Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

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