New Threat Read online

  Jabba stared at him through slitted amber eyes. “Your father taught you well, Boba Fett.”

  “What he did not teach me, O 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 shapeshifter 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?”

  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, O 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.”

  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 I, 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.