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Boba snorted. No way he was going to stay here like a placid Khommite strider, just waiting to be picked off! He checked his weapons belt, making sure his blasters were well-concealed. Then he grabbed his helmet and started for the door.

And stopped.

Boba's Mandalorian battle helmet had belonged to his father, Jango Fett, before he was killed by Mace Windu. For the last few years Boba had worn it, along with his father's body armor. Even after all this time, Boba missed his father terribly; the armor was one of the few legacies Jango had left to his son. Boba wore it with pride and skill. Jango's helmet and armor had become a dreaded sight to all whom Boba hunted down.

But did Boba want to be recognized right now?

For a moment he brooded. He was here now because a high-ranking member of the Republic had paid off Jabba, requesting that the Huttese gangster have one of his bounty hunters track down and kill Wat Tambor.

The Republic wanted Wat Tambor's death to appear to be the work of a lone assassin. And Jabba had known that only his best bounty hunter - Boba Fett - would be able to kill the wily Techno Union foreman.

But Boba had failed. So far, anyway.

Anakin Skywalker was leading Republic troops in their continuing strife with the Separatists. What if he knew of Boba's mission? If word got back to Jabba the Hutt, Boba's reputation would be ruined!

More than his reputation - his life.

And I have kind of a sentimental attachment to that, Boba thought.

He looked at the Mandalorian helmet, then glanced out the viewscreen. Anakin Skywalker was clambering down from his starfighter.

Puffs of sand rose as his booted feet made contact with the moon's surface. He paused to give his starfighter a cursory damage inspection, then turned and headed for Slave I.

Boba took a deep breath. Reluctantly he removed his helmet - for now.

"This is only temporary," he said, catching a glimpse of himself in the dark viewscreen. He looked grim and determined, a younger, rangier version of his father. The superficial resemblance he bore to Jango Fett's clones had long since been etched away by strife and battle. A clone didn't survive long enough to wear his experiences upon his face.

But years of hunting and killing had hardened Boba's expression. He smiled seldom these days. When he did, it was usually when he saw his friend Ygabba and her father, Gab'borah, back on Tatooine.

But he wasn't on Tatooine now. And he wasn't going to return there until he could report Wat Tambor's death or capture to Jabba the Hutt.

Inside the ship, a low, warning note signaled the arrival of an intruder. The young bounty hunter disengaged the alarm, then opened the exit bay.

One hand resting lightly upon his weapons belt, the other poised above his blaster, Boba Fett strode out to meet Anakin Skywalker.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The surface of the moon was chill and stark - nearly as cold and relentless as the gaze of the young man who awaited Boba Fett. As the bounty hunter descended, he sized up the Jedi. Like Boba, much of Anakin Skywalker's youthfulness had been burned away by combat and hardship. He was taller than Boba, clad in a young Jedi's distinctive tunic, modified to suit his tastes, and knee-high boots, with unkempt hair down to his shoulders. He had a Jedi's bearing and discipline, a Jedi's skill, and a Jedi's lightsaber at his side.

But the arrogance that Boba saw in Anakin's eyes was not the mark of a Jedi. Nor was Anakin's impatience. Boba kept his own dark eyes alert and mistrustful, and left one hand on his blaster as he walked down from his craft.

The two were well-matched. Boba was strong and powerfully built, if lacking somewhat in Anakin's agility. Nor did the young bounty hunter have the Jedi's extreme pride. Pride took energy - energy better invested in concentration and cunning. In this matter, at least, Boba had the upper hand.

"That was good flying you did back there," Boba said. His expression