by K. W. Jeter
Dazed, but with his vision slowly coming back, Suhlak placed a hand against Ob Fortuna's muscleless chest and pushed himself upright. He grabbed hold of the back of the pilot's chair and dragged himself toward the Z-95's controls.
"What. . . what are you going to do?" The Twi'lek sounded close to panic.
"Like the man said." Suhlak damped the main thruster engine. And prepared for a visitor." Nothing stupid."
The hunt saboteur looked just as Boba Fett had expected. On the dark and lean side, wearing Tierfon Fighter Base fatigues with all identifying insignia stripped off. Suhlak's sharp-angled face was both avaricious and-at the moment-sullen.
"I make it a rule," said Boba Fett," not to interfere with other creatures' business. Except" -he stood in the opening of the transfer hatchway extending from his own Slave I, not wanting to step into the already crowded quarters of Suhlak's Z-95-" when they interfere with mine."
"Really." N'dru Suhlak gave an ostentatiously weary sigh." I don't need a lecture on operating practices from you."
"You don't need me to kill you, either. But I'd be happy to do it." Boba Fett had donned his usual arsenal before crossing over from his ship. He didn't bother drawing his blaster or reaching over his shoulder for any of the higher-powered weapons; their mere presence, silent and intimidating, was enough." And believe me-it would be just business. Nothing personal."
The kid didn't make a reply. A weapons belt, with a standard-issue Imperial Navy blaster pistol in its holster, was slung from a protruding angle of the Z-95's structural frame. It was within easy reach of Suhlak, but he continued to stand with his arms folded across his chest, chin lowered, and eyes glaring.
Good, thought Boba Fett. That shows he's not completely stupid.
"And as long as we are talking business. . ." The bounty hunter turned toward the other sentient creature in the Z-95's cockpit. The Twi'lek Ob Fortuna cowered back against the bulkhead, his hands raised toward his face in cringing supplication." You and I have some unfinished matters to take care of."
"I. . . I don't know what you mean." Ob Fortuna's hands crawled over each other like blind, hairless animals." I am but dirt beneath your boot soles, Boba Fett. Nothing but a poor-and currently unemployed-servant to those with real power. Ever since the esteemed Cradossk died-"
"Correction. Cradossk didn't die; his son Bossk killed him. And then he took care of the remains the way Trandoshans do those things."
A visible shudder ran through the Twi'lek. Even the scowling Suhlak appeared a little sick at the men tion of Trandoshan dynastic practices. By now, the late Cradossk's bones, complete with gnawed tooth marks, were treasured items in Bossk's personal trophy chamber.
"Well, then. . ." What was meant to be an ingratiating smile appeared on Ob Fortuna's face. He lifted his empty hands, palms upward; his shrug raised the pendulous weights of his head-tails." You can hardly blame me for wanting to seek other employment. I had been Cradossk's major domo for a long time; it would have been too traumatic for me to have undertaken those same services for his son Bossk."
"Seems reasonable to me." N'dru Suhlak's shrug wasn't as encumbered." Give the guy a break, why don't you?"
The gaze from the helmet's T-shaped visor was as cold and hard as the half-forgotten legends described the Mandalorian warriors, long vanquished by the Jedi Knights, as being. Boba Fett was well aware of the effect that dark gaze had on other creatures; it was as much a weapon as any other slung behind his back." I've already given you a break," he said quietly to the hunt saboteur." You're not dead. Yet."
Suhlak leaned back against the pilot's chair. He glanced over at Ob Fortuna, then slowly shook his head." That was my best shot."
"But. . ." Panic obliterated every other emotion in the Twi'lek's eyes as he looked back toward Boba Fett." You have to understand. . ."
"I understand a great deal," said Boba Fett." That's not the problem. And neither is your not wanting to work for Bossk. I don't even care to work with a creature like that. The problem is who else you were working for when you were in Cradossk's employ."
The skin of Ob Fortuna's head-tails took on a sweating translucency, as any remaining color drained from his face." But that. . . that's insane. It's a lie!" His desperate gaze swept in the hunt saboteur, as though an ally could be found there." I was completely loyal to Cradossk! I swear it!"
"Loyal in your way. As loyal as any Twi'lek is." Boba Fett didn't need to step forward from the transfer hatchway to keep Ob Fortuna pushed against the Z-95's bulkhead." And that's just about as much loyalty as credits can buy. Anybody's credits." He turned his visored gaze toward Suhlak." How much were you getting paid for safe delivery of this merchandise?" He used the bounty hunter terminology, even though it was technically incorrect in this case; no bounty had been posted for Ob Fortuna.
Suhlak looked back coolly at him." Enough."
This time, Boba Fett did step forward. He dug into a small, belt-mounted pouch and extracted a few credits, then slapped them into Suhlak's palm." There," he said." Consider it delivered."
The hunt saboteur inspected the credits." Looks a little short." He glanced up." Know what I mean?"
A few seconds passed before Boba Fett answered." You've got an excess of nerve," he said slowly." That's not a bad thing, given how you're trying to make a living. I can even admire that. But let me give you some advice." Fett had returned to the transfer hatchway that led back to the waiting Slave I." Don't try it on me-"
"No!" A shrill cry cut across Boba Fett's words. The few scraps of control remaining to Ob Fortuna had suddenly evaporated; his face distorted and mottled by fear, he flung himself across the cramped space of the Z-95's cockpit area. The weight of the Twi'lek's head-tails lifted clear of his robed shoulders. His clawing hands reached out, not for Boba Fett's throat, but for the holstered blaster hanging near the pilot's chair. Ob Fortuna's rushing flight propelled him into Suhlak's chest, sending them both sprawling across the cockpit's metal-grated floor. The bounty hunter kicked himself free of Ob Fortuna, then scrambled as far away as possible, shielding his face with an upraised arm.
Ob Fortuna got to his knees, fumbling with the unfamiliar blaster. Both his long-fingered hands wrapped around its grip; the barrel wavered, pointing wildly in all directions. Before he could find the weapon's trigger stud, a sharp hissing sound hit against the bulkheads, followed by the Twi'lek's gasp of pain as the blaster was torn from his grasp.
The blaster was snared in the thin line of mono-linked filament running from the wrist of Boba Fett's battle armor to the small, nonexplosive projectile he had fired. He drew back his outstretched arm, at the same time retracting the line to its source reel; the blaster flew as rapidly as Ob Fortuna's panicked rush. Boba Fett deftly grabbed hold of the weapon.
"Not a smart move," said Fett. Though from the way the Twi'lek had been sweating and twitching, it was exactly what he had expected. He pulled the blaster free of the line's tangle, then slung it toward Suhlak. The hunt saboteur had uncoiled himself into a sitting position, and now caught the blaster with both hands." Hold on to that," instructed Boba Fett. He knew that Suhlak was at least smart enough to sit tight and not provoke any further demonstration of his skills.
Crouched into a whimpering ball, Ob Fortuna cowered back against the cockpit's farthest bulkhead. His pallid face was luminous with sweat, the head-tails drawing damp, sluglike trails across the front of his robe. He shrieked and tried futilely to compress himself into an even smaller mass as Boba Fett stepped forward and reached down. Grabbing hold of the robe's collar, he pulled the unresisting Twi'lek upright.
"Let's go," said Boba Fett. He stepped back toward the transfer hatchway, dragging Ob Fortuna along with him.
"Where. . ." Ob Fortuna's hands clung to his captor's forearm." Where are we going. . ."
"That's not really your concern anymore." He turned and shoved the Twi'lek into the hatchway, toward the other ship waiting at the other end of the connecting passage. Ob Fortuna stumbled and land
ed on his hands and knees.
"Hold it."
Boba Fett heard the simple command from behind him. He brought his dark-visored gaze around, looking back over his shoulder. He saw N'dru Suhlak standing in the middle of the Z-95's cockpit area, the blaster held unwavering toward the transfer hatchway. The weapon was aimed directly at Fett.
"Now what?" Boba Fett held himself motionless.
"Isn't it obvious?" Suhlak's lopsided smile appeared." You screwed up. Now you're going to do what I say."
"Oh? Why should I?"
"Because-" The smile showed how much pleasure Suhlak took in the explanation." If you don't, I'm going to drill a smoke-lined hole right through your gut."
Boba Fett shook his head." You're not doing it with that piece." He held up one gloved hand, displaying the power cell he had deftly palmed from the blaster, before he had tossed it away." If I'm not a fool the first time, I'm not likely to be the next time, either."
"Guess not." Suhlak glanced at the useless weapon in his hand, then lowered it. He looked back up at the bounty hunter." So answer me something."
"Make it short. I've already wasted too much time here."
"How'd you do it?" Suhlak appeared genuinely puzzled." I mean-how come you're not dead?"
"Simple," said Fett." I knew there'd be another piece of armor-grade transparisteel floating out there. The best traps-the kind a clever barve like you would lay-always have two sets of teeth in them. So just before I hit the transparisteel, I took my ship in a hard one-eighty degree roll, so my main thruster engines were pointed straight at it. Put the engines at maximum, dropped a high-thermal explosive charge, and jumped to hyperspace before it went off." Boba Fett's emotionless voice made it sound easy." While you were still looking at what was left, my ship was jumping back into realspace, just on the other side of you. Then all I had to do was wait."
"Huh." In the cockpit area of his own ship, Suhlak nodded in admiration." That must be why you're letting me go, then. So I can tell everybody I run into about what a tough customer you are."
"Tell them whatever you want. I don't need the advertising. I'm letting you go on your way for one reason only."
"What's that?"
Boba Fett tossed the blaster's power cell into the Z-95's cockpit; the small object clattered across its flooring." You're the best hunt saboteur I've come across, at least recently. And if you're the best there is right now. . . then I don't have to worry about you interfering with my business."
"Maybe," Suhlak said quitely," I'll be even better next time."
"I'll worry about it then."
With one finger, Boba Fett punched the control pad mounted on the sleeve of his battle armor. The transfer hatchway rised shut, sealing itself from the Z-95. He turned as the hatchway disengaged and began retracting the short distance back into the hull of Slave I.
The Twi'lek Ob Fortuna had saved him some trouble. Boba Fett found him with a length of thin cable, part of the line that had snared away the blaster, wrapped around his throat and pulled tight with his own hands. The look of fear frozen in the dead creature's eyes was mute testimony that self-asphyxiation was preferable to whatever fate he'd imagined would be delivered by his captor.
It didn't matter to Boba Fett. This was one of the few times when something he had hunted down was worth more dead than alive. He knew too much, thought Fett. Specifically, about what had gone on behind the scenes with the break up of the old Bounty Hunters Guild. And, just like a Twi'lek, he'd always talked too much. Now he won't.
There was one task left to take care of, as far as the late Ob Fortuna was concerned. Other sentient creatures, much more important and powerful than a sniveling, opportunistic Twi'lek majordomo could ever have been, were interested in silence being maintained about certain matters. They would want proof of that silence. Boba Fett extracted a few sharp-edged tools from one of his uniform's pouches, then knelt down beside the still-warm corpse.
He left Ob Fortuna's stiffening body in the transfer hatchway. Once back inside Slave I, he slung the sealed bag he carried into a storage locker, then mounted the ladder to the ship's cockpit. Seated in the pilot's chair, Boba Fett hit the hatchway's atmospheric purge button; the quick blast of air pressure was enough to expel the corpse out into the vacuum, drifting close enough to Suhlak's ship that the hunt saboteur would be able to have a last good look at it.
Fett hit the main thruster engines control, heading out of the sector while simultaneously punching in the coordinates for his next jump. There was plenty more business to take care of, before he was done.
There was always more business.
8
Someday, thought Prince Xizor. Someday he and I will meet face-to-face. Either here on Coruscant, in the Imperial throne room itself, or in some bleak, remote corner of the galaxy-that moment would surely come. For the last time. And then the little war, deadly and personal, between himself and Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, would be at an end.
One way or another.
He strode through the vaulted corridors of the palace, the reddening twilight of Coruscant's sun casting angles of blood-colored light across the richly inlaid floor ahead of him. A single unbraided rope of Xizor's night-black hair, drawn back from his bare skull like a glistening viper, swung across the flaring shoulders of his robe with each stride.
Xizor focused his thoughts as he came closer to the great doors of Emperor Palpatine's throne room. The concerns of dominion-both Palpatine's Empire and Xizor's own Black Sun criminal organizationwere manifold and urgent, made even more so by the rise of the impudent Rebel Alliance. And now, he was summoned for this audience with the galaxy's ruling power, a power in the shape of a wizened old man.
If it weren't for the eyes set in that gaunt, wrinkled face-eyes that were as cold and commanding as Xizor's own violet-colored ones-he would never have thought the Emperor to be more than a cloaked beggar, if he had come across him in some dark passageway of the Empire's capital on Coruscant. But once having looked into that gaze, so bereft of any of the tender emotions that sentient creatures were prey to, Xizor could understand how the former Senator Palpatine had climbed astride an Empire built out of the old Republic's ruins. If there had been any last barriers to Xizor's own ruthless ambitions-any weakness or sentiment within himself-he had been inspired by the Emperor's example to root it out. Whether the mystical, universe-spanning Force of which Palpatine and Lord Vader talked was real, Xizor had no idea-or at least not enough to believe in it over his own strengths and cunning. But the dark side of that Force was something he could attest to. He had seen it beneath the hood of the Emperor's cloak, like twin gravitational wells that could absorb and crush a weaker creature's spirit.
The high, intricately patterned door swung open before Xizor. Once more, he found himself in the presence of that dark strength.
"Xizor. . ." The Emperor's simple throne turned, bringing his hooded gaze and his thin, humorless smile toward the center of the cold, empty space. The ancient-appearing figure sat deep in the throne, as though the weight of his thoughts and schemes were crushing him toward the planet's core." As much pleasure as there can be found in one's scurrying underlings, I find in you."
The throne room was both empty and occupied by another. Without turning his head, but with just a
glance from the corner of his eye, Xizor saw a dark apparition. The holo image of Lord Vader, insubstantial yet oppressive, stood at one side of the throne room.
He brought his gaze back to the Emperor." You honor me with your praise, my lord."
One corner of Palpatine's bloodless lips twisted in a sneer." I do not praise you, Xizor. As with all my servants, you neither surprise nor disappoint me. I expect foolishness and incompetence, and I find I am richly rewarded in those things."
The Emperor's tongue-lashing was in his usual manner. Xizor had grown used to it, though the words still rankled his proud spirit. Someday, old man. His thoughts were a silent and carefully guarded promise inside the c
hambers of his bare skull. Your precious Force and all your servants won't be able to save you.
In the meantime, though, the show of servility had to be maintained.
"If I fail you, my lord-" Xizor bowed his head." Then the regret truly is mine."
The holo image of Lord Vader spoke up." Do not be deceived by this one." Bands of visual static flickered through the black figure, as one holographically reproduced arm rose, its hand pointing toward Prince Xizor." His speech is elegant, my lord-as always-but it is as hollow as his unfulfilled promises."
"Bold words, Lord Vader." Xizor allowed himself a flash of anger." Especially from one who has assured our Emperor that the Rebel Alliance would be crushed long ago. The Rebels seem to have made a mockery of the assurances you made to your master."
If Darth Vader had been physically present in the throne room, those words might have been worth Xizor's life. He knew how dangerous a game he was playing; he could see the visible reaction in Vader's image, the black robes swelling like the sun-obscuring clouds of an advancing stormfront, the gaze from the dark lenses beneath the helmet flashing as sharp as lightning bolts.
"I would caution the prince-" Thunder, ominous and deep, sounded in Vader's speech. The harsh rasping of his breath was just as audible, transmitted from the bridge of the Executor. He had only recently taken possession of this new flagship, which had replaced the previous Devastator. If anything, the threat of his powers seemed enhanced by the greater arsenal surrounding him." His ill-advised rashness might be excusable in one as young and inexperienced as himself. But my patience with him grows thin."
Xizor sensed a pressure at his throat, like an invisible hand tightening against his windpipe, cutting off the flow of blood and air to his brain. He didn't know if he was imagining it, if some weakness not yet rooted out from the core of his being had allowed a trace of unreasoning, wordless fear into his thoughts, or whether Vader's powers could reach this far. He had had previous encounters with the dark lord's undeniable strength, the ability to reach out and crush the life from those creatures Vader considered lesser to himself. To annoy him, to fail to carry out instructions or thwart his plans in any way, was to court an unpleasant death by asphyxiation.