Hard Merchandise

11

The thruster engine controls were under Neelah's palm, ready for her to shove them forward and send the Hound's Tooth bursting out of the remains of the entangling web. Before she could move, she heard something from the hatchway behind her; she turned and saw Boba Fett stand-ing there. The only time she had seen him looking worse had been back on Tatooine when he had been lying on the desert sands, half-dead from the Sarlacc's digestive secretions.

Strands of Kud'ar Mub'at's extruded neural fibers were draped and twisted about Boba Fett's battle armor as he pushed himself from the hatchway and shoved Nee-lah away from the control panel. Pressing herself back into the pilot's chair, keeping out of his way, she watched as he slapped row after row of weapons systems controls; their bright red lights pulsed on like bright, fiery jewels.

Once the Hound's own laser cannons had all been brought operational, Boba Fett hit the thruster control on which Neelah's hand had been poised only a few sec-onds before. One quick flare from the main thruster en-gines, and the tattered fragments of the web broke apart and swirled away from the ship's forward viewport. He quickly hit the braking jets, slamming the Hound to a dead stop in empty space. The attacking vessel was cen-tered in the cannon's targeting systems.

Fett snapped on the comm unit. "You can fire or you can try to run." The indicator light on the control panel showed that the ship he had hailed was receiving the transmission. "Either one won't do you much good."

Leaning past him, Neelah peered through the view-port. From this close, the other ship didn't appear to be much of a threat. Instead of the sleek, threatening lines of a fighting craft, it looked more like a slow and bulky freighter vessel.

"What a surprise," came the voice over the comm unit speaker. It sounded amused rather than angry—or fright-ened. "I did not know it was you, Boba Fett. Believe me, if I had, I wouldn't have fired upon you."

"Wait a minute." Neelah looked up at the comm unit in amazement, then over to Boba Fett. "This creature ... knows you}"

Boba Fett gave an acknowledging nod. "We go back a bit, with each other. And you already know about it."

That last remark puzzled her even more. "Who is it? And does everybody who knows you just open fire when they see you?"

"It happens often enough." He shrugged. "Just an oc-cupational hazard. Especially in this line of business." Turning from her, Boba Fett hit the comm unit button again. "Balancesheet—I could blow you away right now, and I'd be justified in doing that."

"How fortunate for me then that you're so capable of controlling your wrath."

Another sound came from the cockpit hatchway. Nee-lah turned and saw Dengar—looking even worse for his experiences aboard the reconstructed web—standing there.

"Balancesheet?" Dengar stared up at the comm unit speaker, then glanced over at Neelah. "You mean the lit-tle assembler that used to be Kud'ar Mub'at's accountant subnode? That's who fired on us?"

"I guess so," replied Neelah. "I mean—how would I know for sure? You're the one who told me about it."

"That doesn't mean I know it personally." Dengar stepped closer and peered at the viewport. "I was just re-peating the stuff Fett told me. But that must be the freighter that Prince Xizor gave to it, after the web was destroyed the first time. So ..."

"It's Balancesheet, all right." Boba Fett turned away from the comm unit. "I've heard its squeaky little voice enough times to recognize it." He pressed the transmit button again. "You've got some explaining to do, As-sembler. So presumably there's some accounting for what you're doing in this sector—since there's not a lot of your kind of business going on here at the moment—and why you're so prepared to fire on other creatures before you even know who they are."

"Yeah—" Dengar scowled in annoyance as he wiped some of the dried blood from his face. "Even bounty hunters don't do that."

"Very well," said the high-pitched voice from the comm speaker. "I agree that I owe you an explanation for these otherwise inexplicable actions. And it's in my best interests to give you one; I'd just as soon stay in your good graces, Boba Fett—or at least as far as that is possi-ble for any creature to do—plus I'd regret acquiring a reputation for being, as you might say, trigger-happy. So please, by all means, let us have a conference, as it were. But not like this, over a comm unit; it's so ... impersonal."

"Right," Dengar muttered to Neelah. "Like unloading a few laser-cannon bolts on us was so warm and caring."

"Actually," continued Balancesheet's voice from the speaker, "it would give me great pleasure if you would ac-cept my hospitality here aboard my ship. I am in fact the only living creature aboard it, so I confess to experiencing bouts of loneliness when I'm between business meetings."

"You'll have to bring your ship alongside," said Boba Fett. "Our transfer hatch suffered considerable damage during this little fracas."

"Wait but a moment. And then we'll talk."

Fett reached over and broke the comm unit connec-tion. "Let's get ready to make our visit."

"What?" Neelah stared at him in amazement. "You trust this creature?"

"About as much as I trust anyone. You included."

The last comment caught her by surprise. It wasn't the first time that Neelah had felt his penetrating glance, hid-den by the dark visor of his helmet, penetrate to some re-mote part of her spirit. She wondered if he could somehow discern her thoughts, her secrets—was he aware that she had learned so much of her own past while he and Den-gar had been over in the reconstructed web? There's just no hiding from him, thought Neelah. In any way...

"But we didn't find the answers we were looking for," continued Boba Fett. "We could bring the dead—or at least one of them—back to life, but Kud'ar Mub'at didn't know anything. Or if it did, there's no point in trying to find out now; that assembler is gone for good. It was gone before the laser-cannon bolts hit."

"So you think this former subnode of Kud'ar Mub'at knows something?" Dengar pointed with a thumb toward the slowly approaching freighter, visible in the viewport. "That the old assembler didn't?"

"Balancesheet wouldn't be hanging around in this sector if it wasn't important to him. And the only thing that's here is the past, in the form of Kud'ar Mub'at's web, or what was left of it."

"Not much of that now," said Neelah.

"So Balancesheet is our only lead." Boba Fett headed for the cockpit's hatchway. "So we talk to it."

By the time Neelah had descended the ladder to the Hound's cargo hold, following after the two bounty hunters, the freighter's transfer hatch had sealed onto the exterior hull. She noticed, as they left the Hound, that Boba Fett hadn't armed himself with anything more than he had already been carrying. Then again, she thought, that's quite a bit.

The air inside the freighter smelled sterile and scrubbed by high-filtration recyclers, in contrast to the fetid Tran-doshan odors that lingered about the Hound's Tooth. All of the spaces were less cramped as well; stepping from the transfer hatch, Neelah was able to tilt her head back and look up at the curve of the main container area's up-per limit, far above her. Whatever interior bulkheads the freighter had once possessed, they had apparently been stripped out to make one large enclosed space, spanned with retrofitted control circuits. In that much emptiness, even the brace of laser cannons—Balancesheet must have picked them up from one of the Empire's military hard-ware suppliers—looked small.

And Balancesheet itself looked minuscule. The tiny arachnoid assembler scuttled across the freighter's inte-rior girders and taut wiring networks, its multiple eyes glittering and largest forelimbs raised in greeting. "How delighted I am to see you here!" Balancesheet halted and perched on an eye-level metal ledge near where Boba Fett stood. "Really—it's been too long."

"Not long enough," growled Boba Fett. "I have a real good memory for creatures who steal credits from me."

"Oh, that." The assembler dismissed the comment with a wave of a tiny claw tip. "A different time—and a different situation, my dear Fett. Given the exigencies of your present situation, I'd hardly think it wise of you to go on brooding about such matters."

Neelah glanced over at Boba Fett. Even through the dark visor of the bounty hunter's helmet, the fierce radia-tion of the glare directed at Balancesheet was discernible.

"Especially since you brought more company with you!" Balancesheet tapped its claws together. "Let's not spoil the occasion for them."

It was the first time that Neelah had seen one of the creatures that had been described to her by Dengar. The repulsiveness of its spiderlike form was mitigated for her by its relatively small size; she could have picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. Well, thought Neelah, maybe both hands. At any rate, there had been uglier— and more immediately dangerous—creatures back in Jabba the Hutt's palace.

"Let me think for a moment..." Balancesheet pointed one of its claw tips at Dengar. "I remember you; one of my predecessor's customers, I believe."

Dengar nodded. "Yeah, I did a couple of jobs that'd been arranged through Kud'ar Mub'at."

"And you survived—that's a credit to your skills. Not everybody in your position did."

"Yeah, well ..." Dengar shrugged. "I didn't get rich from them, either."

"Nobody did," said Balancesheet. "Kud'ar Mub'at was a fool in many ways. You can't do business with creatures as dangerous as bounty hunters and the like, and just keep shortchanging them the way it did. Eventu-ally, all that catches up with you."

Dengar glanced back through a small viewport beside the transfer hatch. Through it, some of the remaining fragments of Kud'ar Mub'at's web were visible, drifting in space. "You could say that, all right."

"You, however ..." Balancesheet turned his bright multiple gaze toward Neelah. "I haven't met you before. But you might be surprised at how much I know about you."

"Maybe not," replied Neelah coldly. "Depends upon how much you know about Nil Posondum. And Ree Duptom. And whoever it was that used your predecessor to hire Duptom to kidnap me and have my memory wiped."

"I see." Balancesheet nodded its small triangular head. "You're a very clever young human female, Neelah— that's what you're called, isn't that correct?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded in agreement. She had decided to keep a few of her secrets awhile longer, until there was a way of knowing how much the small assembler knew.

"You've come to some interesting conclusions." Balancesheet continued to regard her. "But it might or might not have been the late Ree Duptom who did all those unfortunate things to you." A tiny smile showed on the assembler's face. "Doesn't really matter, though, does it? The effect is largely the same, my esteemed guest."

She made no reply.

"It must be genetic," said Boba Fett. "You've gotten as bad as Kud'ar Mub'at ever was, with all the cheap pleasantries."

"I was unable to speak as I wished while I was still part of old Kud'ar Mub'at. My rhetorical skills have greatly increased since then."

"Why don't we dispense with them and get down to the reason we came here."

"But of course." Balancesheet turned its jagged smile toward the helmeted bounty hunter. "And surely that reason is that you're looking for answers. But I don't think you've found any so far, have you?"

"Not the ones we wanted."

"Or any at all, I imagine." The narrow triangular head gave a small shake. "I could have told you that your search would be pointless. Because, believe me, I've al-ready tried. That's why I'm here in this sector, with this ship that's become such a home to me. I had heard about your previous inquiries into the possibilities presented by the nature of arachnoid assembler physiology, Boba Fett; I didn't think you would be interested in the subject un-less there might be a use for that knowledge someday. And so I found out a few things on my own. Enough to go rummaging through the scraps of Kud'ar Mub'at's old web—my previous home, in its way—and through the memories of my predecessor. Of course, I didn't need to go through as elaborate a procedure as you and your partner were forced to; but then, I am of the same species as the late Kud'ar Mub'at. I was able to merely integrate the various pieces of the web, and even that withered husk that its spirit and mind once resided in, into an ex-trusion of my own cerebro-nervous system, and I could access all of its residual memories without even bringing Kud'ar Mub'at back to momentary consciousness."

"I wish we had been able to do that." Dengar shook his head, too. "I could have done without that last encounter."

"Alas," said Balancesheet, "while my journey through the late assembler's memories might have been more pleasant than yours, it was to little more avail. There were many mysteries, various matters of unfinished busi-ness, that it would have been most advantageous for me to have cleared up—including the arrangements that Kud'ar Mub'at had made with Nil Posondum and Ree Duptom. Anyone who was behind both the fabricating of evidence against Prince Xizor and this mysterious ab-duction of an unidentified but seemingly important hu-man female—that unknown party was obviously after something big in his plans. And as we both know, Boba Fett, those kinds of schemes can often have a great deal of credits tied up with them. Sometimes to carry them out... and sometimes to keep silent about them."

Boba Fett's shielded gaze held the small assembler without moving. "And which one of those are you inter-ested in, Balancesheet?"

"I don't really have a choice—since, as I said, I did not find the answers to those questions in what I could re-cover of Kud'ar Mub'at's personal memories. If I'm to get any share of profits out of this situation, I have to join forces with you, and assist you with your quest for those answers."

"Opening fire on us with your laser cannons didn't seem like much assistance."

"Oh, that." Balancesheet made a dismissive gesture with one upraised claw tip. I told you before. I didn't know that it was you, putting the web back together and—I had to assume—reviving the dead Kud'ar Mub'at inside it. You have to consider my position, after all. I have taken over my predecessor's business; I've estab-lished myself with a select list of clients that had previ-ously been associated with Kud'ar Mub'at. At the same time, I was aware that Kud'ar Mub'at could be at least partially restored to life. Quite frankly, I don't need the competition from it, especially considering the hostility I could expect him to bear toward me. And of course, many of my clients might consider it advantageous to have the two of us operating simultaneously, so that we would be forced to undercut each other's prices. No—" Balancesheet shook his head emphatically. "I really couldn't allow anyone to set about bringing old Kud'ar Mub'at back from the dead. It had been mere sentimen-tality on my part, and perhaps a notion of generating a profit from them in the future, not to have already de-stroyed its carcass and the remainders of his web. I've al-ready made a mental note to finish that process once our little conference is finished."

"All right," said Boba Fett. "I'm going to give you a break this time. Basically, because I need to do some business with you. But if you try firing a laser cannon at me again, you're going to find yourself looking down the barrel of one. And there won't be any pieces for some-body else to glue back together."

"I'll keep that in mind." The small assembler spread both of its raised forelimbs apart. "Now let's get down to that business you were talking about. You want to find out who it was at the beginning of the chain that led through Nil Posondum and Kud'ar Mub'at to Ree Dup-tom; you want to know who it was that thought it so im-portant to plant fabricated evidence against Prince Xizor, and do the kidnap and memory-wipe job on Neelah here. That seems reasonable enough. So, for a piece of the ac-tion, I'm willing to help you out on that quest."

"How?" Neelah broke into the exchange between the assembler and the bounty hunter. After all, she had told herself, it's me they're talking about. "You already said you hadn't found out any more than we did!"

"Calm yourself," said Balancesheet. "It's true: you didn't find anything here, and neither did I. But all of you have made a faulty assumption from that fact. You sim-ply believe there's nowhere else to look, and that's not the case."

"So where else is there?" Boba Fett's voice sounded neither impressed nor amused. "Everybody in the chain leading to Neelah is dead now."

"Yes, but certain evidence they left behind still ex-ists." One of Balancesheet's tiny claw tips pointed straight toward Boba Fett. "You've stated that you found the fabricated evidence against Prince Xizor inside a cargo droid that had been transformed to a spy device. Where is that droid now?"

"That's your idea of a lead?" Boba Fett shook his head in disgust. "That droid—if it still exists at all—is completely unavailable to us. Once I pulled the data records out of the droid's memory unit and stored them on my ship's computer, I didn't do anything more with the droid itself. When I took over Bossk's ship Hound's Tooth, the one that brought us here, I transferred that in-formation over to its computer. But the original cargo droid was still left aboard Slave I—and that ship is in the hands of the Rebel Alliance now. A Rebel patrol found and confiscated it, where I had abandoned it in orbit above Tatooine." Fett recited the events in his customary emotionless tone, though Neelah knew how great the at-tachment was between him and his own ship. "Whatever contacts I've still got inside the Alliance, they're preoccu-pied right now with other things, like what's shaping up to happen out near Endor. They're not likely to go root-ing around through their storage units for some anti-quated cargo droid found onboard an empty ship. Why should they? They wouldn't know that it might have any value, except as scrap."

"So you have a record of the fabricated evidence against Prince Xizor—an incomplete copy, as it were—but not the fabricated evidence itself. That is a pity." Balance-sheet smiled. "Because if you had the actual evidence, the original that was inside the modified cargo droid, then you might be able to examine and analyze it further, for clues that you didn't have time to find before."

"As I said," growled Boba Fett. "The cargo droid is gone. Lost. It might as well not exist, for all the good it does us."

"Perhaps so. But that doesn't mean that the original of the fabricated evidence, from which you took the information you possess, is lost." The jagged smile on the assembler's triangular face grew wider. "In fact, I know where it is. And it's not in the hands of the Rebel Alliance."

For the first time, Neelah saw something take Boba Fett by surprise. The bounty hunter stepped back as if from a blow, then he peered closer and harder at Balancesheet.

"What're you talking about? It has to be still inside the droid. That's where I left it."

"Let me tell you something more," said the smiling as-sembler. "You and your associates here are not the only ones who are interested in it. Some very powerful forces are searching for that same fabricated evidence."

"Who?" Boba Fett's hand shot toward the smaller creature, as though he were about to seize Balancesheet within his fist. "Who else is looking for it?"

"While you've been making your way here, I've been in contact with my own information sources; that's what I do. I hear all sorts of interesting and potentially prof-itable things. Only this time, I was approached directly by the other party involved; a representative from one of the most powerful men in the galaxy searched me out, to inquire whether I knew the whereabouts of that fab-ricated evidence against the late Prince Xizor, the same evidence that you found aboard Ree Duptom's ship Venesectrix."

"It must have been somebody from Black Sun, then. From whoever took over that organization after Xizor's death—"

"Not at all." Balancesheet gave a slow shake of his head. "From what I've been able to find out, neither Xi-zor nor Black Sun ever knew anything about whatever plot had been cooked up with this fabricated evidence. Besides, even if somebody in Black Sun found out about it now, why would they care? Prince Xizor is dead. Tying him to an Imperial stormtrooper raid on the planet Ta-tooine doesn't mean anything now."

"Then who—"

"Oh, but it gets even more interesting." On the metal ledge, Balancesheet seemed to vibrate with the pleasure of telling so many secrets. "The person who sent their representative here, looking for information about the fabricated evidence's whereabouts, seems to bear a con-siderable hostility toward you, Boba Fett. Or else he sim-ply doesn't want to risk the possibility of you finding that fabricated evidence before he does. Because he's the one who ordered the bombing raid on the Dune Sea, back on Tatooine. The bombing raid in which you yourself came very close to being blown to atoms. You managed to escape—obviously—but I wouldn't say that this very powerful individual has ceased wishing you were dead. And he'd be happy to make that come about, given the op-portunity." Balancesheet, multiple eyes glittering, leaned forward from its perch. "So you should appreciate the fact that I'm betting a lot on our doing business together, Fett. Because I could sell the information about your whereabouts to that other party, for a handsome pile of credits indeed."

"That'd be more efficient, at least," Dengar spoke up. "If all Balancesheet wanted was to eliminate us, it'd be easier to do it that way rather than firing off its own laser cannons." He shrugged. "Maybe the little guy's got a point."

"Maybe." Boba Fett appeared to mull it over for a second. "It all depends upon who this other person is, who not only tried to kill all of us, but is also looking for the same thing we are."

"Fine," said Balancesheet. "I'll tell you, and then you can make your own determination about what to do. The person in question is Kuat of Kuat, the head of Kuat Drive Yards."

Neelah was unable to stifle a gasp of surprise. I know him —the thought jumped unbidden into her mind, com-plete with an image of the powerful Kuat. That faded away as quickly as it came; she blinked and saw Boba Fett glancing in her direction. He said nothing, but turned back toward the assembler on the metal ledge.

"How do you know it was Kuat of Kuat who did all that?" Boba Fett's voice was tinged with suspicion.

"Why would the head of one of the largest engineering firms in the galaxy be interested in fabricated evidence against the late Prince Xizor? And why would he want me dead?"

"Questions, questions, questions." Balancesheet shook its head in mock despair. "They wouldn't be necessary if you trusted me more."

"I haven't stayed alive as long as I have in this busi-ness by trusting other creatures. So just answer them."

"Very well; I know it was Kuat of Kuat who ordered the bombing raid on the Dune Sea, because his represen-tative told me so, on his instructions. Kuat wanted me to be assured of his desire to have you dead, so that I would be confident of getting paid in case I came across any news of your whereabouts. And as to why he'd want you dead, and why he'd be interested in this fabricated evi-dence against the late Prince Xizor—" Balancesheet spread his raised claw tips apart. "Of that, I have not the slightest notion. But it does confirm in my mind that if we had what he was looking for, and given the vast wealth of Kuat Drive Yards at his disposal, we'd be able to force him to pay a substantial sum for it. And let's face it: you and I have considerable experience at bargaining for that kind of thing."

"Then the only problem," said Dengar, "is getting our hands on what he wants."

And what I want, thought Neelah to herself.

"How fortunate then that the fabricated evidence isn't with the Rebel Alliance, but someplace where it can be gotten at instead." Balancesheet's jagged smile almost seemed to split its triangular face in half.

"And also, that your new business associate—myself—knows where it is." The assembler looked back over toward Boba Fett. "We are in business together, aren't we?"

"All right," answered Boba Fett. "We'll work out the split later. After we get hold of the fabricated evidence and figure out the best way to cash in on it."

Balancesheet laughed, a sound like tiny, mistuned bells.

"What's so amusing?"

"It's so paradoxical." One of the claw tips wiped at the largest of the multiple eyes, in another parody of hu-manoid emotional gestures. "You've come all this way, looking for the answers you want, and the only means of getting those answers now is to find this phony evidence against the dead Xizor—and it's back on Tatooine!"

Neelah and both bounty hunters were stunned into si-lence for a moment. She found her voice first.

"Tatooine? How ... how did it get there?"

"Simple." Balancesheet wrapped its forelimbs around itself, the better to contain its growing mirth. "It's been there for quite a while now. You see, when our associate Boba Fett here"—the assembler gestured toward the hel-meted bounty hunter—"managed, through his impressive personal skills, to chase Bossk off Slave I, the fabricated evidence went with him, inside the emergency escape pod he used to get away."

"And how do you know this?" Boba Fett regarded the assembler with skepticism.

"My friend, you've been out of the loop, this whole time that you've been making the journey to this remote sector. If you were in contact with your own information sources, the way I am with mine, you might have heard an interesting piece of news that's been circulating through some of the seedier watering holes and meeting places of the galaxy. It seems that your fellow bounty hunter is holed up in the Mos Eisley spaceport back on Tatooine, and he has a certain ... item to sell. And he's looking for the right buyer for it. The item is rather unique, as I'm sure you'll appreciate; it's the fabricated evidence against the late Prince Xizor that supposedly linked him to the Imperial stormtrooper raid on a certain moisture farm on that planet. Of course, Bossk's attempts to unload these goods are complicated by the fact that he doesn't know the phony evidence's significance, its real value, or that Kuat of Kuat is in fact trying to locate it. If Bossk knew that, he could sell it in a heartbeat, for a very good price. But alas ... he doesn't know." The assembler's voice filled with a mocking sympathy for the absent bounty hunter. "That's what happens when you try to do things yourself, for which you should have contacted an expert like me."

"Advertise on your own time," said Boba Fett irrita-bly. "So Bossk has got it..." He nodded slowly, mulling over the information. "He must have found the cargo droid when he was aboard Slave I, before I called it down to the Dune Sea to pick us up. And he discovered the fabricated evidence about Xizor inside the droid and removed it, without knowing its significance but hoping that he'd be able to find some way of cashing in on it. I didn't have time to check the storage areas inside Slave I before abandoning it. So it seems I finally underestimated Bossk; I wouldn't have thought he had the native intelli-gence to have discerned any value in that cargo droid's contents."

"And then he must have shoved it inside the emer-gency escape pod." Dengar had managed to keep up with the others' explanations. "Right when you were coming down on him. Either he got lucky with what he decided to grab and take with him, or he's gotten a lot smarter than any of us would've ever have taken him for."

"What does it matter?" With growing exasperation, Neelah looked from one bounty hunter to the other.

"The only thing that's important is that this fabricated evidence still exists. And if we can get our hands on it—" The possibilities had already leapt up in her mind, of finding the answers to the remaining questions about her own past. "Then we might be able to figure out who cre-ated it in the first place, and why they did it, and ..."

"And that person's connection to you, of course." Boba Fett glanced over at her. "Don't worry; that mys-tery might not have the same personal significance for me that it does for you, but it still represents a potential source of profit. That makes it important enough to me."

"So it's back to Tatooine," said Dengar. The notion seemed to cheer him; Neelah figured that was because he would be able to see his betrothed, Manaroo, once again.

"If only it were as easy as all that." The jagged smile had vanished from Balancesheet's face. "But I'm afraid it's not. My poor lumbering freighter, as comfortable a home and place of business as it provides for me, would never reach Tatooine before Bossk found a buyer for the item he's trying to sell."

"So what's the problem? The Hound's Tooth is plenty fast enough—"

"Yes," interrupted Balancesheet, "and it's a marked ship. It's the one vessel in which it would be a dead cer-tainty you'd never be able to reach Tatooine. Or, at least, not alive. Bossk has apparently kept silent about losing his ship to his enemy Boba Fett, but Kuat of Kuat hasn't. After the bombing raid he ordered didn't succeed at kill-ing you off, and after his information sources had let him know that the Rebel Alliance had confiscated the aban-doned Slave I, Kuat was able to figure out that you must be aboard the Hound. So Kuat has put out the word that he wants the Hound's Tooth found and intercepted— and if that means killing whoever's aboard it, so much the better. Which means that there are a lot of bounty hunters looking for it. Given that a great many of them still bear a grudge against you, for what you did to break up the old Bounty Hunters Guild, this is their perfect op-portunity to get paid a substantial pile of credits and get their revenge, all at the same time." The assembler's tri-angular head tilted to one side, regarding Fett. "Ironic, isn't it? You've been the hunter for so long ... and now you're the hunted."

"If I still had Slave I," said Boba Fett, "none of them would have a chance of stopping me."

"But you don't. And Bossk's ship is nowhere near the equivalent of your own, even if you were completely at ease with its weapons systems. The other bounty hunters would pick you off long before you got anywhere near Tatooine. There's probably not much time remaining be-fore one of them finds you here in this remote sector. So it's no longer just a matter of realizing profits, or discov-ering the secrets of some stolen past." Balancesheet's glit-tering eyes took in the others, one by one. "For all of you, it's a matter of survival now."

"Great," muttered Dengar. The lifted spirits he had shown just minutes before had now evaporated.

"We're dead. I knew this was going to happen ..."

"Come, come." Balancesheet sounded almost pitying. "Would I have thrown my lot in with yours if I had thought you were all doomed? I'm a better business-creature than that."

"Then you've got a plan," said Boba Fett. "What is it?"

"Very simple. You just need to find another way to get to Tatooine. That's all."

"Easier said than done. It's a long walk from here."

"No need to, even if that were possible." The jagged smile returned to Balancesheet's narrow face. "I took the liberty of making other arrangements while you were on your way here to my ship. I've been in contact with a cer-tain individual, with whom you've done business before— in a manner of speaking—and his ship is close enough to this sector, so that he can be here shortly."

Boba Fett regarded the assembler with suspicion evi-dent even through the helmet's dark visor. "Who is it?"

"Oh ..." The assembler's smile widened even further than before. "You'll see soon enough ..."

"Well, well." A thin figure had emerged from the trans-fer hatchway, leaving his smaller craft tethered to the exterior of Balancesheet's freighter. From a face with youthfulness sharpened by feral cynicism, his gaze met with that of the helmeted bounty hunter. "Balancesheet told me he had a surprise in store. This is a good one."

"I knew you'd be amused," replied Balancesheet. "For a lot of reasons."

With a cocky swagger, the new arrival approached Boba Fett. "The last time we ran into each other, you just about killed me. I'm still wondering why you didn't."

Fett gazed back at him coldly. "Don't make me start wondering, Suhlak."

"Suhlak?" Dengar studied the youth for a moment, then glanced over at Balancesheet. "As in N'dru Suhlak? You called in a hunt saboteur?"

"Who better?" The assembler's response was mild and unruffled. "He is uniquely qualified for the task we need performed."

"Yeah, but ..." Dengar's expression soured as he shook his head in disgust. "I don't like dealing with this kind of lowlife. It ... it just goes against everything I be-lieve in."

"What?" Neelah turned and looked at the bounty hunter standing next to her. "That's hard to believe. Since when did people in your line of business start getting moral attitudes?"

Suhlak smiled at her. "You'll have to excuse him, lady. But once a bounty hunter, always a bounty hunter. That's his job. And my job is to mess things up for him, and for every other bounty hunter." He made a small, mocking bow. "That's just what I do."

"You see, Neelah ..." From the metal ledge, Balance-sheet gestured toward Suhlak. "The existence of special-ized entities such as bounty hunters has inevitably given rise to other, competing specialities. Such as this young— and very gifted—hunt saboteur. What he does is get cer-tain individuals from point A to point B as quickly and safely as possible; that in itself is not so special. But Suhlak here performs this service for individuals who have had bounties placed on their heads, and whom bounty hunters such as Dengar and Boba Fett are seek-ing to capture. He, in essence, spoils their hunt. You can hardly expect bounty hunters to approve of someone like that."

"Yeah, and like I care." Suhlak leaned his shoulder against a bulkhead and folded his arms across his chest. "They do what they do for credits, and I do what I do for the same. Which brings up the matter at hand. I take it you called me here for a reason, Balancesheet. That rea-son better be a nice, high-paying job."

"I think it's one for which we can offer you satis-factory terms." Balancesheet pointed a minuscule claw tip toward Boba Fett. "Our mutual friend here needs to reach Tatooine as quickly—and as unobtrusively—as possible."

"That's going to be a little bit difficult for him." Suh-lak aimed a smirk in Boba Fett's direction, then turned back toward the assembler. "There's a lot of other crea-tures out there gunning for him. I mean, he wasn't too popular before; now that there's a pile of credits offered in exchange for his hide, his chances have gone way down."

"We're aware of the difficulties," said Balancesheet. "And while of course there's a certain, shall we say, irony that comes with asking a hunt saboteur to assist in con-veying a bounty hunter past other bounty hunters, we still think your services might be useful in that regard."

"Useful?" Suhlak gave a slow nod. "Yeah—and expensive."

"There's a surprise," said Dengar sourly.

"Shut up." Neelah hissed the words at him. "This is the only way we've got."

Suhlak pointed toward Balancesheet. "You mentioned a certain sum of credits when you contacted me."

"Yes—" The assembler nodded. "That was to get your interest."

"Oh, you got it, all right. But now that I see exactly what you're talking about..." Suhlak made a show of reluctantly shaking his head. "I'm not sure it's enough. Given the risks involved, and all. And . . . certain per-sonal issues that have to be overcome."

"What sum," asked Balancesheet, "would take care of those problems for you?"

"The figure you mentioned—up front. And then"— Suhlak's eyes narrowed to slits—"the same amount again, when the job's completed."

It was Balancesheet's turn to look doubtful. "That's a considerable amount of credits."

"Yeah, and it's a considerable amount of risk. Plus— you don't have any other options right now. So take it or leave it."

"Taken," Boba Fett spoke up. "Pay this creature, Balancesheet. I don't feel like haggling."

"You got yourself a good deal." Suhlak barked out a harsh laugh. "Think about it. I've made a lot of deliveries in my time—and you're the only one who ever succeeded at getting in my way. With you aboard this time, that'll be one thing I won't have to worry about."

"So you're going to be taking all of us back to Ta-tooine?" Neelah pointed to herself and the two bounty hunters. "That's the deal?"

Suhlak shook his head. "Sweetheart, I've only got a modified Z-95 Headhunter—that's what I use in my busi-ness. Fast, maneuverable—but a little on the cramped side, even with the bubbled-out passenger space I had added to it. There's really just room for me and one other creature. Boba Fett's making this trip, and that's it."

"But ..." An edge of panic, a glimpse into the un-known, cut through Neelah's thoughts. Everything—all the answers to the questions that remained with her— depended upon Boba Fett. "How do I know ... how do we know... that you'll come back?"

"Don't worry," said Boba Fett. "This will be a two-way journey, all right. How else am I going to make any credits on this deal?"

"Hey, wait a minute." Suhlak pushed himself away from the bulkhead on which he'd been leaning. "Nobody said anything about getting back here. My price was just for getting you to Tatooine!"

Boba Fett turned his shielded gaze toward the younger man. "Take it or leave it, Suhlak. Or else we'll explore another option—namely, my killing you and then pilot ing your ship myself. The odds of making it to Tatooine wouldn't be as good, but at least I wouldn't have to put up with you any longer."

For a few seconds, the hunt saboteur glared back at Fett. Then he nodded. "All right. Let's get going."