New Threat (3 page)

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.”

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.

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 airspeeder
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 I
’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!”

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 I
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 hawk-like, 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 I
’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.