The comm specialist appeared nervous, with a sheen of sweat upon his brow. As with the rest of the operations crew, arrayed at their posts in the Vendetta’s bridge, he was understandably eager that his master’s wishes, especially in something as important as this, would not go unfulfilled. At the same time none of them had the same innate confidence in the outcome of the pursuit that Xizor himself did. Which is as it should be, thought Xizor with satisfaction. Keeps them on their toes.
“Excuse me, Your Excellency”-the comm specialist raised a hand and pointed toward the high, concave surface of the central viewport-“but Boba Fett’s ship-Slave I-its velocity is increasing.” He glanced over at the readout numbers on one of the tracking monitors. “Rather substantially, in fact. Perhaps it’s time to finish him off. Otherwise …” The tech’s shoulders rose in a ticlike shrug. “He might actually get away.”
“Calm yourself.” The corner of Xizor’s mouth twisted in a contemptuous sneer. “Your fears are groundless.” That was one more emotional response that provoked scorn in a Falleen noble. “Where exactly do you think Boba Fett could run to? You can see for yourself that his ship no longer has the capability of making a jump into hyperspace.” Xizor pointed to the damage-assessment screen. “Even if he could-were he foolish enough to try it-the stress would blow that poor wreck into atoms. No …” Xizor gave another slow shake of his head. “There’s nothing to worry about now. We may bring his futile struggle to an end at our leisure.”
He could tell that the comm specialist was unconvinced, as well as the others surrounding him on the bridge. They did not possess the greatness of spirit to savor a moment such as this. A legend dies, mused Xizor, and it means nothing to them.
For Boba Fett was precisely that, a dark legend. One whose exploits had been for so long a source of fear and
envy-and
all
the
other spirit-lessening emotions that sentient creatures could inflict
upon themselves-in every shadowed corner of the galaxy. Even though Boba Fett’s death had not been the primary aim of all of Xizor’s plotting and scheming, it was still an undeniable benefit to become the author of his demise. In the unspoken rules of the great, deadly game played among hunters, no prize was more desirable than the blood of an opponent upon one’s hands.
Xizor looked past the image of Boba Fett’s ship to the stars beyond. And someday-the thought burned within his breast-that blood will be from other opponents, even greater and more deadly than Boba Fett. The time would come when he would place his boot sole upon the neck of another helmeted figure, one who had long been the target of his hatred. If the web that Xizor spun had resulted in Boba Fett’s destruction, that was only a byproduct of the scheme meant to crush Lord Darth Vader. And when that vengeful goal had been accomplished …
After vengeance came ambition. Which for Prince Xizor was just as limitless. It was something that withered old fool Emperor Palpatine would discover too late to save himself. The mystical Force, which Xizor had felt more than once squeeze the breath from his throat, would not be enough to forestall that day of triumph for Black Sun and its commander.
Some things, thought Xizor with a thin smile, are more powerful than any Force. And over those things-fear, vengeance, greed, and so much else-his command extended as well.
Even the most pleasant meditations had to end eventually. Xizor brought his thoughts back from that future, glittering like light from a honed vibroblade, and returned it to those concerns over which his underlings fretted. “Let us proceed,” said Xizor. He gestured to one of the weapons techs standing behind him. “Reaccess previous target and prepare to fire.”
“Your Excellency …” The comm specialist sounded even more nervous than before. “That… that might not be such a good idea …”
Fearful insubordination angered Prince Xizor as thoroughly as any other kind. His heavy cape swung outward from his shoulders as he whirled about to face the other man, already cringing before the onslaught of his wrath. The violet tinge of his eyes darkened to a color closer to that of spilled blood as he pinned the comm specialist with his fiercely heated gaze. “You dare,” said Xizor, the lowered tone of his voice more intimidating than any increase in volume could have been, “to question my orders?”
“No! Of course not, Your Excellency-” The comm specialist actually took a step backward, hands raised as though to fend off a blow. A look of controlled panic swept around the faces of the other staff on the bridge. “It’s just thuh-that-” Stammering, the technician pointed with one hand to the viewport behind Xizor. “The situation has changed somewhat… suh-since you last looked at it…”