Authors: Elizabeth Hand
New Threat
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
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ISBN 978-1-4847-1994-7
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Contents
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.
“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!”
“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!”