Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

by K. W. Jeter

  down on Tatooine en masse to finish him off. And me,

  Dengar had told himself. That hot-tempered Trandoshan

  Bossk would naturally assume that anyone befriending his

  longtime rival Boba Fett was an enemy to be killed with

  quick dispatch. This little hiding place would get filled

  up with corpses pretty quickly.

  Risks meant profits, though, in the bounty-hunter

  trade. And profits were what Dengar needed if he was

  going to have any chance of paying off the massive debt

  load he was carrying and then have any kind of life with

  Manaroo. He wanted out of this game, and the only way to

  accomplish that was to keep on playing it, for at least a

  few more rounds. And the best way to do that, he'd

  decided, was with a partner like Boba Fett. And that's

  what he offered me-when Dengar had discovered him, half-

  digested by the gullet of the Sarlacc, lying in the suns-

  baked wasteland, Fett had had enough remaining strength

  to speak, but not to protect himself. Dengar could have

  put him out of his misery right then and there, but had

  stayed his hand when Fett had spoken of a partnership

  between the two of them. The only card he'd had left to

  play . . .

  And a good one. We could clean up, Dengar had

  decided. Him and me. A real good team. It all depended on

  just one thing.

  Whether Fett had been lying to him.

  He could have been just playing for time. Time enough

  for his wounds to heal, and for him to get his act back

  together. Dengar had been mulling it over ever since he

  had carried Fett down here. There was no history of Boba

  Fett ever working with a partner before; he had always

  been a lone operator. Why should he want a partnership

  now? What there was a history of was playing it fast and

  loose with the truth. In that, Boba Fett was no different

  from any other bounty hunter; it was that kind of a

  business. Fett was just better at it, was all. What had

  happened to the Bounty Hunters Guild was proof of that.

  Things might be different, Dengar knew, when Boba

  Fett got his strength back. Fett might not want to repay

  Dengar with a partnership, for all that he'd done to keep

  him alive and safe. Dengar's reward might be a blaster

  charge right into his chest, leaving a scorched hole big

  enough to put a humanoid's fist through. Fett's obsession

  with secrecy was notorious in all the scummy dives and

  watering holes across the galaxy; his past was largely

  unknown, and was likely to stay that way, given how those

  who poked into his affairs had a way of turning up dead.

  That was the real reason Dengar had sent Manaroo away. It

  was one thing for him to risk Fett's lethal treachery; he

  didn't want the female he loved to wind up facing a

  blaster muzzle.

  "So what did you want to know?"

  Dengar pulled himself back from his grim meditations

  to the hard-eyed female regarding him from the other side

  of the chamber.

  "Same thing I wanted to know before." He nodded

  toward the entrance to the subchamber. "What's your

  connection with Boba Fett?"

  Neelah shook her head. "I don't know."

  "Oh, that's a good one." Dengar gave a quick,

  derisive laugh. "You come sneaking in here-not exactly

  the smartest thing to do-and you don't even know why."

  "That's what I came here to find out. That's why I

  wanted to talk to him." Neelah glanced toward the

  subchamber, then back toward Dengar. "That's why I left

  him where you would be sure to find him-"

  "Wait a minute," said Dengar. "You left him?"

  She nodded. "I found him before you did. But I knew

  there was nothing I could do for him, not with what the

  Sarlacc had done. He needed medical attention-more than

  anything I could do. I took a chance that you'd take care

  of him. That you'd keep him alive."

  "And why's that so important to you? He's a bounty

  hunter, and you were a dancing girl in Jabba's palace."

  Dengar peered more closely at her. "What's he got to do

  with you?"

  "I told you before-" Neelah's voice rose to a fierce

  shout. "I don't know! I just know that there is a

  connection-some kind of connection-between the two of us.

  I knew that back when I first saw him. In the palace, in

  Jabba's court. When that fat slug had poor Oola killed .

  . . when she was tugging against the chain, and the

  trapdoor in front of the throne was opening . . ." Both

  of Neelah's fists were trembling and white-knuckled. "All

  of the other girls were watching from the passageway . .

  . and there was nothing any of us could do. . . ."

  "There never is," said Dengar. He could taste his own

  bitterness in his mouth. "That's how things happen in

  this universe."

  She wasn't here in this chamber with him; she was

  lost in her own memory. "And then we could hear her

  screaming . . . and I couldn't look anymore. That was

  when I saw him. Just standing there at the side of the

  court . . . and watching. ..."

  "Bounty hunters," said Dengar dryly, "make it a habit

  to stay out of other creatures' business. Unless they're

  paid to do something about it."

  "And when the screaming was over, and Jabba and the

  others were still laughing ... he was still there. Just

  as before. And still watching." Neelah closed her eyes

  for a moment as a shudder ran through her slight body.

  "And then ... the strangest thing ... he turned and

  looked at me. Right into my eyes." Her voice filled with

  both fear and wonder. "All the way across Jabba's court .

  . . and it was like there was nobody else there at all.

  That was how it felt. And that was when I knew. That

  there was something between the two of us." She refocused

  her gaze on Dengar. " 'Connection' isn't the right word.

  It's something else. Something from the past. I even knew

  his name, without asking anyone else." Neelah slowly

  shook her head. "But that was all I knew."

  "All right." The story intrigued Dengar. A matter of

  practical interest as well If this female meant

  something to Boba Fett, then knowing just what it was

  might give him an additional bargaining chip. "You said

  it was something from the past. Your past?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, that's a start. But nothing you can remember,

  I take it?"

  Another nod.

  "So how did you wind up at Jabba's palace?"

  "I don't know that, either." Neelah's fists uncurled,

  empty and trembling. "I don't know how I got there. All I

  remember is Oola . . . and the other girls. They helped

  me. They showed me . . ." Her voice ebbed softer. "What I

  was to do . . ."

  Her memory had been wiped; Dengar recognized the

  signs. The confusion and welling fear, and the little

  bits and pieces, scraps of another existence, leaking

  through. No wipe was ever complete; memory was stored in

  too many places throu
ghout the humanoid brain. To go

  after every bit, eradicating them all, would probably be

  fatal, a reduction beyond basic life-maintenance

  processes. There were easier, and less expensive, ways of

  killing a sentient being. So someone, thought Dengar,

  wanted her alive. Fett?

  "What about your name?" Dengar nodded toward her. "

  'Neelah'-was that something you remembered?"

  "No; Jabba called me that. I don't know why. But I

  knew . . ." Her brow furrowed with concentration. "I knew

  it wasn't my real name. My true name. Somebody took that

  from me . . . and I couldn't get it back. No matter how

  hard I tried . . ."

  What she told Dengar coincided with his own

  suspicions. Neelah was a slave name-it didn't fit her.

  The aristocratic bearing she possessed was too obvious,

  even in the ill-fitting, scavenged outfit she wore now.

  She wouldn't be alive now-the Dune Sea's loping predators

  would be cracking her bones-if there weren't some tough

  fighting spirit inside her. Things would have gone

  differently if Jabba had tried to throw her, instead of

  the other girl, Oola, to his pet rancor. It would've been

  Neelah rather than Princess Leia wrapping the chain

  around Jabba's immense throat and choking the life out of

  him.

  Dengar had more suspicions, which he didn't feel like

  voicing right at the moment. Fett must've done it. The

  other bounty hunter must've brought her to Jabba's

  palace; he'd probably also been the one who'd performed

  the memory wipe on her. The big question was why. Dengar

  couldn't believe it had been done on Jabba's orders; the

  Hutt had enjoyed young and beautiful objects, but he'd

  also been too tight with his credits to have commissioned

  the kidnapping of the daughter of one of the galaxy's

  noble houses. The only reason Leia Organa had wound up on

  the end of one of Jabba's chains was that she had come

  into Jabba's lair of her own accord, seeking to rescue

  the carbonite-encased Han Solo. A captured noblewoman,

  with a blanked-out memory, wasn't exactly the same kind

  of a bargain.

  So Fett must have been working for someone else while

  he had ostensibly been in Jabba's employ. That wouldn't

  have been unusual; Dengar knew from his own experience

  that bounty hunters nearly always had more than one gig

  going on at a time, with no particular loyalty to any

  creature whose payroll they might be on. Or-the other

  possibility-Boba Fett might have had his own reasons for

  wiping the memory of this female, whoever she really was,

  and bringing her to Jabba's palace, disguised as a simple

  dancing girl.

  The puzzle rotated inside Dengar's mind. Maybe Fett

  had been stashing her away, in some place where she

  wouldn't be likely to be found. That was one of the

  sleazier bounty-hunter tricks finding someone with a

  price on his or her or its head, then keeping the

  merchandise hidden until the price for it was raised

  higher. Dengar had never done it, and he hadn't heard of

  Boba Fett doing it, either. Fett didn't have to; he

  already commanded astronomical prices for his services.

  "Is there anything else you remember?" Dengar rubbed

  the coarse stubble on his chin as he studied the female.

  "Even the littlest thing."

  "No-" Neelah shook her head. "There's nothing. It's

  all gone. Except . . ."

  "Except what?"

  "Another name. I mean . . . another name besides

  his." She tilted her head to one side, as though trying

  to catch the whisper of a distant voice. "I think it's a

  name that belongs to a man."

  "Yeah?" Dengar unfolded his arms and hooked his

  thumbs into his belt. "What's the name?"

  "Nil something. Wait a minute." She rubbed the corner

  of her brow. "Now I remember ... it was Nil Posondum. Or

  something like that." Neelah's expression turned hopeful.

  "Is that somebody important? Somebody I should know

  about?"

  Dengar shook his head. "Never heard of anybody like

  that."

  "Still . . ." Neelah looked a little crestfallen.

  "It's something to go on."

  "Maybe." He had his doubts about whether it was

  anything useful. He had even bigger doubts about Neelah

  herself. Or whatever her real name is, thought Dengar.

  Keeping one's contacts primed for information was an

  essential part of the bounty-hunter trade; he had been in

  and out of Mos Eisley and other scumholes on a regular

  basis, listening and asking the right questions, and he

  hadn't heard anything fitting her description. If anybody

  was looking for her, they were doing it on the quiet.

  That might make getting paid for finding her somewhat

  difficult.

  Or else-another possibility rose in Dengar's

  thoughts-somebody doesn't want her to be found. Boba Fett

  might have been working for someone who had wanted this

  Neelah to be disposed of, maybe in some way that left her

  still alive. What better way than to strip out her memory

  and stick her on a backwater planet like Tatooine? Though

  how long she would've stayed alive in Jabba's palace was

  debatable, given the Hutt's murderous amusements. Whoever

  had sent her there couldn't have been too concerned about

  her survival. Then why not just kill her quick and fast,

  for whatever reasons they had, rather than leave her

  where any number of the galaxy's hustling scoundrels, the

  criminal dregs that had found employment with Jabba,

  might have spotted her?

  His brain felt weighted down with all these questions

  stacking up on top of each other. Mysteries and

  skulduggery were what one dealt with in the bounty-hunter

  trade; all this reminded Dengar of why he had wanted to

  get out of it. There must be an easier way to make a

  living.

  Or a safer one. Now he had two potential bombs on his

  hands, either one of which could result in a quick death

  for him, if he was lucky, or a messy one, if his luck ran

  true to form. It hadn't been bad enough getting involved

  with Boba Fett's fortunes; now he had to deal with the

  enigmatic Neelah as well. She was a loose laser cannon by

  herself-if she'd had a blaster, Dengar supposed he

  would've been crisped by now-plus there were those unseen

  figures from her past, who'd put her here. They might not

  be too happy about her turning up again. If they were the

  kind of people who hired Boba Fett to do their dirty work

  for them, they wouldn't be likely to have too many

  scruples about eliminating everyone hooked up with her.

  None of it looked good. Which had its own upside The

  more risk, Dengar reminded himself, the more profit.

  That, more than anything in the so-called Hunter's Creed,

  was what governed the actions of bounty hunters, from

  Boba Fett down to himself. If there was a chance of being

  partners with Fett, and reaping the rewards from that, he

  would h
ave to ramp up his courage to a new level.

  "All right," said Dengar aloud. He unfolded his arms

  and pointed to the female on the other side of the hiding

  place's main chamber. "Let's work out an arrangement, you

  and me. Stipulation number one Don't try to kill me. If

  we're going to get anything accomplished around here,

  that's a basic requirement."

  Neelah appeared to think it over, then nodded.

  "Okay."

  "And if you try, I'm going to make sure it's your

  corpse that gets thrown out of here. Got me?"

  She nodded again, with just a trace of impatience.

  "Number two I'm in charge here. I'm running the

  show-"

  Neelah's anger flared. "Wait a minute-"

  "Shut up," said Dengar. "It's for your own good. And

  it's just for the time being. You get back to wherever

  you came from, you get your real name and everything that

  comes with it returned to you, then you can do whatever

  you want. But right now you don't even know who you are,

  you don't know who might be gunning for you, you don't

  know anything about what the galaxy's like once you get

  off this little rock heap's surface. Even if you could

  find some way out of here without my help, you might poke

  your nose into some place like Mos Eisley and get your

  whole head detached from your neck. There's plenty of

  types who'd do that for you, even without knowing who you

  might be."

  His lecture had a visible effect on her. "Very well,"

  said Neelah sullenly. "You're in charge. For now."

  The things I put up with, thought Dengar to himself.

  It was all for Manaroo's sake; he had to keep that in

  mind. On the other side of all this, there was her, and a

  life together with the female he loved. If I get that

  far.

  "I'm glad we understand each other." Dengar pointed

  to a larger, open niche at the farthest end of the

  chamber. "You might as well make yourself comfortable

  down here. I don't want you wandering around topside.

  There's food and supplies; anything else you need, just

  let me know. I'll have those two medical droids give you

  a quick scan, to make sure you're all right. Tatooine's

  got some nasty bugs you can pick up."

  Neelah looked straight back at him. "What about Boba

  Fett? That's why I came here."

  "That's number three. You don't see him, you don't

  talk to him, you don't have anything to do with him,

  unless I'm right there with you."

  "Why?"