Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters

by Kevin J. Anderson

  His time was up. If Flirt silenced the Pup any longer, Bossk might suspect her existence.

  Tinian leaned toward the pickup. “We’re going to singe a little fur,” she answered. “Shall we bring some back?”

  “If you know how,” said Bossk. It sounded like a challenge.

  “Brace yourself, Chen,” Tinian muttered. “We’ll land in about one minute.”

  She wasn’t confident of her landing skills, and this was an unfamiliar ship, even though she liked it. Chen flipped her small hands off the controls and grasped the rods. He feathered the main engine and set down the Pup near a cliff along the waterside. The compound would lie on a peninsula just north of that rocky promontory.

  “Impressive,” Tinian said wistfully.

  He cuffed her shoulder and ordered her to thaw the lockers. They must be blood-warm before returning to the Hound.

  She gripped his forearm. “Be careful, Chen.”

  He crooned a soft good-bye. Her concern pleased and honored him.

  He popped the hatch and climbed down onto Lomabu III. A cool damp wind blew across his nose, and he felt its chill in his furless palms. Its salty smell had an organic overlay of dead fish and floating plants. Beneath a brilliant blue sky, close to the site where the Pup sat grounded, waves lapped at the jagged line of a long, broken wall. Green algae almost obscured a tracework of filigree just above waterline. Farther out in sapphire-blue water, other ruined walls formed a right-angled maze. The ruins barely broke the water, topped with broken stone and steel.

  He and Tinian had landed near an abandoned city. Within a few years, decades at the most, the vast sea would dissolve these remaining walls and wash them away, and all evidence of the Lomabuans’ civilization would vanish.

  Chenlambec wondered what the Lomabuans had looked like, and what crime they had committed that drove the Empire to depopulate the entire world. Were the Lomabuans slaves, like his own people … or dead?

  He checked his bowcaster. Each piece fit again. It bothered him to know that Bossk was so familiar with Kashyyyk’s weaponry.

  The rocky promontory that shielded the prison compound from his view would also keep prison guards from spotting the Pup. He strode forward, staying inside a narrow grove of twiggy brown trees that grew between the cliff’s foot and a pale, sandy strand.

  Once he rounded the promontory, the prison compound became visible. Its gray walls rose in straight, perfect lines, freshly built and maintained by slave labor. It hunched at the other end of a slender peninsula, surrounded by a high metal fence. Four tall blocky towers loomed at the corners of its perimeter, and pale sand covered the peninsula’s narrows between compound and mainland.

  Only one turbolaser emplacement was in bowcaster range. Destroying that weapon would help set the stage for an uprising. He crawled forward, staying low. Rocky soil scratched his palms.

  As he began to set his right palm on the sand, he realized that the sand was also crawling. He bent down to peer closer. What he had taken for a sandy beach was a vast colony of tiny creatures. Each was no larger than a grain of true sand, with legs or flagella so small he could only guess that they existed. The colony roiled as creatures climbed over each other and were climbed in turn.

  He judged from the damp rocky soil above the crawling sand that the tide was going out Although the creatures’ movement seemed random, the colony slowly retreated, following the tide.

  He dangled a bit of fur over the colony. It vanished where it touched down.

  Ravenous little beasts! Chen groped behind him into the glade, found a leaf-covered stick, and tossed it onto the crawling sand.

  It dissolved from beneath.

  This explained why the Imperials had selected this peninsula for a prison colony. Surrounded by voracious sand—even at low tide, he guessed—it could cage Wookiees who laughed at most weapons. Chen wondered if the Imperials had allowed one prisoner to “escape” in order to demonstrate the sand’s appetite—

  But that was idle speculation. Now to create some heat for Bossk to see, so it would look as if there’d been a firefight … so he could realistically lead Bossk on with those bodies.

  Cautiously avoiding the sand, he crawled close to the guard tower. He chose an explosive quarrel from his bandolier. Keeping his elbows low, he fitted it to his bowcaster, aimed carefully, and let it fly.

  The tower erupted in orange flame. A human voice shouted. Chen sprang up and dashed for the promontory. He’d’ve liked to have seen how that explosion looked on Bossk’s sensors, since it would show up in the middle of a scene that didn’t exist.

  As he jogged up, Tinian stood close to the Pup’s boarding ladder. “Don’t step on that sand!” she cried. “It—”

  He roared agreement and a query as he clambered aboard.

  “I’m fine. But are you?”

  He vaulted into the cockpit and almost slipped in a red puddle. Tinian had lain the dead Wookiees between hatch and crew chairs. “No place else to put them,” she apologized, climbing in after him. “As soon as I brought them out of freeze, they started bleeding.”

  He demanded to know what she’d done with the carbon freeze units.

  “I lugged them up into the forest. I don’t think Bossk will find them there.”

  And hauled two Wookiees up the boarding ladder? She should’ve let him do that. Chen dropped into his chair and grasped the controls.

  Once berthed on the Hound, Tinian sprang the Pup’s hatch. Bossk stood below her, silhouetted by lights that looked almost normally bright. “Now the Wookiee criminals know that we’re here,” the Trandoshan snarled. “Is that all you accomplished?”

  “No,” Tinian snarled back. That wasn’t difficult; her back hurt. “We also performed our evaluation. Solo and Chewbacca can’t escape overland. There’s a colony of living, eating sand all along the shoreline, so they’ll have to take off upward if they try to escape us. Allies and resources? Plenty of Wookiees, but not as many as there were yesterday. Help us offload these pelts. There’s still meat on them.”

  “Pelts?” Bossk shuffled up to the main hatch and peered in. “Did you actually—”

  He fell silent. The fresh-looking corpses still lay bleeding on the deck. Chenlambec sat his station, baring his teeth in a howl. Tinian translated accurately this time. “Criminals. A gift,” she added, “just in case you still doubt us. Chen knocked off two sentries.”

  Bossk reached down. He stroked one pelt, a rich brown tipped in black. “I had doubted that you would kill free Wookiees,” he answered. “I believe you now. I accept your gift.”

  Sure you believe us. Tinian let Bossk manhandle the cooling bodies off the Pup. Chen remained in his seat, curling his lip. He blinked rapidly, a sign of nausea. He asked her to tell Bossk something convincing.

  “He wants me to say,” said Tinian, “that he finds your end of the Hunting trade repugnant. But we understand financial necessity.”

  Bossk summoned X10-D as they climbed down. “Excellent pelts.” He stroked the other, which was solid black. “Prime condition. Maybe one hundred and fifty years?”

  Chen turned his head.

  Fortunately, X10-D rolled into the docking bay and stopped Bossk from making Chen feel any sicker. The draft droid dragged both corpses up the passage toward the aft hold. Bossk followed, stepping lightly. Tinian recalled the skinning rack and dip tank.

  Chen slumped, shivering and keening.

  Hesitantly Tinian laid a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t brush her off, she tightened it. Chen felt her strongest grip as a gentle caress. “They would rejoice,” she whispered, “to know that in death they are helping end this carnage.”

  He laid back his head and cried out softly.

  “And we’ve seen the way Bossk covets your pelt, Ng’rhr.” She squeezed his shoulder again, then walked away from him, struck by the thought that if she lost Chenlambec, she would be orphaned again. Her mother had abandoned her as a newborn. Her grandparents had been coldly murdered. Daye lay crushed
under tons of rubble.

  The Hound’s deck blurred.

  She mustn’t let him see her like this. “You’ll notice he didn’t order us back to our cabin—and we can see,” she muttered. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  She set up the best meal she could find in the galley, including a huge scoop of red worms for Bossk. Now if ever, she must act friendly. Trying not to gag, she told the Hound to call Chen and Bossk for dinner.

  Chen shambled in first and sat down. Bossk arrived smelling like disinfectant. “Ah. Thank you, Human.”

  “Is that enough?”

  He sat down in front of the wriggling red mess. “For now. Friend Chenlambec, you aren’t eating.”

  Chen stared at his plate, blinking and wrinkling his nose.

  Tinian cursed her thoughtlessness. Of course the ship smelled foul to him. Bossk had been skinning two Wookiees. How could Chen eat? Tinian dished herself a platter of cloned saltlicker ribs, then sat down. She had to act hearty. Cheerful. Determined.

  “What did he say?” Bossk asked.

  “Too much excitement.” Tinian stripped the meat from a rib with her teeth and added, with her mouth full, “he’ll calm down and eat later. Listen, Bossk, things look good down there. Between Wookiees, we picked up a scanner confirmation of two human life forms. One corresponds exactly with the last known readout on Han Solo.”

  “Did you record it?”

  “Of course.” She had loaded that data into the Pup’s main computer while Chen took out the guard tower. Like the other data chip, Chen had bought this one “from a friend.”

  “I have come up with a plan for live capture,” Bossk announced.

  “Act glad,” Tinian woofed at Chenlambec.

  Chen lifted a rib, glared at it, curled back his lips, and growled. Then he stuffed it into his mouth and chewed.

  “Tell us what you want us to do,” Tinian said.

  “I will drop out of orbit and draw off the freighter,” Bossk answered. “You will neutralize the safe world’s defenses. We will run a two-pronged feint and attack.”

  Then, Chen guessed out loud, Bossk would abandon them.

  “He says,” put in Tinian, “that the Pup isn’t armed heavily enough to do the defenses much damage.”

  “It will be soon,” Bossk answered. Chen ordered her to argue.

  “We could do you more good on board the Hound,” offered Tinian. “She’s a good ship.”

  “I won’t leave you two alone on her.”

  Tinian had heard human children prattle. She imitated one she had particularly disliked. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to leave Chenlambec alone on her and fly down with me. And you and Chen wouldn’t fit onto the Pup very well. What about sending Chen down, and leaving me—”

  “Stop,” said Bossk. “I trust you enough to arm the Pup. This is merely the best way of accomplishing our mission.”

  “All right,” Tinian whined.

  After filling his belly with live meat, Bossk ordered Tinian onto watch. He locked Chenlambec into their cabin, rechecked the Hound’s security lock, and then finished skinning the second Wookiee. It was stiff, now: rigor had set in. He lifted the finished pelt, draping the moist, satiny underside over both forearms, and gently slid it into his dip tank. It vanished, bubbling, into the tanning fluid. Delighted by the unexpected two-pelt bonus, he airlocked the meat. Wookiee tasted oily and foul.

  He returned to the skinning bay. “ExTen-Dee,” he called, “unload the Pup’s weaponry.”

  The bronze-and-crimson droid rolled forward, reached out his long grasping arms, and unlocked a cargo compartment. Holding one huge, tube-shaped weapon at two-meter arm’s distance, he swiveled around and grasped the other massive tube. Balanced now, he raised both arms and rolled up the main passage. Bossk followed.

  Inside the docking bay, the Pup let off odd pops as it cooled. Working late with X10-D’s help, he reinstalled the Pup’s guns. Then he sent X10-D back to the cargo bay for two items that mustn’t be jarred. Several minutes later, X10-D returned at a measured crawl. He held his arms fully extended to their three-meter length. His left hand carried a small canister. He held his right arm high to keep from dragging an enormous oblong torpedo.

  Bossk stood beside the Pup’s launch tube. “Load it,” he ordered. “Use full caution.”

  X10-D slid the huge flame carpet warhead down the tube, then sidled up against the Pup’s exterior to perform lockdown and pre-arming operations.

  Bossk flicked his tongue rapidly. The next time Chenlambec fired on the Lomabu colony, that warhead would splash a hideous flammable adhesive over several square kilometers. Hundreds of Wookiees would suffer by Chenlambec’s hand, and Bossk would be avenged for Gandolo IV. The Scorekeeper did not demand undamaged goods on her altar. Scorched pelts delighted her.

  Finally, he wired the small obah gas dispenser into the Pup’s ventilation system. Unlike the benign serum he had tranquilized Chenlambec and Tinian with, obah gas caused permanent nerve disability in creatures smaller than Wookiees or Trandoshans. It would render Chenlambec helpless, with his prize pelt intact … but it would cripple Tinian.

  She traveled with a Wookiee. She knew she risked exposure to Wookiee-disabling agents. At any rate, the small bounty offered on her didn’t specify “alive” or “undamaged.”

  He ran a swift check of the scout ship. He had told them to disable the colony’s defenses. Immediately after they launched the flame carpet and realized what they had done, he would gas them. The Hound would then remotely guide the Pup into high orbit, where it would be easy to pick up after Bossk laid the Falcon crew low.

  That would be tricky, putting down a crew that included both humans and a Wookiee but leaving all unharmed. He didn’t dare risk Lord Darth Vader’s wrath. “ExTen-Dee,” he ordered, “charge six injector missiles with mekebve spores. I want them loaded in tube number three of the Hound.”

  Most mammalian species suffered severe allergic reactions to mekebve pollen, but reptiles did not. That would incapacitate Solo and his shipmates long enough for Bossk to board and capture.

  But the pollen was fifty years old, according to the Nalrithian dealer who’d sold it to him. If the Nalrithian lied, it could be much older. Was it still potent?

  He could easily perform an entertaining test. “Once you’ve packed the injector missiles, put two grams of pollen into the Hound’s ventilation system.”

  X10-D swiveled and rolled away.

  As 1435 Standard hours approached, Tinian stared at the display board. It wasn’t too late to implement Plan Two. Come on, Flirt. Finish the job. The little droid still nestled under the navicomputer, running permutations into the Hound’s failsafes. Maybe he had too many lockouts to juggle. Maybe he just kept outsmarting her. While they stayed locked in their game, the burden fell on Chen and Tinian.

  On schedule, a message appeared. GOVERNOR 10 DESNAND’S OFFICE TO INFORMANT, it read. UNAUTHORIZED PELT BAITING AT LOMABU III IS SUBJECT TO SEVERE PENALTY. WE WILL PAY FORTY THOUSAND CREDITS FOR IMMEDIATE LIVE DELIVERY OF TRANDOSHAN BOUNTY HUNTER.

  Vader offered 800,000 for the Falcon’s crew … but 40,000 was nothing to sneeze at.

  Tinian bent low. “Flirt, we’ve got a bounty offer. Are you inside yet?”

  After a few seconds, Flirt piped, “I’m still trying—”

  Abruptly the bridge lights flickered off. Tinian sprang to her feet.

  “Bossk just switched off all lighting in your wavelength range,” Flirt exclaimed.

  “You stay put,” Tinian murmured. “And keep trying. Trap him in a meat locker, if you can—” She sneezed delicately, then harder. A third sneeze followed.

  What was going on?

  She groped out of the pitch-dark command bridge and into the passageway. Each breath grew more difficult. Her eyes stung. She squeezed them shut. Tears streamed out around her eyelids and trickled into her mouth.

  Bossk flicked a comlink control. He could see perfectly by his infrared lamps. “Tinian, Chenlambec, are y
ou all right? I’ve had a malfunction in one of my failsafes. Stay where you are. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

  Good. The pollen was still allergenic. Eagerly he marched up the corridor.

  He found Tinian in the passage, crouched near the door of their cabin. She held both hands pressed over her face and stifled a vehement sneeze. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m terribly sorry. This system was designed to disable escaped acquisitions.”

  She looked messy. Her nose and eyes poured fluid. “No.” She gulped and swallowed. “I’m not all right.”

  Very amusing. “It will take me some time to repair the malfunction. Meanwhile, the Pup has filtered air. The safest place for you and your partner is on board, on the next phase of our mission.”

  Tinian tottered to her feet.

  “First hatch on your left,” Bossk reminded her. “You’ll find it by feel. I left it open.”

  Bossk slapped a control and opened the cabin hatch. Chenlambec sat on his bunk. If Tinian looked bad, Chenlambec’s misery was magnificent. His face, neck, and chest fur lay in a soaked, tangled mat. “Get to the Pup,” Bossk said gruffly, struggling not to laugh. “Tinian will fill you in. I’m headed for the bridge to try to fix things.”

  Tinian sneezed violently, then groped on up the dark corridor. She couldn’t see, and every breath hurt. Bossk’s apology had sounded false. Trandoshans never apologized.

  She heard a miserable treble howl behind her. “Chen, are you there?” she wheezed.

  He howled again.

  “He wants us on board the Pup. It’s got filtered air.” She sniffed hard and swallowed.

  His grumble sounded closer this time.

  She groped to the open hatch and stumbled through. Her footsteps clanked: This had to be the scout-ship dock. Feeling her way along one bulkhead, she closed her hand around a breath mask. She shoved it over her nose and eyes, but it leaked top and bottom. It was the wrong shape for a human face.

  She gasped out a short Shyriiwook oath and dropped the useless rebreather.

  Long, strong, fur-covered hands closed on her shoulders and pushed her away from the bulkhead. Chen rumbled instructions.