New Threat (4 page)

And there would be Republic command personnel on board as well—and Republic military commanders on Xagobah’s surface.

“Which is where I’m headed,” said Boba. “Better get there, fast!”

He took a final look at the Acclamator. Then he hit the thrusters.
Slave I
shot toward Xagobah.

Outside, streamers of purple and lavender whipped past. Boba thought about the troopship. It certainly looked like the Republic had sent an entire clone army to lay siege to Wat Tambor.

From what Boba knew about the Separatists, they would have their own army, geared to fight back.

A droid army. Battle droids, super battle droids, spider droids, the works.

Boba’s grip tightened on
Slave I
’s controls. He had successfully fought droids back on Tatooine, when he rescued Ygabba and the other kids from the evil Neimoidian.

But he’d never had to fight an entire army of them!

“Good thing I have my body armor,” said Boba.

“And my blasters…”

The ship’s nav program showed he was fast approaching the surface. He still wasn’t sure what Xagobah looked like, close up.

But he knew what he would find there—

Trouble.

Boba locked
Slave I
into cruising mode. Outside, shreds of dark purple mist flew by like flocks of winged mynocks. Boba watched the haze grow thicker—and
darker—the closer he came to Xagobah’s surface

I still have no idea what kind of life-forms are native to this place
, he thought. He peered through the writhing fog. It was almost impossible to see anything, which meant it would be
difficult for others to see him.

“That’s a good thing, too.” Boba reached for his jet pack. “The Republic is after Wat Tambor. And Wat Tambor will be busy defending himself against the clone troops—and none of them will be happy to see me coming!”

He turned back to
Slave I
’s console. Outside, the mist no longer moved. Instead, it hung like a heavy, purplish curtain over everything. As
Slave I
cruised a short
distance above the surface, Boba got his first glimpse of Xagobah.

And what he saw there was disgusting!

“Mushrooms?” exclaimed Boba.

Only these weren’t ordinary mushrooms. They were as tall as trees; as tall as the rock formations that surrounded Jabba’s fortress. He saw orange fungi shaped like towers, with long
rubbery appendages dangling from them like arms. He saw entire forests of umbrella-shaped mushrooms, yellow, crimson, poisonous green. In spots the ground was covered with a carpet of wriggling
things like hair or fur. They waved and changed color as the ship passed overhead, darkening from pink to darkest violet. Some of the tallest mushrooms sported fungi like ladders crawling up their
sides. Really crawling, like slugs or gigantic swollen caterpillars.

“Gross!” said Boba.

Though it was also sort of cool, in a horrible way. He stared at a huge fungi that looked like a bloated jellyfish. It pulsed and belched clouds of purple-black smoke as Boba’s ship
hovered above it.

Only it wasn’t smoke, but spores.

“That’s what the fog is,” Boba realized in amazement. “Not mist, or clouds—but billions and billions of mushroom spores! I wonder if it’s safe to
breathe?”

Quickly he logged into the ship’s medical computer and read the data there.

It is recommended that you take an antidote before setting foot on Xagobah, as a precaution. Most of the fungi are harmless, but some have toxins that can be fatal if swallowed or breathed.
Others can cause changes to non-native biological entities.

“Like me?” asked Boba, as he took a small inhaler out of his med kit.

Boba breathed in the antidote, then tossed the empty inhaler.

“Changes,” he mused. “I wonder what kind of changes? Well, I’ll have plenty of time to find out—later. Right now I’m out to find Wat Tambor.”

Slave I
was cruising well below the mushroom forest’s canopy now.

But in the distance, Boba could see something other than rubbery fungi and coiling tendrils.

Laser fire.

He stared out as bolts of bright blue flame erupted through the haze of purple and black. For a moment the flares illuminated the scene below.

“There it is,” breathed Boba.

In the center of a large clearing an immense structure loomed: Wat Tambor’s fortress. It was too dim to see clearly. But Boba could make out dark slashes about 500 meters from the citadel—a series of trenches engineered by the Republic’s troops. More laser fire rose from here, streaking toward the fortress walls. Boba could just make out myriad forms moving through the
shadows.

“Clone troopers,” he said aloud, preparing to land. “This is where the action is. Which means—that’s exactly where I’m going!”

Back on Tatooine, one of the first things Boba had done was arrange for his ship to be completely overhauled by Mentis Qinx. At the time, Boba had no credits to pay for the
work. He’d bluffed his way into it, projecting enough confident authority that he’d fooled Qinx’s administrative droid.

And the bluff had paid off. Qinx had upgraded
Slave I
’s power cells. He had installed a series of camo covers that concealed new turbolasers and concussion missile launchers. He
had upgraded the engineering console. He had even replaced the existing hardware grid with a larger one. Someday, that grid would accommodate more advanced stealth hardware.

Unfortunately, Qinx hadn’t installed it yet.

“That’ll be your next big project, Qinx,” muttered Boba.

He stared up at the vast Republic assault ship hovering just beyond the planet’s atmosphere.
Slave I
’s interstitial shield had worked beautifully out there, with the
Republic’s eyes trained on the surface of Xagobah.

But would it work here on the planet itself?

He activated all the ship’s auxiliary cloaking devices and began to land.

Below, the mushroom forest swayed and tossed as
Slave I
descended. Clouds of spores drifted across the viewscreens. In the near distance, flickers of blue and gold exploded through the
violet haze. He had landed behind the front lines; if he’d tried to fly directly to the citadel, both Republic and Separatist forces would’ve been alerted to his presence. And Boba
needed both stealth and surprise if he was going to capture Wat Tambor.

More laser fire.

The Republic’s forces were very close.

With a shudder,
Slave I
touched down.

“Here we are,” Boba muttered. A chill crept across him, but he ignored it. Facing down fear had become second nature to him. He glanced at his father’s book, stowed safely
beneath the console. Not long ago, Boba would have taken it with him for good luck, and to give him confidence.

But not now. Boba had developed discipline, and with that came confidence. And he had memorized every word of Jango’s advice. Now Boba carried the memory of his father inside him, along
with the knowledge of his own strength.

As for luck? Boba took a deep breath.
We make our own luck,
Jango had told him.
Caution, cunning, preparedness—that’s what luck consists of.

Oh—and a great set of weapons doesn’t hurt
, his father had added with a rare smile.

Thinking of Jango made Boba smile sadly.

“Well, I’ve got the weapons, that’s for sure,” he said.

He did a brisk check of his firearms, sliding a palm shooter onto one hand. With the other he checked the array of weapons on his belt.

A vibroshiv; a single CryoBan grenade that Jabba had given him as reward for an earlier success; his blasters. The Mandalorian body armor, stronger and tougher than chyrsalide hide, as supple as
Boba’s own skin.

Man, this feels great!
he thought, flexing his arms. He checked that his Westar blasters were fully charged.
That should be enough….

He started for the hatch, then stopped. His gaze fell upon a small object resting alongside the flight console.

Ygabba’s gift.

He picked it up, feeling again how heavy it was for something so small. Carefully, he opened it.

“Whoa!” His eyes widened in delight. “A holoshroud!”

He examined it closely: compact power cell, hologram generator and projector, hologram cartridge and tuner. As he turned it, a small text doc slid out. Boba recognized Ygabba’s neat
handwriting.

Boba shook his head, marveling.

“Ygabba, you definitely have the best taste in presents,” he said at last. He locked the holoshroud in place on his belt. “Guess that’s it…”

He was ready to go. For a moment he looked longingly at his jet pack. That would sure make it faster to get around.

But as he reached for the jet pack, he heard a burst of laser fire from outside. There was an answering volley, followed by an explosion.

Boba shook his head. “Too risky.”

Reluctantly he left the jet pack where it was. He adjusted his helmet so it covered his face and stepped forward, opening the airlock. For one last instant, he stopped and stared back at the
interior of his ship—he hoped he’d make it back here. Then he closed the airlock and opened the outer door.

A rush of warm, marshy air surrounded him, thick with the smells of rot and stagnant water. A flare of cannon fire made the towering mushrooms shake like grass in the wind. He heard distant comm
static and shouting, the scream of something that was not human.

Boba smiled. “Wat Tambor, here I come!”

His hand poised above his blaster, Boba Fett took his first step onto the surface of Xagobah—and into the unknown.

Slave I
had landed in a small clearing in the mushroom forest. After checking that the area was safe, Boba ran quietly until he reached the edge of the clearing. He
stopped and looked back.

His ship was gone.

For a moment Boba’s heart stopped. “What?”

Could the Republic forces have found him so soon?

Suddenly he remembered. Jabba’s interstitial shield! He laughed hoarsely. “Guess that proves the cloaking device works!”

Boba gazed to where his ship was hidden.
I’ll be back as soon as I can,
he thought.
With Wat Tambor—dead or alive!

He touched his helmet in farewell, turned and began to make his way through the forest.

“Ugh!”

Boba swatted at a thick, slimy purple-green tendril that reached for him from an overhanging branch. The tendril recoiled like a cratsch preparing to strike. A cloud of green mist puffed out
from it, and a smell like rotten meat.

Boba grimaced. “Funny, Jabba didn’t mention moving, stinking mushrooms!”

He activated his helmet’s filtration system. As he stepped for ward his boots sank into sticky ooze.

“Ugh!” Boba groaned again.

From the air, Xagobah’s fungus-covered surface had appeared solid. But now that he stood on it, or in it, Boba saw it was about as solid as mugruebe mucus. He pulled his foot up. There was
a loud belching sound, as the ground beneath sucked at his boot hungrily.

Maybe leaving the jet pack behind hadn’t been such a good idea….

Before he could take another step, a deafening sound tore the air overhead, followed by a blinding burst of flame. Instinctively Boba flung himself back toward an umbrella-shaped fungus three
times his height.

That was his first mistake.

“Hey!” Boba shouted.

The huge mushroom had a gash in its side, big enough to hold Boba. He thought he could hide there from whoever was firing. Instead, great slimy folds of fungus suddenly extended from the
mushroom, like huge mynock wings. They covered him until he was wrapped in a slimy cocoon, with only his head free. Then they yanked him backward to the base of the fungus-tree. A putrid scent
filled his nostrils. Boba’s hands lashed out, struggling to free himself.

That was his second mistake.

The instant his fingers touched the rippling fungus, they were stuck fast. And the more he struggled, the worse it got. Within minutes, he was entirely stuck. He could feel his blaster at his
waist, but he couldn’t move to retrieve it. His fingertips grazed the handle of his vibroshiv, but he couldn’t free it. He could scarcely breathe.

And that, unfortunately, seemed to be the point.

Because Boba could still see. And what he saw was that he was slowly, inescapably, being pulled toward the gash in the side of the great mushroom-tree.

Only it wasn’t just a gash. And it wasn’t a hole.

It was moving, opening wider and wider the closer he drew to it.

And suddenly Boba knew what it was—

A mouth.

The fungus was like some horrible hybrid of mushroom and spider. The folds enveloping Boba were like a web.

And the mouth—well, it was exactly like a mouth! Boba could smell it, the rotting scent of whatever its last meal had been. And he could see it, row upon row of crimson, razor-sharp
teeth stretching deep inside the mushroom’s trunk.

Now what?

He tried kicking again.

Nothing. He was completely immobilized. The fungal tree’s mouth was only meters away now. Boba glared at it through his helmet. He couldn’t move them, but still his hands clenched
angrily.

Wait a minute
…

Just beneath one hand he could feel the tip of something hard and smooth: his Stokhli spray stick. Boba had taken it from a Stokhli nomad who’d given him a hard time in Mos Eisley one day.
He’d stuck it on his weapons belt and, truth to tell, he’d almost forgotten about it, despite the fact that spray sticks cost a lot of credits. It was small and slender, with a stun pad
at the very bottom and spray mist cartridges a few millimeters above.