The Mandalorian Armor (star wars)

by K. W. Jeter

  "We'll be here awhile." Bossk didn't need to do a preliminary damage assessment on the Hound to know that. Until the navigation modules were rigged back into some kind of operating order, he and Zuckuss were stuck in this remote sector of space. If Trandoshans had any capacity for the emotion of gratitude, he would have been glad that the sequential bomb hadn't torn the Hound's Tooth into bits. He and Zuckuss would have been dead instead of merely adrift. As it was, he just felt a deep irritation over how much work it was going to take to put his ship back together again, with the tools and probes that were now undoubtedly scattered all over the en gineering lockers.

  "Look there-" Zuckuss pointed to the one viewport still functioning, set at an angle from the Hound's midsection.

  Sitting in the middle of the cockpit floor, Bossk looked over his shoulder at the screen. A fiery course of light, with a too-familiar shape at its head, shot across the field of stars.

  "That's the Slave I," said Zuckuss. Unnecessarily-any fool would have known that much. "The real ship."

  "Of course it is, you idiot." If Bossk had had a wrench in his claws, he would have been torn between throwing it at his partner or at the screen, as though he could somehow hit Boba Fett's ship with it. "That was the whole point, with the decoy and the bomb." The Slave I was already dwindling away, heading for the perimeter station of the Bounty Hunters Guild. "Fett knew somebody would be waiting for him."

  "Apparently so." Zuckuss gave a slow nod of his head.

  "Somebody like him…he's got a lot of enemies."

  "He doesn't have any fewer now." Bossk glared at the empty screen. You made one mistake, he told the vanished Boba Fett. You should've used a bigger bomb. One that would have killed instead of merely humiliated. Bossk-and his hunger for revenge-was still alive.

  Another quick burst of sparks shot from behind the screen. A knot of tangled circuits, welded together and emitting smoke, dangled bobbing from one of the overhead panels. The image of the stars blanked out and was gone.

  "Come on," said Bossk. He stood up, then reached down to pull Zuckuss to his feet. "We've got work to do."

  9

  Everything was settled by the time Cradossk's son finally showed up.

  Boba Fett could tell that the younger Trandoshan was not in a good mood as he strode into the council chamber of the Bounty Hunters Guild. Failed assassination attempts often had that effect on sentient creatures. There really was nothing worse than making the decision to kill someone else, and then not being able to bring it off. All the emotions associated with violence, mused Fett. He had never experienced them, himself, but knew that others did. And none of the benefits. It was sad, really.

  The council's long, crescent-shaped table had been set for a celebratory banquet. One of Cradossk's scurrying servants had set a crystalline goblet, the mingled shades of cobalt and amethyst within revealing the expense of the vintage it contained, in front of Boba Fett. He had touched the dark liquid with a gloved fingertip, just enough to send a few ripples across its surface. Etiquette demanded that much; anything less, and the old reptilian sprawled next to him would have been offended. If other sentient creatures wished to deal in hollow symbols rather than reality, it made no difference to Fett. Cradossk and all the other Guild elders could befuddle themselves with strong drink, if they wished; this goblet's contents would remain un-tasted. He watched as the tall, arched doors of the council chamber were shoved open, the gilded and gem-encrusted panels flying to either side as Bossk stormed in. Servants bearing flagons and laden platters scattered in all directions; anger-ridden Trandoshans were notoriously rough on the hired help.

  "Ah, my son and heir!" Cradossk was already well on the way to inebriation. His age-blu nted fangs were mottled with wine stains, and his yellow-slitted eyes gazed with blurry affection at his spawn. "I was hoping you'd be here for the festivities." More wine slopped down Cradossk's scaled arm and from his elbow as he lifted his own goblet high. "We'll tell the musicians to strike up the old songs, the ones our spawn-fathers knew, and we'll do the lizard dance all around the courtyard-" The goblet went clattering across the chamber's terrazzo floor, the wine a ragged pennant on the inlaid tiles, as Bossk knocked it from his sire's hand with one swing of his clawed hand. Across the high-ceilinged space of the chamber, hung with the empty combat gear and other trophies taken off the Guild's long-ago enemies, silence fell. The collective gaze of the council members turned toward their chief and his enraged offspring.

  "Your manners," said Cradossk softly, "are severely lacking. As usual."

  Boba Fett had had enough experience with Trandoshans over the years to know what a bad sign it was when their voices went low and ominous like that. When they shouted and snarled, they were ready to kill. When they whispered, they were ready to kill everything. He carefully shifted away from Cradossk's side so as not to be in the way if the old reptilian decided to leap over the table and tear out his only son's throat.

  "As is your understanding." Bossk spoke with a cold control, through which his anger still managed to appear.

  "What kind of brain-withered old fool shares wine with his enemy?" He flung a gesture toward Boba Fett. "Have you forgotten so much, has every day faded from your memory, that the Guild's history is a blank slate to you? This man has made fools of us more times than we can count." Bossk turned to either side, making sure that everyone in the chamber could hear his words. "You all know who it is that sits with you now. He's taken the credits out of our pockets and the food out of our mouths." He looked back at his sire. "If you weren't drunk"-Bossk's voice sounded like dry gravel scraping across rusted metal-"you'd take what's fallen into your grasp and sink your teeth into Boba Fett's heart."

  "I wasn't drunk when he arrived here." Cradossk's response was both mild and somewhat amused. "But I intend to get very drunk-and very happy-now that we've all had a chance to listen to Fett. What he came here to say has pleased me a great deal." He raised his goblet and took a long draft that left wet lines trickling down the sides of his throat, then slammed the goblet down. "That's one of the differences between him…and you." Barely suppressed laughter ran along the arms of the crescent table. Without turning his head, Boba Fett could see the other council members and their lackeys whispering back and forth, their sardonic glances taking in the young bounty hunter standing before them. Be sure you know who your friends are, he wanted to warn Bossk. This lot will carve you up anytime it suits them.

  "What're you talking about?" Bossk gripped the edge of the table in his claws and leaned toward his father.

  "What's this sneaking scum told you?"

  "Boba Fett has made us an offer." From an ornately enameled tray held behind him, Cradossk plucked another empty goblet, holding it out to be filled by one of the other attendants. He held the wine out toward his son. "A very good one; that's why we're celebrating." Cradossk's mottled smile widened. "As you should be."

  "Offer?" Bossk didn't take the goblet from the older Trandoshan. "What kind of offer?"

  "The kind that only a fool would refuse. The kind of offer that solves a great many problems. For all of us." Confusion showed in Bossk's gaze as he looked over at Boba Fett, then back to his father. "I don't understand.

  … "

  "Of course you don't." Boba Fett spoke this time, leaning back against the leatherwork of the chair that had been given him. "There's so much you don't understand." He might as well start working Bossk into an irrational fury now as later. "That's why your father is still head of the Bounty Hunters Guild. You have a lot of wisdom to acquire before you'll have your chance."

  "Explain it to him." With a single crooked claw, Cradossk motioned one of the other council members over.

  "I tire so easily nowadays …."

  "Then take a nap, old man." Bossk turned angrily toward the robed figure that had approached. "Spit it out."

  "So simple, is it not?" The watery pupils at the ends of the council member's eyestalks regarded Bossk with kindly forbearance. "And so indicative
-yes?-of both your father's and our guest's foresight. Though Boba Fett is not to be called our guest anymore, is he?"

  "All I know," growled Bossk, "is what I call him."

  "Perhaps so, but should you not call him 'brother' now?"

  Those words struck Bossk speechless.

  "For is that not what Boba Fett has offered the Guild?" The council member folded his hooked, mantislike forearms together. "To be one of us? Our brother and fellow hunter-has he not offered to join his not inconsiderable forces and cunning with ours, and thus become a member of the august Bounty Hunters Guild?"

  "Damn straight he has." Cradossk drained his goblet and slammed it back down on the table. "Let's hear it for him."

  "It's true." Another one of the Guild's younger bounty hunters had sidled up to Bossk's elbow; Fett remembered this one's name as Zuckuss. "I just heard about it outside." The shorter bounty hunter pointed a thumb toward the chamber's tall doors. "That's what the word is-that Boba Fett has asked for membership in the Guild."

  "That's impossible!" Bossk's claws tightened into fists, as though he were about to swing on either his partner or the elder from the council, or both. "Why would he do something like that?"

  Fett regarded the reptilian with no show of emotion.

  "I have my reasons."

  "I bet you do …."

  "And are they not good reasons?" The elder swiveled its eyestalks toward Bossk. "Should not all propositions make such excellent sense? For all of us-do we not gain the benefit of the esteemed Boba Fett's skills? Known throughout the galaxy!" A saw-edged forelimb gestured toward Fett on the other side of the table. "And does not he acquire thereby the many advantages that come with membership in our Guild? The warmth of our regard, the comradely fellowship, the excellent weapons maintenance facilities, the medical benefits-that alone is not to be lightly considered in our hazardous line of work."

  "He's lying to you!" Bossk looked across the faces of the other council members. His straining fists rose alongside his head, nearly knocking over the smaller Zuckuss. "Can't you see that? It's some plan of his-like all his other plans--"

  "What you don't see," said Boba Fett, "is how the times have changed. The galaxy is not as it was, when your father was as newly hatched as you. The fields upon which we pursue our quarry are shrinking, just as the strength of Emperor Palpatine increases." He could see the council members around the crescent nodding their acknowledgment of his wisdom. "The Bounty Hunters Guild must change as well, or face its extinction. And so must I change my ways as well."

  "The old days," murmured Cradossk, slumped down and gazing wistfully into his empty goblet. "The old days are gone …."

  "Anyone with eyes and a brain can tell that the bounty-hunting trade is being squeezed into a tighter and tighter corner." Some of the words Fett used were straight from what Kud'ar Mub'at, back at its web drifting in space, had told him. They were true enough, or at least to the point where they would be believed by these fools on the Guild council. "Not just by the Empire; there are others. Black Sun…" He merely had to mention the name of the criminal organization for that point to be made. The whispers turned into guarded silence. "Bounty hunters such as ourselves have always operated on both sides of the law, as need be; that's the nature of the game. But when both sides turn against us, then we must band together to survive. There's no room for an independent agent such as myself. We either join forces, you and I, or we go our separate ways. And await our separate destruction."

  A strange, raw ache tightened Boba Fett's throat. It had been a long time since he had spoken that many words all at one go. He didn't live by making speeches, but by performing deeds the more danger, the greater the profit. But the job he'd accepted from Kud'ar Mub'at was, in some sense, a job like any other. Whatever it takes, thought Fett. If it required getting a bunch of aging, dull-fanged mercenaries like Cradossk and the rest of the Bounty Hunters Guild council to swallow a well-oiled line, then so be it. If anything, it was just proof that words could trap and kill as well as any other weapon.

  "Should you not thank Boba Fett?" The elder standing near Bossk made a sweeping gesture with his serrated forearm. "For your sake, has he not repeated what he already has so eloquently stated to us?"

  "And you fell for it." Bossk sneered at all the council members, his father included. "You don't have the guts to fight him, so you'd rather believe that he's on your side now."

  Boba Fett raised his inner estimation of the Trandoshan bounty hunter. He's going to be trouble, thought Fett. Not just another dumb carnivore. If the time ever did come when Bossk inherited the leadership of the Bounty Hunters Guild, it might in fact become serious competition for him. But right now Bossk's smarts and his fierce temper were weapons to be turned against him and the others.

  "You'll see, my little one." Cradossk roused himself into an approximation of sobriety. "If I didn't love you the way I do, I'd have your scaly hide peeled off and tanned into a wall hanging for our new member's quarters." He extended a wobbling claw toward Bossk. "But because I want there to be something someday for my spawn to possess and lead, the way I lead the Guild now-and because I'm not dead yet, so there's still time for you to gain both some manners and some knowledge of how the galaxy works-that's why I'm not asking you to be brothers with Boba Fett. I'm telling you to do it."

  "Very well." The slits in Bossk's eyes narrowed into apertures a honed razor might have cut. "As you wish. Maybe there is something I can learn from an…old one like you." He smiled the ugly smile characteristic of his species. "After all-you murdered your way to control of the Guild. I have but to wait, and it's mine."

  "Is not patience a virtue, even among the assassins?" Bossk pushed the other council member aside, knocking him against the smaller figure of Zuckuss. The Trandoshan stepped up to the crescent-shaped table, directly in front of Boba Fett. One clawed hand grasped the goblet by its stem. "To your health." Bossk drained the contents, then threw the goblet against the wall behind; it clanged like a bell, then rolled clattering across the hard stone tiles of the floor. "However long it lasts."

  "I suppose"-Fett returned the other's gaze-"it'll last long enough."

  Dark wine seeped around Bossk's fangs as he leaned toward Fett. "You might fool the others," he whispered, "but you're not fooling me. I don't know what your game is-but I don't worry about you knowing mine." His voice dropped lower and more guttural as he brought his snout almost against the visor of Fett's helmet. "I'll be a brother to you, all right. And I know how, believe me. I had brothers when I was spawned. And you know what?" Bossk's breath smelled of wine and blood. "I ate them." He turned and strode away, toward the council chamber's doors. One of Bossk's clawed feet connected with the empty goblet he had thrown, sending it skittering against the wall like a tiny droid whose circuits had been scooped out. The other bounty hunter, Zuckuss, glanced around at the watching faces, then ran after Bossk.

  Sitting next to Boba Fett, Cradossk heaved a sigh.

  "Don't judge us too harshly, my friend." Cradossk took the flagon from the tray being held near him and refilled his own goblet. He knocked that back and filled it again.

  "Sometimes our get-togethers go a little better than this …."

  10

  "You've been a long time away," said the Emperor. The ancient, withered head slowly nodded. "Many are the stars you travel among."

  "All my journeying is in your service." Prince Xizor inclined his head, a courtly signal of submission. The dark serpent of his topknot brushed across his shoulder.

  "And to the glory of the Empire."

  "Well spoken, as always." Emperor Palpatine swiveled his throne toward another section of the immense room.

  "Whatever else might be said of him, you must agree that the prince has a way with words. Don't you think so, Vader?"

  Xizor turned toward the hologram of the dark-caped figure-an intimidatingly life-sized image, transmitted from the Devastator, Lord Vader's personal flagship. Don't try it on this one, Xizor warne
d himself. He had witnessed too many examples of what happened to those whose words caused the Dark Lord of the Sith to lose patience. The Emperor might be keeping him on a short leash. But one long enough, thought Xizor, to reach my throat.

  "Your judgment, my lord, exceeds mine." Vader kept his own words as diplomatically inscrutable as the mask that concealed his face. "You know best where to place your trust."

  "Sometimes, Vader, I think you'd prefer it if I trusted no one but you." The Emperor put his fingertips together. Behind him, framed in the towering windows of the throne room, the curved arms of the galaxy extended, like shoals of gems in an ink-black sea. Below the stars, the towers and massive shapes of Imperial City rolled like the crests of a frozen sea across the hidden surface of Coruscant, a monument in durasteel to both the ambition and the grasp of Palpatine. "I see into so many creatures' hearts, and all I find there is fear. Which is as it should be." The deep-set eyes contemplated the empty cage formed by his hands, as though envisioning the worlds bound by the Empire's power. "But when I look into yours, Vader, I see ... something else." Like a hooded mendicant rather than the ruler of worlds, Emperor Palpatine peered through the angles of his fingers.

  "Something almost like…desire." Prince Xizor managed to keep his own smile from showing. Desire among the Falleen, his species, meant only one thing. His cruel beauty, the sharply chiseled planes of his face, and his regal bearing, combined with a pheromone-rich musk that evaded all conscious senses, were what put a female of any world under his command. Humanoid female, of a type pleasing to his own sense of aesthetics; if the members of the more repulsive of the galaxy's species were similarly affected, that was not something he had yet felt the need to put to the test.