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He finally spotted Boba Fett's Slave I in the mid levels of the city rarely traveled by tourists. Fett's ship lay like a discarded household appliance on the docking plates as the clouds of Bespin swirled in the background, tinted orange with airborne algae in the coming sunset. IG-88 landed his own ship on a nearby empty platform, sending a brief covert signal for one of his infiltrated droids to meet him and disseminate information.

The protocol droid stopped and pondered, then uploaded a computer blueprint showing the full display of all levels of the floating metropolis. "Boba Fett has gone to the garbage recycling level. Han Solo has not yet arrived, although moments ago our perimeter scanners reported a ship matching the description of the Millennium Falcon entering the system. It appears to have some hyperdrive damage."

"Good," IG-88 said. "If Boba Fett has gone to the lower levels, he must be establishing some sort of ambush for Solo." He looked at the Threepio droid, flashing his red optical sensors. "Continue your work here," he said. "Watch for Solo and his party. They are mine." The protocol droid gruffly acknowledged, then strutted off. Inside his mind, IG-88 studied the computer map and plotted a path to where Boba Fett was secretly preparing an ambush. IG-88 would kill the bounty hunter and then waitfor Han Solo. The mission would be straightforward-and then he could get back to his real calling on Mechis III. Cloud City's dim, industrial levels were cluttered with discarded equipment and locked-down supply cases. From the temperature and the low illumination, IG-88 knew that humans would find this environment uncomfortable. Ahead, in a chamber lit by orange glows and fiery flickers, he heard the clank of a conveyor belt, chittering creatures-biologicals known as Ugnaughts, according to his species files. IG-88 powered up his weapons, prepared for anything. His heavy metal feet sounded like struck gongs on the deck plates as he strode toward the doorway of the garbage-processing chamber.

The instant he passed through the metal hatch, four ion cannons on either side of the entryway fired at him, triggered by motion sensors as he crossed the threshold. The high-power weapons slammed a cloud of crackling blue electricity into him, enveloping him with a flood of short circuits, a mass of contradictory impulses that shut down his systems one after another despite his shielding. lon cannons produced no physical damage, no thermal emissions-they simply shut down electronic systems. And IG-88 was one enormous set of electronics. Boba Fett had been waiting for him, not Han Solo. His body disconnected, his mind scrambled. Thoughts flickered like ricocheting projectiles inside a sealed metal room, and IG-88 lost all control. He jittered, stuttered, his arms flailed. His weapons refused to fire. His optical sensors filled with static, frying, recovering, then frying again. The ion cannon bombardment stopped, and his self-repairing systems gave him one instant of vision, a video frame: Boba Fett emerging from the shadows, holding a portable ion cannon like a bazooka.

Boba Fett fired again, personally this time. A blast of electrical fire like a comet struck IG-88's chest and bowled him over so that his multi-metric-ton body smashed into the metal walls, denting them as he tumbled to the ground. Boba Fett strode forward, looking through the black slit in his Mandalorian helmet. "No microtracker is too small to Ievade my inspection. I found your device on my ship." Fett stood over the crumbled form of the assassin droid, who lay unable to move or defend himself, all of his weapons systems off line. "I knew you were coming." With emergency backup systems, IG-88B continued to transmit his subspace signal, uploading his files to Mechis III in a last desperate attempt to preserve his memories. Even if this metal form were destroyed-and it looked as if that was about to happen-his entity could continue. The simian Ugnaughts tittered by the groaning conveyor belt where they had been sorting garbage and scrap metal.

They blinked their tiny eyes and watched the confrontation between Boba Fett and IG-88 with awe. Fett stooped to withdraw two of IG-88's own concussion grenades. Without a word, Fett set the timers for one standard minute, then carefully, moving like a surgeon, implanted each detonator inside IG-88's body core. The assassin droid had thick, impenetrable armor-but that was designed to protect from an external attack, not this. Boba Fett calmly stepped back, though only a few seconds remained on the grenade timers. He turned to the cowering Ugnaughts. "You're welcome to whatever scrap you can salvage from this hulk," he said. Then without looking back, he strode into the corridors of Cloud City, preparing for his meeting with Han Solo. IG-88 tracked him for the last few seconds. And then the concussion grenades blew.-Chpt.11 pgs.61-64

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