He could tell that the comm specialist was uncon-vinced, as well as the others surrounding him on the bridge. They did not possess the greatness of spirit to sa-vor a moment such as this. A legend dies, mused Xizor, and it means nothing to them.
For Boba Fett was precisely that, a dark legend. One whose exploits had been for so long a source of fear and envy—and all the other spirit-lessening emotions that sentient creatures could inflict upon themselves—in every shadowed corner of the galaxy. Even though Boba Fett's death had not been the primary aim of all of Xi-zor's plotting and scheming, it was still an undeniable benefit to become the author of his demise. In the unspo-ken rules of the great, deadly game played among hunters, no prize was more desirable than the blood of an oppo-nent upon one's hands.
Xizor looked past the image of Boba Fett's ship to the stars beyond. And someday—the thought burned within his breast—that blood will be from other opponents, even greater and more deadly than Boba Fett. The time would come when he would place his boot sole upon the neck of another helmeted figure, one who had long been the target of his hatred. If the web that Xizor spun had resulted in Boba Fett's destruction, that was only a by-product of the scheme meant to crush Lord Darth Vader. And when that vengeful goal had been accomplished ...
After vengeance came ambition. Which for Prince Xi-zor was just as limitless. It was something that withered old fool Emperor Palpatine would discover too late to save himself. The mystical Force, which Xizor had felt more than once squeeze the breath from his throat, would not be enough to forestall that day of triumph for Black Sun and its commander.
Some things, thought Xizor with a thin smile, are more powerful than any Force. And over those things— fear, vengeance, greed, and so much else—his command extended as well.
Even the most pleasant meditations had to end even-tually. Xizor brought his thoughts back from that future, glittering like light from a honed vibroblade, and re-turned it to those concerns over which his underlings fretted. "Let us proceed," said Xizor. He gestured to one of the weapons techs standing behind him. "Reaccess previous target and prepare to fire."
"Your Excellency ..." The comm specialist sounded even more nervous than before. "That... that might not be such a good idea ..."
Fearful insubordination angered Prince Xizor as thor-oughly as any other kind. His heavy cape swung out-ward from his shoulders as he whirled about to face the other man, already cringing before the onslaught of his wrath. The violet tinge of his eyes darkened to a color closer to that of spilled blood as he pinned the comm spe-cialist with his fiercely heated gaze. "You dare," said Xi-zor, the lowered tone of his voice more intimidating than any increase in volume could have been, "to question my orders?"
"No! Of course not, Your Excellency—" The comm specialist actually took a step backward, hands raised as though to fend off a blow. A look of controlled panic swept around the faces of the other staff on the bridge. "It's just thuh-that—" Stammering, the technician pointed with one hand to the viewport behind Xizor. "The situa-tion has changed somewhat... suh-since you last looked at it..."
Brow creased, Xizor turned back to the viewport. He saw immediately what the comm specialist was refer-ring to, even before the other man could manage an explanation.
"You see, Your Excellency . .. Boba Fett has maneu-vered his ship so that it's directly between ourselves and the web of Kud'ar Mub'at..."
The situation would have been obvious to any eye, let alone one as skilled in strategic matters as Prince Xizor's. Beyond the image of the ship Slave I in the viewport, the larger mass of the arachnoid assembler's drifting, self-constructed home and place of business could be seen, like a shabby, elongated artificial asteroid.
"To fire off any laser-cannon bolts now, Your Excel-lency, would be highly inadvisable." The comm special-ist had summoned up his last reserves of courage; his voice sounded a little less shaky. "Any evasive maneu-vers on Boba Fett's part might result in the bolts striking Kud'ar Mub'at's web instead." The comm specialist shrugged and spread his hands, palms upward. "Of course, that would be up to you to decide, as to whether to risk it or not. But given the ongoing business relations between Black Sun and the assembler—"
"Yes, yes; refrain from explanation." Xizor irritably waved off the underling. "You don't need to remind me about all that." Sending a few laser-cannon bolts through Kud'ar Mub'at itself, and not just the assembler's messily conglomerated web, would not have been any cause for grief; Xizor had already decided upon the elimination of this business associate, whose entangling concerns had grown so inconvenient. But to do so in this way, with all the repercussions that would follow from it becoming known throughout the galaxy that Black Sun had a short and fatal way with those that served them, would cripple Xizor's further plans. Beyond that, the new ally that Xi-zor had slated to replace Kud'ar Mub'at was also inside the assembler's web—Xizor had no intention of losing so potentially valuable a creature as Balancesheet, the crafty little accountant subnode that had declared its indepen-dence from it creator. "Hold your fire," Xizor instructed the weapons systems techs behind him.
The comm specialist had put one hand to his ear, lis-tening to a subaudible message being patched through the cochlear implant inside his skull. "Your Excellency—" he said, looking up at Xizor. "Kud'ar Mub'at has made direct contact with us. He wishes to have a word with you."
All I need, thought Xizor irritably. "Very well—put it through."
He listened to Kud'ar Mub'at's high-pitched, nerve-grating voice through the speaker mounted above the bridge's central control panel. "My so-esteemed Prince Xizor," came the assembler's voice. "Of course, as al-ways, boundless is my trust in your wisdom and abilities. Never would I doubt the propriety of any action that was initiated by your spotless hands—"
"Get on with it," growled Xizor. The panel micro-phone picked up his words and relayed them on a tight-beam connection to the web drifting in the distance, beyond Boba Fett's ship. "I've got more urgent things to take care of than listening to you." He kept an eye on the viewport and the image of Boba Fett's ship, still gather-ing speed.
"Very well," sniffed the assembler. Xizor could imag-ine it on its nest in the web, folding multiple jointed limbs more tightly around its pallid, wobbling abdomen. "Your display of temperament is perhaps understand-able, but it does not diminish the admiration I—"
"Either say what you want of me or be silent."
The tone of the assembler's voice turned sour and sulky. "As you wish, Xizor. How is this for bluntness: you must be an idiot to have begun firing upon Boba Fett in open space. Do Falleens have no capacity for discre-tion? This entire sector is under constant observation be-cause of the presence of my web here. Must I remind you that others are very likely watching? Some of those watchers are business associates of mine, or those with whom I might wish to do business at some time. I realize that your reputation would be enhanced by publicly eliminating the so-esteemed Boba Fett—but what about my reputation?" Kud'ar Mub'at's voice grew louder from the panel speaker. "I certainly would prefer to have crea-tures killed rather than pay the money I owe them—don't mistake me about that—but I would prefer if it didn't be-come widely known that this sort of thing happens to them. Pray tell, who's going to do business with me if they think they're going to wind up dead?"
"Don't worry about it," replied Prince Xizor. Only a portion of his attention was given to the conversation with the absent assembler. "You can tell anyone you want that Boba Fett's death had nothing to do with you."