Slave Ship

5

"I've never been here before," said the emissary from the Bounty Hunters Guild." Though, of course, it's been described to me many times."

"How flattering it is to me to be the auditory recipient of such notice." Kud'ar Mub'at folded another pair of his chitinous, spike-haired legs around himself." To be spoken of in the corridors and nooks of the galaxy's intrigues and powers-such a pleasure! Always!"

The compound lenses of the arachnoid assembler's eyes watched in amusement as the Guild's emissary tried to keep from actually touching any of the web's fibrous-and living-structure. Silly creature, thought Kud'ar Mub'at; the amusement it felt was easily concealed behind its own narrow, triangular face. That was one of the advantages the assembler had over the members of nearly all the galaxy's sentient species: it could read them as easily as a primitive ink-and-paper datasheet, while its own emotions and calculations remained a masked enigma to them.

Kud'ar Mub'at supposed that was why he'd al

ways enjoyed dealing with the bounty hunter Boba Fett. With that visored mask on, the helmet of the Mandalorian armor he bore, Fett was a constant challenge to decipher and manipulate. A worthy opponent, mused the assembler. Even if he was already fated to lose, enmeshed in a larger, invisible, and inescapable web. . .

"You'll have to excuse me, if I seem a little. . . uncomfortable." The emissary's name was Gleed Otondon; his host couldn't tell from what miserably harsh outlying world he had originated, but it was obviously one that produced impressively bulky and well-equipped residents at the top of its food chain-the emissary was all leather-encased muscles with a horn-spiked skull and proboscis atop. His clawed hands twitched against his knees as he overwhelmed the guest's chair near Kud'ar Mub'at's thronelike nest. He glanced again at the densely intertwined fibers arching over his head." Are you sure this place is airtight?"

"My dear and most precious Gleed-allay your fears." If outright laughter had been in the repertoire of the assembler's emotional responses, Kud'ar Mub'at might not have been able to restrain itself." Reasonable as those apprehensions might be, I assure you that they are most unnecessary." Perhaps even a little insulting, though the assembler kept that reaction to itself. It signaled to one of its corporeal-maintenance subnodes, a miniature version of its own spidery form. The wave of an upraised leg-tip was actually unnecessary; the little node was tethered to the assembler's own central nervous system-as were all the living bits and pieces of the web, the partially differentiated inhabitants that Kud'ar Mub'at had spun from his own inmost being." But I'll check, just to be sure for my most esteemed visitor."

Gleed Otondon shrank back, as though trying to hide inside his own body armor, as the summoned node scuttled past his shoulders, trailing a whitely glistening filament of neural connector tissue behind itself. The node perched alertly on the angle of Kud'ar Mub'at's outstretched leg.

"Yes yes?" The node was all eagerness; it had been one of the assembler's favorite creations, though the bouncy mannerisms were starting to wear thin now." What can I do do do for you you?" And the echoing whole-word stutter in its vocal circuits was definitely annoying. Kud'ar Mub'at made a personal mental note, in the unshared segment of its own cerebral cortex, to eliminate that flaw with the subnode's successor, after this one had been reingested." Anything at all all?"

The curved walls of the web's central chamber seemed to move and shift, all of the gathered subnodes turning the varying levels of their communal consciousness toward the discussion taking place in their midst. A general alert had gone out over the web's neural fibers as to just how important these meetings were. Underneath a few dangling nodes, Gleed Otondon cringed at the sight of the bustling, enveloping activity.

"A status report, please." Kud'ar Mub'at made a show of giving orders to the subnode clinging to its extended leg. That was all for their visitor's benefit as well; there was no real need for courtesies being extended to things that were as much a part of the assembler as its own segmented abdomen and thorax." Regarding our dear little home's atmospheric pressure-is all as it should be, pray tell?"

The subnode was silent for a few seconds as it shifted its minimal nervous system into communication with the rest of the web's bioengineering and homeostasis-maintenance nodes. Their wordless back-and-forth conference evoked a tingling sensation inside the tactile processors of Kud'ar Mub'at's central cortex. For a moment, it could feel the interlaced network of the web's outer sheath, as though its soft-abdomened body had expanded to the limits of its sensory perceptions.

Drifting amid the stars' cold points of light, the web's ropelike strands were studded with functioning scraps of various machines and spacecraft. Those bits and pieces were the only ones that the assembler hadn't spun itself but had incorporated into its extended being, usually as the final payments due from one extortionate scheme or another. The foreclosed-upon debtors were usually expelled through one of the web's annular exit ports, to deal with the vacuum as best they could. Kud'ar Mub'at's interest in them ceased at that point; the assembler thought it morbidly uncouth to collect scraps of corpses as trophies, the way those reptilian Trandoshans did.

"Normal pressure loss experienced-" At Kud'ar Mub'at's direction, one of the skittering voice-box subnodes took over from its exterior-maintenance web-cousin, still sitting on their parents' spider-jointed leg. The stutterless voice box dangled within inches of Gleed Otondon's head; the emissary regarded it with evident dismay." During reception of visitors and transfer from docking vessels, atmospheric generation stepped up two levels over subsequent time period, per standing orders for perimeter breach procedures." The voice-box node fell silent for a few seconds as it received more data from the exterior sensors. The voice-box nodes were little more than articulating mouths and imbedded vocal cords; they didn't possess enough separate memory to hold more than a few sentences at a time." Internal web pressure currently at ninety-five percent of optimum volume; one hundred percent optimum within next hour."

"There. You see?" Kud'ar Mub'at gestured with its extended leg. The assembler spoke rapidly, to keep its visitor from thinking about and commenting upon the one word-" vessels," in the plural-that the voice-box node had let slip. That's the problem, thought Kud'ar Mub'at, when you don't give your underlings enough brains to think with." Nothing at all to worry about."

"If you say so." The emissary from the Bounty Hunters Guild looked only slightly reassured.

The real worries, as always, belonged to Kud'ar Mub'at. Life itself, mused the assembler, is a burden. It was a constant temptation to design and create the web's subnodes with enough cortical matter to render them capable of independent thought and action; that would have taken a great deal of the load off the assembler's multiple shoulders. It might also, Kud'ar Mub'at reminded himself, take my head off those shoulders. The web had come to Kud'ar Mub'at as its inheritance, upon the death-murder, actually-of the arachnoid assembler that had spawned it. That might have been right and proper-Kud'ar Mub'at had never felt any guilt over the matter-but at the same time, it had no intention of making the same mistake itself, as its creator had.

"Ah, but I do say so." Kud'ar Mub'at enacted a semblance of a gracious humanoid bow, spreading wide two of its jointed legs and bending forward, eye-studded head lowered. The shifting of the assembler's weight momentarily lifted its pallid, wobbling abdomen from the living nest beneath; the concave subnode sighed and put its minimal intelligence to the task of reinflating its cushionlike bladder parts. " I make every effort for the comfort of my so highly esteemed guests. Such as yourself. Even if it did not facilitate the flowing conduct of business, I would still feel it incumbent upon me to do so, honored as I am by your presence."

"Don't bother." The emissary's unease shifted to annoyance. With a visible display of will, Gleed Otondon regained control of himself." I've been informed about all your flattering language." His eyes narrowed into a focus of distrust." It won't work on me."

Ah, thought Kud'ar Mub'at to himself, keeping his satisfaction hidden. But it already has. One way or another. . .

"I'm sure," soothed Kud'ar Mub'at," that you don't mean that in a hostile way. But of course, if you wanted to, that would be fine with me as well. I try to be accommodating, as I hope you've seen." The assembler settled himself back down into the nest sub-node's soft embrace." May I prevail upon you for a very small, inconsequential kindness? If you'll excuse me for a moment, I must confer with a few of my tiny minions. Trifles, mere details; such an annoyance."

None of Kud'ar Mub'at's multiple eyes had lids, but a slight opacity filmed over their bright beadlike surfaces as the assembler relaxed their focus. It tucked its legs around itself as a further indication of having withdrawn its attention. One of its tiniest creations, an optical subnode barely bigger than a humanoid thumb, peered out from behind a tangle of the web's structural fibers. An unsheathed neural strand, white as spidersilk, conveyed a sharp image of the Guild emissary to the parent assembler's cortex. Gleed Otondon looked grumpy and uncomfortable, obviously irritated by even the slightest delay in taking care of business.

Let him stew awhile, decided Kud'ar Mub'at. The assembler's full consciousness had already siphoned along the connecting neural fibers to another part of the web.

And to another visitor.

"You look different," said the Trandoshan bounty hunter." From the last time I was here at the web."

"Ah, my dear and most esteemed Bossk." The web's owner and creator, the arachnoid assembler Kud'ar Mub'at, traced a gesture with one upraised leg, signifying a galaxy's worth of hard-won wisdom and regret." You are still in the prime of a vigorous youthfulness. Is that not so? Whereas I myself. . ." The points of the tiny claws at the end of the leg tapped against a chitinous segment of exoskeletal carapace, just beneath the assembler's triangular face, and where a heart would have been if its anatomy were closer to humanoid or reptilian." I grow old and tired. Just as your beloved father Cradossk did, may his memory be enshrined among the stars."

"Yeah, well, the old lizard isn't going to get any older now. That's for sure." A glow of satisfaction kindled in Bossk's own scale-covered breast. His father's bones, gnawed and picked clean, rested in Bossk's trophy chamber, where he could gloat and meditate over them, anytime he wished. Served him right, thought Bossk, grinding his fangs together as though retasting the memories of his predecessor. With Trandoshans, death was the penalty, not just for getting old and tired, but for getting in the way of the next generation-Bossk, specifically. If his father Cradossk hadn't tried to hold on so tightly to the leadership of the Bounty Hunters Guild, things might not have gone so gruesomely for him. Or perhaps they might have; recycling the protein and other constituents of one's elders was such a time-honored tradition among their species, it would have seemed a shame not to have carried it on, even if Cradossk had graciously surrendered the Guild's leadership to his heir Bossk." He was a tough old lizard," mused Bossk aloud. His tongue traced the broken point of one of his own fangs." In a lot of ways. . ."

"Deep is the measure of my own reminiscing," said the assembler," when I recall your father Cradossk. Many were the dealings I had with him; much business did we do together. And most of it was highly and mutually profitable, I assure you."

"Believe me-I know all about that." Bossk folded his arms across his chest; his elbow nudged one of his holstered blaster pistols." I was in on a lot of that business. The profitable stuff-and the unprofitable."

"Ah. What can I say?" Two of Kud'ar Mub'at's legs lifted in an approximation of a shrug." It's a dangerous galaxy in which we live. Poor, struggling creatures that we are. Not everything works out as planned, does it?"

That's the truth, brooded Bossk. He had long harbored the notion-more than that, a cherished dream-that when he took over the Bounty Hunters Guild from his father's faltering claws, he would inherit a powerful and united organization, one that he would be able to rebuild into the dominant semilegal force among all the inhabited worlds. It could have been bigger than the great criminal syndicate Black Sun, inasmuch as the Guild had the ability to operate on both sides of the Empire's laws. Criminal overlords such as Jabba the Hutt hired bounty hunters, as did Emperor Palpatine, by way of his various underlings. In that sense, bounty hunters had always operated as sanctioned lawbreakers, to the degree that their clients either didn't care about or turned a blind eye to whatever methods were used to bring in the merchandise. Just as long as the job gets done, thought Bossk. It was a sweet arrangement. . . or had been.

The Trandoshan's musings turned bitter. Real sweet. . . Bossk nodded slowly. Until Boba Fett screwed it up. Not for himself-but for the Bounty Hunters Guild. And worst of all: for Bossk.

"You seem pensive," commented Kud'ar Mub'at, nesting across from where Bossk sat." And so unfortunately melancholy. How that grieves me! Perhaps it would be better if we let the past be the past. And let go of those thorny memories that impinge upon the tender flesh of our bosoms."

"Easy for you to say," growled Bossk. As far as he could tell, nothing was poking at the assembler's globular abdomen hard enough to draw blood. Whereas he could just about taste his own, filling his mouth. It was in Kud'ar Mub'at's nature to have profited from the debacle that had befallen the Bounty Hunters Guild; Bossk wasn't exactly sure how the assembler might have gained from it, but he was sure that it had happened. No wonder the spidery creature could be so gracious; it was doing all right, as it always had. But for himself and the Guild. . .

Properly speaking, it wasn't even" the" Bounty Hunters Guild; not anymore, at least. That was more of Boba Fett's doing, the tragic result of having let him into the Guild in the first place-a perfect example of how senile old Cradossk had gotten, for him to have fallen for that gambit. Bossk had been suspicious of Boba Fett's intentions from the beginning. And his suspicions had turned out to be accurate: the outcome of Fett's joining the Bounty Hunters Guild had been to split the organization into two, neither one of them as powerful as the original, and both factions locked in combat with each other. One faction-the True Guild, as it called itself-was led by the elders that had been the original Guild's governing council behind Bossk's father Cradossk. The other faction was primarily made up of the younger Guild members, who had chafed for so long underneath the increasingly slow and inept leadership of the bold bounty hunters, and who had seized upon the internecine turmoil created by Boba Fett as their chance to break away and form a new organization.

Bossk had thrown his lot in with the latter group, the Guild Reform Committee. It was a committee in name only; group leadership had ceased upon the Trandoshan's assumption of its chairman position-now it was more of an efficient and brutal one-creature dictatorship, the exact image of what he had always intended the original Bounty Hunters Guild would become when his father Cradossk died. And it will be, Bossk had vowed. There was no room in the galaxy for two rival bounty hunter organizations; one of them would have to be exterminated. When that was taken care of-and Bossk had already set into motion his plans for accomplishing that particular task-then the Committee would resume the name of Bounty Hunters Guild. The one and only. . .

He had already removed a few personal obstacles to his control of the committee; if the bodies of some of the younger bounty hunters turned up in deliberately conspicuous places, it only served to illustrate the consequences of objecting to Bossk's one-creature, top-of-the-food-chain management style. And if some-quite a number, actually-of the Guild Reform Committee's rank-and-file decided that it was safer to go over to the old, stodgy True Guild, then Bossk considered it no great loss to his organization. Or to his plans. Who needs them? Bossk had long ago decided that it would be better to have fewer bounty hunters on his side, as long as they were also the tougher and more bloodthirsty and credits-hungry ones.

That had been the problem with the old Bounty Hunters Guild, one that he wasn't going to repeat when he had finished his campaign to take over and install himself as the head of what should have been his rightful inheritance all along. There had been just too many bounty hunters in the original Guild; sheer numbers had kept individual profits down, as well as making the whole organization slow and inefficient. It was small wonder that a private, non-Guild operator such as Boba Fett had been able to steal all their action. And even less of a wonder that when Fett had applied for membership in the Bounty Hunters Guild-and had been accepted by that fool Cradossk and his council of advisers-he had been able to split the organization into fragments in hardly any time at all. Those other Guild members, brooded Bossk, they just weren't up to Boba Fett's speed. They had fallen for Boba Fett's smooth line of talk-all that business about what the future was going to be like, and how they all had to work together-and they had suffered the consequences. The old Bounty Hunters Guild had been the only place where some-or even most-of those types had been able to survive. . . and without it, they were dead meat.

There weren't many, out of the number that had gone over to the True Guild faction, that Bossk wasn't going to let back into the reconstituted Bounty Hunters Guild. He had other plans for them, and their names on a list that he kept securely locked inside his head. Before it was all done, there would be quite a few corpses showing up in places where the right creatures would find out about them. Some might get dumped in the unlit doorway of the Mos Eisley cantina, back on that hole of a planet Tatooine. The silent bodies of onetime bounty hunters would serve as an effective message to all concerned: that Bossk was in business, and in charge of that business. All the galaxy's creatures-whether they were underlings of Emperor Palpatine or criminals in league with Black Sun, Huttese independent operators or members of the Rebel Alliance-if they wanted to do business with the Bounty Hunters Guild, they would have to deal with Bossk, and on his terms. And those terms would be rough for them-all of them-and sweet, and profitable, for Bossk. He had already decided that.

But right now, he had other business to take care of. With an internal push of will, Bossk ended his idle-but pleasant-imaginings. Time enough later, he thought, for all that. After his own plans and schemes had come to glorious fulfillment. There would be a lot of bones added to Bossk's memory chamber-including those of his archrival Boba Fett. That severed skull would be a particularly fine trophy, encased in its dark-visored helmet of a Mandalorian armor. But right now, if all those plans were to bear fruit, Bossk had to attend to his present business, no matter how unpleasant the surroundings. And repellent the creature to whom he had to speak.

Kud'ar Mub'at's high-pitched voice cut through the last fragments of the Trandoshan's reverie." Please," spoke the assembler," consider yourself under no unseemly obligation to hurry. At least, do not do so for my benefit. As your humble servant, I wait upon your convenience."

"Yeah, right." Bossk focused his slit-pupiled gaze on the arachnoid squatting across from him, its spidery legs tucked around the pale globe of its abdomen. He was already wondering if there was some

way to include Kud'ar Mub'at in his plans, so that the assembler's hollowed-out exoskeleton wound up among his other trophies.

Kud'ar Mub'at watched. . . and approved.

The assembler's most trusted creation, the accountant subnode named Balancesheet, was doing a good job of handling the Trandoshan bounty hunter Bossk. Balancesheet took care of so many things now; the subnode's responsibilities had expanded far beyond those for which Kud'ar Mub'at had designed it. Simple number-crunching and tracking the ebb and flow of credits in the web's coffers-Kud'ar Mub'at should have known from the beginning, when he had just spun Balancesheet's essential brain matter from the assembler's own neurocortex, that the subnode would eventually turn out this way. It's just like me, thought Kud'ar Mub'at with an unavoidable trace of parental pride. Cold and calculating, and so nicely devious.

Deviousness was called for, when one had twice as many visitors to the web-and twice as much business to conduct-as a single entity could take care of. Even as versatile and multitasking a creature as the arachnoid assembler had its limits. Plus there were additional difficulties with this particular pair of visitors: much trouble would ensue if either one found out that Kud'ar Mub'at was engaged in talks with the other. Gleed Otondon was here representing the interests of the True Guild, the loyalist faction of the now-splintered Bounty Hunters Guild, and Bossk. . .

Bossk represents himself, thought Kud'ar Mub'at with an inward, appreciative smile. Any other claim was a useful fiction, both for the Trandoshan and any other creature doing business with him. The Guild Reform Committee's members might have been fooled, but Kud'ar Mub'at wasn't. Bossk was an ambitious and ruthless individual, much as his father Cradossk had been before advancing age had rendered the elder Trandoshan slow and gullible-and dead, at the claws of his own offspring.

Using the neural feed from the optical subnode perched in one of the web's smaller chambers, Kud'ar Mub'at viewed Bossk-and itself. The latter was also a useful fiction, though Bossk certainly wasn't aware of it. Some time ago, years or even decades of Standard Time Units, the assembler had shed its external carapace but hadn't discarded the hollow replica of itself. Kud'ar Mub'at had decided there might be other uses for the empty exoskeleton, and had even spun out from itself enough neurofiber and simple muscular tissue to turn its former shell into a controllable likeness of its own physical form. The masquerade was completed when the clever accountant subnode Balancesheet proved itself capable of crawling inside the shell, linking up to the neurofibers' synaptic receptor points, and performing a passable imitation of its creator, the original Kud'ar Mub'at. Right down to my ornate language, Kud'ar Mub'at had judged. Such an apt pupil! The assembler's own calculating nature was tinged for a moment with a warming emotional glow, a phenomenon otherwise unknown to him.

The simulated Kud'ar Mub'at, the carapace with the subnode Balancesheet inside, made its excuses to the grumbling Trandoshan. A moment later, the real Kud'ar Mub'at felt the tickle of the subnode's consciousness, like a tug on the neurofiber connecting them.

Well done. Kud'ar Mub'at directed its own thoughts toward the subnode. You have this bounty hunter completely deceived.

Balancesheet responded with appropriate and becoming modesty. Your praise is unearned. It was easy. He wishes to believe the things he hears. My speaking is but your words in another mouth.

But nevertheless-performed with meritorious acuity. Kud'ar Mub'at had never lavished such words or thoughts on any of his other subnodes; that would have been like praising one of the compound eyes in the inverted triangle of its head or one of his multi-jointed legs, or any other mere part of itself. For that was all that the subnodes were, mere created extensions of the assembler's self. To make such statements about the little accountant subnode only indicated how different Balancesheet was from the others in the web, and how much Kud'ar Mub'at had come to depend upon it.

Another emotion, that of anticipated regret, welled up inside Kud'ar Mub'at's chitin-mantled breast. I'll miss it when it's gone. That thought was carefully kept from the subnode. Kud'ar Mub'at had no intention of letting Balancesheet discover the fate planned for it. The assembler had already decided that the accountant subnode's days were numbered, no matter how useful and important it had become. The mere fact that Balancesheet had evolved and taken on such importance, becoming Kud'ar Mub'at's most valuable creation, sealed its doom. Balancesheet already had developed more intelligence and independent volition than all of the web's other subnodes combined-that was why it could handle such a task as imitating Kud'ar Mub'at, from inside the otherwise empty carapace.

In the far reaches of Kud'ar Mub'at's memory, before it had become the galaxy's leading fixer, arranger, and go-between for the various worlds' criminal and semicriminal elements, it could remember having become just as valuable for the affairs of its predecessor, the arachnoid assembler that had spawned it as a mere subnode. That predecessor had wound up making the mistake that Kud'ar Mub'at had sworn not to repeat, that of letting one of its creations become too intelligent and independent. However valuable and convenient such a node's services might be, they weren't worth the price of eventual rebellion, mutiny, and murder. Patricide might be in the natural order of things for some species, an inevitable segment of the passage from one generation to the next-that was the way it was for Trandoshans like Bossk, from all reports. Whether it was the same for assemblers such as itself, Kud'ar Mub'at had no idea. The only other member of its species that Kud'ar Mub'at had known had been the one that had created it and that it had murdered and consumed in turn.

Those acts had seemed natural enough-or at least easy and satisfying-when Kud'ar Mub'at had done them. Sometimes though, in the web's dark and silent drifting between stars, in those brief intervals when there was no business to be conducted, the assembler allowed itself to wonder if it might be the exception, an aberration from the natural order. Perhaps its millennia-old predecessor had grown old and tired, and had created and groomed its chosen successor with an innate capacity to rebel, kill, consume, and usurp. Perhaps it hadn't been rebellion so much as fulfillment. The notion didn't bother Kud'ar Mub'at; in fact, it gave the assembler a little glimmer of hope, deep inside itself. Perhaps Kud'ar Mub'at could trust the little accountant subnode named Balancesheet, no matter how smart and independent it had evolved to be; perhaps Kud'ar Mub'at wouldn't have to destroy this most precious and worthy of all his creations, ingest its matter and spin out a new bookkeeping subnode, but one that could never replace dear little Balancesheet. . .

Kud'ar Mub'at pushed those thoughts away, as it had done so many times before. I can't allow it. Thoughts such as those were not the cold and precise calculations by which it had reached its present position of real if hidden power and influence. Kud'ar Mub'at knew that any emotions, even those directed toward its most faithful subnodes, constituted a trap. A trap with Kud'ar Mub'at's own death loaded into the catch of its spring.

Better it than me, Kud'ar Mub'at had already decided. Even though the assembler was connected by neural strands to all the web's subnodes, it didn't consider the whole lot of them to be identical with its own precious self. With the viewpoint from the dangling optical node, Kud'ar Mub'at regarded its own shed exoskeleton; the smaller form of Balancesheet, like a miniature version of its creator, was just barely visible, if one knew to look, behind the glossy transparency of the carapace's compound eyes. How sad, thought Kud'ar Mub'at. With intelligence came deceit. It was ever thus, Kud'ar Mub'at supposed, inside the web and throughout that larger galaxy beyond it.

Nevertheless, the resolve to eliminate the accountant subnode had to be delayed, at least for a little while. Necessarily so, and not out of mere weakening sentiment; at this stage in the complicated plans regarding Boba Fett and the remnants of the former Bounty Hunters Guild, the assistance of little Balance-sheet was still required. Kud'ar Mub'at knew the dangers of the game it was playing. When the pawns on the gameboard were like the Trandoshan Bossk, the results of one's deceptive maneuvers being found out were inevitably fatal, and in the most unpleasant manner possible. Bossk didn't yet know-and Kud'ar Mub'at was determined that he never would-that Boba Fett wasn't the only creature involved in the breakup of the old Bounty Hunters Guild. The scheme hadn't originated with Kud'ar Mub'at either, but had been brought to the assembler by that veritable eminence among plotters and double-dealers, Prince Xizor.

The Falleen noble was an altogether different type of creature from the so-easily hoodwinked Bossk. Both Falleens and Trandoshans were reptilian species, and equally cold-blooded. But a hot-tempered streak diluted the chill of Trandoshan blood; given the choice between successful scheming and disastrous violence, a creature such as Bossk would always go for the latter option. With Prince Xizor, as with all Falleens, nothing raised the temperature of his moods-the emotions that ran hot in other creatures, whether lust or other violence, were merely tools of Xizor's precise and merciless mind. That was what Kud'ar Mub'at appreciated the most about doing business with him. When Xizor had been here at the web, laying out the scheme against the Bounty Hunters Guild, Kud'ar Mub'at had perceived more than a mere business associate in the Falleen. Xizor at least was a worthy opponent on the other side of the gameboard.

This one, however

Another thought leaked into Kud'ar Mub'at's central cortex. A moment passed before the assembler realized the thought wasn't its own.

This one, came Balancesheet's unspoken words, is too easy.

Another moment, as Kud'ar Mub'at recovered from its surprise. The accountant subnode's thoughts had broken into Kud'ar Mub'at's own, entirely unbidden. That had never happened before. And it had been in response to Kud'ar Mub'at's interior musing about the differences between Trandoshans and Falleens. Those thoughts, the contrast between Bossk and Prince Xizor, had not been directed out along the web's neural pathways, toward the subnode hidden inside Kud'ar Mub'at's discarded exoskeleton.

It was listening, thought Kud'ar Mub'at. To me. And then Kud'ar Mub'at was unable to keep from wondering if the subnode had heard that thought as well.

Kud'ar Mub'at stilled all its thoughts, creating a perfect silence inside itself. For a few moments, all it did was wait and watch, letting the image from the optical node fill the momentary vacuum of its consciousness.

What would you have me do now?

Balancesheet had spoken again, the words forming inside Kud'ar Mub'at's cortex, as real as the assembler's own thoughts. Across from the sheltering carapace, the bounty hunter Bossk sat in the web chamber, unaware of the silent conversation taking place.

Only a few seconds had passed since the accountant subnode, pretending to be Kud'ar Mub'at, had made its excuses to the bounty hunter Bossk. Given the impatient nature of all Trandoshans, it was probably not a good idea to make him wait much longer. Kud'ar Mub'at regained enough of his internal composure to address the waiting Balancesheet.

Proceed with the negotiations, spoke Kud'ar Mub'at along the neurofibers connecting him to the subnode. The Trandoshan's confidence has obviously been gained, due to the excellence of your masquerade performance. Kud'ar Mub'at kept the tone of its thoughts carefully unemotional and controlled, suppressing any sign of anxiety or suspicion on its part. If that is easy for you, so much the better.

The subnode's response held the same apparent lack of emotion. As you wish, thought Balancesheet, and as you so wisely instructed me.

For a few seconds longer, Kud'ar Mub'at watched via the optical node in the smaller chamber as the disguised Balancesheet resumed its cajoling flattery of the Trandoshan Bossk. The assembler kept its own thoughts hidden, disconnected from the strands that might have conveyed them to the accountant subnode or any other that Kud'ar Mub'at had created. Its resolve, that it had already made regarding the fate of Balancesheet, was even stronger now.

As soon as this business with the Bounty Hunters Guild is over, Kud'ar Mub'at assured itself. Definitely. The assembler allowed its consciousness to flow back from the extended neural fibers of its web and recondense in its own body. Kud'ar Mub'at was once again aware of the main web chamber surrounding itself, where it had left Gleed Otondon, the True Guild's emissary, waiting. Better safe than sorry. . .

"It's about time," Gleed Otondon grumbled as the assembler raised its head and blinked its multiple eyes." I don't have endless Standard Time Units to waste on this matter."

"An infinity of apologies. My most profound regrets." Kud'ar Mub'at rearranged itself into the gently sighing, accommodating nest. The assembler performed another imitation of a humanoid bow, lowering the narrow triangle of its head before the visitor." Farthest from my mind is any wish to seem other than entirely honored by your presence; believe me."

"Let's just try to wrap this up." The assembler's flowery language produced a sour expression on Otondon's sharply angled muzzle." There's really only one basic issue that needs to be settled. And it's a simple one. Are you with us or not?"

"Pardon?" Kud'ar Mub'at spread wide two of its front legs." What is the precise meaning of-'with'? I don't mean to imply that your words are not of pristine clarity, but-"

"Stow it. ' Gleed Otondon's irritation was obvious." You know what the score is. There are two factions that came out of the Bounty Hunters Guild, and there's only going to be one left, eventually. And the True Guild plans on making sure it's the one that survives."

"But of course," said Kud'ar Mub'at with a semblance of a smile on its triangular face." Survival is such a lovely virtue. I've practiced it throughout the course of my existence."

"Then you'll want to go on practicing it, I bet." Gleed Otondon leaned forward, his hard glare reflected in the assembler's multiple eyes." And the best way to do that is to make sure you're on our side. The True Guild isn't going to feel very friendly toward anyone who didn't help it put the Bounty Hunters Guild back together again. Those renegades in that so-called Guild Reform Committee-they're dead meat. And that's what will happen to anybody else who gets too cozy with them." Otondon turned his head to one side, peering more closely at the assembler across from him." Just how cozy are you with Bossk and that bunch of his?"

"My dear Gleed." With its upraised forelegs, Kud'ar Mub'at made a fluttering gesture." I understand the appropriate nature of your inquiry, but I am a trifle shocked by it, nevertheless. Suspicion is all very fine-in your trade, it's certainly a necessity-but I've never before been suspected of being an idiot. I do know how things work in this galaxy."

"I thought you might." Otondon's smile was made even uglier with its suggestion of brotherly conspiracy." You really aren't an idiot, are you?"

But you might very well be. Kud'ar Mub'at kept his response unspoken." I have not reached the advanced age and influential position that I possess by making poor choices as to friends and alliances." The assembler tapped the claws at the ends of his forelegs together." So you and the others in the True Guild-and of course I regret not having the opportunity and the pleasure to address each and every one of them directly-may rest in the utmost assurance that I am, as you say, 'with' them in this regard. And while the bonds of friendship and the great admiration I have for such eminent and respected bounty hunters as the members of the True Guild would naturally dictate such a response on my part, I would like to ease and reassure your mind even further. It's good business as well, my dear Gleed." The assembler refolded its legs around its cushion-cradled abdomen." Business that I wish to continue carrying out in the future, as mutually profitable as it has been in the past."

"I don't know about 'mutual, '" grumbled the True Guild's emissary." It always seemed to put more credits in your coffers than ours."

"How grievously wounded I am to hear you say such a thing." Kud'ar Mub'at let himself sink down into the soft embrace of its nest, the better to indicate its mortification." Perhaps, at that happy time to come, when the upstarts have been so righteously and inevitably vanquished and the original Bounty Hunters Guild has been restored in all its glory, then we can go over our account books together and come to a financial reconciliation." The assembler's voice became even more soothing." If you yourself were to feel that you had suffered some personal hardship, you and I could talk about it. . . privately. Yes?"

Otondon scratched his elongated chin." Are you talking bribery?"

"Oh! That's such a crude word, don't you think?" Kud'ar Mub'at shook its head." I prefer to regard such practices as merely a matter of making our friendship-the one between just you and me-even more satisfying than it has been already. And of course, as a matter of friendship, if you were to return to the other members of the True Guild, whose interests you so ably represent, and you were to assure them of the avidity with which I wish to maintain business interests with them. . ."

"Yeah, yeah; I understand what you're getting at." Otondon gave a slow nod." But I'm not going to do anything like that if it isn't true. The bit about you wanting to stay hooked up with the True Guild, and not having anything to do with Bossk and that Guild Reform Committee bunch."

"But, my dear Gleed, that is the truth." The assembler lifted one of its forelegs into the air with a dramatic flourish." I swear it. Absolutely and unconditionally." Kud'ar Mub'at tucked the leg back with the others around itself." That's not the sort of thing about which I'd even be capable of prevaricating."

"It'd better be true," said Otondon grimly." Because it wouldn't be worth my life to tell the other True Guild members that you're with us, and then have them find out that you had handed us a line. Our kind of bounty hunters doesn't reward stupidity."

Too bad for you, thought Kud'ar Mub'at wryly. The assembler's visitor would have done well for himself, if that had been the case." Rest assured, my most precious Gleed, that the relationship between myself and the True Guild-and the Bounty Hunters Guild, when it has once again come into existence-will be one of exclusivity and mutual profitability. You have my word on it."

"Good." Otondon gave a satisfied nod." You know. . . I kinda felt all along that we'd be able to do business together."

Fool. This was the easiest sort of negotiation: telling someone exactly what they wanted to hear. Part of Kud'ar Mub'at wished that they could all be this easy; and in fact, most of them were. It was only when the arachnoid assembler was matching wits with creatures such as Prince Xizor or Boba Fett that the game became both dangerous and interesting. That was what the other part of Kud'ar Mub'at appreciated, what made its own existence worthwhile. The assembler had lived for a long time in the drifting web that it had inherited from its murdered predecessor. Kud'ar Mub'at had been putting together complicated deals and intricate, self-serving schemes before any of the creatures it now encountered had been born. When that much time passes, the search for a worthy opponent becomes an obsession.

That was why it had been inevitable that Kud'ar Mub'at would have let itself become involved in the scheme to break up the Bounty Hunters Guild. Not so much for the profits that would accrue to the assembler's coffers-though the credits would in fact be substantial-but for the thrill of the game. And the quality of the opponents. Kud'ar Mub'at had been able to see past Prince Xizor, who had brought the scheme here to the web and laid it out before the assembler's multiple eyes, all the way to Emperor Palpatine, so far away on the planet Coruscant. Strings as delicate and intricately connected as any in the web were being pulled, and not all of them were in Xizor's hands. The Falleen noble enjoyed playing dangerous games as well-Xizor hadn't risen to the top of the galaxy-spanning crime syndicate Black Sun without having a taste for risk, and the skills to pull off those kinds of gambits. Kud'ar Mub'at was well aware of how deeply Lord Vader, the Emperor's black-robed fist, loathed and distrusted Xizor; the Falleen only had to make one wrong move, and every suspicion that Vader had planted in Palpatine's thoughts would be confirmed-fatally so, for Xizor. When you play those kinds of games, mused Kud'ar Mub'at, for those kinds of stakes. . . you can't complain about what happens when you lose.

In the minuscule heart inside its carapace, Kud'ar Mub'at felt sorry for the little accountant subnode Balancesheet. It had never played at that level, never developed those kinds of sharp, hard gaming skills. If Balancesheet had some notion of mutiny against its creator, as Kud'ar Mub'at had rebelled against its predecessor, it also had little idea of what it was risking. It might never know; the game, and its existence, would be over before it realized.

Such thoughts were pleasing, but there was business to be concluded. Kud'ar Mub'at turned its attention back to the True Guild emissary sitting before it.

"I'm sure your time is valuable, my dear Gleed." The assembler swept two of its legs out before itself." Much more so than mine, which is only well spent when it is given to wait upon visitors such as yourself. With that in mind, are we at last in perfect agreement and harmony? The interests of you and the other True Guild members are identical to my own, as far as I'm concerned."

"They may not be identical," said Gleed Otondon," but I guess they're close enough. For now."

"Ah. So wisely put. I trust you'll have no problem with going back to your fellow True Guild bounty hunters and assuring them that their friend and business associate Kud'ar Mub'at is indeed, as you say,

'with' them?"

"Maybe." Otondon shrugged." There'd be even less problem if we settled that other business as well. You know, the bit about the bribe."

"That unpleasant word again." From deep inside the feathery mandibles of its exhalation apertures, Kud'ar Mub'at sighed." But I do know what you're referring to. After all, I brought the matter up. A little more delicately, though."

Avarice showed in Gleed Otondon's smile." If we could work it out right now, so that there were some tangible evidence along those lines. . . then I think we'd really be rolling. Got it?"

"Oh, yes. But of course." With one claw tip, Kud'ar Mub'at scratched the lowest point of its triangular face. The emissary's request for a transfer of credits, from the web's coffers into his pocket, actually raised some difficulties for the assembler. Its accountant subnode Balancesheet usually handled all those kinds of financial details-but right now, Balance-sheet was busy impersonating Kud'ar Mub'at from inside the assembler's discarded exoskeleton. The Trandoshan bounty hunter Bossk was unaware that the actual Kud'ar Mub'at had been in simultaneous negotiations all along, with one of Bossk's enemies from the True Guild. And Kud'ar Mub'at had no intention of ending the masquerade; to do so would send both Bossk and Gleed Otondon into murderous rages, not directed at each other, but first at Kud'ar Mub'at." Actually," said the assembler after a moment of silence," I'm very embarrassed, inasmuch as I cannot presently fulfill your eminently reasonable request."

"What?" Gleed Otondon barked a harsh, skeptical laugh." You gotta be joking. Everybody knows you're stuffed with credits out here. After all the business you've done, you must be sitting on piles of them."

"Sadly-that is not the case." Kud'ar Mub'at gave a slow shake of his head. Around him, the assembler's various subnodes gathered closer, like piteous orphans seeking shelter from cold stormwinds. Their various eyes turned toward Otondon's face." Not all of my business ventures turn out so well, as do those where I have joined my feeble abilities with those of your profession. That is why I am so eager to renew the bonds of mutually profitable loyalty between myself and the true heirs of the Bounty Hunters Guild's mantle. There are so many untrustworthy and devious creatures in the galaxy, and I am but a humble go-between, a mere arranger of business between various parties. . . and I am so easily cheated out of what is rightfully due to me." The assembler dabbed at a few of its beadlike eyes with a claw tip, though moist displays of emotion were physiologically impossible for it." And I have so many expenses." The tip of the claw pointed to the clustering subnodes." Really. . . the upkeep on a place like this. . . it's practically more a medical than a business expense. . ."

"Spare me." The True Guild emissary gazed at the arachnoid creature with disgust." You want to plead poverty, take up somebody else's time." Otondon began fastening the brass hooks of his outer cloak." I don't want to hear it. But don't forget" -he stood up from where he had been sitting, then menacingly leaned over the assembler-" you owe me."

"A debt of honor," squeaked Kud'ar Mub'at, drawing back from Otondon's jabbing forefinger." Every Standard Time Unit will begin with my recall of exactly this matter."

"Yeah, I bet." With his massive shoulders almost scraping the chamber's curved, fibrous walls, Otondon looked around himself." How do I get out of here? I've got to get back to the Guild. They'll be waiting for me."

Kud'ar Mub'at let one of the internal guidance subnodes scurry away and lead Otondon to the web's main docking area. There was another, smaller dock on the other side of the web; that was where the Trandoshan bounty hunter Bossk's ship Hound's Tooth was moored, safely out of Gleed Otondon's view. When Bossk had contacted Kud'ar Mub'at about coming out to the web, to have their business discussions together, the assembler had convinced him that there was a need for secrecy-powerful forces, hinted at but not named, were watching the web and keeping track of its visitors' comings and goings. That had been enough to convince Bossk to go along with the approach and docking arrangements that had kept him unaware of the True Guild's emissary entering the web at the same time. Gleed Otondon had been similarly hoodwinked, and just as easily.

Without leaving its nest in the web's main chamber, Kud'ar Mub'at reconnected with the neural input from the optical node he'd used just a little while before. The deeply suspicious face of the Trandoshan Bossk immediately came into view, just as clear as if the assembler had been in the other chamber with him, instead of the disguised accountant subnode Balancesheet.

"What's that?" Bossk turned his head, listening to some distant sound.

Over the elongated strand of silken neurofiber that connected them, Kud'ar Mub'at directed the optical node to refocus, so that the assembler's discarded exoskeleton could be seen as well.

"Pardon?" A voice identical to Kud'ar Mub'at's spoke from inside the carapace. The accountant sub-node Balancesheet spread two of the exoskeleton's forelegs apart in a gesture of bafflement." To what do you refer?"

"What I heard. . . just now." The nostrils on Bossk's scale-covered snout flared wider, as though he could breathe in some telltale molecules from the web's recycled atmosphere." Sounded like a ship taking off."

In the vacuum of space outside the drifting web, the rush of the low-power docking engines from Gleed Otondon's ship would have been inaudible. But enough vibrations, from the disengagement of the docking subnodes, had traveled through the structural fibers of the web's exterior for Bossk's sensitive hearing to have picked up.

A smaller tremor, one of apprehension, moved inside Kud'ar Mub'at's chitinous body. If Balance-sheet, inside the assembler's shed carapace, bobbled its response, then Bossk might very well leap to the conclusion-accurate enough-that the web had had another visitor while he had been here.

"Yes, it did sound like that, didn't it?"

All of Kud'ar Mub'at's spidery legs clenched around its nest, as it heard the distant subnode's words.

"But," continued Balancesheet's voice," of course it wasn't. How could it be?"

In the view from the optical node, dangling from the ceiling of the smaller chamber, Bossk's slit-eyed glance turned toward the carapace with Balancesheet inside." You tell me," said Bossk," just why it wasn't a ship leaving here."

"It's simple enough," said Balancesheet mildly." My dear Bossk, the only reason any sentient creature

comes to my humble web is to conduct business with me. And very grateful I am for their visits. But you see me before you right now, don't you? And for all this time that we've been together, and that I have enjoyed to such a degree-is that not so? I couldn't very well have been discussing business affairs with any other creature, as you've had my undivided attention all the while." A set of the exoskeleton's shoulders lifted in a parody of a humanoid shrug." So why would anyone else have been here? Really-I don't delude myself that my home has charm sufficient to attract guests for any other reason."

Bossk's eyes squinted even narrower, signaling deep distrust. The scales of his brow tightened as the brain behind them scrabbled at the problem." So what was it, then?"

"Merely the waste disposal function here aboard my web." The Balancesheet-steered carapace slowly shook its head." How embarrassing to talk of such things, rude plumbing and all! But I have the same housekeeping dilemmas as any other vessel that moves through such empty space as that surrounding us. Some certain waste products must be jettisoned, and for hygiene's sake, it's best to expel them with sufficient velocity to leave the navigational zone around oneself free of-shall we say?-distasteful impediments." The carapace's triangular face, a replica of Kud'ar Mub'at's own, displayed a slight smile." Really, my dear Bossk, even the ships of Palpatine's Imperial Navy do very much the same thing."

"Oh. Yeah. . ." Bossk slowly nodded." I guess you're right."

Not really, thought Kud'ar Mub'at to itself. Though the assembler admired the fabrication it had just heard the accountant subnode deliver, the truth was that the web completely recycled its constituent

matter. Kud'ar Mub'at had an instinctive aversion to letting go of any particle, no matter how small or insignificant, that had ever entered the web's living construct. To do so would have been like losing a piece of the assembler's own body. But, it admitted, as long as this Trandoshan is fooled, the truth hardly matters. . .

When Bossk had finally departed the web, the Hound's Tooth released from the docking subnodes a safe interval of time after the other ship's disembarking, Kud'ar Mub'at complimented its creation on the quick and sure handling of the bounty hunter's suspicions.

"Well done," said Kud'ar Mub'at. Secure in the embrace of its pneumatic nest, the assembler let the accountant subnode perch on the claw tip of one raised foreleg. In the distant and smaller chamber, the shed exoskeleton was once again a hollow likeness of the assembler's physical form." You handled the Trandoshan in a way to inspire pride amid the internal organs of your creator."

"Merely a matter of business." Balancesheet displayed no embarrassment at receiving such praise." If I show a facility in that regard, it is because all interactions between sentient creatures can be reduced to a matter of credits, expenditures, and debits." One of the accountant subnode's limbs traced the outline of a zero in the air." Sum and divide."

"And divide and conquer." Though, of course," conquest" was rhetoric a little grander than absolutely necessary. Kud'ar Mub'at was perfectly satisfied with a higher than average rate of profit." That's always the best advice."

Kud'ar Mub'at let the accountant subnode scuttle back into its usual resting place, deep in the internal corridors of the web. If the assembler wasn't careful, its rudimentary heart might soften once again toward the smaller replica of itself. Much had been accomplished with the subnode's assistance: the Trandoshan bounty hunter Bossk had gone away, convinced of the same thing that his opponent Gleed Otondon was, that Kud'ar Mub'at and all its devious scheming was allied to the interests of his fragment of the old Bounty Hunters Guild. Let them go on believing that, thought Kud'ar Mub'at. When they found out otherwise, it would be too late for them to do anything about it. Whether the True Guild or the Guild Reform Committee won their battle with each other, that mattered little. As long as Kud'ar Mub'at won. . .

The assembler folded its legs around itself, and meditated over what the next steps in its scheming should be.