[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 03(30)

And to have brought about Boba Fett’s death, not through dumb luck or accident, or by a snarling, fleshrending, Trandoshan-like show of violence, but by having ensnared Fett in a web of intrigue and double and triple crosses-the exact same type of subtle machinations and conspiracies that the galaxy’s most-feared bounty hunter had always excelled in-that would only make the final victory sweeter and more rewarding.

Xizor could see his own reflection, ghostlike and faint, in the glossy inner curve of the viewport. Beyond the image of his own violet eyes, narrowed with contemplation, the stars seemed close enough to grasp. For a moment, the passing of a second, Xizor felt a twinge of sympathetic feeling for Emperor Palpatine, as though his heart had synchronized its slow, unhurried pulse with that of the distant old man on Coruscant. Old, but infinitely crafty-and greedy beyond even that measure. I’ve come to understand him, mused Prince Xizor. He clasped his strong-sinewed hands behind his back, in the folds of the cape whose lower edge brushed against the heels of his boots. They were planted even farther apart, as though the Falleen noble was already bestriding worlds under Black Sun’s dominion.

That was the lure, and the danger, of letting one’s deepest meditations dwell upon the stars. Such a view as the one afforded from the Vendetta, and the expanse of dark sky and wheeling constellations that could be seen from the Emperor’s palace, would only unlock the desire for power inside a sentient being’s heart. Power both absolute and abstract, for he who possessed it, and hard and crushing as a boot sole ground into a bloodied face, for those beneath. But the purity of the stars, the icy coldness of their vacuum-garbed light-that was a splendor to be enjoyed, and endured, by only those great enough to translate their desires into action. And if those desires, and that action, were translated into fatal consequences for those foolish enough to have let themselves become enmeshed in Xizor’s intricate schemes …

So be it, thought the Falleen noble. He gave a single, meditative nod as he gazed at the waiting field of stars. All had gone according to plan-his plan, and no other creature’s. As his breast swelled with both satisfaction and anticipation, one fist tightened inside Xizor’s other hand, as though it held and drew the cords binding all the far-flung worlds into a single woven net.

Another entity, smaller and nearer, also stood by and waited. Behind Xizor, the comm specialist emitted a discreet but clearly audible cough. “Excuse me, Your Excellency-” The comm specialist had obviously summoned all his remaining store of courage. He knew the risk involved in disturbing the meditations of Black Sun’s leader. “Your crew,” he reminded his commander as diplomatically as possible, “awaits their orders.”

“As well they should.” Xizor knew that the crack of the whip, the slight but necessary touch of discipline he had administered, would have every station aboard the Vendetta primed and ready for action, with every crew member eager to demonstrate his worth. A shame, mused Xizor, to waste all that energy on so small a target. The Vendetta and its crew deserved more pyrotechnics-and the satisfaction that came with both violence and victory-than would be provided by one broken-down bounty-hunting hulk.

“Your Excellency?” The comm specialist’s words gently prodded him again.

Xizor answered him without turning around from the Vendetta’s great viewport. “The crew,” said Xizor, “will have to wait a while longer.”

“But… Boba Fett’s ship …” The comm specialist sounded genuinely puzzled.

There was no need to be reminded of Slave I’s approach, the vector of its entry into this sector of space. Xizor could feel it in the tautening nerves of his own body, an ancient predatory instinct responding to the nearness of its prey. Even without that subtle, almost mystical sense, Xizor knew that the Vendetta’s sensors would have hard confirmation of Slave I’s presence, well before Boba Fett suspected that anything was amiss. A barrier of drifting structural debris, left over from the various ships and other artifacts that the arachnoid assembler Kud’ar Mub’at had incorporated into its web, served to effectively screen the Vendetta from

long-range detection.

“Notify the bridge,” instructed Prince Xizor. “I’ll be there directly. Have

them

bring

all

weapons

systems

to

full

operational capacity-immediately.” He didn’t want to take any chances on not having enough firepower for Boba Fett. “Have all target-accessing controls keyed to my command.” Xizor glanced over his shoulder, displaying a thin, cold smile to the comm specialist. “This is one that I wish to take care of personally.”