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But now that he stood in the middle of it all, Boba saw that was not true. His father had told him once about seeing the world in a grain of sand. That was what Boba felt like he was seeing now.

Around him was a swirl of deep gold, pale buff, almost white.

Ancient buildings made of cracked rock and brick; roads of broken stones and alleys of packed dirt. There were water harvesters and rusted tankers, and cracked useless water vaporators.

And there were life-forms everywhere. They hurried past him, shrouded against the relentless wind and dust. He saw groups of tiny Jawas in stained, dirt-colored robes and hoods. Their yellow eyes glowed balefully as they moved on. Some of them rode tall, placid rontos that swung their horned heads to stare calmly at Boba.

There were jabbering merchants, selling water and smuggled goods.

There were Feeorin pirates, their faces jowled with indigo tentacles, and beautifully dressed women, heavily jeweled and masked as they made their way to Hutt casinos.

"Magravian spice, m'Lord?" a voice hissed at Boba's helmet. "It will make your reflexes sharp as chrsyalide claws!"

Boba shook his head as a snouted Rodian thrust a filthy hand toward him.

"No thanks," Boba said. He took a few quick steps into the street.

"GEGGAOURRAAAY!" a voice shouted.

Boba looked up and saw a huge form bearing down on him. It was a bantha, its large, sloped body swaying back and forth. On its back stood an armed Tusken Raider. Boba stared at it, marvelling: He knew it was rare to see one so far from its desert home.

The Raider yelled threateningly at Boba. Boba couldn't understand what it was saying, but he knew what it meant.

Move!

Boba lunged out of the way. He could feel the bantha's stiff fringe of hair brushing against him as it lumbered past. He heard the whoosh of the Raider's staff slicing through the air just above him.

That was close - way too close, Boba thought.

He hurried on. Ahead of him stood a bustling, run-down building: a cantina. Droids and aliens, recent immigrants and Tatooine natives all milled in front of it, or made their way in and out. Suspicious-looking men in dusty robes hawked caged beasts - chittering neeks from Ambria and crablike suuri, phosphorescent boeys in glass globes.

"Young warrior!" a smuggler called in a low voice as Boba passed.

"I have blasters, the very finest, very cheap, very fine."

Boba ignored him. Only as he approached the cantina's doors did he slow down.

From inside came the sounds of drunken singing, muffled shouts, the clack of mung-tee balls. And, best of all, the smell of food.

Boba paused. His mouth was watering. He knew he had no credits left, but maybe he might be able to swipe an unfinished platter of food.

Grown- ups were notorious for not cleaning their plates. He looked around, made sure his helmet was on securely, and pushed the door open.

Inside the noise was deafening. So was the hulking Noghri security guard who glared down at Boba.

"Display all your weapons!" he shouted. "This isn't like those cantinas in Mos Eisley - we'll have no firefights here."

Boba raised his empty hands. The Noghri roughly patted him down.

Boba held his breath. He was worried that the guard might raise his helmet and see that he was not a warrior of small stature, but a kid.

Luckily, the Noghri had no time for that. Behind Boba a group of rowdy Wookiees appeared.

"Go on, then!" the guard yelled at Boba, gesturing inside. "Next!"

Boba strode through a passage and into the main room. A long, neon purple bar occupied its center, with tables scattered elsewhere. Piped-in music played, adding to the tumult. There were aliens and humans everywhere, heads bent close together as they plotted and planned, or simply ate and drank. Service droids bustled back and forth, clearing dishes and refilling drinks.

Boba looked around.

"There!" he murmured. Near the back of the room he spied an abandoned