“I am sorry I broke your rules,” said Boba. And especially sorry that I got caught.
“Sorry?” said the Count with a smooth, cold grin. “You have broken my rules. And that is not all…”
Not all? Wasn’t that enough?
“I’ve decided that you know too much at a time when information is a valuable commodity.” He turned to Cydon Prax, who stood by the doorway. “Isn’t it ironic that one small boy should be the only one who knows such a great secret?”
Prax didn’t answer, of course. Boba wasn’t sure what the “great secret” was that he was supposed to know about. But the Count’s remark gave him an idea that he hoped just might save his life.
“What makes you think I’m the only one who knows?”
The Count raised his eyebrow - the most surprise Boba could imagine the Count betraying. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said,” said Boba. He tried to keep his voice calm, cool, Jango Fett-style. “I have already told someone else.”
He had the Count’s attention now… barely. “May I inquire who?” the older man asked.
“That’s my secret,” Boba bluffed. “And she knows who to tell if anything happens to me.”
“She?” Boba could hear a slight undertow of uncertainty. “Might you be insinuating the bounty hunter Aurra Sing?”
Boba was making it up as he went along. “I do mean Aurra Sing,” he said.
“Young fool. Are you threatening me?”
“No, sir. I simply want what is mine. My freedom - and my father’s credits.”
“Freedom? Credits?” The Count’s eyes blazed like cold fire. “I do not bargain with children. Especially those who are a nuisance.”
I went too far! Boba realized. His last chance was lost.
“Cydon Prax, you know what to do with him.”
Boba knew it was useless to resist. He closed his eyes as Cydon Prax picked him up. Boba dropped his helmet as his arms were pinned. His father’s voice came to him. If you must die, do so with valor. That is what Jango Fett had done, fighting to the last moment.
The memory inspired Boba. He was done with pleading and pretending. Whatever was coming, he would face it with the courage of the son of Jango Fett.
Suddenly the Count raised his hand. For the first time, Boba saw genuine concern cross his face. “What is it, sir?” Prax asked.
“The Jedi have found us,” the Count answered. Boba strained to hear something beyond the silence of the room. How did the Count know?
“Finish him off, then join me,” the Count said tersely as his hand seemed to instinctively find the curved lightsaber handle that glistened beneath his cloak.
BAR-R000M! An explosion shook the floor.
Quickly picking up a holopad from his desk, the Count left the room. As if on cue, a second explosion rocked the room. This one was closer. Small rocks started to fall from the ceiling.
Cydon Prax hesitated for a moment and his grip on Boba loosened just a little as he looked after his master. Boba saw his chance. He kicked out with all his strength against the nearest wall. Prax was propelled backward, into the desk. Boba’s elbows slammed into him as they landed.
“You little…”
Prax’s words were lost in a series of explosions outside. The floor pitched up like the deck of a ship being tossed by a giant wave. The door cracked and fell to the ground. The sound of blaster fire and confused voices filled the air.
Boba lunged and twisted free from Prax’s grip. He scooped up his battle helmet from the floor where he had dropped it. And then he did what his father had taught him to do whenever he was in a bad situation he didn’t expect to get any better.
He ran.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The once dim corridor was filled with light, and no wonder!
The Count’s underground hideout had been blown wide open. Large parts of the roof were missing, and Boba was standing on, top of a pile of smoking rubble.
He looked up. The filthy Sky of Raxus Prime was even filthier than usual. It was filled with explosions, blossoming like deadly flowers.
The noise was deafening. A battle was raging. Blaster fire screamed past. The Count’s automatic defense system was firing into the air rapid-fire lasers filling the already smoky air with bursts and clouds of brightly colored smoke.
Through the clouds, Boba saw the approaching gunships. They bore the eight-spoked insignia of the Republic. The Count had been right - it was a Jedi-led attack! Republic assault ships were unloading clone troopers in their gleaming white battle armor. They fanned out in impressive military order through the slag heaps, smashing the Count’s defenses.
My brothers! Boba thought scornfully. His father had helped create the clone troopers; the Kaminoans had used his dad’s genetic material to make millions of them. So why were they fighting on the side of the hated Jedi - again?