Star Wars - The Bounty Hunter Wars - The Mandalorian Armor

by K. W. Jeter

  again, the surge of energy that had forced it larger now

  only an afterimage burned into the observers' eyes.

  Boba Fett lowered the laser cannon's barrel, and the

  cylinder slid off the end of its muzzle. The cylinder

  fell to the great reception hall's floor with a lifeless

  clang. Slowly, a red pool formed around it as Gheeta's

  liquefied corpse seeped through the joins between the

  plates and out the empty rivet holes.

  "Just as well," wheezed another Shell Hutt's voice.

  The elder Nullada floated toward the dead cylinder; it

  looked like a mechanical egg, cracked but not yet peeled

  of its metal shell. The claws of one of Nullada's

  crablike arms held back the roll of blubbery tissue over

  his eyes; with the other he prodded the side of what had

  been Gheeta's metal casing. Silently, the cylinder rolled

  back and forth in the red mire. "He had already made more

  of a nuisance of himself than he had any right to."

  That statement, Boba Fett figured, would probably be

  the extent of Gheeta's obituary. Hutts of any variety

  were not given to sentimentality. If the late Gheeta had

  left any estate after having paid off the Narrant-system

  liege-holder clan and hiring this band of

  mercenaries-though he had probably gotten them fairly

  cheap-the remaining assets would be quickly picked apart

  and swallowed up by the other Shell Hutts. Nullada

  himself would no doubt take the largest bite.

  At the elder Shell Hutt's direction, a couple of the

  dark-uniformed mercenaries had come over and dragged Oph

  Nar Dinnid's body out from under the wreckage of the

  central dais. "Most distressing," said Nullada, with

  genuine if predacious regret. "This is what happens when

  someone lets their emotions get in the way of business.

  We could have gotten a lot more from those parties with

  an interest in this matter."

  Boba Fett wasn't listening to the old Shell Hutt.

  With Zuckuss and IG-88 watching him, the weapons in their

  hands lowered, he laid D'harhan's body down upon the

  floor. The laser-cannon barrel turned and slowly came to

  rest, its muzzle scraping through the charred debris.

  D'harhan's black-gloved hands fumbled for the voice

  box clipped to his waist. The rise and fall of his chest,

  pinned by the cannon's curved mount, was quick and

  labored as a single fingertip punched out a message.

  Kneeling beside him, Boba Fett looked at the words

  glowing on the box's screen.

  I SHOULD NOT HAVE TRUSTED YOU.

  "That's right," said Fett, with a single nod. "That

  was your mistake."

  you're wrong. The fingertip moved with agonizing

  slowness. it was ... my decision. . . .

  Fett said nothing. He waited for the rest of

  D'harhan's silent words.

  i can stop now . . . but you . .. The black-gloved

  fingertip moved from letter to letter on the voice box's

  keypad. you still must go on. ...

  The hand fell away from the box. D'harhan's forearm

  struck the ground beside his body. There was no more

  breath or pulse lifting his chest; after a moment Boba

  Fett reached over and switched off the last of the laser

  cannon's red-lit controls.

  He stood up and turned toward the other bounty

  hunters. "We're done here," said Fett. "Now we can go."

  17

  Zuckuss looked up into the old Trandoshan's eyes,

  into the black slits of that hard reptilian gaze. And

  said, "Everything happened the way you wanted it to."

  "Good." Cradossk slowly nodded as he turned away. "I

  expected that."

  I bet you did, thought Zuckuss. Being back here in

  the private quarters of the Bounty Hunters Guild's leader

  gave him the creeps. This was where Cradossk had sucked

  him into the distasteful little conspiracy that would

  result in Bossk's death. It struck Zuckuss, not for the

  first time, that these Trandoshans were indeed cold-

  blooded, right down to the marrow of their fenestrated

  bones. The only thing that could account for their hot

  tempers was the strength of their carnivorous appetites.

  That cold blood had never been more in evidence than

  just now, when he had told Cradossk the details of what

  had happened on Circumtore.

  "You saw it?" Cradossk had demanded an eyewitness

  verification of his son's death. "You saw him take the

  shot?"

  "Right in the chest," Zuckuss had answered. "He

  didn't get up after that." His own blood had chilled when

  he spotted the little smile on Cradossk's face.

  "You came straight here?" Cradossk didn't turn around

  to look at him again, but continued idly fiddling with a

  couple of pieces from the bone chamber at the far end of

  the spacious suite. "As soon as you la nded?" The pieces

  were yellowy white, slender and curved; Zuckuss's own

  ribs twinged in painful sympathy as he recognized what

  they were. "You didn't talk to anyone else?"

  The tubes of his face mask's breathing apparatus

  swung back and forth as he shook his head. "No one. Those

  were your orders. When . . . you know . . . when you gave

  me the job."

  He was still sorry he'd agreed to it. Even though

  he'd come back from Circumtore with his own skin

  relatively intact, if somewhat bruised and battered from

  the action in the Shell Hutts' great reception hall.

  Going along with someone who'd been making arrangements

  to get his own son killed-which was what the whole futile

  journey to acquire an already dead piece of merchandise

  had been about-still turned him somewhat queasy. Maybe

  Boba Fett's right, he mused bleakly. Maybe I'm not really

  cut out for the bounty-hunter trade.

  "I'm glad to see that you can follow orders."

  Cradossk held the rib bone up close to his aging eyes.

  The name of the vanquished foe to which it had once

  belonged was incised along its length, the marks

  scratched there by one of his own foreclaws. "I'm

  impressed with your . . . loyalty. And your intelligence.

  Both of those attributes will stand you in good stead in

  the difficult times before us." He sighed, lowering the

  memento of past glories, his gaze focusing on some far-

  off horizon. "How I wish that my son had possessed

  similar qualities. Or to put it another way-" He turned

  his head just enough to cast a sidelong glance at the

  younger bounty hunter. "If only someone such as yourself

  had been my offspring."

  Sure, thought Zuckuss. He kept himself from showing

  any other reaction. And wind up dead, the first time you

  started feeling paranoid? No thanks.

  "Mark my words." Cradossk's gnarled claws gripped the

  bone as though it were a club suitable for thrashing

  miscreants. His voice rumbled lower, matching the heavy

  scowl on his scaly face. "If the other bounty hunters of

  your generation were as smart as you-and respectful of

  their elders' wisdom-then a great deal of trouble could<
br />
  be avoided. But they have . . . ideas of their own." He

  spoke the word with loathing. "Just as my son did. That's

  why it was so important that he be eliminated, and in a

  way that would not appear to have been from my conniving

  at that result. This way ... to have it happen on a world

  far from here, and among clever, greedy creatures such as

  the Shell Hutts ... it makes his death seem the

  inevitable consequence of his own stupidity and

  incompetence. So much for his new ideas." Cradossk

  sneered. "The old ways are the best ways. Especially when

  it comes to killing other creatures."

  "You'd know," muttered Zuckuss under his breath.

  "Did you say something?" Cradossk glanced over at

  him.

  Zuckuss shook his head. "It was a bubble." He pointed

  to the dangling air tubes. "In my gear."

  "Ah." Cradossk resumed his contemplation of his long-

  dead enemy's rib, letting it evoke deep, musing thoughts.

  "It's good to remember these things. To be wise. More

  than wise; cunning. Because"-he nodded slowly-"there's

  going to be a lot more killing before everything's

  straightened out around here."

  "What do you mean?" He already knew what the old

  Trandoshan meant, but asked anyway. The creaky old

  carnivore wants to talk, Zuckuss told himself, / should

  let him talk. It was only polite, and it didn't cost him

  anything. Besides-other things were going to happen that

  Cradossk probably didn't know about. And those things

  took time to get ready.

  He heard a slight noise from the doorway. Glancing

  over his shoulder, he saw Cradossk's majordomo, the

  Twi'lek that was always sneaking around the place, on his

  own and others' shadowy errands. Ob Fortuna held one of

  his elongated forefingers to his lips, signaling Zuckuss

  to remain silent himself. From the corner of one large

  eye, Zuckuss looked over at the leader of the Bounty

  Hunters Guild; the old reptilian was still sunk deep in

  his brooding meditations. Zuckuss and the Twi'lek ex

  changed a quick nod, and the Twi'lek scurried away, down

  the Guild's dark corridors.

  "Now's not the time to start playing stupid." The

  ancient rib cracked in two, with a splintered fragment in

  each of Cradossk's tightly squeezed fists. He looked in

  angry surprise at what he'd just done, then tossed the

  relic's pieces away. He shot a hard-eyed gaze over his

  shoulder at Zuckuss. "Don't try telling me you're not

  smart enough to know what's going on around here."

  "Well . . ."

  "Bossk was only the first one. The first that had to

  be eliminated." A bone shard had been left on the back of

  Cradossk's hand, caught underneath one of his rough-edged

  scales. He extracted it and used it to pick his fangs,

  nodding in grim thought all the while. "There will be

  others; I've got a list."

  I bet you do, thought Zuckuss.

  "Not all of them young and foolish, either." Cradossk

  examined a still-wriggling fragment of food on the end of

  the improvised toothpick, then resumed his meditative

  work with it. "Some of my oldest and most trusted

  advisers . . . bounty hunters that I've known and supped

  blood with for decades ... so to speak . . ." He ruefully

  shook his head. "I should've anticipated it-but then

  again, how could I? I loved these killers."

  "Anticipated what?" Zuckuss knew that as well, but

  figured the question would keep Cradossk going awhile

  longer. By his calculations, the Twi'lek major-domo would

  need a little while longer to finish up his

  conspiratorial rounds.

  "Traitors . . . backstabbers ..." Cradossk's voice

  was a low, muttering growl. "That's what you get in this

  galaxy for being nice to creatures. Taking them in when

  they were runny-nosed little scavengers who wouldn't have

  known how to get their claws on a piece of merchandise if

  it'd been given to them with a ribbon tied around it. I

  taught most of these Guild members everything there is to

  know about this business."

  "I imagine that's quite a lot."

  "You better believe it," Cradossk said fiercely.

  "There's parts of the bounty-hunter trade that I in

  vented. And if these scum think they can get it all away

  from me . . ." He chomped down on the bone toothpick,

  grinding it between his back fangs. "They'd better think

  again."

  "What particular scum are you talking about?"

  Cradossk's mention of a list still had Zuckuss worried.

  The old Trandoshan might have gone senile, perhaps

  forgetting just who he was talking to. Just my luck,

  thought Zuckuss glumly, to find my own name on there.

  "They know who they are. The same as I know. Though

  maybe . . ." Cradossk gave another slow nod. "Maybe I

  shouldn't take any chances. Maybe I should just have

  everyone killed. Wipe clean the whole roster of the

  Bounty Hunters Guild. Start fresh ..."

  Great, thought Zuckuss. He had been warned about

  this, by Boba Fett on the way back from Circumtore. Up in

  the Slave I's cockpit area, Fett had given him another

  insight into the way Cradossk's mind worked. The

  Trandoshan had always been paranoid, long before he had

  clawed to the top of the Bounty Hunters Guild. Arguably,

  a personality trait like that was what had enabled him to

  do it, or had at least helped. Hard on his associates,

  though, figured Zuckuss.

  "But first," said Cradossk, "we'll get rid of the

  obvious targets. The ones who have already announced

  their intentions, to either take over the Guild or split

  from it and set up a new bounty-hunters organization of

  their own. As if I'd ever let that happen."

  Zuckuss and the others returning from Circum-tore had

  already heard about these developments over the Slave I's

  comm unit. The breakaway faction was eager to get as many

  Guild members onto its side as possible-especially the

  great Boba Fett and anyone associated with him. Just

  having been on the team Fett had assembled for the Oph

  Nar Dinnid job meant that Zuckuss and IG-88 were now

  being heavily courted by the bounty hunters who wanted to

  go out on their own, with an organization that wasn't

  controlled by the elders such as Cradossk. Always

  pleasant to be wanted, he supposed-as long as Cradossk

  and his loyalists didn't get the notion that he had

  switched allegiances.

  "All of them?" It would be better, Zuckuss figured,

  if he kept the old Trandoshan brooding about creatures

  who weren't here in his chamber with him. "I mean-like

  you said-some of them have been with the Bounty Hunters

  Guild for a long time. Since the beginning; or at least,

  since you took over."

  "Those are the ones I'm going to enjoy getting rid

  of." An ugly smile showed on Cradossk's face, as though

  he were already relishing the details of that process.

  "The younger bounty hunters could a
lmost be excused for

  being stupid. They haven't been around long enough to

  know any better. But the others, the veteran bounty

  hunters, who've thrown in their lot with them-they could

  have predicted how I'd react to their treachery, their

  assault upon the sanctity of our brotherhood."

  Zuckuss rolled his eyes upward; it was just as well

  that Cradossk couldn't see that reaction. He'd found out

  that brotherhood with carnivores, at least of the

  Trandoshan variety, was a negotiable concept.

  "There's big changes coming," said Cradossk.

  "Everybody who's said that has been right-and will

  continue to be so. The Bounty Hunters Gui ld will be

  different from what it was before; this galaxy belongs to

  Emperor Palpatine now, and we'll just have to deal with

  that. If this breakaway faction had just bided" their

  time and remained loyal to the Guild, they very likely

  would have gotten everything they want."

  "Except," Zuckuss pointed out, "for getting rid of

  you."

  Cradossk shot him a glance of venomous fury, enough

  to push him back a step with its intangible force.

  "That's right," he growled. "That's the one thing that's

  not going to happen. Count on it. The Bounty Hunters

  Guild is going to be a lot smaller than it was before-a

  lot of dead wood is going to be cleared away. I admit I

  should've seen it sooner, myself; that some of the elders

  in the organization have lost their edge. Well, they'll

  be gone before very much longer, whether they made the

  mistake of going with the breakaway faction or whether

  they're still sucking up to me. There's going to be a lot

  of blank spaces in the organizational chart; that means

  room for advancement. Room for someone . . . like you."

  He reached over and tapped a claw against Zuckuss's

  chest, right below the dangling tubes of the breathing

  apparatus. "A smart, young bounty hunter such as yourself

  could do pretty well. If you play your cards right."

  "I'll ... try to do my best."

  "Ah, don't worry about it." Cradossk pulled the claw

  back and scratched his scaly chin. "The main thing you

  have to do is-be careful who you choose to follow, and

  who you choose as your associates. You've made a good

  start by letting yourself become a tool of my intentions.

  Don't screw it all up by thinking you can also be friends

  with . . . certain other parties."