by K. W. Jeter
His spine slammed hard into a sheet of durasteel. The vibrations of immense heavy machinery were as tangible as a seismic catastrophe, rumbling through his flesh and setting his bones jangling against each other. Before Bossk could tell where he was, what machinery he had landed upon, the durasteel tilted out from under him. He barely managed to catch hold of a row of bolt heads, his claws digging into a seam in the metal. More debris from what was left of the bar rained across his shoulders as he held on. A glimpse toward the revealed horizon showed more and more of the terrain at the foot of the craggy mountains, and Bossk realized that the machinery to which he clung was surging upward.
A voice sounded inside his head, from the cochlear implant." Don't try to jump," came Boba Fett's voice." These things will crush you like an insect."
Bossk pulled himself higher on the sloping metal flank, managing to get a better view of the grinding treads beneath him and the whirring cone at the machine's prow, studded with durasteel teeth. Each metal triangle was twice his own height, the total moving with a force capable of grinding his own ship Hound's Tooth to ragged shrapnel.
"What's going on?" Against the machinery's howling noise, Bossk shouted into his throat mike." What is this thing?"
"Autonomic crust-piercer." Fett's voice snapped back the answer." For deep-core mining operations-"
A shudder ran through the metal that Bossk's torso was pressed against. He clung with even more determination to the bolt heads and seam, aware that if he were to be shaken loose, he would slide straight into the massive, gear-driven treads only a few meters below him.
"Voss'on't must have wired it up," continued Boba Fett's voice," for one more defense system. With a doomsday button, in case anybody did manage to get the drop on him."
"Where are you?" Bossk scanned across the landscape far below; the buildings of the abandoned Imperial mining colony looked like mere rounded bumps set into the barren, rocky ground. He could see a few figures of miners running on foot, trying to get out from beneath the shadow of the uprearing machine.
"Don't worry about me-"
"I'm not-" If Boba Fett's voice hadn't been implanted right inside his head, Bossk wouldn't have been able to hear him past the roar and howl of the crust-piercer.
"I managed to hit the ground," came Fett's voice." Voss'on't has to be around here somewhere."
Bossk lifted his head from the durasteel and strained to look past the treads clanking beneath him. A churning cloud of dust obscured the ground below. Boba Fett was still hidden from view, but he caught a glimpse of another figure, one that he could recognize even at this elevated distance.
"Voss'on't!" Bossk shouted again into the mike at his throat." I see him!" The crust-piercer's shadow gave a rough indicator of direction." He's to the north! North of me-" Bossk had no idea of where Boba Fett might be in the dust cloud mounting below." Toward the foothills and the colony gate!" For a moment, he lost sight of the tiny figure below, then spotted him again." Now he's moving west-"
There was something else that Bossk could see, a glint of dark metal in Trhin Voss'on't's hand. At some point in the chaos that had followed the mining equipment bursting up from beneath the watering-hole, the ex-stormtrooper had managed to scoop up a blaster pistol.
"He's armed-"
The need for informing his partner of that fact was eliminated as Bossk saw Voss'on't crouch down, weapon arm raised, and fire a quick barrage of blaster bolts into the dust cloud before him.
"Fett?" Bossk called into his throat mike." You still there?"
Nothing but silence came from the cochlear implant inside Bossk's head.
Well, thought Bossk, guess I won't be splitting any bounties with him
The mining equipment to which Bossk clung, the enormous, clattering, and howling bulk of the crust-piercer, had reared up far enough from the planet's surface that it had become hard to see exactly what was going on down below him. Voss'on't had gone from being a doll-like figure to an insect. Bossk could just discern the ex-stormtrooper's movements as he stepped forward, blaster still poised and ready, to investigate his kill.
Two things happened then
Voss'on't's tiny figure was suddenly knocked off its feet as a propelled dart with line attached zipped out of the dust cloud. The line wrapped itself around Voss'on't in a microsecond, pinning his arms to his sides; sprawled on his back, the ex-stormtrooper kicked furiously, trying to stand up again. Boba Fett emerged from the dust cloud at the crust-piercer's base, lowering the dart weapon from its braced position against his shoulder. As Bossk watched from on high, his partner pulled the line tight with one gloved hand, jerking the furious Voss'on't over onto his face and away from the blaster pistol on the ground.
The second thing was that the crust-piercer finally emerged all the way from the planet's surface. Enough momentum had been built up in the machine's enormous mass, from the speed of the treads grinding up through the rocky substrata, that for a moment it separated from its shadow spilling across the ruins of the abandoned mining colony. The crust-piercer hung suspended a dozen meters or more above the ground, its gouging prow and propulsive gears spinning free of contact with any substance other than the air itself.
On the ground, Boba Fett turned his visored gaze away from his captive and up toward the durasteel construct, looming as big as a flying mountain range above him.
This is not good, Bossk told himself as he clung to the machinery's bolt-studded flank. This is going to hurt
He felt himself going from a near-vertical position to lying prone, pinned by gravity, on the metal surface against his chest, as the crust-piercer lost the force of its momentum and tilted forward in the air. The machine's metal-toothed, conical snout was now parallel to the ground, with the treads directly beneath its mass, equivalent to that of a small Imperial fighting ship, but without the means to keep itself aloft.
Chewed-apart boulders, the last of the subsurface that the crust-piercer had ripped up and carried with itself, now tumbled away from its gears and shielding panels, spinning and raining across the shadowed area below.
That shadow suddenly loomed closer, as the crust-piercer began its fall, like a metallic stratosphere breaking apart and rushing toward the planet's core. Atop the machine, as though he were an ant stranded aboard a child's toy, Bossk braced for the impact.
He felt it, through every fiber and cell of his body. The grip of Bossk's claws was torn away from the bolt heads and the seam in the metal flank; a jutting projection of an auxiliary engine-exhaust pipe above kept him from flying completely off the immense machine. His outstretched forearms and torso struck flat against the metal, the blow knocking the wind from his lungs, dizzying and anaesthetizing him from the roar and fury of the crust-piercer's destruction of itself and whatever lay beneath it.
Bossk came to a second later, and wiped blood from his muzzle. Black smoke billowed upward into the sky, pouring from the crumpled and ripped-apart flanks of the crust-piercer. He ducked instinctively as muffled explosions sounded from deep within the machine, its shattered power sources igniting into flames and arcing, meteorlike sparks, dragging white trails behind them.
It's gonna blow, Bossk told himself. Get going
Pushing himself up on his bruised hands, Bossk managed to scramble to the edge of the panel beneath him. The metal was slick with lubricating oil, bubbling and hissing with the heat from the explosions farther inside the machinery. He let himself fall, not caring what the distance to the ground was.
That turned out to be only a couple of meters;
flopped on his back, Bossk saw that the gears and treads of the crust-piercer's propulsive devices were buried three-quarters of their height into the ground. Loose dirt and gravel sifted toward him as the crust-piercer's mass lay at the bottom of the wide funnel-shaped depression into which the abandoned mining colony had been transformed. A few of the ruined buildings perched teetering on the rim of the bowl. Hollow, realized Bossk. That's it. The terrain beneath the mining colony had
been tunneled out, as layer after layer of ore had been extracted and the shafts and underground quarries had been left empty. He would otherwise have been killed by the impact of the crust-piercer's landing, if it had struck solid ground, with no way of dissipating even part of the crushing force.
Bossk got to his feet and staggered toward the front of the machine, away from the fires and continuing small explosions in the power units toward its tail section. The weight of those had set the crust-piercer at a tilt, its conical prow, stilled now, rearing up and pointing toward the sky.
He stood still, his breath and pulse gradually slowing as he brushed away the bits of rock that had imbedded themselves in his scales. The acrid odors of flame and burning oil stung his flared nostrils. He was alone in what was left of the mining colony; whatever inhabitants had been left were probably still fleeing through the surrounding hills. And nothing could have survived being buried under that many tons of durasteel falling out of the skies. . .
Something moved underneath the prow of the crust-piercer, halfway between the rectangular plates of its treads. Rocks and dust shifted, sliding into a dark space below.
As Bossk watched, a gloved hand emerged, clawing its grip into the dirt. Then a forearm swathed in
rags of battle gear, dragging the attached shoulder out into the light. A familiar helmet, even more dented and scraped than it had been before, showed its cracked T-shaped visor.
Bit by bit, as though rising from the grave, Boba Fett crawled out from beneath the smoldering wreckage.
When Fett was halfway out, Bossk recovered from his astonishment, enough to reach down and grab the other bounty hunter by the wrists, tugging him the rest of the way free and getting him to his feet.
"You okay?" Bossk peered into Boba Fett's dark visor.
Boba Fett didn't answer the question." Come on." He pointed back to the scraped-out hole from which he had just emerged, with the bulk of the crust-piercer towering above it." Voss'on't. . . he's right there. We have to get him out."
The job was made easier by the ex-stormtrooper being both motionless and still bound by the cord that Boba Fett's dart weapon had looped around him. Bossk backed up from the hole beneath the machinery, dragging Voss'on't with him. He stretched him out on the ground, a few meters away from the crust-piercer.
Fett knelt down and did a quick check of vital signs, then stood back up." He's still alive." Fett glanced over at Bossk." We've got our merchandise."
Exhausted, Bossk squatted onto his haunches. Beside him, Boba Fett managed to activate his comlink and signal his ship Slave I to descend and pick them up.
"I don't know. . ." Bossk slowly shook his head. Every breath hurt, and he was sure there were at least a few bones broken inside him." I don't think I want to work with you anymore. . ."
12
When news comes from far away, it sometimes accumulates power on its journey. Like a tidal wave on the surface of an aquatic planet, that rolls uninterrupted and gathers greater and greater force in doing so, until it can wrench that world off its spinning axis-or sweep up on its curving face and then crush any leviathan creature smaller than itself.
Such dark, brooding meditations came easily to those of the Falleen species. Prince Xizor stood at the small viewport, gazing out at the stars and the emptiness in which they were held; the thumb and forefinger of one hand stroked the sharp angles of his chin as his thoughts progressed through their courses. He had already heard the news, the fulfillment of the next step in his intricately woven plans, before he had made the return journey to this place. Indeed, he had been expecting the news at any moment, as he had waited in the private quarters of his ship Virago. Some things, he mused, are as certain as the galaxy's own slow rotation. Many of his own actions and schemes were based upon a cold assessment of calculated risks; the most dangerous of those added a blood-stirring excitement to his life. To stake all upon the turn of a card, to use the most ancient gambler's metaphor everything, including the very life he savored at such moments-was the ultimate sport. But that was not the kind of lower-keyed satisfaction he derived from betting on a sure thing. And in this universe, as had been demonstrated over and over again, nothing seemed as certain as one Boba Fett, bounty hunter.
A sound of scrabbling claws and a slight motion caught the corner of Xizor's eye. He turned and saw one of Kud'ar Mub'at's subnodes, a little crablike thing tethered by a whitely glowing neurofilament to the web's communication fibers." Yes?" Xizor raised an eyebrow as he regarded the semi-independent creature clinging to the wall in front of him." What is it?"
The subnode's mouth, nearly humanoid in size, opened and emitted words." Your presence is desired, my lord." Its voice was a squeaky approximation of its own master's." In the main throne room and conference area."
"Very well." He gave a single nod of acknowledgment." Tell Kud'ar Mub'at that I will be with him shortly."
Xizor let the subnode lead the way, through the cramped angles and turns of the web's internal corridors. The rough-textured walls, with their structural fibers of varying thicknesses compressed to a solid mass, were faintly illuminated by the phosphorescence of other subnodes dangling at intervals above, idiot creations of their assembler parent. They had no more intelligence than was sufficient to monitor the slow catalysis and decay of the light-producing compounds in the globular bodies, each barely larger than the span of Xizor's palm. When their glow had dwindled sufficiently, the instincts with which they had been designed and extruded would send them creeping back to Kud'ar Mub'at to be reingested by their creator. Xizor felt no pity for them; he shared the attitude that lesser creatures were for the service of their masters.
He ducked his head to make his way through one of the lower-ceilinged areas in the web. His broad, heavily muscled shoulders scraped against the matted walls on either side. Aboard the Virago, even the narrowest passageways were wider than he could have reached with his hands fully outstretched; his own personal quarters on the ship were as luxuriously appointed as the reception hall of many a planet-bound ruler's palace. It was a test of his will to voluntarily return to Kud'ar Mub'at's space-drifting web and enter its dank, claustrophobic spaces; only the prospect of successfully concluding some long-standing business schemes was enough to entice him anywhere near the arachnoid assembler and its scuttling, scurrying brood of subnodes.
"Ah, my most precious Xizor! Sunlight of my drab existence!" Kud'ar Mub'at perched on the pneumatic cushion of the subnode that served as its throne. The assembler's spike-haired forelimbs lifted and waved in a grotesque parody of a welcoming gesture." How deeply embarrassed am I, to have kept one of your exquisite eminence waiting! Please accept my most humbly prostrated apologies-"
"No need for that." Xizor could already feel his own patience draining away inside himself. The assembler's flowery language always irritated him, suspecting as he did that every word that came from Kud'ar Mub'at's mouth was tinged with venomous sarcasm. He stood before the assembler, arms folded across his chest." I was told upon my arrival here at your web that important news had just been received, and that was the reason for delaying our meeting." His vibroblade-sharp gaze took in Kud'ar Mub'at and the various subnodes clustered around it or perching on various limbs." If the news had that kind of urgency for you. . . then I wonder if it could possibly have some bearing on our mutual interests."
All of the multiple eyes that studded Kud'ar Mub'at's face shifted uneasily for a moment, as if revealing the agile contortions of the mind that lay behind them. Then the assembler creaked out an unpleasantly high-pitched laugh." Why is it, my so esteemed Prince Xizor, that you already know all about this news that I've just heard? Granted, your native intelligence is of a nature many awesome degrees above my own. But still. . . for you to acquire such information before me. . ." Kud'ar Mub'at shook one of the tiny subnodes from its forelimb, then used the exposed claw-point to scratch the tip of its chin." How it grieves me to harbor suspicions against one so uniquely dear to me as yourself! The pain!
Nevertheless-" Kud'ar Mub'at's two main eyes peered closer at its visitor." I would hate to believe that your information-gathering sources, the great and efficient network of your Black Sun organization, had been monitoring developments in this little matter independently from my own favorite and trusted spies. That would tend to indicate-oh! The horror!-that you, dear prince Xizor, did not trust me."
"I trust you, all right." One corner of Xizor's mouth lifted in a grim smile." There are some things that I can absolutely depend on to happen when I'm dealing with you. Given any opportunity, you will lie, cheat, embezzle, and in other ways seek to gain an advantage over a business partner. Withholding or changing a few important details about some matter in which we both have an interest-that would be one of the lesser offenses you would commit."
"Hm." The assembler appeared nettled; it turned its narrow face away from Xizor and spent some time fussing with its nestlike throne, poking and prodding it with its lower sets of limbs. The pneumatic subnode bore the assault with dull patience." Very well; be that as it may." Kud'ar Mub'at finally settled its globular abdomen back into the nest beneath it." If I'm to be criticized for being a business creature, and taking care of business the way I should-no more, no less-then I shall just have to accept that as my lot in this universe."
"Spare me," said Xizor. He didn't know which was worse, Kud'ar Mub'at's unctuous flattery or its occasional spasms of self-pity." You've done all right by yourself." Xizor gestured with an upraised hand, indicating the matted fibers of this tight space and all the smaller ones beyond." Consider the treasures you've accumulated."
"True. . ." Kud'ar Mub'at's beadlike eyes glittered as their gaze darted around the area. Here, just as throughout the web, the structure's fibers were intertwined with various bits and pieces of machinery and high-level comm gear, all of it filched and salvaged from various spacecraft that had been unfortunate enough to have fallen into the assembler's control-usually to pay off the owner's debts, the invariable cost of doing business with such a clever and avaricious creature." I have so many pretty things. . . pretty and rare, and expensive as well. . ."