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.
The Prize Pelt:
The Tale of Bossk
by Kathy Tyers
Chewbacca 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.
“Hunte
r’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.”
Tutti backed around the corner. Tinian almost envied him. At least five of the six bounty hunters would finish the Millennium Falcon job with empty pockets, and she and Chen might fail in their own mission, but Tutti Snibit had just accumulated enough credits to enjoy himself for three or four weeks—maybe even the rest of his life, if he didn’t spend quickly.
Bossk waved at his terminal to hibernate it, then leaned against the bulkhead. He was less back-blind than Wookiees or Humans, but he didn’t trust this pair. “Well?” he grunted. “Make your proposal. Remember, I owe you nothing for approaching me.”
The Wookiee, deep brown with a gloss of silver at the tips of his fur, wore a black bandolier of small-scaled hide. Maybe the Wookiee had chosen to wear reptile skin as a deliberate affront. To Trandoshans, most of a prey animal’s value lay in its skin. Bossk would no more wear reptile skin than eat reptilian flesh. The fact that Wookiees—and humans—ate other mammals’ flesh proved their bestiality.
Chenlambec backed against the opposite bulkhead, leaving the small human vulnerable between them. Bossk smelled no fear on her.
Chenlambec hooted like a cloud ape. After several verses, his apprentice held up a hand and quieted him. “My Ng’rhr has connections among spacefaring Wookiees,” she began.
Bossk snapped, “I don’t trust criminals for information. The fact that you know their language marks you as an accomplice. It is their place to listen, not speak.”
Tinian balled her fists and planted them against her thin hips. “My family kept Wookiees as slaves. The best way to control them was to learn their language. Do we understand each other?”
He refused to let her impress him. “You call him your master now.”
“Excuse me,” she said, “but I am translating. Chenlambec asks me to say that he has connections among spacefaring Wookiees.” She swept a hank of fur behind her left ear, exposing its peculiar pink folds. “One of them suggested a probable destination along the Millennium Falcon’s last known course.”
A current sighting? Information from the Wookiee network? Bossk attended more closely. He would offer the Scorekeeper his left arm for a chance to crack that network (maybe even both arms, since he could regenerate them). Cracking the Wookiees’ network could make him both wealthy and eternally secure. “Go on,” he said. “Where are they headed?”
The big silvertip hootled again.
“He says,” Tinian translated, “that the best way to catch a star captain who’ll sign on a Wookiee copilot is to employ another Wookiee.”
Bossk kept his voice low-pitched, concealing his eagerness. “Where are they headed?”
“First, we discuss forming a partnership.”
“If you help me hunt down Chewbacca and his keeper, I will consider giving you twenty percent of my profit.”
The human narrowed her eyes. “Obviously you think we are amateurs. Fifty percent is traditional. It would still leave you more than you would earn without our help.”
She dared to haggle?
Still, he saw ways of hedging this long shot. Chenlambec’s shimmering pelt was worth easily as much as Chewbacca’s. The silvertip gene was recessive and rare.
And this was the kind of lead he’d been looking for, not old data. He led them to believe he would give thirty percent of his take if they brought him to Chewbacca. Then he asked Tinian quietly, “How did the mighty Chewbacca earn enmity from another Wookiee?”
Chenlambec laid back his head and oop-ooped mournfully. “His crime was unspeakable,” Tinian answered, then she added, “Chen doesn’t discuss his past. Not with me. Certainly not with you.”
The past didn’t matter. Whether or not Bossk located the Falcon, once he lured Chenlambec on board his own ship he was guaranteed a profit.
The human was probably wanted somewhere, too. If not, slavers occasionally took spirited young human females.
As for the Hunter’s Creed, no bounty hunter ever betrayed another unless the other hunter strayed first from Creed regulations; but Bossk had fabricated Creed violations before, and felt the Storekeeper smile on him. She loved clever betrayal. “Now,” he said, “where are they headed?”
“We would prefer finding a private place to talk.”
“There is no time for that.” He kept his voice low and menacing. He wanted them to think he was trying to scare them off. “The other Hunters are already heading for their ships.”
“Then we’ll talk here.” Tinian peered up the corridor. A human Imperial lackey wearing khaki fatigues dashed toward them. His heavy boots pounded the polished metal decking. Bossk steadied his blast rifle.
The lackey careened around a corner and vanished up another too-bright passage. Bossk watched Tinian track the human with her eyes. He smelled her alarm at his approach—and her relief when he passed. Evidently Imperials made her nervous.
She didn’t need to watch the corridors for her most dangerous enemy. He stood before her.
• • •
The Executor thrummed around Chenlambec like a giant beast. He would be glad to leave its bowels, and he pitied the Imperial worms who spent their lives scurrying and scuttling in these passages.
He spoke, then listened as Tinian translated into Basic. “Wookiee sources,” she explained—and he liked the condescension that she faked—“have evidently spotted Solo’s ship on course for the Lomabu system. A renegade group of Wookiees is setting up another safe world there. We’ve heard that you blew the whistle on one such world earlier in your career.”
“Yes,” Bossk snapped. At Gandolo IV, Bossk had hunted down several dozen escaped Wookiee slaves trying to establish a safe haven. Bossk had been on the verge of skinning the lot—including the famous Chewbacca, who was assisting with setup—when Captain Solo returned unannounced. Seeing the situation in progress, Solo had strafed the bounty hunter and his crew. They’d retreated into their larger, better armed craft. Solo had landed the Millennium Falcon directly on top of it, collapsing its landing gear. Steam clouds had shot out of its hydraulics. Internal explosions had hinted at grave engine damage.
Solo and Chewbacca had left Bossk alive but trapped onboard, humiliated … or so the story went. Chenlambec’s brother had related the tale first-hand. He had stood near Chewbac
ca, watching the desperate Wookiees’ plight become hopeful, then hilarious.
Chen imagined he could feel Bossk writhe at the memory. He spoke again, reminding Tinian of several details of their cover story. They’d concocted it before docking with the Executor.
She nodded soberly, then turned back to the big, ugly lizard. “We think that the Rebel Alliance hopes to set up a base near the Wookiee haven in the Lomabu system, now that they’ve been chased off Hoth. That would explain our report that Solo has taken the Falcon there, carrying several Rebel leaders. We could slip in before the Rebel fleet arrives, tag our quarry, and sky out before the Imperials catch on. We’ll take our prisoners directly to Lord Vader.”
Bossk nodded. “I have not heard of the Lomabu system. Where is it from here?”
“Well … we’re near Anoat. Lomabu is …”
Chen watched Bossk closely. Now she would dangle the bait.
“We’re not exactly sure,” she admitted.
Bossk glared at Tinian, then Chen, then at Tinian again. He growled several words of Trandoshan deep in his throat, then choke-gargled in Basic again. “Your information is worthless. You are worthless. I should—”
Chen barked angrily.
“Easy, you two,” exclaimed Tinian. “We don’t know where it is, but we know where to find out. We have to check a waypost along the Wookiee network.”
And that, as far as Chen knew, was a vital bit of truth they had spun into their cover story to sweeten the bait. Surely Bossk wanted—
“Network,” Bossk repeated slowly. His tongue flicked.
Excellent. He did.
“It’s dangerous,” Tinian stressed. “Especially for you and me, Bossk. The Wookiees will be serious about silencing any non-Wookiee that shows an interest in this locale.”
Bossk adjusted his rifle sling. “I refuse to travel in any ship but my own. I have a YV-666 light freighter modified for Wookiee hunting. Do you have a problem traveling in that?”
Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters Page 15