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The old man's eyes grew sad. Gazing at him, Boba felt sad, too, but also excited.

"I saw them!" he began. "They - "

Before he could continue, the dark-robed figure of Bib Fortuna appeared.

"You!" he ordered in his thin voice. His clawed finger pointed at Gab'borah. "You are to proceed to the kitchens - immediately!"

Gab'borah bowed. "As you wish," he said to Bib Fortuna, then glanced at Boba. "I will proceed to the seventh kitchen," he murmured.

"That is my customary place of employment."

Boba looked at him. He understood that this was the old man's way of telling him how he could be found.

"Good-bye," said Boba. Gab'borah smiled, then walked away. Bib Fortuna turned impatiently.

"And you - " The Twi'lek's orange eyes fixed on Boba. "You are to prepare for an audience with Jabba. Choose your words carefully," he added, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "They will probably be your last!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Boba watched as the Twi'lek headed for a raised area of the main deck. A brilliant yellow canopy billowed above it. Beneath the, canopy, there was shade. There was shelter from Tatooine's twin suns, already burning fiercely with the dawn. There was a table laid out with food and pitchers of cool water, as valuable as precious metals on this desert planet.

And there was Jabba. He reclined upon a platform, one stubby hand grasping a froglike wuorl. With a groan of pleasure he plopped the wuorl into his mouth. Boba took a deep breath. He adjusted his helmet, then strode over

"0 Exalted Hutt," he said. His voice was confident yet respectful.

"I await your orders."

Jabba chewed noisily. He swallowed. He belched.

"You say you are a bounty hunter?" he asked. "Yes, 0 Mighty Jabba."

Jabba stared at Boba's helmet. Boba felt a trickle of sweat on the back of his neck. He was glad that Jabba could not see his face....

Or could he...?

"You are small for a Mandalorian warrior," Jabba said slowly in Huttese. His eyes narrowed. "I have a task that is dangerous. It demands courage and skill."

"I have both," Boba pronounced.

"Others have said the same." Jabba shook with a spasm of laughter.

"Their bones now lie in an acklay's den!"

"Excuse me, Exalted One." Bib Fortuna stepped onto the platform beside the gangster. He lowered his head and announced, "We have arrived at the palace."

Even as he spoke, the smooth motion of the sail barge stopped.

Beneath Boba's feet the deck seemed to lurch. He caught his balance in time to keep from falling.

"0 Great Jabba," he began. "I would like to - "

"Silence!" roared Jabba. He glared at Boba. "In five minutes I will meet with you and another bounty hunter in my throne room. There I will give you your assignment. If you are late, other arrangements will be made. "

The crime lord gave a long, jeering laugh.

"These arrangements will involve my combat arachnids. They have not been fed for several days. I find they fight better when they are hungry."

Boba nodded earnestly. "I won't be late," he said.

But Jabba was already leaving.

The deck was in chaos. People hurried to raise and lower ladders and planks. A wide ramp was in place for Jabba's departure.

"Move it!" shouted a guard.

Boba hurried to the rail, shading his eyes from the blazing suns.

He stared out. For the first time, he saw Jabba's palace.

"Wow!" he breathed.

Around him stretched the desolation of the Dune Sea. Distant mountains loomed above shifting red sands and deep canyons. Far, far away, tiny black forms moved across the desert - a herd of wild banthas.

Somewhere out there lived the barbarian Sand People, the Tusken Raiders. Somewhere Jawas scavenged space freighters and abandoned moisture farms.

But there were no Sand People here. There were no Jawas.

This was the stronghold of Jabba the Hutt.

It was a fortress more huge and more strangely beautiful than anything Boba had ever seen. An immense central