by K. W. Jeter
spot of rust from le-XE's dented carapace. "You
know"-SHSl-B's voice spoke with measured
consideration-"you could use a little maintenance. . . ."
21
He hated to do it. But Bossk knew he had to.
The greed impulses in his Trandoshan brain, as
hardwired as any droid's circuits, almost overruled all
the others. He could hear the words inside his head,
ancient bounty-hunter wisdom, told to him by his own
father The live ones are worth more than the dead ones.
Old Cradossk had known what he was talking about, at
least about that; whenever Bossk ran his clawed hands
along the picked-clean bones he'd kept as mementos, he
had a renewed sense of legacy and tradition. But even so,
another truth remained, equally hard and obdurate. Things
were different when you were dealing with a creature like
Boba Fett.
On the screen of the Hound's Tooth's longdistance
scanner, in the cramped cockpit, Bossk could see the tiny
speck of light that represented Fett's ship. The Slave I
had already left the surface of Tatooine, as Bossk had
known it would. Soon- within seconds-it would be beyond
the planet's atmosphere, and then it would be within his
own sighting and tracking range. That was how little time
Bossk had remaining to him to press the button beneath
his clawed thumb and accomplish all that was
necessary. No time for rethinking his decisions or
regretting lost profits.
He had been back aboard Slave I, extracting a few
more interesting files from its data bank, when the comm
controls had lit up like the bright sparks of a
disintegrating asteroid. That could mean only one thing
that the message about Boba Fett being alive was true,
and that he had just reinitiated contact with the ship
that he had left in orbit above Tatooine. Bossk had also
known what was to follow. Slave I would obediently follow
Boba Fett's remote-transmitted commands, switch on and
prime its engines, and head down to Tatooine to
rendezvous with its master. And then Boba Fett would not
only be alive, but free and active in the galaxy once
again. Free and active-and the top, number-one bounty
hunter on all the galaxy's scattered worlds.
Bossk could still feel the rage and fear that had
come boiling up inside him. Rage was a familiar
emotion-Trandoshans woke up angry-but fear was something
new. And powerful it had pushed him into action, quick
and efficient.
He hadn't wasted any thought on the mysteries that
had been so tantalizingly uncovered to him. If the rich
and powerful Kuat of Kuat was interested in Boba Fett
being alive or dead, so be it; Bossk might still be able
to cash in by confirming it to the owner of Kuat Drive
Yards. And if there was some connection between Prince
Xizor, the Black Sun's hidden ruler, and the raid on the
moisture farm at the Dune Sea's edge . . . the answers
about that weren't going to come from Boba Fett. Bossk
would make sure of that.
There had been just enough time to haul a sufficient
quantity of high-thermal explosives over from the Hound's
Tooth, conceal them in the holding cages of Fett's ship,
and rig the remote triggering device. Then Bossk had
sealed the entrance hatchway of Slave I, disconnected his
own ship, and watched from his cockpit viewport as the
other craft had sped planet-ward.
Now that ship was heading back into space, bearing
its helmeted master. The speck of light had grown larger;
another second, and Bossk would have waited too long. All
regret was expunged from his heart. He pressed the button
on the cockpit's control panel. Instantaneously, the
ominous light was transformed into a ball of churning
flame, surrounded by extinguishing vacuum. Radiant
sparks, bits of heated metal no bigger than a human's
hand, drifted away from the core of the explosion, the
dust and atoms of the other ship.
Bossk leaned back in the pilot's chair, feeling ex
hausted as the tension began to drain from his coiled
muscles. That does it, he thought with relief. Boba
Fett's dead now. For good . . .
No regrets; he knew it had to be done.
But one thing still puzzled Bossk as he gazed out at
the emptiness between the stars.
Why did he still feel afraid?