Authors: Elizabeth Hand
Don’t think! Move!
He dove for the entrance. Cool air embraced him, and blessed darkness. His feet touched the now-familiar, slimy surface. Before him stretched the passage. Just up ahead it divided.
If I can make that fork, I can lose them,
Boba thought. His heart strained as he raced toward it.
If I can just—
Searing pain tore through him.
Boba cried out in agony.
He struggled a few steps more.
Another torturous stab penetrated his armor from behind.
He fell.
“So,” an icy voice echoed through the tunnel “Now I see you as you truly are.”
On the ground, Boba writhed, trying to reach his blaster and turning to look behind him. Above him the cloaked figure of General Grievous loomed into view—and in one hand it now gripped
a lightsaber glowing in the haze.
How could this be? Was the general a Jedi?!
Grievous’s eyes were yellow orbs within a skeletal, silvery mask. Behind him stood Wat Tambor, flanked by the droid bodyguards.
“Not that it matters,” the icy voice continued. Grievous’s other hand slid from the folds of his cape and then emerged with a second lightsaber ignited. “Because you are
going to die now.”
Boba struggled vainly to reach his weapons belt. Pain lanced through him, as though flames ran through his veins. He fell back.
“It looks as though he is in death convulsions already,” said Wat Tambor.
And suddenly Boba had an idea. Without turning his head, he let his gaze flicker across the floor of the tunnel. There, not a millimeter away, a pale clump of the paralyzing Xabar fungus
sprouted.
Can’t—be—seen—moving!
Boba thought. His hand crept toward the fungus.
Must—reach it!
Grievous drew back both lightsabers to strike. Boba tensed. He let his hand rest upon the ground. He moved his wrist, fractionally, so that his glove slipped upward.
A tiny patch of his skin was now exposed.
“He’s dead,” Wat Tambor repeated. “Our troops await us outside, General.”
The young bounty hunter held his breath. From the corner of his eye, he could see fingers of faintly glowing fungus. They were so close that he could almost feel them—almost touch them—
Now!
Something cool and damp licked the patch of exposed skin upon his wrist. His hand, and then his wrist, grew numb. A freezing breath seemed to exhale into his lungs.
“General,” urged Wat Tambor.
The icy numbness spread through Boba’s body. He tried to breathe but could not. He felt his heart pump feebly. His vision began to dim. His mission to capture Wat Tambor had failed.
What would his father have thought?
Xeran said the paralysis was only temporary,
Boba recalled as he drifted off.
He better be right….
Around him the chamber began to grow even more dim. A flicker of consciousness raced through Boba’s brain. He recalled how Jabba would sometimes have his prisoners brought to him, frozen
in carbonite.
Wonder if it feels like this…
It was the last thing Boba thought.
“General, please!” said Wat Tambor. “Look at him—he’s dead. No one could have survived those blows!”
Wat Tambor came up to him and nudged at Boba’s senseless form. The bounty hunter’s body moved, but did not respond. Grievous swept past the Techno Union Foreman, in turn. Disengaging
the lightsabers, he kicked Boba.
“Dead,” echoed one of the droid bodyguards.
“Dead,” the other repeated.
“Leave him,” said Wat Tambor. “There will be plenty of time to dispose of the body when we return. And plenty of others to join him, too,” he added with a malicious
mechanical laugh.
“Come!” commanded Grievous. “He is no Jedi. I will not waste my skill any longer on such a lackey.” He turned, then stalked down the passage, Wat Tambor at his heels. The
bodyguards followed, the citadel echoing as they passed. In the tunnel, a dark form remained, motionless, senseless, upon the ground.
Outside, the siege of Mazariyan raged on.
Inside, Boba Fett’s battle for life was just beginning.