by K. W. Jeter
jabbed the point of one claw into his chest. "If I'd been
able to go up against you on some of those jobs, the way
I really wanted to. You wouldn't have been raking in
those big bounties, the kind that Jabba and the rest of
the Hutts put up, if you'd had some real competition for
them."
"Yes," said Fett. "If I'd had some real competition,
it might have been different."
Bossk didn't pick up on the irony concealed in Fett's
words. "That's all coming to an end, though, isn't it?
That's the real reason you're here. You know that my
father and the rest of the Guild council is just about
ready to have their bones picked clean. And that somebody
else will be taking over. Somebody a lot harder and
tougher, who isn't just going to let you walk off with
all the easy credits."
"And that someone would be you, I suppose."
"Don't suppose with me, Fett. It's time for you and
me to work some things out. You didn't come here just
because you wanted membership in the Bounty Hunters
Guild. You're here because you know it isn't going to be
long before I'm running things. I can tell how your mind
works."
"Is that so?"
Bossk nodded. " 'Cause it's so much like mine. You
and me, we want the same things. Top price, and nobody
getting in our way. But we've got to deal with each
other." The last of the Trandoshan's smile faded. "As
equals."
You idiot. "Negotiations between equals can sometimes
be profitable. Or fatal."
"Let's go for a profitable one. Here's the deal,
Fett." One claw raised, Bossk leaned forward on the stone
bench. "There's no point in us tearing out each other's
throats. Even if it would be fun. That just lets the old
ones like my father stay in power for a while longer. And
they've had their turn long enough. I don't feel like
waiting any longer than I have to, just to get my
chance."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"It's not just what I want; it's what you want as
well. Better you should get on my good side now, Fett,
than have me for an enemy later on." The claw tip pointed
to each of them in turn. "Let's be partners, you and me.
I know that's what you came here for."
"I see that I was correct when I said that you were a
clever creature." Just not clever enough, thought Fett.
"Flatter me some other time, why don't you? After
we've taken over the Bounty Hunters Guild." The fanged
smile returned to Bossk's face. "When I slice up my
father's carcass, I'll save you one of the best pieces."
"Don't bother," said Fett. "I'll be pleased enough
knowing that I've accomplished what I came here for."
Whether Bossk would be as happy about it remained to be
seen.
"I'm glad-really glad-that we're in agreement about
this." Bossk stood up from the damp stone. He stepped
close to Boba Fett, bringing his face to where it almost
touched the visor of the helmet. "Because otherwise I
would have had to kill you."
"Perhaps." Fett didn't draw away. "Though I think
you're actually the lucky one. Look down here."
Bossk's slit-pupiled eyes widened when they glanced
down and saw the muzzle of a blaster pressed against his
abdomen. Fett rested his thumb on the weapon's firing
stud.
"Let's get one thing straight." Boba Fett kept his
voice level, stripped of emotion. "We can be partners.
But we're not going to be friends. I need those even
less."
Bossk regarded the weapon for a moment longer, then
lifted his head and barked a raw-edged laugh. "That's
good! I like that." All the points of his fangs showed as
he glared fiercely into the dark visor.
"You watch out for yourself, and I'll watch out for
me. That's just the way I like it."
"Good." Fett slipped the blaster back into its
holster. "We can do business."
As he stepped out into the corridor Bossk stopped and
glanced over his shoulder. "And of course," he said
slyly, "this is all a private arrangement, isn't it?
Between you and me."
"Of course." Boba Fett hadn't moved from the center
of the space. "It'll work better that wa y."
For me, thought Fett, after the Trandoshan had
stridden away, past the flickering torches. For you, it's
another matter.
The Twi'lek majordomo had other household duties as
well. Chief among which was spying.
"Your son has just concluded a long conversation with
Boba Fett." All the comings and goings in the Bounty
Hunters Guild headquarters were observed by Ob Fortuna.
"From what I could tell, your son seemed rather pleased
with the results."
"I'm not surprised." Cradossk's blunt claws fumbled
with the catches of his ceremonial robes. The heavy
fabric, with embroidery that depicted his species'
ancient battles and triumphs, was stained with the wine
that had been spilled at the banquet. "Bossk gets his
eloquence from me." He shrugged off the robes.
"Persuasiveness is a specialty of his."
"But aren't you concerned?" The Twi'lek's tapering
head tails swung forward as he gathered up the robes.
"About what the two of them found to talk about?" He
spread the robes out on a lacquered rack at the side of
Cradossk's sitting room. "Your son has . . . shall we
say"-the Twi'lek's smile was a combination of nerves and
obsequiousness-"a bit of a conspiratorial streak."
"Of course he does! He wouldn't be my son, oth
erwise." Cradossk sat down on the edge of a canopied
pallet and stuck his legs out. His claws ached from all
the standing he'd had to do, giving toasts and welcoming
the famous Boba Fett into the brotherhood of bounty
hunters. "I don't expect him to take over the leadership
of the Guild someday merely because he has a talent for
killing sentient creatures."
The Twi'lek knelt down to unfasten the metal-studded
straps laced between Cradossk's claws. "I think," he said
softly, "that your son is rather eager to assume that
leadership. Perhaps even . . . impatient ..."
"Good for him. Keeps him hungry." Cradossk leaned
back against a mound of pillows. "I know just what my son
wants. The same thing I did when I was his age. Blood
leaking through my fangs, and a pile of credits in my
hand."
"Oh!" Ob Fortuna's eyes glittered at any mention of
credits. "But perhaps ... it would be better for you to
be careful."
"Better for me to be smart, you mean. I don't intend
to wind up on my son's dinner plate. That's why I'm on
his side in all this."
The head tails rolled across the Twi'lek's shoulders
as he looked up. "I don't understand."
"You wouldn't. You're not a sneaky enough barve. It
takes a Trandoshan to understand the subtleties of these
kinds of maneuvers. We're
born with it, like scales. Do
you really think I'm such an idiot that I'd let Boba Fett
walk in here and become a member of the Bounty Hunters
Guild, and just take everything he has to say on trust?"
Cradossk had no anxiety about revealing his thoughts and
schemes to his majordomo; Twi'leks were too cowardly to
act upon anything they heard. "The man's a scoundrel. Of
course, that's nothing I hold against him; he's just not
our scoundrel. He's still looking out for himself-and why
shouldn't he? But in the meantime I'm not fooled by all
his talk of some grand alliance between himself and the
Bounty Hunters Guild. And if he was taken in by all my
rhapsodizing about brotherhood between us, then I really
am disappointed in the great Boba Fett." He reached down
and scratched between the exposed claws of his feet.
"That's why I sent my son Bossk in there to talk with
him. Bossk may be a bit of a hothead-that's another way
he resembles me when I was that age-but he's smart enough
to follow through on a good, underhanded plan."
"You sent him to talk with Boba Fett?" "Why not?"
Cradossk felt content with the universe, and how things
were proceeding in his corner of it. "I told Bossk what
to say as well. Probably no more than what Boba Fett was
expecting from the impatient young heir to the leadership
of the Guild. A partnership between the two of them-and
against me."
The Twi'lek gaped at him. "Against you?" "Of course.
If I hadn't sent Bossk in there to talk with Fett, and
have him propose exactly that, then my son would very
likely have done it on his own initiative. Not because
Bossk really wants to conspire against me. He's too
loyal-and too smart for that. Plus he knows I'd have his
internal organs for breakfast if he tried anything like
that." Cradossk gave a self-satisfied nod of his head.
"It's much better this way. Now we have an in with our
mysterious visitor and would-be brother, one to whom Boba
Fett will confide the true reasons why he's come here to
the Guild. My son gains points with not only his loving
father, but also with some of the council members who
have voiced some fear about his ambitions. And I remain
in control of the situation. That's the most important
thing."
A puzzled look remained on the Twi'lek's face as he
rolled up the leather foot straps and placed them in his
employer's ornamentations box. "Could it not be"-the
Twi'lek's head tails glistened with the effort of his
musing-"that your son has a different idea? Different
than the one you put into his head?"
Cradossk folded his claws over the age-yellowed
scales of his stomach. "Such as?"
"Perhaps Bossk doesn't want to just pretend that he
has entered into a conspiracy with Boba Fett. A
conspiracy against you and the rest of the Guild
council." The Twi'lek rubbed his chin, gazing at some
point beyond the sitting room's caparisoned walls, where
his infrequently encountered thoughts could be found.
"Maybe he would have gone and talked to Boba Fett
anyway-whether you had sent him or not. And he would have
made just that proposition. For real."
"Now, there's an interesting notion." Cradossk sat
up, bringing his heavy-lidded-and unamused- gaze straight
into that of his household majordomo. "And one for which
I should pull your flopping little head off. Do you
realize what you're suggesting?"
The Twi'lek's smile was even more nervous than
before. "Now that I think of it . . ."
"You should've done your thinking before you opened
your mouth." Anger simmered inside Cradossk. The only
reason he didn't pull off the Twi'lek's head was that a
good majordomo, one that was used to his various ways and
preferences, was hard to find. "You're questioning not
only my son's intelligence, but his loyalty to me. I
realize that members of your species have only an
abstract understanding of that concept. But for
Trandoshans"- Cradossk thumped his bared chest with his
fist-"it is something in our blood. Honor and loyalty,
and the faith that exists between family members, even
unto the last generations-those are not negotiable
substances."
"I beseech your pardon. . . ." Hands clasped
together, the Twi'lek bobbed up and down in front of
Cradossk, the speed of his genuflections increased by his
anxiety. "I meant no disrespect. . . ."
"Very well." Cradossk shooed him away with a quick,
contemptuous gesture. "Because you're an idiot, I'll
overlook your insulting comments." He wouldn't forget
them, though; long, grudge-filled memories were another
characteristic of Trandoshans. "Now get out of my sight,
before I have reason to be hungry again."
The Twi'lek scurried away, still hunched over and
bowing as he retreated toward the sitting room's door.
Maybe I should eat him, brooded Cradossk as he drew
on a lounging robe stitched together from the skins of
former employees. Standards were becoming deplorably lax
among the Guild's hirelings. Staffing had always been a
problem over the decades; in that, the Bounty Hunters
Guild had the same difficulties that their clients the
Hutts did. Not many of the galaxy's sentient creatures
were so desperate as to seek employment in establishments
where the constant threat of death was one of the working
conditions. He wondered if Emperor Palpatine's
dismantling of the Republic would improve things in that
regard, or just make them worse. The establishment of the
Empire promised a net increase in the galaxy's misery
quotient-that was good, at least as far as Cradossk was
concerned-but also a tighter control over the various
worlds' inhabitants. That was probably bad. . . .
Something to think about. Feeling the weight of his
age, Cradossk shambled into the memory-bone chamber
connected to the sitting room. He lit one of the candles
set in a niche filled with years of congealed wax; the
guttering flame sent interlaced shadows wavering across
the walls and their white treasures.
It had been a long time since he'd had occasion to
add another memento to his collection. My killing days
are over, thought Cradossk, not without regret. He
wandered farther into the chamber's ivory-lined recesses,
letting memories of vanquished opponents and foolishly
recalcitrant captives wash over him.
Until he came to the oldest and tiniest bones. They
looked like something that might have been found in a
bird's nest, on some planet where all the life-forms had
been extinct for centuries. Cradossk let a couple of them
rest in his palm as he poked at them with a single claw.
Tooth marks showed on the bones' surfaces, from little
teeth that had been as sharp and hard as a newborn's.
Teeth that hadn't yet been dulled by the coarse fle
sh of
enemies. Those teeth had been his, when he'd just barely
been out of his mother's egg sac. The bones were those of
his spawn-brothers, hatched just a few seconds later. And
too late for them.
Cradossk sighed, mulling over the wisdom he'd been
created with, and that which had taken him so long to
achieve. He carefully set his brothers' bones back in the
hollow of polished rock where he kept them.
This was why lesser entities like that moronic
Twi'lek would never understand. About family loyalty and
honor ...
He pitied creatures like that. They simply had no
sense of tradition.
The Twi'lek pushed the door to the sitting room open
a crack. Just enough to see what the old Trandoshan was
up to.
Cradossk had gone into his chamber of grisly
souvenirs. A candle flame showed his silhouette among the
stacked and interwoven bones. Good, thought the Twi'lek.
His boss would usually stay in there for hours, fondling
the bones and reminiscing, and sometimes falling asleep,
wheezing and dreaming with a splintered femur in his
claws.
Plenty of time, then. The Twi'lek slid the door shut
without making a sound and strode quickly toward another
section of the Bounty Hunters Guild compound. To Bossk's
quarters.
"Excellent," said the younger Trandoshan, after
listening to the Twi'lek's report. "You're sure of all
this?"
"But of course." The Twi'lek made no attempt to
conceal the wickedness of his smile. "I have been in your
father's service for some time. Longer than any of his
previous majordomos. I haven't lasted this long by being
blind to his thought processes. I can decipher the old
fool like a data readout. And I can tell you this for a
fact He trusts you absolutely. As he told me, that was
why he sent you to talk to Boba Fett."
Sitting in a gold-hinged campaign chair, Bossk nodded
in approval. "I suppose my father had all sorts of things
to say. About loyalty and honor. And all the rest of that
nerf dung."
"The usual."
"That must be the hardest part of your job," said
Bossk. "Listening to fools talk."
You have no idea, thought the Twi'lek. "I've gotten
used to it."
Bossk gave another, slower nod. "The time is coming
when you won't have to listen to that particular fool any
longer. When I'm running the Bounty Hunters Guild, things