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"Rumor is that Dooku sent him," one of the pilots said quietly.

"Raising more funds."

"There aren't enough credits in the galaxy to overthrow the Republic," the other woman retorted. "Dooku is mad."

"I assure you, that is the one thing he is not," countered her friend. "And there may not be enough money in the galaxy to fund a rebellion - but there certainly is enough in the Hutts' pockets!"

The women pilots laughed softly. They walked around a corner, out of Boba's earshot.

Count Dooku! Could the sinister Count be here as well?

No - the pilot had said, Dooku sent him. Who would the Count have sent?

Boba thought fast. And he remembered.

San Hill. The head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and one of the most powerful figures in the galaxy. But just a little while ago the Bothan spy had told Nuri that San Hill was here, in the Under-city San Hill was raising funds for the Separatists. Raising money for Count Dooku. And at the same time, the clone troopers were here as a security force of the Republic - clone troopers who had been bred at the command of Tyranus.

The two sides were set to oppose each other, Republic and Separatists. Clones and droids. But behind each side was the same person: the man Boba knew as the Count.

Count Tyranus.

Count Dooku.

It was all part of some terrible plot, Boba was sure of that. He was also sure that, if his father were still alive, he would find a way to make use of this information - especially with San Hill on the same planet.

Boba could make use of it, too. He just had to figure out how.

Maybe the pilots would have more information. He turned and began to move stealthily after them, across the crowded floor.

But when Boba turned the corner, the pilots were gone. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with three tall, vicious figures. Armorlike scales covered their bodies, and their broad, lipless mouths were full of sharp teeth. Long tails protruded from beneath their tunics, lashing the air threateningly as they argued and laughed in deep, throaty voices.

Reptilian Barabels!

"Care to join us?" one hissed at Boba. They were in the middle of a game of three-handed solitaire. "The stakes are high, Jawa - your money, or your life!"

The Barabel jabbed at him with one long, pointed claw, and the others laughed.

Boba shook his head. He began to back away. But before he could, fast as lightning, the Barabel's clawed hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

Boba ducked, kicking out at the Barabel's ankle. The tall reptile gave a shout of rage and pain. He snatched his hand back, his claws closing tightly around Boba's ragged cloak. Boba dove for the floor. The cloak hung from the Barabel's claws like a ribbon of gray mist.

"That's no Jawa!" one of the other Barabels hissed.

That's right, thought Boba grimly. He rolled across the floor, landed on his stomach, and immediately pulled himself under a table.

Above him the Barabels stared at the ragged cloak. They all looked around, nostrils flaring as they peered in vain for Boba.

Meanwhile, Boba hunched back as far as he could into the darkness beneath the table and held his breath. One of the Barabels shook its heavy, lizardlike head. He snorted, snatched the ragged cloak from his friend and tossed it over his shoulder.

"Forget about him! Scavenging scum! Back to the game!"

Once again, the Barabels clustered together, jaws clacking as they looked hungrily over the cards in their hands.

Boba let out a sigh of relief. He was safe. For the moment...

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

He rested for only a few minutes.

Now what? He thought. He no longer had his disguise. If he tried to move he'd be spotted and thrown out of the gambling palace. Probably his card would be confiscated, too. Then he'd be on his own, with no money and no way out of the Undercity.

And that was the best that might happen.

The worst was that he'd be killed. Or captured by slavers.

Boba clenched his jaw grimly.