Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

by K. W. Jeter

  thrusting with his bent legs, keeping the stone rolling.

  Neelah scrambled out of its way as the debris of the

  subchamber's shattered doorway came tumbling after it.

  "You are wasting time," announced SHSl-B from within

  the suddenly revealed space beyond the rocks and settling

  dust. The medical droid had busied itself by

  disconnecting the various tubes and monitoring wires that

  had been hooked up to Boba Fett. "Therapeutic protocols

  render it imperative that the patient be removed from

  these unsafe premises at once."

  Lying on the pallet, Boba Fett had lapsed back into

  unconsciousness, either from the crashing impact of the

  bombing raid or from an anesthetic dose administered by

  the medical droid. Dengar and Neelah scrambled over the

  rocks; each took one end of the pallet and lifted,

  hoisting Fett high enough to carry out into the hiding

  place's main chamber.

  "Wait a second." After they were clear, Neelah set

  down her end of the pallet and climbed back into what

  remained of the subchamber space. Cracks spidered across

  its ceiling, showering down more dust and loose stones as

  the sharp, percussive hammer strokes from above grew

  louder. Neelah emerged a second later with Boba Fett's

  scoured and dented helmet and combat gear; she piled it

  on top of the unconscious bounty hunter, then grabbed

  hold of the pallet again. "Okay, let's go."

  They both collapsed in exhaustion when they had

  reached the safety of the lower, Sarlacc-dug tunnels. The

  two medical droids fretted over their patient as Dengar

  and Neelah sprawled back against the fused-smooth walls

  curving around them. From here, the bombing raid sounded

  as though it were happening on some other, unluckier

  world.

  "What's that smell?" Neelah wrinkled her nose as she

  turned her gaze toward the darkness and the stench of the

  tunnel's lower reaches.

  Dengar lifted the lantern he had managed to scavenge

  hastily from the hiding place's equipment. Its feeble

  glow extended a few meters into the dark before being

  swallowed up. "Probably the Sarlacc," he said. "Or what's

  left of it. The part that could be seen in the Great Pit

  of Carkoon was just its head and mouth; it had tentacles

  extending all through the rock. Some say as far as the

  edges of the Dune Sea. When our friend here blew out the

  Sarlacc's gut"- Dengar pointed with his thumb to Boba

  Fett on the pallet-"there was a lot of dead beast left

  rotting down here. You can't expect something like that

  to smell too good, you know."

  The stench of decay grew worse, as though the

  vibration of the surface bombing had shaken open a buried

  pustule. Neelah's face paled, then she quickly scrambled

  to her knees and hurried to a farther bend of the tunnel.

  The sounds of gagging and retching traveled back to

  Dengar.

  She's not used to this sort of thing, mused Dengar.

  Or some part of her wasn't; something held in the

  darkness and hidden memory inside her. That intrigued

  him. A mere dancing girl, a pretty servant in the court

  of Jabba the Hutt, would have gotten accustomed to the

  smell of death quickly enough; it had pervaded the walls

  of Jabba's palace, seeping up from the rancor pit beneath

  the throne room. Hutts in general liked that smell; it

  was one of the more loathsome characteristics of their

  species to revel in a constant olfactory reminder that

  they were alive and their enemies, and the objects of

  their lethal amusements, were dead and rotting beneath

  them. That, among other things, was why Dengar had

  considered employment with the late Jabba or any of the

  other members of his clan as a choice of last resort.

  Especially so after Dengar had found Manaroo-and his love

  for her. How could one return to that being who

  represented one's essence, an almost forgotten purity and

  grace, with the stink of dead, defeated flesh wrapped

  around oneself? It was impossible.

  It seemed impossible for this Neelah to endure as

  well. She had the temperament of one born to the galaxy's

  nobility, a bloodline accustomed to command and the

  obedience of others. Dengar had noted that, just from the

  way she had faced him down in their first encounter.

  Anyone else who had gone through the unsavory rigors of

  Jabba's court, followed by unprotected exposure to the

  Dune Sea, would have quailed before the obvious

  superiority of Dengar's strength and weaponry. But some

  spark of courage inside Neelah had burned even brighter

  under those conditions, fierce enough to have burned his

  outstretched hand, if he had dared to touch her.

  That aristocratic strain was apparent in the female's

  face as well, even darkened and toughened as it was by

  the lash of the double suns and the scouring of the Dune

  Sea's hot, razorlike winds. She'll be trouble, Dengar

  already knew. He'd had enough on his hands before she had

  come along, but with her presence added to the equation,

  the result was increased exponentially.

  Neelah returned, face even paler in the glow from the

  single lantern. "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Don't be." Dengar gave a shrug. "I'll be the first

  to admit that this isn't the most pleasant neighborhood."

  He got to his feet. "We might as well see what kind of

  shape we're in."

  The two medical droids were stationed on either side

  of Boba Fett's pallet.

  "How's the patient?"

  SHS1-B glanced back at Dengar. "As well as can be

  expected," the droid said irritably. "Given the dis

  turbance he's been put through."

  "Hey-" Dengar poked himself in the chest. "Did I

  order a bombing raid to start up? Don't blame everything

  on me."

  "That's not a bad question." Standing beside him,

  Neelah glanced over the unconscious form of the bounty

  hunter. "Who did order it?"

  "Who knows?" Dengar set the lamp on a shoulder-high

  outcropping. "This guy's got major enemies. It was

  probably one of them."

  "Then that would mean somebody knows that he's alive.

  Somebody besides us."

  That realization snapped together in Dengar's brain,

  like a pair of wires that had become disconnected during

  the tumult. She's right-somehow the word must've gotten

  out, to somebody for whom it was an important piece of

  information, that Boba

  Fett hadn't died; that breath, however shallow, was

  still going in and out of his body. Someone wasn't happy

  about that. Someone who would send out sufficient

  explosive force to pulverize an army, just to make sure

  that there wouldn't be enough left of Boba Fett to take a

  breath.

  "Somebody was spying on us," said Dengar. He had

  already eliminated himself as the source of the leak, and

  he had sworn Manaroo to secrecy. Neelah wasn't a likely

  suspect; there had been no place
for her to go, no one

  for her to talk to while she'd been out in the Dune Sea.

  And she hadn't left the hiding place since Dengar had

  taken her in. Maybe somebody from Jabba's palace, he

  thought. There had been plenty of scoundrels there, even

  after Jabba's death, with the necessary skills for

  staying unseen while watching the comings and goings out

  in the wastelands. Especially after losing a lucrative

  gig with the Hutt, any one of them would be motivated to

  sell valuable info to the highest bidder. To some agent

  of the Empire or anybody else who had a big enough grudge

  against Boba Fett. "That must have been what happened."

  Dengar nodded slowly. "Somebody saw me taking Fett down

  into my hiding place."

  "Don't be stupid." Neelah shook her head. "If

  somebody knew exactly where Fett had been taken, they

  wouldn't bother blowing up everything within sight of the

  Great Pit of Carkoon. One missile, straight down the

  tunnel entrance, would've done the job. Simple and

  clean." She pointed toward the silent form on the pallet.

  "If that's all it took to kill him off, they would have

  done it the easy way. And the quiet way."

  She had a point, Dengar admitted to himself. Boba

  Fett wasn't the only one who lived by secrets; the kind

  of clients he'd had, and enemies he'd made, were the same

  way. A surgical strike would have eliminated Fett without

  the risk of drawing attention that a bombing raid

  entailed. Dengar had heard nothing the last time he'd

  been talking to his own information sources in Mos Eisley

  about a contract being put out on Boba Fett. So if

  anybody was actively gunning for him, they were

  definitely keeping it quiet.

  "Unless," said Dengar, "there's some other reason for

  the raid. . . ."

  Neelah gave him a withering look. "Do you think

  there's some other reason?"

  He didn't bother to answer. Silence filled the tunnel

  as he looked upward, listening and waiting. "I think

  we're all clear now."

  "We can go back up?"

  "Are you kidding?" Dengar shook his head, then picked

  up the lantern and directed its light toward the tunnel

  they had come down. The light picked up the jumbled

  shapes of the rubble filling the passageway. "We're

  blocked off. Even if there's anything left of my hiding

  place-which is a big if, given the pounding that was

  going on up there-we couldn't get to it now. We'll have

  to push on, and see if there's some other way of getting

  out to the surface."

  A shiver of disgust ran across Neelah's shoulders.

  The smell of rot was noticeably stronger toward the

  tunnel's unlit end.

  "Can he travel?" Dengar pointed toward Boba Fett.

  "It would be better," said SHSl-B, "from a ther

  apeutic standpoint, if he were left undisturbed."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "I don't know why you bothered to inquire at all."

  SHSl-B's tone was distinctly haughty. "I imagine you'll

  do whatever you're planning on, no matter what le-XE and

  I tell you."

  "Come on." Dengar motioned Neelah over toward the

  pallet. "These droids don't know how tough this barve

  really is."

  They managed to lift the pallet, with Dengar taking

  most of the unconscious figure's weight into his arms,

  until the loose gravel shifted under his feet and he saw

  how strong Neelah actually was; she braced herself and

  caught the load from toppling to one side. Dengar

  instructed one of the medical droids to loop the carrying

  strap of the pallet around his neck. With the lantern's

  beam wavering ahead of them, they started downward into

  the murk and stomach-churning smell.

  "How do you know . . ." At the pallet's back end,

  Neelah gasped for breath. "How do you know we can get out

  this way?"

  "I don't," said Dengar simply. "But there's an air

  current coming in from somewhere. You can feel it on your

  face." He glanced over his shoulder at her. The nauseated

  pallor had diminished slightly; she had gone numb to the

  smell of the decaying Sarlacc's carcass, buried beneath

  whatever was left of its nest under the Great Pit of

  Carkoon. Neelah took a deep breath, nostrils flared, and

  only gagged slightly. "Even with the stink," continued

  Dengar, "I can tell it's coming from somewhere outside of

  these tunnels. If we follow it to its source, we might

  find someplace where we can either crawl out or dig our

  way to the surface. Or . . ." He gave a shrug. "We won't.

  The bombing raid might have collapsed the rest of the

  tunnels with too much rubble for us to get through. In

  which case, it's pretty much over for all of us."

  "You sound pretty calm about that possibility."

  "What's my choices? I volunteered for this gig." One

  corner of Dengar's mouth lifted in a grim smile. "Later

  on, when I'm actually dying, I might let myself get a

  little more emotional about it. In the meantime we might

  as well save our strength for whatever digging we're

  going to have to do." He lifted his end of the pallet

  higher. "Come on. We might as well find out what it's

  going to be."

  The two medical droids followed behind. "This goes

  against all sound therapeutic protocols." SHS1-B voiced

  its concern again. "We're not taking responsibility for

  whatever happens to our patient."

  "Absolution." The shorter one trundled with dif

  ficulty over the tunnel's rough terrain. "Lack of blame."

  "Yeah, right. Whatever." Dengar didn't look back at

  the complaining droids. "You're off the hook." The

  lantern's beam faded away into the darkness ahead of him.

  "Just don't tell me about it."

  "Do you think he'll be okay?" The worry in Neelah's

  voice was audible. "He's been jostled around quite a bit.

  Maybe we should let the droids take a look at him-"

  "That's a good idea." Dengar kept on walking down the

  tunnel's slope, his hands gripping the corner of the

  pallet at his back. "That'll give whoever it is topside

  lots of time to take another pass at us."

  "Oh." Neelah sounded abashed. "I guess you're right."

  "About this one, I am. We'll all be better off the

  sooner we get out of here." He was already thinking about

  the next time he would see Manaroo. And if he would ever

  see her again. A lot of his recent decisions, his plans

  and schemes, were swiftly metamorphosing to regrets. And

  this could be the last one, he thought as the pallet's

  weight combined with that of its unconscious passenger to

  dig into Dengar's hands. Even his sensory perceptions-the

  tantalizing hint of fresh air against his sweating

  face-could have been lies and wishes, rather than the

  simple truth that he was walking through his own tomb.

  His doubts faded a bit when the tunnel's floor

  leveled beneath his feet; the slope he and Neelah had

  carried Boba Fett down had extended, through it
s various

  twists and turns, at least a hundred yards. That wasn't

  enough, Dengar knew, to take them out of the territory of

  another bombing raid. But he was familiar with the rocky

  outcroppings of the Dune Sea's surface all around what

  had been his hiding place's entrance; there was a good

  chance that they had reached a point where the ground's

  bones hadn't been completely atomized. The bombs' impact

  might even have created new passages to the oxygen above,

  untainted by the stench of the rotting Sarlacc. By now,

  the smell had gotten bad enough that Dengar could taste

  it, a nauseating film that had crept down the back of his

  tongue. . . .

  "Look!" Neelah called out from behind him.

  Dengar glanced over his shoulder, then in the di

  rection in which her upraised hand pointed, as she

  balanced the corner of the pallet against her thigh. The

  lantern's beam swept across a slanting heap of broken

  stone. "I don't see anything. . . ."

  "Turn off the lantern," ordered Neelah.

  He thumbed off the power switch. The light had been

  dim enough that his eyes only took a few seconds to

  adjust to the darkness. Which wasn't complete a thread

  of daylight, clouded with dust motes, drew a jag-edged

  spot only a few inches from the toes of his boots. Dengar

  tilted his head back and spotted the cleft in the rocks

  overhead. The hole looked hardly bigger than the width of

  his hand.

  "This'll take a little work." Dengar mulled over the

  situation. He and Neelah had lowered the pallet between

  themselves. With the lantern switched back on, he studied

  the wall of crumbled stone nearest the hole. "I can get

  up there, all right. And so can you; it doesn't look like

  that bad a climb." He pointed to Fett. "He's going to be

  the problem, though."

  "You've got a line coil, don't you?" With a nod of

  her head, Neelah indicated one of the equipment pouches

  at Dengar's waist. "If you could get up there and pry the

  gap open wider-or if you could get out to the

  surface-then I could tie a loop around his chest and

  under his arms, and you could haul him up."

  Nothing had been heard from the medical droids for a

  while as they had straggled along behind Den-gar and

  Neelah. But now SHSl-B spoke up. "The patient," it

  protested loudly, "is not in any kind of condition for a

  maneuver as you've described. Very simply, you'll kill

  him if you try that."

  "Yeah, and if we leave him down here, he'll be just