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Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

Page 41

by K. W. Jeter


  spot of rust from le-XE's dented carapace. "You

  know"-SHSl-B's voice spoke with measured

  consideration-"you could use a little maintenance. . . ."

  21

  He hated to do it. But Bossk knew he had to.

  The greed impulses in his Trandoshan brain, as

  hardwired as any droid's circuits, almost overruled all

  the others. He could hear the words inside his head,

  ancient bounty-hunter wisdom, told to him by his own

  father The live ones are worth more than the dead ones.

  Old Cradossk had known what he was talking about, at

  least about that; whenever Bossk ran his clawed hands

  along the picked-clean bones he'd kept as mementos, he

  had a renewed sense of legacy and tradition. But even so,

  another truth remained, equally hard and obdurate. Things

  were different when you were dealing with a creature like

  Boba Fett.

  On the screen of the Hound's Tooth's longdistance

  scanner, in the cramped cockpit, Bossk could see the tiny

  speck of light that represented Fett's ship. The Slave I

  had already left the surface of Tatooine, as Bossk had

  known it would. Soon- within seconds-it would be beyond

  the planet's atmosphere, and then it would be within his

  own sighting and tracking range. That was how little time

  Bossk had remaining to him to press the button beneath

  his clawed thumb and accomplish all that was

  necessary. No time for rethinking his decisions or

  regretting lost profits.

  He had been back aboard Slave I, extracting a few

  more interesting files from its data bank, when the comm

  controls had lit up like the bright sparks of a

  disintegrating asteroid. That could mean only one thing

  that the message about Boba Fett being alive was true,

  and that he had just reinitiated contact with the ship

  that he had left in orbit above Tatooine. Bossk had also

  known what was to follow. Slave I would obediently follow

  Boba Fett's remote-transmitted commands, switch on and

  prime its engines, and head down to Tatooine to

  rendezvous with its master. And then Boba Fett would not

  only be alive, but free and active in the galaxy once

  again. Free and active-and the top, number-one bounty

  hunter on all the galaxy's scattered worlds.

  Bossk could still feel the rage and fear that had

  come boiling up inside him. Rage was a familiar

  emotion-Trandoshans woke up angry-but fear was something

  new. And powerful it had pushed him into action, quick

  and efficient.

  He hadn't wasted any thought on the mysteries that

  had been so tantalizingly uncovered to him. If the rich

  and powerful Kuat of Kuat was interested in Boba Fett

  being alive or dead, so be it; Bossk might still be able

  to cash in by confirming it to the owner of Kuat Drive

  Yards. And if there was some connection between Prince

  Xizor, the Black Sun's hidden ruler, and the raid on the

  moisture farm at the Dune Sea's edge . . . the answers

  about that weren't going to come from Boba Fett. Bossk

  would make sure of that.

  There had been just enough time to haul a sufficient

  quantity of high-thermal explosives over from the Hound's

  Tooth, conceal them in the holding cages of Fett's ship,

  and rig the remote triggering device. Then Bossk had

  sealed the entrance hatchway of Slave I, disconnected his

  own ship, and watched from his cockpit viewport as the

  other craft had sped planet-ward.

  Now that ship was heading back into space, bearing

  its helmeted master. The speck of light had grown larger;

  another second, and Bossk would have waited too long. All

  regret was expunged from his heart. He pressed the button

  on the cockpit's control panel. Instantaneously, the

  ominous light was transformed into a ball of churning

  flame, surrounded by extinguishing vacuum. Radiant

  sparks, bits of heated metal no bigger than a human's

  hand, drifted away from the core of the explosion, the

  dust and atoms of the other ship.

  Bossk leaned back in the pilot's chair, feeling ex

  hausted as the tension began to drain from his coiled

  muscles. That does it, he thought with relief. Boba

  Fett's dead now. For good . . .

  No regrets; he knew it had to be done.

  But one thing still puzzled Bossk as he gazed out at

  the emptiness between the stars.

  Why did he still feel afraid?

 

 

 


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