Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters (19 page)

“Sarlacc … swallowed me. I killed it. Blew it up,” the man said. Dengar wondered. It was said that the mighty Sarlacc took a thousand years to digest someone. Dengar had supposed that it was only exaggeration, but obviously this man could not have been lying here for more than a day or two. Which meant that he’d been in Sarlacc’s belly for some weeks.

Manaroo had been only a dozen meters away, and she rushed over to them. “Oh, here,” she said. “Help me get him inside!”

Together they carried the wounded man aboard the
Punishing One
, laid him on a bed, and Dengar got him
some water while Manaroo began spraying his wounds with antibiotics.

When the fellow could speak again, he grasped Dengar’s wrist, and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you, my friend,” over and over.

“It was nothing,” Dengar replied.

“Nothing? You still … you still want to be partners, Dengar?” the man said. He reached out his hand to shake.

Dengar gaped at the man’s tortured and burned face, and realized that this was Boba Fett. Boba Fett without his armor and weapons. Boba Fett helpless in Dengar’s bed. Boba Fett who had stolen Han Solo from him, who had bombed Dengar’s ship, who had drugged Dengar and left him to die in the desert. The man who had betrayed him twice!

There was a rushing in Dengar’s ears, and the world seemed to turn sideways. There was a muddy smear on the man’s head, and Dengar imagined what Boba Fett might have looked like without his hair burned off. If he had brown hair, like Han Solo’s …

“Call me Payback,” Dengar muttered.

Terror filled Boba Fett’s eyes as he suddenly saw the danger.

“I … I was just following orders,” Boba Fett said, but in Dengar’s mind, it was Han Solo that Dengar heard. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, buddy, it was a fair race,” Han was saying, that cocky grin on his face. “It could just as easily have been the other way around. I’m the one who could have got burned.… Sorry.”

“But I’m the one who got burned!” Dengar shouted, grabbing Han by the throat.

There was a brief struggle, and Dengar felt a wave of dizziness. He was choking Boba Fett, and the man was looking up at him, pleading. “Sorry! I’m sorry!” he growled, and Manaroo was suddenly at Dengar’s back, pulling on him.

She was fumbling with something, twisting something metallic against his cranial jack. Her Attanni shot through Dengar, washing him with her waves of concern, her worry not just for Dengar, but for Boba Fett too. She shouted, “What’s going on here?”

She pulled them apart, and Dengar yelled, “He tried to kill me!” and suddenly he saw that during the struggle, Boba Fett had managed to pull Dengar’s blaster from his holster. He’d been holding the barrel to Dengar’s ribs and could have blown Dengar’s lunch against the far wall, but he hadn’t pulled the trigger.

Dengar began to calm. Manaroo’s own emotions suffused him. Her worry, her love. She looked at Boba Fett and didn’t see a monster. Instead she saw a man flayed and tortured, much as Dengar had been a few days ago.

In the moment of silence that followed, Boba Fett held the blaster at Dengar’s chest. Dengar almost spoke. He almost said, “Go ahead. I’ve got nothing to lose.” He’d spoken that line under similar circumstances a dozen times, but this time the words caught in his throat. This time, he realized, he finally had something to lose. He had Manaroo, and he had a man who wanted to be his partner.

Boba Fett flipped the blaster over, handed it to Dengar. “I owe you,” he said. “Do what you will.”

Dengar holstered the blaster and stood looking down at Boba Fett. “I’m getting married in a couple of weeks, and I’ll need a best man. You available?”

Boba Fett nodded, and they shook on it.

C
hewbacca and Solo had bested Bossk once. Never again.

The lizard-like Trandoshan bounty hunter paused in his research to visualize bringing in Chewbacca’s pelt. The thought made him flick his tongue with pleasure. Like a trophy fighter in top condition, Bossk was massive enough to challenge a Wookiee, but he would win this game by guile … or trickery, if need be.

Bossk stood on an inner deck of the Imperial Star
Destroyer
Executor
, hurrying to read an Imperial data screen. Squinting, he swung aside his blast rifle—an elaborate neck sling suspended it under his left arm—and pushed his face closer to the screen. Onboard lighting hurt his supersensitive eyes, and the screen was only marginally brighter than the corridors. He had trouble picking up any contrast.

Another list appeared.

Known antagonists:

Big Bunji, former associate

Jabba the Hutt, former employer

Ploovo Two-for-One, former associate

Bossk flexed his toe claws against the
Executor
’s deck. Chewbacca and Solo would be crazy to hide among their enemies, but Solo was notorious for trying crazy tricks. Lord Vader’s personal aides had furnished volumes of data to all six Hunt finalists. Somehow, Bossk must discover the clue that would lead him to Chewbacca first.

And
Solo. He tightened his fingers, curling massive wedge-shaped claws into his palm. His hands were not nimble but strong, with deeply ridged, mature scales. He had hunted Wookiees for over sixty Standard years. When a blaster or grenade finally killed Bossk, his death would shower hundreds of
jagannath
points onto the bloodthirsty, eternal Scorekeeper that he worshipped.

Serene behind her pale, lidless eyes, the Scorekeeper existed beyond time and space, numbering every deed of each Trandoshan Hunter. She could zero his life tally if he were shamed or captured. She could double it if he brought home a prize pelt. Ambushing Chewbacca was Bossk’s sacred obligation.

He punched another button and scrutinized Vader’s information on Ploovo Two-for-One. The humanoid crime lord had ordered Solo’s termination. Nothing else on the screen sparked Bossk’s hunting intuition, except—faintly—the fact that Solo had been last seen
by Imperials on Tatooine, near Jabba the Hutt’s headquarters, immediately before he started running with the Rebel Alliance. That idiot Greedo had missed him cleanly; Bossk remembered seeing him afterward, at Ord Mantell.

Bossk’s warlike people had allied early with the Empire. A Trandoshan official had conceived the idea of enslaving the huge, strong Wookiees—inhabitants of Kashyyyk—for manual labor, rather than leveling Kashyyyk by bombardment. The Empire had pounced on the idea. The despicable, peace-loving Wookiees had been taken before they guessed the true meaning of enslavement. Now very few free Wookiees lived off Kashyyyk.

And Lord Vader wanted Solo, Chewbacca, and their passengers “alive, no disintegrations,” which guaranteed they would be handled cruelly. After the Empire finished punishing Chewbacca, Bossk would buy back Chewbacca’s pelt. He would take it home and lay it on the Scorekeeper’s bloody altar.

First, though, he must find better clues. Solo and his crew had disappeared in mid-chase, leaving no trail. And he had stiff competition.

Tinian I’att pushed her red-blond hair behind one ear and then crouched to look a furry brown Chadra-Fan in the eye. That made it hard to ignore his four nostrils and his twitching, pushed-up snout, but she wanted to make sure the cowardly creature understood. “Two hundred credits,” she repeated. “All you have to do is introduce me—and Chenlambec—to Bossk.”

Tutti Snibit tilted his head to look up over Tinian’s shoulder. A silvertip Wookiee towered behind her. Chenlambec had frightened Tinian too, when she first met him. Other Hunters called Chenlambec a fierce predator, prone to berserk rages. He only accepted dead-or-alive assignments, and generally only brought
back proof of decease. He wore a heavy, reptile-hide bandolier studded with bowcaster quarrels, alternating with decorative silver cubes.

He was Tinian’s
Ng’rhr
. In his language, the term meant
clan uncle;
he was the master Hunter who held her apprenticeship.

“Trandoshans hate Wookiees,” Tutti gibbered. He had explained that he too was a bounty hunter, but Lord Vader’s screening crew had declined to hire him.

“We’re fellow Hunters,” Tinian told him. They’d arrived on board the
Executor
just too late—deliberately so—to be scrutinized by Lord Vader for the big job. “Get Bossk to promise he’ll abide by the Creed. Then introduce us.” According to the Hunters’ Creed, no Hunter could ever kill another nor interfere with another’s Hunt.

Tutti’s reluctance seemed false, anyway. Tinian had spotted him talking with the sinister, armored Boba Fett a few minutes ago. She’d overheard him offer to assist Boba Fett in any way that he could … for a small fee. Boba Fett had apparently hired Tutti to send Bossk off in a direction that would lead him away from Han Solo.

She and Chen would gladly cooperate.

“Two-fifty?” Tutti batted one of his huge round ears.

Tinian glanced over her shoulder. Chen gave a low growl. “Two-ten,” she answered Tutti. “Final offer.”

Tutti Snibit held out a long, knobby hand.

“After you introduce us. If we survive.” Tinian smiled without humor.

The Chadra-Fan scurried away.

Tinian straightened. “I don’t know what Boba Fett is paying,” she told Chenlambec, “but that fellow is practically salivating.”

Chen howled softly.

“I’m ready,” she answered. “Are you?”

He crossed his long arms over his bandolier and leaned against a bulkhead, looking perfectly relaxed.

“Of course you are,” she admitted. “You’re always ready.”

She had apprenticed to Chenlambec, hoping to hurt the Empire before it caught her. It had destroyed her life. She’d been an armament heiress. Now she had nothing.

Chenlambec was no conventional bounty hunter, though. Under the cover of dead-or-alive, he had helped several “acquisitions” escape to the Rebel Alliance. He played a dangerous double game, but satisfying … and profitable. This would be her third job as his apprentice.

Tutti Snibit careened around the corner, clasping his hands in front of his dirty brown robe. “He agrees,” burbled the Chadra-Fan. “But be careful! I want you to live to pay me.”

“Naturally.” Tinian tugged on her shipsuit to straighten it. Suits that were long enough in the waist always hung loose on her. She wore no decoration except a diagonal silver hip belt and blaster.

As soon as she walked around the corner, she saw the creature. Bossk had to be at least 1.9 meters tall, very nearly as big as Chenlambec. His prominent scales looked faintly orange on one side, but over the rest of his body, they were greenish brown. He wore an orange flight suit that’d obviously been designed for shorter-legged humans, ending near his knees with a pair of bullet bands. A blast rifle dangled from his neck sling, casually steadied over his left arm.

Tutti Snibit waited a respectful distance from the Trandoshan, flapping his round ears, looking more like a mouse than a lizard. He stood only half Bossk’s height.

Bossk’s data station was at the edge of a large open space, close to the
Executor’s
launch control center. Approachable from three sides, it was a Hunter’s nightmare. Heavy metal conduits festooned adjacent
bulkheads and overheads with massive, military texture.

“M-mighty Bossk,” Tutti stammered, “this is Chenlambec, a Hunter of great reputation. And his apprentice, Tinian.”

Hissing, Bossk thrust his right claws toward his blast rifle.

“Hunter’s Creed!” Tutti squeaked. “No shooting! You three must talk about Chewbacca!”

Bossk snarled. “Chenlambec. You are distinguished, for so cowardly a race.” His Basic sounded to Tinian as if he were trying to gargle while somebody choked him.

Chen struck his deep chest with a fist and growled.

Tinian stepped forward. Both Hunters towered over her. “He says that your reputation also precedes you. You have killed dozens of his people.”

“Hundreds,” Bossk corrected her.

Chenlambec growled again. This time, Tinian opted not to translate.

Tutti Snibit looked all around, probably eyeing bulkheads for hand- and toe-holds. “Anyway,” he exclaimed quickly, “Bossk got the job, but Chenlambec has information on a wonderful inside track. I thought I would do both of you a favor … and introduce you!” He waved both furry arms.

Bossk muttered in a language Tinian didn’t understand.

“Please listen, sir Bossk,” Tutti spoke up. “Chenlambec arrived on board too late to apply for this Hunt—”

“Lord Vader wants this quarry alive,” Bossk interrupted. “No disintegrations. He specified clearly.”

“Yes, yes,” squeaked Tutti, “but listen. Chenlambec will postpone his massacre … once … if you, mighty Bossk, could work with a Wookiee.”

“And a Human.” Bossk lowered his scaly head and hissed. “A small, weak one.”

Chenlambec answered angrily.

Tinian folded her arms. “Chen says,” she explained, “ ‘She has been useful to me in situations requiring translations into Basic.’ And I’ve almost qualified for full Hunt status.”

Bossk let his blast rifle dangle. “Chadra-Fan, I will talk with this team instead of shooting them. Leave us.”