Slave Ship 1

She was far more than a mere child of aristocracy; if he failed to remember that, it was at his own peril. "Perhaps so," said Boba Fett. "That doesn't mean it was a good idea. You may have some pretty fast moves, but trust me-they're nothing compared to mine. Before you could press the firing stud on that piece, I'd be out of this chair, and my forearm would be against your throat. And after that, things would get even more unpleasant for you."

"I'm willing to risk it." Neelah shrugged. "What have I got to lose? You're not telling me what I want to know. What I need to know. At least this way, if I get off one good shot, I'll have the satisfaction of getting a good reason for you clamming up on me. Think of it this way: being dead is the perfect excuse."

Boba Fett had already calculated the precise distance between himself and the female, the exact angle, speed, and direction of the moves necessary to get the weapon away from her. He could do it without even getting winged by the one blaster bolt she would be able to fire in that microsecond interval. Better, he told himself, if I don't have to do that. For one simple reason: a wild shot inside the confines of the ship's cockpit could have some serious consequences. Even now, the Hound's Tooth wasn't in the operational shape he would have preferred; its previous owner's sloppiness had seen to that.-Chpt.10 pg.376