[Boba Fett] - 4(8)

And, everywhere, there were children. Dozens of them. They perched on the metal shelves that circled the chamber, staring down at him with hungry, feral eyes. He had never seen humans or aliens so thin, not even the Kaminoans. They were of as many different races and colors as the galaxy could hold - children from Alderaan, Kalarba, Tatooine; green-eyed Kuats, young Dathomir witches, otter like Selonians.

The only thing they had in common, as far as Boba could see, was that they all looked starved. They all looked afraid. And every one of them had an extra eye.





CHAPTER SEVEN


“Who - who are you?” Boba turned to the thief. “What is this place?”

“I’m Ygabba.” The girl smoothed the front of her filthy tunic. She looked uneasy. “And this is the stronghold of the Master’s army.”

“Army?” Boba looked at the emaciated figures staring down at him. “My father always said an army travels on its stomach. Doesn’t look like this one’s going anywhere.”

Shocked murmurs came from the watching figures. Ygabba shook her head. “I wouldn’t talk like that if I were you,” she said in a low voice. “The Master wouldn’t be too happy.”

“Master? What Master?” Boba stared at her. “I don’t see anyone in charge here.”

The children whispered. Ygabba gave an anxious glance over her shoulder. “I mean it,” she said. “You better not - “

Her eyes suddenly widened.

“Master!” she gasped. She raised her hands before her face, then dropped to the floor, cowering. “Master Libkath…”

Boba whirled to see what she stared at. The air flickered and brightened as though shining sand was being poured into an invisible bottle. Slowly, slowly, an alien form appeared in the middle of the chamber. He was tall and thin, clad in deep-blue shimmering robes. He looked even taller because of the hat he wore, a gleaming black mitre like a crown. His hands were gnarled and sickly white, as was his face. His eyes were huge and round. They glowed the same dull orange as the chamber’s lumen globes. With terrible slow care he raised his head and stared intently into the room. When he spoke, his voice was disturbingly gentle. It had a quiet hiss like a boiling kettle.

“Who am I?” he asked.

There was a hushed intake of breath in the chamber. The children raised their hands. In every one a cold eye gleamed.

“You are our Master, Libkath,” the children said as one.

The tall figure nodded. “That is so. Who cares for you, children?”

“You do, Master.”

“Who gives you refuge?” he asked. “You do, Master,” repeated the children.

The eyes stared at the figure. He stared back. After a moment he nodded again.

“That is so.” A half-smile crawled across his reptilian face. “And what do I ask in return?” “Obedience, Master.”

“Very good.” The figure lifted its hands, turning. Boba felt his stomach clench as those round, glowing eyes fixed on him.

“There will be many people at the Podraces tonight,” the figure said. “That means there will be many vessels parked outside the Arena Citadel. Many guards, but also many unwary soldiers who will have had too much to drink. A shipment of smuggled weapons will be outside the northwest gate. You are to bring them here.”

The children whispered, “Yes, Master.”

The figure stared straight at Boba. “What does failure mean?” he hissed.

Boba opened his mouth but said nothing. “Failure means destruction,” said Master Libkath. “Do not fail.”

And with a blinding flash, the figure disappeared.





CHAPTER EIGHT


Boba blinked., It took him a minute to register exactly what he had seen.

Not an actual person at all, but a holo. A virtual sending.

He had never been in any real danger. Master Libkath, whoever he was, had not really been there. He had not seen Boba at all, but Boba had recognized him as a Neimoidian. He’d met Neimoidians before, on Geonosis.

Still, Libkath had been frightening, at least for the others. Even Boba hadn’t been able to look at those weird eyes without getting a queasy feeling. For a moment he couldn’t speak. The chamber around him, too, was silent. Then, all at once, the children began babbling and talking.

“No time!” shouted Ygabba. She spun on her heel and headed for a jagged opening that had once housed a power generator. “You heard the Master - we have work to do!”

“But I’m hungry,” someone whined.

“Me, too,” yelled someone else.

“And me!” piped in another.

Ygabba stopped. Her face looked tired and worn, and much older. “I know,” she said. “I’m hungry, too. There will be food vendors outside the arena.”