by K. W. Jeter
clean depths of space, was almost overwhelming. "Let's
talk about the business that you and I do have with each
other."
"Ah, yes! Most certainly!" Kud'ar Mub'at flexed its
main limbs, causing its segmented torso to bob up and
down in front of its visitor. "It's not really the usual
sort of thing you do; it's not a matter of tracking down
someone and delivering them, all wrapped up in a neat
little package. But you're so versatile- aren't you?-that
I'm sure it's something you can handle with your
characteristic dispatch."
Fett's suspicions were always aroused when a job was
described as being out of the ordinary. That usually
meant that the danger to him would be greater, or that
getting paid would be more difficult, or both. Jabba the
Hutt was always coming up with numbers like that, where
Fett was expected to risk his life on some flaky errand.
"I asked you before," he growled. "Who's the client?"
"There isn't one." Kud'ar Mub'at seemed delighted to
make that announcement. "Or at least, not in the usual
sense. I'm not acting on behalf of a third party. This
job would be for me."
The suspicions heightened. Kud'ar Mub'at had always
been the perfect intermediary, keeping his role
scrupulously separate from his clients' interests. That
go-between function was valued so highly that even the
most ruthless connivers such as Jabba had never tried to
cheat the assembler. It was hard to imagine who could
have incurred Kud'ar Mub'at's enmity, to the point of the
assembler requiring Fett's lethal skills.
At the same time, though-Boba Fett's calculations
clicked over inside his helmeted skull-there was no doubt
that Kud'ar Mub'at could pay for whatever it wanted. Fett
wasn't in the habit of questioning his various employers'
desires-but just delivering them. Not every job required
a living piece of merchandise; leaving a dead body on the
blood-soaked soil of a remote planet was also within his
range of expertise.
"So just what is it that you want me to do for you?"
Kud'ar Mub'at pointed one of its jointed fore-limbs
toward him. "Tell me first-or tell me again- what you
think of the Guild. You know; the Bounty Hunters Guild."
"I don't," said Fett. He gave a slight shrug. "It's
not worth thinking about. If any of its members were at
all proficient, they wouldn't be in it. An organization
like that is for the weak and harmless, who think that by
combining their forces they might become deadly. They're
wrong."
"Harsh words, my dear Fett! Harsh words, indeed!
There are some accomplished hunters in the Guild, with
achievements nearly equaling your own. The Guild has been
headed for many years now by the Trandoshan Cradossk; he
was a legend among the stars when you were first starting
out."
"So he was." Fett nodded once. "And now he is old and
feeble, if still cunning. His offspring Bossk was one of
those who got in my way as I was capturing Nil Posondum.
If the son were one tenth the bounty hunter that the
father had been, I might have some competition. But he's
not, and I don't. The Bounty Hunters Guild's glory days
are long in the past."
"Ah, my dear Fett, I see that your opinions have not
changed." Kud'ar Mub'at shook its dust-speckled head.
"You wield them like something that you've taken from
that arsenal you carry on your back. I'll have to make it
very much worth your while; expensively thus, to entice
you into accepting this little job of mine."
Fett kept his helmet's featureless gaze on the as
sembler. "Which is?"
"It's really very simple." Kud'ar Mub'at clicked the
points of his forelimbs together. "I want you to join the
Bounty Hunters Guild."
The assembler's compound eyes were not the only ones
watching him. Boba Fett could sense the tiny crablike
accountant and all the rest of the web's interconnected
nodes, their overlapping vision feeding into the central
cortex of their master and parent. They were all
watching-and waiting for his answer.
"You're right about one thing," said Boba Fett.
Kud'ar Mub'at's eyes glittered even more brightly.
"Yes? What's that?"
His suspicions hadn't gone away; if anything, they
were even sharper and harder. The simple jobs, he said to
himself. Those are the ones you get killed on.
"This job of yours..."
"Yes?" The tethered subassemblies crept closer to
Kud'ar Mub'at, as though the web itself were narrowing
tighter.
Boba Fett gave a slow nod of his helmet. "It'll cost
you."
6
From a small viewport embedded in a wall of tangled
fibers, a slit-pupiled eye of deep violet hue watched the
bright trail of an interstellar craft, dwindling among
the wide-flung stars. A moment later the engine flare
blinked out of sight, as the Slave I leaped into
hyperspace and was gone.
"Your Excellency-" One of Kud'ar Mub'at's household
nodes hesitated, then skittered closer and tugged at the
hem of the ornate, heavy robes brushing the observation
chamber's matted floor. "Your presence is now desired by
your host."
Prince Xizor turned away from the viewport. His cold
reptilian glance took in the trembling subassem-bly.
Perhaps, if he were to crush it beneath the sole of his
boot, a shock of pain would flash along the web's
neurofibers, straight into Kud'ar Mub'at's chitinous
skull. It would be an experiment worth making; he had an
interest in whatever might produce fear inside any of the
galaxy's inhabitants. Someday, Xizor told himself. But
not right now. "Tell your master," he said in a smooth,
unthreatening voice, "that I'll be there directly."
When he entered the web's main chamber, he saw that
Kud'ar Mub'at had settled its globular abdomen back into
its padded nest. "Ah, my highly esteemed Xizor!" It used
the same obsequious voice that he had overheard it
lavishing on the departed bounty hunter. "I so very much
hope that you weren't uncomfortable in that wretched
space! Great is my mortification, my embarrassment that I
should offer such-"
"It was more than adequate," said Xizor. "Don't fret
yourself about it." He folded his heavily corded forearms
across his chest. "I'm not always surrounded by the
luxuries of the Emperor's court. Sometimes . . ." He let
the corner of his mouth lift in a partial smile.
"Sometimes my accommodations-and my companions-are of a
rougher sort."
"Ah." Kud'ar Mub'at nodded quickly. "Just so."
The assembler knew better than to speak anything
aloud of what his noble guest had just referred to. Even
the two words "Black Sun," in as private a place as this,
were forbidden. To make silence a general rule was to
ensure tha
t no one would discover the other side of
Xizor's double existence. In one universe, he was Emperor
Palpatine's loyal servant; in that universe's shadowed
twin, he was the leader of a criminal organization whose
reach, if not power, was as galaxy spanning as the
Empire's.
"He took the job." Xizor said the words as a
statement of fact, not a question.
"Yes, of course he did." Kud'ar Mub'at fussed
nervously with the pneumatic bladders of his nest. "Boba
Fett is a reasonable entity. In his way. Very
businesslike; I find that to be of the utmost charm in
him."
"When you use the word 'businesslike,' " noted Xizor,
"you mean . . . 'can be bought.' "
"What other possible definition is there?" As Kud'ar
Mub'at gazed at him, the assembler's eyes filled with
innocence. "My so dear Xizor-we're all businessmen. We
can all be bought."
"Speak for yourself." The partial smile on his face
turned into a full sneer. "I prefer to be the one who's
doing the buying."
"Ah, and so happy am I to be one of those whose
services you have purchased." Kud'ar Mub'at settled
itself more comfortably into its nest. "I hope this grand
scheme of yours, of which I am so small yet hopefully an
essential part, will turn out exactly as you, in your
ineffable wisdom, wish it to."
"It will," said Xizor, "if you perform the rest of
your role as well as you did with hoodwinking Boba Fett."
"You flatter me." Kud'ar Mub'at bowed its head low.
"My thespic abilities are regrettably crude, but perhaps
they sufficed in this instance."
The assembler had had to be no more than its usual
conniving self to set the trap in which the bounty hunter
was already ensnared. One of the nodes in the central
chamber was a simple auditory unit, a tympanic membrane
with legs, tied like all the rest of the nodes into the
web's expanded nervous system. From his hiding place,
Prince Xizor had been able to listen in, another one of
Kud'ar Mub'at's attached offspring whispering into his
ear all the words passing between the assembler and Boba
Fett. The web surrounding them wasn't the only one that
Kud'ar Mub'at could spin. Fett was not aware of it yet,
but strands too fine to be detected were already tangling
about his boots, drawing him into a trap without escape.
Xizor almost felt sorry for the bounty hunter. The
reptilian Falleen species was even more coldblooded than
Trandoshans such as the aging Cradossk and his rage-
driven offspring Bossk; pity was not an emotion that
Xizor had ever experienced. Whether he was operating on
behalf of Emperor Palpatine or secretly advancing the
Black Sun's criminal agenda, Xizor manipulated all who
came into his reach with the same nonemotion he'd display
for pieces on a gaming board. They were to be positioned
and used as necessity dictated, sacrificed and discarded
when strategy required. Still, thought Xizor, an entity
such as Boba Fett . . . The bounty hunter merited his
respect, at least. To look into that helmet's concealing
visor was to meet a gaze as ruthless and unsentimental as
his own. He'll fight to survive. And he'll fight well. .
. .
But that was part of the trap that had already seized
hold of Boba Fett. The cruel irony-and one that Xizor
savored-was that Fett was now doomed by his own fierce
nature. All that had kept him alive before, in so many
deadly situations, would now bring about his destruction.
Too bad, thought Prince Xizor to himself. In another
game, a piece as powerful as that would have had it uses.
Only a master player would dare a strategic sacrifice
such as this. To lose, however necessarily, such an
efficient hunter and killer was his only regret.
"Pardon my admittedly clumsy intrusion." Kud'ar
Mub'at's high-pitched voice broke into his musing. "But
there are some other tiny, almost insignificant matters
to be taken care of. To ensure the complete success of
your endeavors, which are as always of such brilliance
and-"
"Of course." Xizor regarded the assembler sitting in
its animate nest. "You want to be paid."
"Only for the sake of keeping our records straight. A
mere formality." With an upraised forelimb, Kud'ar Mub'at
directed his accountant node toward the prince. "I'm sure
one of your keen perception understands."
"All too well." He watched as the subassembly named
Balancesheet picked its way toward him. Nothing happened
with Kud'ar Mub'at except on a pay-as-you-go basis.
"We've done business together enough times for me to
remember without prompting."
A few moments later, when the transfer of credits had
been completed, Balancesheet swiveled its eyestalks
toward its parent. "The prince's account is once again
current, with no outstanding sums due. Per your existing
agreement, final payment will be made upon a satisfactory
resolution of the Bounty Hunters Guild situation."
Balancesheet gave a small nod to Xizor and returned to
its perch on the central chamber's wall.
"Affairs are going well," said Xizor. "So far." He
had already summoned his ship, the Virago, from inside
the detection shadow of one of the moons of the nearest
planetary system. "I'll be watching to make sure they
continue that way."
"But of course." Waving all its sticklike fore-limbs,
Kud'ar Mub'at dispatched a scuttling flock of nodes to
ready the web's docking area. Boba Fett's Slave I had
departed only a little while before, leaving behind a
captive in the darkest subchamber. "You. have nothing to
fear in that regard." Xizor knew that as soon as he was
gone, Kud'ar Mub'at would be in contact with the Hutts,
to hand over the bounty hunter's merchandise and collect
its middle-entity fee. "All will be well. . . ."
The screech of the assembler's words followed Prince
Xizor as he stalked down the tunnel toward the docking
area. He'd already decided that as soon as he got back to
the Emperor's court, he'd spend a few soothing hours
listening to the dulcet croon of his own personal troupe
of Falleen altos, to flush any residue of that drilling
and defiling voice from his ears.
"What a fool." Kud'ar Mub'at muttered the words with
a grim satisfaction. Right at this moment the designation
could apply to either of two entities. Both Prince Xizor
and Boba Fett were somewhere in hyperspace, speeding
toward their destinies; the bo unty hunter to a rendezvous
with the despised Bounty Hunters Guild, Xizor to the
Empire's dark corridors of power. Neither one of them
suspected what they had gotten themselves into, the finer
web in which they were already enmeshed. They don't know,
thought Kud'ar Mub'at. That was how it preferred things.
I spin the traps, then pull them in.
&n
bsp; It reached out with one of its smallest forelimbs and
stroked the shell of its accountant node. "Soon," said
Kud'ar Mub'at. "Soon there will be a great many credits
for you to tally up and keep track of." As far as Kud'ar
Mub'at was concerned, true power equaled riches,
something that one could rake delicate claws across. Only
maniacs like Palpatine and his grim lieutenant Lord Vader
valued the trembling, bootlicking fear of a galaxy of
underlings. That was the kind of power that Prince Xizor
wanted as well; his criminal associates in Black Sun were
no doubt unaware of their leader's long-range intent.
They might not ever find out, either. Some traps were
woven for their prey to die in.
"Very well." Balancesheet tapped its own tiny claws
together, as though the numbers involved could be
counted that simply. "Your accounts are all in good
order."
Something in the node's bland response troubled
Kud'ar Mub'at. It had extruded this particular sub-
assembly some time ago, and had developed it into one of
the web's most valuable components. Flesh of my flesh,
mused Kud'ar Mub'at, silk of my silk. And a part of its
brain as well Kud'ar Mub'at could look into
Balancesheet's compound eyes and see a calculating
replica of itself. Had the node discovered the joys of
greed yet? That was the important question. I must watch
for that, decided the assembler. Greed was a higher
sense, perhaps the most important of all. When Kud'ar
Mub'at perceived that in the little tethered node, it
would be time for death and re-ingestion. Kud'ar Mub'at
didn't want to wind up as its own parent had so long ago,
a meal for rebellious offspring.
It watched as Balancesheet picked its way into some
darker recess of the web. I hope that won't be for a
while yet, thought Kud'ar Mub'at. Its interconnected
business affairs were at a crucial point; much
inconvenience would be suffered if it didn't have a fully
functioning accountant on claw.
Kud'ar Mub'at decided to think about that later. It
closed its several pairs of eyes and happily contemplated
all that would soon be added to the web's coffers.
After every job came the cleanup. The Slave I was a
working vessel, not some pleasure schooner fitted out for
languorous cruising between the stars. Even so, Boba Fett
preferred keeping the craft as neatly functional as
