The Xamster nodded approvingly. “The effect is not permanent. But it may help you. And here—”
He held out a small purple orb. “Take this globe with you. Malubi has already imprinted you as one who means us no harm. The other malvil-trees will recognize you. They will not harm you. But if you have need of camouflage, crush this globe. The spores will be released.”
Boba took the globe. “Thank you,” he said. Carefully he slipped it into his utility pouch.
“Something else I will tell you,” added Xeran. “There is a fungus we call Xabar. It has many small tentacles. It is a very deep purple in color, with brilliant red tips. Wat Tambor has taken this fungus as well and made it into a weapon. Its tentacles release a toxin. The toxin causes paralysis. Not permanent, fortunately. But very effective. Anyone who comes into contact with it is immobilized. Completely. Consciousness remains, but not the ability to move.”
“Thank you,” said Boba. “I will remember.”
From somewhere beneath them came a burst of laser fire.
“I have to go now,” said Boba. He looked down at the battlefield that stretched between him and Wat Tambor’s living citadel. Then he turned to Xeran. “I owe you one, Xeran. Thanks again.”
The Xamster nodded solemnly. Its jade-green eyes narrowed, and it smiled. “You do not need to thank me. When you destroy our shared enemy, do so in the memory of my malvil. That will be thanks enough for me. And for Malubi,” he added.
Boba smiled. As he did, one of the malvil-tree’s tentacle branches snaked around him. Very gently it lifted Boba, then slowly brought him to the ground.
“I will not forget!” Boba called back as Xeran waved at him. “For Malubi!”
“For Malubi!” Xeran echoed.
Lifting one clawed hand in farewell, the alien slipped back into the violet shadows of his malvil-tree.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A hundred meters up in Malubi’s violet canopy, Xagobah had for a little while seemed a quiet, even peaceful, place.
That peace was shattered as soon as Boba’s feet touched the ground.
“Captain! Intruder in your sector!” a voice shouted from only a few meters off.
His father’s voice.
For an instant Boba froze. Then brilliant blue flame exploded, close enough that he could feel its heat through his body armor.
“Whoa!”
With a muffled shout Boba dove for the underbrush.
The voice shouted again. “Captain! Did we score a hit?”
Boba crouched beneath an overhanging net of webbed fungi. He peered out and saw a figure stalking into the clearing.
His father’s figure, cloaked in the gleaming, gray-white body armor and mask of the Republic army.
A clone trooper.
“Captain, do you copy?”
Boba tried not to breathe as the trooper moved with sure, heavy steps, until he was just an arm’s length from where Boba was hidden. He was close enough that Boba could clearly see the back of his helmet.
Boba had seen the clones many times before, of course. He could remember them being raised by the thousands on Kamino. And he had met a young clone, 9779, on Aargau. Clones were known mainly by their numerical designation.
Could this be 9779, grown to his full size?
The thought made Boba feel slightly sick. He forced it from his mind, and stared from the shadows at the trooper. Like all the clones, the captain had his father’s build. It also had Jango’s strength. Boba could tell from how easily it hefted its weapon, a DC-15 rifle that would have made Boba’s arm ache.
“Checking it out,” the clone answered into its comlink. “I see no sign of an intruder. Hold your fire.”
It gave one more look around the clearing. Then it slid its rifle back into an upright position, turned, and strode off.
“Whew.” Boba let his breath out in relief. That was close!
He waited until the clone trooper was just a pale fleck among the mushroom trees. Then Boba began to follow it. He kept within the shadows of the overhanging fungus, moving swiftly and stealthily as a stalking cratsch.
Now and then a slender mushroom stalk would reach out tentatively to brush against his helmet, or touch his hand. Whenever this happened Boba would pause, holding his breath.
But it seemed as though Malubi’s spores must have warned the other fungus of Boba’s coming. Their tendrils would only touch him. Then they would withdraw. Sometimes a small puff of purple would appear above him. Then he would see other mushroom trees ahead of him swaying gently.
Thanks, Xeran, Boba thought. And Malubi.
He patted the trunk of a very young malvil-tree, then stopped.
In front of him, the mushroom forest abruptly ended. Beyond it, the ground looked scorched. When he looked up he saw the hovering shadows of Republic ships, like black clouds in the purple mist. When he looked down, he saw black circles where transport vehicles had landed and departed. In other places, there were holes and small craters left by exploding weaponry. Smoking bits of vegetation were elsewhere. And other things, too. Things Boba wished he hadn’t seen.
For reassurance he made sure the purple globe was still in his pocket. His hand tightened on his blaster.
He waited, trying to figure out what to do next. There was no point running out into the middle of a battle. Nine-tenths of any bounty hunter’s success is proper planning, Jango had always told him.
“So all I need is a plan,” Boba muttered.
He squinted through the haze of smoke and spores. From here he had a clearer view of Wat Tambor’s citadel.
It sure didn’t look any better. It was well-guarded, for one thing. In addition to the gigantic black spines that protruded from the fortress, there were droids patrolling its perimeter.
Battle droids, Boba noted grimly. He counted thirty—not enough to fight a war, but more than enough to keep intruders at bay.
There were other droids, too. Crablike defense droids swarmed around a triangular opening that seemed to be Mazariyan’s entrance. He saw several hulking modified super battle droids and mounted laser towers.
And, hovering above the peak of Wat Tambor’s fortress, a great, dark, shapeless mass. It was like a purplish-black thunderhead or a huge amoeba, floating over the battlefield.
“What’s that?” Boba adjusted the focus on his helmet, then blinked, feeling a faint prickling behind his eyes as the form above him took on more solid outlines.
Xeran’s spores were working. Suddenly he could see clearly. And what he saw was that the massive shape was not a cloud.
It was a fleet of Separatist fighters, cloaked by the spore-haze. As Boba watched, one of the droid-commanded fighters fired upon the Republic’s assault lines. A spurt of flame exploded from one of the trenches.
A direct hit!
Boba steadied himself as the impact shuddered through the ground like an earthquake. He looked up again, and this time could make out something else—a darker, misshapen silhouette that hung directly above the citadel’s peak. Droids swarmed around it, loading it. With a shock, Boba suddenly realized what the huge shadowy object was.
A ramship.
Boba shook his head in dismayed disbelief. Robot ramships were manufactured in the most notorious reaches of the Outer Rim. They were designed and outfitted by criminal techs—
But wasn’t that exactly what Wat Tambor was?
A ramship had no organic crew. It used the hull of an abandoned—probably stolen—warship, with enough firepower to destroy a huge starship in a single explosion. The entire vessel was nothing but a massive bomb, piloted by a kamikaze robotic drone with no goal except destruction.
In this case, the Republic’s destruction.
Boba craned his head back. His eyes tried to pierce the violet haze of Xagobah’s atmosphere.
Somewhere up there was a Republic troopship. And while Boba had no love for the Republic, at the moment, they shared a common enemy.
Wat Tambor.
And that ramsh
ip was Wat Tambor’s vessel.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Jango had once told his son. Boba had been too young then to understand those words. They sounded like a puzzle.
A puzzle he had just solved.
He saw clone troopers just within the borders of the mushroom forest. The Jedi General Glynn-Beti would be there somewhere, acting as commander. Presumably there were other Jedi as well, fighting as part of the Republic forces.
But he didn’t see any life-forms, human or alien, defending Mazariyan. No Xamsters; no humans. Not even any mercenaries from lawless places like Carratos or Ord Mantell.
Only droids.
He’s going to have that ramship smash into the Republic troopship! Boba sucked in his breath with excitement. Wat Tambor thinks that will end the siege—and it will!
Boba looked around furtively, thinking fast.
If Wat Tambor’s vast flying bomb struck the troopship, it would destroy the Republic’s chances of capturing the dangerous Separatist.
It would also destroy Boba’s chances of capturing Wat Tambor.
Which meant it would destroy Boba’s future as Jabba’s favorite bounty hunter!
Can’t have that happen! Boba thought.
But what if the ramship could somehow be commandeered into destroying Wat Tambor’s citadel—and with it, Wat Tambor?
Two can play this game, thought Boba. He crouched in the shadows at the edge of the mushroom forest. He stared up at Mazariyan.
Two can play this game—but only one can win. And that one will be—me!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
So now he had a plan. All he needed was a way to use it.
My jet pack’s no good, he thought with regret. Not enough strength or speed to go up against a ramship. Gotta try to find a vehicle…a speeder would be nice…Boba scanned the area surrounding Wat Tambor’s fortress. He knew that Mazariyan was well-guarded by droids.
But Wat Tambor was not a droid. And surely not all of his guards or accomplices were droids. They would have used some form of transport to get here….
“Yeah,” Boba whispered. “And that’s exactly what I need.”
He started to run along the edges of the forest. He kept a close eye on Mazariyan, but saw nothing he could steal—er, use.
But as he circled closer to the area behind the fortress, things began to look more promising. The Republic seemed to have concentrated its forces near the citadel’s entrance. This back area was void of siege trenches. There were crates and cartons of supplies here, along with piles of twisted metal and plasteel. He saw demo droids and wrecker droids, a load-lifter piling big boxes near an opening. A single security drone appeared to be monitoring them. But it was an older model, and seemed to be busy scanning the area closest to the citadel’s main entrance.
This must be a freight entrance back here, thought Boba. He hesitated and looked for signs of hidden Republic forces, but saw none. He might be able to dodge the security drone and clear the freight entrance.
I could try to get in that way. But what would I do once I actually got inside?
He hadn’t worked out that part of his plan—yet.
Later, he thought. Quickly he turned and continued to circle the fortress, searching.
And then he saw it—he almost stepped on it! Camouflaged with torn mushroom fronds and malvil-limbs, it was so rusty and battered that it blended right in.
A swoop bike.
Boba looked around the mushroom forest furtively. But if there were clone troopers nearby, they were being even more stealthy than he was: He saw no one. He looked up.
And yes, the ramship was still there, like a volcanic cloud hanging above Mazariyan. The droids loading it were obviously close enough to see through the haze. Boba glanced back at the worker droids on the ground. The security drone was gone—it must have continued on its own circuit of the fortress.
And those other droids were all labor units. None of them would be programmed for surveillance or security.
“It’s now or never,” Boba muttered. He paused beside the swoop bike, looking over his shoulder. Then he shoved aside the dried-up mushrooms and jumped on. “And I say—now.”
For one heart-stopping moment, he thought it wouldn’t start. Then it sputtered and coughed. Finally, with a low buzzing sound it lurched forward.
Someone’s modified it so that any sound is muffled, Boba noted approvingly. He leaned over the controls and pulled up on the throttle. The swoop shot up through the malvil-trees. Not as fast as Boba would have liked—whoever did the modifications obviously preferred stealth over speed.
Maybe they know something I don’t, he thought, and looked around. The worker droids were still laboring mindlessly by the freight entrance. Boba adjusted his helmet, increasing the focus until he could just glimpse the front of the citadel. Nothing new there, either. Above the citadel’s peak, the ramship hovered in place. Boba swung his swoop around, then brought it up to full throttle. Fungus fronds lashed at his helmet as he flew up, up. When he hovered just below the canopy of the forest, he turned the swoop and started to cruise in a careful circuit.
Might as well do a little recon of my own, he thought. That clone trooper came from someplace.
But where?
In a minute he had his answer. Not too distant from Wat Tambor’s citadel, something moved.
Something big—something really big!
A Republic All Terrain-Tactical Enforcer!
“Man, they mean business,” muttered Boba. That AT-TE would be loaded with more clone troopers—dozens of them—not to mention some serious firepower.
There was no way he could commandeer an AT-TE, of course. But where there were incoming clone troopers, there would be Jedi nearby to command them. They would have vehicles of their own—gunships, starfighters, maybe even airspeeders.
If I can get my hands on an airspeeder, I might be able to decoy that ramship back toward Mazariyan. The ramship doesn’t move very fast—but in a speeder, I could! Then I could reach Slave I and get out of here—back to Jabba to claim my bounty!
He angled closer to the AT-TE, being careful to stay out of sight. There were several smaller vehicles accompanying the walker—and, in the distance, more AT-TEs.
That’s more like it, Boba thought with grim satisfaction.
Things might not be so bleak for the Republic, after all. He adjusted the long-range focus on his helmet, until he could make out even more shadowy shapes far behind the approaching AT-TEs. Gunships, each carrying a payload of still more troops and walkers.
And, sure enough, there were speeders, too—and a starfighter.
“That’ll be Glynn-Beti,” said Boba. He scowled, but brought the swoop down lower to get a better look. As he did, something flashed past him—
Another swoop!
“Huh?” For a second, Boba was too startled to do anything. Then he grabbed his blaster.
But whoever was on the swoop wasn’t intent on catching Boba. He was heading for the citadel.
But not just the citadel. As Boba watched in amazement, he realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d been coming up with a plan.
The swoop was flying up—straight toward Wat Tambor’s ramship!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Great minds think alike!” Ygabba used to tell Boba, joking.
But right now, watching the other swoop flying at the ramship, Boba thought maybe this particular idea hadn’t been such a great one. The swoop looked like a squir-mite attacking a sandcrawler.
“He’s doomed,” Boba groaned.
He’d had only a glimpse of the person flying it. But a glimpse was all he needed to recognize him.
Ulu Ulix!
Boba had met the young alien back on the Candaserri. Of course, Ulu hadn’t known Boba by his real name—Boba had called himself Teff, and had said he was an orphan from Raxus Prime. He’d guessed Ulu was about the same age as he was, though Ulu had horns and three eyes. They’d been friendly—well, as friendly as Boba could
be to anyone back on the Candaserri.
He’d never recognize me now, Boba thought with pride. Not with my Mandalorian helmet on, and my body armor.
As Boba watched Ulu’s swoop approach the ramship, he remembered the other thing about the three-eyed alien.
Ulu Ulix was a Padawan, a Jedi apprentice—and his Jedi Master was Glynn-Beti!
Quickly Boba looked back to where the AT-TE was moving in the forest. A starfighter kept pace with it, high above the tops of violet malvil-trees. If Glynn-Beti was in that fighter, she must suspect the ramship was headed for the Republic’s assault ship. But did she know her Padawan was headed for the ramship?
Boba wondered if Glynn-Beti was crazy—or if Ulu was.
He didn’t get to wonder long.
KA-FLOOOSHH!
Meters from where Boba’s swoop hovered, a malvil-tree exploded. There was a second flash of blue flame. Boba was spattered with purple gunk.
He wiped fungus goo from his helmet, yanked on the throttle, and swerved away from the forest. He needed a better view of what was happening.
What he saw wasn’t good, at least not for the Padawan. The sentry droids had spotted Ulu Ulix!
Boba’s swoop shuddered as another burst of flame struck a giant mushroom not far off.
BLAM!
The mushroom exploded. Fiery blobs of fungus flew everywhere, setting other trees aflame. The droids were firing! Boba’s swoop shot straight up, safely out of range. He was close to the citadel now—too close, probably—but the droids weren’t firing on Boba.
At least, not yet. Boba frowned. What—who—were they after? He risked bringing his swoop down lower, and nearer to the fortress. From here he had a clear view of the droids below, laser fire crisscrossing the air as the Republic’s troops began to counterattack.
But the droids weren’t firing on the Republic troops.
Their target was Ulu Ulix.
Boba swerved abruptly as a blast tore the air just meters away. When he looked back, he saw the ramship give a sudden surge upward.
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