The Bounty Hunter . . . Hunted . . .
"Seal
off the cockpit area." Boba Fett spoke aloud. He was already
leaning over the control panel as Slave I's onboard computer executed
the command; with a hiss, the hatchway door closed behind him. With
a few quick jabs at the controls, he silenced the alarm signals once again.
Even
from this distance, where the visible details of his enemy's ship were
little more distinct than the stars behind it, he could recognize the vessel.
It's
Xizor. The outlines of the Falleen prince's flagship were unmistakable--and
intimidating. The ship was known to be one of the deadliest and most
thoroughly armored in the galaxy. If Slave I had gotten into
a full-pitched battle with it, there wouldn't even have been this much
of Boba Fett's ship left hanging together.
The mystery
of why the Vendetta hadn't moved in for the kill was easy enough
to determine. He's holding back, decided Fett. Just waiting
to see if there's any sign of life. Prince Xizor was known to be
something of a trophy collector; it woul be entirely consistent for him
to want the hard physical evidence--the corpses--of those he had set out
to kill, rather than just blowing them into disconnected atoms drifting
in space.