Slave Ship

11

This is easy, thought Bossk. Almost too easy. . .

As if such a thing were possible. The Trandoshan bounty hunter felt a surge of gloating pleasure, welling up from the depths of his gut, as he sat at the rickety table, his claws wrapped around a chipped stoneware mug. Whatever gratification he felt hadn't come from the mug's contents, a sour inebriant that had briefly numbed the tongue behind his fangs when he had sipped it. This watering hole's drinks were both strong and disgusting.

"We could take him now," growled Bossk under his breath." Why don't we just go ahead and do it?"

He was alone at the table. The voice that answered his question sounded from deep inside his ear. Trandoshans, as a species, lacked external pinnae such as most humanoids had; beyond the small aperture of his ear canal, a cochlear micro-implant device had been precisely inserted with the point of a surgical needle. That piece of equipment had been just one of the preparations for this job.

"Not as simple as that," said Boba Fett's voice, both near-right inside Bossk's head-and distant. The other bounty hunter was currently located somewhere far from this ratty watering hole; Fett might

still be aboard Slave I, out past this backwater world's atmosphere, for all Bossk knew." Do you really think our target doesn't have some kind of defenses in place? He's not a complete fool, you know."

A snarl of glowering impatience settled on Bossk's face. He resisted the urge to scratch with his heavy claws at the implanted device itching inside his head, like some kind of burrowing parasite above the hinge of his jaw. He didn't want to do anything that might give him away, even though this dump was so poorly lit as to seem like some underground cavern. The slit pupils of Bossk's eyes were dilated as wide as possible, and there were still shadowy figures, hunched over their drinks at other wobbly tables, whose features his normally sharp eyesight couldn't make out at all.

Trhin Voss'on't, though, he'd been able to spot right off, as soon as he'd descended the worn stone steps into the watering hole. The renegade Imperial stormtrooper-ex-stormtrooper, Bossk reminded himself-was right where Boba Fett's information sources had said he'd be. Bossk had to admit that when it came to tracking down hard merchandise anywhere in the galaxy, Fett had a network of contacts second to none. It was no wonder that Boba Fett had always been able to get a jump on any of the members of the old Bounty Hunters Guild, for scooping up a prize bit of merchandise and delivering it before most of the others in the business had any idea of what was going on. And when Fett had put the word out to his virtual eyes and ears, stationed on every inhabited planet, that he was looking for this former stormtrooper, it hadn't been very many Standard Time Parts before the necessary info had come back to him.

"What's our target doing?"

"Drinking," growled Bossk." What else is there to do in a dive like this?" He was able to keep his muttered responses down low enough that the miniaturized throat mike could pick them up, yet not be overheard by any of the other patrons of the establishment. And Trandoshan faces were not so expressive that anyone glancing his way, in these shadows, would be able to detect the speech motions of his scaly muzzle. He would have preferred the auditory cover of a jizz-wailer band like Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes, back at the Mos Eisley spaceport on Tatooine-that combo created such a racket, you could blow somebody away in one of the cantina booths with hardly anyone noticing. This world's hangouts were entirely too quiet for Bossk's tastes.

"I'd be drinking, too," said Bossk," if I could stomach their well hooch."

A burst of solar flare static rasped inside Bossk's head, like a swarm of Nimgorrhean saber-wasps, and loud enough that he couldn't stop himself from pressing the butt of his palm against his ear opening. That didn't do any good; Bossk winced and ground his fangs together until the noise from the implanted device faded away. It proved at least that Boba Fett and his Slave I ship were off-planet. This unattractive and remote world-Bossk had already forgotten its name-had an unstable sun, with emission bands wide enough to play havoc with all sorts of comm systems, even the expensive narrow-beam equipment that Boba Fett could afford to use. The two of them would have a hard time coordinating this operation if another flare broke the link between them at some crucial point.

". . . stay low." Boba Fett's unnaturally calm voice faded back in." Try not to draw any attention to yourself."

"I'm already doing that," snarled Bossk. Those

were the same instructions that Boba Fett had given him when he'd told him of this new plan, before he'd stuffed himself into a one-way, single-passenger drop ship and had piloted away from Fett's Slave I. The drop ship was now out in the wastelands beyond the encircling slag heaps of what had once been an Imperial mining-and-refinery colony; the fact that the mines had been abandoned as worthless didn't surprise Bossk. As he had made his way on foot, past enormous, scavenger-ready drill units, gross tonnage excavators, up-ended conveyor lines, and surrounding slag heaps, then into the midst of the shabby plastoid buildings that had become by default the planet's only inhabited zone, it had struck him that even the dirt and rocks here were of an inferior quality." So when are we going to make our move?"

"Soon enough," replied Fett." There's still a few things that have to be checked out." The voice of the distant bounty hunter spoke with infuriating patience and logic." We can't allow ourselves any mistakes. We're only going to get one shot at this guy. If we spook him and he dives into whatever escape route he's got lined up-and he's sure to have one-we won't be able to track him down again. We'll have lost him."

That possibility made Bossk's blood run even colder than its normal homeostatic temperature level. He had everything riding on this job, on bringing in Trhin Voss'on't and delivering the renegade storm-trooper to Emperor Palpatine. Whatever would happen to Voss'on't at that point, it was no concern of Bossk's; he imagined it wouldn't be pretty. The Emperor wasn't known for looking kindly upon mere failure among his ranks; actual treachery was sure to merit treatment way beyond harshness. A shudder

moved across the scales of Bossk's shoulders and spine. As ruthless, and inured to ruthlessness, as all Trandoshans were, he had nevertheless made a personal vow-long ago, at the beginning of his career as a bounty hunter-never to cross the Emperor. That way, Bossk reminded himself, lies a serious amount of grief. Let those high-minded Rebels take the beating that was so surely coming to them.

And let me, thought Bossk, collect the bounty for this piece of hard merchandise. All his plans, for freezing out the True Guild faction and re-forming the old Bounty Hunters Guild, with himself at its head, depended upon raking in that mountain of credits that Palpatine had put up for Trhin Voss'on't's hide-and the return of the codes that Voss'on't had absconded with. From long experience, and from looking inside his own reptilian heart, Bossk knew how bounty hunters' minds worked. That amount of credits could buy a lot of loyalty. There was no point in being a bounty hunter unless your nobler instincts were up for sale to the highest bidder.

Though, of course, there were high bidders. . . and then even higher bidders. Bossk took another sip of the acrid fluid in the mug before him, not even tasting the stuff as he mulled over his weighty concerns. Depends on just how many credits you have. He nodded slowly to himself. You can never have too many. Even with the enormous bounty on Trhin Voss'on't's head, there was no denying that a half share of those credits wasn't the same as getting all of it. From the beginning of this job, it had struck him as a shame that Boba Fett-who didn't have anywhere close to the need for the credits that Bossk did-was going to get such a hefty slice of the bounty. A real shame, thought Bossk. Especially considering that he was down here doing all the work and taking all the risks, within spitting distance of a dangerous ex-stormtrooper, while Boba Fett wasn't even on the planet's surface, but out beyond its atmosphere somewhere.

The contents of the mug had ignited a wet, smoldering fire in his gut; he ignored it. He had a lot to think about.

Bossk let those interwoven thoughts stew at the back of his mind, while he kept a surreptitious eye on Trhin Voss'on't. Whatever else could be said about Boba Fett, the man was right about one thing: the renegade stormtrooper must have some kind of defenses in place. It would be suicidal otherwise for Voss'on't to be sitting out here in the open like this. Bossk imagined he could feel the sloping, crudely plastered walls and the low, smoke-darkened ceiling of the watering hole pressing in on him, as though they were the disguised machinery of some Trandoshan-sized trap.

The close confines of the place and its stale, sweat-smelling air didn't seem to bother Voss'on't. With his elbows planted on the small table at which he sat, the ex-stormtrooper nursed along a mug filled with the same near-lethal concoction that Bossk had tasted. Boba Fett's intelligence reports had described Voss'on't as spending the bulk of his time here. From what Bossk could tell, it didn't seem to be for the purpose of getting drunk. Voss'on't carefully paced his intake so that the drink had no apparent impact on him; either that, or he'd had his liver biochemically enhanced to neutralize the intoxicants in the thick, heavy liquid. His sharply angled face, as hard and expressionless as the masklike full helmet he'd worn when he'd been in the Emperor's service, contained eyes narrowed into a permanent squint, surrounded by skin wrinkled and creased as old, flayed leather. White scars showed through the graying buzz-cut that clung to Voss'on't's skull; some of them undoubtedly dated all the way back to his basic training days.

Becoming an Imperial stormtrooper was no easy process; few had a chance of enduring the violent hammering-in of the military skills that went with the deathly white armor. Those who didn't make it all the way to the end, whose bodies or minds broke under their drill sergeants' sadistic regimens, washed out of the program as corpses. An unquestioning loyalty and obedience to superior officers went with the training; any resistance to commands, however destructive or fatal they might be, was rooted out like diseased nerve tissue.

For someone like Voss'on't, who had gone through all that and had then served with distinction in one of the stormtroopers' elite units, to have kept hidden deep inside himself a vestige of another nature, one that could even contemplate treason-that spoke of a dark core that was harder and more determined than all the ranks of the other stormtroopers combined. Voss'on't might have been waiting for years, not divulging his plans to anyone around him, as he watched for the perfect opportunity. And then when it had come at last, he had swung into action without hesitation or remorse, applying all his hard-won storm-trooper skills to the task. And if others had to die in the process, for him to make his escape with the codes that would buy his safety, he wouldn't be likely to even give a second thought about it.

Not bad. Bossk gave a tiny nod of appreciation as he contemplated the narrow-eyed figure sitting at the distant table in the watering hole's gloom. Trhin Voss'on't was exactly the sort of tough, murderous scum that he could admire. If circumstances had been different, he could have imagined teaming up with the ex-stormtrooper rather than with Boba Fett. Voss'on't would have made a worthwhile addition to the ranks of the Bounty Hunters Guild, once Bossk had succeeded in putting the organization back together again. He supposed it was just one of the ironies of life in this galaxy that the price of re-forming the Guild was going to be paid out of Voss'on't's hide. Once Emperor Palpatine got through with him, after the renegade had been captured and cashed in, there wouldn't be enough left to even make a decent trophy out of him-by all reports, the Emperor wasn't given to the same sentiments about keepsakes as Trandoshans were.

Boba Fett had broken the comm connection; the cochlear implant in the side of Bossk's head had gone silent. The other bounty hunter, wherever he was at the moment, was presumably busy, setting up the rest of the plans for snaring Voss'on't. He'd better be, thought Bossk grumpily. There wasn't so much traffic in and out of this dump that Bossk's presence here wouldn't be eventually noticed and commented upon. Trhin Voss'on't had given him a suspicious glance when he had come into the gloomy confines of the watering hole, then had looked away, as though satisfied that the newcomer presented no threat to him. Voss'on't might change his mind about that assessment if Bossk hung around much longer, without some other creature joining up with him. The only credible reason for hanging out in a place like this was for the purposes of conducting business, usually far enough on the shady side of the law that any illumination at all would be unwelcome. There wasn't a species in the galaxy so depraved or devolved as to come here for the atmosphere or the quality of the drinks. Bossk was beginning to regret having drank as little of the foul-tasting fluid as he had.

He also figured that it would be a dead giveaway if he spent too much time keeping watch on Trhin Voss'on't. Creatures in a place like this demanded some measure of privacy, even when they were sitting at a table right out in the open. Minding anyone's business other than your own was a sure route to a blaster bolt through one's gut. And somebody on the run from Emperor Palpatine would likely be even jumpier about being snooped around.

Voss'on't wasn't even facing in Bossk's direction, but the preternatural awareness he was likely to possess would be the equivalent of having eyes in the back of his head. There were plenty of species in the galaxy like that, with a 360-degree field of view around themselves-but it took a deep level of suspicion for a humanoid to achieve the same effect.

Holding the stone mug in both his clawed hands, Bossk shifted his gaze over to the other patrons of the watering hole. Most of them seemed to be personnel left over from the planet's brief period as an Imperial mining colony. Stupid barves, thought Bossk dismissively. They had gotten what they deserved, for being either stupid or unlucky enough to have been conscripted for a tour of duty like this. When the colony's mines had been abandoned as unprofitable, they had been left behind like so much discarded machinery, not worth the cost of freighting to any other location. Now they sat hunched over their brain-numbing potions, slowly trickling out the last of their wages for a few moments of thought-dead oblivion. Even if any of them could afford to get off-planet, there was no place for them to go, no world with a need for their marginal skills. Most of the former miners had let themselves be surgically altered, just for the privilege of rooting beneath the planet's rocky crust for whatever the Empire had once deemed valuable. Their skulls were thickened with massive layers of hormonally induced bone growth, as a form of subdermal safety helmet suitable for mining work, extending nearly to the width of their shoulders; their faces were masked with intricate folds of spongy air-filtration ciliae, dangling like pink and white moss over their throats-that was the Imperial bio-modification clinics' idea of protection against silicosis and other lung-fouling diseases. Even their hands had been altered, the fingers replaced with curved sections of durasteel, that meshed with another to form sharp, scooplike appendages, the better for scrabbling in the rocks and loose gravel of the quarry tailings. But not much good for any other use; the former miners had to clumsily grasp the stone mugs in front of them between the edges of their surgically transformed hands, in order to lift the drinks to their hidden mouths. With their labor-hunched spines and dull, sodden eyes, they looked like some enlarged subspecies of Venedlian sandmole, with just enough brains buried in the recesses of their gargantuan crania to be aware of their own degradation. Even as he gazed at the poor creatures, Bossk dismissed them as being of no more importance than the daubs of faded decorative paint on the watering hole's walls. The Empire left victims wherever its reach extended; these were just more of them.

"You looking for someone?"

A harsh, flat voice broke into Bossk's thoughts. He turned and looked up. And found himself gazing straight into the face of Trhin Voss'on't.

The former Imperial stormtrooper stood at the edge of the table bearing Bossk's drink. Voss'on't placed both his hands against the table's surface and brought his face down close to the Trandoshan's. Bossk could see even more clearly the old scars that straggled through the close-cropped hair on Voss'on't's skull.

"Did you hear me, pal? I asked you a question."

Bossk's initial impulse was to drop one of his own hands down to the side of his belt, pull out his blaster pistol, and bring its cold muzzle up against the bridge of the ex-stormtrooper's nose. He was stopped from doing so by the sure feeling that it would be a bad idea. Either he wouldn't move fast enough, and he would find himself looking into the business end of Voss'on't's weapon, or he would have to blow away a valuable piece of living merchandise. Either way, his profits or his ability to go on breathing, he would lose out.

"Why do you care?" Bossk kept any sign of his thoughts or emotions out of his voice. The ex-stormtrooper had caught him off-guard-Voss'on't had moved so stealthily and quietly that Bossk didn't have any warning of his approach." You mind your business, and I'll take care of my own."

Voss'on't leaned in closer to the Trandoshan." My business," he said softly," is remaining alive. I don't like anyone interfering with it."

"What makes you think-"

"Shut up." Voss'on't's expression had started out as one of simmering anger, and that hadn't changed." Keep your hands flat on the table, where I can see them. I get nervous when creatures have both their hands and their weapons where I can't keep an eye on what's going on." The cold eyes narrowed their gaze." Believe me-you don't want me getting nervous."

Bossk unfolded his claws from around the stone mug and flattened them against the table." There. Satisfied?"

"Not very. I still want to know what you're doing here." The next words came out as a snarl." Bounty hunter."

Great, thought Bossk disgustedly. He must've spotted me as soon as I walked into this place. The whole time that Bossk had been sitting and nursing along the revolting drink he'd been served, believing he was pulling off his end of the operation, nobody had been fooled at all. Or at least the target of the job hadn't been.

"That's a new one," said Bossk with as much mildness as he could summon up." I've been accused of being a lot of different things, on a lot of different worlds, but that's the first time anybody's called me one of those." One corner of his scaly muzzle lifted in an approximation of a smile." Sure you're not just looking for a fight?"

"I don't fight; I'm a very peaceable kind of person." Voss'on't either didn't bother to smile or was incapable of it." I just kill people. Especially creatures who mess around with me."

"Good thing I'm not in that category." Where was Boba Fett? Bossk felt the scales across his shoulders tightening with irritation. The whole operation was blowing up in Bossk's face-perhaps literally, if Trhin Voss'on't reached for his own blaster pistol-and the other bounty hunter was nowhere to be found. He's off-planet somewhere, seethed Bossk, and I'm about to be killed by the hard merchandise we came here to collect.

"You can be in the category of dead, if I don't like your answers." Voss'on't turned his scarred head to one side, peering closer to Bossk." Now, some creatures might think I've done some stupid things. And I could even agree with them; getting on the wrong side of Emperor Palpatine isn't a recipe for longevity."

Bossk nodded." That's more problems than I've got."

"I'm the only problem you've got right now. And that's enough. Because one stupid thing I didn't do is

get myself into a situation where I knew there'd be a bounty placed on my head, without compiling a little personal database of just who was most likely to show up looking for me."

"Ah. I see." The thoughts inside Bossk's head raced at an even faster clip. Now would have been a real good time for Boba Fett to have turned up." I suppose. . . that would be the smart thing to do."

"That's right. . . Bossk." The ex-stormtrooper practically spat out the name. Keeping his gaze on the Trandoshan, he reached behind himself, grabbed the chair from an empty table, and pulled it around; he sat down, leaning over the back of the chair." How's things with the Bounty Hunters Guild these days?"

Bossk managed a shrug." Could be better."

"That's your name, right?"

There was no point in lying." You got it."

"Your old man used to run the Bounty Hunters Guild." A sneer crept into Trhin Voss'on't's words." Guess you're not quite up to that, huh?"

Bossk's cold reptilian blood went up a couple of degrees." Look-" He was close to not caring about the consequences of reaching for his blaster." Let's just leave Guild politics out of the conversation, okay? That doesn't have anything to do with you."

"It might," said Voss'on't with a trace of amusement." Especially if it gave somebody like you the desire to score a huge bounty. A bounty like the one Palpatine's got riding on me. You could do a lot with that kind of credits, couldn't you?"

"What if I could?" Bossk eyed the man with deepening suspicion." Anybody could. That's probably why the Emperor is willing to spend the credits. You know? To motivate creatures, to get them to do what he wants-that's what credits are for."

"Huh. Believe me, pal-the Emperor has other ways of 'motivating' creatures. I know; I've been motivated plenty of times in the service of the Empire. And those ways aren't all as pleasant as credits in your pocket."

Bossk shrugged." Those other ways don't work on bounty hunters. Credits are the only thing that motivates us."

"Good for you." Voss'on't gave a slow nod." I forgot; you're all rough and tough, fearless types."

"Fearless enough."

"Let me tell you something else. All the credits in the galaxy won't do you any good, if you're not alive to spend them." Voss'on't's gaze narrowed even farther." And I can arrange that. I've already done it for a couple of others in your line of work, who showed up out here on my doorstep."

"So I've heard." The reports, from Bossk's subordinates in the Guild Reform Committee, had come to him while he and Boba Fett had still been tracking down Voss'on't's hiding place. At least half a dozen other bounty hunters, all of whom had gotten a jump on making a try to capture Trhin Voss'on't, had gotten this far, to this backwater world and this crummy dive-and no farther. Bossk supposed the bodies had been hauled out and dumped in one of the abandoned quarries at the edge of the slowly disintegrating colony structures. There had never been any concern in Bossk's mind that any of the other bounty hunters might actually collect the bounty posted for Voss'on't. None of them had ever had a chance.

"Then you're a slow learner," said Voss'on't." You should've paid attention to what happened to those other bounty hunters. Right now, you don't even know what you've walked into. I had a lot of credits to spend, when I got done selling off what I

stole-and there wasn't anybody I had to split those credits up with, either."

"No-" Bossk slowly shook his head." Not by the time you got done with them."

"You would've done the same, if you were in my situation."

"True." Bossk shrugged. Getting rid of one's partners was all in the course of ordinary business, if you could get away with it." Who wouldn't?"

"Nobody with any sense," said Voss'on't grimly." And I had sense enough to spend the credits making sure that some top-level bounty hunter such as yourself wouldn't be hauling me back to Coruscant and the Emperor's palace anytime soon."

That remark puzzled Bossk. If he spent the credits on some kind of defenses-it was the same question that had puzzled Bossk before-then where are they? Either they were well hidden, or Voss'on't had gotten cheated on them.

He was willing to bet that it wasn't the latter. Those other bounty hunters, the ones that had already come this way, wouldn't have gotten killed so readily if Voss'on't's defenses were illusory.

Besides. . . it was always wiser to assume that when somebody boasted of their ways of arranging your death, they weren't lying. Especially when it came from a former Imperial stormtrooper.

Bossk cut short his mulling over of the situation." Now what happens?"

"It's been nice talking to you." Voss'on't spoke with a distinct lack of emotion." Just like I enjoyed talking to those other bounty hunters that came around here. Your type of scum is close enough to that of my former associates-the kind of work we do-that we had something to talk about. For a while, at least. It made for a little change of pace for me." He tilted his head in the direction of the hunchbacked, molelike miners at the watering hole's far tables, with their shovel hands folded around their drinks." I'm afraid these dirt-grubbers here aren't very stimulating conversationalists. So believe me-it's not without some real regret on my part that I'm going to have to kill you. Just to be on the safe side, you know."

"Yeah, right." Bossk felt seriously annoyed. He knew that things were going to get ugly, real quick-and Boba Fett still hadn't deigned to show up on the scene. Some partnership, groused Bossk to himself. For all he knew, Fett had succumbed to an attack of nerves-it had never happened before, as far as Bossk knew, but it wasn't impossible-and had decided not to tangle with the ex-stormtrooper at all. Fett's ship Slave I, with Fett in the cockpit, might be already hitting hyperspace, heading for remoter and safer planetfalls-and leaving Bossk sitting here, holding the bag. Typical, thought Bossk. Can't depend on anybody-unless they're dead. When he got the Bounty Hunters Guild up and running again, with himself at the top of it, he was going to make sure that he got the respect he had deserved for so long, and had never yet gotten. In the meantime, he was going to have to blow away a prime piece of hard merchandise-the biggest bounty ever posted, as far as Bossk could recall-just to keep from getting killed himself. And even that would take some doing. Unless. . .

An idea had struck him." Before you do that," said Bossk," could you tell me something? Did you spend all the credits?"

"What's it matter to you?"

"Well, the truth is that you've got me wrong." Bossk tapped his chest with a single claw." Sure, I know who you are and what kind of price has been put on your head. Everybody in the galaxy probably knows that by now. But I didn't come here to try and haul you in. Do I look like a complete idiot?"

Voss'on't peered suspiciously at him." Keep talking."

"Come on-" Bossk spread both his clawed hands apart." Let's face it. The bounty hunter trade isn't what it used to be. At least, not since the old Guild broke up. So creatures have got to find new ways of making a living. You're not the only scum who wants to survive. And I'm not such a fool that I'm likely to think I've got a chance of bringing in a former stormtrooper-especially one who's gotten himself set up the way you have." Using words like this was a new thing for Bossk; the process made him feel a little dizzy. Always before, he had solved problems and gotten out of sticky situations in the standard Trandoshan manner: enough violence to leave somebody dead on the floor. He had lied before-as recently as when he had talked Boba Fett into going in as partners with him on this job-but never at a moment's notice like this. Even though it had been part of the plan from the beginning, he still hadn't prepared himself for it. Bossk plugged ahead, regardless; he had no option otherwise." So. . . I figured, why not cut myself in on a good thing, just from a different angle?" The sheer recklessness of his words was having more of an intoxicating effect than the nauseating fluid in the stone mug could ever have had on him." There's more than one way to make some credits in this galaxy." He put his hands back down on the table and leaned closer to Voss'on't." Let's face it-there's going to be a lot of bounty hunters coming after you. The kind of price you've got on your head-it's guaranteed. And all it's going to take is for one of them to get lucky, and then you're not an ex-stormtrooper anymore. You'll be hard merchandise, on its way back to the Emperor."

"They'd have to get very lucky for that to happen."

"It's a strange universe we live in," said Bossk." All kinds of things can happen. Who would've thought that the Rebel Alliance would have had any chance of taking out the Death Star? But one lucky shot, and that thing was so much molten scrap."

Bossk could see that his words were having an effect on Voss'on't. That last argument had been particularly well aimed; a military mind like Voss'on't's would naturally have had a lot of faith in the invincibility of a pile of weaponry like the Death Star battle station.

"So you need a little more," continued Bossk," than what you've already got set up. If you're going to stay alive and healthy, and out of the Emperor's hands. That's what I figure, at least." Once he had gotten started at this business of lying off the top of his head, it had turned out surprisingly easy. The words were coming faster and easier." You need all the help you can get-and that you can pay for." Bossk leaned back in his chair." That's where I come in."

"You?" Voss'on't gave a derisive snort." What can you do for me?"

"I can tell you just how any of those bounty hunters out there are going to make their moves-before they happen. I didn't spend all that time in the old Bounty Hunters Guild without learning all the tricks of the trade. And I know all those hunters; I know how their minds work." Bossk started to warm to the subject." You see, they all have their individual styles, their ways of working. Now, somebody like IG-88-that one's a droid-he's got sort of a cold, logical, precise way of setting out his strategies for

hunting down merchandise. Whereas the ones who take after my kind of tactics, they're a little more instinctive. You know? They kind of sniff out their prey. Whatever works, that's all. If one kind of bounty hunter can't catch you, then another kind will. Unless. . ." Bossk nodded slowly, with his own personal version of a wise smile." Unless you know what to anticipate from them."

"Ah. I see." Voss'on't looked at him with distaste." And that's what you're planning on selling to me, I take it. Your expertise on bounty hunters."

"You got it." Actually, now that Bossk had had a few more seconds to mull over what he had just said, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Maybe, he thought, I should look into this. There were a few sentient creatures out in the galaxy who specialized in getting merchandise past whatever bounty hunters were looking for it, but that was basically a matter of running and dodging, making a delivery from one point to another. To actually go into business, though, as a sort of counter-bounty hunter, matching one's capacity for violence and intrigue against bounty hunters-that held a certain appeal for Bossk. For one thing, it struck him, there would undoubtedly be enough bloodshed to suit his tastes; bounty hunters weren't known for taking kindly to any other creature impinging on their operations. Plus the credits that could be made-that had a definite attraction for him." That's what I can deliver, all right." Bossk let his smile widen across his muzzle." For a price."

"A good price, I suppose."

Bossk shrugged." I'm worth it."

"I bet you are," said Voss'on't." But you're a business creature, right? You know how things are when it comes down to business. Everything's negotiable."

"Well. . . to a point."

"Because," continued the former stormtrooper," I have my own notions about what you're worth."

That didn't sound good to Bossk." Like what?"

"Like this." Voss'on't reached inside his jacket and pulled out a blaster pistol. In one quick, fluid motion, he had it pointed directly at Bossk's forehead." I think we have a deal."

All thought ceased, and Bossk went into pure reaction mode. With his hands flattened against the top of the table, and a blaster aimed at his skull, his options were limited.

But not totally-he threw his weight back in the chair, toppling it and himself with it. At the same time, Bossk thrust his legs straight, his clawed feet coming up hard against the table's underside. The table flew up, striking Voss'on't's weapon arm and throwing off his aim. As Bossk's spine struck the watering hole's littered floor, a sizzling bolt lanced through the empty air above him and struck the ceiling. Ashes and dust fell on Bossk as he quickly rolled onto his hands and feet, and dove toward the tables crowding the far side of the space.

That's what I get for being smart-Bossk's thinking processes rose in tandem with his self-disgust. Next time-Chairs flew clattering as his momentum knocked the watering hole's contents in all directions. Next time, I'll just reach over and pull somebody's head off.

Another bolt from Voss'on't's blaster pistol seared an inch above Bossk's scales. He rolled onto his shoulder, unholstering his own weapon and firing even before he had a chance to aim. The bottles of off-planet liquors, arranged in rows behind the watering hole's bar, shattered into wet splinters as the humanoid barkeeper dropped to the floor. Most of the other patrons, the molelike former employees of the mining

colony, had already scattered out of the way of the blaster fire, covering their heads with their shovel hands and hurriedly lumbering with an awkward, hunchbacked gait toward the worn steps leading up to the surface level, or crouching down behind overturned tables.

"Move over-" Bossk elbowed aside one of the miners. From across the chaotic, vacated space of the watering hole, Voss'on't's next shot hit the vertical tabletop shielding the pair of kneeling figures." Don't worry-he's not trying to get you." Bossk leaned around the edge of the table and laid down a quick barrage from his blaster, aimed well enough this time to force Voss'on't toward the arched opening of the watering hole's rear exit. Between his fire and the ex-stormtrooper's, most of the establishment's chairs and other contents had been reduced to singed and smoking rubble.

"Bounty hunter!" Voss'on't, hidden in the shadows at the edge of the watering hole, called out." If you think this is how you're going to get out of here alive, you're mistaken."

My mistake, thought Bossk bitterly, was coming here at all. Especially by himself-why he had ever agreed to Boba Fett's notion of splitting up was now beyond him. If they had double-teamed Voss'on't, as the original plan had been, they might have had a chance of taking him. Zuckuss's death now seemed needless; that should have aroused his suspicions right there. The only point to the present arrangement that he could see-and it was a realization not without irony-was that if Fett had been trying to eliminate him, so there would be a clear shot at taking Voss'on't solo and not having to split the bounty, that much at least had been accomplished.

"Tell you what, Voss'on't-" Bossk pressed his spine against the shield of the overturned table, one shoulder jammed against the silent form of the miner next to him. His shouted words bounced off the watering hole's ceiling." We could both walk out of here alive if that's the way you want it. That'd be an easy deal to make." Bossk kept the barrel of his blaster pistol pointed upward, the weapon's warmed metal almost touching the side of his head." But if I'm not leaving in one piece, then neither are you."

"Big talk, bounty hunter." The voice from the hidden Voss'on't drifted back, mockingly." It's easy to see that you never served in the Imperial forces. Bragging without being able to back it up is grounds for disciplinary action. You don't even know what you're facing, pal."

"As far as I can see," Bossk called back," you've got a blaster and I've got a blaster. And there's one of you and one of me here." He turned past the edge of the table and left off a bolt in the direction of the other's voice, then quickly scrambled back before Voss'on't could return fire." Considering how the Imperial stormtroopers usually make up in numbers what they lack in marksmanship-I'd say I've got the advantage."

A quick pair of bolts charred the rim of the table above Bossk's head, sending hot splinters across his shoulders." You're forgetting something, bounty hunter." The same sneering tinge as before sounded in Voss'on't's words." I may not have spent all the credits, but I spent enough of them. Enough to make sure there's plenty of surprises in store for someone like you."

"Yeah?" Bossk glanced at the weapon in his upraised hand, to be sure of its charge level. The indicator gauge showed that it held more than enough to disintegrate the entire structure of the watering hole, shot by shot, if necessary." Like what?"

"Like this."

Those words confused Bossk for a moment. They seemed to be from Trhin Voss'on't's mouth, but much closer, as if the ex-stormtrooper had managed to sneak up right next to him. He turned away from the edge of the table and toward the unemployed colonial miner. His glance was just in time to see one of the huge shovellike hands come swinging down toward his skull.

Bossk's blaster went spinning across the floor of the watering hole as his shoulder knocked the table upside-down. Stunned nearly unconscious, Bossk barely felt his arms flop loosely across the wreckage of the shattered chairs, their sharp-ended pieces caught underneath his spine. His vision was just clear enough, even though tinged with swirling red at its limits, to see both Trhin Voss'on't and the anonymous miner looming over him.

"You see?" Voss'on't smiled down cruelly at him. One hand held a blaster pointed down at Bossk. With the other hand, the ex-stormtrooper reached over and lifted a miniaturized comm device that dangled on a cord beneath the wrinkled, fungoid breathing filter that masked the miner's face. The eyes obscured by the heavy goggles, two round lenses beneath the heavy brow ridge of the helmetlike skull, gazed dully ahead as Voss'on't triggered a matching device in his own free hand." I spent the credits where they would do the most good." This time, Voss'on't's voice was picked up by a throat microphone, almost identical to the one Bossk had on, which then sounded from the tiny speaker of the device tethered to the hulking miner." There isn't a single creature in this colony that isn't on my payroll. They're all looking out for me. I like it that way." He switched off the throat mike, and his voice came unamplified from his own mouth once again." They're smart enough to work for me, but not to operate any kind of sophisticated communications gear, so I had to rig up a system that I could do a live transmit of my own voice; that way I could give them their orders personally. Plus it's great for little jokes like this one."

Upper-level stormtroopers had a reputation for gratuitous sadism; Bossk could see why now. He raised himself onto his elbows and gazed up sullenly at Voss'on't." So what are you going to do with me?"

"Same thing I did with the others that came around here." Voss'on't let the blaster dangle loosely in his hand." And that I'll do with all the others that think they're going to get rich from my hide." He motioned with the blaster to the miner standing across from him." Stand this fool up."

The two big shovellike hands slipped under Bossk's arms and brought him unsteadily to his feet; the effects of the earlier head blow hadn't completely faded away. Bossk managed to remain standing as the miner let go of him and stepped back a pace.

Now Bossk found himself looking directly into the muzzle of Voss'on't's upraised blaster.

"All right, bounty hunter." Voss'on't's ugly smile showed behind the weapon's barrel sight." Don't think I didn't give your little business proposition some serious thought. I did-but I'd already heard it from the last two bounty hunters that came through here." His thumb settled on the weapon's trigger stud." And I'd already decided that I didn't need their services, either."

"Wait a minute-" With his vision still blurred, Bossk spread his hands apart." We could still work something out-"

"We could," said Voss'on't." But since you're leaving us right now-for good-who exactly am I supposed to be dealing with?" His hand tightened on the blaster's grip, thumb beginning its pressure on the trigger.

"How about dealing with me?"

Bossk figured that the blow from the miner must have knocked something loose inside his head. Those last words hadn't come from either himself or from Voss'on't.

And he recognized the voice that had spoken them. It was Boba Fett.

Squinting, Bossk managed to bring his sight into focus, well enough to see Trhin Voss'on't holding up his throat mike unit and looking at its tiny speaker in puzzlement. Fett's voice had come from there." But that can't be," murmured Voss'on't." That would mean-"

"Exactly." One word, cold and emotionless-but not from Voss'on't's throat mike unit. Boba Fett's voice, unamplified and real, came from behind Bossk. He saw Voss'on't look past him in surprise, just as one of the miner's broad shovel hands pushed him aside. Stumbling, almost falling to the watering hole's floor, Bossk saw the miner's other hand separate into its tapering durasteel fingers, like a bouquet of ancient military sabers. The fingers, each of them nearly a half meter in length, seized upon Voss'on't's hand and forearm. A single bolt, from the blaster trapped inside the miner's massive fist, lit up the open seams of the metal. Then Voss'on't's scarred face distorted with pain and rage, as the miner's hand turned, twisting and nearly pulling Voss'on't's arm from its socket. Voss'on't crumpled on top of the broken chair debris that lay scattered across the floor.

"Here." Fett's voice spoke again as the miner's durasteel hand opened flat and held out the ex-stormtrooper's captured blaster." Don't let him move."

Bossk grabbed the blaster and kept it aimed at Voss'on't, sprawled out before him. From the corner of his slit-pupiled eye, he watched as the miner disguise was shed in pieces, revealing Boba Fett beneath it. The first to go were the shovellike hand attachments; they fell to the floor with a doubled clang. Boba Fett's own hands, in the gloves of his distinctive Mandalorian battle armor, next unfastened and discarded the large, hunchbacked mass that had covered his shoulders; that allowed him to stand up straight, with his usual traveling arsenal visible at his back. His helmet, with its T-shaped visor mask, became visible as Fett peeled off the wrinkled, mossy breathing filters and oversized protective goggles that had concealed his identity. The bony mass of the miner's overdeveloped cranial shell followed the rest of the disguise, the hollowed-out bits and pieces strewn across each other as the side-mounted antenna on Boba Fett's helmet swiveled back into its usual position.

"So what was all that about?" Bossk's normal Trandoshan disposition had reasserted itself; he felt more irritated than relieved as he looked at his partner in this operation." I thought you were still up above somewhere, out beyond the atmosphere, in Slave I."

"That's what I wanted our merchandise here to believe," said Boba Fett." I knew he'd be monitoring our communications. With the equipment he was able to outfit himself with, there would have been no chance of masking or encrypting our relay. So I recorded and synthesized a few audio signals, static and the like, to patch in with my communications to you; that way, Voss'on't believed the same thing you did, that I was safely out of the area. But in fact, I was here the whole time, disguised as one of the former colonial miners that he had put on his payroll."

"I get you." Bossk nodded in appreciation of the strategy." We needed to have him drop his defenses-and nothing does that like believing you've just bested one of your enemies." He knew the feeling, the glow that came with one of these victories over another sentient creature. The only thing better was the actual moment of a foe's death, when his carcass became a source for another grisly trophy in one's memory chamber." And you already paid off the other miners ?"

"Of course. I don't like bystanders interfering with my plans." Boba Fett's shoulders lifted in a slight shrug." And loyalty that's been purchased once is always the cheapest to buy again."

"Nice plan." A surge of resentment suddenly mounted inside Bossk." Except for one little thing-partner. You just about got me killed."

"Every plan has its risks." No apology was apparent in Boba Fett's voice." You knew that from the beginning."

"Sure-but how come I'm the one that winds up taking them all?"

"You have nothing to complain about," said Fett. He had unholstered his own blaster pistol and now used it to point down toward the former Imperial stormtrooper." We've got what we came here for."

"Think so?"

Another voice had spoken.

Bossk glanced quickly down at Voss'on't. The ex-stormtrooper's face was streaked with blood, his brow slashed open by the shovellike hand that had knocked him sprawling. Through the trailing red web, his gaze was both furious and somehow triumphant. Before the Trandoshan or Boba Fett could stop him, Voss'on't had torn aside the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a small control pad strapped by two bands to his forearm. There was only a single button on the pad, which Voss'on't jabbed his index finger down upon.

The watering hole-bar, what was left of the tables and chairs, the walls and ceilings-came apart like so much cheap plastoid. Bossk found himself tumbling backward in air, clawed hands scrabbling to catch hold of anything in this suddenly erupting world. The planet's sulphurous daylight poured through the crumbling pieces of the structure whose close spaces had been encircled around him only a fraction of a second ago.

His spine slammed hard into a sheet of durasteel. The vibrations of immense heavy machinery were as tangible as a seismic catastrophe, rumbling through his flesh and setting his bones jangling against each other. Before Bossk could tell where he was, what machinery he had landed upon, the durasteel tilted out from under him. He barely managed to catch hold of a row of bolt heads, his claws digging into a seam in the metal. More debris from what was left of the bar rained across his shoulders as he held on. A glimpse toward the revealed horizon showed more and more of the terrain at the foot of the craggy mountains, and Bossk realized that the machinery to which he clung was surging upward.

A voice sounded inside his head, from the cochlear implant." Don't try to jump," came Boba Fett's voice." These things will crush you like an insect."

Bossk pulled himself higher on the sloping metal flank, managing to get a better view of the grinding treads beneath him and the whirring cone at the machine's prow, studded with durasteel teeth. Each metal triangle was twice his own height, the total moving with a force capable of grinding his own ship Hound's Tooth to ragged shrapnel.

"What's going on?" Against the machinery's howling noise, Bossk shouted into his throat mike." What is this thing?"

"Autonomic crust-piercer." Fett's voice snapped back the answer." For deep-core mining operations-"

A shudder ran through the metal that Bossk's torso was pressed against. He clung with even more determination to the bolt heads and seam, aware that if he were to be shaken loose, he would slide straight into the massive, gear-driven treads only a few meters below him.

"Voss'on't must have wired it up," continued Boba Fett's voice," for one more defense system. With a doomsday button, in case anybody did manage to get the drop on him."

"Where are you?" Bossk scanned across the landscape far below; the buildings of the abandoned Imperial mining colony looked like mere rounded bumps set into the barren, rocky ground. He could see a few figures of miners running on foot, trying to get out from beneath the shadow of the uprearing machine.

"Don't worry about me-"

"I'm not-" If Boba Fett's voice hadn't been implanted right inside his head, Bossk wouldn't have been able to hear him past the roar and howl of the crust-piercer.

"I managed to hit the ground," came Fett's voice." Voss'on't has to be around here somewhere."

Bossk lifted his head from the durasteel and strained to look past the treads clanking beneath him. A churning cloud of dust obscured the ground below. Boba Fett was still hidden from view, but he caught a glimpse of another figure, one that he could recognize even at this elevated distance.

"Voss'on't!" Bossk shouted again into the mike at his throat." I see him!" The crust-piercer's shadow gave a rough indicator of direction." He's to the north! North of me-" Bossk had no idea of where Boba Fett might be in the dust cloud mounting below." Toward the foothills and the colony gate!" For a moment, he lost sight of the tiny figure below, then spotted him again." Now he's moving west-"

There was something else that Bossk could see, a glint of dark metal in Trhin Voss'on't's hand. At some point in the chaos that had followed the mining equipment bursting up from beneath the watering-hole, the ex-stormtrooper had managed to scoop up a blaster pistol.

"He's armed-"

The need for informing his partner of that fact was eliminated as Bossk saw Voss'on't crouch down, weapon arm raised, and fire a quick barrage of blaster bolts into the dust cloud before him.

"Fett?" Bossk called into his throat mike." You still there?"

Nothing but silence came from the cochlear implant inside Bossk's head.

Well, thought Bossk, guess I won't be splitting any bounties with him

The mining equipment to which Bossk clung, the enormous, clattering, and howling bulk of the crust-piercer, had reared up far enough from the planet's surface that it had become hard to see exactly what was going on down below him. Voss'on't had gone from being a doll-like figure to an insect. Bossk could just discern the ex-stormtrooper's movements as he stepped forward, blaster still poised and ready, to investigate his kill.

Two things happened then

Voss'on't's tiny figure was suddenly knocked off its feet as a propelled dart with line attached zipped out of the dust cloud. The line wrapped itself around Voss'on't in a microsecond, pinning his arms to his sides; sprawled on his back, the ex-stormtrooper kicked furiously, trying to stand up again. Boba Fett emerged from the dust cloud at the crust-piercer's base, lowering the dart weapon from its braced position against his shoulder. As Bossk watched from on high, his partner pulled the line tight with one gloved hand, jerking the furious Voss'on't over onto his face and away from the blaster pistol on the ground.

The second thing was that the crust-piercer finally emerged all the way from the planet's surface. Enough momentum had been built up in the machine's enormous mass, from the speed of the treads grinding up through the rocky substrata, that for a moment it separated from its shadow spilling across the ruins of the abandoned mining colony. The crust-piercer hung suspended a dozen meters or more above the ground, its gouging prow and propulsive gears spinning free of contact with any substance other than the air itself.

On the ground, Boba Fett turned his visored gaze away from his captive and up toward the durasteel construct, looming as big as a flying mountain range above him.

This is not good, Bossk told himself as he clung to the machinery's bolt-studded flank. This is going to hurt

He felt himself going from a near-vertical position to lying prone, pinned by gravity, on the metal surface against his chest, as the crust-piercer lost the force of its momentum and tilted forward in the air. The machine's metal-toothed, conical snout was now parallel to the ground, with the treads directly beneath its mass, equivalent to that of a small Imperial fighting ship, but without the means to keep itself aloft.

Chewed-apart boulders, the last of the subsurface that the crust-piercer had ripped up and carried with itself, now tumbled away from its gears and shielding panels, spinning and raining across the shadowed area below.

That shadow suddenly loomed closer, as the crust-piercer began its fall, like a metallic stratosphere breaking apart and rushing toward the planet's core. Atop the machine, as though he were an ant stranded aboard a child's toy, Bossk braced for the impact.

He felt it, through every fiber and cell of his body. The grip of Bossk's claws was torn away from the bolt heads and the seam in the metal flank; a jutting projection of an auxiliary engine-exhaust pipe above kept him from flying completely off the immense machine. His outstretched forearms and torso struck flat against the metal, the blow knocking the wind from his lungs, dizzying and anaesthetizing him from the roar and fury of the crust-piercer's destruction of itself and whatever lay beneath it.

Bossk came to a second later, and wiped blood from his muzzle. Black smoke billowed upward into the sky, pouring from the crumpled and ripped-apart flanks of the crust-piercer. He ducked instinctively as muffled explosions sounded from deep within the machine, its shattered power sources igniting into flames and arcing, meteorlike sparks, dragging white trails behind them.

It's gonna blow, Bossk told himself. Get going

Pushing himself up on his bruised hands, Bossk managed to scramble to the edge of the panel beneath him. The metal was slick with lubricating oil, bubbling and hissing with the heat from the explosions farther inside the machinery. He let himself fall, not caring what the distance to the ground was.

That turned out to be only a couple of meters;

flopped on his back, Bossk saw that the gears and treads of the crust-piercer's propulsive devices were buried three-quarters of their height into the ground. Loose dirt and gravel sifted toward him as the crust-piercer's mass lay at the bottom of the wide funnel-shaped depression into which the abandoned mining colony had been transformed. A few of the ruined buildings perched teetering on the rim of the bowl. Hollow, realized Bossk. That's it. The terrain beneath the mining colony had been tunneled out, as layer after layer of ore had been extracted and the shafts and underground quarries had been left empty. He would otherwise have been killed by the impact of the crust-piercer's landing, if it had struck solid ground, with no way of dissipating even part of the crushing force.

Bossk got to his feet and staggered toward the front of the machine, away from the fires and continuing small explosions in the power units toward its tail section. The weight of those had set the crust-piercer at a tilt, its conical prow, stilled now, rearing up and pointing toward the sky.

He stood still, his breath and pulse gradually slowing as he brushed away the bits of rock that had imbedded themselves in his scales. The acrid odors of flame and burning oil stung his flared nostrils. He was alone in what was left of the mining colony; whatever inhabitants had been left were probably still fleeing through the surrounding hills. And nothing could have survived being buried under that many tons of durasteel falling out of the skies. . .

Something moved underneath the prow of the crust-piercer, halfway between the rectangular plates of its treads. Rocks and dust shifted, sliding into a dark space below.

As Bossk watched, a gloved hand emerged, clawing its grip into the dirt. Then a forearm swathed in

rags of battle gear, dragging the attached shoulder out into the light. A familiar helmet, even more dented and scraped than it had been before, showed its cracked T-shaped visor.

Bit by bit, as though rising from the grave, Boba Fett crawled out from beneath the smoldering wreckage.

When Fett was halfway out, Bossk recovered from his astonishment, enough to reach down and grab the other bounty hunter by the wrists, tugging him the rest of the way free and getting him to his feet.

"You okay?" Bossk peered into Boba Fett's dark visor.

Boba Fett didn't answer the question." Come on." He pointed back to the scraped-out hole from which he had just emerged, with the bulk of the crust-piercer towering above it." Voss'on't. . . he's right there. We have to get him out."

The job was made easier by the ex-stormtrooper being both motionless and still bound by the cord that Boba Fett's dart weapon had looped around him. Bossk backed up from the hole beneath the machinery, dragging Voss'on't with him. He stretched him out on the ground, a few meters away from the crust-piercer.

Fett knelt down and did a quick check of vital signs, then stood back up." He's still alive." Fett glanced over at Bossk." We've got our merchandise."

Exhausted, Bossk squatted onto his haunches. Beside him, Boba Fett managed to activate his comlink and signal his ship Slave I to descend and pick them up.

"I don't know. . ." Bossk slowly shook his head. Every breath hurt, and he was sure there were at least a few bones broken inside him." I don't think I want to work with you anymore. . ."