Hard Merchandise (star wars)

by K. W. Jeter

  "You old fool."

  The subnode's words were no longer spoken in the tone, both efficient and obsequious, that it had always used before. Now its voice was both deeper and touched with a newly won authority. To Boba Fett's eyes, the subnode even appeared slightly larger than before, as though it were already literally expanding into its new role in life. Perched on Xizor's hand, Balancesheet raised its own forelimbs in a expansive gesture.

  "Things will be very different now," said Balance-sheet. Its brilliant glittering eyes glanced over at Boba Fett. "For many of us. And yet, in certain ways, things will remain exactly the same. There will be a member of our unique species, an arachnoid assembler, at the center of a vast, invisible web spanning the galaxy." The little subnode's voice rose in volume and pitch. "Arranging delicate matters, pulling strings, putting one creature in contact with another—all those delicate items of busi-ness that one of our breed is capable of doing so well. But there can only be one web like that, and only one assem-bler listening to and making those little tugs upon its strands. And that assembler's name will no longer be Kud'ar Mub'at. You've had a long time at the center, time in which you've grown old and fat and stupid. But that time is done now."

  At the base of Kud'ar Mub'at's nest, the stormtrooper Voss'on't looked up at the small creature perched on the Falleen's hand. The grimace on Voss'on't's face spelled both repugnance and incomprehension. It was obvious that he wasn't sure what was going on, but had figured out that it wasn't going to do him any good.

  "An excellent demonstration, don't you think?" Prince Xizor smiled cruelly as he held his new business associate up at his own eye level. "That a powerful entity may be housed within an unimposing physical form. It should serve as a reminder to all of us that appearances can be deceiving."

  Boba Fett watched as the larger assembler twitched and shook uncontrollably in its nest. The revelation had struck Kud'ar Mub'at dumbfounded. Its lipless mouth hung open, gaping at its own creation, now completely independent—and triumphant.

  "Such a thing . . . cannot be ..." The trembling in Kud'ar Mub'at's limbs grew even more pronounced and erratic, as though it were trying to reassert its will over the mutinous Balancesheet. "I ... I made you!"

  "And if you had not been so blind," replied Balance-sheet, "and besotted with your own cleverness, you would have been able to detect that I was no longer merely an extention of your own neurosystem." In one of its fore-limb claws, Balancesheet held up the thin, pallid strand that had once linked it to the living web around it. The broken end dangled from the former subnode's grip, a few centimeters from the palm that held Balancesheet aloft. "I was free from you even before Boba Fett's ship crashed into the web."

  Like a broken thing, Kud'ar Mub'at shrank back down into its nest. "I... had... no idea ..." The spidery limbs folded around its abdomen, as though trying to preserve the fading warmth of life. "I trusted you ... I needed you..."

  "That was your mistake," said Balancesheet coldly. "And your last one."

  Prince Xizor extended his hand toward the chamber's curved wall; Balancesheet scuttled from his palm and onto the densely tangled structural fibers. "I'm afraid," said Xizor, "that the business relationship between us is over now, Kud'ar Mub'at." The edges of Xizor's cape swung forward as he folded his massive arms across his chest. "While Black Sun still has need of a go-between for certain delicate matters where we wish to keep our own participation as secret as possible, what we don't need is an associate who has grown either too compla-cent or too senile to notice this small rebellion taking place under its own nose. You've already lost a war, Kud'ar Mub'at, that you didn't even know was being fought. Black Sun can't afford to be sentimental about what you've done for us in the past; we have to go with the winner."

  Kud'ar Mub'at's voice wavered with fear. "What. . . what are you going... to do?"

  "You'll find out soon enough."

  "Nobody's finding out anything," said Boba Fett. He had listened to the exchange between the Falleen prince and the arachnoid assembler with mounting impatience. The blaster pistol rose in his hand once more, reasserting its hold on the others' attention. "That is," he continued, "until my business is taken care of."

  "Of course." Xizor gave a nod of acknowledgment. "But you see, bounty hunter—this is your business. My new associate Balancesheet was the one who convinced me that you should be allowed to go on living. And that was after I had already decided that you should be killed." An indulgent though still cruel smile showed on Xizor's face. "You're a fortunate creature. Many in Black Sun will testify that it's a rare occasion when I change my mind."

  "Then why did you?"

  From its perch on the chamber wall, Balancesheet an-swered. "My analysis was that you're worth more to me alive than dead, Boba Fett. With the old Bounty Hunters Guild now dismantled, there's no one in your chosen profession with your resources and skills. Black Sun—as well as the other clients whose accounts I've inheritedwill still have need of an effective bounty hunter such as yourself. The consideration that had prompted Prince Xizor's previous decision to kill you was based upon see-ing the need to reduce the number of creatures who were aware—or who might become aware—that he and Black Sun had been behind the anti-Guild operation from the beginning." The former subnode spoke as matter-of-factly as if it had been adding up a long column of num-bers in its head. "But as I pointed out to Xizor—we were having our discussion via comm unit the whole time you were talking here—getting rid of Kud'ar Mub'at accom-plishes the same thing, and more. Not only do we elimi-nate the weakest link in the chain—after all, an assembler buys and sells information all the time—but we also leave a more valuable business associate alive. One that would owe us a favor as well."

  Boba Fett shook his head. "If you're expecting grati-tude, then I'm in short supply. And you're the ones who owe me, remember? For him." He pointed with the blaster toward Voss'on't. "Nobody leaves here, dead or alive, until the bounty gets paid out."

  "That's right!" Kud'ar Mub'at unfolded his fore-limbs, stretching their sticklike lengths out toward Fett.

  "Don't... trust them," the assembler cried in agitation. "They're . . . they're trying to cheat you." A pleading tone filtered into the high-pitched voice. "I'm . . . the only one... who's on your side ..."

  "Shut up." Boba Fett knocked the assembler's claws away with a swipe of the blaster pistol. "If there's any-body on my side, I haven't found them yet." He turned his visor-shielded gaze, and the blaster, toward Prince Xi-zor. "So how about it?"

  "The bounty? Very well." Xizor gave a slight nod, then turned and gestured with one hand toward Balance-sheet. "Transfer the funds being held in escrow on Cor-uscant to the main operating and receipt account of the bounty hunter Boba Fett." He glanced back at Boba Fett and smiled. "You didn't really think all those credits were being kept here, did you?"

  "Doesn't matter where they were." Boba Fett kept the blaster pistol raised. "As long as they wind up in the right place."

  "The credits are already there," said Balancesheet. "I signaled for the transfer to be made before I had my own discussion with Prince Xizor." This time a trace of self-satisfaction sounded in the former subnode's voice. Its small compound eyes looked toward the Falleen. "I was confident that we would wind up in agreement on this matter."

  Xizor's eyes narrowed to slits. His courtly manner of just a few seconds before seemed to have evaporated. "Assumptions such as that might cause difficulties be-tween us in the future."

  "Perhaps." The tiny creature didn't appear intimi-dated. "We'll deal with that when the time comes."

  Through his own comlink mounted inside his helmet, Boba Fett accessed the remote communications func-tions aboard Slave I. It took only a few seconds to verify the sum that had been in the now-empty escrow account, and that a transfer had gone through into his own ac-count. The bounty for Trhin Voss'on't was his now.

  "Fine," said Boba Fett. The blaster pistol stayed raised in his hand. "You two can sort out your business affairs any w
ay you want. They don't concern me. The only other item on my agenda is making sure that I get out of here alive. All those credits don't mean much if I'm too dead to spend them."

  "I'll guarantee you safe passage." Prince Xizor pointed down the web's central corridor, back toward Slave I mired in the fibrous structure. "You've got your bounty now. I'd suggest you return to your ship. You've deliv-ered your hard merchandise, and we don't have anything more to discuss. And frankly"Xizor glanced around the chamber with distaste—"I've spent enough time here already."

  "That's one thing we agree on, then." Boba Fett re-garded the Falleen over the barrel of the blaster pistol. "But for the rest—I have my doubts. How much do you think I trust you, Xizor? You could be lying to me now, the same way Kud'ar Mub'at was when I got involved in this whole business." Fett slowly shook his head. "You know that my ship is barely capable of traveling; I can nurse it along to the nearest planet with an operating re-pair yard if I take it slow. But I'm not going to sit out there and be a sitting duck for you to fire off your laser cannons at again."

  "You should weigh your words a little more carefully, bounty hunter." The cruel smile had long vanished from Xizor's harshly chiseled features. His violet-tinged eyes narrowed into slits that might have been cut with the point of a vibroblade. One hand shot out and grabbed the barrel of the blaster pistol being held on him. His fist squeezed tighter on the weapon, but made no move to push it away; it remained aimed directly at his chest. "I gave you the word of a Falleen noble; that should be enough to remove any doubts concerning your fate. If not, think on what my associate Balancesheet has told you: we have determined that you are worth more to us as a living bounty hunter than a dead one. Don't tempt me to change my mind once more on that point."

  "There's something I haven't decided, though." The blaster remained locked between Boba Fett and Xizor, with the bounty hunter's finger tight against the trigger. "I don't know," continued Fett, "if you're worth more to me alive or dead."

  "Don't be a fool," said Xizor coldly. "I've humored you long enough, allowing you to keep this thing pointed at me. If it pleased you to talk business while waving a blaster around, then so be it. But if you're planning on firing it, you'd better try doing it soon. I've just about run out of patience."

  "So have I."

  "Believe me, bounty hunter—you'll run out of luck just as quickly. You kill me, and what do you think would happen next? Even if my guards didn't find out within minutes, where do you think you'd run to in your crippled ship? I can assure you, Black Sun would not take well to the loss of its leader—and the life of that as-sassin would be a very brief proposition." Xizor's hard gaze drilled through the visor of the Mandalorian battle-armor helmet and into Boba Fett's own. "It's not a mat-ter of sentiment, bounty hunter; just business, pure and simple." He took his hand away from the barrel of the blaster pistol. "Now you have to decide."

  Boba Fett weighed the other creature's words. A few seconds of silence ticked away, then Fett nodded.

  "I ap-pear to have no choice," he said. "Except to trust your word." He lowered the blaster and slipped it back into its holster. "Whether I want to or not."

  "That's smart enough." The chill half smile reap-peared on Xizor's face. "You don't have to figure out everything in this galaxy; just enough to survive will do." He turned his gaze around to the former subnode Bal-ancesheet, still perched on the chamber's wall near him. "Send for my guards," he ordered. "And have them bring the others—the cleanup crew—with them. It's time to bring this show to an end."

  The renegade stormtrooper had silently watched the tense exchange between the bounty hunter and the Fall-een noble. Now, as Boba Fett turned away, Voss'on't called after him, "Take care of yourself." The words were filled with mocking venom. "I want you all in one piece, Boba Fett. For the next time we meet up."

  Boba Fett glanced over his shoulder at the other man. "I don't think there's going to be a next time. It doesn't matter who wanted you returned to them, or who put up the bounty for you." He slowly shook his head. "It doesn't even matter if you were part of the scheme to break up the old Bounty Hunters Guild." Boba Fett turned and walked back toward Voss'on't, then grabbed the rags of his jacket front and pulled him partway up from the chamber's matted floor. "Did you really think I hadn't figured that part out?" A rare tinge of anger sounded in Boba Fett's carefully emotionless voice. "The bounty for your return was far too much for a stormtrooper's life, no matter what he might have stolen. Emperor Palpatine doesn't buy his vengeance at that high a price. There's al-ways something else he wants, some other grand scheme involved. But I'm happy to take the credits, no matter the ultimate reason they were paid out."

  "All right—" Voss'on't's expression had gone from a sneer to burning anger as he had listened to Boba Fett. "So you're further ahead of the game than I thought. You must feel clever, huh?"

  "Clever enough," said Fett. "Now let's see how clever you are." He let go of Voss'on't, dropping him back to the chamber floor. "Didn't you hear what Balancesheet and Prince Xizor said just now? They don't want any more creatures around than necessary who know the truth behind this scheme to break up the Bounty Hunters Guild. They've already decided to get rid of Kud'ar Mub'at. What makes you so confident that they'll want to leave you still alive?"

  Voss'on't was taken aback by Boba Fett's words; it took him a moment to sputter out his reply. "You're ... you're wrong! You don't know anything about that! Everything I did... I did it in the service of the Emperor!" Voss'on't's eyes went wide, the tone of his voice growing more desperate. "The Emperor wouldn't let anything happen to me now . . . not after all the risks I went through ..." He snapped his beseeching gaze toward Xizor. "It wouldn't be right... it wouldn't be fair..."

  "You're going to discover," said Boba Fett quietly, "that Palpatine is the one who decides what's fair and what's not." He turned away and strode toward the chamber's exit.

  "Wait! Don't..."

  Another voice, a higher-pitched shriek, sounded after Boba Fett. At the mouth of the web's corridor, he found himself suddenly encumbered by the sticklike limbs of the arachnoid assembler Kud'ar Mub'at. It had managed to scramble off its flaccid nest and lunge after him. Boba Fett looked down and saw the assembler's triangular face below, the compound eyes peering futilely for some sign of sympathy behind the helmet's dark visor.

  "Take me with you," pleaded Kud'ar Mub'at. "You'll see ... I can still be of some ... use to you ..."

  Boba Fett peeled the creature's limbs away from him-self. "I don't think so," he said. "Business partners al-ways wind up getting in my way. Then I have to do something about them." He shoved the assembler back toward the center of the main chamber. "You're just as well off with your other business associates."

  Before he turned and walked away, Fett caught a glimpse of Prince Xizor's guards; they had returned and had pulled Trhin Voss'on't up between them. The look of panic on the stormtrooper's face was the last he saw be-fore he continued heading back to Slave I.

  The web started to die before he even reached the ship.

  A shudder ran through the walls around Boba Fett, as though the heavy structural fibers had suddenly con-tracted in upon themselves. The smaller, entangled fibers that formed the shell of the web scraped across each other, like rough woven fabric being pulled apart by in-visible giant hands. A sudden wind came close to knock-ing Boba Fett off balance as the atmospheric pressure inside the web fell. The rush of oxygen to the surround-ing vacuum tore the tattered rents in the web open wider; Boba Fett felt the chill of space seep through his Man-dalorian battle armor as he clamped his teeth on the hel-met's breathing tube, drawing in its last store of oxygen. As the tangled floor buckled beneath his feet, he fought his way toward Slave I.

  He knew that in the distance behind him, the assem-bler Kud'ar Mub'at was facing the Black Sun cleanup crew. An operation such as that would be as thorough, and final, as Prince Xizor's commands would dictate. When they were done, there would no longer be a Kud'ar Mub'at, or the
web that had once formed the assembler's private little world.

  The web's death throes intensified as the interwoven neural fibers reacted to their creator's agony. On all sides of the central corridor and above Boba Fett's head, the tethered subnodes thrashed and convulsed, stirred from their torpor by the inputs of pain overloading their own systems. A thicket of spidery limbs rose up in front of Boba Fett, like animated twigs and the heavier, thicker branches of a leafless forest caught in a winter planet's flesh-stripping tornado. Sets of compound eyes gazed upon him with uncomprehending fear as the subnodes' claw tips fastened upon his battle armor, the larger ones seizing his arms and legs like chitinous hunting traps.

  One of the immense docking subnodes, its bulk ex-tending twice the length of Boba Fett's own height, reared up beneath him, toppling him onto one shoulder. A swarm of hand-sized subnodes scurried in panic across the visor of his helmet; they clung to his fist as he unholstered his blaster pistol and fired at the docking subnode crashing down toward him. The subnode's shell burst apart, the blaster-charred fragments swirling like black snow in the vortices of the web's atmosphere rushing through the disintegrating structure. On his back, Boba Fett kept his outstretched fists locked together on the blaster; the con-tinuous volley of white-hot bolts scorched through the docking subnode's revealed soft tissues, dividing them into smoldering gobbets falling on either side of him.

  In the thinned remainder of the web's air, the docking subnode's hollowed exoskeleton collapsed silently, the translucent broken pieces thrust aside by Boba Fett's forearm. He got to his feet, kicking aside the feeble claws of the smaller subnodes, just as a pulsing red dot at the side of his vision signaled the exhaustion of the helmet's store of compressed oxygen. With lungs already begin-ning to ache, he sprinted for Slave 7's entry hatchway.