But he was confused when he entered the ship and found Manaroo gone. He made a perfunctory search, found that she'd never returned from the cantina. At the cantina, the bartender said that she'd danced for a few credits, then "disappeared."
Dengar considered the news, then remembered the
Attanni that Manaroo had given him. He went back to the ship, inserted the device into his cranial jack, then closed his eyes, trying to see what she saw, hear what she heard. But the Attanni gave off only a whisper of static.
Dengar left the device in, flew a quick grid low over the city, but never received her signal, so he headed back to Jabba's palace, landed the Punishing One in Jabba's secure hangars.
All through the trip back to the palace, he thought about Manaroo and wondered what had become of her. He found that he had become accustomed to her presence, even imagined that he felt comforted by it. Once, just a few nights before, she had demanded to know what other emotion the Empire had left him with besides his rage and his hope, and he had refused to tell her. Loneliness.
His loneliness served no purpose in the Empire's designs, at least not that he could fathom. Dengar was not even certain that they had left him with that ability on purpose. Perhaps when they'd cut away the rest of his hypothalamus, they'd not even been aware of what they'd left him with.
But over the years, Dengar felt that it was not the rage or hope that had come to define him, but his loneliness, his knowledge that nowhere in the galaxy would he find someone who would love him, or ap-prove of him.
It wasn't until he was on his way back to Jabba's throne room that Dengar suddenly felt a staggering wave of fear. He closed his eyes, listened with other ears.
"You got to dance your best for Jabba," a fat woman was saying. "He gets his entertainment one way or an-other. If he don't like how you dance, he'll take great pleasure in watching you die."
Dengar watched the fat woman through Manaroo's eyes, saw three other dancers from various worlds all lounging about on dark benches. They were in a damp-smelling cell, with thick steel bars. The air felt fetid, and one of Jabba's guards was pacing outside the win-dow to the door, occasionally poking his snout through the bars to leer at the dancers.
"What if he likes how I dance?" Manaroo asked.
"Then he'll keep you longer. Maybe even set you free."
"Ah, don't try to give her hope," another woman said from a far bench. "That only happened once."
The fat dancer turned. "But it happened!"
"Look, girl-" the other dancer said from the far end of the room. "You either dance good, or you die."
"But I already danced for Jabba," Manaroo said, "when the slaver brought me in."
"So you passed the audition," the fat woman said. "That's something."
Dengar took off the Attanni, placed it in the bottom of his holster, beneath his blaster.
Jabba was a demanding creature. Once he'd paid money for anything-whether it be a slave or a drug shipment-he deeply resented losing that thing. And the Hutt took great pleasure in tormenting others. While Dengar could not sense a difference between good and evil, the Hutt took pleasure in evil.
Dengar knew that he wouldn't get Manaroo back without a fight.
He squinted and considered the Hutt, tried to pic-ture Jabba with dark brown hair and a lanky frame. But even with the greatest stretch of imagination, he couldn't find much in the way of similarities between Jabba the Hutt and Han Solo.
"Ah, well," Dengar groaned. "I'll just have to kill him anyway."
Fortunately, Dengar soon found that many of Jabba's henchmen had reason to plot against their master.
Within three days Dengar was able to provide one of Jabba's henchmen-the Quarren Tessek-with a bomb. Dengar made it from weapons stored in his ship, and he made it big enough to blow Jabba's bloated corpse into orbit. Delivering the bomb was simple, since he only had to hand it over to one of Jabba's most trusted servants, the head of the motor pool, Barada.
Unfortunately for Dengar, Jabba learned about the plot before the bomb was ever completed. Upon the rather prescient advice of Bib Fortuna, who assured Jabba that Dengar was making a bomb, Jabba assigned Boba Fett to watch Dengar.
Boba Fett was easily up to the task. A microtransmit-ter dropped into one of Dengar's holsters performed the trick. When Dengar delivered the bomb to Barada, their words gave proof of the conspiracy.
When Boba Fett informed the Hutt that he had un-covered the plot, Boba Fett asked, "Do you want me to remove the bomb?"
The Hutt laughed, a deep and throaty laugh that shook his great belly. "You would deprive me of my amusement? No, I will have the bomb dismantled, and I will make certain that Tessek is with me when it is set to explode. I will enjoy watching him squirm. As for Barada-I will make him wait for a few weeks for his punishment."
"What of Dengar?" Boba Fett asked. "You can't toy with him. He's too dangerous."
Jabba squinted his huge dark eyes and looked nar-rowly at Boba Fett. "I will leave it to you to punish him, but do not give him an easy death." Jabba brightened, and his eyes opened wide. "It has been a long time since I let one of my enemies feel the bite of the Teeth of Tatooine!"
Boba Fett nodded curtly. "As you will, my lord."
That day was busy for Dengar. The surgeons who had operated on him so long ago had cut away his ability to feel fear, but at certain odd times he found that he moved with a new bit of energy, found his heart beating irregularly. It was, he knew, just a ghost of what others felt when they feared, but he found it invigorating. The bomb on Jabba's skiff was set to go off early the next day, so Dengar became concerned that night when plans suddenly changed.
Dengar had been resting in his quarters when Luke Skywalker suddenly appeared at Jabba's palace and at-tempted to rescue Han Solo. Jabba foiled the young Jedi's attempt and threw Skywalker into a pit with Jabba's pet monster, the Rancor. Skywalker surprised everyone by killing the beast.
The sound of the rancor's death cry rattled the pal-ace, waking Dengar, who hurried to Jabba's throne room and reached the top of a small staircase in time to hear the sentence pronounced upon Han Solo and his friends. They were to die in the Great Pit of Carkoon.
The palace became a madhouse. Jabba's henchmen ran about arming themselves, preparing vehicles. Two Gamorrean guards scrambled up the stairs past Den-gar, and one grumbled, "Why we need hurry?"
The other guard backhanded him, sent him stagger-ing against a wall. "Idiot! We no want Rebels come. If they learn Jabba wants to kill Skywalker and Leia, we in for big fight!''
Dengar looked for Tessek in the crowd below, trying to spot the gray-skinned Quarren's mouth tentacles, wondering if this would change their plans.
But some of Jabba's men already seemed to have the Quarren under guard. They were standing close at his back, and Dengar could only hear snatches of conversa-tion. Tessek was begging Jabba for his life.
In a moment, Jabba sent the Quarren to pack, and Tessek scurried away through an exit in the far wall.
Dengar ducked back into the hall, into the safe shad-ows. Had Jabba found the bomb? Obviously Jabba sus-pected something.
But the Hutt hadn't killed Tessek, and he hadn't sent guards after Dengar. So Jabba couldn't have had proof of the treason. Which suggested that the Hutt had merely heard rumors of their plans. Or perhaps Jabba had some other reason to threaten Tessek.
Still, Dengar didn't want to be around here right at the moment. If Jabba found that bomb, heads would roll. Dengar didn't want his head to be one of diem.
There was still time to escape. It might well be that Jabba wouldn't discover the bomb at all, and if that were die case, he might be on or near the skiff when it exploded. The plot might still succeed. In any case, whether it succeeded or failed, it would do so without further effort from Dengar.
But if Jabba did find the bomb too soon.
Dengar decided it might be a good time to go into Mos Eisley for the day. If his plan worked, Jabba would die. If it didn't-Dengar might
still escape.
Dengar returned to his cramped quarters and began throwing his clothes and weapons into a bag. Among his effects he found the Attanni. He could not contact Manaroo with it-but Dengar could receive images, sounds, emotions.
And as he looked at the device, he recalled the hun-ger Manaroo had felt for his presence, her fears for her life. Sometimes he wondered how she could feel any-thing for him. In his own eyes he was broken, undeserv-ing of her attention. Yet she'd stayed beside him even after he'd rescued her parents. He felt there was noth-ing left that he could give her, except perhaps a false sense of safety.
And by running out now, he would be denying her even that.
He unwrapped his neck, screwed the Attanni into the socket there.
And what he saw surprised him. Manaroo was dress-ing for a performance, putting on leggings of some sheer material in softest violet, a top that revealed her ample breasts. She sorted through a bin of musical in-struments-tambours, bells, cymbals-looking for something exotic, and decided to take a golden flute. To play it while dancing would be difficult, and to play it poorly would be to tempt fate. But Manaroo would be dancing for her life, and she needed to impress the Hutt.
She'd been commanded to dance before Jabba, and everyone in the room knew that he was in a foul mood because the rancor was dead. The other dancers sat huddled in a far corner and shot Manaroo pitying glances.
What amazed Dengar was her mood. She was almost numb with fear and had no recourse but to put her confidence in her abilities. These feelings lay heavily in the background of her mind.
And in the foreground, Manaroo was concentrating, trying to firm her resolve by playing mental games. Just as Dengar would psyche himself up for an assassination by imagining that he was killing Han Solo, Manaroo was playing similar games in her own mind.
She envisioned Jabba's throne room, but instead of Jabba on the throne, she imagined Dengar there. He was watching her steadily, calling out "Dance, dance for your life!" as if it were some great jest.
And in her dreams, Manaroo danced lovingly, with her heart. She imagined each move, practiced over the years, and each spin and flourish was dedicated to Den-gar. Each of them had been conceived and prepared for the man she loved, the man she hoped someday to meld minds with, so that they became one. And in her imaginings, as she danced gracefully before Dengar, she whispered, "If I please you so much, my lord, my love, then why don't you please me in return? Why don't you marry me?"
Dengar pulled off the Attanni in astonishment, and knew that he could not leave now. The powerful feel-ings that washed through him when he was connected acted as a moral compass, telling him what to do. And like Han Solo, who sometimes seemed to suffer from a death wish, Dengar knew that he would have to turn his face to the storm.
He had to save her, but how?
Dengar was amazed that she would be preparing for a performance now, while the palace was in such disar-ray, and realized immediately that he would have to plan a diversion. To blindly go into the throne room and try to kill the Hutt would be insane, but over the past few days, there had been two murders in the pal-ace.
Both incidents had been fully investigated and caused a great deal of commotion for several hours. A few hours was all the time that Manaroo needed. A random assassination seemed in order. Among the henchmen in Jabba's stable, there was no lack of de-serving victims.
The problem was solved rather easily. Dengar simply went up to a guard room and tossed in a grenade. In the general cacaphony of the palace, few people even noticed the event, but the ensuing investigation took up a better part of the evening, and the Hutt's mood brightened considerably after he saw the carnage that Dengar's grenade had made out of some poor Gamor-rean guard.
So it came as a great shock when Jabba finally looked up from the messy guard and a cold gleam came to his eyes. "I'm hungry," grumbled. "Bring me food, and rouse my dancing girl! Have everyone gather in the great hall! Tonight we party, and I will have no more interruptions!"
The nights were short on Tatooine, and few slept through them, for it was a time to retreat from the blistering heat of the day.
So it was that late that evening, Dengar sat in the throne room, waiting for Manaroo's dance. He had his Attanni in, and he listened for Manaroo's thoughts. Her own mind was numb at the thought of the coming dance, and she was preparing hastily, trying to calm her breath, relax.
In the great hall the musicians had begun to gather, and servants brought heaping platters of food. The Hutt grabbed a few squirming things from one huge box and shoved them in his mouth, then bellowed for his dancing girl.
It was then that Dengar saw his mistake. The Hutt was feeling bloodthirsty tonight, and the sight of the dead Gamorrean guard, rather than distracting him, had only enticed him further. Han Solo and the others would die, but Jabba was not a patient creature. He would not wait for blood. So he called for Manaroo.
Dengar loosened his heavy blaster in its holster, won-dered what to do. Killing Jabba would be hard. Hutts had notoriously thick hides, and it could take several shots from his blaster. Dengar wasn't sure he'd get those shots. The room was crowded with hundreds of Jabba's henchmen and servants, all gathered for one last mad feast, for many worried that at dawn they would be battling the Rebel Alliance. So the musicians played with a manic edge to their tune, and the hench-men feasted as if this brief meal would be their last.
As Dengar waited for Manaroo to make her appear-ance, Boba Fett approached his table, swaggering, car-rying a long green jug of Twi'lek liquor.
"Join me for a drink?" Boba Fett asked. Boba Fett was normally a very self-contained individual. He never sought out another person's company, and at first Den-gar was confused by the request. But nearly all the other tables were full, and so the request did not seem out of line.
"Sure, have a seat," Dengar said, kicking a chair back from the table.
Boba Fett sat, put his jug down, motioned for a serv-ing boy to bring some glasses.
"I've been watching you," Boba Fett said, the micro-phones in his helmet making his voice sound unnatu-rally loud and gravelly as he spoke to be heard above the noise of celebration. "You're not like the others here," he waved at the henchmen gorging themselves at the other tables, "given to excess. I like that in a man. You seem cool, competent, professional."
"Thank you," Dengar said, unsure where this might be leading.
"Tomorrow morning, Han Solo dies," Boba Fett said.
"I know it's scheduled, but I'm not certain Jabba can pull it off," Dengar said, unwilling to admit that in all likelihood, Han Solo, his nemesis, would die an ignoble death at dawn. It seemed too easy a way for him to go. At a nearby table, two of Jabba's henchmen began sing-ing a raucous drinking song.
"I'm leaving after the execution," Boba Fett said more loudly. "I've got a job-a big job. More than one man can handle. But the rewards are extravagant. In-terested?"
"Why should I trust you?" Dengar asked absently. Through his Attanni, he could see that Manaroo was being released from her cell. A Gamorrean guard was shoving her through a dark narrow passageway that would lead her to Jabba's throne. "You bombed my ship. You've already betrayed me once."
Boba Fett sat back a bit in his chair, as if he were surprised at the accusation. "That was when we were in business as competitors. This time, we would be in busi-ness as partners. Besides, I did leave you alive."
"It was indeed a kindness. Which is why I haven't tried to kill you in return," Dengar said.
Boba Fett chuckled, a very disturbing sound simply because it was something Dengar had never heard be-fore. Boba Fett leaned his head back, and the palace lights shined on his visor like stars. "You and I are a lot alike. What do you say? Partners?"
Dengar studied Boba Fett. He was a careful man, a dangerous man who was deserving of his reputation. And Dengar was low on funds. He nodded slightly. "Partners, I suspect. Tell me more about the deal." Dengar leaned forward as if interested in speaking with Boba Fett, but he was
really watching down toward the lighted area before Jabba's throne.
Manaroo had just come out from behind a curtain, and now she stood blinking, trying to let her eyes adjust to the brightness of the stage after days in the dungeon. Her heart hammered with fear as the musicians began to strike another tune, and she went to their leader, begged him to wait a moment.
"Agreed," Boba Fett said. "Let's wet our tongues as we discuss our plans. I've a vintage here that I think will surprise you. It should have warmed enough by now." He opened the green container and poured the liquor into two glasses. For a moment, Dengar dared hope that he would finally get to see what lay hidden behind Boba Fett's visor, but the warrior simply pulled a long feeding straw out from beneath the visor and stuck it into the glass, then began sipping.
Star Wars - Tales Of The Bounty Hunters Page 13