Slave Ship

4

"You know how to pilot this thing?"

Boba Fett glanced over his shoulder at the other bounty hunter standing in the hatchway of the Hound's Tooth's cockpit." There are certain difficulties," he said evenly, with no apparent emotion." But they can be overcome." He raised his own gloved hands from the control panel's distinctive forearm grooves." Trandoshan operating interfaces are on the crude and awkward side, but the ship's configuration is otherwise standard. Anything of which those big claws are capable, I assure you is equally within my grasp."

I bet, thought Dengar. He leaned against the side of the hatchway, watching Boba Fett make some final navigation adjustments. He'd had his own encounters with Trandoshans, including the former owner of this ship, and they had all been unpleasant. Bossk had had a reputation for a hot temper even back in the days of the old Bounty Hunters Guild, when he'd had presumably less to gripe about. Cross him, and you were likely to get your head unscrewed from your shoulders like the lid of an emergency rations canister. That was what those claws were suitable for, not highspeed, pinpoint starhopping. Whereas someone like Boba Fett could work over an enemy with equal finality and handle intimidatingly complex gear, from any kind of interplanetary vessel to that Mandalorian battle armor that Fett wore.

Dengar pointed to the cockpit's comm equipment." What happens when somebody recognizes this ship, and they want to talk to Bossk? We might run into some old friend of his, somebody who can tell that this is the Hound."

"True," said Fett. He had turned his gaze back to the ship's controls." But where we're going, we're not likely to encounter many acquaintances of Bossk's. He confined himself to a relatively restricted number of sectors, the worlds and systems where he was well known enough to command a certain measure of respect. That's what he liked. Bossk never showed much initiative about expanding his operations into new territories."

"If you say so." Dengar shrugged." I guess that was his loss, huh?"

"Perhaps." Boba Fett punched another set of coordinates into the navicomputer." Or it might be why he's still alive at all. Sometimes-for creatures like him-it's better to play it safe."

Yeah? And what about creatures like us? He found himself gazing at the back of Boba Fett's helmet, wondering what was going on inside it, what schemes and hidden agendas might be ticking away in the other bounty hunter's skull. It was no help to have seen Fett without the distinctive Mandalorian helmet-he supposed he was one of the few, along with the former dancing girl Neelah, who could make that claim. All that time down on Tatooine, when the two of them had been nursing Boba Fett back to health, keeping him from dying after he'd managed to explode his way out of the Sarlacc's gut-and Dengar was still no closer to figuring out the creature whose life he'd saved. And that was bad news, considering he was now supposedly partners with the deadliest and most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy; a partnership that Boba Fett had proposed and that Dengar had accepted, perhaps a little too quickly, now that he'd had a chance to think it over. Why did I agree to that? The ostensible reason was that the arrangement had seemed the quickest way to make a lot of money, pay off the huge debtload he'd been dragging around for years, and marry his beloved Manaroo-if she were still waiting for him, and if he returned to her as something other than a blaster-fried corpse.

Being out of touch with her was pure torment for Dengar; the depth of his love for Manaroo had not been completely apparent to him until just before he had left Tatooine in Boba Fett's Slave I. Dengar had contacted Manaroo and had instructed her to take his ship The Punishing One and go into hiding. She had done that job well; right now, he had no idea where in this galaxy Manaroo was, and no way of communicating with her. They had agreed together that as long as Dengar was partners with the notorious bounty hunter Boba Fett, it would be too dangerous for them to remain in contact with each other. There were too many creatures with well-nursed grievances against Boba Fett, or who would see some way of profiting by his death; if those creatures discovered that Fett's partner had committed his heart and spirit and fortunes to a female on her own, she would then be seen as the weak point in Fett's armor, the way of getting at him through his business associate. Manaroo would become the target of every low-life scum in the galaxy; she was smart and tough enough to evade and fight them off, but not forever-and Dengar wouldn't be there to protect her. That factor had tormented his mind and influenced his decision more than anything else.

But even that small measure of safety for his beloved had come with a price. Someday they would be together again-but only if they both survived, and if they found one another once more.

Those were big ifs, and getting increasingly bigger in Dengar's mind, the more time he spent hooked up with Boba Fett. Life as a bounty hunter had been hazardous enough, before now-which had been one of the main reasons he'd wanted to get out of this line of work. And now, he thought gloomily, I've gone from the edges of all that danger right to the center. If his luck-and his skills-had been nothing to boast of before, he had at least managed to keep himself alive. But there hadn't been mysterious, unidentified forces bringing a full-scale bombing raid down on his head, as had happened back on Tatooine. The raid obviously hadn't been meant to kill him; his death wouldn't even have been noticed by whoever was gunning for Boba Fett. That was the problem with hooking up with someone like that. Fett had whatever it took to survive under the most murderous conditions-even the Sarlacc hadn't been able to kill him. Too bad, thought Dengar, for anybody else. If you weren't at that level, you were dead meat.

And for what?

"So-" He tried again to get some useful information." If we're not heading anywhere that Bossk used to hang out. . . where exactly is it we're going?"

Boba Fett didn't look around at him." I prefer keeping that on a need-to-know basis. And right now, you don't need it."

A spark of resentment flared inside Dengar." I thought we were supposed to be partners."

"So we are." Fett's gloved hands moved across the cockpit controls." I consider myself bound by the agreement into which we both entered."

"Doesn't seem like much of a partnership, if you're making all the decisions." Dengar's voice tightened inside his throat." I had the impression that somehow we were going to be on an equal footing. I guess I got that wrong, huh?"

This time, Boba Fett did swivel the pilot's chair around. The cold, blank gaze of his helmet's narrow visor fastened on Dengar. The rock that had formed in Dengar's throat now turned into a leaden weight, falling past his heart and into the pit of his stomach.

"You might have had some misapprehension along that line." The flatness of Boba Fett's words was scarier than any show of emotion would have been." But if you continue to believe that we could somehow be equals, then I'm forced to disagree with my partner. There's no way that you and I could be thought of as equals. Not as far as being bounty hunters is concerned."

"Well. . ." The weight in his gut had gone cold, draining all the warmth from Dengar's blood. Boba Fett's hidden gaze seemed to press him downward, like a bug beneath the other's boot." I didn't mean it exactly like that. . ."

"Good. I'd hate to think I had wrongly estimated my partner's value to me." Boba Fett's voice continued, as mild and threatening as before." We do have some value to each other, Dengar. Even beyond your having saved my life, when you found me back there in the Dune Sea. But don't think that you're here, and my partner, simply because of gratitude. I assure you-I don't feel that kind of emotion."

Or any, thought Dengar. He could feel himself sweating inside his own gear. Already, he had gone beyond wishing that he had ever broached this subject with the other bounty hunter.

"We can," said Boba Fett," be very useful to each other. That's the only basis I know for a partnership. Of course, if you consider something else to be the case. . ."

Dengar stared back at the helmet's visor, as though hypnotized by the eyes concealed behind it. All words and thoughts had fled from his own skull.

"Then perhaps we should think about dissolving the partnership. Is that what you want?"

It took a while for Dengar to force a reply past his tongue." No. . ." He shook his head." That's not what I meant at all. . ."

"I'd advise you to think about what it is you want, then." Boba Fett leaned slightly forward in the pilot's chair, bringing the pressure of his visored gaze closer to Dengar." Because if we're not going to be partners-our business relationship will be a lot different."

He's playing with me, thought Dengar. It didn't come as a relief to discover that Boba Fett was capable of emotion, or at least of cruelty. He raised his hands, palm outward, as if in surrender." No," said Dengar hastily," that's okay. I'm perfectly. . . satisfied with the way things are. You run the operations however you want, and that's fine by me."

Boba Fett was silent for a moment, then his helmet tilted in the barest nod of acknowledgment." Very well," he said quietly." There's no confusion now."

"Not in the slightest," agreed Dengar. He found he could breathe once more.

Boba Fett swiveled the pilot's chair back toward

the cockpit controls." I'll make the decisions-and you carry them out."

The last remark puzzled Dengar." Just what is it. . . you want me to do?"

"When the time comes, there'll be plenty. Don't worry about keeping up your end of the partnership. But in the meantime, why don't you just take it easy? Just relax."

Sure, thought Dengar to himself. As if that's going to happen anytime soon.

"Enjoy the peace and quiet," said Boba Fett as he continued his navigational adjustments," while you can. It might be in short supply where we're heading."

"All right." Dengar stepped back from the cockpit's hatchway." You're the boss."

"Close enough," said Boba Fett." Go below and tell Neelah to strap herself in-you too, for that matter. We'll be making a jump into hyperspace in a few minutes."

He knew better than to ask the destination. Whatever coordinates Boba Fett had punched into the navicomputer, they didn't seem to be open for discussion. That's a real partnership, all right-Dengar turned away from the cockpit and grasped the ladder leading down to the minimal passenger space of the Hound's Tooth. It wouldn't be long before the ship would emerge into some sector of the galaxy, so uninviting that a Trandoshan such as Bossk had never frequented it. That made him feel about as comfortable as what being partners with Boba Fett had turned into.

He turned his head as he started down the metal treads of the ladder, looking back toward the cockpit. The other bounty hunter went about his self-appointed tasks, as though he'd already forgotten Dengar's presence.

Right, thought Dengar. If he'd had any doubts before about the exact nature of the partnership between himself and Boba Fett, they were cleared up now. One way or another

His boot soles rang on the metal treads of the ladder all the way down.

She could barely believe what she had just heard. Overheard, actually-Neelah had tapped into the Hound's Tooth's internal communications system through an access panel in the main personnel quarters aboard ship. The cramped space was furnished in Trandoshan taste, all dark tapestries over the bulkheads and a jumble of thinly padded sleeping pallets. The tapestries were fastened down at their corners, to keep them from drifting and tangling in case the ship's artificial gravity failed; they depicted various great moments in Trandoshan history and legend, all of them violent. Even while she had been fiddling with the comm equipment, with the specific intent of eavesdropping on Dengar and Boba Fett, she had been thanking fate that the Hound's original pilot wasn't still aboard.

Her gratitude faded a bit when she finally managed to listen in on the conversation up in the cockpit area. She was dismayed at the manner in which Boba Fett walked all over Dengar, for no more reason than a simple inquiry as to where they were all heading. He's one, Neelah thought disgustedly, that's not going to be much use to me. If things came down to a split between herself and Boba Fett-and she could already see how that was becoming increasingly likely-then having the other bounty hunter Dengar on her side wouldn't make much difference. Fett could eliminate them both, without any inconvenience at all.

If it hadn't been clear to her before, it was now obvious why Dengar wanted to get out of the bounty hunter trade so badly. He just doesn't have the guts for it, she thought with a rueful shake of her head. The kind of guts, and the conspicuous lack of nerves, that Boba Fett possessed. Better that Dengar should hang up his weapons and jettison his dwindling reserve of ambition, and settle down on some safe backwater world with his intended bride Manaroo, before he got himself killed or completely imploded from panic.

Neelah had her own conviction, reinforced now that she had listened in on Dengar and Boba Fett, about how matters would wind up going. I'll have to do everything myself. Wherever the Hound's Tooth was headed, and whatever was waiting for them there. She'd have to do it all, including saving her own and Dengar's lives-the cold lack of emotion in Boba Fett's voice assured her that he had no great regard for their survival. Dengar might have fallen for that partnership scam, but she hadn't. Neelah hadn't agreed to it, either; as far as she was concerned, she was an independent operator, with no one's skin but her own to watch out for.

The only problem with that was she still didn't know whose skin that really was. I don't even know my real name, mused Neelah bitterly. Her name, and everything that went with it: history, friends, enemies; who she might be able to ask for help, and receive; who would cut her throat at a moment's notice, if they knew she was alive and off the surface of the planet Tatooine. She had her suspicions, pieced together from logic rather than actual information. Whoever dumped me off at Jabba's palace-whoever it had been, that was the creature for whom she had to watch out. Or creatures in the plural; it might have been a whole conspiracy, any number of the galaxy's sinister forces leagued against her. They must have had their reasons for wiping her memory clean, all her past erased from inside her skull, disguising her as a simple dancing girl, and sticking her inside the fortressed headquarters of one of the most powerful criminal overlords to be found on any world. Perhaps Jabba the Hutt had known the whole story behind her being in his palace-but that didn't do her any good now. Jabba was dead, and all the secrets that the loathsome slug had kept to himself were gone as well.

Almost the only thing that remained from her past, a scrap of memory that had been left behind by the wipe process, was an image. No voice, no words, no other data, however fragmentary. Whoever had done it to her had been meticulously thorough. Perhaps it would have been better for her, though, if they had eradicated that last little bit as well. The image left in Neelah's obliterated memory was that of a face. Or rather a nonface; a mask. The image of Boba Fett's narrow-visored helmet, concealing the living face beneath its hard, inhuman gaze. . .

She had seen that masked face at Jabba's palace, and it had filled her with fear and anger then. Neelah had sensed that the bounty hunter hadn't been just guarding the Hutt as he'd been hired to do-Jabba had been one of the few creatures in the galaxy wealthy enough to have engaged Boba Fett's services like that-but she had also been sure that Fett had been following his own private agenda as well. He came and went from Jabba's court on mysterious errands, though he'd displayed a sure instinct for always being on hand in a moment of crisis, such as when Princess Leia Organa, disguised as an Ubese bounty hunter demanding the reward for a captured Wookiee, had brandished an activated thermal detonator right in front of Jabba. Boba Fett had snapped his blaster rifle up into firing position in less than a heartbeat, as most of Jabba's other guards had dived for cover.

Nobody had died that time, but it hadn't been for any lack of readiness on Boba Fett's part. Jabba had paid the bounty and the disguised princess had deactivated the explosive device-otherwise there wouldn't even have been ruins left of Jabba's palace. Neelah was sure, though, that Boba Fett would have survived somehow; he always did, no matter how many other creatures died around him.

And-strangely-she also knew that she would have still been alive, no matter what happened. Let the fire fall, thought Neelah; she would have emerged unscathed, carried to safety by. . . Boba Fett. Who else?

That was the meaning, she had little doubt, of the interest Fett had shown in her welfare, back at Jabba's palace. It hadn't taken her long to pick up on it, that every time the bounty hunter had returned from one of his mysterious errands, his helmeted gaze had turned in her direction, making certain that she was still there, alive and unharmed.

Which took some doing in a den of violence like Jabba's palace, where all the thugs and scoundrels took their cues from their master's own tastes in the suffering of other creatures. A Hutt like Jabba didn't count his wealth just in how many credits he kept heaped up in his treasure vaults, but also in how much pain and death he could inflict. . . and savor, like one of the squirming little delicacies that his tiny hands had stuffed into the lipless chasm of his mouth. A good number of Jabba's hirelings had worked for cheap-his favorite salary arrangement-with the understanding that they could indulge their cruel appetites as well.

Poor Oola had been one of the prettiest of the palace's dancing girls, and thus reserved for Jabba's pleasure; that had been symbolized by the fine-linked chain he'd kept her on. Not for me, thought Neelah. She touched her face with one hand, her fingertips tracing the healed scar of the wound she'd received from the pikestaff of one of the Gamorrean palace guards when she'd made her own escape. Even before the honed metal had slashed across her jaw and cheek, she hadn't been of quite the same fragile loveliness as Oola had been. Given Jabba's sadistic tastes, the pleasure he had taken in seeing beauty viciously ripped to bleeding pieces, to be not quite so beautiful was a blessing; during her time in the palace, Neelah had seen prettier females than herself tossed to Jabba's pet rancor, and had heard their brief screams from the depths of the pit while Jabba's sniggering thugs had clustered around the edge, enjoying the sight nearly as much as their master had.

But there had been another reason for Neelah's longer life span within the thick stone walls of Jabba's palace. The first glimmerings of her suspicions had grown into absolute certainty. It was him, thought Neelah. It was Boba Fett. She glanced up again toward the cockpit area of the Hound's Tooth. An invisible connection stretched between herself and the helmeted bounty hunter piloting the ship. The same mysterious connection that had existed between them back in Jabba's palace. Without a word ever having passed between a mere dancing girl and the galaxy's most feared bounty hunter-at least, no word that her ravaged memory could recall-she had known even then that Boba Fett had been keeping watch on her. So that no harm would come to her-that is, none of a fatal kind. Life in the palace had had its numerous and imaginative unpleasantries, most of which had caused Neelah and the other dancing girls to wonder if a quick exit via the rancor pit wouldn't have been preferable. But Neelah had realized at some point that choice wasn't open to her. She'd had a guardian, of a sort; Boba Fett's careful and silent observation hadn't been trained just on his Huttese employer.

What would've happened, Neelah wondered idly, if ]abba had gotten around to throwing me to the rancor? A good question, even if it had been rendered moot by Jabba's death. The answer depended, she supposed, upon the exact nature of her importance to the bounty hunter. Was it great enough that Boba Fett would have interfered with Jabba's pleasures? Enough that, if the need had arisen, Fett would have swung his blaster rifle up and pointed it at Jabba's massive, jowly face, and the deep sepulchral voice from inside the helmet would have ordered the Hutt to let her go?

She wasn't sure, even now; Boba Fett played a complicated game, with the value of the pieces on the board shifting as rapidly as his stratagems. Whatever concern he'd shown for her welfare in Jabba's palace hadn't been based on any great love for her. Fett had already assured her-and I believe it, she thought grimly-that concern for other creatures' lives was a notion foreign to his mind. Even when he was ferrying a piece of hard merchandise, as hostages with prices on their heads were called in the bounty hunter trade, the only consideration that kept breath in their lungs was that live prey was usually worth more than dead ones to those who forked over the credits for their capture.

And what am I worth? That question still haunted her thoughts. As any kind of merchandise. Her worth, her value to Boba Fett; the reasons why he had been so intent upon her surviving her time in Jabba's palace-those were things that she still hadn't been able to figure out. If he had an interest in keeping her alive, then he undoubtedly had his reasons for it-and those reasons might not be any that were to her advantage.

There was one more question that was even more disturbing. What happens, wondered Neelah, when those reasons come to an end? When her life had no more value for Boba Fett, she could hardly expect a creature like him to keep her around out of mere sentiment. She had been no more than a dancing girl to Jabba; she was sure of that, having seen the slit pupils of the Hutt's eyes narrow upon sight of her, with the same malignant, destructive lusts that all things of beauty had evoked in his blubber-swaddled heart. Boba Fett wouldn't dispose of her just for the sake of whatever sick pleasure could be found in another creature's suffering, but for cold, hard credits. Neelah didn't find that to be any better arrangement. I wind up dead, she mused bitterly, either way.

Though there was another outcome possible. A long shot, but better than no chance at all. And much more to her liking. Somebody winds up dead, all right. She nodded slowly to herself. But it won't be me. . .

All she would have to do-if and when that final confrontation came-would be to take on the galaxy's number-one bounty hunter, a killing machine that other killers dreaded encountering. Take him on, thought Neelah, and take him out.

It wouldn't be easy.

But oddly, as slim as her chances might be-she found herself almost looking forward to that final encounter.

The course of Neelah's thoughts was interrupted by the clang of boot soles upon the treads of the ladder that stretched up from the cargo area to the cockpit of the appropriated Hound's Tooth. Neelah quickly started to close the access panel to the comm circuits, then relaxed when she saw that it was only Dengar climbing down the ladder.

"Nice job," said Neelah. She folded her arms across her chest and regarded him." You pretty much let him wrap you up into a neat little package, didn't you?"

Dengar stepped off the bottom of the ladder." What're you talking about?"

"Come on." She didn't care if Dengar knew that she had been listening in on the cockpit conversations. With her thumb, she pointed to the exposed wiring and the small listening device she had found in the ship's spare-parts locker and had spliced in." I heard everything you said. And everything Boba Fett said back to you." Neelah slowly shook her head." I can't say I was very impressed. At least, not with you."

With a sigh of pent-up breath, Dengar lowered himself onto a bare metal bench at the side of the cargo area." He's a tough customer." The bounty hunter's shoulders slumped forward, in a full kinetic display of defeat." That hunter might as well be made out of durasteel, from his skin into his heart. If he's got one."

"What were you expecting?"

Dengar shrugged." Pretty much what I got from him."

"You idiot," said Neelah." I mean, what were you trying to achieve? What were your plans when you started talking to Fett?"

"'Plans'?" A blank look crossed Dengar's face." Right now, I couldn't tell you."

"Great." Neelah's voice soured with disgust." We're both possibly riding to our deaths-right at this moment-and the only ally I might have is completely brain-dead."

"Hey-" The bounty hunter straightened up from his slump." That's not fair. You think it's so easy getting something out of Boba Fett, then you try it. I'll wait right here for you to come crawling back down that ladder."

"Take it easy. I'm sorry, okay?" As if her problems weren't bad enough, now she had to be concerned about this stressed-out creature's tender feelings. She'd just been reminding herself that Boba Fett didn't have any fragile sensibilities like that; why couldn't Dengar be the same?" Look," said Neelah," you and I are going to have to stick together-"

"Why?" Dengar peered suspiciously at her." What's in it for me? Hooking up with you, that is. I've already got a partnership going with Boba Fett. That's worth a lot more than being partner with someone like you."

"Really?" She couldn't keep an expression of wry amusement from showing on her face." And that's why you were up there in the cockpit right now, talking things over with Fett-just like partners." Neelah gave another shake of her head." I guess it just goes to show: there are partners, and then there are partners. And you're definitely one of the latter sort."

"Yeah? And what sort's that?"

"The disposable sort," said Neelah." Just as disposable as I am, except I don't have any illusions about it." With one hand, she gestured at the various pieces of equipment festooning the bulkheads of the ship's cargo area." See all this stuff? It used to belong to somebody else. That other bounty hunter-"

"Bossk. That's his name." Dengar nodded." And you're right; this was his ship."

All of the equipment's controls and handles were sized for a creature with claws rather than humanoid digits; Neelah could have wrapped both her hands around some of the pieces that would probably have been swallowed up by a single one of Bossk's fists.

"And look what happened to him." Neelah indicated the cockpit above with a tilt of her head." What Boba Fett did to him. It was easy, too; at least for Fett. And this Bossk, from all I've heard about him, was one tough customer as well." The Trandoshan bounty hunter had made a few appearances in Jabba the Hutt's palace during her stint as a dancing girl there, and she had listened in on some of the stories whispered about him. The tales might have indicated that Bossk was no genius, but his sheer viciousness and tenacity made up for any failings in the brain department." And Fett still managed to turn him around and inside out, and send him on his way, minus this ship."

"That took some doing, all right." Dengar rested the palm of his hand against the cold durasteel of the bulkhead behind him." The Hound's Tooth was Bossk's pride and joy. More than that: his weapons, his way of making a living. You couldn't have bought this ship from him, for any amount of money."

"Obviously, Boba Fett has another way of doing business." One corner of Neelah's mouth lifted in a humorless smile." Too bad for the creature on the other end of the deal. And too bad for you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Come on," said Neelah." Don't be any more of a fool than you absolutely have to be. Isn't it plain to see? Your little conference just now in the cockpit should have made it clear to you just what your relationship is with Boba Fett. If you've fallen for that partners nonsense, you're even more of an idiot than you appear to be."

A scowl darkened Dengar's face." That's hard talk, coming from somebody without a friend in the whole galaxy."

That remains to be seen, thought Neelah. For all she knew, with the ravaged state her memory was in, she might have friends-powerful ones, that would do anything for her-numbering in the legions. They could be looking for her right now. If they think I'm still alive. It all depended on just what circumstances had led to her being stuck in an out-of-the-way hole like the planet Tatooine.

It was a notion that continually resurfaced in her thoughts. But not one that she could spend any time dwelling on, right now. She had other, more pressing business to take care of.

"You're not an idiot; my apologies." Saying even that much grated against some deeply imbedded fiber in Neelah's character, a personality trait that had survived the memory wipe that had been performed on her. Other creatures were supposed to apologize to her, whether they were in the wrong or not; she felt certain that was the proper state of affairs. But for now, in this situation in which she'd found herself, she'd have to act otherwise." But there's something you've got to understand." Neelah sat down next to Dengar on the narrow ledge of the cargo area's bench. There was barely room for the two of them on the shelflike space; her shoulder and thigh were pressed close to his, with an exchange of body warmth passing through their coarse, functional garb." It's important," said Neelah as she brought her gaze down to meet his." You and I-we have to stick together. If we're going to survive."

Dengar drew back, regarding her with suspicion." I'll survive," he said after a moment's silence." I can take care of myself-I have so far, at least."

"It's different now," said Neelah, her voice quiet and urgent." Different from anything you've been involved with before."

"Maybe." The bounty hunter shrugged." But if you've got doubts about what's going to happen to you-that's your problem. I've got enough of my own."

The urge to hit the thick-headed brute, to land her fist or some heavy piece of scrap metal against the side of his head, welled up in Neelah's breast. Muscles tensed, she fought the impulse back down.

"Look," she said. Leaning closer, she laid a hand on Dengar's knee." It's not just your survival that's at stake. Right? If all you were concerned about was keeping your hide intact, you'd find a way to get yourself out of here, and as far away from Boba Fett-and me-as possible. That'd be the smart thing to do."

The suspicion in Dengar's gaze hadn't ebbed. But he hadn't pulled away from her touch, either; progress of some kind was being made. Or so Neelah hoped.

"Smart enough," conceded Dengar.

"But there's things you're trying to accomplish. All that you want to make possible for yourself and Manaroo." There had been time enough-back on Tatooine, while she and Dengar had been keeping their vigil over the unconscious Boba Fett, slowly healing from the near-fatal wounds he had received from the Sarlacc beast's gut-for Neelah to have heard all about Dengar's hopes and dreams for the future. A future that would include marriage to his beloved Manaroo, and the abandonment of this dangerous bounty hunter trade-but only if he could pull off the kind of financial score that would wipe out his debt burden and set him and Manaroo up in a new life. The only way to do that was to set himself right in the path of the greatest danger, to remain not only a bounty hunter but one allied with the most fearsome-and treacherous-bounty hunter in the galaxy. Neelah had seen at once the quandary in which Dengar was trapped: Boba Fett might indeed be his way out of the bounty hunter trade and into that bright, shining future that he wished to put together for himself and Manaroo. But Fett could also be the trap with no exit, a web of plotting and intrigue that could only be escaped through death. Dengar's death; he might not return to his beloved except as a corpse." You can't trust Boba Fett," said Neelah, bringing her face even closer to Dengar's." He's not concerned with yours and Manaroo's happiness."

"I don't expect him to be." Dengar spoke stiffly and guardedly." He's a businessman."

"If that's all he were, we'd be safe. But he's a little bit more than that." Neelah tapped a forefinger against Dengar's knee." With real businessmen, on any planet, partnerships are formed all the time; that's how business is done-"

"Oh?" Dengar seemed amused by her words." You seem to know an awful lot about these things. For someone who has no memory other than that of being a dancing girl in Jabba the Hurt's palace."

"You don't need a memory," said Neelah," to be able to figure out how things work." In Dengar's case, it seemed like an unimpaired memory was just so much excess baggage." You just need to be smart enough to watch and listen. Come on, let's face it: if Boba Fett was interested in having a partner, he would have hooked himself up with some bounty hunter other than you."

"Such as?"

"Practically anybody." Neelah shrugged." He could've made an offer to Bossk. They could've worked out their differences, if it meant good business for them. You've said yourself that's all Boba Fett is interested in. And Bossk is supposedly the toughest and

hardest bounty hunter in the galaxy, after Boba Fett himself. Those two would have made an unstoppable partnership." Neelah's eyes narrowed to slits as she saw Dengar's reaction to her words." What are you laughing about?"

"Sorry-" A derisive smile remained on Dengar's face." But I find your ignorance amusing. You might not find your nonexistent memory a handicap, but others might. There are plenty of sentient creaturesespecially in the bounty hunter trade-who are just a little more knowledgeable about Boba Fett's personal history than you seem to be."

An anger that had become all too familiar burst into flame around Neelah's heart. As smart as she might be-definitely smarter than this Dengar, possibly so in regard to Boba Fett-she still found herself at a disadvantage. I have to figure out things that they already know. It was a big galaxy surrounding them, in this little bubble of a stolen ship; Neelah had a lot of blanks to fill in before she would be on an equal footing with even the most ignorant back-worlder.

They didn't just steal my memory, Neelah mused bitterly. They stole my ability-my chances-to survive.

That was all the more reason for her to get Dengar on her side, at least for the time being. She could use him, both as an ally and as a source of information, until she had been able to find and fit enough missing pieces together, like assembling a primitive two-dimensional jigsaw puzzle inside her skull.

It would have been easier, she knew-something else you didn't need to be a genius to figure out-if Dengar hadn't already been involved with his intended bride Manaroo. That complicated things, especially any strategy Neelah might otherwise have had for getting him on her side. Must be a real love match, Neelah had decided; the more she had heard of Dengar's plans for his and Manaroo's future life together, when he had somehow found his way out of both debt and the bounty hunter trade, had convinced her of it. Dengar's obvious devotion to the woman-he had purposely sent her away, to keep her out of danger-aroused sparks of both envy and frustration inside Neelah.

But at Jabba's palace, she had found ways-she'd been forced to-of making life more endurable, ways that had depended upon her physical attributes. Not every male creature in that cesspit of depravity had responded to feminine beauty with the urge to destroy it in as bloody a manner as possible. Some of Jabba's underlings had been almost pathetic in their eagerness to be rewarded with a mere smile from her or any of the other dancing girls, evoked by the gift of some edible morsels filched from the palace's underground kitchens. An even better gift had been protection from the attentions of the more predatory sorts of scum that had found employment with the late Jabba. As much as Neelah had come to realize that she was under the watchful gaze of Boba Fett while she had been in the palace, she had still been grateful for any extra security that she and the other dancing girls had been able to wile out of the multispecies household staff.

None of that was possible now, when she needed it more than ever. That was the frustrating part. Neelah had already realized that there was no hope of her replacing the absent Manaroo in Dengar's affections. If anything, he was more in love with his betrothed now than when Boba Fett's Slave I ship had ascended from the surface of Tatooine's Dune Sea. And more dedicated to his mission of putting together a future life for the two of them, in some peaceful corner of the galaxy, far from the criminal dens and watering holes to which he'd previously been accustomed. Manaroo had already changed his life, one way or another; Neelah could see that. Without even being here aboard the Hound's Tooth, Manaroo was a critical element in all of Neelah's calculations. Worst of all, despite Dengar's vow to quit the bounty hunter trade, he still had just enough of a bounty hunter's mercenary toughness to complicate matters. He'd get rid of me in a second, thought Neelah, if he figured that was best for him and Manaroo.

The trick would be to convince Dengar that the road to that future life he envisioned with his bride was the one that led through Neelah's plans. She already had her notions of now to plant that idea in his head. The anger that had risen inside her, like a spark thrown on dry kindling, was carefully held in check for the time being.

"You've got me there," said Neelah, her voice carefully modulated." Of course, there's things you know about that I don't. Even before-before they did this to me-" She laid her fingertips against the side of her head." There were probably all sorts of things you knew about Boba Fett that I would never have heard of. That's the universe you've lived in. His universe."

"That's right." Dengar nodded in agreement." It's his more than anyone else's. Boba Fett made it that way, bit by bit. If he'd wanted to-if it had suited his personal agenda-he could have taken over the entire bounty hunter trade instead of just the most profitable parts of it, the jobs that put the most credits in his pockets. There's still a remnant or two of the old Bounty Hunters Guild out there, but it's nothing compared to what it once was. Before he all but destroyed it, took it apart like a cheap astrogator device. Boba Fett could have set himself up at the top of the Guild, if he'd wanted to bother with it."

"You told me something before, about the Bounty Hunters Guild. Just a little while ago, right after Fett got rid of Bossk." Neelah searched her recent memory; it had been only a passing reference to the Guild, something hardly worth the effort to remember-at least, until now." You said. . . something about Bossk. And the Guild. That the trouble between him and Fett went back a long way."

"Sure," said Dengar, leaning back against the bulkhead. He seemed amused by her efforts at assembling the past." But it's no big secret. Everybody knows about it-or at least everybody who has any reason to be interested in the welfare of bounty hunters." Dengar's smile widened." Not everybody is, you know. Bounty hunters aren't the most popular creatures in the galaxy. That's just another good reason for getting out of the business. Makes it hard to build up a lot of goodwill, when everybody else has this fervent wish that your whole category was lasered out of existence."

You don't have to tell me, thought Neelah. She had been hanging out with bounty hunters for only a little while now, and she already had serious grievances with them.

"So there is some kind of history-between Boba Fett and Bossk." Neelah intently regarded Dengar sitting next to her, as though she could read some additional clues from his face." Something personal."

Dengar laughed." You could say that. You could say a lot about the two of them, and it would all be true. At least, the more violent parts would be. Bossk has got a grudge against Boba Fett a parsec wide-and this latest embarrassment, getting booted out of his own ship, isn't going to make it any better. If Bossk hated Fett before, he's really going to be gunning for him now." Dengar shook his head." Just goes to show what a tough hunter Boba Fett is. That's a dangerous game to play, letting an enemy as hard and determined as Bossk get away. You have to have some real confidence in your own abilities not to get a little nervous about a killer like that still floating around the galaxy, with your name at the top of his to-do list."

"Well, that's his problem, not ours." Neelah's brow furrowed as she tried to link up one tantalizing fragment of information with another. It was impossible; there were still too many pieces missing. Pieces that her own plans-and her life-might depend upon." Look, you've got to tell me-"

One of Dengar's eyebrows raised as he looked back at her." Tell you what?"

"Tell me everything." Neelah couldn't keep a pleading tone from her voice." Everything that I don't know."

"That could take a while."

"All right; just about Bossk and Boba Fett, then." She was desperately clutching at anything, any key to the past. If her own life, all that had happened to her before Jabba's palace, was a mystery, she could at least dig out the true histories of those surrounding her. A key that would unlock all the dark secrets, or even a few, that Boba Fett kept behind the cold, hard gaze of his helmet-that could be worth a lot to her. Maybe everything, thought Neelah.

"Some of it you know already." Dengar made a one-handed gesture, vague enough to indicate a point in time rather than space." Back when we were still on Tatooine."

That was true. There had been empty hours enough, while they had waited for Boba Fett's resurrection, for some of the blanks to have been filled in. Or at least those that pertained to the history of Boba Fett and the Bounty Hunters Guild. Boba Fett was still the same, as though he were some deathless, immutable construct, but the Guild had gone through changes. What existed now was only that which remained after the various interlocking conspiracies and schemes had finished with it. Conspiracies, all of which had had Boba Fett at their center. An entire war had broken out among the bounty hunters, and not all of them had survived. And if any could be said to have won that war, it would be Boba Fett himself.

Dengar had enjoyed telling those war stories; she had sensed the admiration in his voice. Admiration for Boba Fett, for the sheer ruthless efficiency of his plans and actions. An efficiency and a ruthlessness that Dengar certainly knew he could never achieve; he could only partake of it vicariously. No wonder, thought Neelah, he fell for that partnership gambit. Even close to death, lying half-digested by the Sarlacc on the barren rocks of Tatooine's Dune Sea, Boba Fett had been able to size up his target's basic psychology. Size it up, and then use it all to his own advantage.

That was a little tougher for her. At least, so far. But Neelah knew that whatever Dengar told her about Fett, about the past maneuvers in that war among and between the bounty hunters, the details would tell her as much about Dengar as anyone else. Which would suit her just fine. That way, she thought, I'll find out about both of them. Somewhere in there, she'd find something she could use. . .

"You're right," Neelah said aloud." I know some of it. Thanks to you. Now how about the rest?"

Dengar regarded her in silence for a moment, then slowly nodded." Okay." He leaned back against the bulkhead." I guess we've got time. Though that all depends on where we're going, doesn't it?"

"Boba Fett didn't tell either one of us that." Neelah settled back, arms crossed over her breast." So you might as well start, and we'll see how far we get."

A half smile formed on Dengar's face." Maybe we'll just get to the good parts."

They're all good, thought Neelah. As long as I get what I want.

She listened as the figure beside her started talking. . .