Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

by K. W. Jeter

  ship's central hold. He could hear Zuckuss right behind

  him as he furiously grappled his way through the tube's

  flexing pleats and back aboard the Hound's Tooth.

  The first explosion ripped the transfer away from

  both ships, sending ragged strips of plastex spiraling

  across the Hound's midsection viewports. With his stomach

  across the back of the pilot's chair, Bossk slapped at

  the hull integrity controls, sealing off his own ship

  before any significant amount of ak could escape.

  "We ... we should be okay now. . . ." Panting,

  Zuckuss supported himself against the cockpit's naviputer

  displays. "That wasn't . . . much of a bomb. . . ."

  There wasn't even time for Bossk to tell the other

  bounty hunter not to be an idiot. The second explosion,

  larger than the first, struck the Hound's Tooth. Roiling

  thermic fire filled the viewports as the impact of

  Bossk's spine with the bulkhead above stunned him into

  barely conscious silence. Blood swirled across the scales

  of his face as the ship's artificial-gravity generators

  struggled to catch up with its end-over-end tumbling.

  Bossk smashed his fist against as many of the thruster

  controls as he could reach; the resulting force had him

  digging a hold into the pilot's chair to keep from being

  flung through the open hatchway behind him.

  A stern-mounted scanner showed the bomb, smaller now

  but even deadlier, trailing in the erratic wake of the

  Hound's Tooth. "It's . . . it's locked onto us. . . ."

  Zuckuss clawed his way up beside Bossk. He pointed to the

  screen above the controls. "Here it comes. . . ."

  Bossk knew how incremental-sequence bombs functioned.

  The first two charges work you over, he told himself. The

  third one kills you. His voice grated in his throat "Not

  . . . this time ..."

  He hit the rest of the thrusters, at the same time

  throwing the Hound into a suicide arc. Stars blurred

  across the viewport as the angle of the ship's turn

  deepened. A deep basso groan sounded as increasing

  vectors tore in different directions across the hull.

  Sharper cracking noises signaled the navigation modules

  ripping away from the exterior.

  The third and final explosion completed the partial

  disassembly of the Hound's Tooth. Bossk's desperate

  maneuver had put enough distance between the ship and the

  bomb; the hull shook with the impact but remained intact.

  Zuckuss was knocked onto his face mask by the bulkhead

  deforming behind him, the blast's force warping the

  section from concave to convex. The pilot's chair broke

  in two, sending Bossk sprawling across the cockpit's

  floor, claws holding the padded back of the seat tight

  against his chest. A rain of sparks, bursting out of the

  access ports, sizzled across both bounty hunters.

  A few seconds later silence filled the Hound's Tooth.

  The smell of burning circuitry hung acrid in the air,

  mixed with the steam of the ship's automatic fire-dousing

  units. A few last sparks stung Zuckuss, and he slapped at

  them with his heavily gloved hands.

  "We'll be here awhile." Bossk didn't need to do a

  preliminary damage assessment on the Hound to know that.

  Until the navigation modules were rigged back into some

  kind of operating order, he and Zuckuss were stuck in

  this remote sector of space. If Trandoshans had any

  capacity for the emotion of gratitude, he would have been

  glad that the sequential bomb hadn't torn the Hound's

  Tooth into bits. He and Zuckuss would have been dead

  instead of merely adrift. As it was, he just felt a deep

  irritation over how much work it was going to take to put

  his ship back together again, with the tools and probes

  that were now undoubtedly scattered all over the en

  gineering lockers.

  "Look there-" Zuckuss pointed to the one viewport

  still functioning, set at an angle from the Hound's

  midsection.

  Sitting in the middle of the cockpit floor, Bossk

  looked over his shoulder at the screen. A fiery course of

  light, with a too-familiar shape at its head, shot across

  the field of stars.

  "That's the Slave I," said Zuckuss. Unnecessarily-any

  fool would have known that much. "The real ship."

  "Of course it is, you idiot." If Bossk had had a

  wrench in his claws, he would have been torn between

  throwing it at his partner or at the screen, as though he

  could somehow hit Boba Fett's ship with it. "That was the

  whole point, with the decoy and the bomb." The Slave I

  was already dwindling away, heading for the perimeter

  station of the Bounty Hunters Guild. "Fett knew somebody

  would be waiting for him."

  "Apparently so." Zuckuss gave a slow nod of his head.

  "Somebody like him . . . he's got a lot of enemies."

  "He doesn't have any fewer now." Bossk glared at the

  empty screen. You made one mistake, he told the vanished

  Boba Fett. You should've used a bigger bomb. One that

  would have killed instead of merely humiliated. Bossk-and

  his hunger for revenge-was still alive.

  Another quick burst of sparks shot from behind the

  screen. A knot of tangled circuits, welded together and

  emitting smoke, dangled bobbing from one of the overhead

  panels. The image of the stars blanked out and was gone.

  "Come on," said Bossk. He stood up, then reached down

  to pull Zuckuss to his feet. "We've got work to do."

  9

  Everything was settled by the time Cradossk's son

  finally showed up.

  Boba Fett could tell that the younger Trandoshan was

  not in a good mood as he strode into the council chamber

  of the Bounty Hunters Guild. Failed assassination

  attempts often had that effect on sentient creatures.

  There really was nothing worse than making the decision

  to kill someone else, and then not being able to bring it

  off. All the emotions associated with violence, mused

  Fett. He had never experienced them, himself, but knew

  that others did. And none of the benefits. It was sad,

  really.

  The council's long, crescent-shaped table had been

  set for a celebratory banquet. One of Cradossk's

  scurrying servants had set a crystalline goblet, the

  mingled shades of cobalt and amethyst within revealing

  the expense of the vintage it contained, in front of Boba

  Fett. He had touched the dark liquid with a gloved

  fingertip, just enough to send a few ripples across its

  surface. Etiquette demanded that much; anything less, and

  the old reptilian sprawled next to him would have been

  offended. If other sentient creatures wished to deal in

  hollow symbols rather than reality, it made no difference

  to Fett. Cradossk and all the other Guild elders could

  befuddle themselves with strong drink, if they wished;

  this goblet's contents would remain un-tasted.

  He watched as the tall, arched doors of the council

  chamber were shoved open, the gilded and
gem-encrusted

  panels flying to either side as Bossk stormed in.

  Servants bearing flagons and laden platters scattered in

  all directions; anger-ridden Trandoshans were notoriously

  rough on the hired help.

  "Ah, my son and heir!" Cradossk was already well on

  the way to inebriation. His age-blu nted fangs were

  mottled with wine stains, and his yellow-slitted eyes

  gazed with blurry affection at his spawn. "I was hoping

  you'd be here for the festivities." More wine slopped

  down Cradossk's scaled arm and from his elbow as he

  lifted his own goblet high. "We'll tell the musicians to

  strike up the old songs, the ones our spawn-fathers knew,

  and we'll do the lizard dance all around the courtyard-"

  The goblet went clattering across the chamber's

  terrazzo floor, the wine a ragged pennant on the inlaid

  tiles, as Bossk knocked it from his sire's hand with one

  swing of his clawed hand. Across the high-ceilinged space

  of the chamber, hung with the empty combat gear and other

  trophies taken off the Guild's long-ago enemies, silence

  fell. The collective gaze of the council members turned

  toward their chief and his enraged offspring.

  "Your manners," said Cradossk softly, "are severely

  lacking. As usual."

  Boba Fett had had enough experience with Trandoshans

  over the years to know what a bad sign it was when their

  voices went low and ominous like that. When they shouted

  and snarled, they were ready to kill. When they

  whispered, they were ready to kill everything. He

  carefully shifted away from Cradossk's side so as not to

  be in the way if the old reptilian decided to leap over

  the table and tear out his only son's throat.

  "As is your understanding." Bossk spoke with a cold

  control, through which his anger still managed to appear.

  "What kind of brain-withered old fool shares wine with

  his enemy?" He flung a gesture toward Boba Fett. "Have

  you forgotten so much, has every day faded from your

  memory, that the Guild's history is a blank slate to you?

  This man has made fools of us more times than we can

  count." Bossk turned to either side, making sure that

  everyone in the chamber could hear his words. "You all

  know who it is that sits with you now. He's taken the

  credits out of our pockets and the food out of our

  mouths." He looked back at his sire. "If you weren't

  drunk"-Bossk's voice sounded like dry gravel scraping

  across rusted metal-"you'd take what's fallen into your

  grasp and sink your teeth into Boba Fett's heart."

  "I wasn't drunk when he arrived here." Cradossk's

  response was both mild and somewhat amused. "But I intend

  to get very drunk-and very happy-now that we've all had a

  chance to listen to Fett. What he came here to say has

  pleased me a great deal." He raised his goblet and took a

  long draft that left wet lines trickling down the sides

  of his throat, then slammed the goblet down. "That's one

  of the differences between him . . . and you."

  Barely suppressed laughter ran along the arms of the

  crescent table. Without turning his head, Boba Fett could

  see the other council members and their lackeys

  whispering back and forth, their sardonic glances taking

  in the young bounty hunter standing before them. Be sure

  you know who your friends are, he wanted to warn Bossk.

  This lot will carve you up anytime it suits them.

  "What're you talking about?" Bossk gripped the edge

  of the table in his claws and leaned toward his father.

  "What's this sneaking scum told you?"

  "Boba Fett has made us an offer." From an ornately

  enameled tray held behind him, Cradossk plucked another

  empty goblet, holding it out to be filled by one of the

  other attendants. He held the wine out toward his son. "A

  very good one; that's why we're celebrating." Cradossk's

  mottled smile widened. "As you should be."

  "Offer?" Bossk didn't take the goblet from the older

  Trandoshan. "What kind of offer?"

  "The kind that only a fool would refuse. The kind of

  offer that solves a great many problems. For all of us."

  Confusion showed in Bossk's gaze as he looked over at

  Boba Fett, then back to his father. "I don't understand.

  . . ."

  "Of course you don't." Boba Fett spoke this time,

  leaning back against the leatherwork of the chair that

  had been given him. "There's so much you don't

  understand." He might as well start working Bossk into an

  irrational fury now as later. "That's why your father is

  still head of the Bounty Hunters Guild. You have a lot of

  wisdom to acquire before you'll have your chance."

  "Explain it to him." With a single crooked claw,

  Cradossk motioned one of the other council members over.

  "I tire so easily nowadays. . . ."

  "Then take a nap, old man." Bossk turned angrily

  toward the robed figure that had approached. "Spit it

  out."

  "So simple, is it not?" The watery pupils at the ends

  of the council member's eyestalks regarded Bossk with

  kindly forbearance. "And so indicative- yes?-of both your

  father's and our guest's foresight. Though Boba Fett is

  not to be called our guest anymore, is he?"

  "All I know," growled Bossk, "is what I call him."

  "Perhaps so, but should you not call him 'brother'

  now?"

  Those words struck Bossk speechless.

  "For is that not what Boba Fett has offered the

  Guild?" The council member folded his hooked, mantislike

  forearms together. "To be one of us? Our brother and

  fellow hunter-has he not offered to join his not

  inconsiderable forces and cunning with ours, and thus

  become a member of the august Bounty Hunters Guild?"

  "Damn straight he has." Cradossk drained his goblet

  and slammed it back down on the table. "Let's hear it for

  him."

  "It's true." Another one of the Guild's younger

  bounty hunters had sidled up to Bossk's elbow; Fett

  remembered this one's name as Zuckuss. "I just heard

  about it outside." The shorter bounty hunter pointed a

  thumb toward the chamber's tall doors. "That's what the

  word is-that Boba Fett has asked for membership in the

  Guild."

  "That's impossible!" Bossk's claws tightened into

  fists, as though he were about to swing on either his

  partner or the elder from the council, or both. "Why

  would he do something like that?"

  Fett regarded the reptilian with no show of emotion.

  "I have my reasons."

  "I bet you do. . . ."

  "And are they not good reasons?" The elder swiveled

  its eyestalks toward Bossk. "Should not all propositions

  make such excellent sense? For all of us-do we not gain

  the benefit of the esteemed Boba Fett's skills? Known

  throughout the galaxy!" A saw-edged forelimb gestured

  toward Fett on the other side of the table. "And does not

  he acquire thereby the many advantages that come with

  membership in our Guild
? The warmth of our regard, the

  comradely fellowship, the excellent weapons maintenance

  facilities, the medical benefits-that alone is not to be

  lightly considered in our hazardous line of work."

  "He's lying to you!" Bossk looked across the faces of

  the other council members. His straining fists rose

  alongside his head, nearly knocking over the smaller

  Zuckuss. "Can't you see that? It's some plan of his-like

  all his other plans--"

  "What you don't see," said Boba Fett, "is how the

  times have changed. The galaxy is not as it was, when

  your father was as newly hatched as you. The fields upon

  which we pursue our quarry are shrinking, just as the

  strength of Emperor Palpatine increases." He could see

  the council members around the crescent nodding their

  acknowledgment of his wisdom. "The Bounty Hunters Guild

  must change as well, or face its extinction. And so must

  I change my ways as well."

  "The old days," murmured Cradossk, slumped down and

  gazing wistfully into his empty goblet. "The old days are

  gone. . . ."

  "Anyone with eyes and a brain can tell that the

  bounty-hunting trade is being squeezed into a tighter and

  tighter corner." Some of the words Fett used were

  straight from what Kud'ar Mub'at, back at its web

  drifting in space, had told him. They were true enough,

  or at least to the point where they would be believed by

  these fools on the Guild council. "Not just by the

  Empire; there are others. Black Sun . . ." He merely had

  to mention the name of the criminal organization for that

  point to be made. The whispers turned into guarded

  silence. "Bounty hunters such as ourselves have always

  operated on both sides of the law, as need be; that's the

  nature of the game. But when both sides turn against us,

  then we must band together to survive. There's no room

  for an independent agent such as myself. We either join

  forces, you and I, or we go our separate ways. And await

  our separate destruction."

  A strange, raw ache tightened Boba Fett's throat. It

  had been a long time since he had spoken that many words

  all at one go. He didn't live by making speeches, but by

  performing deeds the more danger, the greater the

  profit. But the job he'd accepted from Kud'ar Mub'at was,

  in some sense, a job like any other. Whatever it takes,

  thought Fett. If it required getting a bunch of aging,