by K. W. Jeter
smoke.
Neelah dug her fingertips into the rubble-strewn
cavern floor as more sparks and pieces of blackened
tissue rained around her, striking a pool of the
Sarlacc's blood with quick, spattering steam. She crawled
painfully forward, dragging the leg that had been trapped
behind her, as the bright stream from the blaster in Boba
Fett's grip continued tearing open a wider and deeper
section, like a red doorway being carved into living
stone.
A scream of agony, the wordless cry of a wounded
beast, sounded from far within the unlit tunnels beyond
the cavern space. Louder and shriller, until it was a
physical presence, its force shivering the walls and
tearing one stone loose from another. Neelah crouched
against the side of the cavern, close to the two medical
droids, as sections of the cavern's ceiling cracked apart
and fell. The broken stones struck the bleeding and
charred flank of the Sarlacc segment, then tumbled and
rolled to a halt, mounting against the creature.
The cry broke off as a different motion seized what
was left visible of the Sarlacc. The rocks piled against
it shifted as the segment retracted into the tunnel
opening at the farthest edge of the cavern. From above,
Dengar had a momentary glimpse of a ragged terminus, gray
and scabbed with the segment that had been torn from its
connection with the larger creature. Then it was gone,
leaving the stones and churning dust behind.
In Boba Fett's hand, the blaster went silent. He
looked back toward the light-filled opening and the
outcropping precariously slanting across. Dengar could
see in the bounty hunter's face that he was burning up
the last of his strength, summoned from a reserve deep
within him.
"Lower me...." Fett's voice rasped, like words spoken
within an airless tomb. "Now . . ."
Dengar managed to brace his feet against the side of
the gap, enough to unfasten the line from the outcropping
and pay it out hand over hand, gradually dropping Boba
Fett toward the floor of the cavern. When the line
slackened, Dengar looped it over his shoulder, using his
other hand to climb up the vertical opening. He reached
the surface, collapsing onto the hot sands of the Dune
Sea. Drawing in an exhausted breath, he sat up and
clutched the line tight in his fists.
A tug came on the line. Dengar stood up and pulled,
grabbing more of the line as he backed step-by-step away
from the opening. He could tell from the weight that
there was more than just Boba Fett at the other end of
the line now.
More muscle . . . than brain, thought Dengar as he
brought the line inch by inch over the rocks and sand. He
supposed that was why he had a certain place in the
bounty-hunter business, and Boba Fett had a different,
and much more famous one. He dug in, the line's tautness
keeping him from falling over backward, and finally saw
one of Fett's arms reach upward from the hole, his hand
sinking into the ground and leveraging his chest into
view. Boba Fett had his other arm around Neelah, holding
her tight against himself; the hole had been widened just
enough, between Dengar's efforts and the crashing of the
Sarlacc segment, to allow the two close-pressed bodies to
scrape through.
The line went slack, dumping Dengar onto his seat, as
Boba Fett got Neelah up onto the sand, then with a final
push against the sides of the hole, collapsed beside her.
In all directions, the silence of the Dune Sea ex
tended from them. Wearily, Dengar got to his feet and
scanned across the low hills; tilting his head back, he
searched the cloudless sky, sun glare almost blinding
him. There was no sign of any ships. The bombing raid
that had left the desert wasteland cratered and scorched
seemed effectively over, its perpetrators having removed
themselves beyond the atmosphere of Tatooine. Though by
this point, if they had returned, Dengar didn't feel
capable of anything other than flopping on the ground and
letting the explosive charges finish him off.
He walked over to the other two. Boba Fett lay on his
back, eyes closed; the only indication of life was the
slow rise and fall of his chest. Whatever strength had
been left in him was enough for basic respiratory
functions, and nothing else.
"How are you doing?" Dengar's shadow fell across
Neelah's face.
She nodded slowly. "I'm okay." With the back of a
begrimed hand, Neelah pushed her sweat-damp hair away
from her eyes; the motion left a black smear across her
face. She sat up and drew her knees toward her breast so
she could examine the ankle that had been pinned beneath
the weight of the Sarlacc segment. A wince drew her eyes
shut for a second as she poked at the bruised flesh.
"Nothing's broken, I don't think." Leaning against Dengar
for balance, she stood upright and gingerly put her
weight on the leg. "Yeah, it's all right."
A voice sounded out of the hole from which they had
just escaped. "Given the circumstances I have just
observed," called SHSl-B loudly, "I would anticipate that
medical attention is required by all parties in the
immediate vicinity. Plus, the patient we had previously
been attending is undoubtedly in need of-"
The hectoring comments were cut short when Neelah
picked up a rock and tossed it down the hole. It clanked
against metal and plastoid, rendering the medical droid
silent for a moment.
"I'm not going back down there," announced Neelah.
"I've had enough time on that line already."
Dengar gave a weary sigh. As always, he supposed it
was up to him. The medical droids still had their
uses-for one, SHSl-B had been obviously right about Boba
Fett needing some further attention, especially after
what had been drained out of him underneath the Dune
Sea's surface. And there were the various supplies-bits
and pieces; not much-that he and Neelah had managed to
carry with them from the hiding place. Those would un
doubtedly come in handy, given their present exposed
situation.
"All right," said Dengar. He looked around for the
nearest boulder to which to fasten the line. "But when I
get done, you're both going to owe me. Big time."
"Don't worry about that." Neelah smiled up at him.
"You'll get all the rewards that're coming to you."
He wasn't sure what that meant. Even as he was
clambering back down the escape-route hole, the strap of
the lantern clenched in his teeth, he was wondering
whether those rewards would be a good or bad thing, when
they finally got to him.
All that noise had upset the felinx; it trembled in
Kuat of Kuat's arms as he stroked its silken fur. "There,
there," he soothed the frightened animal. "It's all over
&nb
sp; now. You have nothing to worry about." That was the
difference between creatures such as the felinx and the
galaxy's sentient inhabitants. "Go to sleep, and dream
whatever you want." He stood at the great viewport of the
Kuat Drive Yards' flagship, watching the mottled sphere
of the planet Tatooine dwindle in the distance, a clump
of dirt among the hard, cold stars. A good part of that
dirt was now in considerably more battered condition than
before; the military squadron that had pounded the
surface of the Dune Sea to dust was already en route,
heading back to Kuat by a circuitous route, jumping in
and out of hyperspace to foil any possible attempts at
tracking and linking them to the just-concluded bombing
raid on Tatooine. All insignia and identification beacons
had been carefully stripped from the vessels before they
had left on their mission. W hen word of the raid filtered
through the watering holes and back alleys of Mos Eisley,
and any corresponding places on other worlds, the specu
lation would most likely be directed toward the Empire or
possibly the Black Sun organization. That notion pleased
Kuat of Kuat as he scratched behind the sighing felinx's
ears. We move in secret ways, mused Kuat. The better to
reach our destination . . .
The even more pleasing notion was that Boba Fett had
reached his final destination. That had been the whole
point of the bombing raid. Reports of the bounty hunter's
death had already reached Kuat of Kuat; many other
sentient creatures, humanoid or not, would have heard of
someone going down the gullet of the Sarlacc and would
have concluded that was the end of that person. Kuat of
Kuat had, however, more experience with the individual in
question; Boba Fett had always had an unnerving ability
to show up alive, if somewhat battered, long after any
ordinary man's death would have been well assured.
Attention to detail had made KDY the manufacturing force
that it was in the galaxy, supplier of vessels to Emperor
Palpatine as well as the shadowy figures that ran Black
Sun; the present Kuat of Kuat had inherited the same
thoroughness that had characterized his ancestors.
"It's not enough to know that someone is dead," he
whispered to the felinx as he held the animal's luxurious
fur close to his throat. "You want them buried, or better
yet, scattered across the landscape in little pieces-"
"Excuse me, sir."
Kuat of Kuat glanced over his shoulder and saw one of
his comrn supervisors. "Yes?" Even aboard the corporate
flagship, he had no taste for the obsequious formalities
that characterized Palpatine's court; KDY was a business,
not a theater for mono-maniacal self-aggrandizement.
"What is it?"
"The damage survey has just come in." The comm
supervisor held up a thin, self-contained data readout,
with red, glowing numbers arranged in neat rows. "From
the monitoring devices we left behind on Tatooine."
He had been expecting those. "What's the analysis?"
"Maximum ground penetration was achieved." The comm
supervisor glanced at the readout. "All areas surrounding
the Great Pit of Carkoon were effectively saturated by
the bombing raid. Probability of anything on the surface
of the Dune Sea, or anywhere underground, to a depth of
twenty meters, is"-a few quick buttons were punched on
the readout's controls-"zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one.
The targeted tolerance level we went in with was only two
zeroes past the decimal point." A satisfied expression
crossed the comm supervisor's face as he lowered the
device. "I'd say the chances are pretty good that we
achieved our objective."
"Ah." Kuat of Kuat slowly nodded. " 'Pretty good,'
you say?"
The comm supervisor's pleased expression vanished; he
was one of the younger staff members reporting directly
to the heir and owner of the company. "A figure of
speech, sir." He still had a lot to learn. "The objective
was undoubtedly accomplished."
"That's more like it." The felinx murmured drowsily
beneath Kuat of Kuat's hand. "Or as undoubtedly as can be
expected in this stubborn universe." He bestowed a smile
on his underling. "We have to play the percentages, don't
we?"
"Sir?"
"Never mind." A sleepy protest came from the felinx
as Kuat bent down and set it on the intricately
tessellated floor. "Thanks for the information. You can
go now."
The comm supervisor made his exit, and Kuat of Kuat
turned back to his contemplation of Tatooine, now hardly
more than a thumbnail-sized blot in the viewport. Its
wordless voice louder, the felinx rubbed against his
ankles, negotiating to be picked up again.
"A long way to come . . ." Kuat nodded as he murmured
his thoughts aloud. "Just for nothing."
He didn't share the comm supervisor's certainty about
what had been achieved. Being sure of anything, in this
universe, was one of the follies of youth. Still, thought
Kuat, it was worth trying. Just for the sake of
thoroughness, and on the off chance that Boba Fett could
be killed. There was so much at stake-so many plans and
schemes, so deeply laid, and so critical to the survival
of KDY-that it was worth any expenditure of time and
capital to try to remove Fett from the multileveled game
board on which the Empire's pawns advanced. There were
other players in the game as well-Black Sun, the
Rebellion, smaller and even less savory empires like
those of the Hutt clans and their like-but Kuat of. Kuat
wasn't concerned with those for the moment.
The opponents didn't know, and neither did the pawn,
just how important Boba Fett was in this game-Kuat of
Kuat found some wry amusement in that datum. If Fett or
Emperor Palpatine ever did find out, though, the game
would swiftly become more serious. And deadly. There
would be no more heirs to Kuat Drive Yards because the
corporation itself would cease to exist. The Emperor's
scavengers would pick the bones apart like a gem-
encrusted corpse. . . .
There were still a great many moves left in the game,
though, before that happened. Kuat was determined to play
them all.
"I suppose," he told the felinx, "we'll be seeing him
again." That had been the main reason that he had
canceled any orders for a second bombing run on
Tatooine's Dune Sea. The conviction had settled in Kuat
of Kuat that it was a pointless endeavor; if Boba Fett
was going to be eliminated, it wasn't by any means as
relatively crude as that. "He'll take a good deal of
killing. Before he's dead enough."
He supposed it hadn't been a complete waste, though.
Perhaps I've slowed him down-there would be time to shift
a few other pieces into position, to contemplate the game
board and devise strategie
s for it.
The felinx had waited long enough; now it impatiently
informed its master so.
"Soon enough." Kuat of Kuat cradled the animal in the
crook of his arm again and idly scratched the spot behind
its ears that it liked the best. "A little time, perhaps.
But it won't be long."
It never was, when it came to dealing with Boba Fett.
Just as before, on another part of the board, when the
pawns had been creatures such as that wretched spidery
assembler Kud'ar Mub'at and the Bounty Hunters Guild.
That game, Kuat knew, had played out with fatal speed.
"Not long," murmured Kuat of Kuat again. "Not long at
all . . ."
14
THEN
"There's something big coming down." Bossk's smile
was jagged and ugly. As always. "Something really big."
Boba Fett leaned back against the wall behind the
stone bench. Nothing the Trandoshan told him ever came as
a surprise; the big reptile just hadn't learned that yet,
about how far behind the curve he was always fated to be.
Maybe he will find out, thought Fett, before he dies. "Go
on," said Fett. In the meantime there was some value to a
pretense of ignorance on his own part. "Tell me about
it."
"Wait a second." Bossk turned his scaly head, looking
over the bleak contents of Boba Fett's temporary quarters
at the Bounty Hunters Guild's main complex. He had
already pushed the iron-hinged door shut behind himself
with a push from his clawed hand. "This isn't," he
growled in a low voice, "something everybody needs to
know about." The inspection from his slit-pupiled eyes
apparently satisfied him, that there were no obvious
listening devices installed in the cracks between the
damp stones. "At least, they don't need to for the
moment."
"You have a compulsion for secrecy." Idiot, thought
Boba Fett-a thousand snooping machines could have been
hidden in the chamber that a mere visual scan wouldn't
have detected. "That's commendable."
"Gotta be careful." Bossk sat down on the bench
beside him and leaned in close. "Especially about 1
something like this."
"Which is?"
All around the sparsely furnished, rough-hewn space,
the corridors of the Bounty Hunters Guild compound folded
and coiled around each other, replicating the devious
pathways of the minds contained therein. Those minds, of
