[Boba Fett] - 6(5)
A blaze of laser fire ripped through the trees closest to him. Debris and fungal ooze rained down on Boba as he steered his way beneath the canopy. As the violet shadows closed around him, he grabbed his own blaster and turned, sending a sudden volley back toward the ground. Two of the clone troopers fell. The other raced toward the forest, only to stop abruptly as a clear voice echoed from the AT-TE.
“Hold your fire!”
Boba grabbed hold of a malvil-tree branch and swung himself onto it, catching his breath. He looked down and saw the clones returning to the AT-TE. A small uniformed figure stared back at the forest. Even at this distance, Boba could feel the force of Glynn-Beti’s piercing gaze upon him. He stared back, bold and unafraid, then turned and used the jet pack to bring himself back down to ground level.
“Just in time,” he said as he touched down. He heard the familiar droning sound of the auxiliary jet pack’s fuel cell expiring. He shut it off, keeping his hand on his blaster, and began to run. His shoulder ached from Grievous’s wound, but he ignored the pain.
Got to get airborne before Wat Tambor does….
The forest was a tangled mass of fungus and ropy vines. Boba made his way carefully through the trees, his weapon at the ready. Now and then he glanced over his shoulder for signs of pursuit.
But he saw no one. There must be a mass exodus from this place, he thought. The Republic and Separatists alike. That means Xagobah will finally be given back to the Xamsters…
Boba felt a small pulse of relief, recalling the natives of Xagobah who had helped him when he first arrived on-planet. The gentle Xamsters had suffered under Wat Tambor’s reign, either killed outright or forced to fight against the Republic. Now, at last, they would be free again.
After a few minutes Boba’s steps slowed. Around him the malvil-trees grew thickly, undamaged by warfare. Somewhere, behind these huge mushroomlike plants, Slave I waited, hidden by its cloaking device.
Boba stopped, listening for any sounds of pursuit.
Nothing. He touched the sensor on his weapons belt, deactivating the cloaking device. There was a low hum. Then the sleek outlines of his starship took shape in the small clearing in front of him. Boba allowed himself a rare smile.
“Good to see you again,” he murmured.
He walked slowly around Slave I, inspecting the ship for any signs of damage. But Slave I had weathered its time on Xagobah better than Boba had. He checked the missile launcher under its concealed panel and made sure the blaster cannons hadn’t been affected by Xagobah’s humid atmosphere. Then, with a quick look around to make sure he was unobserved, he boarded his ship.
Inside, everything was as he had left it. He took off his helmet and set it alongside the control console. Then he grabbed a medpac and slapped a dermibandage onto his wounded shoulder. The repairs to his body armor would have to wait. He slid into the cockpit console and prepared for departure. As Slave I’s motors hummed to life, Boba did a fast scan of his tracking computer. A set of coordinates flashed onto the screen, along with the image of a Hardcell-class interstellar transport
Wat Tambor’s ship.
“Gotcha!” Boba cried in triumph. More information scrolled across his monitor.
VESSEL REGISTERED WITH TECHNO union . VESSEL DEPARTURE IMMINENT.
“Time to go,” said Boba. He programmed Slave I’s tracking device to monitor Tambor’s ship, then hit the thrusters. Like an arrow loosed from a taut bow, Slave I shot into the air. Xagobah’s murky atmosphere surrounded the ship, but the flickering image of Wat Tambor’s vessel shone clearly from the computer screen. Within moments, Slave I had cleared the atmosphere and entered the familiar star-shot darkness of space.
Behind the control console, Boba stared determinedly out at the expanse of stars. He observed the stationary mass of the Republic’s troopship, and a single flare of light like a beacon: Wat Tambor’s ship.
“Don’t bother trying to run,” he said as Slave I shot off in pursuit of the craft. “No escape for you.”
Wat Tambor’s ship was designed for interstellar transport, not fighting. That gave Boba the advantage - or so he thought. He got the Techno union foreman’s vessel in his sights, bringing Slave 1 as close as he dared before firing.
BLAAAAAMMM!
One of Boba’s laser cannons released its payload: two large blasts of compressed atomic energy.
“Sorry, Jabba,” Boba crowed. “You said ‘dead or alive,’ but it looks like you’re gonna have to settle for dead….”
He angled Slave Ito the side, hoping for a better view of Wat Tambor’s destruction. But the wily foreman hadn’t spent all those years with the Techno union for nothing. As Boba stared in dismay, a shimmering deflector shield seemed to swallow Tambor’s ship like a vast cloud. At the same time, a sleekly shining concussion missile streaked from the transport. A moment later, a second missile followed. The first missile’s homing sensor sent it racing toward Boba’s energy bolt. There was a blinding flash as it impacted, and Boba muttered under his breath. Concussive waves rippled through the depths of space. Slave I shuddered.