by K. W. Jeter
again, the surge of energy that had forced it larger now
only an afterimage burned into the observers' eyes.
Boba Fett lowered the laser cannon's barrel, and the
cylinder slid off the end of its muzzle. The cylinder
fell to the great reception hall's floor with a lifeless
clang. Slowly, a red pool formed around it as Gheeta's
liquefied corpse seeped through the joins between the
plates and out the empty rivet holes.
"Just as well," wheezed another Shell Hutt's voice.
The elder Nullada floated toward the dead cylinder; it
looked like a mechanical egg, cracked but not yet peeled
of its metal shell. The claws of one of Nullada's
crablike arms held back the roll of blubbery tissue over
his eyes; with the other he prodded the side of what had
been Gheeta's metal casing. Silently, the cylinder rolled
back and forth in the red mire. "He had already made more
of a nuisance of himself than he had any right to."
That statement, Boba Fett figured, would probably be
the extent of Gheeta's obituary. Hutts of any variety
were not given to sentimentality. If the late Gheeta had
left any estate after having paid off the Narrant-system
liege-holder clan and hiring this band of
mercenaries-though he had probably gotten them fairly
cheap-the remaining assets would be quickly picked apart
and swallowed up by the other Shell Hutts. Nullada
himself would no doubt take the largest bite.
At the elder Shell Hutt's direction, a couple of the
dark-uniformed mercenaries had come over and dragged Oph
Nar Dinnid's body out from under the wreckage of the
central dais. "Most distressing," said Nullada, with
genuine if predacious regret. "This is what happens when
someone lets their emotions get in the way of business.
We could have gotten a lot more from those parties with
an interest in this matter."
Boba Fett wasn't listening to the old Shell Hutt.
With Zuckuss and IG-88 watching him, the weapons in their
hands lowered, he laid D'harhan's body down upon the
floor. The laser-cannon barrel turned and slowly came to
rest, its muzzle scraping through the charred debris.
D'harhan's black-gloved hands fumbled for the voice
box clipped to his waist. The rise and fall of his chest,
pinned by the cannon's curved mount, was quick and
labored as a single fingertip punched out a message.
Kneeling beside him, Boba Fett looked at the words
glowing on the box's screen.
I SHOULD NOT HAVE TRUSTED YOU.
"That's right," said Fett, with a single nod. "That
was your mistake."
you're wrong. The fingertip moved with agonizing
slowness. it was ... my decision. . . .
Fett said nothing. He waited for the rest of
D'harhan's silent words.
i can stop now . . . but you . .. The black-gloved
fingertip moved from letter to letter on the voice box's
keypad. you still must go on. ...
The hand fell away from the box. D'harhan's forearm
struck the ground beside his body. There was no more
breath or pulse lifting his chest; after a moment Boba
Fett reached over and switched off the last of the laser
cannon's red-lit controls.
He stood up and turned toward the other bounty
hunters. "We're done here," said Fett. "Now we can go."
17
Zuckuss looked up into the old Trandoshan's eyes,
into the black slits of that hard reptilian gaze. And
said, "Everything happened the way you wanted it to."
"Good." Cradossk slowly nodded as he turned away. "I
expected that."
I bet you did, thought Zuckuss. Being back here in
the private quarters of the Bounty Hunters Guild's leader
gave him the creeps. This was where Cradossk had sucked
him into the distasteful little conspiracy that would
result in Bossk's death. It struck Zuckuss, not for the
first time, that these Trandoshans were indeed cold-
blooded, right down to the marrow of their fenestrated
bones. The only thing that could account for their hot
tempers was the strength of their carnivorous appetites.
That cold blood had never been more in evidence than
just now, when he had told Cradossk the details of what
had happened on Circumtore.
"You saw it?" Cradossk had demanded an eyewitness
verification of his son's death. "You saw him take the
shot?"
"Right in the chest," Zuckuss had answered. "He
didn't get up after that." His own blood had chilled when
he spotted the little smile on Cradossk's face.
"You came straight here?" Cradossk didn't turn around
to look at him again, but continued idly fiddling with a
couple of pieces from the bone chamber at the far end of
the spacious suite. "As soon as you la nded?" The pieces
were yellowy white, slender and curved; Zuckuss's own
ribs twinged in painful sympathy as he recognized what
they were. "You didn't talk to anyone else?"
The tubes of his face mask's breathing apparatus
swung back and forth as he shook his head. "No one. Those
were your orders. When . . . you know . . . when you gave
me the job."
He was still sorry he'd agreed to it. Even though
he'd come back from Circumtore with his own skin
relatively intact, if somewhat bruised and battered from
the action in the Shell Hutts' great reception hall.
Going along with someone who'd been making arrangements
to get his own son killed-which was what the whole futile
journey to acquire an already dead piece of merchandise
had been about-still turned him somewhat queasy. Maybe
Boba Fett's right, he mused bleakly. Maybe I'm not really
cut out for the bounty-hunter trade.
"I'm glad to see that you can follow orders."
Cradossk held the rib bone up close to his aging eyes.
The name of the vanquished foe to which it had once
belonged was incised along its length, the marks
scratched there by one of his own foreclaws. "I'm
impressed with your . . . loyalty. And your intelligence.
Both of those attributes will stand you in good stead in
the difficult times before us." He sighed, lowering the
memento of past glories, his gaze focusing on some far-
off horizon. "How I wish that my son had possessed
similar qualities. Or to put it another way-" He turned
his head just enough to cast a sidelong glance at the
younger bounty hunter. "If only someone such as yourself
had been my offspring."
Sure, thought Zuckuss. He kept himself from showing
any other reaction. And wind up dead, the first time you
started feeling paranoid? No thanks.
"Mark my words." Cradossk's gnarled claws gripped the
bone as though it were a club suitable for thrashing
miscreants. His voice rumbled lower, matching the heavy
scowl on his scaly face. "If the other bounty hunters of
your generation were as smart as you-and respectful of
their elders' wisdom-then a great deal of trouble could<
br />
be avoided. But they have . . . ideas of their own." He
spoke the word with loathing. "Just as my son did. That's
why it was so important that he be eliminated, and in a
way that would not appear to have been from my conniving
at that result. This way ... to have it happen on a world
far from here, and among clever, greedy creatures such as
the Shell Hutts ... it makes his death seem the
inevitable consequence of his own stupidity and
incompetence. So much for his new ideas." Cradossk
sneered. "The old ways are the best ways. Especially when
it comes to killing other creatures."
"You'd know," muttered Zuckuss under his breath.
"Did you say something?" Cradossk glanced over at
him.
Zuckuss shook his head. "It was a bubble." He pointed
to the dangling air tubes. "In my gear."
"Ah." Cradossk resumed his contemplation of his long-
dead enemy's rib, letting it evoke deep, musing thoughts.
"It's good to remember these things. To be wise. More
than wise; cunning. Because"-he nodded slowly-"there's
going to be a lot more killing before everything's
straightened out around here."
"What do you mean?" He already knew what the old
Trandoshan meant, but asked anyway. The creaky old
carnivore wants to talk, Zuckuss told himself, / should
let him talk. It was only polite, and it didn't cost him
anything. Besides-other things were going to happen that
Cradossk probably didn't know about. And those things
took time to get ready.
He heard a slight noise from the doorway. Glancing
over his shoulder, he saw Cradossk's majordomo, the
Twi'lek that was always sneaking around the place, on his
own and others' shadowy errands. Ob Fortuna held one of
his elongated forefingers to his lips, signaling Zuckuss
to remain silent himself. From the corner of one large
eye, Zuckuss looked over at the leader of the Bounty
Hunters Guild; the old reptilian was still sunk deep in
his brooding meditations. Zuckuss and the Twi'lek ex
changed a quick nod, and the Twi'lek scurried away, down
the Guild's dark corridors.
"Now's not the time to start playing stupid." The
ancient rib cracked in two, with a splintered fragment in
each of Cradossk's tightly squeezed fists. He looked in
angry surprise at what he'd just done, then tossed the
relic's pieces away. He shot a hard-eyed gaze over his
shoulder at Zuckuss. "Don't try telling me you're not
smart enough to know what's going on around here."
"Well . . ."
"Bossk was only the first one. The first that had to
be eliminated." A bone shard had been left on the back of
Cradossk's hand, caught underneath one of his rough-edged
scales. He extracted it and used it to pick his fangs,
nodding in grim thought all the while. "There will be
others; I've got a list."
I bet you do, thought Zuckuss.
"Not all of them young and foolish, either." Cradossk
examined a still-wriggling fragment of food on the end of
the improvised toothpick, then resumed his meditative
work with it. "Some of my oldest and most trusted
advisers . . . bounty hunters that I've known and supped
blood with for decades ... so to speak . . ." He ruefully
shook his head. "I should've anticipated it-but then
again, how could I? I loved these killers."
"Anticipated what?" Zuckuss knew that as well, but
figured the question would keep Cradossk going awhile
longer. By his calculations, the Twi'lek major-domo would
need a little while longer to finish up his
conspiratorial rounds.
"Traitors . . . backstabbers ..." Cradossk's voice
was a low, muttering growl. "That's what you get in this
galaxy for being nice to creatures. Taking them in when
they were runny-nosed little scavengers who wouldn't have
known how to get their claws on a piece of merchandise if
it'd been given to them with a ribbon tied around it. I
taught most of these Guild members everything there is to
know about this business."
"I imagine that's quite a lot."
"You better believe it," Cradossk said fiercely.
"There's parts of the bounty-hunter trade that I in
vented. And if these scum think they can get it all away
from me . . ." He chomped down on the bone toothpick,
grinding it between his back fangs. "They'd better think
again."
"What particular scum are you talking about?"
Cradossk's mention of a list still had Zuckuss worried.
The old Trandoshan might have gone senile, perhaps
forgetting just who he was talking to. Just my luck,
thought Zuckuss glumly, to find my own name on there.
"They know who they are. The same as I know. Though
maybe . . ." Cradossk gave another slow nod. "Maybe I
shouldn't take any chances. Maybe I should just have
everyone killed. Wipe clean the whole roster of the
Bounty Hunters Guild. Start fresh ..."
Great, thought Zuckuss. He had been warned about
this, by Boba Fett on the way back from Circumtore. Up in
the Slave I's cockpit area, Fett had given him another
insight into the way Cradossk's mind worked. The
Trandoshan had always been paranoid, long before he had
clawed to the top of the Bounty Hunters Guild. Arguably,
a personality trait like that was what had enabled him to
do it, or had at least helped. Hard on his associates,
though, figured Zuckuss.
"But first," said Cradossk, "we'll get rid of the
obvious targets. The ones who have already announced
their intentions, to either take over the Guild or split
from it and set up a new bounty-hunters organization of
their own. As if I'd ever let that happen."
Zuckuss and the others returning from Circum-tore had
already heard about these developments over the Slave I's
comm unit. The breakaway faction was eager to get as many
Guild members onto its side as possible-especially the
great Boba Fett and anyone associated with him. Just
having been on the team Fett had assembled for the Oph
Nar Dinnid job meant that Zuckuss and IG-88 were now
being heavily courted by the bounty hunters who wanted to
go out on their own, with an organization that wasn't
controlled by the elders such as Cradossk. Always
pleasant to be wanted, he supposed-as long as Cradossk
and his loyalists didn't get the notion that he had
switched allegiances.
"All of them?" It would be better, Zuckuss figured,
if he kept the old Trandoshan brooding about creatures
who weren't here in his chamber with him. "I mean-like
you said-some of them have been with the Bounty Hunters
Guild for a long time. Since the beginning; or at least,
since you took over."
"Those are the ones I'm going to enjoy getting rid
of." An ugly smile showed on Cradossk's face, as though
he were already relishing the details of that process.
"The younger bounty hunters could a
lmost be excused for
being stupid. They haven't been around long enough to
know any better. But the others, the veteran bounty
hunters, who've thrown in their lot with them-they could
have predicted how I'd react to their treachery, their
assault upon the sanctity of our brotherhood."
Zuckuss rolled his eyes upward; it was just as well
that Cradossk couldn't see that reaction. He'd found out
that brotherhood with carnivores, at least of the
Trandoshan variety, was a negotiable concept.
"There's big changes coming," said Cradossk.
"Everybody who's said that has been right-and will
continue to be so. The Bounty Hunters Gui ld will be
different from what it was before; this galaxy belongs to
Emperor Palpatine now, and we'll just have to deal with
that. If this breakaway faction had just bided" their
time and remained loyal to the Guild, they very likely
would have gotten everything they want."
"Except," Zuckuss pointed out, "for getting rid of
you."
Cradossk shot him a glance of venomous fury, enough
to push him back a step with its intangible force.
"That's right," he growled. "That's the one thing that's
not going to happen. Count on it. The Bounty Hunters
Guild is going to be a lot smaller than it was before-a
lot of dead wood is going to be cleared away. I admit I
should've seen it sooner, myself; that some of the elders
in the organization have lost their edge. Well, they'll
be gone before very much longer, whether they made the
mistake of going with the breakaway faction or whether
they're still sucking up to me. There's going to be a lot
of blank spaces in the organizational chart; that means
room for advancement. Room for someone . . . like you."
He reached over and tapped a claw against Zuckuss's
chest, right below the dangling tubes of the breathing
apparatus. "A smart, young bounty hunter such as yourself
could do pretty well. If you play your cards right."
"I'll ... try to do my best."
"Ah, don't worry about it." Cradossk pulled the claw
back and scratched his scaly chin. "The main thing you
have to do is-be careful who you choose to follow, and
who you choose as your associates. You've made a good
start by letting yourself become a tool of my intentions.
Don't screw it all up by thinking you can also be friends
with . . . certain other parties."
