The Mandalorian Armor 17

Metal could have stood up to their fire even longer, but D'harhan's flesh was weaker than that; the torso beneath the laser cannon's housing was
now wrapped in bloodied rags. His knees slowly gave way, and he toppled forward. The cannon's barrel struck the floor as though it had been one of
the roof pillars giving way, gouging out a meter-long trench. He was still alive; Boba Fett could see the laboring of D'harhan's heart and lungs, the rise of the blood-smeared chest forcing itself against the curved mount of the laser-cannon housing. The black-gloved hands rose and tore
feebly at the wounds, as though death were something that could be plucked from the torn flesh and exposed fragments of breast-bone and rib.
The cannon was alive as well; the indicators along the barrel showed an unblinking red, bright through the hissing steam. All it needed was a hand
on the triggering mechanism, and the will to fire. . . .
Boba Fett threw away the blaster rifle he had taken from one of the dead mercenaries. Ducking beneath the fiery bolts crisscrossing the recep-
tion hall, he stepped behind the massive bulk of the fallen D'harhan; with his own adrenaline-charged strength, he gripped the semiconscious figure beneath the arms and half dragged, half lifted him up against the base of a broken pillar. A sudden gasp sounded from within the other's body as Fett grabbed and yanked loose the thick neural-feed cables that had been connected to D'harhan's spine, the hard-spliced socket just between his
shoulder blades. The laser cannon's aiming systems automatically went into manual override status; Boba Fett crouched behind the black metal housing
as the barrel swung upward. And into firing position. A small screen tucked underneath the rear
the housing lit up, with a crosshair grid zeroing in on the mercenaries positioned at the far side of the great reception hall. The barrel turned slightly as Boba Fett's hand jabbed at the controls, seeking a specific target; grid's lines narrowed in and locked on the one dark-uniformed figure who had taken command of the others. Long-range thermal sensors in the laser cannon's tracking systems gave a clear outline of the mercenary behind a shield of bent and torn plastoid construction material. Enough to hide be- hind... but not enough to protect him. Fett his the cannon's firing stud.

The weapon's recoil trembled the black metal housing, its shock traveling all the way up his arms and into his own chest. The single bolt from the laser cannon took out most of the remaining
mercenaries. When Boba Fett raised his head from behind the housing, he sighted through the clouds of steam, hissing louder now to dissipate the
heat from the metal. The far side of the hall was gone now; the violet-tinged light of Circumtore's skies was framed by twisted structural beams, their
ends glowing molten. Across the open plaza beyond the reception hall, the bodies of the mercenary commander and the ones who had died with him
were scattered like broken toys. Inside the hall, the few that were left alive had ceased firing, pointing the muzzles of their weapons up toward the ceiling; the brutal effectiveness of the laser cannon had set them to reconsidering their ill-paid devotion to the cause for which Gheeta had hired them. A couple of the mercenaries-the smartest of them, Boba Fett figured-made a show of tossing their blaster rifles onto the debris-covered floor in front of them, then raising their hands above their heads.-Chpt16 pgs.200-201