Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

by K. W. Jeter

  Hutts, our cousin Jabba for instance, say if he heard

  that we had not provided for others' famished appetites?"

  "We're not hungry," said Boba Fett. "Not for anything

  that you're likely to serve."

  "Ah-I think otherwise, my dear Fett. This meal is one

  that I've been preparing for a long time; a very long

  time. Since the last time you were here on Circumtore,

  and things went less than graciously... for some of us."

  "More complaints." The immense Shell Hutt- his name,

  Fett remembered, was Nullada-rolled his yellow eyes

  beneath his brow's folded and sagging pouches. "Nothing

  but complaints," he rumbled ole-aginously. "You've been

  obsessed for too long a time, Gheeta. Perhaps you should

  be relieved of even those duties that you've retained

  this far so that you could take a long rest to clear your

  mind."

  A flash of anger showed in Gheeta's face, like a

  lightning stroke in storm-heavy clouds. The crablike

  mechanical hands locked their claws together, as though

  preventing themselves from slashing a set of parallel

  bloodied furrows down the older and larger Shell Hutt's

  face.

  "I've had time enough." Gheeta's voice was a snarling

  whine. "But let's not waste any more of it. Come along,

  then." Even with just his own jowl-wrapped face

  protruding from the collar of his floating cylinder, the

  effort required to regain control was visible. The

  cylinder turned slightly, angling toward the center of

  the great reception hall, where more of the Shell Hutts'

  encased forms jostled around a rectangular dais,

  surrounded on all sides by low, concentric steps.

  "Everything has been placed in readiness for you." The

  claws unclasped, allowing one of them to make a sweeping

  gesture toward the dais. "Shall we?"

  Boba Fett didn't feel like making any further

  conversation with their host. He led the way toward the

  dais, letting the other members of the bounty-hunter team

  fall in behind. There were enough reflective surfaces

  scattered throughout the space, beams of polished

  durasteel supporting the domed roof above, that he could

  see Bossk and the droid IG-88 following his quick stride,

  with the Trandoshan glaring with suspicion and enmity at

  every one of the bobbing and floating Shell Hutts. Behind

  that pair, the massive shape of D'harhan trod heavily,

  the inert laser cannon still impressive in its glistening

  darkness, like an emblem of latent destruction wrapped in

  trails of hissing steam.

  At Fett's elbow, Zuckuss trotted to keep up with him.

  "I don't like the looks of this," panted the shorter

  bounty hunter. "I don't like the looks of this one bit-"

  He knew just what Zuckuss was talking about. Around

  the sides of the great reception hall, from alcoves and

  corridors branching off the central space, other figures

  had appeared, ones that weren't Shell Hutts.

  "Mercenaries," said Boba Fett quietly. In black,

  insignialess uniforms, armed and watching; if he'd wanted

  to, he could very likely have identified more than a few

  of them from past encounters. There was always a loose

  assemblage of thugs and venal murderers, varying in

  number and quality, depending mainly upon who had been

  killed recently and to a lesser degree upon who was

  rotting away in the galaxy's various penal institutions,

  shifting back and forth among the less civilized worlds,

  finding employment as enforcers and private hit men. The

  Shell Hutts' distant species relation, the notorious

  Jabba on backwater Tatooine, usually paid the highest

  wages and got the pick of the lot, the quickest with

  their chosen weapons and the least encumbered by scruples

  about what kind of jobs they took care of for their

  employer. "What else," Fett asked Zuckuss, "did you

  expect?"

  "This many?" Still at Boba Fett's side, Zuckuss

  quickly scanned the perimeter of the great reception

  hall. "There must be a couple dozen of them. At least."

  He took another count, looking past the raised dais in

  the middle of the space. "Maybe fifty of 'em-"

  "Gheeta told us that he'd been preparing for this for

  a long time." Without turning his visored helmet, Boba

  Fett had taken his own estimate of the forces arrayed

  along the hall's perimeter. "He's obviously called in a

  lot of favors." This much firepower didn't come cheap;

  most of the mercenaries cradled late-model blaster rifles

  against their chests; Gheeta must have provided the

  weapons, as they were obviously more expensive than the

  usual cheap and nasty-if lethally efficient-gear with

  which mercenaries usually kitted themselves. These types

  disgusted Fett; they took no real pride in their

  equipment, the tools of their trade; if they did, they

  wouldn't spend s o much of their ill-gotten pay on their

  own bad habits. "He couldn't pay for all this himself,"

  continued Boba Fett aloud. "Gheeta must've gone into

  major hock with his other clan members."

  "But what for?" Zuckuss's curved eyes reflected the

  ominous black-clad figures. "We're unarmed-"

  "I know how Gheeta's mind works. Let's just say he's

  not given to taking chances. Or at least," said Fett,

  "not after the last time I did business with him."

  Bossk had overhead the comment. "I'm ready to do

  business with him," the Trandoshan growled from behind

  Boba Fett. "Right now." His clawed hand hung close to the

  empty blaster holster at his side. Even without a weapon,

  Bossk looked ready to take on whatever army the Shell

  Hutts had assembled, as though he could pull each of the

  mercenaries apart, limb from limb, with nothing but his

  own brute strength. "Let's get it over with."

  "It seems apparent," commented IG-88, "that your

  desire in that regard is about to be fulfilled."

  Pushed along by his riveted casing's repulsor beams,

  the Shell Hutt Gheeta had floated ahead of the bounty

  hunters. As they reached the bottom of the steps

  surrounding the dais, Gheeta had already risen to the top

  section, where the cylinder bobbed beside a rectangular

  construction a little over two meters long and a quarter

  of that dimension in width; its surface was draped with a

  heavy cloth embroidered with golden thread, the corner

  tassels loosely knotted and flowing down the steps. On

  top of the cloth were towering arrangements of exotic,

  off-planet florals, their brilliant petals thick and

  heavy as flayed Tatooinian dewback hide; from their

  stickily wet confluence exuded cloying, opiatelike

  perfumes. Even through his helmet's filtration units,

  Boba Pert could taste the acrid molecules collecting on

  his tongue; they had no effect on the clarity of his own

  thoughts, but he saw how some of the Shell Hutts gathered

  closer to the dais, the pupils of their eyes narrowing as

  their slit nostrils widened, deeply inhaling the ladenr />
  air. Their lipless mouths curved into all-encompassing

  pleasure.

  Behind him, Boba Fett heard Bossk snort in disgust.

  He knew that the Trandoshan nervous system lacked any

  receptor sites for the flowers' narcotic fragrance; any

  scent less subtle than rotting meat was wasted on him.

  "Lovely." Bossk sneered. "Looks like you've got the place

  ready for a funeral."

  "How perceptive of you!" Gheeta had perhaps inhaled

  too deeply, though the scent appeared to have a stimulant

  rather than a soporific effect on him. "Exactly so!" The

  floating cylinder spun about, bringing the Shell Hutt's

  face, luminous with toxic sweat, toward the bounty

  hunters. Ramping up the strength of the repulsor beams,

  Gheeta floated above the rank-smelling blossoms, the

  thick petals quivering with the unseen force. "How often,

  though, that we fail to understand-" The crablike

  mechanical hands reached down and scooped through the

  floral mass, gathering the bright colors and pulpy

  tissues to the underside of the cylinder. For a moment

  the crushed blossoms obscured the lower half of Gheeta's

  face; then his ecstatic expression was revealed again as

  the gleaming metal appendages flung themselves wide,

  scattering the flowers across the steps of the dais. "We

  fail to appreciate what a joyous occasion a funeral can

  be!"

  The overripe stench of the flowers filled the inside

  of Boba Fett's helmet as the petals, bruised and crushed

  by Gheeta's mechanical arms, fell across the toes of his

  boots. He looked down at them for a moment, then kicked

  the flowers away; the heaviest of them left wet, bleeding

  trails across the inlaid floor of the great reception

  hall.

  "I don't have much of a feeling for funerals," said

  Fett evenly. He looked up across the dais steps toward

  Gheeta. "One way or the other."

  "Oh, but you should! You will!" Gheeta's manner

  became even more frenetic and excited. The cylinder

  vibrated as it hovered in place, as though the fever of

  the creature inside had somehow been transmitted to the

  enclosing metal. Some of the other Shell Hutts edged away

  from the central dais, as though fearful of an explosion;

  Gheeta's agitation had even pierced the stupor of those

  who had fallen furthest beneath the blooms' heavy

  fragrance. "I guarantee it!"

  "Watch out," said Zuckuss in a low voice. From the

  corner of his sight, behind the dark visor of his helmet,

  Boba Fett saw Zuckuss's warning nod toward the edges of

  the space. But Fett was already conscious of what was

  happening there Some of the black-uniformed mercenaries

  had stepped forward from the alcoves and adjoining

  corridors where they had first appeared. There were other

  motions, of weapons being raised, the shoulder straps of

  the blaster rifles slackening as the barrels were swung

  up into firing position, the rifle butts braced against

  the mercenaries' hips. He could see Bossk and IG-88

  turning their heads, scanning the details of the trap

  closing tighter around them. Zuckuss's voice sounded

  tight with apprehension "I think they're going to make

  their move. . . ."

  Fett knew that nothing was going to happen, at least

  not for another few seconds; the cylindrical shapes of

  the Shell Hutts were still bobbing and floating around,

  too close to the dais and the team of off-planet bounty

  hunters. Even as trigger-happy as this bunch of thugs was

  likely to be, they would still know better than to start

  shooting while their employers were in the line of fire.

  And besides, there was one more thing that he was

  absolutely sure of. Gheeta's little show wasn't over yet.

  . . .

  "You wanted to talk business?" The Shell Hutt's voice

  had spiraled up into a screech, loud enough to flutter

  the wattles at his pallid throat. "Fine! Let us do just

  that! But as you said, there's no point unless the

  merchandise in question is there on the table, right in

  front of us!"

  "Gheeta . . ." The elder Nullada grabbed hold of the

  collar of Gheeta's cylinder with a metal-clawed hand.

  "Don't make more of a fool of yourself than you already

  have-"

  "Silence!" One of Gheeta's crablike hands furiously

  knocked away the larger Shell Hutt's grasp. "You'll see

  as well! All of you!" The faces of the other Shell Hutts,

  protruding from the collars of the floating cylinders,

  turned toward Gheeta, some with expressions of muddled

  astonishment, others cruelly relishing the spectacle that

  was being played out before them. "You were all pleased

  enough when this scoundrel"-the claw point of one of

  Gheeta's hands shot out, gesturing toward Boba Fett-"when

  this thief stole from me that which was to be my crowning

  glory!" Both of the crablike mechanical hands flung

  upward, indicating the great reception hall's vaulted

  roof and all that it contained. Gheeta's maddened gaze

  crossed over Nullada and the other Shell Hutts. "Don't

  think I didn't hear your sniggering jeers and laughter!

  You were happy to see me fallen and disgraced, weren't

  you?"

  Boba Fett discerned now that Gheeta's escalating

  shrillness was due to more than the intoxicants released

  by the mounds of flowers and their viscous, oozing

  centers. Enough of Gheeta's thick neck had protruded from

  his floating cylinder that a thin tube could be seen,

  almost buried in the folds of his gray skin; the tube

  ended in a surgically implanted IV tap, a needle plunged

  and sealed into Gheeta's bloodstream. The tube's other

  end was concealed inside the cylinder; Fett could surmise

  that it was hooked up to a time-metered dispensary

  module, leaking some rage-provoking stimulant through the

  Shell Hutt's central nervous system. Just as Boba Fett

  had already suspected, the sight of the pharmaceutical

  tube confirmed that Gheeta had prepared for this

  confrontation by chemically stripping out any sense of

  caution that might still have been lingering inside his

  brain. Suicidally so; with his having gone this far out

  of control, there would be no way that the other Shell

  Hutts would let him continue living and operating in

  their midst. There was a line beyond which honor and the

  desire for vengeance interfered with business, and Gheeta

  was now obviously well past it.

  The others were getting there as well; a sense of

  panic tinged the air inside the great reception hall as

  the Shell Hutts' floating cylinders collided with each

  other, reversing away from the central dais, then turning

  and perceiving the armed and ready mercenaries stationed

  around the perimeter. Some of the Hutts were obviously

  fuddled enough by the heavy opiatelike scent of the

  scattered florals to have lost all reasoning ability.

  That was the main reason that Boba Fett had programmed

&
nbsp; the air filters in his helmet to catch and expunge those

  intoxicating molecules; more than that, he had paid hefty

  amounts to the galaxy's finest black-market microsurgeons

  to have the corresponding receptor sites stripped away

  from the branching ends of his own nervous system.

  Whatever stimulation to the pleasure centers of his brain

  that might have been lost thereby was more than

  compensated for by the control he retained in situations

  like this; in his business, he couldn't afford the

  simpleminded hysteria to which the Shell Hutts were

  already succumbing. From the corners of his vision, as he

  continued focusing on Gheeta at the top of the dais, he

  could discern the repulsor-borne cylinders slamming

  harder into each ot her, the riveted durasteel plates

  clanging like an atonal percussion section; the crablike

  mechanical hands tangled with each other and clawed at

  the wide-eyed, panting faces of the Shell Hutts as they

  twisted and spun about, rebounding in fear from the

  exits, blocked by the blaster-toting mercenaries.

  Gheeta was caught up in a spiraling feedback loop,

  his own overexcited state mounting as it absorbed the

  frightened, lunatic pulse from the other Shell Hutts.

  "And you were laughing, too! I know you were!" One of the

  mechanical hands slung beneath his floating cylinder

  suddenly jabbed toward Boba Fett, the metal shimmering

  with the fury of his accusation. "All the way back to

  whatever hole that scummy architect paid you to hide him

  in-" Gheeta's lipless mouth had stretched into a frenzied

  grimace, far enough that a trickle of blood seeped into

  the milky salivation leaking from its corners. "That was

  a good joke, Fett! But the best jokes always come with a

  price attached to them, don't they?"

  "Ancient history," said Boba Fett. He could almost

  feel sorry for the Shell Hutt, locked inside an account

  that he could never settle to his profit. Almost, but not

  quite; sympathy was something else that he'd stripped

  from his nervous system, using the scalpel of his own

  transforming will. "We came here to talk about other

  merchandise. We're here for Oph Nar Dinnid."

  "Ah, yes!" Gheeta's eyes grew wider and more maniacal

  as the IV tube pulsed like an artificial vein at the

  wattles of his neck. "And the merchandise should always

  be on the table, shouldn't it, before we can start

  dealing-that's how you want things, isn't it? Then by all