingering the coarse tunic. “Yes, sir.”
“And the accommodations?”
Boba nodded again. The breakfast hadn’t amounted to much, only a shuura. But he wasn’t about to complain.
“Excellent,” said the Count. “And I believe you have met Cydon Prax. He assists me with all things.”
The hideous giant bowed and Boba bowed back. His father had taught him to spot a killer when he saw one. And Prax looked like he could easily be a killer, if pushed the wrong way. Boba felt a
tinge of anger, too. Prax now stood where Boba’s dad had stood before, at the Count’s side.
“Prax will look after you and take care of your needs,” the Count continued. “You must let him know if there is anything you desire. Anything at all.”
Boba nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He wanted to seem agreeable—almost subservient. He wanted Prax to think of him as an obedient little kid. That way, neither Prax nor
the Count would know what was really going through his head.
“Since the unfortunate death of your father, I have been pleased to take on the responsibility for your care and upbringing,” said the Count. “As you no doubt know, that was
Jango Fett’s last and fondest wish.”
It was? Boba thought. The Count’s words were kind, but why was his voice so cold?
“I have many obligations that may, unfortunately, prevent me from giving you my total attention,” continued the Count. “However, I welcome you to my quarters here on Raxus
Prime. You may find them a little primitive. We are engaged in an important archaeological project here. I will expect you to respect my rules and stay out of the way.”
“Yes, sir,” said Boba. It was easy enough to please adults. All he had to do was nod and agree.
“Good.” The Count’s smile was as bright and cold as an icicle. “Cydon, leave us.”
Cydon Prax gave a nod and lumbered out of the room. The Count slowly approached Boba and asked, “Have you ever heard the name Tyranus?”
Boba nodded. It was a simple question, but the Count’s tone was ominous.
“Your father may have mentioned it to you in connection with his work on Kamino, developing the clone troopers. I believe I’ve heard you say that he and I were the same person. When
you were on Geonosis, you looked at me and said, ‘Isn’t that Tyranus?’ Do you remember that?”
“I remember,” said Boba. Where is this going? he wondered.
“You might ask, why would someone have two names, Tyranus and Dooku?” the Count suggested mildly.
“I learned from my father not to ask too many questions,” Boba said. He could see from the Count’s eyes that this was the right answer.
“Excellent,” said the Count. “Your father was very discreet. I believe you will be, too.”
“Yes,” said Boba, wanting to reassure the Count.
“A useful man, your father,” said the Count. “And I see you are your father’s son. I am sure that with the proper training, you will be as useful someday.”
“Yes, sir,” said Boba. Training! Now they were getting somewhere. “Also, my father left a message about some credits that belonged to him. He said you would give them to
me.”
“Ah, yes, Jango Fett’s savings. I suppose, if you prove worthy…but we will discuss all that later, this evening.”
“I will prove worthy!” said Boba eagerly. “I want to be a great bounty hunter like my dad.”
But the Count was no longer listening. He was studying some strange images on his holomap. He had turned all of his attention away from Boba, as if Boba had never been there.
Boba heard the door open and felt a grip on his shoulder. “Come with us,” said Cydon Prax.
As he was being led out the door, Boba heard the Count behind him, talking on his comm device. “Keep digging,” he said in his icy voice. “Expand the search. Spare no expense.
What we are looking for is more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” |
crossfire | 06_c3.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER THREE
As Boba followed Prax down the long halls, back to his lonely room, he thought of the Count’s cold dismissal. Can I trust him? Do I have a choice? Maybe the
Count wasn’t going to turn out to be such a good friend after all. Jango Fett had always said that in a bounty hunter’s life, there was no such thing as a friend. Boba knew this was
probably true. But still he hoped…
“Stay here,” said Prax, when they arrived at the room. “No wandering. Unpermitted.”
Boba nodded his agreement and closed the door. His original clothes were back, clean, folded at the foot of the bed. He changed into them, glad to shed the rough tunic.
His flight bag sat on the floor beside the bed. It contained everything Boba owned—except his father’s ship, Slave I. Boba fully intended to get it back. Meanwhile, the bag
contained all his worldly possessions:
A helmet and a book.
When Boba had buried his father with his armor on Geonosis, he had kept his scarred and pitted battle helmet. It was Mandalorian. Boba took it out of the flight bag and looked at it longingly.
The faceplate of the helmet was as familiar, as stern, and, in its own strange way, as loving as his father’s actual features.
In fact, Boba was beginning to fear he would forget his father’s face. This would become more familiar—this harsh visage, like a T, with an eye slit at the top.
Boba put the helmet beside him and took out the book.
The black book contained Jango Fett’s final messages to his son. Sometimes they were the same, from day to day. Sometimes they changed.
The most recent message had been about the Count, credits, and self-sufficiency. Boba opened the book to see if it had changed. It had, but only a little. Today it read:
Self-sufficiency you will learn from the Count.
Sometimes the book wasn’t much help. How was he going to learn self-sufficiency from the Count, who wasn’t even interested in talking to him?
Boba had lots of questions. Why was the Count so cold and mistrustful? What was he digging for? But it was clear that if he wanted answers, he was going to have to find them himself—even
though wandering was unpermitted, according to Prax.
He closed the book and put it back into the flight bag. It was time to explore.
Boba clenched his fist and held it in front of his face, making a vow. “Self-sufficiency means do it yourself!” he muttered. He picked up his father’s helmet—it was his
only possible disguise, just in case he needed one. Carefully, as quietly as possible, he opened the door…. |
crossfire | 07_c4.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER FOUR
Boba looked right.
Boba looked left.
No Cydon Prax.
Good—all clear!
He started his exploration, staying close to the wall, so he could duck out of sight if necessary. He followed the hallway to the end, then rounded a corner; then another corner—always
heading toward the noises and commotion he could hear in the distance.
The halls around his room were empty, but those farther away were filled with noise and activity. Soon Boba found himself sharing the corridors. Droids of all shapes and sizes bustled about,
carrying equipment in and out of the small storage rooms. Their whirrs and clicks sounded almost like speech.
There were other creatures, too. Boba saw a Geonosian warrior armed with a sonic blaster at a distance and a Nemoidian in colorful robes, looking angry and harassed.
The whole place had a temporary, provisional air, like a construction site. There was dirt on the floor and scars on the walls, where they had been bumped and scraped. There was a sharp smell,
either of the outside air or of the oil-like sweat glistening on the limbs of the busy droids.
The equipment in some of the rooms looked like it was for digging or drilling. Most of it was covered with muck, but some was bright and gleaming, as though it hadn’t yet been used.
And under it all was a low hum, a constant buzz of activity. Boba heard two Nemoidians talking about “the dig” and “the harvester,” but they turned a corner and were gone
before he could hear more.
Boba made his way down the halls and around the corners, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He had learned that it was easy for a ten-year-old to be invisible, as long as he stayed
out of the way.
The droids and workers were all intent on their tasks. And none of them knew or cared who Boba was, except for Prax. All Boba had to do was avoid him.
The air in the corridor was growing colder. The toxic smell was stronger. Ahead, Boba saw a large opening to the outside. Droids and workers streamed in and out, some carrying
strange-looking tools, others riding on square all-terrain vehicles.
He was trying to get a better look when he heard a familiar voice: “Give us results!”
That harsh, booming sound was familiar. Cydon Prax? Boba wasn’t taking any chances. He ducked into a nearby room and flattened himself against the wall.
To his surprise, he was facing a window. The view was just like the ones he had seen earlier. The window overlooked a lake surrounded by woods, with a clear blue sky overhead.
Again, Boba wondered how such a view could exist on Raxus Prime. And why was the view exactly the same every time he saw it? How could three rooms in different places have the same view?
He approached the window and reached out to touch it. It was soft, like a plastic curtain. As soon as he touched it, the scene changed. Now he saw bright blue-green water lapping against silvery
sands.
He touched the window again.
Snow-covered peaks watching over an icy planet.
Now I get it! Boba thought. It was all a display, a virtual window showing a virtual scene. A series of illusions installed by the Count.
Boba touched the viewscreen one last time and saw toxic steam belching from piles of trash and slag, under a reddish, smoke-stained sky. This was the real world—Raxus Prime. The beautiful
views were just fabrications.
In the distance was a tower with huge arms, moving up and down. It looked like a giant robot. Was it real, or an illusion? Boba couldn’t tell. Here in the Count’s lair, it was
impossible to tell the truth from a lie.
Suddenly, Boba heard a distinctive set of footsteps in the hallway—the heavy tread of Prax patrolling. In the blank room, there was nowhere to hide. Boba held himself close to the wall,
next to the doorway. If Prax peered in, Boba would be fine. If Prax walked inside, he’d be caught.
The footsteps came closer. Then stopped. Right outside the room. Boba held his breath. The door opened. Prax stuck his head into the room.
The window is wrong, Boba realized. Too late. There was no way to hide the scene of Raxus Prime.
Prax was no more than a meter away from Boba. If he turned his head, it would all be over.
For a long second, everything remained still. Then Prax grunted and pulled his head out of the room.
Boba waited a few minutes, until he was sure Prax was gone again. Then he slipped back out into the hall and headed toward the other creatures near the exit.
Boba stood to one side and looked out the giant doorway. Through the swirling mists he saw the tower he had seen through the “window.” The tower was definitely real. It was the focus
of all the activity; a crude dirt road from the door to the tower’s base was crowded with vehicles, droids, and workers carrying equipment, some coming and others going out.
Boba was fascinated. This must be the Count’s “dig.”
What was he digging for? The Count had made it sound like something very powerful…which would make it something a bounty hunter should know about.
There was one way to find out the truth. |
crossfire | 08_c5.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER FIVE
Whew! What a stink! The sky was dark with swirling smoke; the ground was heaped with the trash and garbage from a thousand planets. The twisted wreckage of hundreds of
crashed ships stretched into the distance. The air was almost too foul to breathe.
Luckily, Boba had brought his father’s battle helmet. He put it over his head as he started out on the road, toward the tower. The helmet was surprisingly light, and it made breathing
easier; though it had no independent air supply, its filters removed the worst of Raxus Prime’s poisons.
Self-sufficiency, thought Boba, begins with the right equipment.
The road angled up a ridge of oozing slag. Boba slogged along, his boots slipping in the soft terrain. At the top, where the road crested the ridge, he stopped to rest.
From here he could see the tower much better. It was a crane. The arms were equipped with drills and vats, which dipped deep into the muck of Raxus Prime. Lights from the top of the tower
illuminated a great pit, where droids and workers toiled in and out of the vapors and the darkness.
All around were ruined walls and arches, like the remains of a great city that had been buried and forgotten, and was being dug up again.
Boba descended the ridge until he was at the edge of the enormous pit and looked down. Remote diggers and salvage droids rattled and bumped through the muck, far below. Well-armed
“spider” droids stood watch at the perimeter of the pit, and Boba saw AAT tanks idling nearby, hovering off the ground. But none of them seemed interested in him.
A lot of firepower for a hole in the ground, especially on the galaxy’s garbage planet. Boba wondered again what could be so valuable, buried in the mire and muck of Raxus Prime?
As if in answer to his unspoken question, a gruff voice said, “Getting close to it, huh?”
Boba jumped. He hadn’t seen the Givin driver, who had stepped out of his drilling vehicle and walked up to stand beside him.
“Guess so,” Boba asked. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know what “it” was.
“About time.” The driver bit off a piece of radni root, and offered it to Boba. “Have a chaw?”
Boba realized that in his helmet, he was being taken for an adult. Another advantage of his father’s legacy.
“No, thanks, I don’t chew,” he said. Then he ventured: “So that’s it—the treasure?”
“Treasure?” The Geonosian laughed and spat into the pit. “Not unless you call death a treasure. No one’s supposed to know, but the Count is after something called a Force
Harvester.”
Boba had heard about the Force. The Jedi used it, his father had told him. But the Count wasn’t a Jedi…
“But don’t mind me,” he said, heading back to his mud-laden craft. “I just work here.”
“Security check!” said a gruff, familiar voice in the near distance. Boba ducked behind a rock just as Cydon Prax strode into view.
“All systems secure?” Prax asked. “No intruders?”
“Who’d intrude on this planet?” asked the driver, swinging up into his seat. “Not exactly a resort.”
“Keep an eye open,” growled Prax. “The Count does not want anyone nosing about his digs. Got it?”
“Got it, got it,” said the driver.
I’d better get out of here, fast! Boba thought. Prax might recognize him, even in his helmet, because of his size. He waited until Prax was out of sight, then started back down
the road.
The problem was, the road was too exposed, too narrow. Prax could come along at any moment. Boba decided to take what he hoped was a shortcut. A path veered off through the wreckage, but Boba
thought he saw it emerge back by the Count’s base.
After getting off the road and rounding a few bends, Boba realized he’d already gone far. Like most shortcuts, it turned out to be the long way. |
crossfire | 09_c6.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER SIX
It was hard going. Up one stinking slag heap, and down another.
Boba tried to keep the big tower straight behind him, and the distant light of the door ahead. That would be the shortest, fastest route back to Dooku’s underground lair.
The stinking ground sucked at his boots where it was wet, and crumbled into toxic dust where it was dry.
Raxus Prime was all ruins and debris. Boba passed through forests of broken machinery and shredded wire. He climbed cliffs of soggy, discarded fabric and slid down steep mountainsides of muck.
Brown steam spewed from the steep piles, while foul-smelling liquids oozed down their sides.
The helmet helped him breathe but it couldn’t mask the smell of the noxious atmosphere. Still, Boba pushed on. He had no choice; he had to beat Prax back to the Count’s lair. Other
wise, the Count might find out he had broken his rules and gone outside. Even though Boba wasn’t sure what he had discovered. The Force Harvester? What was that?
“Ugh!” Boba slipped on a particularly foul-smelling piece of refuse and slid to a stop. He was at the edge of a wide pond of bubbling, greenish-brown liquid. It looked very
nasty. A mist rose from the surface that smelled like rotten rikknit eggs.
Unless Boba turned around, the only way through was by way of the pond. He walked straight into the liquid—first one step, then another. The nasty goop sloshed over the tops of his boots,
but what did he care? Boba was not going to let anything get in his way. A bounty hunter was not delayed by revulsion.
Boba shook the slime off his boots and trudged up another steep ridge of dripping slag. Even through his helmet, the smell was terrible. But from the top, he could see that the brightly lighted
door way of the Count’s lair was only a few hundred meters away. He was almost there!
There was only another pond to cross, and this one was long and narrow—just a few meters across. Boba slid down another slope slick with oozing slime, to the edge.
The pond was ringed with foul-smelling ferns. It was a brighter green than the last one, and it looked deeper. A lot deeper.
Boba summoned up his courage and stepped off the edge, into the ferns. His boots sank into the ground. He took another step and sank up to his boot tops. Boba tried to pull his left leg free; it
sank even deeper.
Another step, and it was up to his knees. Boba was more than halfway across, but he was stuck. The ooze felt like hands, pulling him down deeper and deeper.
Boba tried to take a step back, but he couldn’t. Instead, he slipped farther into the greenish muck. Now it was up to his waist.
He tried again to pull his legs free, but thrashing around only sank him deeper into the stinking, gluelike mud.
He quickly sank in up to his neck.
The mist was rising into his mask, and he could hardly breathe. He could feel a burning sensation in his knees and feet. It felt as if he were being dissolved by the acid gunk.
I am being digested!
Only the helmet allowed him to breathe, to survive. It seemed to have stopped the sinking and the digesting for some reason. But for how long? His chin sank into the muck. In a moment his mouth
and nose would be covered, too. The mask was clearly being rejected by the horrible mass…but how long would that last?
Boba searched frantically for a means of escape. He saw a coil of wire sticking out of a slag heap on the other side of the pond, but it was too far away. A stick lay closer, on the bank below
the wire, but still out of reach. The reeds were all around, but they were too thin and frail to hold his weight.
Then Boba remembered: self-sufficiency. It meant using whatever was available.
He managed to get one arm out of the muck and grabbed the longest reed he could find, pulling it up by the roots. It felt slimy, even through his gloves. He used it like a long flexible hook to
snag the wire, inching it across the mud until it was within the reach of his hand.
Yes! The wire felt plenty strong. Boba wrapped it around his hand and began to pull.
It was almost too late. His eyes were burning and he could hardly breathe. His arms were weak. He gathered all his strength and pulled….
The wire was coming loose from the slag pile. It dislodged a tiny clod, starting a small landslide down the slippery slope of slag and garbage. Then it jerked tight again. It had snagged on
something.
Boba pulled again, but more carefully this time. The wire was barely caught on the edge of an old piece of machinery. If it slipped off, he was a goner.
This was his last chance. Hardly daring to breathe, he pulled himself toward the shore of the pond. One leg was free…then the other…
Boba grabbed a handful of reeds and pulled himself out of the stinking liquid, onto the slimy shore. “Whew!” Plain old slime had never felt so good before.
He was free.
Boba blended in with the crowd of droids, warriors, and workers streaming in the wide, brightly lighted door way. No one noticed him, and Prax was nowhere to be seen.
Even the filth that covered him didn’t give him away. Many of the others were filthy as well, from the dig.
Boba took off his helmet and wiped it clean. It had saved his life, that was for sure. He now realized why it was so important to his father…and why it would be important to him.
Boba joined the “dig” workers in the shower that steamed the worst of the slime off his clothes and his boots, and then dried them instantly. Now all he had to do was make it back to
his room and no one would know he had been outside.
He stepped out of the shower, his clothes already dry—and grimaced in pain as a rough, strong hand gripped his shoulder.
“Come!” The voice was unmistakable. Boba opened his mouth to explain that he hadn’t meant to break the rules, that it was all a mistake. But what was the point?
Cydon Prax wasn’t listening as he dragged Boba down the corridor, toward the Count’s inner sanctuary. |
crossfire | 10_c7.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Count wrinkled his finely arched nose. “We shall have to clean you up,” he said dismissively.
Boba tried to keep from shaking. He knew it was best never to show fear. He gripped his father’s helmet in his hands.
“Your father didn’t teach you very well,” said the Count. “You have been sticking your nose where it does not belong.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Boba said. He could feel the Count’s power turning steadily into wrath.
“Oh, really?” The Count was scornful. He stood behind his desk, in front of the “window” that showed a blue lake under a blue sky. Anything but the real filth of Raxus
Prime.
“Really,” said Boba. “I just stepped outside the door. I didn’t go far.”
“Perhaps I should take on your training, after all,” said the Count. Boba felt a moment’s hope. But the hope was dashed by the Count’s next words: “If I did, the
first thing I would teach you is how to lie. You are not very good at it.”
“I am sorry I broke your rules,” said Boba. And especially sorry that I got caught.
“Sorry?” said the Count with a smooth, cold grin. “You have broken my rules. And that is not all…”
Not all? Wasn’t that enough?
“I’ve decided that you know too much at a time when information is a valuable commodity.” He turned to Cydon Prax, who stood by the doorway. “Isn’t it ironic that
one small boy should be the only one who knows such a great secret?”
Prax didn’t answer, of course. Boba wasn’t sure what the “great secret” was that he was supposed to know about. But the Count’s remark gave him an idea that he
hoped just might save his life.
“What makes you think I’m the only one who knows?”
The Count raised his eyebrow—the most surprise Boba could imagine the Count betraying. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said,” said Boba. He tried to keep his voice calm, cool, Jango Fett–style. “I have already told someone else.”
He had the Count’s attention now…barely. “May I inquire who?” the older man asked.
“That’s my secret,” Boba bluffed. “And she knows who to tell if anything happens to me.”
“She?” Boba could hear a slight undertow of uncertainty. “Might you be insinuating the bounty hunter Aurra Sing?”
Boba was making it up as he went along. “I do mean Aurra Sing,” he said.
“Young fool. Are you threatening me?”
“No, sir. I simply want what is mine. My freedom—and my father’s credits.”
“Freedom? Credits?” The Count’s eyes blazed like cold fire. “I do not bargain with children. Especially those who are a nuisance.”
I went too far! Boba realized. His last chance was lost.
“Cydon Prax, you know what to do with him.”
Boba knew it was useless to resist. He closed his eyes as Cydon Prax picked him up. Boba dropped his helmet as his arms were pinned. His father’s voice came to him. If you must die, do
so with valor. That is what Jango Fett had done, fighting to the last moment.
The memory inspired Boba. He was done with pleading and pretending. Whatever was coming, he would face it with the courage of the son of Jango Fett.
Suddenly the Count raised his hand. For the first time, Boba saw genuine concern cross his face.
“What is it, sir?” Prax asked.
“The Jedi have found us,” the Count answered.
Boba strained to hear something beyond the silence of the room. How did the Count know?
“Finish him off, then join me,” the Count said tersely as his hand seemed to instinctively find the curved lightsaber handle that glistened beneath his cloak.
BAR-ROOOM! An explosion shook the floor.
Quickly picking up a holopad from his desk, the Count left the room. As if on cue, a second explosion rocked the room. This one was closer. Small rocks started to fall from the ceiling.
Cydon Prax hesitated for a moment and his grip on Boba loosened just a little as he looked after his master. Boba saw his chance. He kicked out with all his strength against the nearest wall.
Prax was propelled backward, into the desk. Boba’s elbows slammed into him as they landed.
“You little…”
Prax’s words were lost in a series of explosions outside. The floor pitched up like the deck of a ship being tossed by a giant wave. The door cracked and fell to the ground. The sound of
blaster fire and confused voices filled the air.
Boba lunged and twisted free from Prax’s grip. He scooped up his battle helmet from the floor where he had dropped it. And then he did what his father had taught him to do whenever he was
in a bad situation he didn’t expect to get any better.
He ran. |
crossfire | 11_c8.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER EIGHT
The once dim corridor was filled with light, and no wonder!
The Count’s underground hideout had been blown wide open. Large parts of the roof were missing, and Boba was standing on top of a pile of smoking rubble.
He looked up. The filthy sky of Raxus Prime was even filthier than usual. It was filled with explosions, blossoming like deadly flowers.
The noise was deafening. A battle was raging. Blaster fire screamed past. The Count’s automatic defense system was firing into the air, rapid-fire lasers filling the already smoky air with
bursts and clouds of brightly colored smoke.
Through the clouds, Boba saw the approaching gunships. They bore the eight-spoked insignia of the Republic. The Count had been right—it was a Jedi-led attack! Republic assault ships were
unloading clone troopers in their gleaming white battle armor. They fanned out in impressive military order through the slag heaps, smashing the Count’s defenses.
My brothers! Boba thought scornfully. His father had helped create the clone troopers; the Kaminoans had used his dad’s genetic material to make millions of them. So why were they
fighting on the side of the hated Jedi—again?
Battle droids followed what Boba instantly recognized as GAT tanks, closing in on the clone troopers from behind—until a Jedi on a speeder-bike streaked over the horizon, mowing them down
with deadly laser fire. And here came what looked like a new kind of tank, its telltale red markings signifying it belonged to the Jedi, lurching through the same slimy ponds that Boba had
survived.
Jedi gunships were closing in on the ruins that surrounded the crane tower and the pit. One gunship dodged a missile’s streak; another was hit and spiraled down to crash unseen over the
horizon.
Yes! Boba watched, fascinated. He hated both sides—the Jedi and the Count. But he loved the action.
It was chaos, and it was just the diversion he needed to help him escape. He looked down and saw his reflection in a puddle. His face was streaked with dirt again, but he was grinning from ear
to ear.
Anything was better than being the Count’s prisoner. He was free!
Boba heard a noise behind him and turned just in time to see a huge starship rise from the other end of the Count’s hideout.
It was the Count, making his escape. Boba wondered if he had managed to rescue the dark treasure that he had come to Raxus Prime to find.
Two Jedi star fighters raced over the horizon, zeroing in on the Count’s starship. The pursued and pursuers both vanished into the thick clouds.
KABOOM!
KABOOM!
Even though the Count had fled, his defense system was still working. It would keep firing until his slave droids were dead and the lasers ran out of energy. Boba kept his head down as he
crawled through the rubble, looking for an opening that would lead back down into the hallways of the abandoned hideout where he had to go to get his father’s book.
Wearing his helmet for protection, Boba crawled through a smashed opening in a wall. The hallways were choked with smoke and rubble. The dust, the explosions, the noise, made
everything difficult to see.
As he grasped his way through the abandoned corridor, Boba found that he felt very little fear. He had escaped the worst fate imaginable, and now he felt like a new man, or at least a new boy.
What could happen to him worse than what he had escaped?
He saw a familiar-looking door. His room!
There was his bed, turned on its side by an explosion. But where was the flight bag that had been under it?
Frantically, Boba dug in the rubble with his hands until he felt the familiar curve of a handle. He pulled, harder and harder, until it came free.
Safe! He threw the helmet into the bag and sealed it. With the troopers around, it was best to keep Jango Fett’s mask out of sight. |
crossfire | 12_c9.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER NINE
Boba crawled toward the open air—and found himself face-to-face with a squadron of clone troopers bursting through the wreckage. As soon as they saw Boba, they leveled
their blasters at him.
“Come with us,” the trooper said, extending a white-gloved hand.
Boba wondered if the trooper knew who he was. The trooper soon answered that question with his next words:
“Are you one of the orphans?”
“Uh, sure,” Boba replied. He was an orphan, after all.
“Name of missing or deceased parents.”
“Oh, uh—Teff,” said Boba.
“Orphan Teff, age, please?”
“Ten.”
“Under guidelines,” said the clone trooper. “Follow me for food and shelter.”
Food and shelter? That didn’t sound so bad.
Boba didn’t trust the Jedi, but this clone trooper was not a Jedi, even though he was probably working for them.
“Sure thing,” said Boba, picking up his flight bag and noticing the trooper’s number—CT-4/619.
Explosions still rocked the building. Even though the Count had escaped, the battle raged on. The Count’s slave droids were continuing the fight—and Boba was now caught in the
crossfire.
The clone troopers paid little attention to the explosions as they lifted their blasters to repel the super battle droids. For a split second, Boba felt an echo of the past—the clone
troopers’ movements were almost exactly the same as Jango Fett’s. The way they held their blaster rifles. The way their heads turned to take in the full scope of the battle. The fierce
stealth of their steps. He trained them as well as he trained me.
No, better.
Boba knew he had to snap out of these thoughts. The battle droids were pushing for ward against the troopers’ ranks, relentlessly firing their blasters. They had been programmed to kill or
be destroyed. There would be no surrender, no retreat.
They aimed their fire at the troopers and at the top of the rubble’s entrance. Boba dashed out into the open just as the door way began to cave in. The troopers inside died without a
sound. The air was suddenly choked with dust. The other troopers did not look back.
An eruption of blaster fire landed at Boba’s feet. A close call. A trooper at his side was knocked off his feet, crashing into the rubble. The droids, too, were being torn apart
by the shooting. A bloodbath—without the blood.
There was nowhere for Boba to hide. No way to get out of this.
He picked up a fallen trooper’s blaster and chose a side. The clones were his only chance of getting off the planet. He had to help them win.
Boba had never fought in a battle before. Whenever he’d held a blaster, his father had been at his side. Watching. Checking. Instructing.
Boba looked again at the troopers, the echo of his father. He raised his rifle like they raised theirs. He aimed at the controls of one of the battle droids. Without hesitation, he fired. The
droid exploded into parts.
Another trooper fell—there were only four left with Boba. He could hear the sound of other battles close by. Who is winning? CT-4/619 leaped—with Jango Fett’s
dexterity—toward a fallen excavation rig. Boba understood at once—protection. As the second and third troopers ran for cover, Boba kept in their shadow. The fourth trooper
followed and was cut down by a rapid barrage of blaster fire. His mask went flying as he hit the ground. Boba knew if he looked he would see his father’s face, replicated once more in
death.
He did not look back.
Instead he positioned himself at CT-4/619’s side, aiming his blaster rifle as the troopers made their last stand. One battle droid down. Then another. Still, it wasn’t enough. There
were at least a dozen left.
CT-4/619 did not falter. He did not look at Boba. He did not say a word. He kept his focus. He kept his aim. Boba knew this concentration well.
Boba fired again. A miss. The droid returned his fire, tearing a hole into the excavation rig—the only protection left.
Two more droids down. But the remaining droids were not deterred. They turned all their fire onto the third trooper the next time he moved into blasting position. He didn’t have a
chance.
This is it, Boba thought. There’s no other way out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another form approaching. Not a clone. Not a droid. A female Bothan, bearded and small. Wearing the robes of a Jedi.
With one sharp, quick movement, the Jedi activated her lightsaber and began to repel the droids’ fire. As the droids turned their attack on her, Boba and the two remaining clone troopers
had an open shot.
The droids began to fall. The Jedi expertly destroyed them with their own fire. The remaining clones rallied with cold precision. And Boba did his part. He was not as experienced or as focused
as his clone brothers. But he had a desire to survive that they couldn’t match.
The firing from the droids slowed…then stopped. There were none left. Boba looked over to see the Jedi’s reaction—but she was already gone. Off to the next skirmish in
order to complete this invasion.
Eventually, the laser cannons fell silent. Some of the gunships left the perimeter, their mission complete. A few more circled, the remains of the attack force. Jedi and clone troopers combed
the ground for survivors—and prisoners. CT-4/619 led Boba forward. There was no time to stop and mourn for the dead. There were no congratulations, no expressions of relief. Just the task
at hand—getting back to the ship, finishing the mission.
They walked across the smoking rubble toward a sleek gunship idling in the swirling, stinking mists. Boba followed resolutely. Even though he was walking into the hands of the Jedi, it was worth
it to be walking out of the grasp of Raxus Prime. CT-4/619 took away Boba’s blaster rifle as he walked on board the gunship—but luckily he was allowed to keep his bag. Boba followed
the trooper into the pilot area. The trooper got into the pilot’s seat and Boba sat in another seat.
“Not for seating,” said the trooper. “For my partner, CT-5/501. Detainees sit on the floor. We’ll wait here for the others.”
Boba wasn’t about to protest. He sat on his flight bag while the trooper powered up the vehicle.
Where’s the food? Boba wondered. He suddenly realized how cold and hungry and tired he was.
The gunship seemed awfully comfortable, even on the durasteel floor. He could still hear the last gasp of explosions and commands being given over the gunship’s comm unit, but for some
strange reason, he felt safe. He knew he had survived.
“Impossible!”
Boba opened his eyes. Had he dozed off?
There was a face on the viewscreen. Angry, violet eyes peered out from under long ash-blond hair and over a cream-colored beard that had been braided into points. But it wasn’t the face
that bothered Boba, or even the harsh, demanding voice.
It was the uniform.
Even though this Jedi had just saved Boba’s life, she was still the enemy. Boba knew he had to remember that.
“Impossible!” the Jedi said again. “There are no humanoid orphans on Raxus Prime, only Jawas. The planet is nothing but a toxic dump.”
“Nevertheless, General Glynn-Beti,” said CT-4/619. “I rescued one and brought him into the gunship, as per instructions.”
“Bring him up and stick him with the others, then. We will check on him just like the rest.”
Boba tried not to show the emotion in his face. The troopers were easy enough to fool; or perhaps they didn’t care. But the Jedi would see through his deception. They were looking for him;
he had almost been apprehended on Coruscant. He was starting to think it was better to stay on Raxus Prime, foul as it was.
But wait! Boba’s new wisdom took over. The Jedi thought he was a war orphan. He would be put with other orphans, as she had said. If he kept his mouth shut, he would get food, shelter—and transportation to another planet, where he could begin the search for Aurra Sing and Slave I.
Self-sufficiency was all about using the opportunities that presented themselves. The Jedi wanted orphans—so Boba Fett would be Orphan Teff! |
crossfire | 13_c10.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TEN
Boba stared out the narrow viewscreen as the powerful gunship rose above the slag heaps of Raxus Prime and into the clouds. He was glad to see the last of the galaxy’s
most toxic planet!
A droid fighter closed in on them, but the craft’s automated turret targeted it and annihilated it with withering turbo fire. Below, skirmishes continued as clone troopers cleaned out the
slave droids and continued their work in the Count’s compound.
As he watched the clone troopers work together to fly the ship, Boba felt pangs of jealousy. He yearned to get his hands on the controls of a ship. He missed flying; it was all he had ever cared
about or wanted to do.
“Entering high orbit,” said CT-5/501. “Request permission to approach Candaserri.”
“Permission granted.”
The clones worked well together, executing the small tasks of maneuvering and communications with hardly a word among them. They flew the ship skillfully, avoiding fire and making precise
judgments, but without any particular joy or style.
Boba found them fascinating, but slightly repellent. It was just too weird. They were his brothers, though they didn’t know it. Like him, they were clones of Jango Fett, but they had
matured at twice the normal rate. They looked and acted twenty years old, not ten.
Their rushed maturity and other engineering meant that they were very narrow in their interests and enthusiasms. They seemed to have no fear, and no excitement, either. They weren’t the
least bit interested in Boba, which suited Boba fine.
The less I see of these guys, the better.
Boba retreated to a back corner of the cockpit and he opened the black book his father had left him. He needed some advice. He needed to feel that he wasn’t entirely
alone.
But there was no new message. Only the message that had brought him here:
Self-sufficiency you will learn from the Count.
The Count who had wanted to kill him? Who had stolen his father’s credits and cheated and betrayed him?
Yes. Boba suddenly understood what his father’s cryptic message meant.
The Count had taught Boba never to trust anyone again. The Count had taught him that he could rely only on himself.
The Count had taught him self-sufficiency.
And with that came confidence.
Boba returned to the viewscreen. Stars! He greeted them like old friends, with a fierce joy. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed them on Raxus Prime, which was so
polluted that the stars were never visible.
Space, cold and empty as it was, felt like home.
The gunship soared in silence through the void until an assault ship came into view—first as a single far-off dot of light, one among millions; then as a galaxy, spinning slowly; then as
a dagger shape, larger and larger, festooned with dozens of turbo lasers. “Awesome,” said Boba. “What’s its name again?”
It was the biggest ship he had ever seen—as big as a city, floating in space.
“Starship Candaserri,” CT-4/619 reported. “Republic troopship, Acclamator-class. Seven hundred fifty-two meters long. Crew seven hundred, military and support
personnel fifteen thousand five hundred.”
“And Jedi?” Boba asked.
“Only a few. They are in command, usually on the command bridge.”
“Any names?” Boba wondered if they would include the hated Obi-Wan Kenobi, or Mace Windu, who had killed his father.
“Glynn-Beti is the Jedi general who works with us,” said CT-4/619. “You will meet her or her Padawan, who is in charge of the orphans as well.”
“Padawan?”
“A Padawan Learner is an apprentice Jedi.”
Oh, thought Boba, remembering the young Jedi, Anakin Skywalker, who had also been present at Jango Fett’s death.
Boba felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension as they drew closer to the Candaserri’s rear docking bay.
Tiny figures could be seen behind the ports and windows: crew members going about their duties, clone troops drilling.
And somewhere, on the bridge perhaps, the hated Jedi.
Soon, Boba knew, he would face a stern test. If he could conceal his true indentity, the Jedi could help him by taking him far away from Raxus Prime. He could then begin the task of tracking
down Aurra Sing and recovering the stolen Slave I.
After a few more maneuvers, they were ready to land. Airlocks hissed, ramps dropped, doors slid open.
Boba followed the two clone troopers out into a huge enclosed space. The rear docking bay was filled with gunships and starfighters, lined up in neat rows. Clone troopers in fours and sixes
walked among them, guarding them or servicing them—it was hard for Boba to tell.
Boba heard footsteps approaching. “Where is the orphan?” a serious voice called out. “Let’s see!”
“Over here,” said CT-4/619.
Boba saw two robed Jedi approaching. Both were small, no taller than he was.
This was it. Boba turned to CT-4/619 and CT-5/501. They had saved him from Raxus Prime. He wanted to say good-bye, and thanks.
But they were already gone. Was that them, in the clone group servicing a Cord-class star fighter? Or were they among the four walking out the door in formation?
There was no way to tell; the troopers all looked exactly alike.
“Orphan Teff?”
Boba nodded, looking down.
The Jedi who stood in front of him was only about a meter and a half tall, but radiated power and command. Boba would have felt it even if he hadn’t seen her in action on the battlefield.
She had violet eyes and a pointed beard. Boba was not surprised by the beard. He knew her as a Bothan, and all Bothans, male and female alike, were bearded.
The younger Jedi, the Padawan, had three eyes and horns, but a friendly look.
“We didn’t expect to find orphans on Raxus Prime,” said the elder Jedi. “I am Glynn-Beti. This is my Padawan, Ulu Ulix.”
The younger Jedi bowed. Boba bowed back.
“You sure you’re an orphan and not a Separatist spy?” asked Glynn-Beti gruffly. She didn’t seem to expect an answer. “Teff, huh? Account for yourself, Teff! How did
you get on Raxus Prime?”
Boba put his hands behind his back, so she wouldn’t see them trembling. This was harder than he had thought!
“Speak up, Orphan Teff! What are your parents’ names? What’s in the bag there? Open it, please.”
Boba panicked. If he opened the flight bag and the Jedi saw the Mandalorian battle helmet, they would know he was Jango Fett’s son. They would arrest him immediately. He didn’t know
what to do. Self-sufficiency, don’t fail me now!
Instead of opening the bag, Boba decided to burst into tears. He covered his face with his hands and began to sob.
“Oh, bother!” said Glynn-Beti, visibly uncomfortable. “Ulu, take him to the Orphan Hall. But stop by the bacta baths first—he stinks of Raxus Prime, and who knows what
contagion breeds there.”
She turned on a tiny, pointed heel, and was gone.
“Come with me, Teff,” said the Padawan, putting a gentle arm around Boba’s shoulder. “Don’t cry. Let’s get you some clean clothes and something to eat.
You’ll feel better then, I promise. You don’t seem like a spy and we’ll hear your story later.”
Boba sniffled as he followed Ulu Ulix. He kept his face covered to hide his true feelings.
It worked! he thought. |
crossfire | 14_c11.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Boba figured that taking a bacta bath was one of the galaxy’s most intense experiences. He breathed through a mask while he was submerged in a synthetic gel that did a
search and repair over every centimeter of his body, inside and out, healing, restoring, and refreshing every organ.
It took hours.
It made him tingle all over.
And it got rid of the stink of Raxus Prime.
Much better, Boba thought as he allowed the air scrubber to dry him. He put on the clean coveralls that had been set out for him by Ulu Ulix.
He was glad to see that no one had opened his flight bag.
“You look like a new person,” said Ulu when he returned. “As you can see, Teff, there’s no need to cry. Lots of kids have been separated from their parents during this
war. Most of them will be reunited, I am sure. Meanwhile, all you orphans—temporary orphans—are being taken to a temporary clearing site in the beautiful Cloud City of
Bespin.”
Bespin! Boba perked up. The gas giant was fairly remote but a minor hub of the galaxy, and a good place to start his search for Aurra Sing. Things are looking better
already.
Boba and Ulu walked through the halls of the vast ship. It was like Coruscant, levels and levels interlocked with ladders and chutes. But the halls were not teeming with hangers-on and tourists
from all over the galaxy, all in different brightly colored outfits. Rather, there were only two basic types:
—the crew, who represented every sentient race or life-form. Diverse in color, stature, and shape, they were united by their magenta tunics.
—and the clone troopers, all looking alike, whether they were in their white battle armor or their red coveralls. With their helmets off, their blank faces showed neither emotion nor
interest in anything outside their own ranks.
I hope I don’t look that blank when I’m twenty, Boba thought with a shudder.
Ulu Ulix was very friendly, for a Jedi. He seemed to lack that aggressive arrogance that Boba associated with the order.
He’ll probably flunk out, Boba thought.
They went into what must have been one of many small kitchens set up to feed the around-the-clock patrols. “The other kids will be at dinner,” said Ulu Ulix. “You must be
starving. What would you like?”
All the food was unfamiliar. Boba pointed to what looked like a meat pie that was sitting behind a pane of glass.
Ulu pressed his palm against the glass, and the meat pie made itself in a swirl of laser light, then floated out, released temporarily from the ship’s artificial gravity.
“Thanks!” Boba said, catching it. It tasted better than good—it had been a long time since he’d had a full meal.
Boba didn’t like Jedi—at all!—but it was hard to hate Ulu. He was different. Almost cordial. “Aren’t you going to eat some?” Boba asked. “You can
have a bite of mine.”
“Not hungry. I just ate the day before yesterday.”
At the end of a long hallway in the depths of the ship, they found a dormitory. It was empty of people, but filled with beds, all of them short.
“Grab an empty bed, Teff,” said Ulu. “The other kids will be back from dinner soon. They’ll tell you the drill. It mainly involves staying out of the way.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” said Ulu. “I’m in charge of the Orphan Hall. It’s part of my training. I try to make things as easy for you kids as possible. If there’s
anything you need, just let me know.”
Ulu smiled and left, and Boba lay down on a bunk by the wall. This was going to be something new: a roomful of kids. Was he finally going to have a chance to make some friends? That would be
something new for sure! His father had warned him about friendships and making himself weak to so-called friends. But Boba was still curious.
For now, Boba was too tired to think about it. He lay down and closed his eyes. It seemed that his head had barely hit the pillow when he was awakened by a hideous cackling noise, as if he were
being attacked by a flock of birds.
He sat up, terrified. A nightmare?
He opened his eyes. No nightmare. It was kids—shouting, screaming, laughing, jumping on and off the beds. Boba looked at them and groaned. They were incredibly loud, and diverse. The
only older kids (his age) he saw were separated into two groups, a small group of girls, looking suspiciously at a small group of boys.
The rest of the kids were squalling, laughing, and crying. The chaos was unbelievable. Boba groaned again. This was far worse than he had imagined. Boba Fett, the bounty hunter’s son, who
could fly a starship and survive a Count’s attack…stuck with a bunch of underage brats!
I don’t belong here! Boba put his pillow over his head, hoping he would go to sleep before he went crazy.
And he got lucky.
He did.
In dreams there is no past and future, only a shining endless now. In dreams there is no gravity, no hunger, no cold…
“Hey.”
Boba groaned. In his dream he was riding a great beast around and around in an arena, trying to catch up with his father, but he kept slipping off…
“Hey!”
“I am,” said Boba.
“You am what?” a voice said with a laugh.
“Holding on,” said Boba. But there was nothing to hold on to. The beast was gone.
Boba sat up and opened his eyes.
He was in the dorm, the Orphan Hall. The noise was now a low hum, still obnoxious but bearable.
Most of the kids were playing games or sitting and rocking their toys or dolls. All but one, who was sitting at the foot of his bed.
“Wake up,” he said—or was he a she? It was hard to tell. The kid at the end of the bed was a humanoid, like Boba, but with darker skin and shorter hair—and very merry
eyes.
Boba smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Who are you?”
“The only reasonably mature kid in this zoo. And I’m exactly what you need.”
“Which is what?”
“A friend.” |
crossfire | 15_c12.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m Garr,” said the visitor sitting at the foot of the bed, extending a hand.
Boba took it cautiously. “Teff,” he said, remembering the name he had conjured up for the Jedi. (He wished he had been more creative.) He sat up and rubbed his head. “I must
have fallen asleep. How long was I sleeping?”
“Days,” said Garr. “A standard day, anyway, according to the ship’s chronos. We all notice when there’s someone new. You had been in the bacta bath but you still
smelled a little ripe. Where did they pick you up, anyway?”
“Raxus Prime,” said Boba.
“Ugh. Is it as bad as they say?”
“Worse,” Boba confided. He decided to change the subject. “Where were you, uh, picked up?”
“Excarga,” said Garr. “My parents are ore traders. When the Separatists arrived to take control of our ore-processing facilities, they took everyone prisoner, so my parents hid
me. Later, when the Republic counterattacked, they picked me up, but I couldn’t find my parents. What about your parents?”
“My parents?”
Garr pointed around the Orphan Hall. “All of us are here because we were separated from our parents. Sometimes I think that’s why they call them Separatists. What about your parents?
Were they captured or, you know…”
Garr was reluctant to say the word. Boba wasn’t. “Killed,” he said. “My father was killed. Cut down. I saw it. I watched it.”
Boba looked down and saw that his fists were clenched. He wondered if he should tell his new friend that it wasn’t the Separatists who had killed his father—but the Jedi.
“I’m sorry,” said Garr. “What happened to your mother? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind your asking,” said Boba, “if you don’t mind my not answering.”
“Fair enough.” Garr got up and pulled at Boba’s hand. “Let’s go get something to eat. The commissary closes in a few minutes, and most of the space brats are
finished, so we’ll have a little peace and quiet.”
For the next few days, and for the first time in his life, Boba had a friend. He could hardly believe it. He decided not to question it, but simply accept it as one of the
surprises life was throwing at him. By nature—and by teaching—he was suspicious of anyone who came too close. But now he was…enjoying it.
Garr was good at having fun. When they weren’t exploring the ship, the two played sabacc or simply lay on their bunks and talked, trying to ignore the chaos and craziness of the other
orphans.
There were a few other kids their age, but Garr avoided them, and Boba did, too. They might ask too many questions. Because most of the orphans were much younger, Ulu was too busy with the
“space brats” (as Garr called them) to worry about what his older orphans were up to.
All orphans were prohibited from roaming the ship unattended, but that’s exactly what Garr and Boba did, telling Ulu that they were going to one of the ship’s libraries for a book
(not likely, since all they had were boring military manuals) when in fact they were exploring the ship’s seemingly endless corridors.
Boba shared his discovery with Garr—that no one notices a ten-year-old. And it was true. The troopers or crew members they ran into in the corridors simply assumed that the two friends
were someone else’s responsibility, if they noticed them at all.
Politics didn’t interest Garr, but starships did. “This is the most advanced assault ship in the Republic’s fleet,” Boba’s new friend explained.
“There are over fifteen thousand troopers, all with the most advanced weaponry. They are all alike—I think they’re clones.”
“Imagine that,” said Boba. He wondered what Garr would think if he knew the clones’ true origin.
Garr’s favorite place was the rear docking bay, where the starfighters were lined up to be armed and serviced by busy tech droids.
“I could fly one of those,” Boba said once. He regretted saying it immediately; it gave too much away.
“Really?” Garr asked. “Who taught you? Your father?”
Boba nodded.
“My mother would have had a fit,” said Garr. “What did your mother think about you flying a starfighter so young?”
“I don’t honestly know,” said Boba. “I never asked her.”
Boba knew his words sounded hollow. They felt hollow, too.
Boba’s favorite spot on the ship was its rear observation blister, or ROB. A small, cold room under a clear plexi dome, it was usually empty, since the crew was too busy to look at the
stars and the troopers didn’t care about anything except war and discipline.
The ship was traveling through normal space, which meant that the stars didn’t streak by (or appear to streak by) as they did in hyperspace. Even though the ship was traveling at thousands
of kilometers per second, it seemed as though it were standing still, space was so huge.
Standing or sitting on a bench under the dome, Boba saw a sea of stars in every direction. There were no planets visible, only gas giants, dwarfs, quasars, and the occasional smudge that marked
the location of a black hole. Distant galaxies were pinwheels of fire.
“Okay, we’ve seen space, and it’s boring!” Garr was always more interested in adventure than astronomy. “Let’s find something to do.”
“Just a few minutes…” Boba liked the view, but he liked the dreams he had while staring into space even more. He was always dreaming of the day he would get Slave I
back, and experience the stars on his own.
As they explored the ship’s corridors, Boba and Garr often had to stand aside for formations of clone troopers marching to the mess hall or to the main docking bay for a battle sortie.
“I think they are creepy,” said Garr.
“Me too,” said Boba.
“If you see them without their helmets, they all look alike,” said Garr.
The troopers marched from place to place, or sat in their dorms polishing their Tibanna-gas blasters. They never talked with anyone outside their ranks, and rarely talked to one another; and
never noticed the two ten-year-olds who walked among them. They always traveled in groups of four, six, ten—always even numbers. They didn’t like to be alone.
They paid no attention to Boba and Garr as they continued to go everywhere together. They saw the vast hydroponic farms, tended by droids, that turned waste into air and water, just like the
forests and kelp beds on the planets. They saw the immense plasma engines, tended by droids and a few harried crew members. They saw the clone troopers, never excited, never bored, endlessly
cleaning their weapons.
After a few days of exploring, they had covered almost every part of the vast assault ship, except for one area.
The bridge.
“I would give anything to see the bridge!” said Garr. “I even tried it once, but I couldn’t sneak in. No kids allowed! The bridge is where the Jedi hang out, you
know.”
“Who cares?” said Boba. The less he saw of the Jedi, the better. Luckily, they seemed to have lost interest in him after their surprise at finding him on Raxus Prime.
“I care!” said Garr. “I admire the Jedi. They are the guardians of civilization, willing to sacrifice all so that others can live in peace. I wish I’d be found to be
Force-sensitive and trained as Jedi. Don’t you?”
“Not me,” Boba said. He thought about telling Garr the truth—that he hated the Jedi, and wanted to be a bounty hunter, like his father.
But he decided against it. There was a limit to how much you could trust anyone, even your best friend.
Garr had a secret too, at least as far as Boba was concerned. Or at least, a mystery.
The mystery was whether Garr was a boy or a girl. Boba had gone so long without figuring it out that now he was almost embarrassed to ask. But he knew enough not to let embarrassment hold him
back. (That was part of wisdom, too.)
“Garr,” he said one day as they were strolling down a long corridor, “do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” Garr said. “As long as you don’t mind if I don’t answer.”
“Fair enough,” said Boba, recognizing what he’d said when Garr had asked about his mother. “Are you a boy or a girl?”
“Like, male or female?”
“Yeah, you know.”
“I don’t know, actually,” said Garr. “I mean, I know what you mean, but I don’t know yet whether I am male or female. On my planet, it’s not determined until
age thirteen.”
“Determined?”
“Somewhere around our thirteenth birthday, our bodies change, and become one or the other. Until then, it’s sort of, you know, up in the air.”
“Cool,” said Boba. “I was just wondering.”
“Does it make a difference?” Garr asked.
“Not to me.”
“Good. I wish everybody was like you, Teff. Did you ever wonder why I don’t hang out with the other ten-year-olds? They want to treat you one way if you’re a boy, and another
way if you’re a girl, and there’s no in-between. No way to be just a kid, just a person.”
“Stupid,” said Boba. But he wasn’t surprised. He had always thought most people, including most kids, were a little slow. “Can’t they treat somebody as just a
friend?”
“Nope,” said Garr. “But come on! Let’s find something to do!”
They were off again.
The troopship cruised slowly (under light speed) through normal space, on the lookout for Separatist forces. There were no more battles, though they heard rumors of other battles taking place
throughout the Republic.
“The ship will be warping into hyperspace soon,” said Garr one day. “It will take us to one of the central worlds, probably Bespin, where we will be offloaded at some
orphanage. I hope we will still be together.”
“Me too,” said Boba. He didn’t want to tell his friend that it wasn’t going to happen. Boba had no intention of going to an orphanage. |
crossfire | 16_c13.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hey, Garr, check this out!”
They were in the rear docking bay, alone except for a few service droids humming and buzzing busily on the far side of the vast room.
“What?” Garr said. “It’s just a door.”
The door was marked EMERGENCY ONLY.
“I’ll bet I can open it,” said Boba. The system looked very similar to the one his father had used to teach him to hot-wire locks.
“So?”
“So this is our chance. You are always talking about wanting to see the bridge, the command center of the ship, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Garr. “But this door doesn’t lead to the bridge. This is an emergency airlock door. It leads to the outside of the ship. To outer space.”
“Exactly,” said Boba. “Come on. Follow me.”
With a deft crossing of wires and simulation of code, Boba opened the door. On the other side was a small airlock, lined with space suits on hangers. It was like a closet with two doors. Boba
knew that once the inner door was closed, and the outer door was opened, the air would rush out and the door would open into space.
The anti-grav plates were off inside the airlock. Boba and Garr both floated free, past the space suits.
“Yikes,” said Garr. “I’m not used to this. What if I get sick and throw up?”
“Just don’t think about it,” said Boba. “Pick a space suit and let’s go.”
All the suits were slightly too large for ten-year-old bodies. The suits were for emergency evacuation only, so they carried only small air tanks and battery-powered heaters, enough for an hour
and a half.
“One hour will be long enough,” said Boba.
“Are you sure?” asked Garr, picking a suit. “What if something goes wrong?”
“What could go wrong?” Boba asked as he helped zip Garr into the suit. He put on his own suit, and selected two helmets from the rack nearby.
He spit on his helmet’s faceplate and wiped it with his sleeve before putting it on. “Keeps it from fogging,” he said.
“Whatever you say,” Garr said, spitting on the faceplate and wiping it dry.
When both suits were on, secure and sealed, Boba tried the comlinks. He showed Garr the switch built into the wrist gauntlet.
“Can you hear me?”
“You’re shouting!” said Garr. “Turn the volume down.”
“Sorry…”
Boba made sure the inner door was closed and sealed. Then he pushed off the wall and floated across the tiny room to the outer door, which was thicker. Instead of a knob it had a wheel.
He looked at Garr, questioning. Garr gave him a thumbs-up.
Boba turned the wheel to the left.
One turn, two.
He was just beginning to think nothing was going to happen when, all of a sudden, there was a WHOOOOOOSH of air. Boba shivered as the icy chill of space rushed into the room.
Boba started to push the door open, then stopped. “Almost forgot!” He grabbed a ten-meter coil of safety line from the wall. He clipped one to Garr’s belt and the other end to
his own.
Then he opened the door and floated out into the emptiness of space.
Garr watched for a moment, swallowed hard—
And followed.
They were floating in an endless sea of stars.
It was like falling, down down down, into a hole as deep as all eternity. A hole so deep, they would never hit bottom.
The stars went on forever, and Boba and Garr floated among them like specks of dust.
No, thought Boba, it was the stars that were dust.
And Garr and I are dust’s dust—
“Better now,” said Garr, swallowing bravely. “Now what?”
“Now we find the bridge,” said Boba. “We have over an hour. But we have to be careful.”
“I’m feeling very, very careful!” said Garr.
“Good. We have to keep secured to the ship. If we float away from it…”
“What will happen?” Garr asked.
“Nothing will happen.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing forever. We will float forever, spinning off into space until we die. There’s no way back, since these emergency suits don’t have jetpacks. But don’t worry, we
have our safety line.”
“Do I sound worried?” Garr asked.
Boba laughed. “Yes!”
“Good!” said Garr. “If I weren’t worried, I would be crazy!”
Boba made sure Garr had a good hold on the hull of the ship. Then he floated forward ten meters until the line stopped him, and he found a handhold on the ship.
Then he secured the line while Garr went ahead.
They took turns that way, climbed “up” the ship toward the bridge, belaying for safety while the other forged ahead, finding the route:
—Over and around the huge ion engines, each trailing a kilometers-long exhaust of ghostly blue photons, like smoke.
—Up the sheer long cliff of the Candaserri’s dorsal fin, being careful never to look back and “down” into the well of stars.
—Across the traverse of the sheer hull side, staying on the steel strips between the rows of lighted windows.
“Secure!”
“Going ahead!”
The suit comlinks made the two friends’ voices seem closer than when they were in atmosphere. They pulled themselves along, using every bolt, antenna, edge, and knob of the hull.
Sometimes, through the windows, they saw crew members hurrying along a corridor, or clone troopers marching in formation toward the mess hall or the dorm.
“Careful,” said Boba, tucking himself into a niche whenever they passed a window. “If anyone sees us, we’re in big trouble.”
“They’ll raise the alarm,” said Garr. “They’ll think it’s an attack!”
Boba and Garr were too close to the ship to see the shape or the size of it. Each ridge, fin, or bulge in the hull was a surprise, and hid another.
Finally, they saw the sleek pod that was the bridge tower module, perched atop a dorsal fin. It looked almost like a smaller ship hitching a ride on the Candaserri. It was windowless
except for the wide plexi bubble-window at the front.
“They will have alarms,” said Boba. “We’ll have to move carefully.”
The two made their way up the fin, then to the top of the pod. Standing roped together, and secured by their mag-soles, they cautiously worked their way forward until they had reached the top
edge of the wide forward window.
Boba knelt, Garr beside him. They crept over the edge of the window and looked down. Boba felt totally exposed. If any of the crew looked up, they would see two helmeted heads looking in
from space!
Every alarm in the ship would go off.
But no one was looking up. The bridge was quiet. Crew members sat at their control consoles, while officers circulated among them, checking the system coordinates.
“Awesome!” said Garr. “This is the main command center. Everything happens here first.”
The captain and the first officers, in their brightly colored uniforms, were consulting with a robed Jedi at a holomap table. Boba recognized Glynn-Beti, the Bothan Jedi who had questioned
him.
I’m lucky she got distracted, he thought. If she had made me open that flight bag, I would probably be a prisoner right now.
“I wonder what they are talking about,” Garr said. “Maybe they got word about some of the parents. I would like to see my parents again.”
Boba didn’t say anything. It was an awkward moment.
“Someday you will meet my parents,” said Garr. “You will like them.”
“Maybe,” Boba said. I doubt it, he thought.
Boba was ready to go, but he was waiting for Garr—who liked watching people as much as Boba liked watching stars.
Garr lay facedown, looking through the window at the crew on the bridge.
Boba lay on his back, staring up. He loved the dizzy feeling he got, looking deep into a sea of stars and galaxies.
They had been on top of the bridge tower module for almost twenty minutes. Boba checked his air tank and it was still over half full. But his heater was running down. He could feel the chill of
space seeping into his suit, especially at his feet and hands.
“We should be heading back,” he said to Garr.
“Couple of more minutes,” said Garr. “They’re looking at another holomap.”
“A map? Let’s see.” Boba rolled over and looked down.
“That’s a weird map!” said Garr. “I can’t tell anything about it.”
“Uh-oh,” said Boba.
“What?”
“We’d better get back into the airlock, fast!”
“What’s wrong?” Garr’s voice was sharp with fear.
Just then a siren wailed. The two could feel it reverberating through the hull.
“That’s the ten-minute alarm!” Boba said. “That was a hyperspace map they were looking at. The ship is about to jump!” |
crossfire | 17_c14.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Faster!
Down, down—
Faster!
Around, around—
Boba was no longer feeling the cold, even though the little heater in his suit was almost drained.
Garr was gulping air, spinning through the vacuum, grabbing at one handhold and then another.
Neither spoke. There was no time for words. They hurried toward the back of the ship where the big ion jets were staining the universe a pale blue.
How much time do we have left? Boba wondered. Six minutes? Five?
“What happens if…?” Garr asked as they made their way down the fin from the bridge tower module.
“If what?”
“You know what! If we don’t get inside the ship before the jump into hyperspace!?”
“At best, we will see a flash of light, and be fried to a crisp in the plasma flare of the hyperspace warp.”
“That’s best? What’s worst?”
“At worst we won’t feel a thing or even see a flash of light. We will just look around and see no ship. It will be gone. And we will drift here all alone, endlessly, until we
die.”
The alert siren still wailed but they heard it only when they touched the hull, through their hands or the soles of their boots.
At the steepest part of the wing, Garr missed a step, and spun off into space. Boba grabbed a seam and held on for dear life. The safety line snapped tight—yanking Garr back into
Boba.
OOOMMPPHHHFF!
“Careful,” Boba said. He wanted to say “slow down” but he knew he couldn’t. If they slowed down, they were lost.
“You idiot!” said Boba as he untangled the line and started down, over the rear of the wing.
“I’m sorry!” Garr said. “I missed a hold.”
“I was talking to myself!” Boba said. “This whole thing is my fault. It was a stupid idea!”
I lost track of what was most important. A bounty hunter never does that.
Through the window Boba could see crew members running, security droids clearing the halls, and clone troopers scurrying in formation.
How much time left? Three minutes? Two?
The airlock was still at least five minutes away…
“This way!” Boba said. It looked like a shortcut.
He plunged down into a dark “canyon”—a slot between the rear boosters and the ventral hull fin—making his way hand over hand.
It was dark, and the handholds were far apart. Garr belayed Boba, and then Boba belayed Garr, so that one of them was always secured to the hull of the ship.
Boba grinned when he emerged at the other end of the slot. His gamble had paid off. There was the lighted airlock door, still open, waiting for them—only a hundred meters away!
Two hundred meters if they went around on the hull. One hundred if they took a chance and floated straight across.
“Let’s try it,” Boba said. “This last jump can be made in one leap if we both let go.”
“But what if we miss?”
“Then we’re dead. But we may be dead anyway if we don’t try it. We’re running out of time.”
Boba looked at his friend. He wondered if he looked as frightened to Garr as Garr did to him. Probably!
“Well, then,” said Garr, giving a brave thumbs-up, “what are we waiting for? Let’s try it!”
The airlock door a hundred meters away looked tiny.
Boba gathered the rope into a coil, took Garr’s hand, and said, “On three. One…two…”
He didn’t remember saying “three” but he realized he must have said it, for they were floating free in space, unbelayed—
—drifting slowly, hand in hand, toward the lighted square of the airlock door.
Both were silent. Boba was hardly even breathing. It was as if a word, a breath, might make them miss their target, and spin them off into space.
Thirty meters, twenty, ten—
As they got closer, Boba saw that the target was even bigger than he had thought. The airlock door had handholds on either side, so he didn’t have to hit it dead center.
And at the end of the hull, just past the door, there was an antenna.
At the last minute a slight spin turned Boba and he saw that he was, in fact, going to miss the airlock door.
No sweat. “Your move, Garr. Just grab at those handholds as we go by.”
“Got it!” said Garr. “Well, almost…” Another spin had pulled Garr back, just short of the handholds. Now they were floating on toward the end of the hull.
Luckily the antenna was right in reach. Boba let go of Garr’s hand and uncoiled the rope. He reached out and grabbed the antenna as he floated past.
“Got it!” he said aloud, to himself and Garr.
Just as it broke off in his hand. |
crossfire | 18_c15.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Ooooph!”
The safety line went tight, jerking Boba and Garr together, then setting them spinning, like a kid’s toy—a giant kid’s toy that had been thrown away, down the deepest darkest
hole in all the universe.
The deep dark hole that is the universe.
For they were spinning away from the ship, attached to each other but to nothing else, doomed to float on forever while the Candaserri disappeared into hyperspace.
They both were moving, falling, tumbling, head over heels away from the ship, toward the emptiness of space.
Deep into the Big Isn’t.
Realizing the worst made Boba feel calmer. His panic was gone. His fear was gone. He remembered something his father had said: The worse things are, the calmer you need to be.
He felt as if he were standing still and watching the universe spin around him. There was the Candaserri; then there was Garr, at the other end of the safety line; then just stars until
the ship came up again.
Each time the ship was slightly smaller. How long before it’s gone altogether? Boba wondered. The hyperspace jump was due at any moment.
“Teff, you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s been great, being your friend.”
“Same here,” said Boba. He almost wished he had told his friend his real name. Maybe it wasn’t too late…
He caught sight of Garr, wheeling through his field of view.
Then the stars again, white except for one tiny orange one.
Then the ship, still there.
Orange star? Where had that come from?
Boba watched as the orange star came up again. It was exactly opposite the ship in his spin. If he had a jetpack, he could use the orange star for a fix: Aiming at it would stop his spin and
guide him toward the ship.
No jetpack, though. And only a few minutes of air. When it was gone—
And that was when he got the idea.
“Teff? You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“What’re you doing? I hear a clicking noise.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Boba said.
“What?”
“Can’t talk. Gotta save air. Just hang on to the line—and hope for the best.”
Boba’s emergency space suit had no jetpack, but it did have something that might possibly be used for a jetpack.
The air tank.
Boba disconnected his air tank and pulled it from his back. Now all he had to breathe was the air in his suit. It would last less than a minute.
Boba held the air tank against his stomach and waited for the orange star to appear in his wheeling, whirling field of vision.
There it was! He pressed the release valve.
SSSSSSSSSS
The universe slowed down, just a little. Boba waited until the orange star appeared again.
SSSSSSSSSSSS
Slowed more. And this time the ship was closer when Boba saw it swim into view.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSS
We’re moving! Garr was still spinning at the other end of the lifeline. But Boba was stable. He could see the ship over his shoulder, getting closer, as he aimed the air tank at
the little orange star and used the air like a rocket engine.
SSSSSSSSSS
For every action—like the air hissing out—there is an equal and opposite reaction—like Boba floating backward toward the ship. He felt the line jerk tight, and knew he
was pulling Garr with him.
“What’s going on?” Garr asked.
Boba didn’t answer. All he had to breathe was the leftover air in his suit, and it was getting stale.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
The ship was getting closer. Closer. There at the bottom was the open airlock door.
Boba aimed at the little orange star again.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Closer and closer.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
The air in Boba’s suit was almost gone. He gasped for breath. SSSSSSSSSSSS. He sprayed the air into space, but he needed it in his suit, in his lungs…
SSSSS SSSSSSS
The air was almost gone from the tank. Boba could see the ship over his shoulder, getting closer and closer. But not quite close enough.
S S SSS S S
Boba felt his head spinning. His lungs were burning, begging him for air.
Little orange star.
Garr at end of line.
Ship huge, close—
“Teff, are you there? Something is pulling us toward the ship! They must have seen us!”
SS SS SSsssss—
Last gasp of air. Did we make it?
“Garr, grab handrail!”
Did Garr hear? Boba hit the side of the door and bounced back, into space. He reached for the handhold by the airlock door, but it was out of reach. Just out of reach!
He was falling again, forever this time—
And that was when his father came to him, out of the tomb of death, out of the darkness of dream, grabbing his hand, and pulling.
Pulling and pulling…
Boba! |
crossfire | 19_c16.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Good job, Teff!”
Boba smiled. His father had covered him with a blanket made of stars, and praised him. But didn’t he know his name wasn’t Teff? That was a stupid made-up name for…
“Breathe, Teff!”
Who pulled the blanket away?
“Wake up.”
Boba opened his eyes. He saw Garr’s worried face.
They were in the airlock. Boba’s helmet was off. He opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and it was like shaking hands with an old friend.
Air! Wonderful air.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You passed out,” said Garr. “After you saved us. Using the air tank like a little rocket. That was brilliant.”
“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” said Boba. “I think that was one of my father’s sayings. But what about the jump?”
“It happened. Feel it?” Garr placed Boba’s hand flat against the bulkhead, and there it was: the oscillating hum of the ship’s null quantum field generators. “The
jump came just after I grabbed the handhold and pulled us into the airlock. We barely made it!”
“Close call,” said Boba as he hung up his space suit. “But I guess a meter is as good as a kilometer.”
“Another of your father’s sayings?” asked Garr with a laugh.
“Where were you two?” asked Ulu Ulix when Garr and Boba got back to the Orphan Hall. His three eyes were flashing fire; he was angry. “You know there’s
a general alarm before a jump. You were supposed to report in.”
“Sorry,” said Boba. “It was my fault. We were at the rear observation blister. I, uh, wanted to see what the stars look like from hyperspace.”
“I appreciate your honesty, Teff,” said Ulu Ulix, softening. “But rules are rules. You two are restricted to the Orphan Hall for one day. No more roaming around.”
“No, please!” said Garr. “We’re ten! We can’t spend all our time with a bunch of little kids.”
“Apparently one of the airlocks was opened,” said Ulu Ulix with a teasing smile. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You should be more careful. If you get
caught breaking the rules, you’ll get me in trouble with Master Glynn-Beti. And that’s the last thing I want!”
“That’s also the last thing we want,” Boba said quite honestly.
After that sullen day, if Garr ever wanted to find Boba, Garr knew where to look.
The rear observation blister. The ROB.
Boba was watching and thinking. He knew he should understand what secret Dooku thought he possessed. He remembered how bothered Dooku had been when Boba called him Tyranus. Why was that so
important?
Then suddenly—finally—Boba understood. Tyranus had hired his dad to help create an army of clone troopers. But now Count Dooku was fighting the army he’d helped create. Why
would you make an army and then fight against it? Boba still had a puzzle, but he was now sure he held an important piece—the piece Dooku had wanted to destroy. As Count Dooku, the man was
fighting against the Republic, but, as Tyranus, he had helped create an army for that same Republic.
Boba decided to hide that information deep inside him for the moment. He had his father’s instinct for knowing it would come in handy later on. It was part of his father’s legacy to
him…for better or for worse.
“Boring,” said Garr the next day, staring out.
Boba had to agree. Hyperspace looked like a clumsy child’s drawing of a universe, a first draft.
“Those streaks are stars?” Garr asked.
“Stars smeared across space-time,” said Boba. “When we drop out of hyperspace, they will look more like stars.”
“Like the orange one?”
Boba looked up from his book Operational Starfighters. He had been watching the tiny, flickering orange star for days, almost lost amid the smears.
“It’s not a star,” Boba said to Garr. “If it’s not a streak, that means it’s matching our speed exactly. Following us, maybe.”
Curious, he thought. He wished he could see it better.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Garr. “Ulu Ulix sent me to get you. We’re getting ready to jump out of hyperspace, and we’re supposed to be secured in our
quarters.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Boba. The last thing he wanted was trouble with Ulu Ulix or his Jedi Master, Glynn-Beti. “Gotta keep them happy!”
The jump was uneventful. Just a weird lurch, a moment’s dizziness.
The orphan kids’ moods improved immediately. Boba and Garr went to the commissary for their first untroubled meal. Lunch after hyperspace was like breakfast after a long sleep. Everyone
was buzzing with excitement.
“We must be near Bespin.”
The announcement would come from the bridge soon. Hyperspace jumps were a little unpredictable, but only a little.
After lunch, everyone went forward to the main observation blister, or MOB, to see the stars. Everyone except Boba. He went alone, back to the ROB.
That tiny star; there was something about it…
He picked up the viewer and scanned the sea of stars for the little orange light.
It no longer stood out, like it had in hyperspace.
But he found it, just where he had thought it would be, directly behind the Candaserri.
Boba zoomed in for a better look. It was a ship. It was tiny, and it was several kilometers away, but clearly matching speed and course with the Candaserri.
Following. Shadowing. What for?
The orange color came from the glint of starlight on the rusty, battered hull.
The familiar hull.
Boba wiped his eyes. Could it be that he was overtired, just seeing things? He dialed the zoom, bringing the little ship closer, until he could see the stubby wings, the scratched cockpit, the
pitted sides. He could even see the pits that had been put into the ship while flying through the asteroid belt on its way to Geonosis.
He lowered the viewer from his eyes. They were filled with tears, at the same time that his fists were clenched with fury.
For the ship was one he knew well. It was his legacy from his father, and it had been stolen from him by Aurra Sing.
It was Slave I. |
crossfire | 20_c17.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Hey, Teff, what’s up?”
“Not much, Garr.” Boba put down the viewer and turned to face his friend, who had just entered the ROB. Keep your emotions to yourself. “Just stargazing.”
“See anything interesting?”
“Nothing much,” said Boba. “Star dust, space trash, you know.”
“Well, come on, then,” said Garr. “Ulu Ulix has been looking for you. The Padawan wants us to help strap down the little ones for arrival.”
“Arrival?”
“We’re going into orbit around Bespin. Trip’s over. Welcome to your new home!”
Home? Not if I can help it! thought Boba as he picked up his flight bag and followed his friend.
The forward observation blister was filled with crew members and orphans, gazing with wonder at the planet the ship was orbiting.
It was huge. It glowed orange in the light of its distant sun.
“Bespin is a gas giant, with its metallic surface so far under layers of atmosphere gunk that it’s hardly been reached, much less explored!” Garr said excitedly. “The
main industry is mining Tibanna gas from the atmosphere. Nothing lives on the surface. All the cities and mines and factories float in the clouds, and…hey!”
“Huh?”
“You’re not listening, Teff!”
“Oh, sorry,” said Boba.
“Daydreaming?”
“I guess.”
Daydreaming? Not exactly. Boba’s mind was racing; he was thinking about the startling discovery he had just made in the rear observation blister.
Slave I! He had seen it. The little starship he had inherited from his father, Jango Fett, was following the Candaserri—and being careful, Boba had noted, to stay in
the shadow cone, where it would not be picked up by the assault ship’s approach sensors, which were probably tuned to pick up flotillas, not solitary craft.
Boba was pondering this information silently while he stood beside Garr in the crowded forward observation blister watching stormy Bespin spin below.
“There you are!”
Boba and Garr saw Ulu Ulix pushing through the crowd.
“You two are determined to get me into trouble, aren’t you! Don’t you know you’re supposed to stay near the Orphan Hall?”
“Sorry,” said Garr, hiding a grin. While Ulu had been busy, they had the run of the ship, and they had taken advantage of it.
Boba didn’t like Jedi, but Ulu was an exception. He decided to ask the Padawan about what he had seen—without, of course, revealing too much. “Ulu, have you ever heard of a
bounty hunter called Aurra Sing?”
“Aurra Sing? Sure. She’s—”
“Why do you wish to know?” asked a harsh, high voice. Boba turned and saw Glynn-Beti looking at him suspiciously.
Boba groaned. If he had known she was around, he would have kept his mouth shut. “Uh…”
“Speak up, orphan. Teff, isn’t it? Why do you ask about Aurra Sing?”
“I was just wondering. I, uh, heard some crew members talking about her.”
“She is an enemy of civilization, of galactic order,” said the Bothan Jedi. “She is wanted for numerous crimes, high and low, including murder. That’s all you need to
know. Ulu Ulix—” Glynn-Beti glared at her Padawan. “What are these two doing so far from the Orphan Hall? Are you forgetting your duties? Take them there
immediately.”
Ulu bowed. “Yes, Master Glynn-Beti.”
“Gather the other orphans. And all of you, meet me in the docking bay as soon as you have packed your things. We’re being ferried down to Cloud City.”
“Yes, Master,” said Ulu, bowing again to the departing Bothan’s back.
“Whew!” said Garr, when Glynn-Beti had left. “What was that about?”
“Aurra Sing,” said Ulu Ulix. “Don’t mention her name around Glynn-Beti. Glynn-Beti condemns her, and for good reason. Aurra Sing kills Jedi for sport.”
“I thought bounty hunters only worked for money,” Boba said.
“Aurra Sing is different,” said Ulu Ulix. “It is said that she has some sorrow in her past that causes her to hate the Jedi. Whatever it is, she attacks us every chance she
gets.”
“You mean, for fun?” asked Garr, shocked.
“Sick fun,” said Ulu Ulix. “But come on, you two. Let’s get moving.”
That explains it, thought Boba, as he followed Garr and Ulix back toward the rear of the ship. Aurra Sing is trailing the ship to get a crack at a Jedi or two. Good luck to
her!
I wonder what she would think if she knew I was on board.
The ship’s corridors were filled with crew members hurrying to their stations. Planetary approach was an exciting event to all hands—except, of course, to the
clone troopers. One planet or another, it was all the same to them.
Boba wouldn’t miss them. His brothers—so much alike, and yet so different. They had no interest in where they were going, or where they had been. They were interested only in their
weaponry, in their assignments, or in their chain of command. The clones were pure military.
So when he arrived at the docking bay, helping Ulu and Garr herd the younger orphans onto the lander, Boba was surprised to see his old friend CT-4/619 hard at work. He was painting out the
emblems of war and the military numbering on the little lander that was going to take the orphans down.
“Remember me?” Boba asked.
“Not really,” said CT-4/619. “Should I?”
“No, just wondering,” said Boba. “What are you doing?”
“De-militarizing,” said the clone.
“How come?” Garr, who was always curious, asked.
“Bespin,” said CT-4/619. “They want no signs of war.”
“The rulers of Bespin want to preserve their planet’s neutrality,” said Glynn-Beti. The Bothan Jedi had approached unseen. As always, she made Boba nervous. “We are
allowed to bring you orphans down, but not to carry any weapons or engage in any military activities.”
“Not even your lightsaber?” Boba asked, indicating the Jedi’s weapon hidden under her robe.
“The weapons of the Jedi Masters are not subject to local ordinances,” Glynn-Beti said with a haughty scowl. “Now come aboard!” |
crossfire | 21_c18.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The lander dropped free of the Candaserri and fired its retros, slowing it for atmospheric entry. The twenty-one younger orphans, strapped into their seats, shouted
with glee and excitement as the lander encountered the first wisps of air.
The faint whistling sound grew to a roar as the little ship dove into the sea of clouds. It was terrifying and exhilarating. The orphans oohed and aahed as the clouds whipped by, all reds and
yellows, oranges and browns.
Far off, Boba saw the flash of lightning. “A storm,” said Garr, who was, as usual, full of information. “The storms on Bespin are the deadlest in the galaxy.”
But the storm was soon left behind as the little ship sailed down, down, down…into the middle levels of the atmosphere, where the inhabitants of Bespin all lived.
Boba usually liked planetfall—descending to a new planet. But this time he had mixed feelings.
He was eager to begin the search for Aurra Sing, who could not be far away.
At the same time, he knew he would miss life on the Candaserri. He had been forced to live a lie, as “Teff.” But in return he had been granted, for the first and only time
in his life, a friend. Someone to spend time with, to explore with, to talk to and share secrets with (only up to a point, of course).
It had all been a great pleasure—but now it was time for Boba to return to his real identity.
He was the son of Jango Fett, the toughest bounty hunter in the galaxy.
And he intended to get his ship back!
They landed at Portside, in the teeming central levels of the city. Uniformed officials appeared at the opened ramps of the ship and asked Glynn-Beti for documents.
Glynn-Beti handed over a holopad, pointing at the younger orphans who were lined up at the doorway—and then at Boba.
She whispered something to the officials, and they looked at Boba. One shook his head; another nodded.
What is she telling them? Boba was alarmed. He had planned to wait and make his escape from the orphanage as soon as no one was looking; but what if he never got there? What if
Glynn-Beti was telling them to check his identity first?
Boba edged toward the open ramp. The Jedi and the officials had their backs turned. If he slipped out now he could disappear into the crowd before anyone knew what was happening. It might be
several minutes before they even noticed he was gone.
There was only one problem. How could he leave without saying good-bye to his first, and still only, real friend?
The choice was between friendship and freedom.
Boba chose freedom. |
crossfire | 22_c19.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Teff!”
He couldn’t believe it—Garr had betrayed him! His best friend was yelling, alerting the Jedi!
Boba ducked his head and ran, darting through the crowd.
Portside was a maze of narrow alleys, lined with shops where stolen goods and weapons, illicit spice, and phony documents; all were on sale to anyone with credits.
It was a perfect place to disappear.
Boba looked back and saw an official running after him. But she was easy enough to lose—a couple of sudden reversals, a turn down a narrow alley, and Boba had faded into the milling
polyglot crowd, where a hundred languages filled the air with a low buzz.
Made it! He slowed, and forced himself to breathe easily so that no one would notice that he was on the run. He was invisible, because nobody (or no creature) notices a
ten-year-old.
Except another ten-year-old.
“Teff!” A hand caught his shoulder.
Boba turned, fists up, in a fighting stance, ready to defend himself against all the Jedi in the world, as well as their security droids, clone troopers, officials, or…
It was Garr.
“You forgot your flight bag,” Garr said, handing Boba the precious legacy from his father.
Boba was amazed. Had he been that confused, that panicked? That was breaking the bounty hunters’ code for sure, which was to remain calm in every situation.
Boba dropped his fists to his side. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bag from Garr.
“Why are you running?” Garr asked. “They are going to send us to a nice place, I’ll bet.”
Boba didn’t say anything; he didn’t know where to start.
“Glynn-Beti is going to be mad now. We’d better get back, quick, before—”
“Garr!” Boba grabbed his friend by the arm. “Come.”
“Where? What for?”
“Just come. I’ll explain!”
Cloud City’s central levels were open, at the edges, to the wind and air. Dragging Garr by the hand, Boba headed toward a park lodged up against a transparisteel barrier that looked down
on a sea of streaming clouds. From here it was easy to see why Cloud City was considered one of the most beautiful cities in the galaxy.
“What’s this all about?” Garr asked as Boba parked himself on a bench and pulled his friend down beside him. “Teff, talk to me!”
“In the first place,” said Boba, “my name’s not Teff.”
“It’s not? What is it then?”
Boba didn’t want to tell another lie, but he didn’t want to tell the truth either. “Never mind that,” he said. “I have something more important to tell
you.”
“You’re not an orphan?” Garr guessed.
“I’m an orphan all right. Just not a needy orphan wanting to be rescued by the Jedi.”
“But why not? If they want to help out…”
“I told you my father was dead, but I didn’t tell you how. He was killed by the Jedi. I saw it happen.”
Garr gasped. “Was your father…bad?”
“Bad? He was good,” said Boba, his voice rising.
“But the Jedi are good,” said Garr. “They are the guardians of peace and…”
Boba began to see how hopeless it was. Garr would never understand.
“It was a misunderstanding,” said Boba. “But because of it, I can’t stay with the Jedi.”
“You can stay with me!” said Garr. “My parents will be returning for me soon, I know they will! They will take you in. We can be brothers. Or brother and sister. Or
whatever.”
Boba shook his head. “You are truly my friend,” he said, “but I can’t afford to have friends. I have my own road to travel, alone. I must go my own way.”
“But…” Garr’s big brown eyes were filling with tears.
“We must say farewell,” said Boba.
“Good!” came a voice that was at the same time familiar and frightening. For the second time that day, Boba felt a hand on his shoulder. Only this one was cold, with a grip like
steel.
“Boba Fett.”
Boba turned, slowly, because of the hand that pinned his shoulder. He saw bone-white skin, black eyes rimmed with kohl, a muscular but womanly figure in a red jumpsuit, and a shaved head topped
with a single long lock of bright red hair.
And blazing angry eyes.
“Aurra Sing!” It was the bounty hunter who had captured him and stolen his ship. “I knew it! I saw Slave I following the Candaserri.”
Boba tried to twist away but Aurra Sing held his shoulder tight. Then Garr started kicking her. “Let go of him! Take your hands off him!”
“Who’s this?” Aurra Sing asked, picking up Garr by the hair, so that the kicks only afflicted the air. “Do I kill it or just toss it over the side?”
She held Garr out over the railing, suspended by a lock of hair over a thousand kilometers of empty air.
“Neither!” said Boba, finally twisting free. He put his hands on his hips and faced Aurra Sing defiantly. “Garr is my friend. As you are not. What is it you want with
me?”
“I want to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” said Aurra Sing. With a quick toss, she dropped Garr back on the bench.
“Ooooph!” said Garr. “What’s going on here? Who are you? Who is Boba Fett?”
“Your little friend is too nosy,” the bounty hunter said to Boba, without looking at Garr. “You and I have business, so tell him to make himself scarce.”
“Go,” Boba said simply to his friend. He tried to keep his voice cold. That was the only way to get Garr to leave. “I told you, I have no room for friends. You heard what she
said. Disappear.”
Garr resisted. When Aurra’s hand moved to her blaster, Garr was convinced.
“Good-bye,” Garr said sadly in farewell.
Boba allowed himself to say a heartfelt good-bye back. Though his heart felt real pain, that was it.
“What is this offer?” Boba turned to Aurra Sing and demanded as soon as Garr was gone. “All I want from you is my ship back.”
“Then we’re in agreement,” said Aurra Sing. “That’s what my offer is—your ship back.”
“Slave I.” Boba’s eyes were wide with hope and excitement. “Where is it?”
“Not here.” Aurra Sing’s eyes scanned the other beings on the terrace. “Too many eyes and ears. There is a city called Tibannapolis, not too far from here. Meet me there
at noon tomorrow.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You will, if you want to see Slave I again,” said Aurra Sing. She tossed Boba a coin. “Here—a good faith offering. It will rent you a cloud car, which you will
need to find Tibannapolis. Look for me near the ancient refinery known as Revol Leap. If you show up with Jedi or officials, the deal’s off. You’ll never see your precious ship again.
Now I have to tend to business.”
Then, with a flip of her topknot, and without a word of farewell, she was gone. |
crossfire | 23_c20.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TWENTY
One hundred credits.
Boba checked the prices, and found out that he had barely enough to hire a cloud car, with enough left over for a meal, as long as it was a small one. He dragged it out as long as possible,
wondering what he was going to do to pass the time until his meeting with Aurra Sing. He knew he’d have to avoid the Jedi who might be looking for him—and he wondered why Sing would
want to give him back his ship. She must want something in return, or was it a trap? And what if she were caught by the Jedi? Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly turn her in himself.
Noon tomorrow—it seemed like a long time away. But it wasn’t. Bespin turned so swiftly on its axis that the days were only twelve hours long. Boba barely had time to grab a nap on a
park bench before it was time to go.
The cloud car was a neat little item: two open-cockpit cabs, or nacelles, attached by a three-meter-long shaft that held the repulsorlift engines. Boba chose to ride in the
cockpit with the driver, a short and prickly Ugnaught, a native of Bespin—or so Boba thought.
“You from around here?” he asked, just to make conversation…and maybe learn a thing or two about the planet he was now stuck on.
“We were brought here by Lord Figg,” said the driver. “He gave us our freedom, in return for our labor building Cloud City. We are eternally grateful to him
for…”
The Ugnaught driver droned on, but Boba was more interested in studying the cloud car’s simple controls: a ring that was pushed in for down and pulled out for up, or twisted for turns.
I could fly this thing better than him!
As Cloud City dwindled into the distance, and the cloud car darted in and around the multicolored towers of fog and vapor, Boba began to appreciate the exotic beauty and appeal of Bespin. The
atmosphere was buoyant and thick, so it required little energy to fly or to float. Things fell slowly, when they fell.
Evolution had produced thousands of forms of small, colorful life, which fed on one another with happy abandon. Boba saw larger creatures, too. Great floating sacks, with amorphous forms and
shifting colors. They were herded by men on bat-like creatures.
“Wing riders,” said the cloud car driver. “Riding on Thrantas. Not native to Bespin. But then few of us are. We Ugnaughts were actually brought here by…”
“You already told me,” said Boba.
“Sorry,” said the cloud car driver. “It’s just that we have found our freedom here, and we are eternally grateful to the…”
“You already told me,” said Boba. He looked out the window. “There. What’s that?”
The cloud car was spiraling down through a scrim of clouds. Below, Boba saw a huge, round, rusted eeck of metal and plastic, floating at a tilt.
“Tibannapolis,” said the driver. “I’m out here at least once a week.”
It looked to Boba as if the entire abandoned city were scraps on a plate, about to slide off into the garbage can. “Why would anyone come here?” he wondered.
“Souvenir hunters,” said the driver.
“Can you tell me where Revol Leap is?”
“I can do better than that,” said the squat little Ugnaught. “I can take you there.” Instead of weaving in and out of the ruined buildings, he dove under the city.
Looking up, Boba could see rusted remains of the Tibanna processing factories and mines. The flat bottom of the floating city was covered with algae, and plants that fed on the algae, and floating
beasts that fed on the plants, and plants that fed on the beasts that fed on the plants.
This is a harsh universe, Boba thought to himself. I must follow my father’s example and become harsh also.
Revol Leap was at the city’s edge—a section of tower as jagged as a broken tooth that hung out over the emptiness.
Suddenly—a spot of orange, a sleek nose, a stubby wing, a familiar beloved shape…
Slave I. There it was! Idling on a warpout deck under the twisted spire of the Leap.
And standing next to it was Aurra Sing.
She looked as fierce as ever, with her red hair gleaming in the dim light that filtered through the clouds. Mad at the galaxy, Boba thought. But why? That kind of anger seemed
more of a hindrance than a help.
Remain calm at all costs was Jango’s way. And it will be my way, too, thought Boba.
As the cloud car slowed, hovered, and landed, Boba was suprised to realize that he was glad to see Aurra Sing.
It had been nice to have a friend like Garr. But what good was a friend you have to hide the truth from?
Aurra Sing wasn’t a friend, far from it; but at least she knew who Boba was.
“Want me to wait?” the driver asked as he landed, the little cloud car scraping on the steel with a harsh sound.
“No,” said Boba, pulling out his flight bag and throwing the driver his last credits. “Keep the change.”
“Hey, thanks, pal,” the Ugnaught said. Boba realized he had overtipped him. But what did it matter? Slave I was back!
He waved at Aurra Sing. She of course didn’t wave back. Too busy scowling at the galaxy. Boba wondered what would happen if the galaxy scowled back—
And suddenly it did.
CRACK! CRACK!
Two laser bolts hit near Aurra Sing. Another hit near the cloud car.
The Ugnaught driver jumped out of the cloud car and ran for the safety of a nearby building. Aurra Sing stood her ground and looked up. Boba ran to her side and followed her glance.
A Bespin sky patrol skimmer was diving out of the clouds, firing at Slave I.
“You betrayed me!” Aurra Sing cried. She reached under her robe and drew out a blaster. Then she backed toward the Slave I.
“Wait!” Boba said, running after her. “I didn’t tell them anything. How can you be so sure it’s the Jedi anyway?”
Aurra Sing grinned as she opened the cockpit. “Who else would be trying to kill me? And failing so miserably?”
Boba scambled up behind her. “Now we can get away.”
“Sorry, kid, the deal’s off!” Aurra Sing said. “When you told the Jedi where we were meeting, you blew it.”
“I never told anyone anything! It wasn’t me!” Boba threw his flight bag into the ship. The engines were already idling. Aurra Sing grabbed Boba and hurled him from the vehicle.
He hit the steel deck of the floating city so hard that it knocked the breath out of him. Before he could get back on his feet, she’d closed the ramp, fired up the turbos, and taken off.
Boba barely had time to jump free, dodging the blistering exhaust.
“Come back!” He looked up. Slave I was rising into the clouds, with the sky patrol craft close behind. The battle was on. Both ships were firing now, streaking the sky with
tracer blasts.
Boba wanted to be part of the fight. He wanted to be at the controls of his ship again. But how?
With his eyes on the sky, he backed up, clenching his fists in frustration.
Then he remembered the cloud car.
Pull for UP, push for DOWN. Piece of cake.
Boba took off in hot pursuit of the sky patrol craft, which was in hot pursuit of Slave I. In space, he knew he wouldn’t have a chance of catching up. But in the thick atmosphere
of Bespin, all vehicles were relatively slow.
The cloud car was ridiculously easy for him to fly. And sweetly maneuverable. Boba felt his blood drumming an excited beat. It was great to be back at the controls of a ship, even a little
tourist hauler.
Boba was falling behind, so he took a shortcut through a cloud. He had guessed right: he came out above Slave I, where Aurra Sing couldn’t see him. She had slowed to a near
hover.
She was planning something.
Boba watched as Aurra Sing slipped into a bank of clouds, as if to lie in wait. And soon he saw what she was waiting for.
The sky patrol craft cruised into view, circling the cloud, scanning the horizons for Aurra Sing. Little did its pilot know that the pursuer had become the pursued, and that Aurra Sing was
preparing an ambush.
Holding his breath, Boba watched the sky patrol craft drift past the cloud. Any moment now, there would be a blast of laser fire, and the broken pieces and shattered crew of the patrol craft
would fall slowly into the depths of Bespin’s atmosphere, where they would all be crushed flat, lost forever in the toxic soup of heavy gases.
Good riddance! Boba thought. Then, as the craft drew nearer, he saw who was in it. There at the controls was a Bespin pilot while Glynn-Beti gave orders. Beside her was Ulu Ulix, and
beside him, Garr.
So it was Garr who betrayed me! Garr must have told the Jedi everything! But still…my friend. No doubt thinking this would help…
A few more meters and they would all be in Aurra Sing’s sights.
There was no time to think. Boba pushed the ring forward and dove, faster and faster. He cut in front of the patrol ship, surprising it and throwing it off course, just as Aurra Sing’s
laser bolt fired— |
crossfire | 24_c21.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
—and missed, by centimeters.
The little cloud car might have been small, but it was also amazingly fast. With the sky patrol craft in pursuit, Boba dove down under the city and threaded the cloud car into the forests of
dangling algae, where it was all but invisible among the thousands of strands, some of which were hundreds of meters long.
The patrol craft was right behind. After a quick look around, though, it left, presumably to resume the search for Aurra Sing. Wonder if they know I saved their lives, Boba thought. He
didn’t regret it, though he wondered if it had been the smart thing to do. If he had let Aurra Sing blow them to pieces, he would perhaps be with her now, in Slave I.
Now, here he was in the weeds. Nowhere, with nowhere to go. A ten-year-old boy in a stolen craft. No money, no friends; he didn’t even have his precious flight bag.
What was that?
Boba wasn’t the only one hiding in the weeds. Slave I was cruising through, slipping silently among the hanging fronds. Was Aurra Sing hiding from the sky patrol craft or chasing
it? It was impossible to tell.
The cloud car had no comm unit. But what did it matter? Boba was sure Aurra Sing wouldn’t talk to him anyway. She was convinced he had betrayed her—and even though she was wrong to
think he had told the Jedi where to find her, he had betrayed her by spoiling her ambush.
If she sees me, she’ll run. Or worse, blast me.
If only I could sneak up on her, Boba thought. And then, watching her drift slowly toward the edge of the platform, he thought of a way that he could.
Keeping the cloud car hidden in the hanging fronds, he followed Slave I across the underside of the abandoned city. It was clear now that Aurra Sing was hiding from the Jedi. She was
hovering, barely using her jets. Had she lost her nerve?
Boba knew that as soon as the Jedi were gone, she would be hitting her turbos, blasting for space.
If this is going to work, I have to make my move now, he thought. It meant taking a chance, but Boba was getting good at taking chances.
She was drifting past. Boba waited, with his hand on the edge of the cloud car’s open cockpit, until Slave I was directly underneath.
Then he stood up.
And stepped over the edge, into the open air.
As he fell, slowly at first, then faster and faster, Boba watched the ship below.
It was tiny; Bespin was huge.
If he missed, he would fall for a thousand kilometers, until his skull cracked in on itself like an egg.
If he missed, but he hadn’t allowed for the sideways drift of Slave I. He only missed by a few meters. He saw the shock on Aurra Sing’s face when she saw him fall
past. He could only imagine the look of horror that she saw on his.
Then he heard the WHOOSH as she fired her turbos, and dove underneath him. He heard the click/whrrr as she opened the entryway and positioned herself beneath him, like a net.
OOOMPH! Boba hit on the flight bag he had thrown in earlier; the battle helmet and the book made it hard as a rock.
The entryway closed.
Safe! Boba grinned—until he saw Aurra Sing’s scowl.
“If I didn’t know you were the son of Jango Fett,” she said, “I would swear you were trying to keep the Jedi alive by spoiling my little surprises.”
“I just want my ship back,” said Boba. “I don’t care who you kill.” That was a sort of lie—Boba didn’t want her killing Garr, or even Ulu. But it was
close enough.
“Fair enough,” said Aurra Sing. “So let’s switch seats.”
“Huh?”
“You know how to fly this thing, right? And I’m a better shot than you. We’re going to have to work together to get out of here.”
Boba didn’t have to be told twice. Picking up his flight bag, he scrambled forward to the pilot’s chair. It felt good to have his hands back on the familiar controls of Slave
I.
“Now take us up and out. Let’s see if our friends are still there.”
They were.
K-RANG! KA-RANG!
Boba dodged laser bolts from two sides. The sky patrol craft had been joined by starfighters from the Candaserri. This was their chance to catch the bounty hunter who had attacked so
many Jedi.
Aurra Sing fired back, but the shots were wild. Boba threw the little ship into a roll, and dove into a cloud.
“Let’s grab some vacuum!” Aurra Sing said. “Head for space.”
“Not with those starfighters on our tail!” Boba shouted. “There’s no place to hide up there.” He had counted at least four from the Candaserri. The Jedi
had called for reinforcements, and gotten them.
“Well, we’re not exactly invisible here!” Aurra Sing yelled back. “We’re surrounded—and there’s a storm coming. These Bespin storms are
deadly.”
Maybe that can work to our advantage, Boba thought.
He checked the radar imagery. There it was—a monster storm, towering from the bottom levels of the atmosphere, all the way to the lower reaches of space. It was streaked with lightning,
and it spun like a supersonic top.
“Hang on!” Boba cried. He spun Slave I out of the cloud, into the middle of the waiting Jedi starfighters.
KA-RANG!
KA-RANG!
Boba threw the little ship into a shimmy, dodging laser bolts as it streaked across Bespin’s cloud-stacked sky, with four—no, six—no, eight!—starfighters and a Cloud City
sky patrol tight on its tail.
“Now you’ve done it!” cried Aurra Sing. “They’ve all seen us.”
“Not for long,” said Boba, thinking of his father as he headed straight for the lightning-stitched storm cloud. “Nobody follows where we’re going!” |
crossfire | 25_c22.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Total darkness.
Then blinding light.
Slave I shook and spun and creaked and groaned.
The turbos were useless. Nothing could match the power of the storm. The ship went where the storm sent it, which was down, down, down—
Slave I was designed to withstand the high vacuum of outer space, not the tremendous atmospheric pressures of a gas giant like Bespin. A crack appeared in the cockpit canopy; Boba
smelled an acrid, toxic stench.
“We’re breaking up!” cried Aurra Sing. “I thought we were heading for space!”
“Me too,” answered Boba.
Both their voices were soon drowned out by the screaming of the wind. Boba stood the ship on end and hit the turbos, holding on for dear life. Slave I shook, it rattled, it rolled and
spun and tumbled end over end. The lightning crashed over them in huge breaking waves, like a surf of light.
Boba saw Aurra Sing’s face reflected in the viewscreen, and for the first time she looked more terrified than angry. The sight scared him. He knew that he looked even more scared.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
The silence was more terrifying than the noise. Boba knew that he was dead—he saw stars everywhere.
Cold, tiny, silent stars.
“We made it,” said Aurra Sing. “Good flying—for a dumb kid.”
Boba didn’t bother to answer. He was weak with relief. They had made it. Slave I was in space. The plucky little starship had climbed the spinning walls of the storm, all the way
into orbit around Bespin. No one had dared follow.
“We need to talk,” said Boba. He was exhausted, but he felt a new confidence. “This is my ship. I want it back. Now.”
“Later,” said Aurra Sing, laughing. “There are other planets in this system where we’ll be less conspicuous. Unless you want to wait here for the Candaserri to
spot us?” |
crossfire | 26_c23.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Crossfire
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Your father and I were not exactly friends,” said Aurra Sing, once they were in orbit around a small dark planet, a sister to Bespin, which was still visible as a
tiny globe in the distance. “Bounty hunters don’t have friends. But I respected him. He was the real thing. No sentimental attachments, no loyalties.”
“Like you?” Boba asked.
“Sort of—and sort of like you,” Aurra Sing went on. “You’re developing some of his better qualities. Not that I care. Our paths have only crossed out of my
necessity.”
Boba wondered what this meant. “Let’s uncross them, then,” he said. “This is my ship. Pick a planet, and I’ll put you off; we’ll say farewell.”
“And good riddance, too,” said Aurra Sing. “But first we have a job to do together. You and me and your father, Jango Fett.”
“My father?”
“He was richer than anyone realized. He left credits and treasure stashed all over the galaxy. It’s yours, Boba. All you have to do is pick it up.”
“Where?” Boba asked. His heart was pounding with excitement.
Aurra Sing smiled. “Several places. I happen to know where they all are. That’s why we’re a team. I have the coordinates and you have the codes.”
“Codes? I don’t have any codes.”
“Your DNA and retinal scans are the codes. Your father made sure the treasure could only be accessed by his son.”
“Why should I trust you? How do you know all this?” Boba asked. “You already stole my ship once, and betrayed me to Dooku.”
“Trust me? You’d be a fool to trust me. Do you think I trust you?! You’re Jango Fett’s son, after all. We’re going to get the treasure and split it, fifty-fifty.
That’s it, kid. Then you’re on your own.”
“Fifty-fifty? But it’s mine!” Boba wondered if he would even see the fifty she was promising.
Aurra Sing smiled. “What choice do you have? Unless you want to wait for someone else to find the treasure.”
Boba also wondered if Aurra Sing knew that Jango Fett had tens of thousands of sons. Does she know that all she has to do is kidnap a clone trooper? But what was that his dad used to tell
him? That he was the only unaltered clone?
“Okay,” said Boba. “It’s a deal. We’re a team—for now.”
“Everything’s ‘for now,’ kid,” said Aurra Sing. “So let’s head for the first site. We can catch some shut-eye in hyperspace. I’ll punch in the
coordinates while you look the other way. And I mean the other way!”
As soon as the jump was made and they were in hyperspace, Aurra Sing went to sleep, snoring loudly.
Boba sat on his flight bag and watched the stars streak by. He was tired too, but he felt cautiously good. He had his ship back and his flight bag. He was on his way to get the rest of his
father’s legacy. He had made a friend, even if it was a friend he would never see again.
He had escaped Count Dooku…but for how long? And in Aurra Sing’s company, he would be doubly pursued by the Jedi.
Aurra Sing was certainly no friend. But she was useful. And at least he could trust her—to be untrustworthy!
Boba Fett knew he would have to remain on guard. |
hunted | 05_chap1.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER ONE
Some people believe that space is empty. Boba Fett’s father, Jango Fett, had been one of those people.
“Space is emptiness,” Jango had told his son. “And emptiness is useless, until it is filled with work, energy, or people, or starships. A good bounty hunter may seem invisible
at times. But he knows how to use the space around him. And if he is using that space, it is not empty.”
Boba did not think space was empty. Gazing out at the space that surrounded his ship, Slave I, he thought that space was full, and brilliant, and beautiful. There were planets
everywhere, and stars. He saw distant flares of green, or gold, or red that were nebulas, or galaxies, or even vast starships.
Still, he did agree with his father on one thing. No matter what intergalactic space was, Boba knew he had to make the most of it.
“Approaching destination,” a cool, computerized voice from Slave I’s controls informed him. “Approaching Tatooine.”
Boba leaned forward. He ran his hand across Slave I’s piloting console. His fingers touched buttons, switches, and skin-sensitive navigational aids. He smiled.
He was part of the complex space inside this starship. His starship, since his father’s death. Just days ago, on the planet Aargau, Boba had seized Slave I back from
Aurra Sing, the notorious bounty hunter who had stolen it from him.
Aargau was the galaxy’s banking planet. There, Boba had also regained what remained of his father’s fortune—just enough credits to spend on outfitting Slave I for this
journey.
“Estimated time of landing, 01200 mesarcs,” the computer said. “Breaching Tatooine airspace.”
Tatooine.
Boba Fett stared out at the planet before him. It was a vast bone-colored sphere, streaked here and there with darker brown and white. In the distance, Tatooine’s twin suns blazed dull
orange. They were like demonic eyes staring back at Boba.
No, space was not empty.
He leaned forward and punched a command into the control console. With a dull roar, Slave I pierced the desert planet’s atmosphere. The ship began to hurtle toward
Tatooine’s surface. The twin suns grew smaller, less bright. But they remained ominous. Boba gazed out at the desert world, grimacing.
This sure isn’t a place where you’d want to spend much time, he thought.
Sandstorms, oceans of sand dunes, drought-stricken canyons, moisture farms, and unrelenting heat. From what Boba had heard, Tatooine filled its own space with some pretty awful stuff.
So remind me why I’m going here?
Boba smiled grimly. He knew the answer to that question.
His father, Jango, had been killed by a Jedi Knight named Mace Windu. But as one of the galaxy’s greatest bounty hunters (the greatest, in Boba’s opinion), Jango had lived
every day knowing that he might die.
And he had loved his son. To prepare Boba in case the worst ever happened, Jango had left him a book. In this book were screens of information, advice, and encouragement. All were written in his
father’s own words. Sometimes the book showed his father’s own image, too.
“Hold onto this book,” Jango Fett’s face and voice told him when Boba looked inside the book. “Keep it close to you. Open it when you need it. It will guide you when you
need guidance. It is not a story but a Way. Follow this Way and someday you will be a great bounty hunter, Boba.”
That was what Boba wanted more than anything. To be a great bounty hunter, like his father had been. To know that his father would have been proud of him.
Sometimes, late at night when he was alone and scrolling through the book, Boba pretended that his father was still alive, somewhere.
But he could never pretend that for very long.
Now the book was in his pocket. Boba did not need to look at it. He knew the advice it held for him regarding Tatooine.
“For knowledge you must find Jabba,” the book said. “He will not give it; you must take it.”
Jabba the Hutt! One of the galaxy’s most notorious gangsters and crime lords! And Tatooine’s most famous, if disgusting, resident.
Jabba was why Boba was about to make landfall on this forsaken, desolate planet.
Boba had already found Tyranus. That was how Boba had ended up on Aargau. Tyranus was the agent who had selected Jango Fett to be the source for the Republic’s clone army.
But Tyranus was also Count Dooku, who was leading the Republic’s enemies, the Separatists. And only Boba had the knowledge that these two people were the same.
Knowledge is power, his father had always told him. But even the power of knowledge could be limited.
For knowledge you must find Jabba. He will not give it; you must take it.
Boba had escaped from Aurra Sing and Aargau, but he needed more credits to survive. He needed more power. He needed more knowledge. He took a deep breath, then reached for the console and
entered the coordinates for Mos Espa, Tatooine’s bustling spaceport.
“Prepare for landing,” he said to his ship, and to himself.
Boba hated to admit it, but he needed Jabba the Hutt. |
hunted | 06_chap2.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWO
“Planets are like people,” Boba’s father always used to say. “They all have individual personalities.”
At the time, this hadn’t made sense to Boba.
Since then, Boba had learned that it was true.
Kamino, his home world, was gray and grim and cloud-covered, plagued by rains that could last for months on end. The native Kaminoans were like their planet. They were cool and seemingly
unchanging, well-mannered but obsessed with control. They were the ideal supervisors for the creation of the clone army.
Aargau, run by the InterGalactic Banking Clan, was strictly ordered on its surface. But underneath that orderly surface was the chaos of the Undercity. In the Undercity, anything could
happen.
And Tatooine?
As Slave I banked, Boba stared at the spaceport below him. It was a jumble of domes, pleasure spires, and gambling minarets. He saw long, low warehouses, and the rusted spines of
outdated space-traffic control towers. He saw racing arenas, coliseums, and junkshops. Biggest of all was the enormous Arena Citadel. That was where the Pod-racers began their competition, before
hurtling off into the desert.
Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. Mos Espa’s ragtag buildings looked as though they had crawled in from the desert like giant sand-worms, and then collapsed, too exhausted
to go on. Beyond the borders of the spaceport stretched the vast expanse of the Dune Sea, wastelands of sand and dust and wind-carved rocks.
If Tatooine has a personality, Boba thought with bleak amusement, it’s a mixed-up one.
Slave I cruised slowly above the network of docking bays. From here they looked like craters, bristling with surveillance and repair equipment. Droids scurried around them like ants.
Boba stared down, trying to determine which docking bay would be safest. He had barely enough credits left to pay for docking, and none for refueling. He’d have no more credits at all until
he met with Jabba the Hutt.
What would my father do? he thought.
And suddenly he knew.
He put on his father’s Mandalorian helmet, which, he noticed proudly, fit better than it had just a few months ago. He felt a slight warmth as the helmet’s eye sensors scanned his
retinas, and then the reassuring hum as the interactive system recognized him.
He searched Slave I’s memory banks for the location of the docking facility last used by Jango Fett.
The nav computer informed him that the docks belonged to Mentis Qinx.
Boba punched in the coordinates. He leaned back in the control seat. Smooth as flowing water, the ship banked. It began its descent into a warren of dilapidated towers surrounding a large and
very battered docking bay.
Boba smiled. He adjusted the Mandalorian helmet. He checked to make sure his book was in his pocket. Minutes later, Slave I landed safely at Mos Espa.
He had made it. But that was only the beginning.
He had to find Jabba.
Boba decided to wear the helmet, at least at first. That way no one would know how young he was. He was dressed in standard-issue Mandalorian uniform—gray-blue tunic and
trousers, darker shirt, high black boots. With the helmet covering his face, he might be anyone of small stature. He might be a Mrlssi physicist, or a Bimm merchant, or a Sullustan pilot.
Nobody had to know he was just a kid.
He cleared his throat, then clambered out of Slave I and into the docking bay.
The air of Tatooine struck him like a fist. Hot, dry air, so saturated with grit and dust that he could taste it on his tongue, despite the protective helmet. A few meters away, small service
droids scurried and rolled beneath another ship. There were fuel lines and repair equipment scattered everywhere. Boba looked around for someone in charge, standing as straight as he could to
project confidence.
“Sir!” a smooth voice greeted him, recognizing the ship. “Jango Fett, is it?”
A gleaming figure was approaching him—a silver-plated 3D-4X administrative droid. Its blunt, tube-shaped head whirled as it looked from Boba to Slave I.
“Fett, that’s right,” Boba said. He felt a small surge of relief. A droid would be easier to fool than a human or an alien. “I need to leave my ship here for a
while.”
“Very good, very good,” said the droid. It halted. Boba could hear a garbled stream of syllables coming through its communications transmitter. After a moment it turned back to him.
“Master Qinx wishes you to be reminded that there is a small matter of an outstanding debit on your account.”
Boba swallowed. Inside the helmet his face felt as though it were melting. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and said, “I am aware of that. Here—”
Boba held out a credit chip, all that remained of his father’s fortune. The droid scanned it, then rotated its head.
“That is not enough.”
“I’m aware of that, too,” Boba said quickly. He was glad the droid couldn’t see his face. “Please inform your master that I have a private audience with Jabba the
Hutt regarding some old business of my own. Once I’ve met with Jabba, I’ll make payment in full.”
“Master Quinx specifically stated that—”
Boba shook his head. “I am certain that your master would not want to make me late for my meeting with Jabba,” he said in the warning tone he’d heard his father use so many
times. “Of course, I can inform Jabba that there will be a delay….”
Boba turned and took a step back toward his ship. His breath came too fast in his throat. What if the droid knew he was bluffing?
Behind him he could hear the whine of the 3D-4X’s communicator.
“Very well,” the droid said. Its smooth voice sounded slightly anxious. “Of course, we do not want to delay your meeting with Jabba the Hutt. Will there be anything you need
upon your return?”
Safe behind his helmet, Boba grinned. Why not?
“Yes,” he said. “Please provide a full overhaul and restocking of my ship. And refuel it.”
“Very well, sir.” The droid began to stride purposefully toward the service droids. “You, there! Leave that and get over here immediately!”
Boba watched as the droids began to surround Slave I, beeping and whirring. Then he turned and headed for the ramp that led down to the streets.
Maybe this will be easier than I thought! He smoothed the front of his tunic and walked outside, head held high. Jabba, here I come!
In less than a minute, he was hopelessly lost. |
hunted | 07_chap3.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER THREE
From the air, Mos Espa had looked confusing, but not chaotic. Boba had recognized streets and alleys, even major roads leading into the dessert. It was all complicated, but he
assumed there was a pattern. And if there was a pattern, he would figure out how to use it.
But as soon as he steeped from the overhang of the docking bay, Boba realized there was no pattern here. There was no logic, except the logic of buying and selling and stealing.
For just a moment, Boba forgot about appearing to be in control.
“Wow,” he breathed, amazed.
From the air, Mos Espa—all of Tatootine—had seemed to be one color. The color of sand, of dust, of raw rock.
But now that he stood in the middle of it all, Boba saw that was not true. His father had told him once about seeing the world in a grain of sand. That was what Boba felt like he was seeing
now.
Around him was a swirl of deep gold, pale buff, almost white. Ancient buildings made of cracked rock and brick; roads of broken stones and alleys of packed dirt. There were water harvesters and
rusted tankers, and cracked useless water vaporators.
And there were life-forms everywhere. They hurried past him, shrouded against the relentless wind and dust. He saw groups of tiny Jawas in stained, dirt-colored robes and hoods. Their yellow
eyes glowed balefully as they moved on. Some of them rode tall, placid rontos that swung their horned heads to stare calmly at Boba.
There were jabbering merchants, selling water and smuggled goods. There were Feeorin pirates, their faces jowled with indigo tentacles, and beautifully dressed women, heavily jeweled and masked
as they made their way to Hutt casinos.
“Magravian spice, m’lord?” a voice hissed at Boba’s helmet. “It will make your reflexes sharp as chrsyalide claws!”
Boba shook his head as a snouted Rodian thrust a filthy hand toward him.
“No thanks,” Boba said. He took a few quick steps into the street.
“GEGGAOURRAAAY!” a voice shouted.
Boba looked up and saw a huge form bearing down on him. It was a bantha, its large, sloped body swaying back and forth. On its back stood an armed Tusken Raider. Boba stared at it, marvelling:
He knew it was rare to see one so far from its desert home.
The Raider yelled threateningly at Boba. Boba couldn’t understand what it was saying, but he knew what it meant.
Move!
Boba lunged out of the way. He could feel the bantha’s stiff fringe of hair brushing against him as it lumbered past. He heard the whoosh of the Raider’s staff slicing
through the air just above him.
That was close—way too close, Boba thought.
He hurried on. Ahead of him stood a bustling, run-down building: a cantina. Droids and aliens, recent immigrants and Tatooine natives all milled in front of it, or made their way in and out.
Suspicious-looking men in dusty robes hawked caged beasts—chittering neeks from Ambria and crablike suuri, phosphorescent boeys in glass globes.
“Young warrior!” a smuggler called in a low voice as Boba passed. “I have blasters, the very finest, very cheap, very fine.”
Boba ignored him. Only as he approached the cantina’s doors did he slow down.
From inside came the sounds of drunken singing, muffled shouts, the clack of mung-tee balls.
And, best of all, the smell of food.
Boba paused. His mouth was watering. He knew he had no credits left, but maybe he might be able to swipe an unfinished platter of food. Grown-ups were notorious for not cleaning their plates. He
looked around, made sure his helmet was on securely, and pushed the door open.
Inside the noise was deafening. So was the hulking Noghri security guard who glared down at Boba.
“Display all your weapons!” he shouted. “This isn’t like those cantinas in Mos Eisley—we’ll have no firefights here.”
Boba raised his empty hands. The Noghri roughly patted him down. Boba held his breath. He was worried that the guard might raise his helmet and see that he was not a warrior of small stature,
but a kid.
Luckily, the Noghri had no time for that. Behind Boba a group of rowdy Wookiees appeared.
“Go on, then!” the guard yelled at Boba, gesturing inside. “Next!”
Boba strode through a passage and into the main room. A long, neon purple bar occupied its center, with tables scattered elsewhere. Piped-in music played, adding to the tumult. There were aliens
and humans everywhere, heads bent close together as they plotted and planned, or simply ate and drank. Service droids bustled back and forth, clearing dishes and refilling drinks.
Boba looked around.
“There!” he murmured. Near the back of the room he spied an abandoned table. It still had plates on it. Boba glanced around to make sure no one took note of him. He casually
sauntered over to the table.
“Yes!” he whispered to himself. “Jackpot!”
Someone had left an entire roba plate untouched. Beside it steamed a heaping mound of yan legumes. Boba reached out, grabbed the roba and drew it to his mouth.
Still warm! He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed; then reached for the yan.
“Hey!”
Boba gulped. He turned to see a tall woman in a Myrkr pilot’s uniform. She scowled at him, her hand resting lightly on the blaster at her hip.
“Uh, sorry,” stammered Boba. “I thought this was my table.”
Another pilot appeared behind the first. Boba started to back away, when a crushingly huge hand descended onto his shoulder.
“Mandalorian scum!” said a deep voice. “You dare to breathe the same air as I do?”
Boba twisted. He looked up to see a figure easily three meters tall. From helmeted head to booted feet, he was clad in a shining carapace of armor. He carried a blaster as long as his arm;
knives and more blasters hung around his waist.
But worst of all was what he bore on his chest: the livid image of a Mandalorian skull.
“Is there a problem, Durge?” one of the pilots said.
Durge.
Boba stared at him. His hands and neck suddenly went cold. In front of him stood an imposing figure. Inside his helmet, his eyes glowed a malevolent red.
“When I see a Mandalorian,” Durge said, raising his arm, “there is always a problem. Especially one that Count Dooku has asked me to hunt down.” |
hunted | 08_chap4.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER FOUR
Boba’s heart hammered his chest. But he stood his ground and stared at the figure before him.
Durge! His father had warned Boba about him. A two-thousand-year-old bounty hunter, Durge hated the Mandalorians more than anything else in the galaxy. A hundred years before Boba was born,
Durge had attempted to capture the Mandalorians’ leader. Instead, he himself was captured and tortured.
But Durge escaped. He went into hibernation to recover from his wounds. When he emerged fully healed, he vowed revenge upon all Mandalorians.
Yet it was too late for revenge. By then, there were few Mandalorians left in the galaxy. They had been exterminated in the course of countless battles, some with the Jedi.
Still, part of Jango Fett remained alive in the clone army generated from his DNA. Durge had vowed to eliminate all of Jango’s clones…and do Count Dooku’s bidding.
What would he do if he knew that Jango’s true son stood before him?
I’m not gonna wait to find out, thought Boba grimly.
He took a deep breath. Just as Durge’s fist came smashing down toward him, Boba dove between the bounty hunter’s legs.
Good thing he’s so tall! Boba hit the floor running.
“Get him!”
Boba raced for the door. Service droids bleeped and scurried away. Near the door, three Wookiees backed against the wall, giving deep bellows of excitement.
BLAAAAAMM!
A burst of blaster fire ricocheted overhead. Boba could hear shouts and a blast of answering fire.
“Hey, you!” shouted the Noghri guard as the young bounty hunter whizzed by. The guard snatched at him, but Boba was too fast. In seconds he was outside again.
“Glad I’m outta there!” he gasped.
He kept running, until the cantina was out of sight behind him. There were still throngs of people everywhere, but no one seemed to notice him at all.
Probably used to folks being chased, thought Boba. He turned and continued running down a side street.
He was starting to get tired. I better rest soon, before I—
With a grunt, Boba tripped on a pile of rubble. Crying out, he fell forward onto a cracked sidewalk. Instinctively his hands reached out to break his fall.
But it wasn’t enough to keep him from crashing onto the hard, dusty ground.
“Oooof—”
He went down, headfirst, hard enough that the breath was knocked out of him. Too late he remembered his helmet.
“No!”
Helplessly, Boba felt the helmet bounce from his head. He grabbed at it. For just an instant, he felt its smooth metal surface. Then it slid from his grasp.
It was gone.
Around him was a sea of legs and feet—booted feet, hooved feet, clawed feet.
Where was his helmet?
Frantically, Boba scrambled forward on his hands and knees. He ignored the curses and jeers of those who had to step around him. A booted foot kicked at him. Someone else laughed. Boba gritted
his teeth and kept going.
There!
He could just see it, only an arm’s length away. There was the familiar smooth sweep of black that hid his face when the helmet was where it belonged.
Boba stumbled to his feet, his hand stretched out to grab the helmet.
And just as he did, someone else snatched it from him!
“Looking for something?”
Boba straightened, furious. “That’s mine! Give it to me!”
“Yours?” The voice snorted in disbelief. “I don’t think so.”
Boba looked up. In front of him stood a girl. She was maybe a year younger than he was. She was smaller than Boba, and much dirtier. Her face was streaked with dust and soot. So was her hair. It
looked brown, but Boba suspected it might be dark blond beneath the layer of grime. She was skinny, almost starved-looking, and wore tattered cast-off clothes—an Ugnaught mechanic’s
smock, much too big and belted around the waist with a piece of filthy rope. Her eyes were blue and piercing.
She might have been younger than he was, but she looked just as determined.
“Where would you get a Mandalorian battle helmet?” she demanded. She held it up and stared at it thoughtfully. “This is worth a lot,” she continued. She
gave Boba a look that was both suspicious and admiring. “Where’d you steal it?”
“I didn’t!” He lunged, grabbing for it, but she was too fast. Before he could say another word, she was already on the far side of the road, running with the helmet under her
arm.
Boba stared after her, stunned.
“No one takes what’s mine!” he shouted, and raced in pursuit. |
hunted | 09_chap5.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER FIVE
The winding road was even more crowded than the one he’d left. But this time, Boba’s size helped him. He could wriggle in and out of the throng as quickly as a
Ralltiirieel. He could easily keep the girl in view, since she wasn’t bigger than he was. He found that he was enjoying chase.
He followed her, panting, past dark doorways where smugglers lurked, down narrow alleys crowded with pack animals like hairy tybis and immense banthas. He raced through an open market-place
taken up by a huge starship surrounded by twittering Jawas. They were already gutting it to sell on the black market. The girl ran on tirelessly, her bare feet slapping the ground.
“Stop!” Boba yelled.
When he saw the looks the Jawas gave him, he realized yelling was a mistake. After that he ran in silence, saving his energy for the chase.
On and on she ran. Boba had to duck under low awnings, jump over heaps of rubbish and the steaming remains of a beggar’s tiny campfire. But after a few more minutes he began to gain on
her. The girl thief was small and fast, and she knew her way around Mos Espa.
Boba was stronger.
And the Mandalorian helmet was heavy and hard for her to carry. He could tell from the way she clutched it to her side. Once she almost dropped it, and Boba thought he’d get it back at
last. His hand stretched out, he could feel the rough cloth of her dirty smock and the smooth curve of his helmet…
With a cry she yanked the helmet closer, hugging it to her thin chest. She made a sharp turn and ran into a building, Boba at her heels.
He didn’t pause to look up and see where he was going. If he had, he might have hesitated. The building was a mere shell. Spindly pieces of wood leaned against each other to form a
doorway. A ragged piece of cloth dangled in front of it like a discarded shroud.
But Boba didn’t bother to stop. He raced after her. Seconds later he was plunged into darkness.
He halted, struggling for breath. He cocked his head, listening. He could hear someone else panting.
The girl.
“I know you’re there,” he said. Suddenly, he was so angry he didn’t stop to think of what his father would do in a place like this—which would not have
been what Boba did next.
Without looking around, he stuck his hand in front of him. Then he stepped forward.
Something soft brushed his leg. He moved away, thinking it was a piece of the dirty cloth in the doorway.
It wasn’t. Before he could blink, hands covered his eyes. Other hands grabbed him by the ankles, yanking him down.
“Hey—!”
“Not a word, stranger.”
He tensed, lifting his hand to strike out. Then he felt something cold against his throat.
A knife.
“If you move, you’re dead,” someone said in a low voice.
Boba took a deep breath, forcing his body to go limp. Hands patted him down, slid into his pocket, and closed around his book.
“Here’s something!”
Without thinking Boba started to yank it back. The icy blade pressed harder against his throat. Boba used every ounce of his will to remain motionless.
“What is it?” someone whispered.
“A book.”
The first someone made a scornful noise. “A book? Who needs a book? Get rid of it!”
“Give it to me!” Boba recognized the voice of the girl thief. “If you’d ever read a book, Murzz, you might have been able to grow a brain between your
ears.”
He heard scuffling, then a muffled cry; then the girl’s voice again.
“Wow. Look at this!” This time she didn’t sound suspicious—just admiring. “Let’s see what else he’s got!”
More small hands checked his pockets, his cuffs, even the inside of his boots. They found nothing.
I could save you all a lot of trouble, thought Boba fiercely, if you’d let me go!
He stared at the blackness that surrounded him. He blinked. His eyes were starting to grow accustomed to the dark. He could just make out a shadowy form kneeling at his side—the person who
held the blade to his throat. There were two—no, three—other, smaller figures moving around him.
None of them seemed to be the girl. He squinted, but he still couldn’t see her.
But he could hear her.
“Keep looking!” she commanded from the shadows. “Whoever this boy is, he’s got some interesting cargo. Very interesting.”
Small fingers danced across Boba’s cheeks, tapping his ears and then his mouth.
They’re looking for jewels, Boba thought. And gold teeth.
He lay motionless, waiting until one of the fingers thrust into his mouth. Then he bit down.
Hard.
“Owwwww!”
Figures scampered away from him into the cavernous room. Boba grabbed the hand at his throat. He twisted it until he heard a groan, followed by the soft clatter of metal hitting the ground. Boba
struck out blindly. He felt his hand smack into a small form that went sprawling. Boba scrambled to his feet, grabbing the person who’d fallen beside him.
“Ygabba, help!”
“Be quiet!” said Boba. He yanked the figure up again. Through the darkness he glimpsed a small, thin face, matchstick arms, and a wild frizz of black hair like smoke.
Just a kid. He was a lot smaller and younger than Boba, too.
Boba felt a stab of pity. But then he remembered the cold touch of the blade at his throat. He glanced down and saw a glint of silver near his foot. Still keeping a tight hold on the boy, Boba
stooped and grabbed the blade. He glared into the shadows.
“Give me back my helmet,” he shouted. “Otherwise—”
“Otherwise what?”
It was the girl. By now he could see well enough to recognize her as she stepped toward him. She held up a small plasteel torch and switched it on. Bright white light flooded the room. Boba
shaded his face. At his side the small boy writhed and tried to get free.
“You won’t hurt him,” the girl went on. She stared at Boba with eyes brilliant and piercing as the torchlight. “You’re not like us.”
You’re not like us. She made it sound like a dare.
Boba glared back at her and said, “No, I’m not. I’m not a thief, for one.”
“Oh, no?” The girl gave him a cold smile. She held up the Mandalorian helmet—his helmet—and the book. His book. “Then how’d you get this?
And this?”
Boba stared back at her just as coldly. “Those are mine.”
At his side the small boy began to whimper. Boba looked down at him. “Be quiet,” he whispered.
Boba looked at the blade in his own hand, and then at the girl. He saw a flicker of unease cross her thin face.
Unease? Or could it be fear?
Fear is your friend, if it is your enemy’s fear, his father used to say.
But the girl did not seem afraid of Boba. She continued to stare at him defiantly. He saw her gaze dart to the boy he held captive.
She’s not afraid of me, Boba thought. She’s afraid for him.
“Give my things back to me and I’ll let him go,” Boba said. “See?” He held up the blade, then slid it into his belt. “All I want is what’s
mine.”
An edge of desperation crept into his voice. Not because he was afraid—though he was, of course. Only a fool is never afraid.
I can’t lose those. He felt the pit of his stomach grow cold, as though someone held a knife there. That’s all I have of him.
“Yours?” The girl gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t believe it. But—”
She stepped toward him. Behind her, Boba could glimpse the other children standing watchfully.
“You must be very clever, or very lucky, to have gotten your hands on a Mandalorian battle helmet,” she went on. “We are always looking for clever recruits. And lucky
ones.”
Boba shook his head. “I’m not interested. I work alone.”
A hard smile crept slowly across the girl’s thin face. “Then you won’t last very long on Tatooine,” she said. “And you’ll need all the luck you can
get.”
Slowly she raised her arm, her hand curled into a fist. The other children did the same. Boba stared at them. Like poisonous flowers blooming, the children’s fists unclenched. They held
them up, palm out, so that Boba could see.
In the center of every palm was a single eye. And every one of them was fixed on Boba Fett. |
hunted | 10_chap6.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER SIX
“What—what are those?” Boba stammered.
“The Master’s eyes,” the girl called Ygabba replied calmly.
“The Master?”
Without another word the girl turned and walked into the darkness. Boba stared after her, confused and unnerved. At his side the small boy gave a pitiful wail. Boba looked down,
ashamed—he’d almost forgotten him.
“Ygabba!” the boy cried. The girl kept going without a backward glance. “Ygabba, please, wait!”
Boba felt guilty. He steeled himself at the thought of those lidless eyes. His hold on the boy’s wrist loosened, just a fraction.
But that was enough. With a shrill laugh the boy yanked his hand free. He slipped from Boba’s grasp and ran gleefully after the others. Boba groaned and followed.
It took only minutes for him to catch up. The dim room narrowed to a single tunneling passage. Its walls were made of some flimsy transparent material. Sand had seeped through gashes in the
sides. He could see the others a short distance ahead of him. They were walking with no real urgency. He could hear laughter, and snatches of conversation.
“…will the Master be happy now?”
“I don’t care, as long as he feeds us!”
“Shhh, all of you!”
Ahead of him Boba saw the tunnel widen into a circular opening. It glowed a dull orange. As the others ran through, they looked like black shadow puppets against a fire. Last of all came Boba.
He peered around in search of the girl thief.
“Welcome, stranger,” her voice greeted him.
He looked up. There she was, perched on a high metal shelf. She lifted her hand and he could see the extra eye watching him. Her bare legs swung back and forth. His helmet was in her lap.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “They can’t hurt you. The eyes, I mean.”
Boba turned, looking around in amazement.
He was inside the cabin of a starship. Not just any starship, either, but a Theed Cruiser—he recognized it from blueprints he’d studied in his father’s quarters back on
Kamino.
“How—how did this get here?” he asked.
“Same way a Mandalorian helmet got into your hands,” said the girl, and laughed. “Someone stole it.”
She picked up his helmet. For a long moment she looked at it. Then she turned and stuffed it into some kind of storage compartment. She punched in a security code. The compartment door slid
shut. She stood, looking down at Boba’s anguished face.
“Don’t worry,” she said. She stepped to the edge of the shelf, swung herself down, and walked over to Boba. “It’s safer there,” she added in a low voice.
“Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Boba started to shout. “You—”
The girl motioned at him to be quiet. He glimpsed the eye in her hand, its pupil black as the darkest ink. She raised her eyebrows, silently indicating the vast room around them.
Boba’s mouth clamped shut. He turned and looked around.
It wasn’t an entire cruiser, he saw now. Just the cabin. Huge ragged gashes showed where the wings and the power generators had been removed. What remained was a long, high chamber. Bare
wires and scorched coils of metal hung from the ceiling. There were holes in the floor. The dull orange light came from lumen globes suspended overhead like immense insect eggs. Bits of shattered
circuitry were everywhere, and broken tiles, and remnants of what looked like weaponry—electromagnetic pulse guns, proton torpedo casings, phasers.
And, everywhere, there were children. Dozens of them. They perched on the metal shelves that circled the chamber, staring down at him with hungry, feral eyes. He had never seen humans or aliens
so thin, not even the Kaminoans. They were of as many different races and colors as the galaxy could hold—children from Alderaan, Kalarba, Tatooine; green-eyed Kuats, young Dathomir witches,
otterlike Selonians.
The only thing they had in common, as far as Boba could see, was that they all looked starved. They all looked afraid. And every one of them had an extra eye. |
hunted | 11_chap7.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Who—who are you?” Boba turned to the thief. “What is this place?”
“I’m Ygabba.” The girl smoothed the front of her filthy tunic. She looked uneasy. “And this is the stronghold of the Master’s army.”
“Army?” Boba looked at the emaciated figures staring down at him. “My father always said an army travels on its stomach. Doesn’t look like this one’s going
anywhere.”
Shocked murmurs came from the watching figures. Ygabba shook her head. “I wouldn’t talk like that if I were you,” she said in a low voice. “The Master wouldn’t be
too happy.”
“Master? What Master?” Boba stared at her. “I don’t see anyone in charge here.”
The children whispered. Ygabba gave an anxious glance over her shoulder. “I mean it,” she said. “You better not—”
Her eyes suddenly widened.
“Master!” she gasped. She raised her hands before her face, then dropped to the floor, cowering. “Master Libkath…”
Boba whirled to see what she stared at. The air flickered and brightened as though shining sand was being poured into an invisible bottle. Slowly, slowly, an alien form appeared in the middle of
the chamber. He was tall and thin, clad in deep-blue shimmering robes. He looked even taller because of the hat he wore, a gleaming black mitre like a crown. His hands were gnarled and sickly
white, as was his face. His eyes were huge and round. They glowed the same dull orange as the chamber’s lumen globes. With terrible slow care he raised his head and stared intently into the
room. When he spoke, his voice was disturbingly gentle. It had a quiet hiss like a boiling kettle.
“Who am I?” he asked.
There was a hushed intake of breath in the chamber. The children raised their hands. In every one a cold eye gleamed.
“You are our Master, Libkath,” the children said as one.
The tall figure nodded. “That is so. Who cares for you, children?”
“You do, Master.”
“Who gives you refuge?” he asked.
“You do, Master,” repeated the children.
The eyes stared at the figure. He stared back. After a moment he nodded again.
“That is so.” A half-smile crawled across his reptilian face. “And what do I ask in return?”
“Obedience, Master.”
“Very good.” The figure lifted its hands, turning. Boba felt his stomach clench as those round, glowing eyes fixed on him.
“There will be many people at the Podraces tonight,” the figure said. “That means there will be many vessels parked outside the Arena Citadel. Many guards, but also many unwary
soldiers who will have had too much to drink. A shipment of smuggled weapons will be outside the northwest gate. You are to bring them here.”
The children whispered, “Yes, Master.”
The figure stared straight at Boba. “What does failure mean?” he hissed.
Boba opened his mouth but said nothing.
“Failure means destruction,” said Master Libkath. “Do not fail.”
And with a blinding flash, the figure disappeared. |
hunted | 12_chap8.txt | Boba blinked. It took him a minute to register exactly what he had seen.
Not an actual person at all, but a holo. A virtual sending.
He had never been in any real danger. Master Libkath, whoever he was, had not really been there. He had note seen Boba at all, but Boba had recognized him as a Neimoidian. He’d met
Neimiodians before, on Geonosis.
Still, Libkath had been frightening, at least for the others. Even Boba hadn’t been able to look at those weird eyes without getting a queasy feeling. For a moment he couldn’t speak.
The chamber around him, too, was silent. Then, all at once, the children began babbling and talking.
“No time!” shouted Ygabba. She spun on her heel and headed for a jagged opening that had once housed a power generator. “You heard the Master—we have work to
do!”
“But I’m hungry,” someone whined.
“Me, too,” yelled someone else.
“And me!” piped in another.
Ygabba stopped. Her face looked tired and worn, and much older. “I know,” she said. “I’m hungry, too. There will be food vendors outside the arena.”
“But we have nothing to trade,” said a small Tatooine boy.
A grin spread across Ygabba’s face. “That never stopped us before!” she said. The others laughed.
Boba walked up beside her.
“So you’re all thieves,” he said accusingly. He grabbed her arm. “Well, I’m not. I want my things. Give them to me and I’ll go.”
Ygabba looked him up and down.
“What do you know about us?” she said at last. “You’d steal, too, if you were starving. Many of us have been separated from our families. Others watched as their parents
were killed by thugs.”
Her brilliant blue eyes stared at him. Boba stared back.
“I saw my father killed, too,” he said quietly. “I know what it’s like to be alone. I know what it’s like not to trust.” He shook his head. “But
I’ve never stolen anything in my life. And I won’t start now.”
The girl looked at him. Her expression softened.
“Your father,” she said. “That helmet—it was his?”
Boba nodded.
“And the book?”
“Yes,” said Boba.
Ygabba stood there, thinking. Finally she reached into her pocket.
“Here,” she said. She handed him his book. “I’m sorry we took it.”
Boba slid it into his packet. “What about my helmet?”
“No.” She looked behind them, to where the other children milled around. They were waiting for her to lead them out. “What I told you was true. It’s safer here. There are
many, many thieves in Mos Espa. Bigger ones than us. Scarier ones. I’ll give you your helmet back later. I promise.”
“That’s not good enough. I need it,” said Boba. It was not a plea, but a command. “Now.”
The girl stared at him for a long time. Finally she nodded.
“All right,” she said. She turned and climbed back onto the shelf and opened the storage compartment. A minute later she returned with the helmet.
“Here,” she said.
She held it out to Boba. He grasped it, but her hands did not let go.
“You owe me for this,” she said, and drew her hands back.
“Owe you?” said Boba hotly. He clutched the helmet to his chest. “For stealing my helmet?”
“No. For teaching you to be more careful with it.”
The girl walked away, gesturing for some of the other children to come with her to find food. Boba watched her, then followed, the helmet still in his hands.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said grudgingly. “But I’m still not going to become a thief.”
Ygabba shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
She pushed at a piece of scrap metal that served as a door, and stepped out into an alley choked with garbage. “Sooner or later, people like us end up here with Libkath. There’s no
place else to go.”
Boba followed her outside. “Who is Libkath?” he asked.
“An exiled Neimoidian,” said the girl. “At least, I think he’s an exile. I’m not sure. The other kids, they don’t even wonder who he really is. But I do. All
the time. He gives us shelter and food. Not much, but better than nothing. He protects us from the Hutt gangsters. In return we do what he asks.”
“Do you ever actually see him?” said Boba. “I mean, the real him, and not just a holo.”
“Yes.” Ygabba shuddered. “Believe me—the holo is better.”
Boba thought of those evil glowing eyes boring into him. “I’ll take your word for it. What about those?”
He pointed to her hand. Ygabba lifted it, opening her palm so that he could see the lidless eye in its center. “It’s a tracer orb,” she explained. “Advanced
nanotechnology and organic matter. When the Master takes us, he has a med droid implant these in our hands.”
“Does he watch everything you do with them?”
“No. They’re monitors, that’s all. If we leave the planet, they’re programmed to release a toxin into our bloodstream.”
“That’s awful!”
“I know. That’s why we listen to him. That’s why we do what he asks. We have no choice.”
Boba listened thoughtfully. “Do you ever really see him?” he asked. “Or does he only communicate like that?”
“Oh, we see him, all right. Him and his battle droids,” said Ygabba grimly. “Whenever we perform a mission. He has us do his dirty work—stealing weapons, or crystal fuel,
or water. Sometimes he has us hide things for him. Then he comes back here and collects the goods. He takes them away and sells them.”
Boba nodded. “I get it,” he said. “He’s smuggling weapons!”
Ygabba shrugged. “I guess so. All I know is that he takes whatever we steal for him. He gets the fortune, and we get scraps. If we’re lucky.”
“Does he work alone?”
“No,” said Ygabba. “He has soldiers. Mercenaries. And droids.”
She began to walk down the alley. She picked her way carefully among dead weeds and heaps of burned-out circuitry. Boba stayed at her side. He didn’t put the helmet on yet. He had a
feeling that he might attract more attention if he did.
A Mandalorian warrior, followed by a bunch of ragged children?
The thought made him smile a little. It also made him sad.
If I was a real warrior, I would free them, he thought. I’d bring them back to their families and make sure the Master paid for this!
Behind him trailed the children. They pushed at one another, laughing and talking quietly.
Now and then one of them would stop and poke at a heap of rubbish. Once Boba looked back. He saw a boy pull something long and squirming from the ground and pop it into his mouth.
After that, Boba kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Can I ask what you’re doing here on Tatooine?” Ygabba asked after they had been walking for a while.
Boba hesitated. “I’m here to find Jabba the Hutt,” he said at last.
“Jabba?” Ygabba’s blue eyes widened. “You’ve got a long way to go, then. His palace is at the edge of the Western Dune Sea. That’s hundreds of klics from
here.”
Boba felt a pang of dismay. “Then I’ll just have to find a way across the Dune Sea,” he said.
“Wait.” Ygabba stopped. She put a hand on his arm. “Let me think.”
Her brow furrowed. After a second she nodded excitedly. “Yes! I bet I’m right!”
“What?” asked Boba. “Tell me!”
She began walking faster. “There are night Podraces this evening—they’re being sponsored by Jabba,” she said. “And this shipment of weapons that we’re
supposed to go after—it’s probably for Jabba, too. I’ll bet you dinner at KiLargo’s Cantina that Jabba will be at the arena.”
She snapped her fingers, laughing.
Boba looked at her doubtfully. “Are you sure? How do you know all this stuff?”
“It’s my job to know. You’d be surprised what people will say in front of someone our age.”
Boba nodded. He thought of how stupid grown-ups could be, and how oblivious they were of what kids really knew.
Ahead of them the alley branched into a wide street. On the far side of the street loomed an immense structure.
The Arena Citadel. It was big enough to be a mountain, though Boba had never seen a mountain so alive. Throngs of beings were everywhere, along with carts and speeders and swoopbikes, braying
banthas and armed guards, who shouted at people to keep moving.
“The main gate’s there,” said Ygabba.” And the northwest gate is that way.”
She pointed to the far side of the arena. “But if you want to find Jabba the Hutt, your best bet would be around back, at the southeast gate. That’s where the aristos go.”
Boba frowned. “Aristos?”
“You know—rich people. The Hutts have their own private entrance. Their own private box. Of course, I have no idea how you’ll get in,” she added loftily.
Boba scowled. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Me neither.”
Ygabba smiled. The other children crowded behind them, laughing excitedly and hushing one another.
“I have to leave you now,” Ygabba said.
She gestured at the children. They nodded. Then, breaking into groups of twos and threes, they ran across the crowded street. In seconds they had all disappeared, like ants into an ant hill.
Only Boba and Ygabba remained.
“Well,” Ygabba said. She stuck out a dirty hand.
Boba hesitated. He looked down to see if there was an eye in her palm. There wasn’t. He grinned and took her hand.
“Good luck,” said Ygabba.
“Thanks,” said Boba. “I’ll need it.”
With a smile, Ygabba turned and began to spring across the road. Halfway across she stopped.
“Hey—I never asked,” she called back to him. “What’s your name?”
“Boba,” he said. “Boba Fett.”
“Boba Fett,” the girl repeated. She smiled broadly. “That’s a name I’ll remember!”
“I sure hope so,” said Boba. He slipped the helmet over his head and watched as Ygabba was swallowed by the crowd. |
hunted | 13_chap9.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER NINE
It was almost dark by the time he found his way to the southeast gate. The arena was vast, nearly a small city in itself. It seemed like Boba was on his own again.
He passed encampments of beggars, and bright-colored tents where gamblers sat and beckoned him to come inside. He saw a troop of fire-talkers, and a trio of Gamorrean guards who took turns
bashing each other with a club. Weather-beaten water prospectors pushed their way to the arena, eager to gamble away what little wealth they had. Vendors sojld water in small containers.
“Only ten dataries!” one called to Boba. “Cheapest price at the arena!”
“No thanks,” muttered Boba. His tongue felt like a rock in his mouth, swollen and dry.
He’d better earn some credits soon. Really soon.
Overhead floated yellow balloon cameras. They would broadcast tonight’s race to those who could not afford to watch it in person.
Like me, thought Boba.
But he didn’t waste time thinking about that. He had a more important mission.
Find Jabba.
He kept walking. Beneath the northwest gate, there was a squadron of heavily armed droids. They were guarding a huge mobile warehouse. Boba wondered if this could be the weapons shipment Libkath
had mentioned. If it was, how could a bunch of starved kids ever hope to steal its contents?
Well, he thought, hunger is a good motivator. Just like thirst.
His own stomach growled. Boba tried not to think about food. He hurried past the droids.
Overhead, the sky was quickly growing dark, swirled with purple and deep blue. Tatooine’s twin suns hung low upon the horizon, an angry red. They reminded Boba of Master Libkath’s
eyes.
There were other eyes watching him, too. Beggars and aliens selling smuggled goods—crystals from k’Farri, Magravian cat-spice, cheap generators. Boba knew better than to listen to
their harsh voices, or to those who tried to lure him into the gambling tents.
“Authorized Hutt crediteers! High stakes only!”
Boba stopped. He turned and saw a very large dome-shaped tent. It could easily have hidden Slave I, and another ship besides. As Boba watched, its door flap opened to let someone out. A
cold, white burst of cloud followed. Boba took a step closer, enjoying the feel of the chill air against his skin.
“You!”
A tall, thin Etti towered above him. He was expensively dressed, and clutched a handful of blinking chips.
“No beggars here!” he said, and lashed out at Boba.
“I’m not a beggar,” Boba said angrily, turning.
“No?” The Etti gamemaster looked down at him. He took note of the Mandalorian helmet. “No, I suppose not.”
He gave Boba a mirthless smile. From the domed tent behind him came the sounds of deep, unsettling laughter. “But you’re still not wanted here. Kurjj, get rid of this creature!
Whoever he is. Bib Fortuna informs me that the chief wishes to observe the races from here this evening. He wishes privacy,” the Etti hissed, staring at Boba.
A hulking Drovian guard stepped out of the dome.
Boba swallowed, but stood his ground. “I’m looking for someone,” he said.
The Drovian’s huge hand reached for him. Still Boba did not flinch. The Etti stared. His cold smile grew wider. He watched as the Drovian started to grasp Boba’s shoulder.
“Wait.” The Etti raised his long thin arm. The Drovian guard grew still. The gambling master turned and fixed his glittering eyes on Boba.
“Were you sent by someone?” he asked slyly. He slid the chips into a pocket of his robe and rubbed his twiglike hands together. “Your employer has business with me,
perhaps?”
Boba shook his head. “No,” he said. His heart was pounding, but he was not afraid. “I represent myself alone.”
“Indeed. And you are looking for…?”
Boba took a deep breath. “I have business with Jabba the Hutt.”
“Really?” The Etti’s thin eyes creased with amusement. His voice rose, and he held open the tent flap behind him. “And what would a Mandalorian want with Jabba the
Hutt?”
“That’s my business,” said Boba defiantly. He turned and started to walk away.
“HO HO HO!”
From the tent echoed a low, booming laugh, so deep it seemed to make the ground shake beneath Boba’s feet. “Business! I am always ready to do business—for a price! Bring him
in, Kurjj!” a voice called in Huttese, which Boba could understand.
Boba froze.
That voice could belong to only one being on Tatooine. One being in the entire galaxy.
“He says he has business with Jabba the Hutt?” the voice roared. “Well then, it’s time we met!” |
hunted | 14_chap10.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TEN
With a nasty smile, the Etti held the tent flap open. The Drovian pushed Boba roughly inside.
Boba looked up.
Ulp, he thought. This looks bad.
He had never been more grateful for his father’s battle helmet. He only prayed that the thing before him couldn’t see him inside it.
When Boba first met Count Dooku, he thought the tall, elegant man was a sinister, but not truly frightening. As for Aurra Sing—she was powerful and cunning, and absolutely ruthless.
But she was a bounty hunter, like Boba. He could understand how she thought. He could understand how she would react, and sometimes even predict it.
But this—thing—in front of him almost defied understanding.
Part of it was simply huge he was. Back on Aargau, Boba had glimpsed Jabba’s nephew, Gorga the Hutt. Gorga had been big and disgusting.
But he was nothing compared to his uncle Jabba.
Jabba wasn’t merely big. He was immense.
And he was hideous.
His mounded, sluglike form nearly filled the great dome of the tent. He reclined on a wide raised platform covered with beautiful handwoven rugs and tapestries, all coated with thick slime.
Jabba’s followers occupied every remaining bit of space. Some of them were watching a Podrace on a large viewscreen. Others were hunched over gambling tables. Still others sat silently,
moving chips and jewels back and forth in complex games of chance. Boba counted numerous guards, Drovians as well as the hulking Gamorrean guards preferred by the Hutt clan.
In addition to security, there was a large group of entertainers and athletes—jugglers, dancers, Podracers, acrobats—as well as Jabba’s “pets.” These were creatures
nearly as ugly and threatening as the great Hutt himself. Most of them were in cages that hung from the domed ceiling. Boba nervously eyed a dwarf vornskr crouched near the entry, its whiplike tail
lashing and its razor teeth exposed in a wicked grin.
The miniature vornskr snarled menacingly. Boba took this as his cue to introduce himself.
He said, in Huttese, “Jabba—er, sir. I am an emissary from Jango Fett.”
Atop his mound of swollen flesh, Jabba’s huge head slowly turned. He regarded Boba coolly with almond-shaped, amber eyes. His froglike tongue flicked in and out of a lipless mouth.
I bet there are planets smaller than he is, Boba thought. He forced himself to stare brazenly at the looming crime lord.
“Well, well!” Jabba rumbled. He gazed down at Boba with amused disdain. “What have we here? Another volunteer for the races tonight? I don’t need another pilot. Not
unless one of them dies on the finish line. HO! HO! HO!”
His body shook with laughter. Jabba’s lackeys laughed, too. Boba thought their amusement sounded much more forced than the Hutt’s.
“I’m not here for the race,” Boba said. From inside his helmet, he saw several gamblers glance up from their tables. “I have come—”
He hesitated.
Why had he come?
For knowledge you must find Jabba.
Well, he’d certainly found Jabba! Boba looked up to see those evil narrow eyes staring at him.
“I—I have come to offer my services to you, O Great One,” said Boba.
Peals of laughter shook the dome. Even the vornskr howled gleefully. Only Jabba continued to gaze at Boba, and said nothing.
“His services!” roared a Noghri pilot.
A lithe Carratosian pirate eyed Boba and snickered.
“Maybe he can clean up after the vornskr,” she suggested.
Boba clenched his fists as the Gamorrean boars punched each other and guffawed.
“SILENCE!” thundered Jabba.
Immediately the dome grew still. Boba could no longer hear the click of gaming pieces; nothing but his own breath moving in and out of the helmet.
One of Jabba’s too-small arms punched at the air. “What is so amusing?” he boomed in Huttese. “Who feels his own services are so important? YOU?”
Jabba turned and stared at the Carratosian. His long pale tongue oozed from his mouth. “Perhaps YOU are disposable, eh?”
“N-no sir,” she stammered. “I only meant—”
Without warning, Jabba’s powerful tail slashed across the floor. It struck her and she went sprawling.
“Insolent!” he cried. He turned to stare once more at Boba. “You, too, are insolent! No one approaches me without proper introduction.”
“I didn’t know,” Boba said. “I—”
“Ignorance is no excuse!” roared Jabba. “And the penalty for ignorance is—death!” |
hunted | 15_chap11.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Death.
Boba thought fast. Then he spoke fast.
“Jabba—Mightiest of Hutts!” he cried. He was careful to face Jabba directly, and to show no fear.
“It is precisely my ignorance that has brought me here!” Boba continued. “ ‘For knowledge you must seek out Jabba the Hutt’—that is what Jango Fett told me.
That is why I have come to you.”
Jabba stared at him. “For knowledge, eh?”
He sounded pleased. Boba drew a breath of relief.
“Do you hear that?” Jabba boomed, turning to his army of lackeys. “This stranger has come to me for knowledge! For this he has risked death, torture, and
enslavement!”
Uh-oh, thought Boba.
Jabba turned back at him. “Well, intruder! You have come for a good reason. I know very much!”
The sluglike Hutt glanced at the monitor showing a Podrace. He gave a long, rumbling laugh. “Some might say I know what will happen before it happens.”
Uneasy laughter rang out from the others in the room. Jabba leaned forward, peering at Boba with cunning eyes.
“You say that Jango Fett sent you? I had heard that he was dead. Killed by the Jedi on Geonosis. Is this true?”
Once again Boba was glad the helmet hid his face.
“Yes,” he said. The word came out almost as a gasp. “Yes, it is true.”
“I know of Jango’s skill. He was courageous, and a man of his word. He was one of the finest bounty hunters in the galaxy.”
“Some might say the very finest,” interjected Boba without thinking
“Hmmmm.” Jabba’s eyes narrowed. “You, too, Mandalorian intruder, seem to have courage. But you have broken a rule by coming here. So I will give you a choice.”
Jabba’s flabby arm gestured at the viewscreen. Nearly everyone inside the dome was now clustered in front of it, eagerly watching a Podrace. “Tell me who you think will win this
race. If you are correct, I will take you with me to my B’omarrian Palace. There you will serve me.”
Boba nodded. “Thank you,” he began, but Jabba raised a hand to cut him off.
“If you are wrong, you will still accompany me to my palace—but you will not serve me. Instead you will be served—to one of my pit beasts!” |
hunted | 16_chap12.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWELVE
Boba turned to stare at the monitor. Numbers and words scrolled across the bottom of the viewscreen. Statistics, the names of this evening’s Podracers, their homeworlds,
and racing class. Then the image changed. Boba saw the inside of the huge arena, packed with shouting, cheering, waving viewers.
I wonder if Ygabba’s in there somewhere, Boba thought. I wonder if she ever found the weapons shipment.
But he couldn’t wonder for long.
“Three more minutes!” shouted Estral, the gamemaster. “All bets must be in!”
Sleek machines flashed across the viewscreen—the Podracers. Boba watched them eagerly.
Man, I’d love to get my hands on one of those!
High-combustion engines made it possible for the Podracers to reach speeds of eight hundred kilometers an hour. Pit droids scrambled around the vehicles. They adjusted fuel levels and made
last-minute repairs. Boba would have been glad to pilot any one of the racers—but which one was going to win tonight?
“Two more minutes!” cried the Etti.
Boba angled closer to the viewscreen. Now it showed profiles of the various racers. Boba recognized a few of them—the dinosaurian Chros-filik of Phu; Gasgano; Ody Mandrell; LobwuWa Loba, a
thuggish Aqualish who seemed to be a local favorite; the eager young Aleena, Mab Kador, in his retrofitted White Panther.
But there were others, too, names and faces Boba had never seen before. How could he possibly choose the one who would beat the rest? Humans and aliens alike were massed inside the arena, making
bets. Many of them would lose their life fortunes before the night was through. A few would probably lose their lives.
Boba didn’t want to be one of them.
Despite the cool air inside the dome, a trickle of sweat began to inch down Boba’s neck. His shoulder hurt where the helmet chafed his skin. He rubbed it gingerly, thinking hard.
Jabba’s guests crowded around the Etti gamemaster, shoving credits into his long thin hands.
“One minute!” he cried.
From the corner of his eye, Boba saw Jabba watching him. Quickly the young bounty hunter looked back at the viewscreen.
The statistics showed that Mab Kador had been undefeated for the last three races. He looks young and hungry, Boba thought, and he has a great Podracer. That’s who I’d
back. That’s who I’d want to win.
But was that who Jabba was backing in the race? Boba had heard that the criminal overlord controlled everything on Tatooine, from blaster smuggling to the import of illegal spices. Every
gambling den was under Hutt supervision. Every petty criminal paid tribute to Jabba. So did every rising crime lord. Those who grew too ambitious, those who tried to double-cross Jabba, were sought
out by bounty hunters and brought to Jabba’s palace.
Even on remote Kamino, Boba had heard horrible stories of what happened inside the fortress of Jabba the Hutt. He had never thought he might see it for himself.
“Twenty seconds!”
Boba swallowed. His hand slid into his pocket and touched his father’s book. He didn’t dare take it out, but just feeling it reassured him a little.
For knowledge you must find Jabba. He will not give it; you must take it.
“Time’s up!”
Boba let his breath out. When he lifted his head, he saw Jabba gazing at him with those wicked, serpentlike eyes.
“So, young Mandalorian! Have you made your choice?”
Everyone inside the dome crowded in front of the viewscreen—everyone except for Boba and Jabba the Hutt. The gangster’s pale tongue flicked from his mouth. He reached into a large
basket overflowing with Ylesian white worms, grabbed a handful of squirming grubs, and shoved them into his mouth. Boba felt sick. From the viewscreen came the roar of the arena’s crowd as
the signal was given.
The race had started.
“Tell me—now!” roared Jabba. “You said you came to me for knowledge? You must show that you yourself possess it! Who will be the winner?”
Boba stared at the crime lord.
He will not give it; you must take it.
And suddenly, he knew the right answer. |
hunted | 17_chap13.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Well?” demanded Jabba.
Fearlessly, Boba looked at him. “O wisest of Hutts! The winner will be—whoever you want it to be!”
Inside the dome everything abruptly grew silent, except for the muted viewscreen. From outside, Boba could hear a wave of sound, shouts, and cheers echoing from the arena. There was the muffled
explosion of a blaster. On his raised throne, Jabba stared down at Boba Fett. Very slowly he raised his flabby arms. His eyes narrowed. His entire vast body began to shake. His long, fat tail
rippled and coiled like a dying slug.
Jabba the Hutt was laughing.
“HO HO!” The entire dome shook as he bellowed and roared. “Well said, young warrior!” He grabbed another fistful of worms and crammed them into his mouth, without ceasing
to speak. “A clever answer! And a true one!”
Inside his helmet, Boba sighed with relief.
“Thank you, O Great and Wise Hutt,” he said. He tipped his head respectfully. It was a good thing Jabba couldn’t see his face! “I am overwhelmed.”
Overwhelmed with disgust, Boba added to himself.
“Estral!” boomed Jabba. His flailing arm beckoned to the Etti gamemaster. “Collect their credits! We’re leaving!”
Boba looked around, confused.
“But the race isn’t over,” he blurted.
Once more Jabba heaved with laughter. “I know who will win. I have more important business to attend to.”
He leaned forward, staring intently at Boba. “Young Mandalorian! You said you were sent by Jango Fett.”
Boba nodded. “That’s right.”
“So you, too, are a bounty hunter?”
Boba’s voice was loud and clear. “Yes. I am.”
“That is good. I am always in need of bounty hunters—even small ones. You will come with me to my palace. My major-domo, Bib Fortuna, will arrange for you to be outfitted there.
Until you have discharged your debt to me, you will be under my command.”
“My debt to you?” Boba said. He couldn’t keep outrage from his voice. “What do I owe you for?”
Immediately he felt the hot breath of the Drovian guard upon his neck.
“You will die for that,” the Drovian grunted.
He drew a curved litch-knife from his belt and held it just inches from Boba’s face.
“And,” the Drovian added with a twisted smile, “you will die slowly.” |
hunted | 18_chap14.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Boba had no time to think. He acted.
Without a sound he leaped to one side. The Drovian’s knife whistled harmlessly through the air where, a nanosecond before, Boba had been.
“Huh?” gaped the hulking alien.
A small table stood near the viewscreen. Boba grabbed the table and swung it front of him, fending off the Drovian’s blade. Jabba’s guests yelled and scattered in all directions.
Jabba himself watched, laughing coarsely.
“You will pay for this!” croaked the Drovian.
As the guard bore down on him, Boba thrust the table upward. The knife stuck on the wood surface. While the Drovian struggled to free his weapon, Boba pushed the table up farther. Then he darted
sideways, kicking at the lumbering guard’s knees. With a groaning thud, the Drovian stumbled and fell. Jabba’s guests laughed as Boba turned to breathlessly face Jabba.
“I am no one’s slave or servant!” Boba said. “I will work for you, for a price—but I will name that price!”
Jabba’s laughter stilled. He gazed at Boba. After a moment he nodded. “You are my kind of scum! You will make a good hunter.”
The protection of his helmet made Boba feel bold. “Who’s to say I’m not one already?”
Jabba smiled slyly. “Soon you will have the chance to prove it. I have a job that needs to be executed. I have already contacted another hunter, but perhaps the assignment should be
yours.”
Jabba turned and gave a disdainful glance at the Drovian. “Bring him back to the palace,” he ordered his guards. “Once we have arrived, put him in the holding pen.”
The Drovian roared and fought furiously as the Gamorreans grabbed him and led him away.
Boba watched them go. He had never imagined it would be possible to feel pity for a Drovian. Still, the thought of Jabba’s pit beasts made him hope that the gangster might change his
mind.
“Estral!” boomed Jabba. “I have commanded Bib Fortuna to ready the sail barge for our departure. We leave immediately. Ensure that this dome is dismantled. And see that our new
recruit is not left behind.”
“Yes, m’lord,” replied the Etti.
He turned and looked at Boba. It was obvious that he was not impressed by what he saw. “The sail barge will be here in a few minutes. You can park your speeder in the holding area. Food
will be served on the main deck after departure.”
Boba said, “I have no speeder.”
“A bounty hunter without a vehicle?” asked Estral with contempt.
“My ship’s being overhauled,” Boba added quickly. “It’s in Mentis Qinx’s docking bay.”
Estral fixed him with a cold smile. “Qinx extends much credit to those in need. In exchange he demands huge fees. Many find they are unable to pay, and he keeps their vessels. Jabba the
Hutt will own you before you get your ship back.”
“We’ll see about that,” snapped Boba.
But behind the helmet, his face fell. Being a bounty hunter meant having the freedom to live and travel where he wanted to, when he wanted to.
He did not want to have to answer to Jabba the Hutt forever.
He did not want to answer to anyone but himself.
Still, Estral was right. Boba needed credits to pay for the repairs and refueling of Slave I. Jabba had said he needed bounty hunters. He said he had a job that needed to be executed.
If Boba did that job, he could demand enough credits—and more—to reclaim his ship. He could set out on his own then, and go anywhere in the galaxy.
He would be free.
Even better.
At long last, he would be a bounty hunter. |
hunted | 19_chap15.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Months before, Boba had been on the Republic Troopship Candaserri, a ship so big it as almost like a small planet.
Jabba the Hutt’s sail barge was not that big, but it was big enough. Looking at it made Boba feel as though he was gazing at a small city within a city. A world within a world.
It was dark now, but there were enough bright lights around the arena to throw shadows everywhere. After Jabba was escorted from the dome, Boba and the rest went outside. The barge hovered above
the ground. Bib Fortuna, Jabba’s major-domo, commanded gangplanks and the ladders to be deployed. Slaves and servants ran up and down, readying the barge for departure.
“Hurry!” hissed Fortuna.
Once Jabba was aboard, he would be impatient to leave. It was not a good idea to make him wait!
Boba wandered a few meters away from the barge. He’d sneaked a sip of water to drink inside the dome, and a few dried ninchifs, tiny cavefish no bigger than his fingernail. He
couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full meal.
He pushed that thought aside and crouched on the ground. There he watched Jabba’s servants deflate the portable dome, like a great balloon.
It took only minutes. More servants scurried down from the sail barge, gathering the dome’s contents. Gambling equipment and furniture was carted off. It would be stored in the
vessel’s cargo bays during the journey to Jabba’s palace.
Jabba’s palace. Boba had heard rumors about that place.
What he heard wasn’t good. Not at all.
And now that he’d seen Jabba in the flesh, Boba was pretty sure the palace would be even worse than the rumors. He had better be ready for anything.
He leaned back and adjusted his helmet. He switched on the infrared vision feature. Immediately everything around him was shrouded in black and red.
“Ugh!” said Boba, grimacing.
Now he could see all of Tatooine’s nighttime vermin. Sandrats scurried everywhere, feeding on trash left by arena goers. Sandscorpions scuttled from rock to rock, their pincers held
high.
Boba saw several small figures creep from the shadows, unheeded. They snatched a metal crate and were gone in an instant.
Libkath’s army at work, he thought with grudging respect.
“You look pretty happy,” a low voice said behind him.
Boba whirled. “Ygabba!”
Behind him stood a slender figure clad in rags. “Got it in one,” she said, and smiled. With one dirty hand she touched the edge of his helmet. “Huh. I think I liked you better
without that. Aren’t you hot in there?”
“Yeah. And thirsty.”
Ygabba moved to crouch beside him. “Well, I can help you with that, at least. Here—”
She held out a small container of water. Boba looked at her, then took it gratefully. He glanced around to make sure no one else was watching. Then he pushed up his helmet and gulped the
water.
It smelled strongly of dust and purification chemicals. There were bits of grit and sand in it. It was way too warm.
It was the best water he had ever tasted.
“Thank you,” he said when the last drop was gone. He handed the container back to her, and lowered his helmet’s visor. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
She nodded. “We did. All those droids guarding that tank back there? That was just a decoy. The real shipment was hidden with a shipment of water from a moisture farm near Bestine.
That’s where this came from,” she added, holding up the empty container. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather have taken the water.”
“But you got the weapons?”
Ygabba smiled. “Of course.” Then her smile faded. “We have no choice. If we don’t do as Libkath orders, bad things happen.”
“What kind of bad things?”
“Kids disappear. We never see them again. Libkath sells them as slaves or indentured servants. Or worse.”
Her expression darkened. Boba thought of how bad off Ygabba and the others seemed now. If something was worse than that, it must be really, really bad.
“Where do the weapons go?” he asked.
Ygabba shrugged. “Smuggling is big business on Tatooine. Some people say it’s the only business. There are a lot of people who want weapons.”
Boba thought for a moment. “So you’re saying these weapons were smuggled here in the first place. Now Libkath is double-crossing whoever smuggled them in, by stealing
them?”
“That’s right. And the only reason he gets away with it is that no one suspects us. Like I said before. Grown-ups never take us seriously. Until they catch us.”
Suddenly she got up. “Well, I better get going. I have to meet the others.”
Boba said, “Ygabba, wait.”
She stopped. “What?”
“Why don’t you just escape? I mean, Tatooine is a big planet. Libkath couldn’t track you all down if you all ran away. And you said the toxin wouldn’t be released unless
you left the planet.”
“True.” She shook her head sadly. “But the little ones are too small. They could never keep up with the rest of us.”
“But you could go for help,” said Boba. “Someone would have to listen. Someone would have to help.”
Ygabba’s eyes brimmed with tears. “We have no families, and for those of us who still have relatives, he threatens to kill them if we ever go home. Life is hard enough for them here
on Tatooine. We can survive in Mos Espa. Someday, when we’re older, we will find our way back home. I don’t know how. But we will.”
Boba stared at her. He nodded. “I think you’re brave, Ygabba. If there’s some way I can help you and the others, I will.”
Ygabba looked at him. She smiled. “Thanks, Boba.”
She glanced up at the sail barge. Its banners were being unfurled. The airsailing crew was pulling up lines and getting ready to leave.
“Looks like you found what you were looking for, too,” she said.
Boba stood beside her. “Yes. Jabba agreed to take me on—as a bounty hunter!”
He couldn’t keep the pride from his voice.
Ygabba looked at him. Slowly, she smiled. “Boba Fett, bounty hunter! I definitely won’t forget that.”
“No. And I won’t forget all of you, either.”
From the sail barge came the fanfare of a trumpet. Jabba the Hutt was ready to depart.
“Good-bye, Ygabba!” Boba called as he ran to the barge. He grabbed a rope ladder and quickly climbed it, swinging himself on board. Rough hands grabbed him and pushed him onto the
deck.
“Get below!” a Gamorrean guard shouted at him. “No riffraff where Jabba can see you!”
“I’ve been invited by Jabba,” Boba protested. “As a bounty hunter—”
Harsh laughter came from the guard. “Get below with the other hired guns!” he brayed, and shoved Boba toward a door.
“You—!” Boba started to shout. Then he thought better of it. He gave one last look out toward the arena. A small figure stood where the dome had been, watching him.
“Go’wan!”
A huge gnarled hand shoved Boba through the door into the darkness of Jabba’s barge. |
hunted | 20_chap16.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On the upper deck, Jabba and his invited guests drank and ate. Music played. Acrobats tumbled and Twi’lek dancers leaped and turned. The barge’s sails filled with
air, as the great vessel came about and sailed majestically above the ground, heading for the Western Dune Sea. Overhead, stars burned through a sky black as Hapes velvet. The air smelled of
roasting meat, of sweet, cool fruit sherbets, of flowers imported at fabulous expense from distant green worlds. A Mrlssi harpist played and sang while Jabba sat on his throne and crammed handfuls
of writhing worms into his mouth. Jabba’s guests wandered across the deck. They gazed out at the starlit desert beneath them, laughing and scheming and drinking Jabba’s fine Chandrilan
wines.
Unfortunately, Boba had only a glimpse of all of this splendor. He could only hear the music and merriment, and smell the mouth-watering odors of rare meats and fruits.
He was in the hold, beneath the upper deck. There were no stars here to light the darkness. The space was dimly lit by swaying light globes suspended from the ceiling. There was no food or
water. The air was close and hot, and stank of dirty straw and penned beasts. Off-duty crew members milled about, cursing and gambling away their pay. Some slept in hammocks slung along the walls.
A few amused themselves by poking sticks into cages that held new pit beasts bound for Jabba’s palace.
Boba picked his way carefully through the crowded space. He paused to look into a cage holding a Gallion tripion. The immense scorpionlike creature clashed its claws. Its poison-tipped tail
clattered against the bars of its cage as a guard poked his sword through the slats.
“You’ll be fed soon enough!” he sneered as his comrades laughed.
One of them looked at Boba. “Another newcomer?” His face creased in a leering smile. “That’ll be the third bounty hunter this month that Jabba’s set after
Gilramos!”
“Gilramos?” asked Boba.
“That’s right! A regular thorn in Jabba’s tail, that one is. And a hard thorn to dislodge. He killed the last two bounty hunters who came looking for him.”
The guard looked Boba up and down. He laughed derisively. “Looks like you’ll make it three,” he said, and turned back to tormenting the tripion.
“Third time’s the charm,” Boba muttered. He crossed over to the wall, trying to keep his balance. The air barge moved swiftly—they would reach the palace by morning,
he’d heard someone say.
But the air yacht didn’t always move smoothly. Sometimes it would fall with a sickening jerk. Other times it would abruptly soar straight up, hundreds of meters into the air. When this
happened, Boba was glad he couldn’t see outside. He was also glad he hadn’t eaten much. He would hate to get airsick!
“So you’re another bounty hunter,” someone announced. “Jabba must really be getting desperate.”
A wizened old man approached Boba, who was not much shorter than he was. The old man wore a flowing green robe, covered with a long, stained apron. His sparse white hair was almost hidden
beneath a white cap. His face was brown and wrinkled as a dried gorapple, but his blue eyes were kind.
“Ye-es,” said Boba. He stared at the man distrustfully. “I was sent here by Jango Fett.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Jango Fett? I would keep that information private, if I were you. Durge will not be happy to hear it!”
Boba’s stomach fell. “Durge?”
The man shook his head. “No more chatter—first things first. Who are you?”
Boba stiffened. He said nothing. After a moment the man extended his hand. He pointed to an alcove where a narrow berth had been carved into the wall.
“Come,” he said kindly. “It is a long journey to Jabba’s fortress. Not everyone in Jabba’s employ is as unpleasant as these individuals—”
He gestured at the Gamorreans, now busy playing a game with knives.
“Most, perhaps,” the old man added, “but not all. For example, me. My name is Gab’borah Hise. I am the dessert chef assigned to this sail barge.”
Boba grinned. “There are others?”
“Oh, yes—many. Dozens of dessert chefs alone! Jabba may dine upon those disgusting white worms, but his guests and his legion of gangsters have varied appetites. Their taste has
become as depraved as Jabba’s own, however. I must constantly think of new ways of tempting them with food.”
Boba followed him to the alcove and sat down. Gab’borah sighed, smoothing the front of his apron.
“I did not always work for Jabba. Once, I was the head cook at a cantina in Mos Eisley. I was very successful. Too successful. Jabba heard how good I was. He made me an offer I
could not refuse.”
Boba smiled. “I understand. You had no choice but to come here.”
“I had no choice,” agreed the old man. “Once I cooked for smugglers and merchants. Now I cook for smugglers and gangsters. Earlier this evening I was preparing a most elegant
confection. Stewed, flaming collypods with tangerette cream and figs. Absolutely delicious! Unfortunately, I served a sample to Bib Fortuna. One of the collypods, though in flames, was not quite
dead. It burned his sleeve. Fortunately, I was able to put the flames out. Then I bribed Fortuna with a month’s worth of wealth. I also gave him a Ziziibbon truffle, freshly made this
morning. Bib Fortuna is quite fond of them.”
Gab’borah shrugged. “So he did not throw me into a Sarlacc pit, as he would surely have done otherwise. But that is how I have come to be sent down here, in disgrace.”
He slid a wrinkled hand into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a small, round object. It was bright green, threaded with red and yellow.
“Here.” He held it out to Boba. “I saved this one. Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” he said, and to prove it, took a little bite. “See? Try it. Tell me
what you think.”
Boba looked at it warily. Then he turned aside, lifting his helmet a scant inch so that he could pop the truffle into his mouth.
It smelled delicious.
It was delicious.
“That’s great!” Boba said thickly through a mouthful.
Gab’borah nodded. “I know. In all the galaxy, I alone have the recipe—another reason Bib Fortuna will never let me come to serious harm.”
“Only you?” Boba licked his lips, savoring the last bit of sweetness.
“Yes.” Gab’borah turned away. His withered face grew sad. “I was going to leave the secret with my only child and heir, but…”
His voice trailed off. In one of the cages, a vrblther gave its weird yodeling roar. Boba rubbed his eyes. It was late. He needed to sleep. But first he had a question for Gab’borah.
“You mentioned a name before. Durge.” Boba made his voice sound casual. “Is he here?”
“Durge?” The old man suppressed a shudder. “A bounty hunter of terrible strength and destructive power.”
He reached to touch Boba’s helmet. “You should be very wary of him. Durge hates Mandalorians almost as much as he hates the Jedi. His body armor is tattooed with the symbols of
Mandalorians he has slain.”
“Now I remember,” said Boba, pretending this was all new to him. He felt a chill, despite the hold’s hot, musty air. “He wanted to be the source for the clone
army.”
Gab’borah looked at Boba with respect. “That is the rumor,” he said. “How is it you come to know this?”
Boba hesitated. Then he said, “Jango Fett told me.”
Gab’borah’s eyes grew keen. “Then you know that Durge rejoiced when Jango Fett was killed. His only regret was that he was not the one to deal Jango Fett his death
blow.”
“Yes,” Boba said. His eyes watered. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I know.”
“You must also know then that your life will be in danger if Durge sees you.”
“I have been hired by Jabba the Hutt to be his bounty hunter,” Boba answered fiercely. “I am under his protection!”
Gab’borah shook his head. “Jabba has also hired Durge as his bounty hunter.”
The chef grasped the side of the berth and stared out at the crowded, stuffy hold. The Gamorrean guards were sprawled on the floor or swung in hammocks, snoring loudly. Two stood as sentries by
the ladder that led to the upper deck. Gab’borah looked at them, then turned back to Boba.
“Ah, young warrior,” he said. “When it comes to Jabba the Hutt, there is no protection. There is no safety. There is only cunning and strength, if you are very, very lucky. And
if you are not? Then there is only torment.”
The old man stepped from the berth. He crawled into a hammock hanging beside it.
“We will be at the palace before many more hours have passed,” he told Boba. “My advice to you now is to sleep. It is hard to be either cunning or strong if one is not
well-rested.”
Sleep! Boba stared at Gab’borah in disbelief. How could anyone sleep in a stinking, crowded place like this?
But in a few minutes, he found he was taking Gab’borah’s advice.
It had been a very, very long day. At last, Boba slept. |
hunted | 21_chap17.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Boba woke to a low growling sound. When he opened his eyes, he saw the vrblther staring hungrily at him from inside its cage. Its green eyes glowed balefully. Its long yellow
teeth showed between black gums. Boba hastily sat up in his berth. The vrblther’s mouth opened in a grin as it lowered its head back onto its claws.
Now what? Boba looked around. The hold was quiet, except for the snores of the Gamorrean guards on the floor. Beside the ladder, the two sentries sat with their heads bowed.
Sleeping on the job! I bet Jabba wouldn’t like that, thought Boba.
He glanced to where Gab’borah hung in his hammock, breathing heavily. Then Boba turned sideways in his berth, making sure no one could see him. He lifted his helmet.
Air! He couldn’t really call it fresh air, but it sure beat breathing through the visor. Boba rubbed his eyes. Grit and sand stuck to his fingers. He wiped them on the tunic. Then
he carefully removed his book.
He set it on his knees and opened it. Words glowed on the screen-page: For knowledge you must find Jabba.
Boba’s finger hovered above the page. He touched a word.
Jabba.
Immediately the sentence faded and another screen appeared. Words filled it. Boba scanned them quickly, until he found what he was looking for.
Palace.
“Tell me,” Boba whispered. He pressed the voiceover command. Immediately his father’s voice began speaking to him. The voice was so low he had to strain to hear it.
“Jabba’s palace is built upon what was once a B’omarr monastery. At all costs, avoid the lower levels. That is where the prisons and dungeons are, and the lairs of pit beasts
that have escaped over the centuries. The uppermost level is where Jabba’s most valued guests stay—as long as they are valued. The average guest ends up as a krayt’s
dinner. Or a Sarlaacs’ lunch. Bounty hunters usually fare somewhat better, if they are successful.”
The voice faded. Jango Fett’s face filled the screen, staring directly at Boba. “There is one rule, and one rule only, when dealing with Jabba the Hutt,” his father’s
image pronounced solemnly. “Do not fail.”
“I won’t fail,” murmured Boba. His finger traced the outline of his father’s face. For a second, Jango smiled at his son. Then the image disappeared, and the screen went
blank. Boba saw his own reflection then. He didn’t look like his father yet, but he wasn’t the kid he used to be. His eyes had gotten fiercer. His mouth looked unaccustomed to smiling
much.
Boba put the book away. He ran a hand through his hair by way of combing it, and stood. Light filtered through cracks in the barge walls. On the deck above he could hear footsteps and the
clanging of a bell.
“Wake up, you slobs!” someone bellowed. A Gamorrean’s twisted face appeared at the hatch atop the ladder. “We’ll be docking in fifteen minutes!”
The sleeping guards groaned and grunted. They began stumbling to their feet, kicking at those still dozing on the floor. In his hammock Gab’borah stirred. He yawned, then clambered out,
stretching.
“Morning already! I trust you slept soundly?” he asked Boba, and winked.
“Like a baby,” Boba replied.
“That is good. Sleep is important for a warrior. And so is breakfast.”
Gab’borah looked around stealthily. Then he pulled two small packets from his robe.
“Here,” he whispered, giving one to Boba. “Gleb rations. Not as tasty as what you had last night, but it will fill your stomach and give you a day’s worth of
nutrients.”
Boba unwrapped the package. Inside was a small flat bar of what looked like cardboard.
He sniffed it.
It smelled like cardboard. He looked curiously at Gab’borah, who was busily munching his rations. Boba shrugged and took a bite of his.
It tasted like cardboard, too. But it was better than nothing. Quickly he finished.
Just in time.
“You’re wanted on deck!” A Gamorrean shoved a hairy fist at Gab’borah’s stomach. The old man bowed and started hurrying for the ladder. Boba waited an instant, then
started after him.
“Hey! No one said he wanted you!”
The beast grabbed Boba by the shoulder. In its cage, the vrblther let loose a warbling cry.
“He’s getting hungry!” the Gamorrean said, his piggy eyes glinting with malice. “How’s about we give him a little snack!”
Boba struggled against the guard. “I’m here at Jabba’s request!” he shouted. “Let me go, or you’ll pay!”
The guard sneered. “Jabba won’t miss another bounty hunter—he’s lost so many already!”
Boba landed a kick in the Gamorrean’s stomach. With a roar of pain and rage the guard drew back, his fist raised. “Why, you—!”
“Excuse me.” Gab’borah cleared his throat and gave the Gamorrean a cold look. “This warrior is here at Jabba’s special request. And my own—he is to
help prepare Jabba’s morning repast.”
The guard glared at the old man.
Gab’borah glared back. “I would not like to be the one responsible for making Jabba wait for his breakfast,” he said. “Come—”
He beckoned for Boba. With a snarl the Gamorrean watched as Boba hurried to join the ancient chef.
“Are you really making Jabba’s breakfast?” he whispered as he clambered up the hatch.
“No.” Gab’borah stretched a hand out to pull Boba on deck. “He mostly eats those revolting white worms. And slimy little wuorls. But the Gamorreans are too stupid to
remember that.”
“Good thing,” agreed Boba.
Gab’borah looked at Boba, his expression wistful.
“You are a courageous young man,” he said. “And lucky. Many your own age here on Tatooine have disappeared. Kidnapped. Their families never hear from them again. Their fate is
lost to us.”
The old man’s eyes grew sad. Gazing at him, Boba felt sad, too, but also excited.
“I saw them!” he began. “They—”
Before he could continue, the dark-robed figure of Bib Fortuna appeared.
“You!” he ordered in his thin voice. His clawed finger pointed at Gab’borah. “You are to proceed to the kitchens—immediately!”
Gab’borah bowed. “As you wish,” he said to Bib Fortuna, then glanced at Boba. “I will proceed to the seventh kitchen,” he murmured. “That is my customary
place of employment.”
Boba looked at him. He understood that this was the old man’s way of telling him how he could be found.
“Good-bye,” said Boba. Gab’borah smiled, then walked away. Bib Fortuna turned impatiently.
“And you—” The Twi’lek’s orange eyes fixed on Boba. “You are to prepare for an audience with Jabba. Choose your words carefully,” he added, his
mouth twisting into a sneer. “They will probably be your last!” |
hunted | 22_chap18.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Boba watched as the Twi’lek headed for a raised area of the main deck. A brilliant yellow canopy billowed above it. Beneath the canopy, there was shade. There was shelter
from Tatooine’s twin suns, already burning fiercely with the dawn. There was a table laid out with food and pitchers of cool water, as valuable as precious metals on this desert planet.
And there was Jabba. He reclined upon a platform, one stubby hand grasping a froglike wuorl. With a groan of pleasure he plopped the wuorl into his mouth. Boba took a deep breath. He adjusted
his helmet, then strode over
“O Exalted Hutt,” he said. His voice was confident yet respectful. “I await your orders.”
Jabba chewed noisily. He swallowed. He belched.
“You say you are a bounty hunter?” he asked.
“Yes, O Mighty Jabba.”
Jabba stared at Boba’s helmet. Boba felt a trickle of sweat on the back of his neck. He was glad that Jabba could not see his face.…
Or could he…?
“You are small for a Mandalorian warrior,” Jabba said slowly in Huttese. His eyes narrowed. “I have a task that is dangerous. It demands courage and skill.”
“I have both,” Boba pronounced.
“Others have said the same.” Jabba shook with a spasm of laughter. “Their bones now lie in an acklay’s den!”
“Excuse me, Exalted One.” Bib Fortuna stepped onto the platform beside the gangster. He lowered his head and announced, “We have arrived at the palace.”
Even as he spoke, the smooth motion of the sail barge stopped. Beneath Boba’s feet the deck seemed to lurch. He caught his balance in time to keep from falling.
“O Great Jabba,” he began. “I would like to—”
“Silence!” roared Jabba. He glared at Boba. “In five minutes I will meet with you and another bounty hunter in my throne room. There I will give you your assignment. If you are
late, other arrangements will be made.”
The crime lord gave a long, jeering laugh. “These arrangements will involve my combat arachnids. They have not been fed for several days. I find they fight better when they are
hungry.”
Boba nodded earnestly. “I won’t be late,” he said.
But Jabba was already leaving.
The deck was in chaos. People hurried to raise and lower ladders and planks. A wide ramp was in place for Jabba’s departure.
“Move it!” shouted a guard.
Boba hurried to the rail, shading his eyes from the blazing suns. He stared out. For the first time, he saw Jabba’s palace.
“Wow!” he breathed.
Around him stretched the desolation of the Dune Sea. Distant mountains loomed above shifting red sands and deep canyons. Far, far away, tiny black forms moved across the desert—a herd of
wild banthas.
Somewhere out there lived the barbarian Sand People, the Tusken Raiders. Somewhere Jawas scavenged space freighters and abandoned moisture farms.
But there were no Sand People here. There were no Jawas.
This was the stronghold of Jabba the Hutt.
It was a fortress more huge and more strangely beautiful than anything Boba had ever seen. An immense central tower rose from the desert cliffs, as tall as a mountain. Around it, slender spires
and mushroom-shaped turrets cast purple shadows on the bright sand. Speeders flashed beneath them, carrying supplies and guests.
“It is impressive, is it not?” a robotic voice remarked.
Boba turned to see a humanoid PD protocol droid beside him. Its yellow plasteel body gleamed in the morning sun.
“Yes, it is,” replied Boba. He adjusted his helmet to shade his eyes from the brilliance.
“Long, long ago it was a B’omarr monastery,” the droid went on. “There were many thousands of monks here then. Now there are only a few. Their brains have been
transferred into spider-droid casings. One can sometimes glimpse them on the upper levels.”
Inside his helmet, Boba grimaced. Ugh! he thought. Remind me not to go on the upper levels!
“Keep moving!” a Gamorrean bellowed.
Boba eased himself toward a crowded ramp. The droid walked beside him. As they jostled their way onto the ramp, a deafening roar blasted through the calm desert air.
“Whoa!” exclaimed Boba. “What’s that?”
He looked up. A large speeder thundered past. Blazing vapor trailed behind it. A tall, powerful figure straddled the speeder. Weapons bulged from the shoulders of his armor. Above his huge
hands, grenades glittered like crystal eyes.
The speeder raced toward Jabba’s citadel. Boba glimpsed the outline of a Mandalorian skull symbol glowing red against silvery armor.
“That is Durge,” said the droid. “Jabba heard he was on Tatooine and made him a large offer.”
The droid gazed at Boba. Its round eyes were empty of emotion.
“Whoever fails will be given to Durge as a reward,” the droid continued. “That is how he keeps his reflexes keen. He practices upon living prey. That is why he is the greatest
bounty hunter here.”
Boba stared back into the droid’s eyes. He shook his head. “Durge is the greatest bounty hunter?” he said, thinking of what his father might say. “Well, I think
it’s time for a change!”
Boba’s words sounded braver than he felt. But the droid did not notice.
“Come,” it said. Behind them, Gamorrean guards stood impatiently, their weapons drawn. “I will escort you to the throne room.”
“Thanks,” said Boba. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Do not thank me,” the droid said in its cold, mechanical voice. “I doubt that you will ever come here again.”
Without a word, Boba followed the droid down the ramp and into the shadow of Jabba’s fortress. |
hunted | 23_chap19.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The inside of the palace was dark and cool. Boba breathed deeply in relief.
“Boy, that’s better!” he remarked to the droid.
But his relief did not last long. A large, spider-like form on long metal legs tiptoed past. What looked like its head was actually a clear globe filled with fluid. Inside the fluid floated what
looked like a brain.
Boba stared at it. He said, “Is that a monk?”
“No,” said the droid. It began to walk down a dim hall. “That is the last bounty hunter Jabba sent after Gilramos. What remains of him, anyway.”
Boba watched the creature stalk toward the shadows. Then he hurried after the droid. Behind him the click of the spider-droid’s legs faded into silence.
“Why hasn’t anyone been able to capture Gilramos?” he asked.
“Tatooine is a very big planet,” said the droid. “A very desolate planet. There are many places to hide in the desert. One could spend a lifetime searching for an enemy and
never find him.”
“Is that where Gilramos is hiding?” asked Boba. “In the desert?”
“So the bounty hunters think. Here—”
The droid stopped. It motioned at a high, carved arch. “This is Jabba’s throne room. I must leave you here.”
It turned and left.
Boba watched it go. His heart felt like a rock in his chest. He looked at the archway.
Once he passed through, he would be at the center of Jabba’s realm.
He would be at Jabba’s mercy.
No! he thought. He put his hand into his pocket and touched the book there. Immediately he felt calmer.
Fear is energy.
That is what his father had taught him. If you contain your own fear, it becomes power.
And power makes you strong.
Boba drew a deep breath. He felt his heart pounding, but now it did not frighten him. He looked at the arch.
From inside, he could hear music. He could hear voices. He could hear shrill cries and deep, powerful laughter. He could hear a voice dry and merciless as a desert storm.
Jabba.
And Durge.
“Time to go to work,” said Boba.
He walked inside.
The throne room was large. Flickering flames rose and fell inside tall lamps. Shadowy figures danced and leaped. Someone trilled on a flute. Boba could smell smoke.
And roasting food. Near Jabba’s throne a spit turned. On it was a huge demon squid, its tentacles nicely browned. Boba lost his appetite.
“Bounty hunter!” Jabba shouted, a mountainous figure in the center of the room. “Approach!”
Boba stepped forward. “Your Huge Huttness,” he said. He bowed. “I have come to receive your orders.”
Boba looked up. On his throne, Jabba reclined. He watched Boba through slitted eyes. Around him, the dancers and singers stopped. They stared at Boba, too. Their eyes were round with fear.
And with anticipation.
“Did I ask you to speak?” roared Jabba. He leaned forward, his shadow falling across Boba.
“N-no,” faltered Boba. “But—”
From Jabba’s shadow another figure emerged. Huge and muscular, his silver body-armor shining.
It was Durge.
“Shall I destroy him now?” he cried. He raised his arm and pointed a blaster at Boba. On his chest the Mandalorian skull seemed to burn.
Boba tensed. From the corner of his eye he could see Jabba’s guards, dozens of them. The doors were blocked.
He looked down. He could see a long groove in the floor.
A trapdoor. Jabba kept pit beasts for his depraved entertainment. And to punish those he was unhappy with. There would be no exit that way, either.
Boba glanced up. Beams crisscrossed the ceiling. Feline shooks were chained there, their tusks dripping. Their evil red eyes watched Boba hungrily.
Durge took a step toward Boba. “It will be my pleasure to kill you,” he said, aiming his blaster.
“Your pleasure, perhaps!” boomed Jabba. “But not mine.”
He gestured impatiently at Durge. The great bounty hunter continued to stare at Boba. Inside his battle helmet his eyes flickered crimson. Finally, he lowered his blaster. “If not
now,” he said, “then later.”
“I have a task,” continued Jabba the Hutt. “Someone has interfered with my smuggling trade. Someone has refused to work with me. That someone must be killed.”
“I will see to it!” said Boba. His voice echoed loudly through the throne room.
“So you say.” Jabba leaned back on his throne. He extended his flabby hand. Immediately, a servant filled it with wriggling worms.
Jabba chewed the worms thoughtfully. He pointed at Boba. He said, “Mandalorian, you have no weapons!”
The bloated crime lord began to laugh. From everywhere in the room more laughter rang out.
Only Durge was silent. He continued to stare at Boba hatefully.
Boba shook his head. Think fast!
“That is so, O Exalted Jabba,” he said quickly. “I have waited to receive my arms from you, and you alone. Because you are the greatest among your kind. And I will be the
greatest among bounty hunters!”
Jabba smiled. “A good answer!”
Boba turned and stared fearlessly up at Durge. “And a true one!”
The bounty hunter reached for his blaster. “You will suffer great pain for that. I think it’s time we saw what’s under your mask!”
With a roar, Durge lunged for him. |
hunted | 24_chap20.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Hoh hoh!” Jabba shook with delight. “Durge and an unarmed warrior!”
Boba wasted no time. Before Durge could catch him, Boba dove between his legs.
Jabba laughed, crying, “He is fast!”
“Not fast enough!” yelled Durge.
A flaming burst of red and orange shot from his weapon. Boba rolled. In an instant he was on his feet again. He looked around.
A few meters away was the spit. The squid dangled from it like a huge, empty glove. Fingers of flame ran up and down its tentacles.
Boba raced toward it, quick as a heartbeat. He grabbed one end of the spit. The metal was warm, but not hot. With a grunt he yanked it up, turning.
“You!” shouted Durge. One hand held a blaster, the other a dagger.
But all Boba saw was the Mandalorian skull blazing on his chest. He gave a shout, then swung the long metal pole. The sizzling squid’s tentacles fanned out like blades. They struck Durge
in the face. For a moment he was blinded.
“Argh!”
But a moment was enough. Boba drove the metal pole at Durge’s chest. The squid exploded into globs of burning fat, spattering Durge’s face.
“That’ll teach you!” yelled Boba. He turned, panting, to Jabba. “Now, if we could—”
“Not quite, Mandalorian!”
Boba darted to one side—but not fast enough. Something whistled toward him: Durge’s blade. Boba ducked. He felt a glancing blow on his helmet. There was an instant of utter darkness.
Then light and air poured like water across his face. Beside him he heard a sickening thump.
“What is this?” shouted Jabba in surprise. He heaved himself halfway from his throne. One plump hand pointed at the floor.
Boba blinked. He stared at the ground beside him—
Into the empty eyes of his battle helmet
“He’s only a boy!” shrilled one of Jabba’s Twi’lek dancers. Her blue skin gleamed as she looked disdainfully at Durge. “The new bounty hunter is a
boy!”
“A boy?” echoed Jabba. For a moment he was silent.
Boba froze. His hand reached for his helmet, but he didn’t dare move. A few meters away, Durge also stood watching him, his goal of unmasking Boba accomplished.
Then Jabba began to laugh. “A boy! And he defeated Durge!”
“He will not live to manhood!” With a cry Durge started toward Boba.
“Stop!” roared Jabba. Immediately a dozen Gamorrean guards surrounded the bounty hunter. Durge raised his blaster.
Then more guards appeared. Reluctantly he holstered the weapon. The gaze he turned upon Boba held more fury and pure hatred than Boba had ever seen. When he spoke, it was in a low voice that
only Boba could hear.
“I will hunt you down. That is my assignment, and I never leave an assignment unfinished.”
Quickly Boba turned away. He picked up his helmet and held it beneath his arm. Then he looked up at the throne. He knew the crime lord was his best chance at protection.
“O Wise Jabba,” he said. “Let me serve you. Arm me. Give me a speeder. Then tell me your bidding, and I will do it.”
“Arm you?” Jabba’s mouth split into a taunting smile. “But you have no need of arms! You have just shown us that! As for my bidding…”
The sluglike gangster looked from Boba to Durge. “Someone has interfered with my smuggling operation here on Tatooine. He has a ring of thieves who help him. They steal my weapon
shipments. Then he sells the weapons.”
“Who does he sell them to?” asked Boba.
“To the Separatists.” Jabba leaned forward. “But I do not care who he sells them to. I care only that he has taken what is mine. I want him destroyed. I want his supporters
killed as well.”
Boba nodded. “Do you know his name?”
“Yes. He is a Neimoidian. His name is Gilramos Libkath.”
“Gilramos Libkath?” repeated Boba in disbelief.
“That’s what I said,” replied Jabba impatiently. “Do you know of him?”
Libkath! That’s the name Ygabba used—for the Master!
Boba hid his dismay. “Do I know of him?” he repeated.
Quickly he looked aside at Durge.
The hated bounty hunter was easily twice his size. Durge was armed. He had a speeder. He hated Mandalorians.
And, to judge from the way he stared at Boba, he hated Boba most of all.
I was lucky just now, Boba thought. I’ve taken Durge by surprise—twice.
He will never let that happen again.
Boba’s hand tightened on his helmet.
My greatest strength right now is knowledge.
I know who Gilramos Libkath is. I know where he is.
Boba corrected himself. Where he will be, when he arrives to take the weapons Ygabba and the others stole for him.
“I asked you a question!” said Jabba. “Do you know of Gilramos Libkath?”
Boba hesitated. Then he shook his head. “No. But I will find him.”
“Do not trust him!” Durge broke in. Around him the Gamorrean guards grunted under their breath. “He has deceived you once already! He will do so again!”
Durge thrust his fist toward Boba. “Give him to me, Jabba! I will make his lies die with him!”
Jabba regarded Durge thoughtfully. He turned to Boba. “He tells the truth. You deceived me—and those who deceive me do not live to speak of it.”
“O Great Immensity! I did not deceive you,” Boba replied. His voice was smooth and flattering. “I could never deceive your great wisdom! I wanted only to show how ill prepared
this bounty hunter was—by deceiving him.”
He pointed at Durge. Jabba twisted to stare at him.
“Ah!” agreed the mighty gangster. He smiled. “Of course! I knew that!”
He gave a rolling laugh. Around him his lackeys tittered and sneered.
“Thank you, O Jabba.” Boba looked at him boldly. “Now, if you give me new weapons, I will leave. I will not return until I have captured Gilramos Libkath.”
“Give you weapons?” Jabba’s voice turned cold. “I give nothing!”
He motioned to an alcove. Immediately Bib Fortuna stepped out from where he had been waiting. Jabba said, “These bounty hunters are wasting my time. They talk when they should act. This
one”—Jabba pointed at Durge—“he has let a mere boy defeat him! His reflexes have grown slow.” A sly smile creased Jabba’s face. “Durge needs to sharpen his
skills. Then he will hunt faster. He will hunt better.”
“I will sharpen my teeth upon this boy’s bones!” shouted Durge.
“Perhaps.” Jabba shook his head. “But first you will meet several of my pit beasts.”
Boba jolted backward as the ground beneath him trembled.
The trapdoor was opening!
“Combat arachnids!” squealed the Twi’lek dancer.
Murmurs of excitement filled the room. The Gamorrean guards shoved each other in expectation. Durge glared at Boba, then raised a fist defiantly at Jabba.
“I will best them!” he cried.
At their feet a wide gap appeared in the floor. Darkness filled it.
Darkness, and a chittering sound. As Boba stared, two immense Caridan combat arachnids clattered across the pit floor. Each had twelve legs, sharp and covered with razor spines. More spines
covered their backs. Their mouths gaped open to reveal teeth like dripping daggers. Above their teeth, a dozen eyes glistened like poisonous jewels.
Boba sucked his breath in sharply. At the sound the arachnids swiveled. They stared up. Twenty-four spider eyes gazed at Boba unblinking.
“They are hungry,” murmured Bib Fortuna. He smiled.
“As for you,” Jabba looked at Boba. “Unless Durge’s reflexes have gotten very, very slow, he will triumph.”
“And then I will hunt,” said Durge. His crimson eyes remained fixed on Boba. “I will hunt you!” |
hunted | 25_chap21.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Boba fought a wave of fear. He looked at Jabba. “I have no weapons, O Great One—”
“Do you dare to argue with me?” roared Jabba. “You have a head start—a few minutes, if you are lucky. A few seconds, if you are not.”
He gave a signal to the Gamorrean guards. They grabbed Durge. He resisted, but only a little; he wanted to fight. They dragged him to the edge of the floor. Below, the arachnids raised their
legs threateningly. Their hungry mouths snapped open and shut.
“Drop him,” said Jabba.
With grunts of pleasure, the guards shoved Durge into the pit. In the last instant before he fell, his eyes locked with Boba’s.
“I will see you soon!” Durge shouted. “And it will be for the last time!”
The great bounty hunter dropped heavily to the pit floor. His weapons were already raised, his eyes blazing.
The combat arachnids raced toward him. A ball of flame exploded from Durge’s blaster.
Whatever else he is, thought Boba, Durge is no coward.
An ominous voice sounded in Boba’s ear. “You are eager to join him?” Bib Fortuna asked.
“No thanks!” said Boba.
He backed away from the pit opening. On his throne, Jabba ate a fistful of worms. He belched, then looked at Boba.
“Perhaps you also need to sharpen your reflexes?”
Boba bowed hastily. “I will return—with Gilramos Libkath!” he said.
“Not just Gilramos,” the gangster overlord warned. “I want his followers destroyed as well. Every last one of them.”
Boba’s mouth went dry. He thought of Ygabba and the other children. He remembered the eerie glowing eyes on their palms. He remembered how tired they looked. How hungry.
How despairing, and how sad.
“I will deal with them, O Exalted One,” said Boba.
And I will, too! he thought. But Jabba doesn’t need to know exactly how.
Turning, he raced from the throne room.
“Now what?” Boba muttered to himself. I know where Gilramos is, but how do I get there?
He ran until he reached the end of a long hallway. He stopped, panting, and looked around.
The hall divided into two passages. One passage was brightly lit. Cool air flowed from it. In the distance, Boba saw service droids and a Drovian servant waiting by a door.
He turned to the other passage. It was dark. The floor was rough.
But it smelled good, it smelled like food. It smelled like cooking.
“Gab’borah!”
“The seventh kitchen,” the old man had said. “That is my customary place of employment.”
Boba began to run down the dark passage. As he did, the smell of cooking grew stronger. After a minute, he came to an open door. He peered inside.
It was a large kitchen. Steam filled the air. Huge pots bubbled on an open fireplace. An otterlike Selonian cook stood over the pots, stirring. He looked at Boba and frowned.
“Is this the seventh kitchen?” Boba gasped.
The Selonian shook his head. He dipped a long spoon into the pot. He lifted it, displaying a fat pink tube larva.
“This is the first kitchen,” he said. He held the steaming grub toward Boba. “Care to taste?”
“Uh, not today!” said Boba.
He raced back into the hall. He glanced back down toward the main entry. He could see figures running back and forth. He heard shouting.
“Durge has already escaped,” Boba said. “Man, he’s fast—but I’m faster!”
He ran to the next door. Huge tanks filled with water lined the walls. Inside them, green and blue seafah shellfish crawled. Lambro sharks, another delicacy, swam restlessly back and forth.
“Kitchen seven?” Boba shouted at a droid dropping shellfish into a boiling cauldron.
“That way,” the droid said, pointing farther on.
Back into the hall! The noise from the far end was louder now. Boba didn’t waste time looking. He ran to the next door, then the next.
The third kitchen held vats of bubbling mugruebe stew. The smell was so good that Boba almost couldn’t tear himself away.
But he had no trouble leaving the fourth room. It wasn’t really a kitchen, but a breeding ground for white worms—millions of them. They squirmed and wriggled in long open trenches.
Droids scooped up buckets of slimy worms and placed them on a conveyor belt.
“Yuck!” said Boba.
He would never be that hungry!
The fifth kitchen held only vegetables and fruits. Many of them were alive and still moving.
The sixth kitchen was devoted to meat. Boba stuck his head through the door. A Caridan cook waved a huge knife at him.
“Yes!” The oversized, roachlike alien grinned with excitement. “Finally! Our main course has arrived!”
“Wrong kitchen!” Boba yelled hastily.
He ran back into the hall. From the far end came shouts. He heard a deep voice he recognized as Durge’s. He heard the loud explosive burst from a blaster.
He heard footsteps and an angry yell. They were very close.
Just ahead of Boba was the last door. Huttese letters and numerals were carved on it.
“This better be kitchen number seven,” said Boba grimly.
He shoved the door open. Several men and women in Tatooine clothing stood around a long table. Strange objects covered it. They looked like brightly colored toys, or perhaps they were weapons?
Boba couldn’t tell.
But whatever they were, they smelled good.
No. They smelled great.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked.
Boba stood still. For a second he was dizzy. He breathed in the warm sugar, chocolate, scry-mint. He thought he might faint from hunger.
“Young sir!”
Boba blinked. In front of him was Gab’borah. The old man wore a bright green cook’s robe and hat. One hand held a large spoon. The other grasped a wiggling eye-stalk. Its round blue
eye peered at Boba.
“I’m putting the finishing touches on tonight’s dessert,” explained Gab’borah. He turned briskly and walked to the table. He bent and set the eye-stalk in the
middle of one of the bright objects. It was not a toy or a weapon, Boba saw now. It was a cake.
“There!” said Gab’borah proudly. He beamed at Boba. “I’m so glad you came to visit me!”
From the hallway behind them came a sudden yell. Boba whirled. He yanked the door shut. He locked it.
“I need your help!” he gasped. “Now!”
The old man stared at him. An instant later he nodded.
“Go!” he said. He shooed away the other cooks. Then he looked at Boba again.
“What is it?” he asked in a low voice.
Another bellow came from behind the closed door. Gab’borah raised a knowing eyebrow.
“Ah—now I understand!” he said. “It is Durge. Jabba has set him loose on you.”
“Right,” said Boba. He looked around desperately. “Gab’borah, I need to get out of here fast. Not just out of this room. I need to get away from the entire
fortress.”
Gab’borah frowned. He and Boba glanced at the door. It was shaking. In a moment, Durge would burst through.
“Come with me,” whispered the old man. He crossed the room, Boba at his heels. “Here—”
Gab’borah opened a door. Inside was a sort of closet, and another door. The closet was filled with junk.
Gab’borah muttered, “Now, I know it’s here somewhere…”
The old man pawed through everything, searching. Old kitchen tools, bowls, and pans, discarded stove parts, cutlery…
And, hanging beside the door, a jet pack.
“Here it is!” Gab’borah grabbed the jet pack and handed it to Boba. “You see, I too am always thinking of escape!”
Boba examined the jet pack. It was an older model and designed for an adult. He looked at the fuel supply canisters.
“They’re still full” he said. He looked gratefully at Gab’borah and grinned. “Thanks—this is great!”
“It is my pleasure,” said the old man with a bow.
He watched as Boba adjusted the straps. Then Boba slung it onto his back. From the corridor came a deafening boom.
“Mandalorian runt!” a voice roared. Boba looked out in time to see Durge crash through the kitchen door.
“Go now!” cried Gab’borah. He pushed open the door inside the supply closet. He shoved Boba through it. “Quickly!”
“Whoa,” exclaimed Boba.
He stood on a narrow space, hundreds of meters above the ground. Around him was the immensity of Jabba’s fortress. Above, two orange suns burned and dazzled. Heat flashed down like toxic
rain.
Below, so distant it was like a flaming mirage, stretched the Dune Sea.
“Out of my way, old man!” shouted Durge.
“Go!” cried Gab’borah as the huge bounty hunter pushed him aside.
Boba looked back. He didn’t need any more urging. Just meters away, the murderous bounty hunter stood with his blaster aimed right at him.
“Now I’ve got you right where I want you!” Durge jeered. “Ready to die?”
“Not this time!” yelled Boba. He yanked his helmet over his face. He switched on the jet pack’s ignition. Flame spurted behind him. Heat seared the back of his legs.
But Boba had no time to think about that. He had no time to think about anything.
“Whoooo—eeeeeee!” Boba yelled.
Beneath him the world fell away.
He was flying! |
hunted | 26_chap22.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Boba had flown before, of course. He had flown in airspeeders and on swoop bikes. He had flown inside his hyperfast starship, Slave I.
But nothing was quite like this.
“Man, this is great!” he whooped as he somersaulted through the air. Jabba’s palace was so small now it looked like one of Gab’borah’s cakes. When Boba looked back,
he could see Durge. The bounty hunter stood within the doorway leading into empty air. He was a shining speck no bigger than an insect. He was smaller than an insect.
Then he was gone!
Boba watched as the citadel disappeared into the landscape. Then he did a few more somersaults. He dove and swooped the way Slave I did through space, the way he had seen his own father
swing through the air. He practiced steering the jet pack, remembering his father’s movements, his father’s way. He switched off the ignition and let his body go into freefall.
The ground raced to meet him, red and gold and black. At the last second, Boba switched the ignition back on. The fuel packs blazed and thundered. He pulled out of the dive. He soared back into
the shimmering air. He spun a few more times, just for luck. Then he adjusted his helmet. He turned on its navigation program.
“Mos Espa,” he commanded. Inside the helmet, red lights flickered to green. A stream of directional codes flashed before Boba’s eyes. Then a virtual map shimmered across
Boba’s field of vision. He blinked.
It’s too faraway, he thought in dismay. A sailbarge might be able to get there in a day, but a jet pack?
Never.
Now what?
Boba hovered, looking around. Far below and behind him he could just make out Jabba’s palace.
A steady stream of tiny bright objects flowed from it into the surrounding desert: speeders and sailbarges, doing Jabba’s bidding.
A speeder could get me there in no time, Boba thought grimly. No way I could steal one now, without getting caught.
But a sailbarge…
He thought of the sailbarge that had brought him here. It had been crowded and disorderly, even with Jabba aboard.
But Jabba was in the palace now, along with Bib Fortuna. No one would be checking the barges as carefully as they had before.
Quickly Boba swooped down. He adjusted the jet pack’s speed to save fuel. He’d need it later, when he got closer to Mos Espa. He flew as close to the gate as he could, squinting.
There!
A cargo skiff was angling its way out the gate. Its massive upper deck was covered with crates and empty cages. Boba could just make out a few droids on board, doing last-minute checks of the
vessel’s cargo. If he could just stay out of sight…
He brought himself down, silently, approaching the skiff from the side. Within the darkness of the open gate stood a few security guards. They were talking and laughing; they weren’t doing
their job.
Good thing! thought Boba. He steered the jet pack until he hung in the air just a few meters from the deck. Huge stacks of crates were there, secured with netting. There was a gap
between one stack and the next. Too small for a human or Gamorrean guard, but just big enough—barely—for Boba. He looked around, making sure the guards were still distracted.
They were. Boba took a deep breath. He powered down on the jet pack until he was directly above the deck. He switched the power off and touched down, then darted between the stacks, his heart
pounding.
Safe!
For now.
The skiff traveled for hours. Boba could see little, crouched where he was, so he used the time to rest. After a while, the rocking of the skiff lulled him to sleep. When finally he woke,
Tatooine’s two suns had traveled across the sky: It was late.
Wonder where we are? thought Boba. He peered out, but saw only endless dunes. Above him the sky shimmered with heat. He ducked back into his refuge, and once more tapped into his
helmet’s nav program.
“I need the coordinates for Mos Espa,” he whispered. “Hope it’s not far.…”
It wasn’t. He checked his fuel levels: just enough to get him there. He stuck his head out and looked around.
There was no sign of security droids, or anyone else.
Boba’s heart leaped with excitement. Now or never!
Then he leaped, too—up, up, up! The jet pack sent him arrowing into the sky. Below him the skiff shrank to almost nothing, a speck in an ocean of sand. Far, far behind him was
Jabba’s palace. Somewhere in front of him Mos Espa—and Boba’s future—waited.
Boba soared on.
Below him the Dune Sea flashed past. He saw moisture farms, the metal carcass of an immense sand-wrecked freighter. He saw tiny outposts where the moisture farmers bought their supplies and
traded water for food.
Once he saw the ground hundreds of meters below him shift and shudder like jelly. A Sarlaac was hunting beneath the sand.
He also saw a tiny black jot against the sky. It was many kilometers behind him.
But it was gaining.
It was Durge. Hunting Boba.
“Let’s see if we can lose him,” Boba said. Ahead he saw a long, ragged line in the sand.
A canyon.
He steered the jet pack so that he dropped into the canyon. It was ten or twenty kilometers long. And it was cooler than the open air high above. Boba flew through it. He zigzagged along the
canyon passage. He lifted his helmet and let the cool air touch his cheeks.
Then he saw the end of the canyon approaching. He lifted up, up into the hot dry air. He looked behind him.
There was no sign of Durge.
Lost him.
He looked ahead.
Ulp!
There, very close now, was Mos Espa.
And there, hovering just meters away from Boba, was Durge’s speeder!
“Got you!” shouted Durge. He started to stand, a flamethrower at the ready. He took aim. The speeder rocked slightly as he got his balance.
“We’ll see about that,” retorted Boba. Stealthily he reached down for the ignition switch on his jet pack. He stared boldly at the armored bounty hunter.
“Three,” counted Boba to himself. He watched Durge take aim. He waited until the very last second. “Two…one—”
Fire exploded from the flamethrower. At the same instant, the jet pack’s flames went out. Boba dropped like a stone.
Where his head had been, a ball of fire burst. Boba switched the jet pack back to full power. He somersaulted, kicking at the air until he was parallel to the ground far below. With a roar his
jet pack sent him arrowing forward, beneath Durge’s speeder.
“You—!”
Durge howled in rage. Another flamethrower burst exploded harmlessly behind Boba, then another. The speeder rocked as the bounty hunter jumped back behind his console. The vehicle turned to
pursue Boba.
“I can outrun him,” Boba said aloud. He wasn’t sure if this was true. But he felt better saying it. “I can do this.…”
He looked up. Tatooine’s two suns glared through the haze. Boba angled himself so that the suns were directly in front of him. If he did this right, their blaze might momentarily blind
Durge.
And a moment was all Boba needed to escape!
He headed to where the bazaar was most crowded, vendors shouting their wares and hundreds of beings haggling for bargains.
“If I can get in there, I can lose him,” said Boba. “Then I can find Ygabba…”
He glanced back. Sure enough, Durge’s speeder had slowed. Boba could see the reflected glare of sunlight on Durge’s body armor.
Boba looked ahead. There was no way Durge’s speeder could manuever through the slow throng of shoppers.
“This is it,” murmured Boba.
He cut back on his jet pack’s power. His stomach seemed to drop from him as he fell forty meters. Almost immediately he powered back up and zoomed straight ahead. He raced just over the
heads of the bewildered beings. He looked back.
Durge was out of sight. Boba had lost him’.
He turned gleefully. He amped the jet pack’s power to full.
Ahead of him was where he’d find Gilramos Libkath.
Ahead of him was triumph—or death. |
hunted | 27_chap23.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Boba knew he would be easier to spot if he was flying.
“I should get down there,” he said, staring at the maze of streets and alleys below. “I can hide from Durge, at least for a little while.”
But he didn’t have a little while. He had hardly any time at all.
And he didn’t know exactly where Gilramos Libkath’s lair was.
Boba frowned. He cruised slowly above cantinas and docking areas. In the distance, he saw the battered outline of Mentis Qinx’s facility. He imagined he could see Slave I,
waiting.
“I’ll be there soon,” he said.
He looked out again. Not very far off, a huge building rose. It nearly blotted out the sky.
The arena.
Gilramos’s lair was near the arena!
He swerved, dropping until he flew only a few meters above the ground. A few merchants glared at him as they scurried past. Boba shrugged.
“Beats walking!” he yelled at them.
Ahead of him the main road ended abruptly. Boba surged upward, flying above a high wall. Beyond were more alleys. He saw water vendors arguing and a bantha waiting patiently outside a cantina
door.
But he didn’t see where Ygabba had taken him before.
He powered up, soaring a few meters higher. He looked down.
And saw it.
Below him was the familiar outline of a gutted Theed cruiser. Dead vegetation clung to its sides. Broken glass, scrap metal, and litter covered it.
To the casual viewer, it was just another wrecked starship.
To Boba, it was the first step toward freedom.
Here goes nothing.
He powered down, trying to slow his descent. Still, when he touched down it was with a jolt.
“Oooof!”
He reached for the wall, steadying himself. He switched off his jet pack. He patted it.
“You sure came in handy,” he said. “Remind me that I owe Gab’borah for this.”
He lifted his helmet and wiped the sweat from his face. He was filthy, hot, and tired.
He was also very, very happy. He glanced up and down the alley to make sure no one saw him. He looked up.
No sign of Durge.
For now.
He turned. There was the doorway where he’d chased Ygabba. He took a deep breath. Then he pushed it open and went inside.
Darkness covered him like a cloak. Darkness, and cool air. Boba tapped his helmet, activating his infrared vision. Immediately, he could see.
Before him was a long tunnel. Eerie scarlet light glowed between the blackest shadows he had ever seen. He walked forward carefully. The floor was strewn with broken rubble. Bricks, empty water
containers, remnants of food. Boba stopped and nudged something with his foot. He stooped to pick it up.
It was a label. The image of a fat Huttese face leered above a slogan.
GORGAL SPRINGS GENUINE PURE WATER
BESTINE’S FINEST
Ygabba had said the weapons shipment was hidden. It was inside a shipment from a moisture farm near Bestine.
It seemed ages ago, but he had only met Ygabba late yesterday. That was when she and the others had stolen the weapons. They would barely have had time to bring them here.
There would have been no time yet for Gilramos to claim his stolen goods.
He’s here, Boba thought. Right now—I can sense him.
His neck prickled with fear. He began to walk very slowly through the red-lit room. When he reached the tunnel entrance he stopped.
He listened.
He could hear voices. One voice was anxious and pleading. The other was low and sly. It was a voice Boba would know anywhere. It was a voice he wouldn’t trust for a nanosecond.
It was Gilramos Libkath. |
hunted | 28_chap24.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As silent as a breath, Boba entered the passage. As he walked the voices grew louder, until he could understand them.
“Master, we grabbed all we could. Then the guards saw him. I had no choice but to stop.”
That voice was Ygabba’s. She sounded desperate…and afraid.
“That is not good enough,” someone hissed. Gilramos—the Neimoidian the children called Master. “There are very important people waiting for these illegal
weapons—they aren’t sold anywhere but the black market, and the buyers are relying on me to fill the order. You know what happens when you fail.”
There was a sharp cry. Not Ygabba’s voice.
It was the little boy, Murzz.
“Please don’t hurt me!” he whimpered.
Boba’s stomach tightened. Ahead of him a bright patch blazed—the entrance to the central chamber. He switched off his infrared vision so he could see better. He crept forward.
“You know the agreement we made,” Gilramos went on in his smooth, sickly voice.
Boba reached the opening. He crouched safely in the shadows. He stared inside.
In the center of the room stood the tall Neimoidian. His elaborate robes glowed purple and deep blue. His reptilian face was split by a sneer. At his feet sprawled a small figure—Murzz.
Ygabba stood protectively beside him.
“Please, Master,” she begged.
Boba shaded his eyes, squinting.
Was this another virtual image of Gilramos Libkath? Or was it really him?
The Neimoidian leaned forward. He grasped Murzz’s shoulder. The boy cried out in fear and pain.
Boba’s fists clenched angrily.
It was truly Gilramos, all right.
The Neimoidian’s clawed hand tightened. His other hand gestured angrily.
“You have failed me! There are supposed to be seventeen cartons of weapons here! And how many do I see? Sixteen!”
Boba leaned forward to get a better look. Many crates were stacked around the perimeter of the room. Each had the same bright label.
GORGAL SPRINGS GENUINE PURE WATER
But some of the crates were open. And they did not contain water.
They were filled with weapons. Small missiles made with technology banned by the Republic.
Enough to outfit an army. And not an army of children, either. From the corner of his eye, Boba saw several battle droids, their armor gleaming in the shadows.
Boba jumped as Gilramos’s voice rang out commandingly. “Who am I, children?” he demanded.
In the room around him, numerous small figures stood. Each raised a hand. In each hand an eye glowed.
“You are our Master, Libkath,” the children said as one.
Gilramos nodded. “That is so. Who cares for you, children?”
“You do, Master.”
The eyes glowed brighter. In the darkness, the battle droids moved, raising their arms menacingly. Some of the children whimpered. Murzz kicked angrily at Gilramos.
“Let me go!” he shouted.
Gilramos only clutched him tighter.
“Who gives you refuge?” he said.
“You do, Master,” repeated the children.
“That is so.” The reptilian sneer became a scowl. Gilramos reached for Ygabba, grabbing her by the shoulder. “And what do I ask in return?”
“Obedience, Master.”
“And if I do not receive it?”
Quickly Boba looked around. A pile of bricks stood near the entrance. He grabbed one.
“Answer me!” shouted Gilramos. He shook Ygabba angrily. “If I do not receive obedience?”
Boba crept to the very edge of the doorway. He took aim. He threw.
Bull’s-eye!
With a grunt Gilramos staggered backward. His tall hat tottered then fell. He clutched his head. Immediately Ygabba grabbed Murzz and darted away. All around the room, children raised their
hands. Shining eyes glowed brightly, then flickered. With an ominous whir, the battle droids moved into position.
“Who dares to strike me?” shouted Gilramos.
“Why don’t you pick on someone closer to your own size?” Boba shouted back. He grabbed another brick and heaved it.
Bam!
This time Gilramos stumbled and nearly fell. With excited squeals the children raced away from him. They clambered up the walls, taking shelter on the shelves circling the room. Only Ygabba
remained where she was, staring as Boba stepped into the room.
“Boba Fett!” she yelled. She grinned so broadly that for an instant he forgot about Gilramos and the droids.
“That’s me!” Boba yelled back.
“Fett?” repeated Gilramos. He lurched up again. A trickle of pale yellow fluid ran down his face. “You dare to strike me?”
“That’s right!” retorted Boba. He held up his hands, palm out. “You don’t control me!”
“But I will!”
Gilramos raised his arm. A bolt of crimson light flowed from it. Was it some sort of power or just a trick? Boba wasn’t about to find out. He ducked, then jammed on his jet pack. He soared
upward, kicking at the Neimoidian’s head.
“Argh!” shouted Gilramos. The battle droids froze, awaiting orders.
If I can just grab one of those weapons, I can blast him, and the droids! Boba thought. He angled toward an open crate. Then I can claim Jabba’s reward!
The crate was just below him. Boba stretched his arm toward it. His fingers grazed a blaster’s grip.
Wham!
Violet light jabbed at Boba’s eyes. He cried out, then jolted upward. With a thud his head smashed into something.
The ceiling!
With a cry he fell. |
hunted | 29_chap25.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
For a second all went black. Then Boba blinked and looked up. Above him a lizard face leered beneath an ornate mitred hat.
“Now what have we here?” Gilramos asked. He licked his thin lips. “A strong and clever boy. One who would make a fine addition to my army. After some modifications, Of
course.”
He grabbed Boba’s hand. Boba lashed out at him, but the Neimoidan was surprisingly strong.
“This will only take a moment,” Gilramos said. Behind him the droids moved into formation, their weapons aimed at Boba. “And then…”
“The Mandalorian is mine!” thundered a voice.
Gilramos whirled. So did Boba.
“Durge,” he whispered.
The bounty hunter’s armored figure filled the entire doorway. In each massive arm he cradled a blaster. One was aimed at Gilramos’s head. The other was aimed at Boba.
“One move and you’ll be blasted into the Dune Sea!” Durge gloated.
Boba kicked at Gilramos. Durge took aim.
“Do you doubt me, runt?” Durge’s eyes blazed.
He stepped into the room. Boba heard the hiss of the children breathing in sharply. The battle droids swiveled, their weapons pointing from Boba to Durge. Durge lifted his head. He looked
around.
He smiled. A wide, horrible smile.
“So this is your army, eh, Gilramos?” He looked dismissively at the droids, then walked over and nudged a small girl with his blaster. “Thieving children and a handful of
droids?”
Boba watched him. If I only had a weapon, he thought. I could free us all!
But could he? He glanced past where Gilramos held tightly to him.
There were crates of weaponry everywhere. One stray blast, and the whole place would become a weapon!
Wait a minute, Boba thought. From the corner of his eye he saw someone move. Not a droid. Not Gilramos, either.
Ygabba. She stood near a pile of crates. Her head turned. She looked desperately at Boba.
Immediately he knew what to do.
“Ygabba!” he shouted. “Lead them out! Run—NOW!”
At the same time that Boba yelled, he flattened himself against the floor. With a roar, Durge turned. There was a flare of light from his blaster. Boba kicked at Gilramos. The Neimoidian
shrieked, then tried to grab him. The droids surged forward.
Too late! Boba was free!
He slammed himself to the floor. Above him Durge’s blast struck Gilramos. The Neimoidian fell. Another blast struck a droid with a muted explosion as the others tried to blast Durge.
“This way!” Ygabba shouted. “Fast!”
Like a flock of birds, the children scattered. Ygabba stood by an opening and yelled at them. Children raced everywhere. They dove through holes in the walls. They clambered through gaps in the
ceiling. Everywhere glowing eyes shimmered and shone as the children yanked one another to safety.
All but Boba.
“Now you!” Durge roared. Another blast roared from his weapon as a droid strode toward him. The droid fell, and Durge laughed. “You’re next!” he cried, and aimed at
Boba.
Boba glanced back. He saw Gilramos crawling across the floor. His hat was beside him.
Neimoidians place huge value on their hats. Boba knew that. They represent power and prestige. No Neimoidian would ever be without one.
Not unless he was dead.
Boba grabbed the hat. Gilramos gave a desperate cry. “No!”
Boba turned. Another voice rose from the room.
“Boba!”
He looked up. All of the children were gone—except for Ygabba. She stood by the open passage, waving at him. Beside her rose a pile of weapons.
“This way!” she shouted.
Boba clutched Gilramos’s hat to him. He looked down at Durge, surrounded by the remaining battle droids. Boba reached for the ignition of his jet pack. He jammed it as hard as he
could.
He flew.
“You die!” bellowed Durge. He swung around, the droids forgotten. His blasters pointed at Boba. Boba soared above him. He swooped down, one arm reaching for Ygabba.
“Grab hold!” Boba shouted.
She grabbed his hand. In front of him was the passage leading from the chamber. Behind him were Durge and the Neimoidian’s droids.
“Hold tight!” Boba yelled.
He flew toward the pile of weapons. At the last possible instant, he swerved, zooming into the tunnel.
“My hat!” screeched Gilramos. “Droids! Stop him!”
“Take that!” thundered Durge. And fired. This time his blast ricocheted into one of the crates.
Immediately the world exploded. Ygabba cried out, but she hung on. Boba kept his head down, soaring toward freedom. Behind them deafening explosions rocked the gutted Theed Cruiser.
“You okay?” shouted Boba above the din.
“You bet!” yelled Ygabba.
“Good! ’Cause we’re almost out of here!”
Ahead of them, light bloomed. Behind them the explosions grew muted, like far-off thunder.
Moments later, they were outside again.
They were free. |
hunted | 30_chap26.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“That was some entrance you made back there!” said Ygabba.
Boba nodded. he reached for the jet pack’s ignition. They touched down.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “And some exit, too!”
They run until they were a safe distance from the alley.
“Don’t worry,” said Ygabba. She looked back. “Those Theed ships are built to withstand hyper-space. Everything inside may be gone. But the damage will be
contained.”
Boba nodded. A few meters away, a throng of small figures stood, watching them.
“Ygabba!” someone cried. “You made it!”
Ygabba ran up to them, beaming. The youngest children ran over to hug her. “I sure did—with a little help from my friend!”
She looked at Boba. He pushed back his helmet, then glanced at what he still held—Gilramos’s hat. He looked back and frowned.
“I don’t know if he’s gone or not,” he said.
Ygabba walked over to him. She also looked back. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t think anyone could survive that, but…”
“Ygabba, look!”
Ygabba and Boba both turned.
Around them a circle of children raised their hands, palm out. Scores of glowing eyes stared at Boba, unblinking.
Then, like water seeping into dry sand, the eyes faded beneath their skin.
“They’re gone!” gasped Murzz.
“Yes!” Boba punched his fist at the air triumphantly.
He raised Gilramos’s hat above him. The children cheered.
“What about Durge?” said Ygabba.
Boba’s face clouded.
“Good question,” he said. He looked at the alley. Smoke crept along the ground. “He might be dead. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Thoughtfully, Boba fingered the ignition of his jet pack. He glanced at the fuel tanks.
“They’re nearly empty,” he said. He pushed his helmet farther back on his head. He stared at Ygabba. “Now what? How can I return to Jabba’s fortress? I can’t
afford to pay for the repairs on my starship until Jabba pays me.”
Ygabba looked at him. She grinned. “Wait one minute,” she said.
She turned and called the children to her. “All of you, listen. You know where Bley-san’s cantina is?”
The children nodded. “Great,” said Ygabba. She smiled at them encouragingly, then stooped. “I want all of you to go there. Ask for Bley-san. She owes me a favor. Tell her I
sent you. She will help you find your parents or relatives. She will help you get home.”
Ygabba straightened. “Bley-san is a good woman,” she said. “You can trust her. Now go! Remember, you’re free now!”
Laughing in delight, the children swarmed around Ygabba. They hugged her and called out their good-byes.
“Wait a minute,” said Ygabba. She held up a hand and turned. She looked at Boba. Then she looked at the children. She asked, “Aren’t you all forgetting
something?”
The children turned. They looked at Boba. They raised their hands—empty palms now, except for dirt and soot. They smiled.
“Thank you, Boba Fett!” they shouted. Then, giggling, they turned and ran to find Bley-san’s cantina.
Boba watched them go. He felt something he had never felt before.
Happiness. But also pride.
“Well,” he said when the children were out of sight. “We’d better leave, too.”
Ygabba cocked a thumb at him.
“Come here,” she said. She began to hurry down the alley.
Boba followed her. As they rounded a curve, she stopped.
“Check it out,” she said.
In front of them hovered a sleek cruiser.
“Wow,” breathed Boba. “That’s beautiful! Who’s is it?”
“Mine,” said Ygabba. At Boba’s surprised look, she shrugged. “Well, it was Master Libkath’s. But I figure he owes it to me.”
Boba didn’t argue. He watched as Ygabba walked over and punched an access code into a panel. Immediately, the top popped open. Ygabba swung herself inside. She motioned for Boba to join
her. The cover snapped shut. The cruiser began to rise. Boba lowered his helmet. He put Gilramos’s hat on his lap.
“Do you know how to fly this thing?” asked Ygabba.
Boba smiled. He took the controls. The cruiser leaped through the air
“Next stop, Jabba’s fortress!” he cried. |
hunted | 31_chap27.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Hunted
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was night when they finally arrived at the palace of Jabba the Hutt. They docked the cruiser, then headed for the main gate.
Armed sentries guarded the huge iron door. But when Boba displayed Gilramo’s hat, they looked impressed.
“You may pass,” a sentry said. He looked at Boba, then cocked his thumb. “But not her.”
“She’s with me,” snapped Boba. “Or do you want to discuss this matter with Jabba?”
The guard grumbled. But he let them go.
“They seem to know you,” said Ygabba. She looked at Boba admiringly.
“Yeah, I get around,” he said.
They approached Jabba’s throne room. Noises of merriment greeted them.
“Sounds like a feast in progress,” said Boba.
They went inside.
To judge by the mess, the feast was nearly over. Empty plates covered a long table. Guests reclined in chairs, or milled around, talking. On his throne sat Jabba. He greedily ate handfuls of
worms. Now and then he would take a long drink from a bubbling tube. Then he belched noisily and laughed.
“Looks like we missed dinner,” said Boba.
“No,” said Ygabba. She pointed. “Look there.”
At the end of the table closest to Jabba, there were still numerous plates. Each held a brightly colored cake. Several were topped by waving eye-stalks. Boba glanced at them, then at Jabba.
“O Mightiest of Hutts!” he cried. He strode toward the throne. “I have done as you wished.”
Jabba stared down at him as though he were another wriggling worm. Then he saw the ornate hat that Boba held toward him.
“Give me that,” rumbled Jabba.
Boba handed him the hat. Jabba took it. He held it up to the light. He examined it thoroughly. He sniffed it.
“It stinks of treachery!” he boomed. “It stinks of Gilramos Libkath!”
Beside Jabba, Bib Fortuna whispered, “But can we be sure he is dead?”
Jabba looked at him disdainfully. “No Neimoidian would ever part with his hat!”
He leaned over and dropped it into a smoking pot. Immediately, flames leaped up. In moments, the hat was gone. Only ash remained.
“You have done well!” Jabba cried. Then his eyes narrowed. “But what of Durge?”
Boba shook his head. “Do you see him here, O Great Jabba?” he asked loudly. “He has failed. And I—I have triumphed!”
Jabba looked at him. He nodded. He raised his arms to his guests. “All of you, listen! This young warrior has succeeded where others have failed! Great rewards shall come to you,
you—” He stared down at Boba. “What is your name, Mandalorian?”
“Boba. Boba Fett.”
“Boba Fett!” repeated Jabba.
In the room around Boba, everyone applauded.
“Way to go!” said Ygabba. She gave his arm a friendly punch.
“Thank you, O Jabba,” said Boba. He bowed. Better not forget that! he thought.
“Arrange for his bounty,” Jabba commanded Bib Fortuna.
The Twi’lek major-domo nodded. He stepped down from the throne platform and walked to Boba. He handed him a gleaming chip.
“Your pay,” he said.
Boba took the chip. He removed his helmet and slung it over his arm. As he stared at the chip his eyes grew wide.
This is enough to outfit Slave I three times over! he thought.
“I have other jobs for you—many of them!” rumbled Jabba the Hutt.
Boba nodded. He took a step backward, Ygabba beside him.
“You think we can eat now?” she whispered.
“I sure hope so,” he whispered back.
He looked up once more at Jabba the Hutt. But the gang lord’s attention had already turned to other matters.
“Quick,” said Ygabba, yanking Boba toward the table. “Before he gives you something else to do!”
But as they approached the table, Ygabba’s expression grew sad. Boba looked at her, then at the many plates. They all held desserts—cakes, puddings, viral jellies, wuorl-pies.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he began. “I thought you said—”
Suddenly Ygabba’s face went pale. She stared in front of her. She gasped.
“Father!” she cried.
Boba turned. At the end of the table a frail figure stood. He wore a bright green cook’s robes and hat. In his hand was a jeweled Vortexian cake knife. As he stared at Ygabba, he too went
white.
He exclaimed, “Daughter!”
Boba watched as the two embraced. Ygabba was crying. So was Gab’borah.
“How can this be?” the old man asked. He looked past her, to where Boba stood. “You—?”
Ygabba nodded. “It was him, Father. He saved us, all of us. From Gilramos Libkath.”
“Libkath,” murmured Gab’borah. He looked as though he were dreaming. “Five years ago, he kidnapped her. That was before Jabba brought me here, as his
chef….”
He reached a thin hand to Boba. “Young man, I owe you my heart,” he said. “And my daughter’s life. Thank you.”
Boba shrugged. Then he smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Gab’borah waved him closer. “Come here!” he said.
He pointed at a cake. It was as tall as Boba, and topped with scry-mint frosting and vannilan pods. At its peak was a Ziziibbon truffle that shone like a gem.
Boba set his helmet on the floor. He slid his credit chip into his pocket, safe beside his father’s book. Behind him a voice boomed.
“Do not get too distracted, young man!” Jabba pointed at him. “Tomorrow morning you begin your new life!”
Boba nodded. He thought of Slave I waiting for him back in the spaceport. Then he watched as Gab’borah plucked the luscious truffle from the cake and handed it to him.
“Eat!” Gab’borah commanded.
Boba took the candy, grinning.
“Thanks,” he said.
At last! An order he was happy to obey!
He heard Jabba laugh and knew—he’d found his future at last. |
maze-of-deception | 05_pro.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
PROLOGUE
The Dream is always the same. Boba Fett always thinks of it as The Dream, because it’s the only one he ever remembers. The only dream he ever wants to
remember.
In The Dream, his father, Jango Fett, is alive. He is showing Boba how to handle a blaster. The dull gray weapon is much heavier than Boba thought it would be.
“Like this,” Jango says. He is not wearing his Mandalorian helmet, so Boba can see his father’s brown eyes, coolly intelligent but not cold, not when he is looking at his son.
When his father holds the blaster it looks weightless, a deadly extension of Jango’s own hand. He hands the weapon to Boba, who tries hard to keep his hand steady as he holsters it.
“Always make certain your grip is tight,” Jango goes on, “or else an enemy can knock it from you. Like this—”
A quick motion and the blaster falls from Boba’s hand. Boba looks up in dismay, expecting a reprimand, but his father is smiling. “Remember, son—trust no one, but use
everyone.”
That’s when Boba wakes up. Sometimes his father’s message is different, and sometimes the weapon is different. A dartshooter, say, or a missile. But one thing never changes.
Boba always wakes from The Dream. And his father is still dead. |
maze-of-deception | 06_chap1.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER ONE
“Boba! Downtime’s over! I need you—we’re in final approach.”
Boba looked up groggily from where he’d been asleep in Slave I’s cockpit. Beside him, where once his father would have sat at the starship’s controls, the bounty
hunter Aurra Sing was hunched over the console. She was staring at the screen. It was filled with symbols that were meaningless to Boba Fett—the coordinates of their precise destination
remained scrambled.
“Yes!” Aurra Sing murmured triumphantly. “We’re almost there.”
She looked aside at Boba. Quickly he turned away. He wasn’t supposed to know where they were going.
That was part of the deal. Aurra Sing would bring the two of them here, following the coordinates she had discovered in Slave I’s databank. The coordinates were part of a complex
system—a treasure map, really—that detailed where Boba’s father had stored a vast fortune in credits and precious metals, all across the galaxy.
Jango Fett had been a bounty hunter—an extremely successful bounty hunter. He had been an extremely clever one, too. Trained as a great Mandalorian warrior, Jango had learned the
most important lesson of all: Prepare for the worst. And so he had made certain that his young son, Boba, would have access to his fortune after his death. The fortune could never be
obtained by anyone else, because the access code was programmed so that only Boba’s retinal scan and DNA could obtain it. Since Boba was the sole unaltered clone of his father, he
and he alone shared Jango’s pure genetic material.
But Boba did not know where the fortune was. Only Aurra Sing knew that, because she had accessed the records on his father’s ship. The ship that should have been Boba Fett’s now.
Boba looked warily at the person next to him. Her topknot of flaming red hair brilliant against dead-white skin. Her eyes blazing as twin suns.
“She is one of the deadliest fighters I have ever known,” Jango had told Boba once, years before. “She was trained as a Jedi, but for some reason she hates them more than she
hates anyone in the galaxy—and that’s saying something! Don’t ever cross her, son. And above all, don’t ever trust her.”
Boba Fett certainly didn’t trust her. Who would? Aurra Sing was as thin and muscular and fine-boned as a Kuat aristocrat, but as deadly as a Mentellian savrip. She was a solitary hunter
and a lethal predator.
Like my father. Like I could be, Boba thought. His glance turned admiring—though he was too smart to let Aurra Sing see that!
“Get ready for descent,” she snapped as she punched in the final landing codes. “Soon you’ll start making yourself useful to me, kid!”
The coordinates were still scrambled. But earlier, while Aurra Sing was momentarily distracted, Boba had peeked at the screen and stolen a glimpse of the itinerary data. They were somewhere in
the Core Worlds. A long way from Bespin and Cloud City, where he’d met up with Aurra. Boba knew about the Core Worlds from overhearing his father’s conversations. It was a good place to
buy weapons—a good place to buy anything, now that he thought about it. Maybe a good place to outfit Slave I—once he got rid of Aurra Sing.
He didn’t know the name of their actual destination, and he couldn’t read the planet’s coordinates, but he could see it on the monitor. A medium-sized planet, as gleaming and
faceted as a green-and-gold jewel. He glanced at Aurra Sing, but she was busy with the landing program. He looked back at the planet on the screen. A string of unintelligible numbers and letters
scrolled across it, and then a single phrase that he could understand.
AARGAU. LANDING ACCESS GRANTED.
Aargau. So that’s where they were going.
Too bad I’ve never heard of it. Boba sighed. The landing restraints chafed his arms. When he tried to get more comfortable, Aurra Sing glared at him.
“You want to get out now?” she said, and gestured at the dumping bay. “It can be arranged!”
Boba gritted his teeth, forcing himself to smile apologetically. “Sorry.”
Don’t trust her, his father had said. But Boba had struck a deal with her. He had agreed—reluctantly—to split the treasure with her, fifty-fifty.
He had no choice. He had no money, no credits, no possessions except for his flight bag, his father’s Mandalorian helmet, and Slave I. He had no friends out here, wherever
here was. And he had no friends anywhere. Even when he had the chance of having a friend, he soon lost it.
He had only himself to rely on: an eleven-year-old with his father’s training, his father’s split-second reflexes, his father’s fighting instincts—and his own talent for
survival.
“Ready?” barked Aurra Sing. It was a command, not a question.
“Ready,” said Boba, and he readied himself for their final descent to Aargau. |
maze-of-deception | 07_chap2.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TWO
Aargau wasn’t the first planet Boba Fett had ever visited, or even the second. For a kid, Boba had seen a lot of planets in a short time. There was gray, cloud-swept
Kamino, his homeworld, where months could pass and you’d never see anything but sheets of silvery rain, and hear nothing but the pounding of wind and water. There was Geonosis, a vast desert
planet that glowed beneath its orange rings, where Boba had buried his father; and Bogden, a small planet orbited by so many moons it looked like part of a gigantic game of Wuur-marbles.
And there was the Candaserri. The Republic troopship Candaserri wasn’t a planet, of course, but it had seemed almost as big as one to Boba. On Candaserri
he’d run into the hated Jedi, though not Mace Windu, the Jedi Knight who had killed Boba’s father.
Still, except for the Jedi, Candaserri hadn’t been so bad. It certainly wasn’t as disgusting as Raxus Prime, the galaxy’s toxic dumping ground, where Boba Fett had
last encountered the Count. He always thought of him as “the Count,” because the Count had two names—Tyranus and Dooku. Boba’s father had always told his son, “If
anything should happen to me, find the Count. He’ll know how to help you.”
As it turned out, the Count had found Boba first. The Count hired Aurra Sing to bring Jango Fett’s son to him—for safekeeping, the Count assured Boba. Aurra Sing had kept Slave
I as part of her payment, which Boba didn’t think was fair—it had been his father’s ship, and by rights it should be Boba’s ship now.
But you didn’t argue with the Count, any more than you argued with Aurra Sing.
Not if you expected to live, anyhow, Boba thought as he waited for Slave I to make its landing on Aargau. The Count was a tall, imperious man with icy eyes. Like Aurra Sing, he
had been trained as a Jedi—although unlike Aurra Sing, the Count had finished his training and had once been a Master—which made him even more dangerous. And like Aurra Sing, the Count
now hated the Jedi. When Boba first heard his father talk about the Count, Jango referred to him as Tyranus. It was Tyranus who had recruited Jango Fett as the source for the great clone army
created on Kamino. In appearance, every clone trooper resembled Jango Fett as an adult.
But only Boba Fett resembled his father as a real boy. Unlike the clone troopers, Boba’s DNA had not been genetically enhanced. He grew at a normal rate, not at the accelerated rate that
the clones did. Boba thought the clones were sort of creepy. They were cool, because they could fight better than any droid army, but they were strange, too, because they looked so much like his
father.
The Count was even creepier. Especially since Boba knew the Count had two identities.
Tyranus had created the clone troopers now used by the Republic, while Dooku was on the side of the Republic’s enemies: the Separatists. Two men on opposing sides—but they were both
the same person!
And only Boba Fett knew that. He smiled now, thinking of it. Knowing a secret is power, his father had always told him. But only if it remains your secret.
“Ready,” muttered Aurra Sing. Around them the starship shuddered with the force of reentry. “And—now!”
Through the screen in front of them he had his first glimpse of Aargau. The planet’s surface was invisible. All he could see was one single, impossibly huge pyramid, rising like an
enormous shining steel spike from the mists of cloud far, far below.
“What’s that?” asked Boba in awe. He had never seen an artifact that vast. “Is it—is that where people live?”
Aurra nodded. “Yes. Aargau is run by the InterGalactic Banking Clan. They’re sticklers for organization and control. So a large part of the habitable portion of the planet is one
gigantic pyramid. It’s divided into seven levels. The upper level is the smallest, of course, so security can check all visitors coming and going. Then as you go down, you find
administration, then the banks and vaults and treasuries. The merchant and living levels are below these.”
Boba peered down. He could see lines zigzagging across the stepped levels of the pyramid. There were blinking lights, glowing canyons, and brilliantly colored tunnels everywhere across the
pyramid’s surface.
“Wow! It’s like a big maze,” he said admiringly.
“That’s right. Droids are programmed to find their way around all the levels, but people can spend years memorizing the access codes and charts, and still get lost. They say that if
you get off on the wrong level, you can spend your entire life wandering around and never find your way back to where you started.”
Cool! thought Boba. He glanced furtively at Aurra Sing. Once he had his share of his father’s fortune, maybe he could lose Aurra in this planetary labyrinth, regain control of
Slave I—and regain his freedom, too. He felt in his pocket for the book his father had left him. It was the possession that Boba treasured above all else, except for his
father’s Mandalorian helmet.
The helmet was safe in Boba’s sleeping area. But the book he had recently decided to keep with him always. It contained information and advice that his father had recorded for him. In a
way, it was like having a link to his father, even though Jango Fett was dead.
But Boba didn’t want to think about that. Once he had made certain the book was where it should be, he turned his attention back to the screen.
Slave I was approaching the top of the glittering pyramid. Far below, Boba could see flickers of light, green and red and blue. It made everything look like part of a gigantic circuit
board. He pointed to where the deepest reaches of the planet sparkled brilliantly.
“What’s down there?” he asked. “At the very lowest level?”
“That’s the Undercity, kid. They say that anything goes down there—if you can find your way.”
She leaned back in the command seat, grinning as the ship’s computer finally made contact with the planet’s security force. On the screen in front of her, green letters
scrolled—not the scrambled coordinates, but letters that Boba could read clearly.
WELCOME TO AARGAU
YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A NEUTRAL ZONE
“Hah!” said Aurra Sing. She unfastened her safety harness and stood, shaking back her topknot mane of red hair. “Neutral zone! No such thing!”
“What do you mean?” asked Boba. He slid from his chair and followed her to Slave I’s docking bay.
“I mean nobody’s ever neutral. Not really. Everyone and everything has a price—you just have to figure what it is.” Reflexively she checked her weapons, then glanced at
Boba. “I guess you’re ready—all we need is you, after all. Let the bank check your identity and hand over the money!”
She grinned, then punched in the code to open the starship’s outer doors. “Come on, kid—let’s go get rich!” |
maze-of-deception | 08_chap3.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER THREE
Boba quickly decided that Aargau was definitely the cleanest planet he’d ever been on. The docking zone was like the inside of a gigantic holoscreen, with flashing lights
and low, brightly colored buildings. The streets were broad and empty of any vehicles, except for a couple other airspeeders that had recently landed. There were few people or droids that he could
see. Not even his father’s spartan apartment on Kamino had been as clean as this!
And everything was bathed in red light—a harsh light that made Boba’s eyes sting.
“Is the atmosphere this color?” he wondered.
Aurra Sing shook her head. “No. That’s from special infrared rays,” she explained, as they clambered out of Slave I. “Aargau has human-standard atmosphere. Every
level is color-coded. It’s supposed to make it easier to find your way around. It gives me a headache.”
“Me, too.” Boba rubbed his eyes. “So this level is red?”
“That’s right. Infrared rays help disinfect incoming ships—and visitors. Aargau has a lot of rules.”
Several uniformed soldiers walked among the other ships at the docking site. Even in uniform, with their faces hidden by their helmets, Boba recognized them. They were clone troopers, members of
the clone army created by Count Tyranus. Aargau was part of the Republic, which would explain why the clones were here. In one of the other docking bays, Boba recognized a Republic gunship. That
was where the clone troopers would have come from.
But why was a gunship here? Was it refueling?
Boba watched as the troopers drew nearer. It was a weird feeling, seeing the clones again. Boba knew that every one of them had his father’s face. His father’s eyes, his
father’s mouth—but not his father’s smile. Because the clones rarely if ever smiled.
Boba could see Aurra Sing tensing as the troopers approached them. But they only nodded politely. They gave a cursory look at Slave I, then moved on.
“They didn’t search us,” said Boba in surprise. He glanced back at the troopers. “Or the ship.”
Aurra shrugged. “Not really their job. They’re fighting battles, not checking cargo. Anyway, nobody bothers smuggling anything into Aargau. Too affluent. They’ve got a
saying—‘Better poor on Aargau than wealthy anywhere else.’ This is the bank for the whole galaxy. There’s enough precious metals in vaults on Aargau to outfit an entire army
a thousand times over.”
“Really?” Boba grinned slyly to himself. If the bank here was that rich, would it even notice if a few bars of gold were missing?
As though she could read his thoughts, Aurra Sing added, “It’s easy getting onto Aargau. Getting off is more difficult—you don’t want to know what they
do to people they catch trying to smuggle stuff off-planet.” She turned and gave him a nasty grin. “Don’t even think of double-crossing me, kid. All they have to do is
suspect you of smuggling, and you’re history. ’Cause who is an officer going to believe? An adult or a kid?”
Not just a kid—a bounty hunter’s kid, thought Boba, and scowled. But he said nothing.
“So just you stay with me,” Aurra Sing hissed as they headed toward a large, shining console desk. An immense holosign flickered in the air above it. The holosign had a scrolled
message that repeated itself over and over and over again in a hundred different languages.
WELCOME TO AARGAU,
JEWEL OF THE ZUG SYSTEM!
OBSERVE THE FOLLOWING RULES:
I. NO UNLAWFUL REMOVAL OF PRECIOUS METALS
II. NO POSSESSION OF WEAPONS EXCEPT BY AARGAU CITIZENS
III. NO WILLFUL CONSPIRACY TO DEFRAUD, DISCREDIT, OR DECEIVE THE BANK OF AARGAU
THE ABOVE CRIMES ARE PUNISHABLE BY IMMEDIATE EXECUTION
Boba glanced at Aurra Sing. She would have a little trouble with Rule Number II, he thought.
But Aurra Sing didn’t bother to read the rules. She strode right through the holosign and into Customs Central. Boba hurried to catch up with her.
“Welcome to Aargau,” said the attendant at the Customs Central console. She was humanoid, with the telltale gauntness and pallid skin that marked her as a member of the InterGalactic
Banking Clan, from Muunilinst. She wore an expensive-looking, gold-and-silver plasteel suit. Its buttons looked like real platinum, with insets of blinking, emerald-colored gavril eyes. She held up
a small retinal scanner, directing it first at Boba’s eyes, then Aurra’s. After the scan was complete, she glanced back down at the device’s readout. Her expression betrayed
nothing.
“May I ask the purpose of your visit?” she asked.
“I am this boy’s guardian, appointed by his family to see that he gets the education he deserves,” Aurra lied. Boba winced at the thought of being related to her.
“We’re here to check on the status of his High-Yield Universal Institutional Savings Account.”
“Very good.” The attendant smiled blandly. “And may I see proof of your investment?”
For a moment Aurra Sing said nothing. Then she slid a small shiny card across the desk toward the attendant. Boba’s eyes widened: The card had to be encoded with the access information to
his father’s secret fortune!
Aurra Sing looked at the attendant and said, “I think you’ll find everything you need there.”
The attendant slipped the card into a new scanner. The scanner beeped and blinked. The attendant read the information display.
“Yes,” she said. She looked over at Boba. “You are Boba Fett?”
Boba nodded and the attendant smiled. “With this kind of card, I’d guess you’re quite a wealthy young man!”
“Yes,” Boba agreed. But he certainly didn’t feel—or look—wealthy! He glanced down at what he was wearing. Blue-gray tunic over blue-gray pants, knee-high black
boots. Standard-issue stuff, not the way a rich kid would dress.
Would that make any difference to the security people here on Aargau? The security attendant certainly didn’t seem to care. She glanced again at the shiny information card Aurra Sing had
given her, still in its slot on her desk.
She said, “As first-time visitors to Aargau, you are cleared to visit Levels One through Three. That is where off-world banking accounts and precious metals are stored. Your own credits
will be on one of those levels. Once you have withdrawn your credits or metals from your account, you may purchase clearance to Levels Four and Five. Level Four is where you can arrange for
lodging, and Level Five is where you can buy supplies.”
“What’s on Level Six?” asked Boba.
“Entertainment and recreational facilities.”
Boba grinned. “And Level Seven?”
The Customs attendant gave him a cool smile. “Level Seven is the Undercity. A young person like yourself would have no business there. We encourage free trade, of course, so we don’t
restrict merchants or traders from anywhere in the galaxy. As a result, you can find some very shady characters in the Undercity. It is terribly dangerous, especially with the recent skirmishes
against the Separatists. The Republic has sent a peacekeeping force to make certain that its investments remain protected.”
She continued to gaze at Boba, and went on. “You must also be sure not to exchange your money with anyone who is not a licensed member of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. There are black
market money changers on Aargau. It is illegal to do business with them. If you’re caught, you will be deported immediately. And you will be caught. Do you understand?”
Boba nodded seriously. “Yes,” he said.
Beside him, Aurra Sing fidgeted impatiently. “Thanks,” she said. She started to reach for the info card. “Now, if you don’t mind—”
But before she could move, the attendant raised her hand. Seemingly out of nowhere, several S-EP 1 security droids appeared and swarmed toward the desk. They were followed by a third droid that
made Boba’s heart pound in fear and amazement—
An IG assassin droid. |
maze-of-deception | 09_chap4.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER FOUR
Boba heard Aurra suck her breath in sharply. Behind the desk, the attendant made a slashing motion with her hand. The assassin droid stopped. Slowly it raised one arm.
Its lasers were pointed right at Aurra Sing!
Instinctively the bounty hunter went into a defensive stance. “Call it off!” she ordered the attendant.
But the attendant only shook her head. “I told you,” she said in her calm voice. She was staring at Aurra’s blaster. “You’ll have to leave your weapons
here.”
“Not on your life!” Aurra Sing said. She reached for her blaster. But she stopped abruptly when she saw the assassin droid reach for its concussion grenade.
“Oh,” said Aurra. She withdrew her hand from her blaster. “Sorry! I guess I overlooked that detail. I was so busy with everything else I was thinking about.”
Aurra looked at Boba and smiled—a smile that was more like a grimace. “Right, Boba?”
“Yeah,” said Boba. He hoped the grin he gave the attendant didn’t look as fake as Aurra Sing’s. “We were so excited about finally landing here, we just
forgot!”
The attendant turned away from Aurra to smile indulgently at him. “I’m sure you did.”
Boy, are grown-ups dumb! thought Boba. He knew that the weapons check was the only thing that could separate him from Aurra—right away.
“But you still must leave your weapons here,” the attendant went on. She looked back at Aurra Sing—only this time she didn’t smile. “The penalty is death. This is
your last warning.”
Aurra Sing scowled. “I never go anywhere unarmed.”
“Didn’t you read the planetary bylaws?” The attendant began to recite in a monotone. “‘No unlawful removal of precious metals. No possession of weapons except by
Aargau citizens—’”
Aurra cut her off quickly. “Can I leave them on my ship?”
The attendant nodded. “Very well. But you will have to be escorted by Security Personnel.” She gestured to the uniformed security guards who stood watching from a few feet away. In
the distance, Boba saw other uniformed figures milling about. Some had their faces hidden behind helmets; others were bareheaded.
“I need a Sigma Red escort,” the attendant announced into her comlink. “She has permission to return to her ship,” she said to the droids, and made another slashing
gesture.
At the attendant’s command, the droids retreated. At the same time, two of the uniformed security guards walked over to the desk.
“Is there trouble here?” one of them demanded. He looked suspiciously at Aurra Sing.
Boba felt his heart start to pound again.
What if they were both forced to leave Aargau before he got the fortune his father had left for him? He’d be as bad off as he was before. Worse, actually—because he’d
be stuck with Aurra Sing!
But Aurra seemed to be thinking the same thing. Her expression suddenly grew calculating. She gave the security guard the same fake smile she had given the attendant a minute before.
“I’m cooperating, officer,” she said. But the look she gave Boba was anything but glad.
The clone guard continued to watch Aurra suspiciously. The attendant looked at her, too. She pointed at Aurra Sing.
“Please escort her back to her ship,” the attendant said.
The guards flanked the bounty hunter, one on either side.
“See that her weapons are properly stowed away on board,” the attendant went on. She looked at Aurra. “Once you have done that, the guards will escort you back to this desk.
Then I will give you your final clearance, and you can access the other levels here on Aargau.”
Aurra Sing glared at the attendant. She looked at the attendant’s uniform: She was wearing a blaster.
“What about you?” snapped Aurra. “You’re armed!”
“Don’t you listen?” the attendant asked in disbelief. “Citizens may carry arms. In fact, it is unlawful for citizens of Aargau to not carry weapons.”
Aurra Sing turned to stare at Boba. “What about him?” she demanded. Aurra pointed at Boba angrily. “Why aren’t the guards on him?”
The attendant looked at Boba. He made sure to appear as young and innocent as possible—this was the chance he’d been looking for. The attendant shook her head, almost in sympathy for
the boy.
“He is not armed,” she said in her calm voice. “On Aargau, free citizens may come and go as they please, once they have received clearance. This boy has received clearance. And
he has broken no rules. He can decide for himself.”
She turned to Boba. “Boba Fett. Do you want to accompany your guardian to the ship? Or do you want to remain here?”
Freedom! “I’ll wait here,” he said, trying not to let his excitement show.
For a moment he thought Aurra would lunge at him. But then she seemed to think better of it. After all, would a real guardian attack her charge?
“You better wait!” she snapped. “I’ll be right back, so you better not move!”
The guards stood beside her, glaring. Aurra turned.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said. She started walking toward Slave I, a guard at either side.
But when they reached the docking bay she looked back at Boba one last time. Her face was calm, but he could see the rage in her eyes.
Still, when she was out of sight, Boba couldn’t help grinning to himself. At last. He was on his own. |
maze-of-deception | 10_chap5.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER FIVE
Boba stared at the shadow that was Slave I, waiting in the docking bay. He could no longer see Aurra or the guards.
But he liked looking at the ship—his ship. The Mandalorian helmet his father had left him was still on board, where Boba had stored it, safe from Aurra Sing. He wished now that he
had thought to bring the helmet with him. It had saved his life when he wore it, back on Raxus Prime.
And, with the helmet on, he could be mistaken for an adult. That could be useful, sometimes.
But other times—like now—it was also useful to be a kid. No one expected a kid to be as smart as Boba was, or as self-sufficient. No one expected a kid to know that Dooku and Tyranus
were the same person.
And no one expected a kid might have plans that didn’t include a parent or guardian. Especially a guardian like Aurra Sing, who was only using him—and would get rid of him the moment
she didn’t need him anymore. He had no doubt about that.
Boba knew he only had a very short time until Aurra returned from the ship. When she got back, he would have to go with her to one of the lower levels to get his father’s fortune. Boba
knew she could not be trusted. If she had the chance, she would double-cross him.
And she has no right to the money at all, Boba thought angrily. My father intended that fortune for me! Not some other bounty hunter—and especially not Aurra Sing!
But without Aurra, he had no way of knowing where to find his father’s treasure. It was somewhere here on Aargau—but where? The attendant had said it would be on one of the first
three levels—but each level was enormous. Without any credits, Boba might as well be back on toxic Raxus Prime.
He sighed loudly. Then, remembering where he was, he turned a little worriedly and looked at the attendant in her boring Banking Clan uniform.
He expected her to be watching him. Isn’t that what grown-ups did? Watched you all the time, so you couldn’t move, or even think, on your own? Boba hated it, just as much as his
father had hated any kind of supervision, by the Bounty Hunters’ Guild—or anyone else.
But the attendant seemed to have forgotten all about Boba Fett. She stood behind the desk with her back to him. She was talking into a communicator and scanning a computer screen. Boba had just
started to turn away again, when something shiny on the desk caught his eye.
The info card! Aurra Sing had forgotten to take it back!
It was still in its slot on the desk, gleaming softly in the harsh red light.
“Wow!” Boba whispered to himself in excitement.
If he could get it, he might be able to use it to locate his father’s fortune!
Boba looked around furtively. Across the plaza, the security droids hovered near a bank of turbolift doors. On the other side of the plaza, a group of uniformed guards stood at ease, talking.
Several people wearing clothes that identified them as members of the Banking Clan were walking toward the desk.
In a minute they would be here. The attendant would turn to greet them—
And Boba would lose his chance! Quickly, he reached across the desk. For an instant his hand hovered above the shining card. Then, quick as lightning, he grabbed it.
That was easy! he thought. He glanced at the desk. The attendant still had her back to him—but as he watched, she began to turn.
Quickly, Boba put his head down.
Don’t run, he thought, even though every nerve in his body was firing RUN!
Don’t look back—even though every second he imagined the attendant noticing and shouting at him to stop. He began to walk away, as fast and as silently as he could. He
crossed the plaza, his head still down, his sweating hand clutching the shining card. He headed toward the turbolifts that descended to the lower levels.
Don’t look back, he kept repeating to himself. Don’t look back!
But more than anything, that was what he was dying to do—look back, and see if Aurra Sing was leaving Slave I.
Any minute now she would return.
He forced himself to keep going. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Boba’s instinct, always, was for action—to run, to fight, to outwit anyone who tried to stop
him. But right now, only silence and stealth would save him.
And the ability to blend in. To not draw attention to himself.
Boba stared at the floor beneath him, cold and red and gleaming, clean as everything on Aargau was clean. Maybe twenty meters ahead of him was the wall, and the rows of huge turbolifts. What was
it the attendant had said about them? Boba tried to remember.
As first-time visitors to Aargau, you are cleared to visit Levels One through Three. This is where off-world banking accounts and precious metals are stored. Your own credits will be on one
of those levels.
Boba’s hand tightened around the shining card he had snatched from the desk. If it gave him access to his father’s credits, he could get it all for himself—and leave Aurra Sing
out of the deal completely!
The thought made Boba hopeful. Then, suddenly, from behind him came footsteps.
“Hey,” someone called. “You—!”
Boba’s throat grew tight. His hope faded. He had forgotten one of the first rules of bounty hunters—stealth.
He had let himself be seen.
“You!” the voice came again—a familiar voice. “I said, wait!”
Boba’s heart was hammering inside his chest. He looked straight ahead, to where the wall of turbolifts loomed. They were just a few yards off now. There were a lot of doors, but one of
them should open soon. If he sprinted, he might make it—or he might be captured by whoever was behind him.
Boba didn’t look back. His hand clutched the shiny card—the key to what was rightfully his. His heart was pounding so hard his chest hurt. A few steps ahead of him he could hear the
grinding sound of more turbolifts moving upward. They slowed to a halt as they approached the Security Level.
“Hey—!”
The voice came again, directly behind him!
Run! thought Boba.
He sprinted the last few steps. Immediately before of him, a line of green lights blinked above another turbolift door.
“Approaching Security Level One,” a mechanized voice announced. “Please stand back from the doors.”
Boba jumped forward. In front of him, the green lights turned to red. Someone touched his shoulder. Boba stared straight ahead, his heart thumping. The turbolift doors slid open.
“Security Level One!” the mechanical voice repeated. “Please let passengers out.”
Dozens of people hurried from the turbolift. Boba darted between them, until he was inside. He was breathing hard. But he was alone in the turbolift!
“You!” shouted the same, strangely familiar voice.
Boba whirled.
“Now leaving Security Level One,” said the mechanical announcement.
The doors began to slide shut. There were only inches left before it closed.
Boba let his breath out. He was safe!
With a cry a small figure lunged through the gap. The turbolift doors hissed shut. Quickly, Boba shoved the shining card into his pocket. Then he backed up against the wall and faced his
pursuer.
He was trapped! |
maze-of-deception | 11_chap6.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER SIX
Boba had his back to the wall. His hands tensed to fight—
But fight who? Or what? Boba let his breath out in shock.
Because for a moment, he thought he was staring into a mirror. He saw his own face, his own body, his own hands raised protectively. Even the clothes were the same—same gray-blue tunic,
same high black boots. The only difference was that the boy staring at Boba Fett wore a helmet.
But it wasn’t a clone trooper’s helmet, or a Mandalorian helmet. This was a tan helmet with gold-plated metal fittings. Boba had seen thousands like it, back on his homeworld of
Kamino. It was a learning helmet, part of the equipment clone youth wore to enhance their training.
Boba was staring at his clone twin!
The two of them looked warily at each other, keeping their arms raised in a fight posture. After a minute, the clone shook his head. He held his hand out to Boba. For the first time Boba saw
that he held something.
“You dropped this,” the clone said. He offered it to Boba. “Up there, by the security desk.”
Boba looked at it in disbelief. It was his book—the book his father had left him. Boba shook his head. Finally he took it from the other boy.
“Thanks,” Boba said. He’d been so busy trying to leave before Aurra Sing returned that he’d forgotten he had the book with him. He looked at the boy and ventured a smile.
To his surprise, the boy smiled back.
“I thought it might be important,” the clone said. “I’m glad I caught up with you.”
Around them the turbolift descended smoothly, silently. Above the door a stream of blinking lines and numerals indicated that they were slowly approaching Level Two, thousands of meters below
the first level. Boba put the book back into his pocket, beside the shining card. The boy clone looked at him curiously.
“You’re not wearing a helmet,” the clone said. He tapped at his own helmet. “Are you an odd or even?”
“An odd or an even?” Boba repeated. “What do you mean?”
Then he remembered.
All young clones were numbered. All young clones wore learning helmets like the one worn by the boy in front of him. The only difference was that some of the learning helmets had gold-colored
hardware. Others had plain black metal hardware. Odd-numbered clones wore gold. Even-numbered clones wore plain.
This boy’s helmet had gold plating. He was an odd. He was still staring at Boba, patiently waiting for a reply.
“Oh,” said Boba at last. “I’m, uh, same as you. Odd.”
The boy clone nodded seriously. “Is your helmet getting repaired, too?” He tapped his own helmet, making a face as a burst of static came out of the earpiece. The noise was loud
enough that even Boba could hear it.
“That’s why I’m here,” the clone went on. “I should have remained on board with the others. But my helmet has been malfunctioning. Our commander said it would be
faster to just get it repaired here, down on the Tech Support Level.”
“Tech Support?” said Boba.
“Level Three. That’s where all repairs are done.” He looked at Boba and, for the first time, frowned slightly. “You should know that. Your helmet really must
have malfunctioned.”
Boba knew that the learning helmets provided a constant stream of data that the young clones absorbed. Some of the information was spoken through the earpieces. Some of the information was
visual, streaming across the small screen that protruded from the helmet to cover this boy’s left eye. Clones developed at twice the speed of normal humans. They grew twice as fast, and by
using the learning helmets, their brains developed twice as fast, too.
“That’s right,” said Boba slowly. “I was on my way down to see if it’s been repaired.”
The clone nodded. He smiled again, and Boba wondered if his friendliness might be a result of his malfunction. Clones were usually not very emotional.
And even though there were hundreds of thousands of them, they were always alone.
Like me, thought Boba in mild surprise. For the first time he smiled back.
“I’m 9779,” said the clone. “What designation are you?”
Boba thought fast. “1313,” he said.
“I’m from Generation Five Thousand,” the clone went on. “Is that your Generation, too?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Boba. He hoped he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. Still, he was curious himself. He asked, “Why are all the troopers here on
Aargau?”
“You mean us?” 9779 looked surprised. “You better get your helmet fixed if you forgot that! There are rumors that Separatists are here on Aargau. This is a neutral planet, but
we clone troopers are supposed to keep an eye on them. Just in case of trouble.”
Just in case, Boba repeated to himself. He wondered why the army would’ve brought a clone whose training was not complete. This had to be part of the training—going
to a relatively stable world to learn how to patrol and defend.
“We are now approaching Level Two,” the turbolift’s mechanical voice intoned. “Please stand back from the doors.”
9779 obediently moved aside. Boba started to head for the door before it opened, but the clone stopped him.
“Did you forget?” 9779 asked, his face serious. “We’re going to Level Three. Got to get your helmet back!”
“Oh—” Boba stammered. “I, uh—”
But then the doors began to open. And Boba didn’t have to worry about just in case of trouble.
Because trouble had found him. Standing outside the turbolift was—
Aurra Sing! |
maze-of-deception | 12_chap7.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER SEVEN
Boba darted to one side, behind 9779. The clone stood, oblivious, as a small group of people waited to get into the turbolift with them. In the front of the little crowd stood
Aurra Sing, her face dark with anger. When she saw 9779, she gave a low laugh of triumph.
“Gotcha!” she crowed, and lunged for the clone.
“Hey—!” said 9779, confused, as Aurra Sing grabbed his arm.
“Sorry,” said Boba under his breath to the clone. “But this is my stop.”
Other people were crowding into the turbolift now. Before Aurra Sing could spot him, Boba squeezed between the newcomers, out onto Level Two. Behind him he could hear the clone’s protests
getting louder.
“—let go of me! I’ll have you deported!”
“I told you to wait for me!” said Aurra Sing furiously. “Did you think you’d get that money for yourself?”
That’s right! said Boba to himself. He moved quickly away from the turbolift. That’s exactly what I thought!
The mechanized voice made its final announcement. Then the sleek metal doors closed, and the turbolift descended once more.
Boba was on his own again.
Just how he liked it!
He quickly checked to make sure he still had his father’s book and the data card.
He did. He smoothed his hair, wishing again that he had his Mandalorian battle helmet to help disguise his appearance. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be mistaken for a clone
again—next time he might not be so lucky. He turned and began to look around.
He was in a long, shimmering green tunnel. As a matter of fact, everything around him had a greenish glow—the walls, the floor, even the people.
And there were people everywhere. Thousands of them! He saw representatives of every race he could imagine—Gotals, Twi’leks, Dugs, Ithorians, and many more—as well as beings he
didn’t recognize at all. Mingled among them was an occasional clone trooper. They were easy to recognize in their sleek white body armor. Even they had a green glow on Level Two.
But mostly, he saw members of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. They were tall, thin figures in distinctive drab uniforms. Their faces were dead-white, their cheeks sunken like those of San Hill,
who Boba had seen on Geonosis. Boba knew they never ventured outdoors. They spent their entire lives inside, managing their vast stores of currency.
If I was rich, I wouldn’t waste my life indoors, Boba thought.
No—not IF I was rich—
WHEN I’m rich!
He put his hand in his pocket. He touched the smooth card that would lead him to the treasure.
If only he knew how to find it!
But where to start?
Boba frowned. Then he heard the mechanized turbolift voice behind him.
Now approaching Level Two.
Uh-oh. The first thing he better do was get away before Aurra Sing discovered his deception. He looked around.
Level Two was much bigger than Level One. There was a central area—that was where Boba was standing now. And, extending out from this central area, there were tunnels. Hundreds of them,
shining green tunnels with moving walkways. A nonstop stream of people went in and out of the tunnels. They stepped onto the walkways, which led them away.
Where did they go?
Boba walked a safe distance from the busy turbolift area. He went toward one of the tunnel entrances. There was a sign above it.
FIRST ROYAL BANK OF M’HAELI
Boba turned and looked at the next tunnel.
BOTHAN INDEPENDENT TREASURY
“Huh,” he said. He looked at another tunnel, and another.
N’ZOTH BANKS ONLY
REGISTERED BANK OF AMMUUD, CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS
“Banks,” murmured Boba to himself. “They’re all banks.”
That’s what the tunnels were. Every tunnel led to a bank, or treasury, that belonged to a particular planet. He turned slowly in a circle, looking at all the tunnels stretching in every
direction.
There weren’t just hundreds of them. The galaxy contained untold numbers of planets. Even if only some of these had representative banks on Aargau, there might be thousands of
them!
How could he ever figure out which one held his father’s treasure?
Boba fingered the card in his pocket. Around him a steady flow of people went by. No one paid him any attention. After a minute he put the card back into his pocket, and slowly took out his
father’s book.
It wasn’t just a book, though. Boba walked over to a quiet spot a short distance from one of the tunnels. There he opened the black book.
Inside there were no pages. There was a message screen. The first time he had opened it, after his father’s death, he had seen his father’s face and heard his father’s
words.
“There are three things you need, now that I am gone,” his father’s image had said. “The first is self-sufficiency. For this you must find Tyranus to access the credits
I’ve put aside for you. The second is knowledge. For knowledge you must find Jabba. He will not give it; you must take it. The third and the most important is power. You will find it all
around you, in many forms.
“And one last thing, Boba. Hold on to the book. Keep it close to you. Open it when you need it. It will guide you when you read it. It is not a story but a Way. Follow this Way and you
will be a great bounty hunter someday.”
Hold on to the book. Boba bit his lip in remorse and anger. How could he have left it up on Level One? If it weren’t for Clone 9779—
Boba shook his head. No time for remorse now.
But, he thought, if I ever see that clone again, I owe him a favor. A really, really big one. |
maze-of-deception | 13_chap8.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER EIGHT
Boba looked around. He could barely see the turbolifts from here—too many crowds. That meant Aurra Sing would have trouble spotting him, at least for a little while. He
glanced from one tunnel to the next, all of them glowing silver-green in the eerie light of Level Two.
Did one of them hold the treasure?
It was like a puzzle. Or no—it was like a labyrinth. A maze. And beneath this level was another level, and then another, levels upon levels extending for kilometers to the surface of
Aargau, where the Undercity was. Even if he ever claimed his credits, how could he find his way around? Would he be able to get back to Level One and his ship?
Mazes upon mazes. His father had told him once about being captured and imprisoned in an underground labyrinth on Belsavis and another time on Balmorra. A deadly scorpionlike kretch insect
hunted him through the tunnels.
“How did you escape?” Boba had asked breathlessly.
“By keeping my head,” his father replied. “Mazes are designed to confuse you. To disorient you. But mazes always have an inner logic. Someone had to design them, after all. If
you can stay calm and think, you can always find your way out—if you have enough time.”
Boba shook his head. He looked at the vast number of tunnels around him.
No one had enough time to check out every one of them!
He glanced down at the book, still in his hands.
Open it when you need it, his father had said.
Well, I sure need it now! thought Boba. He opened it.
The message screen was gray and blank. But slowly, as he stared down at it, letters appeared.
NEVER SEEK OUT HELP, the screen read.
Boba read the message over and over. Finally he closed the book and put it back in his pocket.
Never seek out help. He looked around at the thousands of silver-green tunnels. If he didn’t ask for help here, how would he ever find his way?
“Excuse me,” said a small voice beside him.
Boba jumped, his hands thrust out in a fighting posture. Next to him was a little figure, not even as tall as he was. It had a vaguely donkeyish face, pale yellow in color, with large pointed
ears that swooped out from either side of its head like wings. It wore plain yellow homespun pants and a vest over a matching yellow shirt. Its hands and face were covered with short, soft fur.
It was a Bimm, Boba realized. A native of Bimmisaari.
“I could not help noticing that you seem a bit confused,” the Bimm went on in its singsong voice. “May I be of assistance?”
“Uh,” stammered Boba. Then he remembered what his father’s book had said.
Never seek out help.
Boba glanced nervously, across to where the turbolifts were discharging more passengers onto Level Two.
Could that flash of red and white, fast as crimson lightning, be Aurra Sing? Or was he just imagining it?
The Bimm said, “I am Nuri. An independent money exchanger.” Nuri gestured at the teeming crowds around them. “It is confusing, is it not? Especially when one is a first-time
visitor to Aargau. Might this be your first visit?”
Boba looked at Nuri suspiciously. But the Bimm’s singsong voice was friendly, his small bright eyes warm and welcoming. Besides, Boba was a whole head taller than the little alien.
Reluctantly, Boba admitted, “Ye-e-es—it is my first visit.”
The Bimm nodded wisely. “I thought so. Much of my business consists of helping people like yourself. Making their time here easier. Visitors from all over the galaxy come to
Aargau—”
Nuri swept his little hand out. A group of brightly dressed Mrissi swarmed past them, their brilliant feathers peeking from long robes. Close behind them a group of security guards paced
watchfully in formation. Behind the guards were more members of the Banking Clan.
This group, however, seemed different from the others of the Clan. Boba stared at them, frowning. There were more heavily armed guards, for one thing. And a number of security droids—lots
of S-EP1s. In the middle of them all walked a very tall, very thin man with a face lean and sharp as a razor. Two lieutenants flanked his sides.
“That is San Hill,” said Nuri in a low voice. “He is the head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.”
“He looks like a big stick insect,” said Boba, not wanting the Bimm to know he’d seen San Hill before.
Nuri tried to hide a smile. “Perhaps. But he is one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. His presence here, now, is very interesting indeed.”
The two of them turned and watched as the procession disappeared into one of the eerie green tunnels.
When they were gone, Nuri said, “But enough of that!” The Bimm put a small, furred hand upon Boba’s shoulder. “Tell me, what is the nature of your business on
Aargau?”
Boba started to reply. But the words stuck in his throat. From the corner of his eye he had seen another flash of red and white, darting across the far side of the crowded level.
This time, there was no doubt that it was Aurra Sing. |
maze-of-deception | 14_chap9.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER NINE
The Bimm’s face creased with concern. “What is it?” he asked.
Boba said nothing. He started to move very slowly back, going into a half-crouch. Nuri turned and let his gaze flick across the crowds moving everywhere around them. After a moment he drew his
breath in sharply.
“You have made an impressive enemy, young man,” he said in his fluting voice. On the far side of the great space, Aurra Sing’s muscular figure could be glimpsed. She was
standing near the turbolifts, scanning the area with her keen eyes. Nuri glanced at Boba, then took a step back to stand beside him. “A bounty hunter! And not just any bounty hunter, but the
legendary Aurra Sing!”
Boba looked down at the Bimm. He was surprised to see that the little alien did not look frightened. Instead, he looked impressed.
That made Boba feel a bit better. “Yes,” he said. “I, uh—I had some business with her. You see, I’m a bounty hunter, too. Or will be, when—”
The Bimm raised one small, furred hand. “You need say no more. My business is your welfare. But I suggest we discuss that elsewhere!”
Quickly, the Bimm grasped Boba’s arm. “This way,” Nuri said. He pointed to a small, dark passage a short distance away.
Boba glanced back over his shoulder. Aurra Sing was gone. A security droid now stood where she had been.
“Oh, no!” Boba said under his breath. He felt a stab of panic. Aurra could be anywhere, behind anyone….
He had been careless. And his carelessness could cost him his fortune—or his life.
“Quickly!” whispered Nuri. “Come—”
Boba hesitated. He didn’t know anything about this small, pointy-eared alien. Nuri looked harmless enough, but—
But Boba had no choice. If he remained here, he’d be playing hide-and-seek with Aurra Sing, with a bunch of clone troopers for an audience.
“Okay,” said Boba. He followed Nuri toward the dark passage. “I’m coming.”
Unlike the other tunnels, this one was narrow and dim. It had a low ceiling and rounded walls. There was no blinking sign overhead to identify it. A small panel was set into one wall beside the
entrance. The panel had a lot of buttons on it. Nuri pressed the buttons in a pattern Boba tried to follow. An instant later the wall slid open to reveal a second, hidden passage.
“This way,” said Nuri. He ducked into the passage, with Boba at his heels.
The door closed behind them. Boba straightened, blinking. They were in a small, circular room. Instead of the eerie green light that colored everything on Level Two, the light in here was soft
and yellow. Soothing, like Nuri’s voice.
“Where are we?” asked Boba.
The Bimm stared up at him. His bright black eyes narrowed. “I will answer your questions in a moment, my young friend,” he said in a low voice. “But first, you will have to
answer mine.”
Boba swallowed. His hand moved protectively toward his pocket. The Bimm’s gaze followed it. Boba fingered the card in his pocket, but did not take it out.
He didn’t have to. Nuri had already guessed what it was. He looked up at Boba. A smile filled the alien’s broad face.
“Ah! I see!” said Nuri. “You have a filocard. You have come here to convert currency—or to get currency that you have stored in one of the banks here. May I see your
card?”
Boba shook his head. His fingers tightened around the card in his pocket. He felt sweat beading on his forehead. What was the alien really after?
He glared at Nuri. He was still bigger than the alien. Stronger, too.
But then Boba remembered where he was: in a strange tunnel, on a strange planet. Even if he did escape from the Bimm, where would he go?
As though reading his mind, Nuri raised his hands. His expression was mild. “You misunderstand, young sir! I am no thief! I am here to provide a service, that is all. I can help you get
your credits!”
The Bimm looked pointedly at Boba’s pocket. A shining corner of the card stuck out. It glinted in the dim room.
“That is what I do,” Nuri continued. “I help visitors. For a fee, of course.”
Boba hesitated. If the alien tried to steal his card, Boba could knock him down. He could force the alien to do what he wanted.
Isn’t that what bounty hunters did? Capture people?
Yet Nuri did not look dangerous. He looked friendly. He looked like he really did want to help Boba. To—how had the Bimm put it?—to provide a service.
Could Boba trust him?
Boba remembered the dream he had about his father. The Dream.
“Trust no one, but use everyone.”
Boba looked at the Bimm’s bright, friendly eyes. Slowly he pulled the card from his pocket and nodded.
“Okay,” he said. He held the card out. His own eyes were hard. “But remember—I’m a bounty hunter. Just like Aurra Sing. You wouldn’t make her angry, right?
Well, you don’t want to even think about double-crossing me.” |
maze-of-deception | 15_chap10.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TEN
The Bimm stared at Boba. Then he bowed respectfully. “Of course, young sir. I am here to help you—for the fee I mentioned earlier.”
Nuri took the card from Boba. The alien’s fingers felt soft, furry, and very, very warm. Boba frowned slightly. “How much is the fee?”
Nuri held the card up to the soft yellow light of the passage. He examined it carefully. “That depends,” he said.
Boba moved closer to him. He tried to figure out what the alien could see in the card. “Depends on what?”
“On how much this is worth.” Nuri held up the card. “I can arrange for you to procure your currency, without, er, complications.”
The alien glanced meaningfully at the door leading back out onto Level Two. Boba knew that by “complications,” he meant Aurra Sing.
Boba asked, “How can you do that?”
Nuri shrugged. “By avoiding attention. As I am sure you have noticed, there are many rules on Aargau.”
Boba nodded. “I saw that,” he agreed.
“Well, some of us—many of us—have made our own rules. Now, I have shown trust in you, young sir, by telling you my name. But before I check this—” Nuri held up the
shining card “—I must be able to trust you. I must know you are not dangerous, or a wanted man. I must know your name.”
Boba nodded slowly, thinking.
He had to admit it. He liked the idea that someone thought him dangerous. It made him feel powerful. It made him feel that he had a secret.
Which, of course, he did. He knew that Count Tyranus and Count Dooku were the same person. That was a dangerous secret—but it gave him power.
And he was the only one who knew.
Also, of course, he was wanted—wanted by Aurra Sing!
Boba looked at Nuri. The Bimm still held his card up, waiting.
“My name,” said Boba proudly, “is Boba Fett.”
The Bimm stared at him. After a moment he bowed. “Boba, sir,” he said. “I am proud to meet you.”
Boba bowed back, a little awkwardly. “And you—Nuri.”
The Bimm straightened again. Suddenly he was all business.
“Now,” Nuri said. He opened his pale yellow vest. Under it he wore a thick leather belt. On the belt was a small rectangular object: a computer of some sort.
Nuri fiddled with the computer, and it blinked to life. He held up the card, then inserted it into the top of the computer. The computer beeped and blinked. A small silvery screen lit up. There
were numbers and letters on it which Boba could not understand.
Must be in Bimmsaarii, he thought.
Nuri peered down at the screen, reading it. His furry eyebrows raised in surprise. He looked up at Boba and said, “Well! You are quite a fortunate young bounty hunter, Boba, sir! You are
worth a great deal.”
Boba nodded. “I know.”
“It says that this fortune was acquired for you by someone named Jango Fett,” the Bimm went on. “Your father?”
“Yes,” said Boba.
“Is he with you, then? He is the only other person allowed access to this treasure.”
Boba shook his head. “N-no,” he said. He could not keep the sorrow from creeping into his voice. “He’s—he’s not with me.”
The Bimm looked up at him. His eyes were sympathetic and understanding. “I see,” he said. He seemed to think for a minute, staring first at the card, then at Boba.
At last Nuri said, “This Aurra Sing. She is not someone I would want pursuing me. She has killed many people. Many powerful people. Here on Aargau, we are neutral. But we are not stupid.
And we are not without sympathy for those in need.”
He smiled at Boba, then held out the card for him to take. “Here, Boba, sir. I will help you retrieve your treasure. There will be a fee for my services, but you do not have to pay me in
advance. I will deduct it from your card.”
Boba looked at him. “Thank you,” he said. He took the card and put it back into his pocket. “Could you tell which bank has the treasure in it?”
“No.” Nuri rubbed his chin. “To get that information, you would have to go back to Level One, to the security desk.”
Boba’s heart sank. He looked at the door that led onto Level Two.
Somewhere out there, Aurra Sing was looking for him.
And, knowing Aurra Sing, she would find a way of obtaining a weapon—whether it was allowed or not.
Boba turned to Nuri. “Isn’t there any other way?” he asked. “Besides going back up there?”
The little alien smiled. He put a reassuring hand on Boba’s arm. “Boba, sir, I have told you that here on Aargau, some of us have made our own rules. Well, we have made our own
place, too. A place where the other rules don’t apply—and our rules do.”
He turned and gestured toward the dim passage behind them. “I will take you to this place now, if you wish.”
Boba looked at the Bimm, and then at the passage. He felt his neck begin to prickle with fear and excitement. “What is this place called?” he asked.
Nuri gazed down the passage and smiled—a strange, knowing smile.
“It is called,” he said, “the Undercity.” |
maze-of-deception | 16_chap11.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“The Undercity?” Boba echoed Nuri’s words. “But—”
He stopped, remembering what he had been told on Level One.
You can find some very shady characters in the Undercity, the attendant had warned him. It is terribly dangerous, especially with the recent skirmishes against the
Separatists.
And now Nuri wanted to take him there!
Just the thought scared Boba. But then he remembered what his father used to say—
Fear is energy, Jango had taught him. And you can learn to control it. If you concentrate, you can change your energy, from fear to excitement. Then you can use that energy, instead
of being used by it.
Boba concentrated now. He closed his eyes. He could feel his heart pounding. He could feel his own fear.
He took a deep breath. He held it while he counted to three, then exhaled slowly.
This is energy, he thought. And I can control it.
Breathe. Exhale.
Already he could feel his heart slowing down. Growing more calm. More in control.
Not afraid, but excited.
“Okay!” he said. He opened his eyes and saw Nuri a few feet ahead of him. “I’m ready! What are we waiting for?”
Nuri smiled. “This way,” he said, and pointed down the passage.
Boba followed him. The passage twisted and turned. Tubes of glowing yellow lit their way. Now and then he saw small holosigns, covered with symbols he did not recognize. The images shifted and
changed, from red to green to blue to purple. They made his eyes hurt to look at them. After a while he concentrated on staring at Nuri’s back and nothing else.
After about five minutes the Bimm stopped. Set into the ground in front of him was a heavy, round, metal door. Nuri stooped and, with an effort, yanked the door open. He straightened, catching
his breath, and stared at Boba.
“In a moment we will begin our descent to the lowest level of Aargau,” Nuri said. “The actual surface of the planet. It is the remains of a vast city. It was built by the
original natives of Aargau millions of years ago. The pyramid has grown out of it, layer by layer, level by level, over thousands of years. Aargau is a highly civilized planet now. As I told you,
it has many rules. But it was not always so.”
Here Nuri’s expression grew serious. “In the Undercity, individuals are not as well-behaved as they are up here. It is dangerous to visit there. Sometimes fatal.”
Boba swallowed. He tried to look brave—although he certainly didn’t feel brave.
But that was okay. He felt excited. He was doing something he had never done before! And he was doing it on his own.
Well, almost. He looked at Nuri and smiled. “I can handle it,” he said.
Nuri cocked his head. “You are not frightened?”
Boba shrugged. “Yeah. I am. But I haven’t changed my mind. I still want to go.”
Nuri looked pleased. “That is good. To admit fear is a good thing. It makes one careful. And carelessness has killed more visitors to the Undercity than anything else.”
Nuri rubbed his chin, regarding Boba thoughtfully.
“And besides,” said the little Bimm. His smile grew even wider. “A visit to the Undercity is an important part of any bounty hunter’s education!”
That made Boba feel good. He grinned back.
“Well then—” Nuri gestured at the opening in the floor in front of him. Boba took a deep breath, then stepped alongside him.
“I’m ready,” he said, and looked down.
“Ready for anything?” asked Nuri.
Boba nodded. “Ready for anything!” |
maze-of-deception | 17_chap12.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TWELVE
As Boba looked down, he saw what had been hidden behind the round door in the floor. A capsule, big enough to hold two people. It had clear sides, so you could see out of it.
It had a control panel but no steering mechanism. It reminded him of the cloud car he had flown in Cloud City, only smaller, and with no way to change direction.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Nuri bent to press a button on the capsule’s side. Its top hatch opened. “Hop in and find out,” he said.
Nuri climbed into the front. Boba slipped in behind him. The top closed again. Boba looked around and saw that the capsule was inside yet another tunnel—like a sort of tube, or slide, that
curved and swirled and twisted ever downward.
“Is this how you get to the Undercity?” he asked.
Nuri nodded. “It is one of the ways. There are thousands. Many are only known to a handful of people. Many have been hidden for so long that they’ve been forgotten. Of course, there
are official routes to the Undercity—turbolifts and such—but one needs special clearances for those. And money.”
With no warning Nuri flicked a switch on the control board and the capsule plummeted downward with a sudden whoosh.
“Whoa!” Boba shouted. It was as though the entire floor had dropped away beneath them. The capsule shot almost straight down, then curved abruptly to the right. It corkscrewed around
and around—like going down a gigantic, kilometers-long slide. Boba braced himself with his hands and looked out.
Everywhere he saw lights. Shimmering, blazing flashes of red and orange and blue and violet.
“Those are the other levels,” Nuri explained. He had to shout to be heard over the rush and roar of their descent. “We are traveling at a rate of kilometers per
minute—but in realtime, not in hyperspace.”
“Cool!” said Boba. He wished this thing had controls!
He stared out again. He had glimpses of huge leaping flames, of tunnels that seemed to be filled with molten gold. One level was like a giant aquarium, where huge dianogas floated, their
tentacles waving.
Boba wrinkled his nose. “Smells bad here,” he said.
“Sanitation level,” said Nuri. “We’re almost there.”
Suddenly everything went black. Not the kind of black you see at night when you go to sleep. Not the kind of black inside a closet, or a darkened ship. Not like the darkness of space, which was
not darkness at all, but spangled with stars and planets and distant galaxies.
This was darkness like Boba had never seen. Like he had never imagined. It was like a huge, smothering hand pressed upon his face. Boba couldn’t see Nuri in front of him. He couldn’t
see his own hand. For a heart-sickening second Boba imagined that he himself had disappeared. That he had somehow been transformed into antimatter. That he was—
“Here!” exclaimed Nuri.
An explosion of light surrounded them. Purple, green, deep blue. Boba blinked. The light flickered. It was not an explosion now, but flashes of color. Shapes. Buildings. Moving waves that were
people. The familiar figures of droids, creatures, men, and women. Above them all was that terrible, strange darkness. It was like a cloud or a huge black curtain.
The capsule began to slow down. Boba let his breath out in relief. “That was great,” he said. “Kind of creepy at the end, though.”
Nuri nodded. “That was the emptiness between the Undercity and the upper levels. Sunlight never comes here. Only artificial light. And darkness.”
Boba shivered. The capsule came to a halt. He gazed out at a teeming city. It was more crowded than anyplace he had ever seen. A disorderly mass of living things, more like a hive than anything
else.
The capsule lid popped open. Nuri jumped out. He bowed to Boba.
“Welcome to the Undercity,” he said.
Boba had thought that Level Two was crowded. He had thought that Coruscant was crowded, and the Candaserri, too.
None of these compared to the Undercity. There were so many people, so many beings, so many droids, so many everything, that his head whirled.
“Stay with me!” said Nuri. “If you get lost, you’ll never find your way out.”
Boba scowled. “Don’t bet on that,” he said. “I’ve got a good sense of direction.”
“That might not be enough to help you here,” replied Nuri.
Boba hated to admit it, but he had to agree with the Bimm. High above them, the sky that was not a sky was crisscrossed with thousands of shining objects. They looked like ribbons, or rainbows.
But they were actually other chutes, or slides, like the one Boba had taken down here. He could see capsules speeding through them, up and down. The air was filled with bright airspeeders, swoop
bikes, robo-hacks, even Podracers. On the ground, streets and sidewalks wound around tall, crumbling buildings. The streets were filled with rubbish, broken stones, mangled airspeeders.
And everywhere he looked, he saw people—nonhumans, mostly, but a lot of humans, too. None of them looked friendly. A lot of them looked dangerous.
“Hey, watch it!” someone snapped at Boba. A tall, angry-looking Caridian glared down at him.
“Sorry,” said Boba. The Caridian jostled past him. Boba looked around: Nuri was gone!
Ulp. Boba swallowed. A group of swaggering space pirates went by him, laughing. Boba stared back at them, trying to look unimpressed.
“Young sir!” Nuri’s voice carried from a few meters away. “This way!”
Boba hurried to join him. Past shops and markets, through abandoned structures that looked like ancient starships, under a vast broken glass dome. They passed food vendors, too. Some of what
they were selling looked disgusting—things with claws and tentacles and too many eyes. But some of the food looked and smelled delicious. It made Boba’s mouth water. He couldn’t
remember how long it had been since he had eaten. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been today.
At first he tried to keep track of the way they were going. But after a while, Boba gave up trying to keep track. Their path wound in and out, back and forth. Once he was certain they were
backtracking. He wondered if for some reason Nuri was trying to fool him. Keep him from being able to find his way back on his own.
And no matter where they went, there were crowds. Despite the rule against nonnatives being armed, most of those he saw carried weapons of one sort or another. Vibroblades, stun batons,
blasters, wrist rockets. Boba was pretty sure most of them weren’t citizens of Aargau.
And he was pretty sure he would not want to bump into any of them, alone and unarmed.
“Where do all these people come from?” Boba asked.
Nuri led him down the street, toward an alley. “They come from all over the galaxy,” he said in his high, singsong voice. “They are drawn by the fortunes to be made on Aargau,
trading currency. And here in the Undercity, anything goes. Betrayal. Murder. The black market is busy here. Smugglers trade and sell gold, credits, data, droids, jewels, weapons, ships. But the
single most valuable thing is information.”
“Information?” Boba frowned. “That doesn’t seem very interesting.” Not compared to weapons, or ships, he thought.
“Trust me,” said Nuri. “I know what I’m talking about. And stay near me—it’s risky just coming down here. Especially for a first-timer.”
I trust nobody, Boba thought angrily. At that instant, a figure rushed from the dark alley.
“Get back!” commanded Nuri.
“No!” said Boba. He reached for a broken brick to throw at the figure. It had nearly reached them, its arms outstretched. It was too dark to make it out clearly—
But not too dark to see that it was holding a blaster. And the blaster was pointed right at Boba Fett. |
maze-of-deception | 18_chap13.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Boba swung his arm back, ready to hurl the brick. But before he could, Nuri stopped him.
“Stop!” the Bimm said. “Wait—”
The figure drew up beside them and halted, panting. It was a fur-covered Bothan, her pointy ears pressed back against her head in fear. “Nuri!” she exclaimed.
Nuri stared up at her in concern. “What is it, Hev’sin?” he asked.
“I have been searching for you!” She turned and looked at Boba. Her blaster was still pointed at him.
“Who is he?” she asked Nuri in a low, accusing voice.
Boba stared at his feet. Nuri glanced at him, then shook his head. “Only a boy,” he said to the Bothan quietly. “You will not need your weapon with him. Tell me,
Hev’sin—what is wrong?”
The Bothan hesitated. Then she slipped her blaster back into her belt. She stepped next to Nuri, and the two of them turned away slightly. It was obvious they were not worried about Boba
overhearing them.
After all, Boba thought, I’m only a boy. Not a serious threat.
Or so you think.
Boba knew about Bothans. They were the greatest spies in the galaxy. They left their homeworld, Bothawai, and traveled everywhere. And everywhere they went, they found work—at undercover
jobs, as independent operatives, or part of the Bothan Spynet.
And what was it Nuri had just said?
The single most valuable thing is information.
Boba pretended to stare at the alley nearby. But in fact he was listening to what the Bothan was saying.
Boba was spying.
Two can play this game, he thought. And maybe only one can win—but that one will be me.
He could hear Hev’sin talking, in a low, urgent voice. “They say he has come here to raise currency for the Separatists. That is why he is down in the Undercity. He is pretending to
make a standard visit to the Banking Clan offices on Level Four, but his real business is down here. He doesn’t want to draw the attention of members of the Republic.”
“Are you sure of this, Hev’sin?” asked Nuri. He looked extremely interested, but not too alarmed.
“Positive,” hissed the Bothan. “I saw him with my own eyes. He is surrounded by clone troopers—he never travels anywhere without a full guard now. Besides, I would know
San Hill anywhere.”
San Hill! Boba remembered—he had seen San Hill just a little while ago, up on Level Two—the man who was skinny and ugly as a stick insect. The Head of the InterGalactic
Banking Clan.
San Hill was a Separatist. Boba learned this when he was on Geonosis, and he had seen San Hill meeting with Count Dooku. Boba wondered if San Hill knew that Dooku was the same person as
Tyranus—Tyranus, who had created the clone troopers that were now attacking San Hill’s allies!
I’ll bet he doesn’t know, thought Boba.
And then he had another thought.
Maybe he’d like to know…for a price.
Information was very valuable here on Aargau.
“Where did you see him?” Nuri was asking Bothan.
“Near the Hutts’ gambling palace. You can be certain San Hill is up to no good, if he is doing business with the Hutts.”
Nuri nodded. “That is so.”
Boba’s eyes widened. The Hutts! He knew who they were—one of the most notorious clans in the galaxy! They ran smuggling and gambling houses all through Hutt Space, and
beyond. Now it seemed that they had some sort of operation here on Aargau. An illegal one, too, since it was in the Undercity.
Boba’s father, Jango, had done business with Jabba, the Hutt clan’s ruler.
“The Hutts value a good bounty hunter,” Jango had told his son. “They pay well, too—better than almost anyone.”
For knowledge you must find Jabba, his father’s book had said. Could Jabba the Hutt be here on Aargau?
Boba glanced over at Nuri and the Bothan, then quickly turned his head again.
“I must go now.” The Bothan looked over her shoulder. She stared right past Boba. It was as though he was invisible to her. Another advantage of being young! “I knew you would
want to know this, Nuri.”
The Bimm nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
He handed her a coin. The Bothan looked at it, disappointed. For a moment Boba thought she was going to argue—but then Boba remembered.
Bimms were expert hagglers.
And this Bothan didn’t have time to waste on haggling. She gave Nuri a farewell that was more of a snarl, then turned and walked quickly away.
“Interesting,” Nuri said, more to himself than Boba. “Most interesting.”
He looked up, and it was as though he saw Boba for the first time. A small smile crossed the Bimm’s face.
“Well, my young visitor,” said Nuri. He gestured to the alley behind him. “Shall we go and get your money?”
Boba said nothing. He didn’t move. Something about the Bimm seemed different. Maybe it was that smile. Maybe it was just that Boba was tired and hungry. He waited, and finally nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
He followed Nuri into the alley. It was dim, but not too dark. It curved slightly, though, so Boba couldn’t quite see what was ahead of him. A few more space pirates passed them, laughing
loudly. Boba tried to stand as tall as he could when they walked by him. He’d give anything to be back on Slave I! He’d give anything to be off this planet, and on his
own.…
“Here we are,” said Nuri suddenly. He stopped in front of a metal door. There was a small window in the door, with bars in it. At the bottom was a narrow opening. Behind the barred
window stood a very old, worn-out Admin droid.
“Can I help you?” it asked in a grating voice.
Nuri turned to Boba. “May I have your card, please?”
Boba thought for a moment. If the Bimm had meant to rob him, he could have done it before now. After a moment he shrugged. He pulled the card from his pocket and handed it to Nuri. The Bimm
would still need Boba’s DNA to get the credits.
Or would he?
“I’d like to have my fee deducted from this young man’s account,” said Nuri. He slid the card through the opening in the barred window. “Six hundred thousand
mesarcs should do it.”
The droid picked up the card. “As you wish,” it said. It swiped the card across a shining red screen.
Boba watched the droid suspiciously. It hadn’t bothered to question Boba at all. It hadn’t even looked at him. And suddenly the words of the security attendant on Level One came back
to him.
You must also be sure not to exchange your money from anyone who is not a licensed member of the Banking Clan. There are black-market money changers on Aargau.
This was an illegal banking machine.
“Hey!” yelled Boba. “What are you doing? That’s my money!”
He lunged for the banking machine, jamming his hand through the narrow opening, reaching for the card and hitting at buttons to stop the transaction. He managed to halt things—but it was
already too late.
“Five hundred thousand mesarcs have been taken from your account,” the droid said in its rusty voice. It dropped the card back into the opening. “Have a nice day.”
Boba grabbed the card. He turned furiously to Nuri.
“You!” Boba began to shout. But then he stopped.
Nuri was morphing. His face went from yellow fur to silver to green. He grew taller, his arms grew longer, until he towered above Boba.
He wasn’t a Bimm at all.
“You’re a shapeshifter!” gasped Boba. |
maze-of-deception | 19_chap14.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You’re a clever young man,” the Clawdite shapeshifter said. It was a young shapeshifter, with a menacing, oozing voice. Its body seemed to melt and
re-form before Boba’s eyes. Its body took on muscle, sinew, strength. Its head grew dark thick hair. Its eyes grew dark as well.
“But not quite clever enough,” it said.
Boba stared at it in amazement. “But—”
“Consider yourself lucky, young sir,” said the shapeshifter that had been Nuri. “I could have taken your precious card and kept it all for myself. I could have killed
you.”
The shapeshifter smiled—the same unpleasant smile Boba had last seen on the Bimm’s face.
“But I admire your courage,” the Clawdite went on. “You’re young and learning, just like me. And I hate Aurra Sing. She is my rival. It seems you and I have that in
common. I could have left you up on Level Two. She would have found you there, very soon. But finding you would have pleased Aurra Sing. I hate her far too much for that.”
Boba stared furiously at the Clawdite. “You have no right to claim what’s mine!”
The Clawdite laughed. “Well, you did take the card out before I could get everything. If you can somehow find your way back to the Upper Levels, you will find there is enough money left
for you to buy a way to get off-planet. But only if you are clever enough, Boba. You will have to avoid being found by Aurra Sing. You will have to find a way to the Upper Levels. And then you will
have to find your way to what’s left of your inheritance.”
The Clawdite tilted his head. “I said that the Undercity is part of any bounty hunter’s education. I know it’s a big part of mine. I hope you have enjoyed your lesson,
Boba.”
And with a mocking bow, the Clawdite turned and hurried down the alley.
Boba stared after him. How could I have been so careless? he thought angrily. I forgot the number one rule of bounty hunters—
Trust no one.
The Bimm—no, the Clawdite—had betrayed him. Still, the shapeshifter was right. Boba had learned an important lesson. Next time he wouldn’t be so quick to accept
help.
If there was a next time.
But what to do now? Boba turned and looked at the droid behind its barred window. Hmmm. Nuri had been able to get money from Boba’s account. Why not Boba himself? He walked over to the
window.
“I’d like to get the rest of my money,” he said. He slipped the card through the opening.
The droid looked at him with its unblinking eyes. It took the card and slid it into a slot in its arm. “Sorry,” it said. “You do not have permission to use this
terminal.”
It slipped the card back to Boba. Clearly, the Clawdite had known an access code that Boba couldn’t even guess at.
“What?” Boba said angrily. “You mean—”
“Sorry,” said the droid. “Shall I call security to assist you?”
“No,” Boba said hastily. He began to walk away.
Then he stopped. Before, when the Clawdite had given Boba’s card to the droid, the robot had said something—something about a bank.
Boba still had the card. If he knew exactly where his money was, he could get it himself—without Aurra Sing!
He went quickly back to the window. “What bank did you say that money was in?”
The droid tilted its shining chromium head. “InterGalacticBank of Kuat. Level Two. Shall I call security to assist you?”
“No!” Boba said quickly. “I mean, no thanks!”
Nuri had been right—information was valuable!
But he had no time to celebrate his good luck. Behind him came the sound of footsteps and more harsh laughter. Boba looked back and saw several tall, heavily armed figures. More pirates, no
doubt.
Time to get out of here! He turned and ran soundlessly down the alley.
It ended on another street. This was one was even busier and more crowded than those he’d been on earlier, with Nuri. Boba stood for a minute, catching his breath. He felt no fear
whatsoever. He felt anger, and excitement, and determination. He wasn’t too worried about Aurra Sing down here. What were the odds of her finding him in all this chaos?
Still, where should he go?
He looked up and down the street. As far as he could see in every direction, there were shops. Some were brightly lit and filled with bustling service droids and well-dressed humanoids and
aliens. Others were dim, with only one or two grim figures standing guard by the entrance. Some were in buildings that were little more than piles of rubble. All seemed to be gambling dens of some
sort. Many had signs that blinked or scrolled messages in brilliant green or gold or silver letters.
ALL CURRENCIES CHANGED HERE
ALL COIN ACCEPTED
NO SUM TOO SMALL!
Boba began to walk. Excited, noisy crowds spilled from doorways into the street around him. Robo-hacks—airborne taxis—hovered in front of gambling houses, waiting
to take new customers away to spend the riches they had just won. Evil-looking figures lurked in alleyways, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting passersby. High above, the air was crisscrossed with
glowing tubes. Shining capsules sped up and down between the Undercity and the Upper Levels. In between, swoop bikes and airspeeders flashed.
That’s what I’m going to get! Boba thought as he watched a swoop bike whoosh by. Once he figured out how to get his money, maybe he could hire one to take him back to
Slave I—although flying one himself would be better!
“Pagh! Human scum! Out of my way!” a voice snarled.
Boba looked up, startled. A figure blocked the street before him. It was tall, with orange eyes in a pale fungoid-looking face, and a long trunklike appendage wrapped around its throat. A
Twi’lek.
“Didn’t you hear me?” the Twi’lek repeated fiercely. Its hand moved threateningly beneath its robes.
“Sorry,” Boba said hastily. He stepped aside. The Twi’lek gave him a sneering look, then pushed him aside and strode past him. Boba watched him go, thinking.
“Wait a minute,” he said softly to himself.
He had an idea!
His father had told him once about a Twi’lek named Bib Fortuna. The grub-faced alien had served as Jabba the Hutt’s right hand, helping run his gambling operations on Tatooine and
other places across the galaxy. Here on Aargau there was a Hutt gambling palace. Was there a chance that this Twi’lek was the one his father meant?
Boba stared after the retreating figure. If it was Bib Fortuna, he might be heading toward the Hutt’s den.
Boba knew the odds were against it—but then, everyone in the Undercity seemed willing to gamble. He’d take a chance.
Boba began to hurry after the Twi’lek. He was careful to stay out of sight and to always keep him in his view. Sometimes this was hard, as the alien ducked in and out of narrow alleys and
tunnels. Still, Boba followed him tirelessly through the maze that was the Undercity.
Check this out, Boba thought with a grin. He was stalking his prey through incredibly dangerous terrain—just like a bounty hunter! |
maze-of-deception | 20_chap15.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Twi’lek had reached the end of a long, narrow winding street. He halted in front of a large building with a rounded roof that had spikes on it. The building was
shaped like the head of a gigantic krayt dragon. The dragon’s open mouth was the door. Inside, Boba could see a bustling throng of aliens, humans, and droids. Between the krayt dragon’s
teeth, a shimmering holosign flashed green-and-gold Huttese letters.
The Twi’lek walked up to the sign. Without hesitating, it went inside.
Boba watched him go. His heart was beating hard now. He had seen a lot of people, a lot of aliens, and a lot of droids since he’d been in the Undercity. But there was one thing he
hadn’t seen.
He hadn’t seen a single kid. He hadn’t seen a single person his own age.
The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Silence and stealth were a bounty hunter’s greatest weapons.
But there was no way he could sneak through that krayt’s mouth and into the gambling palace unnoticed. A bunch of burly guards stood just inside the entrance—Gamorrean boars, by the
look of them. Boba watched as the Twi’lek strode right past them. They bowed to him slightly, but otherwise paid him no notice. Yet when two Wookiees approached moments later, the Gamorrean
guards frisked them before waving them inside.
How could Boba get past them?
Boba glanced behind him, down the winding street. He could see two more groups of people heading toward the Hutts’ gambling palace. If he remained where he was, he’d be seen. At best
he’d be told to leave. At worst—
He couldn’t afford to think of that now. A few yards away, a pile of rubble loomed. Quickly, before the approaching groups could see him, Boba ran and ducked beside it.
The first group grew nearer. Boba could see them clearly now: half a dozen small Jawa scavengers. All wore the Jawas’ distinctive hooded robes. All spoke to one another in the Jawas’
usual babble. As they passed, their eyes glowed from within their hoods like tiny torches.
“Hey,” whispered Boba to himself.
He had another idea—a good one.
He turned and quickly began searching through the rubble. Bricks, broken glass, shreds of leather. A melted ruin that had once been a blaster. Broken spear-points. Exploded grenades. Something
that looked alarmingly like a human hand.
The Hutts’ gambling palace was a popular place. But it probably wasn’t a good idea to stick around it too long.
Suddenly, Boba found what he was looking for. He bit his lip to keep from crying aloud in triumph. It was only a rag—a long, grayish-yellow piece of cloth, dirty and full of holes.
But it was good enough for him. Boba glanced back to make sure no one had sighted him. The Jawas were just approaching the entrance now. One of them appeared to be talking to the Gammorean
guards. Swiftly, Boba pulled the cloth over his head. It smelled bad—it stank, as a matter of fact—but he gritted his teeth and tried to arrange it properly.
He pulled part of it over his face. He tugged it forward, till it covered his face like a hood. The cloth fell to just below his knees. He removed his belt from his tunic and tied it loosely
around his waist. That was better. He was a little taller than the Jawas, so he bent his knees. It was hard to walk that way, but once he was inside, maybe no one would notice if he straightened
up.
He peered around the pile of rubble. Another group was nearing the gambling palace. They were too far away for him to see clearly, but they were tall, and vaguely humanoid.
And there were a lot of them.
I’d better get inside, fast.
Boba looked down at the gambling palace. The Gammorean guards were nodding and waving the Jawas inside. Boba waited until the last Jawa had disappeared into the krayt dragon’s mouth. Then
he took a deep breath, and began to hurry toward the entrance.
But when he got there he stopped. One of the Gammorean guards glared down at him, grunting in a questioning tone. It held a tall spear, and waved it menacingly.
Its partner peered through its piggy little eyes at Boba, skeptical.
Boba bent his knees a little more. He tugged the folds of cloth around his head, praying his face didn’t show. He pointed toward the entrance, miming that he wanted to go inside.
Just then, one guard nudged the other, grunting and pointing behind Boba.
“Aarrrgh!” snarled the other guard. It gnashed its tusks angrily and stared where the other had indicated.
Boba wanted to turn and look behind him—but he didn’t dare. He stood, wondering if he should make a dash for the entrance.
Without warning, one of the Gammoreans swung his spear through the air high above Boba’s head. He gestured Boba inside.
Boba nodded eagerly. Gathering the folds of his cloak, he ducked his head, then walked as fast as he could through the krayt dragon’s mouth—and into the domain of the Hutts. |
maze-of-deception | 21_chap16.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Inside the gambling palace, the noise was deafening. Laughter, angry shouts, howls of triumph and disappointment—all mingled with the jingle of coins, the rattle of dice,
the clack of Kenoballs, the cries of card dealers and money changers. The Hutts’ gambling palace was yet another maze, all smoke-filled rooms and arcades, so crowded with gamblers that Boba
could hardly squeeze through. Gamorrean boars lumbered around, keeping order and throwing out the most unruly customers. Boba saw the Jawas he’d seen outside, haggling with a Bimm over a game
of Outlander. Boba wondered if it was a real Bimm or another shapeshifter.
“Watch the Podraces!” a voice shouted. Boba looked up and saw a huge screen. Podraces were being broadcast from Tatooine. “No bets refused!”
Boba fingered the card in his pocket. He was too smart to waste his money on betting. His father had warned him against gambling.
“A bounty hunter gambles with his life every day,” Jango always said. “Only a fool would gamble with money, too.”
Boba tugged his ragged hood closer around his face. He had only one aim now—to find some way back to the Upper Levels. To find some way of locating his treasure. To get back to Slave
I and leave Aargau—without Aurra Sing.
He put his hand in his pocket and touched the book his father had left him.
For knowledge you must find Jabba.
Find Jabba. Boba had always assumed that to locate the notorious gangster, he would have to go to Jabba’s homeworld of Nal Hutta. Or to Tatooine, where the powerful clan leader
had created a smuggling empire.
But what if Jabba were here, on Aargau? The Hutts were involved in every kind of illegal activity in the galaxy. Maybe Jabba was actually here, in the Undercity—in this very gambling
palace!
But how to find him? Boba thought hard. He’d have to find the Twi’lek again—the one he thought might be the famous Bib Fortuna. He pulled the ragged cloak back a little from
his eyes, straining to see through the dim, smoky room.
A deep voice snarled behind him. Boba looked up and saw one of the Gamorrean boars. A spear was raised threateningly in his huge hand. The message was clear. If you’re not spending
money, get out of here!
Boba nodded apologetically. He started to turn away, when the guard suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
Ulp! If the guard pulled off his disguise, there’d be no Boba, either! Quickly he dug into his pocket and held up his card, careful to hold it in his sleeve, so his hand
wouldn’t show. It flickered gold in the dim light.
The Gamorrean’s ugly pig face grew even uglier with disappointment. With a grunt the guard turned away and began to hassle someone else.
Whew, thought Boba. That was close. Got to be more careful!
He began edging through the crowd, looking for the Twi’lek. Once he thought he saw him, but it turned out to be a tall alien wearing a fur coat. Once he thought he heard a Wookiee’s
deep, hooting voice. But it turned out to be a small armored droid, rolling through the crowd.
Boba watched it curiously. Then he looked around. There were a lot of droids here—more than he would have expected.
Why were they here?
As he looked around, he noticed that these weren’t protocol droids, or service droids. They weren’t servomechs, either.
They were sentry droids. And security droids, and powerful police droids. Boba felt the skin on his neck prickle. He glanced up, and saw a guard droid hovering on the other side of the room. It
turned slowly in the air, its sensors scanning the den. Its three weaponry arms were poised to fire if necessary.
“What’s going on?” Boba whispered. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it or trust it—one bit.
As if in answer to his thoughts, two tall women in pilot uniforms passed him. They were talking in low voices. Boba pulled his ragged cloak around his face and turned away. But he was
listening.
“Rumor is that Dooku sent him,” one of the pilots said quietly. “Raising more funds.”
“There aren’t enough credits in the galaxy to overthrow the Republic,” the other woman retorted. “Dooku is mad.”
“I assure you, that is the one thing he is not,” countered her friend. “And there may not be enough money in the galaxy to fund a rebellion—but there certainly is enough
in the Hutts’ pockets!”
The women pilots laughed softly. They walked around a corner, out of Boba’s earshot.
Count Dooku! Could the sinister Count be here as well?
No—the pilot had said, Dooku sent him.
Who would the Count have sent?
Boba thought fast. And he remembered.
San Hill. The head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and one of the most powerful figures in the galaxy. But just a little while ago the Bothan spy had told Nuri that San Hill was here, in the
Undercity—
San Hill was raising funds for the Separatists. Raising money for Count Dooku. And at the same time, the clone troopers were here as a security force of the Republic—clone troopers who had
been bred at the command of Tyranus.
The two sides were set to oppose each other, Republic and Separatists. Clones and droids. But behind each side was the same person: the man Boba knew as the Count.
Count Tyranus.
Count Dooku.
It was all part of some terrible plot, Boba was sure of that. He was also sure that, if his father were still alive, he would find a way to make use of this information—especially with San
Hill on the same planet.
Boba could make use of it, too. He just had to figure out how. Maybe the pilots would have more information. He turned and began to move stealthily after them, across the crowded floor.
But when Boba turned the corner, the pilots were gone. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with three tall, vicious figures. Armorlike scales covered their bodies, and their broad, lipless
mouths were full of sharp teeth. Long tails protruded from beneath their tunics, lashing the air threateningly as they argued and laughed in deep, throaty voices.
Reptilian Barabels!
“Care to join us?” one hissed at Boba. They were in the middle of a game of three-handed solitaire. “The stakes are high, Jawa—your money, or your life!”
The Barabel jabbed at him with one long, pointed claw, and the others laughed.
Boba shook his head. He began to back away. But before he could, fast as lightning, the Barabel’s clawed hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Boba ducked, kicking out at the Barabel’s
ankle. The tall reptile gave a shout of rage and pain. He snatched his hand back, his claws closing tightly around Boba’s ragged cloak. Boba dove for the floor. The cloak hung from the
Barabel’s claws like a ribbon of gray mist.
“That’s no Jawa!” one of the other Barabels hissed.
That’s right, thought Boba grimly. He rolled across the floor, landed on his stomach, and immediately pulled himself under a table. Above him the Barabels stared at the ragged
cloak. They all looked around, nostrils flaring as they peered in vain for Boba.
Meanwhile, Boba hunched back as far as he could into the darkness beneath the table and held his breath. One of the Barabels shook its heavy, lizardlike head. He snorted, snatched the ragged
cloak from his friend and tossed it over his shoulder.
“Forget about him! Scavenging scum! Back to the game!”
Once again, the Barabels clustered together, jaws clacking as they looked hungrily over the cards in their hands.
Boba let out a sigh of relief. He was safe.
For the moment… |
maze-of-deception | 22_chap17.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He rested for only a few minutes.
Now what? he thought. He no longer had his disguise. If he tried to move, he’d be spotted and thrown out of the gambling palace. Probably his card would be confiscated, too. Then
he’d be on his own, with no money and no way out of the Undercity.
And that was the best that might happen.
The worst was that he’d be killed. Or captured by slavers.
Boba clenched his jaw grimly. That would never happen. He wouldn’t let it happen. A good bounty hunter never gets caught.
And he was going to be one of the best.
Still, he needed a plan. If he could find the Twi’lek—if the Twi’lek really was Bib Fortuna—it might lead him to Jabba the Hutt. If Jabba the
Hutt was actually here—and if the gangster would help him get back up to Level Two.
That’s a lot of ifs, thought Boba.
He began to crawl toward the other side of the table. From down here, the Hutts’ gambling palace was a forest of legs. Boba scanned the room for a pair of legs that belonged to a
Twi’lek. He didn’t see them—but he saw something else.
On the far side of the room, in a shadowy alcove, a familiar shadowy form stood, arms crossed. The figure was clad in a tight-fitting crimson suit. Its long legs were encased in high brown
leather boots. A leather weapons vest covered its chest. Its skin glowed dead-white even in the darkness of the gambling den. A long topknot of brilliant red hair cascaded down its back. Blazing
blue eyes scanned the room, missing nothing. Seeing everything.
Aurra Sing.
Boba’s heart raced. He had imagined things couldn’t get worse—but they just had. There was one thing worse than being captured or killed—and that was being
captured or killed by the galaxy’s most vengeful bounty hunter. Aurra Sing would show no mercy. She wouldn’t care that he was a kid, or Jango Fett’s son. To her, he was a
double-crosser. Someone who’d cheated her out of her share of the fortune—even if the fortune wasn’t rightly hers.
Well, this was no time to stop deceiving her. Boba watched as Aurra continued to scan the room. Abruptly, she spun on her heel and began walking—right toward where he crouched
beneath the table.
Boba held his breath and froze. He watched as the supple brown boots strode past him—just inches from his nose. A few feet away they came to a stop. He heard the hiss of the Barabels
whispering in their own language. Then he heard Aurra’s low, powerful voice.
“I’m looking for a boy,” she said. “About this tall. Brown hair, brown eyes. Wearing a blue tunic and black boots—though he might be in disguise. I wouldn’t
put it past him,” she added grudgingly.
“We’ve seen no one,” a Barabel hissed. “Now leave us, unless you wish to join our—ach!”
Boba edged forward, just enough to peek out. One of Aurra Sing’s powerful hands was wrapped tightly around the Barabel’s throat. Her other hand held a dagger warningly before
her.
“I’m not here to waste my time with filth like you,” she spat. “Answer! Have you seen a boy?”
“Yesssss,” hissed the Barabel. His clawed hand gestured wildly. “Minutes ago—right there—”
Boba sucked his breath in sharply. There was no time to lose. He turned and scrambled toward the back of the table. A wall was there—solid wood. Boba felt around on the floor, searching
for a weapon—a stick, a brick, anything he might use to defend himself. His hand closed on something cold and hard. A heavy metal ring, bigger than his hand. He pulled at it as hard as he
could. It weighed a ton, but he kept pulling, until at last it moved.
To his shock, the floor moved, too. Boba stared down in astonishment.
The ring was bolted to the floor. It was not a ring, but a handle. When he had tugged at it, he had lifted a panel off the floor.
It was a trapdoor.
“You better not be lying.” Aurra Sing’s harsh voice rang across the room from just meters away. “Otherwise I’ll carve new scales on your ugly faces.”
Boba heard footsteps—Aurra’s feet, heading toward the table. He pulled harder at the ring, trying to pry the entire panel up from the floor. The steps grew closer. The wood squeaked
and grated as the panel edged up. The sound seemed deafening to Boba. Now the panel was a few centimeters above the floor. He slid his hands beneath, and with all his strength pushed it up, up,
until there was a space large enough for him to squeeze through. He shoved his feet in, kicking wildly at open air.
What if there were no floor? What if the trapdoor opened onto—nothing?
“All right, kid—this is it!” Aurra’s gloating voice echoed from the room directly above him.
Boba took one last deep breath. He forced his legs through the trapdoor, then his chest and his shoulders. He slid down, his hands holding the wood panel above him. Beneath him he felt nothing,
just raw empty space, black as the air above the Undercity. For an endless horrible moment he hung there, suspended between the floor above and nothing below. Then, with a gasp, he tugged the floor
board back into place. It shut without a sound. His fingers slipped from the bare wood. His arms flailed at the air. And without a sound, Boba fell. |
maze-of-deception | 23_chap18.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It seemed he fell forever in that close, hot darkness. In reality, it was just seconds.
“Ow.” With a dull thud, he hit the ground. For a moment he lay there, catching his breath. He stared up. Perhaps three meters above him, he could just make out a black
square bounded by four thin, weakly shining lines.
The trapdoor.
Would Aurra notice it? Boba wasn’t going to wait and find out. Very carefully he stood, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. From overhead he could hear the sounds of the
Hutts’ den, somewhat muffled now. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he found that he could see a little bit. The faint light from around the trapdoor showed him that he was in a
tunnel. It stretched before him and behind him. He turned and peered into the blackness.
Which way should he go?
Above him he heard the scrape of booted feet upon the floor.
Aurra.
Boba chose to go forward—and fast. As quickly and carefully as he dared, he walked, his hands held before him. Now and then he shuddered as something dank and stringy touched his face or
hands.
Cobwebs—at least, he hoped they were just cobwebs. Sometimes he thought he heard something skittering underfoot, a dry, rasping sound as of many tiny legs. And after several
minutes of feeling his way through the dark, he heard something else as well.
Voices.
They came from somewhere ahead of him. Boba noticed that the tunnel seemed to be growing lighter. Instead of blackness, he was now surrounded by dark gray, like smoke. And now he could see that
there were other tunnels branching off from this one. All stretched off into utter blackness. From some of them faint scurrying and chittering sounds echoed.
Boba shivered. If he had taken one of those paths by mistake, he might have wandered down here forever. He didn’t want to think about what might live in them. And behind him he heard no
footsteps following. There was no sign that Aurra Sing had come after him. He had managed to escape her again.
Maybe his luck was holding out, after all.
The light came from straight ahead, directly in front of him. Boba hurried toward it. He was so intent on getting there that he did not hear the soft clatter of many tiny feet in the tunnel
behind him.
Just a few feet before him the passage abruptly ended. A pale square of light glowed on the floor. Boba looked down, and saw a small grille set into the ground at his feet. Through it he could
make out dim shapes in a room below him.
“You are certain we are safe here?” a voice asked in the room below.
“Absolutely,” a very deep, slow voice responded. It laughed, a horrible, hollow sound. “Hoh, hoh! My uncle himself has seen that this place is secure. No one can get here
without our knowledge.”
Boba’s eyes widened. He was gazing into a secret chamber! The grille must have been put there to aid in spying. Boba slowly lowered himself, until he was kneeling and peering over the very
edge of the grille. He was careful to stay back, in case someone happened to look up at the ceiling.
“That is good,” the first voice said. Boba blinked. After the darkness of the long tunnel, it was hard to get used to the light again. But after a few seconds he could see more
clearly.
And what he saw made his breath catch in surprise.
In the room below, a tall, skeletally thin figure sat in a large chair. To either side of him, armed guards stood. They were not clone guards, or droids, either. These were muscular humanoid
figures, in drab gray uniforms with blasters slung at their sides. The figure they guarded was San Hill.
“It is in your uncle’s interest to support our cause,” said the head of the Banking Clan. “Count Dooku has assured me of that.”
Boba had to squint to get a good look at the other figure in the room. It was big—huge in fact. A vast, mounded, sluglike body, reclining upon an even vaster chair like a throne. It had
tiny, weak-looking arms and a long, fat tail. Layers of fat cascaded beneath its wide, froglike mouth. It was surrounded by guards as well. Boba swallowed nervously.
Was this Jabba the Hutt? If so, he was even more disgusting than his father had described him as being.
The sluglike creature shook its head. “My uncle will make up his own mind,” he said in his booming voice. “He will not be hurried, even by Count Dooku.”
“Why is your uncle not here?” asked San Hill in a soothing but irritated tone. He looked angry and impatient. “I wish to do business with Jabba himself, not some
underling!”
“Gorga is not an underling!” boomed the Hutt. His tiny arms beat against his vast slimy chest. “My uncle is busy tending to our interests on Tatooine. If you desire, you may
visit him there. But I would advise against it,” Gorga added with a long, rolling laugh.
Boba grimaced. So this was Jabba’s nephew! He had a hard time imagining something more repulsive than Gorga. But it seemed like he would have to, until he could see Jabba himself.
Boba felt a stab of disappointment and nervousness. He had hoped that Jabba would be here, to give him the advice—the knowledge—that his father had said the old crimelord
possessed.
But Jabba was not here. He was on Tatooine.
I have to get to Slave I, Boba thought grimly. I have to get to Tatooine.
He had wasted enough time here in the Undercity. He had the information he needed about his father’s fortune. It was in the Kuat Bank vaults on Level Two. He had his card. Slave I
was waiting for him, back on Level One. All he had to do was get to the bank, get his credits, and he would have enough to get off of Aargau, and on to Tatooine.
Just the thought of flying again made Boba feel better. He would trace his way back through the tunnel, back to the trapdoor. He’d figure out a way to open it again and climb out. Then
he’d figure out how to get back to Level Two. He’d come this far on his own, right?
He could do it.
As silent as a shook, Boba began to inch away from the grill. Then he turned and started running back up the tunnel. It curved and curved, and once more Boba saw all those side passages, black
and yawning like huge mouths.
Don’t look at them. Keep your eyes on the tunnel!
Ahead he could just make out the sliver of light that fell from the trapdoor. He began to run even faster—
And suddenly, he stopped.
“No!” he whispered.
In the middle of the passage, something was crawling toward him. It was more than a half-meter long, with many black, jointed legs and a long, jointed body. Two long, clacking pincers were
raised above its mandibles. Its small beady red eyes were fixed on Boba, and its jaws clashed together as it skittered toward him.
A kretch!
Boba kicked at it. He heard its claws clack, then felt them brush against his leg as it lunged for him. He jumped to one side, but the kretch was too fast—it followed, brushing up against
his boot.
Boba kicked it again. This time he felt a satisfying thump as his foot connected with the scorpion-like creature. The kretch went flying, and with a loud crack struck the tunnel
wall.
But now Boba heard more sounds—other small, clacking creatures skittering up the passage.
He turned to race toward the trapdoor—
And ran right into a tall figure. It was a man, wearing the same drab gray uniform as the guards he had seen surrounding San Hill in Gorga’s hideaway.
But this man was no guard or underling. He wore the dress uniform of a high-ranking official in San Hill’s employ, a broad decorative belt, and an expression that was equal parts suspicion
and command. He smiled grimly down at Boba.
“Going somewhere?” he asked. |
maze-of-deception | 24_chap19.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Boba stared at the official in dismay. Behind him the kretch insects chattered and clacked. He glanced down at them. Then he grabbed Boba by the arm, turned, and pressed his
own hand against the wall. Immediately, a hidden door opened. The official pulled Boba after him. The door closed as the kretch insects hissed and chittered, furious at losing their prey.
“So.” The man gazed down thoughtfully at Boba. “It seems we do have a spy in our midst. But not a very careful one. Let’s get a look at you.”
He shone a torch into Boba’s face. The boy shaded his eyes with his hand as the man stooped to stare at Boba intently. He had long, reddish hair, a rugged face. A jagged scar ran from
below one eye, across his cheek and to his chin.
“Who are you?” Boba ventured.
“Vice-chair Kos of galactic accounts,” the official replied. He held Boba’s chin in his hand. Boba stared back at him defiantly, saying nothing. The man continued to look at
him. Finally Kos shook his head. His eyes narrowed, as his expression changed.
“I know what you are,” he said. “You’re that Clawdite spy we heard about.” A slight, almost admiring, smile creased his face. “Disguised as a boy—very
clever.”
Boba began to shake his head no. Then he stopped.
A Clawdite shapeshifter could look like anyone, or anything his size. The vice-chair thought he was Nuri!
“That’s right,” said Boba slowly. He looked warily up at the official.
The man’s smile hardened. “Well, San Hill has his own methods of dealing with spies.” He began to pull Boba toward him.
“And so does my master,” said Boba.
Kos stopped. He stared at Boba suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?”
Boba hesitated. He had the kind of information a spy would have—real, possibly deadly, information. Out of everyone here on Aargau—out of everyone in the galaxy—only Boba knew
that the Count was playing a deadly game. The Count was pretending to be two people, on opposing sides of a great, galaxy-spanning conflict.
It was information worth staking one’s life on. And right now, that’s what Boba was going to do.
“San Hill only knows part of the story,” said Boba. He tried to keep his voice calm.
“And you know the rest?” snapped the vice-chair. But he looked uneasy. He glanced over his shoulder, then drew Boba close to him. “What have you heard?” Kos asked in a
whisper. His gloved hands held Boba so tightly the boy’s arm ached. “There have been rumors, a thousand rumors.”
Boba’s heart hammered inside his chest. He was in great danger—but with danger comes opportunity. If he was clever, he could use this official to escape from the Undercity; maybe
even to escape from Aargau….
“I know nothing of rumors,” Boba said at last. He held his head up proudly and gazed straight into the vice-chair’s eyes. “I know only the truth—but the truth comes
at a price.”
Kos stared fixedly at Boba. He seemed to be weighing his choices.
“I don’t have all day,” said Boba. “And neither do those I serve.” He looked knowingly past the vice-chair, as though he saw someone else there.
Kos stiffened. His hand touched his weapons belt, as though for reassurance. “Your price?” he said. “Your miserable shapeshifting skin should be price enough! You tell me what
you know, and I’ll let you go free—for now.”
Boba fought to keep his voice steady. He could sense Kos’s fear—if Boba could control his own fear, he would have the upper hand. “No. That’s not enough. I will
share my information—but first you have to bring me to Level Two.”
“Level Two?” The vice-chair started laughing. Then his laughter turned to restrained fury. “I could break your neck right here—but after San Hill hears your news, he will
devise more entertaining ways to kill you.”
“After they hear my news,” said Boba softly, “he will kill you for not taking me to him sooner. But by then my master will be here, and…”
He let his voice trail off threateningly.
The official stared at him. His face grew dark with anger. His hand moved toward Boba’s neck.
Boba took a deep breath. If he was going to die right now, he would die fighting. He gazed unafraid and defiant up at his captor.
But then Kos stopped. He looked at the boy. His scarred face seemed to regard Boba with more respect. At last he nodded.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. Trouble is brewing, that’s for sure. Might as well be out of this place when the storm breaks.”
He pushed Boba roughly ahead of him. There was the click of a blaster being loosed from its holster. “But don’t even dream of escaping. I’ll bring you to Level
Two—”
“To the Kuat Bank,” said Boba quickly.
For a moment the guard was silent. Then he laughed. “Kuat, eh? Well, someone must be paying you well for your services. But I guess you must be worth it, eh?”
You don’t know the half of it, Boba thought, as the lieutenant marched him down the dark passage. |
maze-of-deception | 25_chap20.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TWENTY
They walked in near-darkness for what seemed like hours, the torch’s beam guiding them. But in reality, only a short while had passed—Boba had to remind himself
that the darkness was deceptive, like everything else on Aargau.
At last they reached a spot where the tunnel widened. In front of them was a wide metal door. And in front of the door was an airspeeder.
“Get in,” Kos snapped. He kept his blaster trained on Boba.
Boba clambered inside. He couldn’t keep from smiling. Just the sight and feel of a cockpit made his blood race with excitement!
“What are you grinning at?” the official said suspiciously.
Boba composed his face into a calmer expression. “I am thinking that you made the right choice,” he said.
This seemed to satisfy the vice-chair. He climbed into the pilot’s seat, positioned himself behind the controls, and pressed a button. The wide door slid up, revealing a huge empty
airshaft. It stretched up into dark, seemingly limitless space. Boba craned his neck and stared up.
Not limitless. High, high above them he could see a glitter of green.
“A shortcut,” said the vice-chair. He allowed himself a smile. “This ventilation shaft opens directly onto Level Two. And—lucky for you!—the Kuat vaults are not far
at all.”
Without warning he grabbed the controls. The power generator roared to life. With a shudder the airspeeder bucked forward. Then, as Kos hit the throttle, the craft zoomed straight up.
Boba grabbed hold of his seat. This was more like it! He eyed the airspeeder’s controls longingly. The craft rocked back and forth. It rose so quickly Boba’s ears hurt from the
abrupt change in air pressure. He looked aside at Kos piloting the craft.
I could fly this thing better than he can, Boba thought disdainfully.
Still, he had to admit, the vice-chair did go fast. Mere minutes passed, as they flew up, up, up. Sooner than Boba could have imagined, the speeder came to a halt.
“Well then,” said Kos. The speeder hovered in the air of the shaft. A few feet away was a wall, and a door with a sign on it.
LEVEL TWO, it read in glowing green letters.
A small metal platform extended from the door, hanging out over empty space. Boba turned and looked behind him. More emptiness. He looked up, squinting in the darkness.
He could barely make it out, but there it was. Far above him was a faint red shimmer: Level One. He looked down. He gulped. They must be miles and miles above the Undercity.
“Now.” Kos turned to Boba. His eyes had grown even more intent, even more menacing. “You see that door there? I will open it, and allow you to enter Level Two—but not
until you tell me what you know.”
Boba’s gaze shifted from the man to the platform. If he jumped from the airspeeder, he might be able to make it. But even if he succeeded, the door was locked.
And if he fell—
Boba swallowed. He thought of his father: No matter how Jango felt, he would always appear brave.
A lot of the time I’m scared, Boba, he had once said. But if an enemy ever knows you’re afraid, you’re finished.
Boba imagined he was as strong and powerful as his father. He imagined himself looking unafraid—even though that was not how he felt.
He said, “San Hill is raising money for the Separatist cause. The Separatists are united behind Count Dooku—”
The vice-chairs’s face twisted angrily. “That’s not news! Everyone knows that—”
“I’m not finished,” said Boba coolly. “Did you know that a man named Tyranus recruited a bounty hunter named Jango Fett for the Kaminoans to use to create a clone army
for the Republic.”
“I’d heard things like that,” Kos admitted, growing more interested.
“Well, I know this: Dooku and Tyranus are the same person.”
The official stared at him in disbelief. After a moment he started to laugh. “You really had me going for a minute,” he said. Then his face darkened. “But I have no time to
waste—tell me the truth! What do you know?”
Boba hesitated. He knew he was putting his own life in danger by sharing this secret. But it was the only weapon he had.
“He is helping to build two armies,” Boba went on slowly. “He has spent millions—billions—on both the droids and the clones. And in the end, only he will benefit
from a war.”
Boba thought how foolish his own words sounded. But, strangely, the vice-chair seemed to hear them differently.
“Tyranus…is Dooku?” he said in a low voice. “But—”
He shook his head. He looked stunned and disbelieving, but Boba could tell that the seeds of doubt had been sown.
“Are you certain of this?” Kos asked after a minute. “This is treason. The highest kind of treason.”
Boba nodded. Kos stared, thinking, at the control panel. Finally he said, almost to himself, “I must tell San Hill.”
Without another word he steered the airspeeder over to the platform. The craft rocked gently back and forth in the air. The official reached forward and pressed a button. The door onto Level Two
slid open.
“Get out,” he said curtly. “Before I change my mind and kill you.”
Boba jumped out, his heart pounding. It took him a second to get his balance. Then he raced toward the open door.
“Wait—” the vice-chair called from behind him.
Boba turned. The man half-stood in his airspeeder, his blaster drawn.
“You took too long,” Kos said in a low voice. “I changed my mind.” |
maze-of-deception | 26_chap21.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With a gasp Boba turned and sprinted for the door. But before he could reach it, an explosion sounded behind him. He looked back and saw Kos turning to stare at something below
his airspeeder. There was the drone of a hoverbike, and another explosive burst that shook the speeder. An instant later, the hoverbike itself came into view. Riding it was a familiar, red-haired
figure.
“Aurra,” said Boba in disbelief. As he stared she raised her blaster, her blazing eyes fixed on him.
“Got it in one,” she said, and fired. There was a second blast as the vice-chair returned her fire, and the hoverbike rocked slightly.
Without hesitation Boba lunged for the airspeeder, diving inside just as the craft shot away from the landing platform. Kos glanced down at him, one hand on the controls, the other on his
blaster.
“That’s Aurra Sing,” the man said grimly. “If she’s part of all this…”
His voice trailed off. It seemed as though Aurra’s sudden appearance made him take Boba even more seriously. The speeder veered and then swooped into a heart-stopping dive. “Take the
controls!” Kos shouted as another volley of fire surrounded them.
Boba nodded and jumped into the control seat. The vice-chair turned to monitor Aurra’s pursuit. “There are security forces all over Level Two,” he said, shaking his head.
“There’s no way she can get away with this.”
“That’s not gonna help us if we’re dead,” retorted Boba. He steered the speeder around a sharp curve in the airshaft, then yanked back on the controls so that the vehicle
abruptly shot up, up, into darkness. “I’ll see if we can lose her.”
Boba stared at the vast space around them, lines of windows and doors reduced to smears of white and green by their speed. Behind them the bike’s hum rose to a furious roar. Blasts of
white-hot plasma spun past the airspeeder, giving off a scorched smell. As Aurra Sing scored a direct hit, the speeder gave a violent twist to the left. Boba corrected it quickly. He let the
speeder go into a dive as Aurra swung in right behind them, then pulled out and soared up again, the bike screaming in pursuit.
“Are we damaged?” Boba yelled above the roar of the engines.
“Not seriously,” Kos shouted back. His blaster moved furiously back and forth, trying to get a fix on Aurra Sing, but she was too fast. “I’m going to call for
reinforcements—”
Boba swallowed. If the vice-chair called for help, other soldiers would arrive. They’d take Aurra into custody—but they’d take him, too. He’d be questioned about what he
had told the official, and—
Boba swallowed. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if he were brought in for questioning. If what he knew about Dooku and Tyranus became known to San Hill. If it became
known to the Count…
He couldn’t let the lieutenant talk. He hunched over the controls, his hands like ice as they grasped the throttle, then punched commands into the panel.
“There’s a price on her head,” Boba said. “You’ll be well-rewarded by my master for bringing her in. I’ll set the comm unit to make a distress call,” he
lied, pretending to press a small panel of red lights. He glanced back to make sure the vice-chair’s eyes were still on the hoverbike whipping through the air behind them. Then he looked
up.
Ahead of them, gaps of deeper darkness appeared, more airshafts or maintenance tunnels. Boba kept his sights on one of these, a triangular opening that yawned bigger and bigger as the speeder
raced toward it.
“Now!” breathed Boba. He hit the controls, and the speeder swerved suddenly, disappearing into the lightless tunnel.
“What are you doing?” Kos demanded.
“Evasive action,” said Boba. Behind them, Aurra’s bike swept past the tunnel’s entrance. Boba held his breath.
Sure enough, moments later the bike reappeared, barreling up the dark passage after them.
“Get her in your sights now,” Boba said, pointing at the figure on the bike, a black shadow against the brilliance of the tunnel’s opening. “I’ll keep the speeder
steady.”
Kos fumbled with his blaster. “Hard to see her in this,” he muttered. “It’s so dark.”
“That means it’s hard for her to get a fix on you, too,” said Boba.
But that was another lie. Aurra Sing had a predator’s mind and instincts. She also had a predator’s skills. She could see in the dark as keenly as a tuk’ata—
But Kos could not.
Boba held his breath. He slid down as low as he dared, hoping the vice-chair wouldn’t notice. But the official was squinting into the darkness, still trying to get his aim fixed on
Aurra.
“There she is,” he murmured. Boba heard the soft click of the blaster’s loading device. Kos raised his arm.
Boba ducked as an explosion ripped through the air beside him.
But it wasn’t the official’s blast. It was Aurra’s.
“Got him!” she crowed triumphantly. Boba grimaced as Kos’s tall form toppled over the side of the speeder, to fall soundlessly into the vast and empty shaft. Too late Boba
thought of the vice-chair’s weapon—it was gone with him into the depths.
And now Boba was alone with Aurra Sing.
“Thought you could betray me? Think again!”
With a dull whine the hoverbike swept toward Boba’s airspeeder. He glanced around, hoping to find something he might use as a weapon.
Nothing. He kept his hands on the controls and stared defiantly across the empty darkness at Aurra.
“Everything is for sale on Aargau,” she said with a cruel laugh. “I bought myself citizenship. Too bad you won’t live long enough to do the same.”
Her laughter died, and she stared at Boba with hatred. “No one escapes from me, Boba. I’m the best at what I do.”
“My father was better,” said Boba in a low, calm voice. His gaze locked with hers as he continued to stare at her, unafraid. As he did, his hand moved slowly, silently, across the
control panel. “My father didn’t kill for fun. Or out of fear.”
“Fear?” Aurra’s voice rose almost to a scream. Her eyes blazed, and two crimson spots bloomed on her dead-white face. “You think I’m afraid? I
think it’s time I introduce you to the real thing!”
Her face twisted into a mask of rage. She raised her blaster before her face, the bike steady beneath her. “Good-bye, Boba,” she said.
Boba ducked. He jammed his hand onto the controls, hitting the REVERSE DIRECTION command. A flaming pulse from Aurra’s blaster zoomed a scant meter above his head.
At the same moment, the speeder shot backward. He’d hoped it would slam directly into Aurra’s bike. Instead it sideswiped it. Aurra shouted furiously as her arms swung and her next
blast went wide. Her bike rocked wildly, and she clung to it to keep from plummeting into the abyss.
“Yes!” cried Boba in triumph. The speeder veered back and forth through the passage, barely missing the walls. He finally got control of it, whipping it around so that it soared out
from the tunnel and into the vast main shaft. Behind him he could hear Aurra’s angry yelling, and the dull thrum of her bike throttling down. He pointed the speeder in the direction
he’d come. With a low roar it began to rush back toward the entrance to Level Two. |
maze-of-deception | 27_chap22.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Boba knew better than to think he’d lost Aurra for good. She was like a mynock clinging to her prey, difficult to pry loose.
But not impossible. As his speeder drew closer to the entry to Level Two, Boba flicked on the comm unit. Immediately a voice came through the speaker.
“Sir, we’ve been unable to contact you for some time. Are you all right?”
Boba cleared his throat. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to make his voice sound as deep and muffled as possible. “But there’s a renegade noncitizen loose on Level Two.
She’s armed. There may be some casualties—”
And I don’t want one of them to be me!
Behind him came the abrupt high drone of Aurra’s bike and another explosive burst. The comm unit went dead. Boba leaned over the controls, not taking his eyes from what was ahead of him:
the entry to Level Two.
Closer, closer…He could see the familiar sign, and the door behind it. Sparks of orange and scarlet flame whistled through the air around him as he drew the speeder alongside the landing
platform. Keeping his head low he jumped out, turned, and bolted for the door. He shoved it open, and raced through, onto Level Two.
Immediately the world around him changed color. Instead of darkness, everything shone with a soft green glow. He was in yet another tunnel, but this one was well lit. At one end a sign blinked
on and off.
EXIT
Boba whirled. At the other end of the tunnel was another blinking sign.
INTERGALACTICBANK OF KUATENTRANCE ONLY
“That’s it!” Boba said aloud. He began to run. From behind the door he’d just left he heard the hoverbike’s drone suddenly shut off. He
didn’t need to look back to know that Aurra Sing was at his heels.
Ahead of him a security droid stood beside the entrance to the bank. “May I see your card, please?” it asked in its mechanized voice.
Boba dug into his pocket. For a second his heart stopped: He’d lost the card!
But no, it was still there. He yanked it out and handed it to the droid. The droid raised the card before its infrared eyes and scanned it. Then it took Boba’s hand. There was a flicker of
heat as it read his DNA. Then it nodded.
“Very good,” it said. “You may enter.”
“Stop him!” Aurra’s voice raged from the far end of the tunnel.
“You better check her citizen papers,” Boba said breathlessly to the security droid. “She’s armed and I think her papers are forged.”
He pushed open the door and hurried into the bank. Behind him he could hear Aurra’s boots racing up to the entrance. Then he heard the droid’s calm voice.
“May I see your citizen papers, please?” it asked. The door slammed and locked behind Boba. He grinned as he heard Aurra’s voice rise in frustrated rage.
“May I help you?”
It was another droid, this one neatly clad in gold-and-silver hardware. It stood before an immense black wall. Set into the wall were thousands upon thousands of small boxes, each with a
number.
“I want to get what is mine,” Boba said, gasping. “My father—he left something for me here when he died.”
“Of course,” said the droid politely. “May I see your card, please?”
Boba handed the card to him. The droid turned and rolled along the front of the wall. Finally it stopped. It punched the card into a slot in the wall. One of the boxes slid open. One of the
droid’s mechanical arms withdrew something from it. It closed the box, turned, and rolled back to Boba.
“This closes your account,” he said, and handed Boba a small leather pouch. The robot stuck the card into another slot inside its chest. There was a hiss and a wisp of smoke. The
card had been destroyed.
Boba looked down at the pouch. It seemed awfully small. He opened it, and poured a handful of shining, multicolored credits into his hand.
“Is this all?” he asked. He shook his head. “My father left me a fortune!”
“There was a large withdrawal made from this account today,” the droid said in its calm voice. “Five hundred thousand mesarcs. That is what remains. Your account is now
closed,” it said with finality, and rolled away.
Boba stared after it in disbelief. Then he looked at the money in his hand. From the passage behind him, he could hear voices.
“Let go of me! I tell you, these papers are legal! I’m allowed to carry a blaster!”
It sounded like Aurra Sing was having a hard time with Aargau security. Even as Boba turned to look, a side door opened. Heavily armed soldiers wearing uniforms identical to the
vice-chair’s poured into the corridor. He watched as they ran toward where security had detained Aurra Sing, their boots echoing loudly. Moments later he heard Aurra Sing’s shout of
rage as the soldiers surrounded her.
“No—let me go, you’ll never—”
Boba fought back a shiver. He felt no pity for Aurra—she would have killed him as easily as she’d killed the lieutenant, and with more pleasure. But he knew that losing her freedom
would be far worse for Aurra Sing than losing her share of his father’s fortune.
Still, she probably wouldn’t be imprisoned or detained for long. Boba would bet his life on that.
But not right now. Right now, Boba planned to hang on to every bit of currency he had. He looked at the money in his hand—not a huge fortune, maybe, but still enough to outfit a ship.
Still enough to get him off Aargau. He put the money back into the leather pouch and closed it. He put it carefully into his pocket, along with his father’s book. Then he turned and began
walking quickly down the corridor, back to Level One. |
maze-of-deception | 28_chap23.txt | Star Wars: Boba Fett: Maze of Deception
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
No one questioned him when he bought the fuel and provisions for his ship. And no one questioned him when he climbed aboard, after obtaining clearance to depart Aargau. Money
might not buy happiness, but it bought a lot of other things that were useful.
Boba settled himself in the cockpit of Slave I. It felt like coming home again—for the first time. He strapped himself in, hit the controls, and settled back. A moment later he
felt the familiar rush and roar of takeoff.
Within moments Aargau was far, far behind him. Boba gazed out the screen at the glittering planet. He wondered briefly about the people he’d seen there. The young clone 9779. The Clawdite
Nuri—if that was really his name. The manipulative San Hill.
What would become of them all, Boba wondered? And what would become of the Separatist cause, led by the double-crossing Count Dooku?
And Aurra Sing?
Aurra Sing might be in custody for now, but Boba knew she wouldn’t stay there for long. She was too smart for that. And when she got free, she’d come looking for him.
Boba smiled with determination. When he next met up with Aurra Sing, he’d be ready for her. For now, he had other things on his mind.
Boba knew where his immediate future was—with the notorious gangster Jabba the Hutt!
With a grin, he leaned over the control panel and punched in the coordinates for Tatooine. |
pursuit | 04_c1.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Pursuit
CHAPTER ONE
Death is silence: eternal, dark, colorless, without form or meaning.
Boba Fett had watched his father, Jango Fett, die, murdered by the hated Jedi Mace Windu. At the time Boba had felt only grief and rage. In the years that followed, he felt sorrow, the dull
constant ache of missing his father. It was an ache that had receded somewhat over the last few years. But it had never disappeared.
The one thing Boba had never felt—had never even allowed himself to imagine—was what it would feel like to actually die. He had never believed he would experience death
firsthand—
But now Boba Fett was dead.
His motionless form lay in a dark, twisting tunnel inside Mazariyan, the immense, mazelike fortress of the Separatist Tech genius Wat Tambor. Outside the citadel’s walls, a fierce battle
raged. The might of Wat Tambor’s robotic troops was massed against the dwindling resources of the Republic, led by the Jedi General Glynn-Beti. The walls of Mazariyan shuddered beneath
repeated bombardments by the Republic troops. Fissures appeared in the floor, only to be immediately repaired by microscopic nanotechs. A crack ran across the ceiling above Boba’s lifeless
body. A thick, mucuslike substance began to drip down—the organically derived fluid used to power Wat Tambor’s massive array of machines.
Had Boba been alive, he would have known this was a bad sign. The Republic had breached the outermost of Mazariyan’s defenses. The living fortress had been so badly damaged that it was
losing the ability to repair itself quickly enough to survive the Republic’s assault.
But Boba knew nothing of this. Boba was dead—or so it seemed. Just millimeters from his cold hand lay a small clump of pale xabar fungus. The fungus produced a paralyzing toxin. The
toxin’s effect was, fortunately, not permanent. To all appearances, someone under its influence appeared to be dead. Boba had grabbed the fungus in a last-ditch effort to save himself from a
fatal encounter with the terrible Grievous, a partial droid general in the Separatist army.
But now it seemed that Boba’s desperate effort might have failed…. |
pursuit | 05_c2.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Pursuit
CHAPTER TWO
“There it is.” A flat, affectless voice rang through the dark passage. “The infiltrator’s corpse.”
“Excellent.” A second voice echoed in the empty tunnel. “Human carrion. We shouldn’t waste our resources on it. It is of no use to us. We should leave it to
rot.”
“That would be against orders. Wat Tambor said it is to be incinerated. There must be no evidence that it was ever here.”
Two spindly figures rounded the tunnel and began to approach Boba’s motionless body—a pair of PK-4 worker droids. These were not battle droids—Wat Tambor had commandeered all
of those to defend Mazariyan. Only a skeletal force of worker and repair droids remained inside.
But even they would be leaving soon….
KKKKAAARROOOOOW!
The worker droids paused as the entire fortress shook. The crack in the ceiling yawned wider. More of the thick, cold fluid oozed down onto Boba’s helmet. It seeped beneath the edge of the
visor, dripping onto his skin. Its touch was cold, icy cold, spreading like frigid fingers across Boba’s cheek.
For the first time since he had been left for dead, Boba felt something.
Father?
Deep within Boba’s mind, a spark of consciousness flickered. He could neither move nor speak.
But he could feel. Sensation was slowly returning to his inert form. Another blast shook Wat Tambor’s fortress. Protoplasmic gunk surged from where the ceiling had been blown apart. As the
PK-4s stood, waiting for the blast to subside, more of the icy ooze dripped upon Boba’s gloved hand. Some of it covered the bare patch of skin that he had deliberately exposed to the xabar
fungus.
And now, that icy touch set off a chain reaction within Boba’s brain.
Memory flared through him. He could not blink, or speak—but he could remember. The chill touch of organic ooze became the touch of Jango’s hand upon his cheek. As though awakening
from a dream, he remembered his father’s face. Then the dream grew nightmarish as he remembered his father’s death. He moaned.
Memory was returning to Boba Fett.
Memory, and consciousness—
And life!
Mazariyan, he thought groggily. The battle…Grievous…Wat Tambor…
“We must hurry.” The droids stood above Boba’s body. He quickly stifled his groan as one droid prodded him. Its insectile head swiveled to stare at the bounty hunter.
“Wat Tambor wants no evidence that a spy gained entry.”
The entire fortress shook once more.
“Another blast! No time to waste!” The second droid bent. Its servogrip hands slid roughly beneath Boba’s arms.
Agggghhhhhh! Boba wanted to gasp with pain. As memory flooded him, so did further sensation—primarily pain. Grievous’s last blow had penetrated Boba’s body armor. He
could feel where the armor had shattered upon impact, exposing his shoulder to the energy bolt.
The blow had not been fatal. But the pain was excruciating. Fortunately, he had not cried out. The droids still thought he was dead.
Far from it! Boba could feel his lungs expanding as he took in air. He could feel the droids’ servogrips tightening around him. He was tall and muscular, and his body armor added to his
bulk.
But the droids hoisted him up between them effortlessly, roughly—as though he was nothing but a sack of refuse. Or fuel for Wat Tambor’s furnace…
Which, to them, he was.
Agh, he thought, gritting his teeth. He could definitely feel pain.
And he could see.
“The incinerator has been busy today,” one of the droids commented as they began to stride quickly down the tunnel. “Much organic matter to feed on.”
“Human scum,” the second droid retorted. They stumbled as another blast rocked the fortress.
Boba blinked. Good thing I’ve still got my helmet on, he thought. Otherwise they might notice my eyes are open.
He tried to find his bearings as the droids bore him down, down, down through a series of long, twisting passages. Glowing lumens showed where the fortress walls had sustained considerable
damage from the Republic’s assault. Shattered droids were everywhere, as well as glowing heaps of molten metal.
Wonder who has the upper hand now? Boba thought. He hated the Jedi, but General Glynn-Beti had helped him gain entry into Mazariyan. The last Boba had seen of the battle, the
Republic’s troops were putting up a good fight against the Separatists. If Wat Tambor’s forces had been weakened by the battle, it would be that much easier for Boba to escape and find
his way back to his ship, Slave I.
But first he had to avoid being tossed into Wat Tambor’s furnace!
He took a chance and flexed one of his hands. His strength was returning. As it did, the pain from Grievous’s blast began to subside.
My body armor must’ve absorbed most of the blow, Boba thought gratefully. He could feel himself growing stronger, more alert. It was a real effort not to move and strike out at
the droids.
But while sensation was slowly returning to his body, he still felt slightly groggy. His reflexes would not be as keen as they should be.
And he had no idea who, or what, he might encounter inside the fortress.
Better wait…he thought.
“This way,” one of the droids announced. Boba did his best not to flinch as they made a sudden turn and began to descend down a steep incline. The darkness took on an unmistakable
reddish tinge. Inside his Mandalorian body armor, Boba started to sweat.
The good news is that I’ve recovered enough from that fungus to feel the heat, he thought with grim amusement. And the bad news? This must be the incinerator!
Around him, everything glowed as though it were molten. The droids’ shining silver limbs burned crimson and gold. The heat was intense and painful. A slight adjustment of his body
armor’s thermostatic cooling system would take care of that, but Boba didn’t dare move to change it.
Not yet, anyway. He turned his head ever so slightly, praying that his helmet would hide any apparent motion from his droid captors. They seemed to take no notice.
“Wat Tambor will be departing shortly,” one of the droids stated in its flat voice. “He wished to be informed when the spy was disposed of.”
“Disposal is imminent,” the other droid replied.
Boba stared through his helmet’s visor as the droids carried him the last few steps to their destination. They were in a large, nearly airless room, devoid of any equipment or furnishings.
A few meters away shone an incandescent square of light, blinding and seemingly as hot as the sun. Heat radiated from it in shimmering waves. A conveyor belt, the room’s sole machinery, moved
slowly toward the incinerator’s opening.
Talk about too hot to handle, thought Boba. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes. He couldn’t move to wipe it away. Beneath him, the droids stopped. Their servogrips
remained in place, holding Boba above their heads. He took a deep breath, then tightened his muscles until his body went taut.
Have to risk it—hope they don’t notice!
The droids remained oblivious. In front of them the conveyor belt moved slowly, steadily, toward the incinerator.
And now Boba could see other shapes on it. Mangled knots of metal and plasteel, all that remained of damaged droids, and—shocking Boba—lifeless bundles of body armor, flesh, and
charred weaponry.
Clones, he thought, and felt a stab of mingled pity and horror. Helmets covered their faces, but Boba knew what he would see if their body armor was removed—
His father Jango’s face. His own face…for Jango had been the template from which all the clones had been built. Including Boba, the only unaltered clone.
“Shall we retain its armor and helmet?” One of the droids asked as it hoisted Boba. Its servogrip tugged at his weapons belt. “These are not organic. They are of fine
quality.”
You bet they are! Boba gritted his teeth. It took every bit of willpower to keep from lunging at the droids now; but their hold on him was still too strong. Gotta wait till the last
possible moment…
“Our orders were to dispose of it completely,” the second droid stated. “It is time we returned and gave our report.”
The first droid’s servogrip retracted. Boba allowed himself a silent sigh of relief. He felt himself being lifted higher, until he was poised directly above the conveyor belt. The
incinerator’s mouth was close enough that he could feel its heat through his reinforced boots. He stared down and watched as the conveyor brought one of the lifeless clones to the
furnace’s opening. For an instant the gray-clad form seemed to hang in the air, silhouetted black against white-gold flames. There was a flare of scarlet, a thread of black smoke—and it
was gone.
Nothing can withstand that heat! Boba took a deep breath. The air was so hot it was like inhaling molten lava.
Boba thought of all the things he hadn’t done yet. The vows he had made: to become the greatest bounty hunter the galaxy had ever known, and to seek revenge on the Jedi who had killed
Jango Fett.
He vowed once more to see these things through.
“Ready,” one of the droids said.
“Ready,” agreed its partner. Without a sound, they flung Boba toward the belt.
For a moment he hung in the air, limp as the dead things beneath him. Then with a wordless shout Boba straightened, launching himself toward the droids. With a satisfying thunk! his
boots connected with the droids’ heads. They went sprawling, and Boba landed behind them before they could recover.
Good thing these worker droids are unarmed.
“Alert Wat Tambor!” one of them commanded. Its insectoid photoreceptors flashed from green to red as they surveyed Boba. “There has been a breach on Level Three. Organic matter
has reanimated. Request backup immedi—”
“That’s your last request!” Boba yelled.
He drew his blaster, staggering slightly. Still unsteady from that toxin! He caught himself, leveling a charge that sent the first droid reeling backward onto the moving belt. The
second swiveled. It, too, was unarmed, but Boba could hear a blast of static as it attempted to send an alarm signal from its vocabulator.
“Things sure are heating up around here!” Boba kicked out at the second droid. It collapsed against the side of the conveyor. Before it could move again, Boba blasted it. Remnants of
plasteel and sensors rained down onto the conveyor belt, as the first droid was borne into the furnace. “I think it’s time I checked out—”
He shoved his blaster back into his belt and turned. Behind him was an opening.
That must be how I got here. A shrill alarm sounded. And it looks like it’s how I better leave—now!
He ran through the opening into a narrow passage. Muted thunder came from outside. The floor beneath him shook. Boba looked around but saw no signs of life anywhere; only piles of rubble where
the Republic’s fire had damaged the fortress walls. The passage went in only one direction, so he began to run swiftly, one gloved hand resting lightly on his blaster.
I’ve got to find Wat Tambor, he thought with grim determination. If he gets away…
Boba quickly pushed that thought aside. He had been sent to Xagobah to capture Wat Tambor and bring him back to Jabba the Hutt, dead or alive.
Failure was not an option. |
pursuit | 06_c3.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Pursuit
CHAPTER THREE
Boba had no idea how to find his way out of Wat Tambor’s fortress, let alone find the Foreman of the Separatist’s Techno Union before he fled Xagobah. He continued
to follow the passage as it twisted and turned, gradually climbing toward one of Mazariyan’s upper levels. Welcome cool air flowed past him, and Boba inhaled gratefully.
You never know how much you miss breathing till you’ve been dead, he thought wryly.
He came to a spot where the tunnel forked. Here he paused. It was easier to breathe now; easier to do everything. The xabar’s toxins had finally worn off.
But Boba couldn’t blame everything on the toxin. He inspected his body armor and noted where it had been damaged by Grievous’s assault. As he ran a hand over his arm he winced.
That was a bad one, he thought. A surface wound; but Grievous’s weaponry and lightsabers had managed to tear right through the Mandalorian body armor. Better make sure I treat
th—
KARAM!
With a cry Boba fell backward. Blinding heat surrounded him. With one hand he gripped his blaster, moving carefully to see what had happened.
One entire side of the fortress was gone. Where moments before the tunnel’s wall had curved, now there was only empty air, a scorched ring of rock and metal, and the slimy, organic mass
Wat Tambor had bioengineered from Xagobah’s native fungi. Warily, Boba approached the opening and peered out.
Below, all was chaos. The main entrance to Mazariyan had been breached. Clone troopers stormed through a huge gaping hole, tendrils of smoke still rising from its edges.
“Whoa,” Boba said in grudging admiration. “That was the explosion I felt back there in the tunnel! The Republic must’ve used a thermal detonator to blow their way in.
Man, I’d love to get my hands on one of those….”
He stared down to where clone troopers ran between the fortress and an AT-TE—a Republic all- terrain–tactical-enforcer. A pall of smoke hung above the ground, mingling with the
purplish spores that pervaded Xagobah’s atmosphere. At the edge of the clearing that surrounded Mazariyan, blasted malvil-trees oozed and burned. Flames licked up from the ruins of an immense
hailfire droid. There were blasted spider droids and battle droids. The charred remnants of a Fromm tower droid were scattered across the ground like the ruins of a small city. A few beleaguered
battle droids still made their way across the battlefield, firing relentlessly as the clones rushed toward and past them.
It was clear that the Republic now had the upper hand.
“Wat Tambor must have given the signal to retreat,” Boba muttered. “He came here to regroup after he escaped from the Republic. Now that Glynn-Beti’s tracked him to his
lair, he’s got no reason to stick around.”
Boba craned his neck to look into the sky. Sure enough, airspeeders and even a few Jedi starfighters crisscrossed the violet haze, as though searching for someone.
Wat Tambor, thought Boba. And they better not find him before I do!
A sudden blast of laser fire ricocheted from the ruined wall beside him. Boba ducked back inside the gaping hole.
“That was way too close.” He peered out. Far below, a clone trooper was pointing up to where Boba had stood just seconds ago. Before the trooper could alert others to his presence,
Boba whipped out his weapon and sent a return blast flaring through the smoke. The clone trooper fell, a blackened hole where his chest had been.
“Time to get back to Slave I,” Boba said. He reached back to touch a small squarish object mounted near his weapons belt. As a matter of caution, he’d left his primary
jet pack back on the ship. But he still had his liquid-cable launcher.
Good thing, too. It’s a long, long way down.
He stepped cautiously out onto the edge of the blasted wall. Below, the Republic’s troops continued to mill about the battleground. But most of the clones now seemed to be leaving the
fortress, heading back to their troop carriers. Boba shaded his eyes, adjusting his helmet so that he could better focus through the smoke and spore-haze.
“There.” His gloved hand stabbed at the air. “That’s Glynn-Beti’s airspeeder…”
He watched as the Jedi general drew her craft closer to the AT-TE at the clearing’s edge. Glynn-Beti had helped him earlier on Xagobah, after Boba had saved her reckless young apprentice,
Ulu Ulix, from certain death.
But Boba knew better than to expect any mercy from her now. And the mere thought of the Jedi made Boba’s gut tighten with anger.
That Jedi scum Mace Windu murdered my father, he thought. He glanced back at the corpse of the clone trooper he’d killed in self-defense minutes ago. The clone’s helmet had
rolled away from his slack face.
Jango Fett’s face.
Boba’s expression grew grim. He stared back at the AT-TE. The diminutive figure of General Glynn-Beti had dismounted from the airspeeder and was now approaching the vehicle.
“She’ll be giving orders to her crew,” Boba said. “Now’s my chance….”
Raising his arms slightly, he leaped from the fortress wall and launched the liquid-cable, which hooked to a faraway tree. The ground rushed toward him. He could smell burning metal and the
stink of charred fungus. Wind and smoke flashed past him as Boba Fett swung above the battlefield, heading toward the forest that hid his ship—and freedom! |
pursuit | 07_c4.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Pursuit
CHAPTER FOUR
“There!” From the ground far below Boba, came a sudden shout. “A spy! Fire on him!”
Boba twisted to look down. A knot of clone troopers was running from the AT-TE, pointing up at him as they drew their weapons.
This secondary jet pack’s only good for a short sprint. Can’t waste time firing on them! Boba thought with regret. He yanked his jet pack’s thruster to full force and
tore through the air, blaster fire echoing at his heels. Just a few yards ahead of him was the forest of immense mushroomlike trees. Now if I can just get undercover—
A blaze of laser fire ripped through the trees closest to him. Debris and fungal ooze rained down on Boba as he steered his way beneath the canopy. As the violet shadows closed around him, he
grabbed his own blaster and turned, sending a sudden volley back toward the ground. Two of the clone troopers fell. The other raced toward the forest, only to stop abruptly as a clear voice echoed
from the AT-TE.
“Hold your fire!”
Boba grabbed hold of a malvil-tree branch and swung himself onto it, catching his breath. He looked down and saw the clones returning to the AT-TE. A small uniformed figure stared back at the
forest. Even at this distance, Boba could feel the force of Glynn-Beti’s piercing gaze upon him. He stared back, bold and unafraid, then turned and used the jet pack to bring himself back
down to ground level.
“Just in time,” he said as he touched down. He heard the familiar droning sound of the auxiliary jet pack’s fuel cell expiring. He shut it off, keeping his hand on his blaster,
and began to run. His shoulder ached from Grievous’s wound, but he ignored the pain.
Got to get airborne before Wat Tambor does….
The forest was a tangled mass of fungus and ropy vines. Boba made his way carefully through the trees, his weapon at the ready. Now and then he glanced over his shoulder for signs of
pursuit.
But he saw no one. There must be a mass exodus from this place, he thought. The Republic and Separatists alike. That means Xagobah will finally be given back to the
Xamsters….
Boba felt a small pulse of relief, recalling the natives of Xagobah who had helped him when he first arrived on-planet. The gentle Xamsters had suffered under Wat Tambor’s reign, either
killed outright or forced to fight against the Republic. Now, at last, they would be free again.
After a few minutes Boba’s steps slowed. Around him the malvil-trees grew thickly, undamaged by warfare. Somewhere, behind these huge mushroom-like plants, Slave I waited, hidden
by its cloaking device.
Boba stopped, listening for any sounds of pursuit.
Nothing. He touched the sensor on his weapons belt, deactivating the cloaking device. There was a low hum. Then the sleek outlines of his starship took shape in the small clearing in front of
him. Boba allowed himself a rare smile.
“Good to see you again,” he murmured.
He walked slowly around Slave I, inspecting the ship for any signs of damage. But Slave I had weathered its time on Xagobah better than Boba had. He checked the missile
launcher under its concealed panel and made sure the blaster cannons hadn’t been affected by Xagobah’s humid atmosphere. Then, with a quick look around to make sure he was unobserved,
he boarded his ship.
Inside, everything was as he had left it. He took off his helmet and set it alongside the control console. Then he grabbed a medpac and slapped a dermibandage onto his wounded shoulder. The
repairs to his body armor would have to wait. He slid into the cockpit console and prepared for departure. As Slave I’s motors hummed to life, Boba did a fast scan of his tracking
computer. A set of coordinates flashed onto the screen, along with the image of a Hardcell-class interstellar transport—
Wat Tambor’s ship.
“Gotcha!” Boba cried in triumph. More information scrolled across his monitor.
VESSEL REGISTERED WITH TECHNO UNION. VESSEL DEPARTURE IMMINENT.
“Time to go,” said Boba. He programmed Slave I’s tracking device to monitor Tambor’s ship, then hit the thrusters. Like an arrow loosed from a taut bow,
Slave I shot into the air. Xagobah’s murky atmosphere surrounded the ship, but the flickering image of Wat Tambor’s vessel shone clearly from the computer screen. Within
moments, Slave I had cleared the atmosphere and entered the familiar star-shot darkness of space.
Behind the control console, Boba stared determinedly out at the expanse of stars. He observed the stationary mass of the Republic’s troopship, and a single flare of light like a beacon:
Wat Tambor’s ship.
“Don’t bother trying to run,” he said as Slave I shot off in pursuit of the craft. “No escape for you.”
Wat Tambor’s ship was designed for interstellar transport, not fighting. That gave Boba the advantage—or so he thought. He got the Techno Union foreman’s
vessel in his sights, bringing Slave I as close as he dared before firing.
BLAAAAAMMM!
One of Boba’s laser cannons released its payload: two large blasts of compressed atomic energy.
“Sorry, Jabba,” Boba crowed. “You said ‘dead or alive,’ but it looks like you’re gonna have to settle for dead….”
He angled Slave I to the side, hoping for a better view of Wat Tambor’s destruction. But the wily foreman hadn’t spent all those years with the Techno Union for nothing. As
Boba stared in dismay, a shimmering deflector shield seemed to swallow Tambor’s ship like a vast cloud. At the same time, a sleekly shining concussion missile streaked from the transport. A
moment later, a second missile followed. The first missile’s homing sensor sent it racing toward Boba’s energy bolt. There was a blinding flash as it impacted, and Boba muttered under
his breath. Concussive waves rippled through the depths of space. Slave I shuddered.
But Boba wasted no time on anger or regret. The second missile’s tracking sensors had locked into Slave I—the missile was heading right toward him. Slave I shot up
and sideways. The missile swerved and followed. Before it could strike its target, Boba loosed a volley from his blaster cannons.
“How ’bout this, Tambor?” he challenged.
He heard the satisfying thnnk of impact. Nanoseconds later, the missile imploded.
But there was more enemy fire coming! Boba withdrew Slave I to a better firing range, then blasted the enemy vessel.
“If I can just weaken his deflector shield,” said Boba, his console tilting forward as he took aim and fired. “Then go in for the kill!”
Pinwheels of energy flared and pulsed around Wat Tambor’s ship. Retaliatory blasts echoed around Slave I, but Boba was too fast—
KARRAAM!
A jaw-rattling blast as Wat Tambor scored a hit, penetrating Boba’s shield defenses. He glanced quickly at the monitor, saw nothing serious. His face tightened with fury as Slave
I soared toward the enemy ship. He waited until the last possible moment, then fired.
BLAM!
A hit! Boba whooped as Wat Tambor’s vessel rocked dangerously. He’d breached the defense shield! Boba’s hand hovered above the console panel. Another moment and he’d have
a clear shot—and Wat Tambor would be his!
Tatooine, here I come!
At that moment, something streaked into view. Another vessel, whipping past Wat Tambor’s ship like a ghostly flame. Boba sucked his breath in sharply.
I know that ship!
He’d heard about it on Tatooine, listening to the other bounty hunters recount firefights and acts of cold savagery directed against the Jedi.
Asajj Ventress, Boba thought. He watched as her starship swooped closer.
Asajj! She might have been the only other person in the galaxy who hated the Jedi as much as he did. Raised on the hostile, rapacious world of Rattatak, Asajj had been trained by a young Jedi
marooned on her terrible planet. Ky Narec had been not only stranded on Rattatak—he had been effectively abandoned by his Masters, who had never sought to aid the young Jedi—or his
protégé, Asajj, who longed to escape her cruel homeworld.
But the Jedi never came. Asajj never had the chance to prove herself to them, or to anyone but her mentor. And when Ky Narec died, Asajj vowed to avenge herself upon the Jedi. Allying herself
with Count Dooku, Asajj had become one of the Republic’s fiercest and most deadly opponents. Her control of the Force was exceptional, but her rage was overwhelming, as were her combat
skills…and her prowess with a starship. Boba watched with ungrudging admiration as Asajj’s vessel cleaved through space.
What an ally she would be! he thought. We could take on Mace Windu together.
No. Boba shook his head.
Mace Windu is mine alone, he thought, feeling a spike of rage. No one will deny me vengeance. No one…
A barrage of blasts shattered his thoughts. Barely a klick away, Asajj Ventress’s ship was hurtling right toward Slave I.
She thinks I’m part of the Republic force! Slave I shot upward as Boba outmaneuvered Asajj. If only she knew the truth!
But the truth would be wasted on Asajj Ventress. She was here as part of Wat Tambor’s backup force. And at this moment, she knew only one thing:
An unknown ship was firing on the Techno Union foreman.
And whoever piloted that spacecraft was going to die. |
pursuit | 08_c5.txt | Star Wars Boba Fett Pursuit
CHAPTER FIVE
BRRAAAK!
A deafening roar from Asajj Ventress’s ion cannons shook Slave I. Frantically, Boba fired back at Ventress’s ship.
But she was far too fast. As he watched, her ship vaulted over Slave I. Before he could fire back, Ventress’s laser cannons released a barrage of energy blasts.
BAM!
A direct hit!
Boba was nearly jolted from his console. He sent a rain of return fire, but it was too late. Slave I vibrated furiously as a second plasma blast hit home.
Gotta get away, Boba thought grimly. Can’t lose Wat Tambor….
Slave I shot after the Separatist’s vessel.
And Asajj Ventress shot after Slave I. Boba piloted his ship up, angling until Asajj was directly below him. He checked that Slave I’s mines were primed, then sent an ion
mine whirling toward her.
BLAM!
“Yes!”
But immediately Boba’s yelp of triumph turned to disappointment, as the mine ricocheted harmlessly from Ventress’s defense field, to spin off into space. At the same moment, a burst
of retaliatory ion fire blazed from Asajj’s cannons.
BRAAK!
Boba groaned as Slave I rocked sharply to starboard. He fired back, but once more Asajj was too quick. He let the ship veer to one side, hoping to buy a few precious seconds as he
checked the damage.
A glance at Slave I’s repair files gave him the bad news. Some of the outer panels had been loosened. Serious damage, but not fatal.
The starboard wing was another story. Two of the fins shielding the repulsor grilles had been destroyed. Without them, Slave I was crippled—he could fly, but his nav skills were
seriously impaired. Worse, landing the ship would be a real problem—
Not that he could even think about landing now!
BAM!
Another hit for Asajj. Boba fired off two missiles, had the satisfaction of seeing one rip into the side of her starfighter. A starburst of plasma glowed gold and white, then faded.
“No.” Boba scowled. Asajj’s defense shields had absorbed the blow. And Wat Tambor’s transport remained unscathed.
“Time for a new tactic,” Boba muttered.
He punched a series of commands into his console. A grid popped onto a monitor, displaying the coordinates of an asteroid belt not far off. If he could lure Asajj there, he might have a better
chance of losing her. Then he could make a swift pass back toward Wat Tambor….
He set Slave I’s thrusters to maximum. The ship veered toward the asteroid field.
And right into Asajj Ventress’s line of fire!
Boba retaliated, trying to dodge Ventress’s attack. But the damage done to Slave I’s starboard wing slowed him too much. As he made one last-ditch attempt to fire, a flaming
burst from Ventress’s ion cannon blazed toward him. Desperately, Boba tried to avoid the blast.
BLLAAAAMM!
With a cry Boba yanked at the thruster. But it was no good.
Slave I was finished. |
Subsets and Splits