by K. W. Jeter
predicted it would."
Cradossk regarded the bobbing figure of the Twi'lek,
all crouching curtsies and avarice-brightened eyes. The
glistening, bifurcate head tails of his underling
reminded him of both Nirellian ground-slugs and uncooked
sausages. That notion sparked an automatic twinge of
hunger in his gut-but then, most things had that effect
upon him.
"Of course it did." In his own luxuriously appointed
quarters, Cradossk fidgeted with the heavy straps of his
normal business garb, the fabrics a minor-keyed visual
symphony in somber yet tasteful grays and blacks. The
gaudier robes he'd worn at the banquet welcoming Boba
Fett to the Guild had been hung by the majordomo in a
vacuum-maintained, humidity-controlled closet. "Things go
as I predict them, not because of any wisdom I might
possess, but because of a tiresome lack of wisdom on
other creatures' parts."
"Your Worshipfulness is entirely too modest."
Ob Fortuna worked his way around Cradossk, pale and
clammy hands darting out to make some final adjustments
to his employer's everyday outfit. "Would I have foreseen
such things? Or your illustrious colleagues on the Guild
council? Not very likely."
"That's because you and they are fools alike." The
thought depressed Cradossk; all the burdens of leadership
weighed upon his shoulders. There was no one to help him
guide the Bounty Hunters Guild through these perilous
shoals, in which conspiratorial enemies thronged like
pack sharks. Not even his own son. Spawn of my seed,
Cradossk mused gloomily. It just showed that true
rapacious savvy was derived more from experience than
genetics. I shouldn't have been so easy on him, when he
was just a little reptile.
"Someone else is here to see you." The major-domo
made a few more final adjustments to Cradossk's garb.
"Did you call for him? Should I grant him admittance?"
"Yes to both questions." The fawning Twi'lek was
getting on his nerves. "And it's a private matter. So
your presence is not required."
The majordomo ushered in the bounty hunter Zuckuss,
then disappeared on the other side of the door he closed
behind himself.
Of all the younger, rawer bounty hunters who'd gained
admittance to the Guild, Zuckuss had always seemed one of
the least suited for the trade. Cradossk gazed at the
breathing-masked figure in front of him and wondered why
any rational creature would place himself at such risk;
it was like a child playing a dangerous adult game, where
the wagers were one's own life and the forfeits were
measured out in pain and death. His original motivation
for pushing Zuckuss, with that less-than-imposing stature
and dangling tubes of breathing-assistance apparatus,
onto Bossk had been to give his son an easily disposable
partner, someone who could be sacrificed in a tight
situation with little regret or loss to the organization.
There were more where Zuckuss came from; would-be bounty
hunters, with inflated notions about their own skills and
toughness, were always lining up at the Guild's doors.
This particular situation had changed, though; Cradossk
had another use for young Zuckuss.
"I came as quickly as I could." Zuckuss was visibly
nervous. And audibly the breath tubes curving at the
bottom of his face mask fluttered. "I hope it isn't
anything that-"
"Calm yourself." Cradossk lowered himself into a
folding campaign chair made of femurs reinforced with
durasteel rods. "If you were in any kind of trouble,
believe me, you'd know about it already."
Zuckuss didn't appear reassured. He glanced over his
shoulder, as though the door of the chamber had been a
trap mechanism snapping shut.
"Actually, there's nothing wrong at all." The bones
of the chair were worn smooth beneath Cradossk's palms.
"Much of what you've done has met with my approval."
"Really?" Zuckuss turned his gaze back toward the
Guild leader.
"Of course," lied Cradossk. "I have had reports
concerning you. My son Bossk is not easily impressed-that
is, with anyone other than himself. But he spoke quite
highly of you. The business with that accountant . . .
what was his name?"
"That was Posondum." Zuckuss gave a quick nod. "Nil
Posondum. It's really a shame that didn't go better. We
nearly had him."
Clawed hands spread wide, Cradossk's shrug was both
elaborate and soothing. "One does the best one can. Not
everything happens the way it should." To say something
like that required genuine acting ability on his part.
"Bad luc k can happen to anyone." Inside himself, Cradossk
still felt like pulling off both his son's and Zuckuss's
heads for screwing up that job so badly. Boba Fett had
made complete fools out of both of them, and then
repeated the ignominy when he'd slipped past them to come
sailing into the Bounty Hunters Guild headquarters.
"Don't worry about it. There'll be other times, other
chances. There's always another piece of merchandise."
"I'm . . . glad you feel that way. . . ."
"You have to take the long view in this business." He
had given the exact same lecture to Bossk, and had been
sneered at, years ago. "You win some, you lose some. The
trick is to win more than you lose. Go for the averages."
"That's true, I guess." Zuckuss's anxiety level now
seemed genuinely lowered. "Except for Boba Fett. He
always seems to win."
"Even Boba Fett." One of Cradossk's hands made a
grand, all-encompassing gesture. "You wouldn't know it
just by his reputation, but he and I go back a long way,
and I can tell you that he's had his share of times when
he's come up empty. Don't let that general aura of
invincibility fool you."
"Well . . . it's hard not to be impressed. The things
that are said about him . . ."
Cradossk leaned forward in the campaign chair and
jabbed a claw into Zuckuss's chest. "I've been in the
bounty-hunter trade a long time, boy, and I'm telling you
now, you're every bit as tough a barve as the great Boba
Fett."
"I am?"
"Sure you are." In a Gamorrean's eye, thought
Cradossk to himself. He continued with the pitch. "I can
tell. There are certain-shall we say?-ineffable
characteristics of the born bounty hunter. Someone with
the appetite and the skills for succeeding in this trade.
I can smell 'em. That's why I'm the head of the Bounty
Hunters Guild, just because of my being such a keen judge
of character." He tapped the side of his snout with one
claw. "And my instincts tell me that those are exactly
the skills you have."
"Well." Zuckuss slowly shook his head in amazement.
"I'm . . . flattered."
It's too easy, thought Cradossk. Telling creatures
they carried around inside themselves, was the quickest
and surest way to get them ready for sticking the knife
in. Their defenses went down like so many security
shields with surge-blown power fuses.
"Don't be." He had this Zuckuss exactly where he
wanted him; time to spring the rest of the trap. "The
truth in this matter is important to both of us. Because
there's something I need you to do for me. Something
important."
"Anything," Zuckuss said quickly. He spread his
gloved hands apart. "I'd be honored-"
"That's fine." With his own upraised hand, Cradossk
cut off the young bounty hunter. "I understand. Loyalty
is another one of those characteristics, so important in
our trade, that I discern in you." He tilted his head to
one side, displaying an uneven, insinuating smile. "But
we have to choose our loyalties, don't we?"
"I'm not sure I know what you mean. . . ."
"You've worked with my son Bossk on a couple of jobs.
So you're loyal to him, aren't you?"
There was no hesitation before Zuckuss spoke. "Of
course. Absolutely."
"Well, get over it." The partial smile disappeared as
Cradossk slouched back in the campaign chair. "Your
loyalty is to me. And that's for a very simple reason.
There's some rough times coming around here-as a matter
of fact, they've already started. Some creatures aren't
going to come out the other end of those times; there'll
still be a Bounty Hunters Guild, but it's going to be a
lot smaller. You want to be one of those that survive the
shakeout, because the alternative is death." He peered
closer at Zuckuss, seeing himself reflected and magnified
in the other's eyes. "Am I making myself clear?"
Zuckuss gave a rapid nod. "Perfectly clear."
"Good," said Cradossk. "I like you-that's why I'm
making you this kind of offer." In truth, it was a
Trandoshan characteristic to despise all other life-
forms, and he wasn't making any exception in this case.
"You stick with me, and there's a good chance you'll make
it. I'm not just talking about survival, but really
getting somewhere in this organization. Loyalty-to the
right creatures, that is-has its rewards."
"What . . . what is it you want me to do?"
"First off, keep your vocal apparatus muted,
concerning what we're talking about right now. The first
part of loyalty is being able to keep a secret. Any
bounty hunter who can't keep his mouth shut isn't long
for this galaxy, at least not in any organization that
I'm running."
Another fast nod. "I can keep quiet."
"I figured as much." Cradossk let his smile reappear.
"We're all scoundrels here, but some of us are better
scoundrels than others." He leaned farther forward this
time, close enough that the breath from his flared
nostrils formed momentary clouds on Zuckuss's eyes.
"Here's the deal. You've heard about the Oph Nar Dinnid
job?"
"Of course. Everybody in the Guild is talking about
it."
"Including my son Bossk, I take it?"
Zuckuss nodded. "He's the one I heard it from."
"I knew he'd jump on it." Cradossk got some
satisfaction from that; his spawn was at least ambitious,
if not overly smart. "He likes the big jobs, with the big
payoffs. This Dinnid job is just the kind of thing to get
him salivating. Did he say anything about putting
together a team to go for it?"
"Not to me."
"He will," said Cradossk. "I'll see to that per
sonally. My son may show some initial reluctance to
having you on the team, but I'll make it worth his while
to take you along. There's some equipment to which I can
provide access, some inside information sources I'm sure
he'd find valuable-that sort of thing. More than enough
to make up for whatever share he and the others would
have to cut you in on for being part of the operation."
"That's very . . . kind of you." Suspicion was
discernible behind the curved lenses of Zuckuss's eyes.
"But why would you do something like that?"
There was hope for this creature yet; he wasn't a
complete idiot. "It's very simple," said Cradossk qui
etly. "I do something for you"-he tapped his claw against
the top of the other's face mask-"and you ... do
something ... for me." With the last word, the point of
Cradossk's claw tapped against his own chest. "Now,
that's not too hard to understand, is it?"
Zuckuss nodded slowly, as though the claw in front of
his face had hypnotized him. "What is it . . . that you
want me to do?"
"Now, that's simple as well." Cradossk rested both
his hands on the bony arms of the campaign chair. "You're
going to go out with the team that my son Bossk is
putting together to snag this particular piece of
merchandise named Oph Nar Dinnid. The difference between
you and Bossk, however, is that you'll be coming back."
It took a few seconds, but illumination finally
struck Zuckuss. "Oh . . ." The nod was even slower this
time. "I see. . . ."
"I'm glad you do." Cradossk gestured toward the door.
"We'll talk some more. Later."
When Zuckuss had scurried out of the chamber,
Cradossk allowed himself a few moments of self-satisfied
musing. There was lots more to do, strings to pull, words
to be whispered in the appropriate ears. But for now, he
had to admit to himself that he actually did like this
Zuckuss creature. To a degree, thought Cradossk. Just
smart enough to be useful, but not smart enough to
realize how he was being used-at least, until it was too
late. He might even feel some regret when it came time to
eliminate Zuckuss as well.
But such, Cradossk knew, were the burdens of
leadership.
It had taken some doing, plus prying and digging with
various tools improvised from stiff, sharp-pointed pieces
of wire. But those were the sorts of skills that Twi'lek
males were born with. The result, after nearly a year of
surreptitious work on the part of the majordomo, was a
tiny, undetectable listening hole, up near the ceiling of
the anteroom to Cradossk's private chamber. Better than
any electronic snooping device; those could always be de
tected with a basic security scan-sweep. The majordomo,
even as he was listening to the conversation between
Cradossk and the young bounty hunter Zuckuss,
congratulated himself on his cleverness. One had to be
clever to survive working for carnivores like these.
Using a combination of toeholds between the wall's
massive stones and an ornamental wall hanging depicting
the Guild's past glories, Ob Fortuna clambered down from
his eavesdropping post. He had heard Cradossk dismissing
Zuckuss, their secretive discussion over for the time
being. Past experience
enabled the majordomo to calculate
precisely how long it would take for someone to turn from
in front of the bench in which the Guild leader always
sat, and walk the few meters to the chamber door. It was
just long enough for the majordomo to get back down and
brush the dust and cobweb fragments from himself, as
though he had been standing there all along, waiting like
a good and faithful-and non-conspiratorial-servant.
"I trust your talk was pleasant?" The majordomo
escorted Zuckuss to the next door, leading out of the
anteroom to the corridors of the Bounty Hunters Guild
headquarters. "And that you found inspiration in it?"
Zuckuss seeme d distracted; it took a moment for him
to respond. "Yes . . ." He gave a nod as he walked. "Very
. . . inspiring. That's the word, all right."
Idiot, thought the majordomo. He had heard every
syllable that-had passed between this creature and
Cradossk. Whether Cradossk was aware of it or not, there
were no secrets around here. Not as far as I'm concerned.
"Excellent." The majordomo smiled, showing all of his
own sharp-pointed teeth. He held open the anteroom door,
using his other hand to keep his head tail from falling
across his shoulder as he gave a precisely calculated
bow. "I trust we will have the pleasure of your company
again."
"What?" Standing in the corridor, Zuckuss gazed at
him as though puzzled by those simple words. "Oh . . .
yes, of course. I imagine you will." He turned and walked
away, like one weighted by a new and unforeseen
responsibility.
The majordomo watched him go. He was more familiar
with the various shades of meaning attached to Cradossk's
utterances. Nothing was ever as it seemed on the surface.
The poor bounty hunter didn't have a clue as to what kind
of lethal mess he was getting into.
But Ob Fortuna did. He glanced behind him, across the
length of the anteroom, to make sure that the door to
Cradossk's chambers was still closed. Then he hurried
down toward the opposite end of the corridor, to where
the others who would be interested in this conversation
would be waiting. With his hands tucked inside the folds
of his long-skirted robes, he was already calculating the
profits that would come from another piece of information
bro-kering.
15
"What are we waiting for?" Bossk gnashed his fangs in