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Jabba was why Boba was about to make landfall on this forsaken, desolate planet.

Boba had already found Tyranus. That was how Boba had ended up on Aargau. Tyranus was the agent who had selected Jango Fett to be the source for the Republic's clone army.

But Tyranus was also Count Dooku, who was leading the Republic's enemies, the Separatists.

And only Boba had the knowledge that these two people were the same.

Knowledge is power, his father had always told him. But even the power of knowledge could be limited.

For knowledge you must find Jabba. He will not give it; you must take it.

Boba had escaped from Aurra Sing and Aargau, but he needed more credits to survive. He needed more power. He needed more knowledge. He took a deep breath, then reached for the console and entered the coordinates for Mos Espa, Tatooine's bustling spaceport.

"Prepare for landing," he said to his ship, and to himself.

Boba hated to admit it, but he needed Jabba the Hutt.

CHAPTER TWO

"Planets are like people," Boba's father always used to say. "They all have individual personalities."

At the time, this hadn't made sense to Boba.

Since then, Boba had learned that it was true.

Kamino, his home world, was gray and grim and cloud-covered, plagued by rains that could last for months on end. The native Kaminoans were like their planet. They were cool and seemingly unchanging, well-mannered but obsessed with control. They were the ideal supervisors for the creation of the clone army.

Aargau, run by the InterGalactic Banking Clan, was strictly ordered on its surface. But underneath that orderly surface was the chaos of the Under-city. In the Undercity, anything could happen.

And Tatooine?

As Slave I banked, Boba stared at the spaceport below him. It was a jumble of domes, pleasure spires, and gambling minarets. He saw long, low warehouses, and the rusted spines of outdated space-traffic control towers. He saw racing arenas, coliseums, and junkshops. Biggest of all was the enormous Arena Citadel. That was where the Pod-racers began their competition, before hurtling off into the desert.

Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. Mos Espa's ragtag buildings looked as though they had crawled in from the desert like giant sand-worms, and then collapsed, too exhausted to go on. Beyond the borders of the spaceport stretched the vast expanse of the Dune Sea, wastelands of sand and dust and wind-carved rocks.

If Tatooine has a personality, Boba thought with bleak amusement, it's a mixed-up one.

Slave I cruised slowly above the network of docking bays. From here they looked like craters, bristling with surveillance and repair equipment. Droids scurried around them like ants. Boba stared down, trying to determine which docking bay would be safest. He had barely enough credits left to pay for docking, and none for refueling. He'd have no more credits at all until he met with Jabba the Hutt.

What would my father do? he thought.

And suddenly he knew.

He put on his father's Mandalorian helmet, which, he noticed proudly, fit better than it had just a few months ago. He felt a slight warmth as the helmet's eye sensors scanned his retinas, and then the reassuring hum as the interactive system recognized him.

He searched Slave I's memory banks for the location of the docking facility last used by Jango Fett.

The nav computer informed him that the docks belonged to Mentis Qinx.

Boba punched in the coordinates. He leaned back in the control seat. Smooth as flowing water, the ship banked. It began its descent into a warren of dilapidated towers surrounding a large and very battered docking bay.

Boba smiled. He adjusted the Mandalorian helmet. He checked to make sure his book was in his pocket. Minutes later, Slave I landed safely at Mos Espa.

He had made it. But that was only the beginning.

He had to find Jabba.

Boba decided to wear the helmet, at least at