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  Copyright © 2004 Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or TM. All rights reserved.

  Cover art and design by Louise Bova

  Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California, 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-1994-7

  Visit www.starwars.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  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 I’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 soufflé.

  “Am I too late for breakfast?” asked Boba.

  “No breakfast till tomorrow,” the elderly figure said without looking up.
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  “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, O Mighty Jabba—Boba Fett has returned!”

  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 major-domo, 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, O 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, O 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 I 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!”

  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.”