Delusions of Grandeur

3

Inside the bustling, hollow asteroid of Borgo Prime, signs along the walkway fluoresced and flickered, leading Zekk back to Shanko’s Hive. The dark-haired young man had received his first bounty assignment inside that popular cantina—and he had come back empty-handed.

Zekk rehearsed various explanations. The blue-skinned bartender, Droq’l, had hired him to find a scavenger and his cargo, but Fonterrat, the missing scavenger, was dead and his cargo of precious ronik shells destroyed. He had no idea how his employer would react to the bad news.

How would Boba Fett have handled this situation? Zekk asked himself. Fett, one of the most respected (and feared) bounty hunters in the galaxy, would waste no energy on lengthy explanations or excuses. Fett would come straight to the point. Zekk decided he would have to do the same.

Tossing his ponytail over his shoulder, Zekk stopped before the entrance to an enormous cone-shaped building with horizontal ridges like smooth circular waves up its sides. He took a brief moment to perform a Jedi relaxation technique, something Master Skywalker had taught him—not Brakiss of the Shadow Academy.

Then, projecting all of the confidence a professional bounty hunter ought to feel, Zekk strode into Shanko’s Hive.

Air clouded with exotic scents and flavors enveloped him in a pale gray haze. Though the interior of the hive cantina had no flat edges, the contrasting islands of sound and silence, of light and dimness, gave the illusion of dozens of shadowy corners. A quick glance at the bar told Zekk that the insectoid proprietor Shanko had emerged from hibernation and was in no mood to humor fools.

Brief, confident, professional, Zekk reminded himself. His steps did not falter as he walked toward the bar and tossed a credit chit on it. “Osskorn Stout,” he said without preamble. “I have business with your bartender.”

Dark, foamy ale sloshed onto the counter from the flagon Shanko thunked down in front of him. As Zekk scooped up the tankard to take a gulp, one of Shanko’s many glossy arms roughly swept out to mop up the spill while another gave an abrupt jerk, indicating an area to Zekk’s right.

Still drinking thirstily, he looked over to see Droq’l in conversation with a patron who stood just outside the circle of light cast by the bar’s globe-lamps. Zekk nodded his thanks, and with renewed confidence strode toward the three-armed bartender. As if he had an extra eye in the back of his head—which he did, Zekk now recalled—Droq’l turned just as the young bounty hunter approached, tankard in hand.

“Did you find what I sent you for?” the bartender asked, his blue face eager.

“Fonterrat is dead. On Gammalin.”

Droq’l grimaced, showing his shiny black teeth. “Gammalin, huh?”

Zekk shrugged. “Fonterrat accidently exposed the colony to a plaque. He was imprisoned after the plague hit. The frightened colonists destroyed his ship and burned his cargo, but the sickness swept through the colony anyway. It killed every human.”

“And Fonterrat wasn’t human,” the bartender mused, “so he starved alone in prison after those colonists ruined my shipment of shells.” A glint of pleasure replaced the disappointment in his eyes. “At least it was a slow, lingering death.”

Zekk nodded warily. He reached into his vest pocket and produced the holocube that contained the scavenger’s final message.

Droq’l watched the entire holomessage, sighed, and spread all three hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance. “Just as well. I might’ve been tempted to terminate Fonterrat myself for his incompetence.”

Then, to Zekk’s pleasant surprise, the bartender paid him in full.

“Glad to see a young trainee with some presence of mind,” he said. “You finished what I sent you to do, and you had the good sense to bring back proof of it. That’s more than I could say for some bounty hunters two or three times your age.”

A thoughtful look crept over the bartender’s blue-skinned face, and he drummed the fingers of two hands on the bartop. “Come to think of it, I may have another job for you, if you’re interested. Got a client who’s looking for a bounty hunter. Wants someone resourceful and trustworthy—but unknown. That might just be you.”

“You seem to be a good enough judge of character,” Zekk said, crossing his arms over his chest. “After all, you’ve judged me correctly.”

The bartender chuckled at his bravado. “You’ll take the job, then?”

Zekk didn’t dare let his excitement show. “Of course. May I speak to him?” He felt a sense of exhilaration. He’d fully expected to come away in disgrace, without pay, after reporting his failure … but now, because of his sense of honor—something he’d feared the dark side had stolen from him forever—a new job had dropped right in his lap!

The bartender grinned. “He’s pretty particular, even a little skittish—I think he’ll want to talk to you himself before you’re hired.”

Zekk could learn nothing for certain about his prospective employer. Sitting at a low table in the shadow of a staircase that spiraled up the inner wall of Shanko’s Hive, Zekk stared at the … creature in front of him.

“My name is Zekk,” he offered. “I hear you need a bounty hunter.”

“Yes. You come well recommended,” the creature replied. “Call me … Wary. Master Wary. Yes, that will do.”

Zekk shrugged in amusement. “Whatever.”

Wary’s voice was masculine, but synthesized. His body and arms were engulfed in gray robes and furs that made it impossible even to guess the creature’s species or probable shape. He wore a holographic mask set to randomize so that his features changed constantly. A reptilian tail coiled out from beneath the robes and furs, but this could have been part of a disguise. For all Zekk knew, he could have been talking to a female Wookiee, a Jawa on stilts, or even his friend Jaina Solo.

The thought of Jaina made him smile again, and he patted his vest pocket, in which rested two message packets—one from Jaina and one from old Peckhum; the bartender had found them for Zekk in the general-delivery message area behind the bar.

“And who exactly do you want me to find, Master Wary?” Zekk asked, deciding on a direct approach.

Wary looked around, as if to be sure no one was listening in. Zekk glanced unobtrusively toward the nearby tables. A Devaronian played Sabacc with a pair of disreputable-looking spacers; a Ranat consulted a Hutt information broker; a furry white Talz and a hammerheaded Ithorian drank colorful intoxicants and sang duets to the accompaniment of a nine-stringed wrist harp. No one paid any particular attention to Wary.

“I want you to find a man who’s been kidnapped,” Wary said, though the mouth of his disguise mask did not move. “His name is Tyko Thul.”

Zekk’s entire attention snapped back to the creature in front of him. “Did you say Tyko Thul?”

The holomask blurred and shifted. “Yes, Tyko Thul,” Wary repeated. “He was recently abducted by several assassin droids. I want you to find him.”

“Every other bounty hunter in the galaxy is out looking for Bornan Thul,” Zekk pointed out. “Are you sure it’s Tyko you want?”

Wary nodded. “The two are brothers. I have reason to believe the disappearances are … related—just as the two men are.”

An interesting twist, Zekk thought. Finding one brother might lead to information about the other. After failing to find Fonterrat, Zekk had intended just to strike out on his own, looking for clues to Bornan Thul, hoping to repair his reputation. But this direct commission was a much better prospect.

“I’ll take the assignment,” Zekk said. “How much are you paying?”

Wary quoted him a generous figure. “But only if you find him.”

Zekk tried not to show his surprise at the high amount. But then, Wary stood to make a lot more credits than that if Zekk retrieved information that led him to Bornan Thul.

“But that is not all there is to the task,” Master Wary cautioned. “I also need you to send a message for me. I have other urgent business to attend to that prevents me from sending it myself. I will give you instructions on how to transmit it.” He slid a hololetter packet across the table toward Zekk. “Do not try to listen to the message. It would mean nothing to you.”

“That’s it?” Zekk accepted the packet and slid it into his vest pocket.

“Not as simple as it would seem,” Wary said. “The message is for the Bornaryn fleet. All the ships went into hiding shortly after Bornan Thul’s disappearance, and they are impossible to locate.”

“Then how do you expect me to get the message to them?” Zekk asked, instantly suspicious.

“I ask only that you broadcast the message to the following locations.” He listed several sites along major trading routes, many of which Zekk was already familiar with from his days with the old spacer Peckhum. “I will meet you here again in ten days to learn of your progress—and to pay you if you have already achieved both of your goals.”

Zekk relaxed again. He still wasn’t sure why Wary would want to send a message to the Bornaryn fleet, though. Did he hope to flush them out of hiding? To question Thul’s employees and family members in hopes of locating him?

Just as Zekk opened his mouth to ask, an explosion erupted at a nearby table. Zekk blinked, trying to see what had happened as a cloud of white smoke billowed outward from where the Talz and the Ithorian had been sitting.

Droq’l bustled up with a disgusted snort to sweep the broken and steaming glasses away. “I told you two not to let your drinks come into contact with each other,” he growled in exasperation. “You should know they’re chemically incompatible!” With a big paw, the Talz batted at a smoldering patch of its white fur.

Amused, Zekk turned back to the conversation with his new employer—only to find Master Wary gone.

Apparently the assignment was made and the interview had ended. Zekk shrugged. He had his commission, and he knew what to do. He might as well stay to view the new hololetters from Jaina and Peckhum.

Calling Droq’l over, Zekk ordered another Osskorn Stout, drew one of the message packets from his pocket, and slid it into the reader slot on the table in front of him. He waited eagerly for the image of Jaina to appear—then blinked in disappointment.

Encryption Proprietary

Message Unreadable

Why would Jaina or Peckhum have sent him a message in code that no standard reader could decipher? He realized his mistake as he pulled a second hololetter from the pocket of his vest and then a third.

He had accidentally tried to view the message from Master Wary.

But how could the disguised man expect an encrypted message to get through to the Bornaryn fleet? And how would the fleet read it unless they already knew the key?

Perhaps they did, Zekk mused. Maybe this was a code that belonged to the Bornaryn trading company. Wary might be a former employee … or even Bornan Thul himself!

As the thought occurred to Zekk, he suddenly saw the truth of it. He felt it in his bones, in the background music of the Force that sang through all things. Master Wary’s synthesized voice had held an urgency when he spoke of the need to find Tyko Thul, and a tender quality when he spoke about the fleet.

Zekk shook his head to clear it. Bornan Thul had been here, right in front of him!

He jammed the message packets back into his pocket and jumped to his feet just as Droq’l approached carrying a fresh tankard of ale in his middle hand.

“Which way?” Zekk asked, breathless. “Where did he go?”

The bartender didn’t pretend he had no idea what Zekk meant. He jerked his head toward a small door in the wall to the other side of the stairway.

Dashing out into a tiny alleyway, Zekk looked left and right, but saw no sign of his new employer. His heart raced with the realization that he had been less than a meter away from the most sought after bounty in the galaxy! Although he knew Thul was probably far away by now, he kept looking.

Farther down the alley, Zekk was not surprised to find a pile of gray robes and furs along with a prosthetic reptilian tail. Bornan Thul had shed his disguise….