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So it came as a great shock when Jabba finally looked up from the messy guard and a cold gleam came to his eyes. “I’m hungry,” grumbled. “Bring me food, and rouse my dancing girl! Have everyone gather in the great hall! Tonight we party, and I will have no more interruptions!”

• • •

The nights were short on Tatooine, and few slept through them, for it was a time to retreat from the blistering heat of the day.

So it was that late that evening, Dengar sat in the throne room, waiting for Manaroo’s dance. He had his Attanni in, and he listened for Manaroo’s thoughts. Her own mind was numb at the thought of the coming dance, and she was preparing hastily, trying to calm her breath, relax.

In the great hall the musicians had begun to gather, and servants brought heaping platters of food. The Hutt grabbed a few squirming things from one huge box and shoved them in his mouth, then bellowed for his dancing girl.

It was then that Dengar saw his mistake. The Hutt was feeling bloodthirsty tonight, and the sight of the dead Gamorrean guard, rather than distracting him, had only enticed him further. Han Solo and the others would die, but Jabba was not a patient creature. He would not wait for blood. So he called for Manaroo.

Dengar loosened his heavy blaster in its holster, wondered what to do. Killing Jabba would be hard. Hutts had notoriously thick hides, and it could take several shots from his blaster. Dengar wasn’t sure he’d get those shots. The room was crowded with hundreds of Jabba’s henchmen and servants, all gathered for one last mad feast, for many worried that at dawn they would be battling the Rebel Alliance. So the musicians played with a manic edge to their tune, and the henchmen feasted as if this brief meal would be their last.

As Dengar waited for Manaroo to make her appearance, Boba Fett approached his table, swaggering, carrying a long green jug of Twi’lek liquor.

“Join me for a drink?” Boba Fett asked. Boba Fett was normally a very self-contained individual. He never sought out another person’s company, and at first Dengar was confused by the request. But nearly all the other tables were full, and so the request did not seem out of line.

“Sure, have a seat,” Dengar said, kicking a chair back from the table.

Boba Fett sat, put his jug down, motioned for a serving boy to bring some glasses.

“I’ve been watching you,” Boba Fett said, the microphones in his helmet making his voice sound unnaturally loud and gravelly as he spoke to be heard above the noise of celebration. “You’re not like the others here,” he waved at the henchmen gorging themselves at the other tables, “given to excess. I like that in a man. You seem cool, competent, professional.”

“Thank you,” Dengar said, unsure where this might be leading.

“Tomorrow morning, Han Solo dies,” Boba Fett said.

“I know it’s scheduled, but I’m not certain Jabba can pull it off,” Dengar said, unwilling to admit that in all likelihood, Han Solo, his nemesis, would die an ignoble death at dawn. It seemed too easy a way for him to go. At a nearby table, two of Jabba’s henchmen began singing a raucous drinking song.

“I’m leaving after the execution,” Boba Fett said more loudly. “I’ve got a job—a big job. More than one man can handle. But the rewards are extravagant. Interested?”

“Why should I trust you?” Dengar asked absently. Through his Attanni, he could see that Manaroo was being released from her cell. A Gamorrean guard was shoving her through a dark narrow passageway that would lead her to Jabba’s throne. “You bombed my ship. You’ve already betrayed me once.”

Boba Fett sat back a bit in his chair, as if he were surprised at the accusation. “That was when we were in business as competitors. This time, we would be in business as partners. Besides, I did leave you alive.”

“It was indeed a kindness. Which is why I haven’t tried to kill you in return,” Dengar said.

Boba Fett chuckled, a very disturbing sound simply because it was something Dengar had never heard before. Boba Fett leaned his head back, and