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Xagobah, we like to ask questions before we answer them. But—”
    The roaring whine of a missile passed overhead. Boba flinched. A moment later the missile impacted a short distance away, sending him falling to his knees. He looked up to see the creature
staring down at him, still eerily calm.
    “But we seem to find ourselves on the same side for the moment,” the creature went on, as though nothing had happened. The muzzle of its blaster remained fixed on Boba as it motioned
for him to get up.
    “And what side is that?” snapped Boba.
    “The wrong one,” retorted the creature, as another missile whizzed overhead. “Quickly!”
    It jammed the blaster rifle into Boba’s side, gesturing toward the mushroom forest.
    “No way!” Boba shook his head. “I’ve already made dinner plans, and they don’t include being the main course!”
    The creature made a low growling sound. Boba stiffened, then realized the thing was laughing. “Dinner plans!” it repeated. “That is good! Feeding time is over—” It
poked him again, harder this time. Reluctantly, Boba began moving toward the fungi forest.
    “The flimmel trees share an underground root system,” the creature continued. “They are thousands of years old, and when one is hurt, they all suffer. And that one was very
badly hurt!”
    It indicated the flimmel tree that Boba had escaped from. Its canopy had retracted completely. It looked like a closed—and very mournful—umbrella.
    “None of them will be hungry for a little while.” The creature shot Boba an admiring glance. “That was a good jolt you gave it.”
    “Thanks,” said Boba. He regarded the creature warily. But its own expression as it stared back at him was mostly curious. Boba positioned his hand so that it was near his
blaster.
    What’s the best way to deal with this thing—whatever it is?
he wondered.
    The alien was armed, but so was Boba. He could blast it—but what if there were others nearby?
    He looked at the alien from the corner as his eye. As he did, the echo of laser fire made the surrounding mushroom forest shake as though a gale tore through it.
    I don’t even know what side of the conflict it’s on,
Boba brooded.
    A sudden staccato burst of comm static made up his mind.
    That was way too close,
Boba thought. And he could tell from a glance at the alien that it felt the same way. Boba decided to take matters into his own hands. He adjusted his helmet,
squaring his shoulders to make himself seem as tall as possible.
    “We better find shelter—fast,” he said.
    To his surprise, the alien nodded. “This way,” it said, turning to lope into the forest. Boba followed, trying not to trip over clumps of dimly glowing mushrooms like tiny, domed
cities scattered underfoot. He kept his hand on his weapon, scanning the shadowy fungus-growth around him for signs of an ambush.
    Thankfully, he saw nothing, save the clusters of gleaming mushrooms and the occasional flimmel tree. They ran for several minutes. A second burst of comm static sounded—much closer this
time. Boba could even make out words:
Tambor Angalarra, Ulu, Suspect Ambush…
    Suspect ambush. Boba’s grip on his blaster tightened. Scant meters ahead his reptilian guide paused in front of an enormous mushroom tree the color of demonsquid ink. Like the flimmel
tree, it was topped by a parasol-shaped crown. Unlike the flimmel tree, this one had wobbly limbs protruding from it. They reminded Boba of the spokes of a wheel—if the spokes had started
to melt.
    “This way!” hissed the alien. It made a running leap and nimbly swung its clawed forearms over the lowest branch. The entire fungus seemed about to keel over. Almost immediately the
plant straightened, its limbs coiling and uncoiling like fingers.
    “Hurry!” the alien called urgently. “Come here!”
    Boba stared up at it. Its lidless jade-green eyes stared back. Then it turned and began clambering farther up the fungus stalk. As it did it made a soft