“Not here,” Kairn sighed. “My people like the old ways. Necropolitans have been burying their dead for thousands and thousands of years.”
Zak almost didn’t want to ask his next question. “Where… Where do you put them all?” He looked down at his feet, imagining what might be underneath him at that very moment.
There was a mischievous gleam in Kairn’s eye. “In the cemetery. Maybe I’ll show you.”
Deevee returned the discussion to its original topic. “You were telling us about your culture’s legend of the witch Sycorax?”
“Right. Just before she died, she cursed the entire planet, saying that if anyone on Necropolis ever ignored the dead, the dead would rise up to take revenge. Ever since then, we Necropolitans have been very careful to keep the dead happy. Believe it or not, the Master of Cerements’ only job is to make sure the old rituals are observed. That’s what Pylum does.”
“You sound like you don’t believe it,” said Tash.
Kairn snorted. “Those old stories are for little kids. When people die, that’s it. They don’t come back.”
Zak, thinking of his parents, whispered, “I suppose not.
“Here we are!” Kairn announced cheerfully.
They had reached the hostel. Like the rest of Necropolis, the outside of the building was dark and somber. But light streamed through narrow windows on either side of the door, promising warmth inside, and they could hear voices.
“Great!” Zak said. “Let’s get out of the gloom.”
“Wait, Zak,” Tash warned. “Remember what happened last time we strolled into a strange building. We had blasters pointed at our heads.”
Hoole studied Tash with sudden seriousness. “Is this one of your feelings, Tash?” the Shi’ido asked.
On D’vouran, Tash had felt a sudden sense of dread come over her. No one had paid attention-not even Tash herself - - until it was almost too late. She didn’t know how these feelings worked, or what caused them, but obviously Hoole was starting to take them seriously.
“I’m not sure.”
“That was then and this is now,” Zak said lightly. “It couldn’t happen again.”
He stepped up to the front door, which opened automatically to reveal a warmly lit room, where a crowd of Necropolitans sat in small groups. Light from a dozen glowpanels shone on delicately carved tables and polished wood floors.
It also gleamed on the barrel of a blaster held in the steady hand of a bounty hunter. It was pointed directly at them.
“My name,” the bounty hunter said through an armored helmet, “is Boba Fett.”
Tash recognized the name. She’d read about Boba Fett on the intergalactic information service known as the HoloNet. Boba Fett was said to be the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy. They said he could bring anyone in dead or alive, and he had proved it a hundred times. He had tracked down wanted criminals from one end of the galaxy to the other. Once he accepted a job, no one could escape him.
Boba Fett was covered head to toe in armor and weapons. His face was hidden behind a gleaming metal helmet. His belt and pack bristled with weaponry that included a blaster rifle, deadly wrist rockets, and a nearly unbreakable capture cable. But the most terrifying thing about him was his low, menacing voice, which made Zak think of sliding gravel. Boba Fett spoke to the crowd.
“Where is Dr. Evazan?”
No one spoke. No one moved. Boba Fett was known throughout the galaxy as a deadly shot, and no one wanted his blaster pointed their way.
“What do we do?” Zak whispered.
“Nothing,” Uncle Hoole said calmly. But Zak could see that Hoole was intrigued by the bounty hunter’s presence. “This is not our concern.”
Boba Fett spoke so low that his voice was almost a whisper. “I will say it once more. I tracked a wanted criminal named N’haz Mit to this planet and killed him. A week later I heard N’haz was walking the streets of Necropolis. I had to come back and kill him again. I find that strange.”
“Maybe he just got the wrong guy the first time,” Tash whispered to Zak.
“Maybe,” Zak replied, “but do you want to tell him that?”
Boba Fett continued. “My information suggests that Dr. Evazan-the man they call Dr. Death-is somehow responsible.”
Fett held up a small holodisk. When he pressed the button, a nearly life-size image appeared next to him.
Dr. Evazan was frightening to behold. Half his face was scarred and mangled, and the other half was turned up in an arrogant sneer. As the hologram hummed, a recorded voice recited: “Name: Evazan. Also known as Dr. Death. Wanted for murder, medical malpractice, practicing medicine without a license, torture, and assault. Posing as a medical doctor, Evazan uses patients as subjects for unauthorized and often fatal experiments. Currently has the death sentence on twelve systems, including-“