Authors: Elizabeth Hand
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. “Other wise 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 malvil-tree.
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 droid-commanded 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 Mantell.
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!
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.