Lay infinity.
Bounty hunters held no faith, religions, creeds-those were for other, deluded creatures. Emperor Palpatine could immerse himself in the shadows of some Force that the Jedi had believed in-but Boba Fett didn’t need to. For him, that moment, expanding to the limits of the universe both inside and outside him, was all the unspoken knowledge of the infinite, risk balanced against power, that he required. What more could there be? All else was illusion, as far as he was concerned.
That simple truth had kept him alive so far. His profits, the counters in the game he played, meant more to him than his own life. You can’t gamble, Fett reminded himself, what you’re not prepared to lose…
All other considerations fell away, like the dying sparks of dead suns. Only the holding cage below held the former Imperial stormtrooper now; Boba Fett had dismissed even the image of Trhin Voss’on’t from his mind.
A computerized voice, as clear of emotion as Boba Fett’s thoughts, spoke aloud, breaking the cockpit’s deep silence. “Hyperspace preemergence lockdown completed.” The logic circuits built into Slave I were as thorough as those of their master. “Current options are to activate final emergence procedures or lower operational condition to standby and minimal power drain.”
Without any further prompting from the ship’s computer, Boba Fett knew that the latter was not much of an option at all. To remain much longer in hyperspace was merely a delayed-but certain-death. In the ship’s present damaged condition, structural maintenance and life-support systems would begin to fail in a matter of a few minutes. Slave I had to enter realspace soon-or never.
Boba Fett didn’t bother making a verbal reply to the onboard computer. In a single, unhesitating motion, he reached out across the cockpit’s controls and pushed the final activation trigger.
Even before he drew his gloved hand away from the controls, the cockpit’s forward viewport filled with streaks of light that had been the cold points of stars a millisecond before. On the black gameboard behind them, the die had been cast.
“There he is.” The comm specialist placed a hand against the side of his head, listening intently to the cochlear implant inside his skull. “Forward scout modules have spotted Slave I, registered emergence from hyperspace as of point-zero-three minutes ago.”
Prince Xizor nodded, well pleased with the alacrity shown by the crew of his flagship Vendetta. The disciplinary measures he had initiated a little while ago had obviously had a salutary effect on the lower Black Sun ranks manning the strategic operation posts. Fear, noted Xizor, is the best motivator.
“I trust that we have a fix on his projected trajectory.” Prince Xizor stood before the Vendetta’s forward viewport, its transparisteel scan of stars arching high above him. With boots spread apart and hands clasped at the small of his back, he gazed out at the galaxy’s distant worlds. He brought that same cold, calculating gaze over his shoulder for a moment. “In other words, do we know where Boba Fett is headed?”
“Yes, Your Excellency. Of course we do.” The comm specialist’s words rushed out, almost tripping over each other in their speaker’s anxiety. He tilted the side of his head closer to his fingertips, listening to the words being relayed from outside the Vendetta. “Plotted trajectory matches previous strategic analysis coordinates, Your Excellency.”
The forward scouts’ report brought a glow of pleased satisfaction beneath Xizor’s breastbone. The analysis had been his alone, calculated by no computer other than the flesh-and-blood one behind his slit-pupiled, violet eyes. Boba Fett has no choice, thought Xizor, but to come this way. A smile twisted a corner of Xizor’s mouth. And to his death.
Gazing upon the bright, cold stars in the viewport, Xizor gave a slow nod without turning toward the comm specialist. “And the estimated time of arrival at Kud’ar Mub’at’s web is…?”
“That’s … a little more difficult to project, Your Excellency.”
Xizor’s brow creased as he glanced back at the comm specialist. He didn’t need to speak aloud to get his meaning across, as well as the degree of his dissatisfaction.
The comm specialist hurried to explain. “It’s because of the degree of damage, Your Excellency, that the vessel being tracked has sustained. Boba Fett’s ship is in considerably worse shape than we had
originally anticipated. The hyperspace transit has weakened the ship’s structural integrity, almost to the point of collapse.”
A tinge of disappointment made itself felt inside Xizor. If Slave I actually did break apart in the vacuum of space, a great opportunity would be lost thereby. To be that creature known as the one who had eliminated Boba Fett from the galaxy, to have arranged the death of the bounty hunter who had profited from so many other creatures’ misfortunes-that would add considerable glory to Prince Xizor’s dark prestige.