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She picked up his helmet. For a long moment she looked at it. Then she turned and stuffed it into some kind of storage compartment. She punched in a security code. The compartment door slid shut. She stood, looking down at Boba's anguished face.

"Don't worry," she said. She stepped to the edge of the shelf, swung herself down, and walked over to Boba. "It's safer there," she added in a low voice. "Trust me."

"Trust you?" Boba started to shout. "You - "

The girl motioned at him to be quiet. He glimpsed the eye in her hand, its pupil black as the darkest ink. She raised her eyebrows, silently indicating the vast room around them.

Boba's mouth clamped shut. He turned and looked around.

It wasn't an entire cruiser, he saw now. Just the cabin. Huge ragged gashes showed where the wings and the power generators had been removed. What remained was a long, high chamber. Bare wires and scorched coils of metal hung from the ceiling. There were holes in the floor. The dull orange light came from lumen globes suspended overhead like immense insect eggs. Bits of shattered circuitry were everywhere, and broken tiles, and remnants of what looked like weaponry - electromagnetic pulse guns, proton torpedo casings, phasers.

And, everywhere, there were children. Dozens of them. They perched on the metal shelves that circled the chamber, staring down at him with hungry, feral eyes. He had never seen humans or aliens so thin, not even the Kaminoans. They were of as many different races and colors as the galaxy could hold - children from Alderaan, Kalarba, Tatooine; green-eyed Kuats, young Dathomir witches, otter like Selonians.

The only thing they had in common, as far as Boba could see, was that they all looked starved. They all looked afraid. And every one of them had an extra eye.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Who - who are you?" Boba turned to the thief. "What is this place?"

"I'm Ygabba." The girl smoothed the front of her filthy tunic. She looked uneasy. "And this is the stronghold of the Master's army."

"Army?" Boba looked at the emaciated figures staring down at him.

"My father always said an army travels on its stomach. Doesn't look like this one's going anywhere."

Shocked murmurs came from the watching figures. Ygabba shook her head. "I wouldn't talk like that if I were you," she said in a low voice.

"The Master wouldn't be too happy."

"Master? What Master?" Boba stared at her. "I don't see anyone in charge here."

The children whispered. Ygabba gave an anxious glance over her shoulder. "I mean it," she said. "You better not - "

Her eyes suddenly widened.

"Master!" she gasped. She raised her hands before her face, then dropped to the floor, cowering. "Master Libkath..."

Boba whirled to see what she stared at. The air flickered and brightened as though shining sand was being poured into an invisible bottle. Slowly, slowly, an alien form appeared in the middle of the chamber. He was tall and thin, clad in deep-blue shimmering robes. He looked even taller because of the hat he wore, a gleaming black mitre like a crown. His hands were gnarled and sickly white, as was his face.

His eyes were huge and round. They glowed the same dull orange as the chamber's lumen globes. With terrible slow care he raised his head and stared intently into the room. When he spoke, his voice was disturbingly gentle. It had a quiet hiss like a boiling kettle.

"Who am I?" he asked.

There was a hushed intake of breath in the chamber. The children raised their hands. In every one a cold eye gleamed.

"You are our Master, Libkath," the children said as one.

The tall figure nodded. "That is so. Who cares for you, children?"

"You do, Master."

"Who gives you refuge?" he asked. "You do, Master," repeated the children.

The eyes stared at the figure. He stared back. After a moment he nodded again.

"That is so." A half-smile crawled across his reptilian face. "And what do I ask in return?" "Obedience, Master."