by K. W. Jeter
your craft shows no hidden armaments of a force
sufficient to disturb the peace and tranquillity of
Circumtore."
Zuckuss would have been surprised if the inspector
droids had found anything like that. He and IG-88-Bossk
had still been unhelpfully sulking over having to lay
down his own weapons-had assisted Boba Fett in removing
either whole systems or essential parts of them from the
Slave I's arsenal, and then packing and sealing them into
the coded-access freight container that was now in orbit
above the surface of Circumtore, awaiting Fett's return.
When that procedure had been completed, the ship had been
rendered as defenseless-and more significantly for the
Shell Hutts, offenseless-as any unarmed cargo shuttle
plodding among the stars.
The bounty hunters' personal weapons had been another
matter; those they had brought with them to Circumtore,
handing them over directly to the customs-inspection
droids. "Here is your receipt for the items we are
holding in storage for you." One of the lead inspectors
pried open a slender pouch beneath its multilensed eyes
and extracted a miniature holoprojector. "If you'd care
to check it over and make sure that we haven't forgotten
anything . . ."
Boba Fett took the device and thumbed it on. The
shimmering visual field winked into existence in front of
him and Zuckuss, with a scrolling depiction of the bounty
hunters' various weapons. It was a long list. Boba Fett
gave it no more than a cursory glance before
extinguishing the hologra m. "Looks complete."
"Very well." The lead inspector extended one of its
optic stalks straight up and swiveled its small lens
around to see how the others were coming along with the
bits and pieces of the one that Bossk had taken apart. A
few last segments were being tucked into an inert-mesh
sack, from which the droid's muffled complaints were
barely audible. The inspector returned its attention to
Boba Fett. "If you'll hold on to that and present it to
the landing master when you're ready to leave, all items
will be returned to you." A dark oil stain and a couple
of glittering, broken transistors were all that were left
on the surface of the dock. "It's been a pleasure to
serve you."
Canned formalities always sounded even more canned
when they came from droids; Zuckuss was glad to see the
customs-inspection droids leave, stalking their way
delicately across the landing dock, dragging their bagged
comrade behind themselves.
As the inspection squadron left the landing dock
Bossk came striding over, followed by IG-88. The droid
looked as unemotional as ever, but burning resentment
showed in Bossk's eyes. "So this is your great plan?" He
made a quick, dismissive gesture at the blaster holster
hanging empty by his side. "Now we're stuck down here on
the Shell Hutts' planet, and if they decide to send their
thugs around to kill us, there won't be a thing we'll be
able to do about it." He shook his head in disgust. "I
don't see why you needed a team to go along with you. If
you just wanted to get yourself knocked off, you could
have done it on your own just as easily."
Boba Fett regarded the Trandoshan in silence. "You
know," he said finally, "I'm going to give you something
free. That doesn't happen very often. Even when it's just
good advice-I usually let other creatures learn by just
suffering the consequences of their actions."
"Yeah?" Bossk sneered at him. "So what's your good
advice?"
"Stop whining. Before you really get me irritated."
Fett turned toward the other bounty hunters. "Let's get
going. Gheeta sent me a message while the ship was being
inspected. The Shell Hutts have already prepared a
reception for us."
"I just bet they have," grumbled Bossk under his
breath. Fett ignored the remark, if he had heard it at
all.
IG-88 crossed in front of Zuckuss, following after
Boba Fett and toward the open-topped ground shuttle that
would take them into the center of Circumtore's
administrative complex. Zuckuss drew back even farther as
the massive shape of D'harhan trod heavily forward, the
barrel of the laser cannon, now rendered inert and
harmless, slanting disconsolately, the tip of its muzzle
almost scraping against the landing dock's surface. The
stilled weapon's tracking systems were switched off, as
though the half-humanoid, half-mechanical creature was
some slow beast following the voice of the master that
had blinded it.
"What do you think's going to happen?"
The voice startled Zuckuss; he snapped his head
around and saw Bossk standing next to him, leaning down
to speak close to his ear. Zuckuss had been immersed too
deep in his thoughts, reflecting on how the altered
D'harhan looked like the last survivor of some otherwise
extinct saurian species, dragging its age-heavy bones and
rusting metal armor to the burial ground of its kin.
Bossk had stepped beside him while he was still wondering
what had been the point of bringing D'harhan along on
this job, if Boba Fett had known all along that the laser
cannon's core-D'harhan's spirit, or as much of one as he
might have possessed-would need to be extracted. It
struck Zuckuss as a needlessly cruel thing to have done
to an old comrade; something that he would never have
imagined Fett capable of doing.
"Don't ask me." Zuckuss glanced over at Bossk and
gave a shrug, lifting his gloved hands to indicate his
complete bafflement. "I haven't got a clue about what's
going on." Things had seemed a lot simpler back at the
Bounty Hunters Guild when he'd agreed to become part of
Cradossk's plans-not that those were anything he felt
like telling to Bossk. They'd only gotten more
complicated since then. And dangerous; the confidence
he'd felt at one time, that he'd survive all this just by
sticking close to Boba Fett, had been seriously eroded.
Fett packing his personal arsenal of blasters and rocket
launchers was one thing; a disarmed Fett leading all of
the team right into the center of Fett's grudge-bearing
enemies was another. Maybe Bossk is right, mused Zuckuss.
Maybe Fett is going to get us all killed. Another thought
struck him Maybe that had been Cradossk's plan all
along. The old Trandoshan hadn't been out just to get his
own son eliminated, but a couple more of the Guild's
young upstarts as well. Zuckuss could see why Cradossk
and some of the other Guild elders would want to get rid
of the coldly efficient droid IG-88, but he would have
been surprised to find that anyone thought that he
himself was at that level. And even if that were
Cradossk's plan, where would Boba Fett hook up with it?
Was Fett just leading Bossk and the other bounty hunters<
br />
into a prearranged trap-which would mean that somehow
Cradossk had gotten the Shell Hutts in on the scheme; how
likely was that?-or had the galaxy's smartest and
toughest bounty hunter somehow been fooled as well, and
Fett was about to get eliminated along with the rest of
the team? Or ...
The brain behind the insectoid eyes started to throb
painfully as more and more possibilities swirled within.
If he did get killed here on Circum-tore, Zuckuss hoped
it wouldn't be before he had at least figured out part of
what was going on. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom
of having even wanted to become a bounty hunter.
"I suppose," growled Bossk, "we'll find out. One way
or another."
"Maybe." The others of the team were waiting beside
the ground shuttle; Zuckuss nodded toward them. "We
better get going." He conquered his reluctance enough to
start walking.
Even before the shuttle lifted on its repulsor beams
and slid toward the Shell Hutts' spired buildings,
Zuckuss had a revelation. He could see his face mask, air
tubes dangling, reflected in the dark metal of D'harhan's
silent, impotent laser cannon. It doesn't matter,
realized Zuckuss suddenly. Whether we have weapons or
not. Whatever was going to happen-which of them would die
and which of them would live-would happen whether they
were ready for it or not.
There was one of them who might be ready. Zuckuss
looked toward Boba Fett, sitting in the front of the
shuttle. If anybody was going to survive, it would be
him.
That thought, even with all its embodied certainty,
didn't make Zuckuss feel any better.
Gheeta came floating up, his welcoming smile nearly
wide enough to split his wattled face in two. "At last!"
The crablike mechanical hands beneath the rivet-studded
cylinder spread expansively. "Now you will have a chance
to truly partake of our hospitality."
"We're not here to enjoy ourselves." At the head of
the team of bounty hunters, Boba Fett stopped and gazed
around the grand reception hall of the Shell Hutts. "This
is strictly business for us. I would appreciate it if we
could get straight to it."
"All in good time, my dear Fett." The tapering end of
the cylinder pointed toward the farther reaches of the
hall, its high-vaulted roof interlaced with golden
traceries and ornamental center bosses. "You are too
dismissive of both pleasure and the past-the pleasures of
the flesh, that we can enjoy now, and the memories of
that past we share."
IG-88 and the shorter figure of Zuckuss came up on
either side of Fett, the droid scanning the space with
methodical thoroughness, the other bounty hunter glancing
around with nervous apprehension. With a slower and more
ponderous tread, D'harhan loomed up behind.
"The past is over," said Boba Fett. The Shell Hutt's
wobbling face, protruding from the collar of the repulsor-
borne cylinder, evoked a cold revulsion inside him. "If
not for you, then it is for me."
"I wonder about that." Gheeta raised one of the
cylinder's mechanical hands, using the point of its claw
to scratch a deep fold in his chin. "How much do
creatures ever forget? I hope you'll excuse me for waxing
philosophical-I know how impatient you become-but
sometimes I feel that nothing is forgotten. Everything
remains buried, deeply or just beneath the surface, just
waiting for its certain resurrection, to be brought out
into the light once more."
Boba Fett could decipher the meaning behind the Shell
Hutt's words. What he's saying, thought Fett, is that he
hasn't forgotten. The reminder about the past and what it
contained, back aboard the Slave I, hadn't been enough to
indicate how fiercely that humiliation burned in Gheeta's
memory. If one looked past all his cloying and
ingratiating manners, the show of welcome here on
Circumtore, the desire for vengeance could be plainly
seen.
And counted on. He's got his plans, thought Boba
Fett, and I've got mine.
For a split second, as Fett gazed back into Gheeta's
broad, half-lidded eyes, he wondered if there was another
meaning to what the Shell Hutt had spoken. Resurrection
... brought out into the light ...
When one played a dangerous game, there was always
the possibility that the opponent was one move ahead.
Fett knew that in this game, that would mean death. If he
found out, mused Fett as he searched Gheeta's massive
face for any clue. If he's figured out everything that
happened here, in the past. Then the game was already
over; there would be no more moves to play, just the
sweeping of the broken pieces from the board. Those
pieces would include himself and the other bounty hunters
that he had brought here with him. And maybe
one more...
Whatever happens, decided Boba Pert as he gazed
unflinching into the dark centers of Gheeta's eyes.
Whatever happens-he's going with me.
"But enough of all that." The floating cylinder that
encased Gheeta rotated slightly, so that one of the
mechanical hands could gesture toward the center of the
reception hall. "As you have so forcefully reminded me,
this is-alas!-more a business occasion than a social one.
Let us proceed; there are others here who are more than
eager to meet with you and your companions."
"After you," said Boba Fett. "They're your species,
not mine."
Years ago he had picked up some profitable mer
chandise on a backwater world where the dominant form of
long-distance transportation had been lighter-than-air
freighters-slow and immense, tapered ovoid dirigibles,
filled with helium and other buoyant gases. The planet's
skies had been filled with the craft, like elongated
silvery moons, their crew gondolas and cargo containers
slung underneath their curved and shaded bellies. That
was what Cir-cumtore's great reception hall reminded Fett
of; there were a dozen Shell Hutts besides Gheeta, the
riveted cylinders floating on their repulsor beams,
turning and bumping into each other with graceless sloth.
At the front end of each cylinder protruded another
bejowled Huttese face, like a wad of some unpleasant
organic substance that had been inserted in the circular
metal collar. Some of the Shell Hutt faces appeared
younger than Gheeta, their large eyes glittering with
avarice, slit nostrils flared by the trace scents on
which their constant appetites fastened. The younger
ones' encasing cylinders were smaller as
well; Boba Fett knew how the Shell Hutts enjoyed
throwing lavish parties for themselves, upon the occasion
of one's expanding bulk being transferred to a new and
larger cylinder.
With their artificial exoskeletons, the cylinders
&n
bsp; raised by repulsor beams, the size to which Shell Hutts
could aspire was no longer restricted by gravity-only by
how much they could grab of the galaxy's wealth and stuff
into their lipless mouths. Gheeta was only in the middle
range when it came to sheer mass; Boba Fett recognized a
few of the other Shell Hutts in the great reception hall,
elders of the clan that were to Gheeta as an Imperial
battle cruiser was to a TIE fighter craft. Those faces
protruding from their cylinder's metal collars were so
heavily wattled from brow to throat that hooks had been
surgically implanted in the blubbery tissue, the sharp
metal bits connected to a web of thin, high-tension
strands fastened to the top edge of the cylinder. If not
for that support, the old Shell Hutts' eyes and nostrils
would have been buried beneath avalanches of their own
slack flesh.
As Boba Fett and the other bounty hunters approached,
the largest of the repulsor-borne cylinders turned
majestically, like an interstellar luxury ship being
maneuvered into an off-planet berth. A low voice rumbled
from the gargantuan Hutt bound by the riveted durasteel
plates "I grow weary, Gheeta." The larger Shell Hutt
fastened the irritable gaze of its yellowed eyes upon its
clan member. "You keep us waiting . . . and for what?
Some of us may still be amused, but I assure you that I
am not."
Gheeta bobbed forward, the little crablike hands
rising from underneath his cylinder and making fluttery
gestures of mollification. "Patience will yet be
rewarded, Your Magnitude. Our-ahem-guests have arrived at
last. The show will begin in a moment."
" 'Show'?" Bossk scowled. "What show are you talking
about? We came here on business."
"Of course, of course-just as your leader Boba Fett
keeps reminding me." Gheeta turned his wide, wet-edged
smile toward the Trandoshan. "Your patience will be
rewarded as well, I assure you. But you've traveled so
far-all of you have." The mechanical hands' gesture took
in all of the bounty hunters. "And through some of the
emptiest and least rewarding stretches of the galaxy. I'd
hate for you to go away from here, after our business is
concluded, and tell the sentient creatures of all the
worlds that the Shell Hutts put out a mean and scanty
table for their visitors. We have a reputation for
hospitality to maintain, don't we? What would our fellow
