Slave Ship

7

A moment comes, when a target is sighted and locked upon, and all one has to do is press the trigger stud underneath one's thumb. Boba Fett had had many such moments in his career, enough so that there was no longer any physiological response, no speeding of the pulse, no tightening of the breath beneath his dark-visored helmet, no trickle of adrenaline into the veins of the body that bore the Mandalorian battle armor. . .

But there was still a deep sense of satisfaction, an almost spiritual glow at the core of his being. It was what he lived for, even more than the credits that all his hard work brought in.

In the cockpit of Slave I, Boba Fett's gloved hands moved swiftly across the navigation controls. The ship's velocity was already max'ed out, the thrust from the custom-designed-and expensive-Mandal Motors engines ramped to overload. A shimmering vibration traveled through Slave I's structural frame, blurring the gauges and readouts beneath Boba Fett's fingers. In the cockpit's viewport, against a backdrop of unwavering stars, could be seen the trailing jets of the ship that Fett pursued. He's good, Boba Fett thought grudgingly. But not good enough.

The other ship, an Incom Corporation Z-95 Headhunter, was perfectly suited for just such highspeed chase and evasion maneuvers. This particular one had been modified with an additional passenger area, reaching from an expanded cockpit and along the main fuselage. The ungainly structural addition would create a negative aerodynamic drag inside a planet's atmosphere, but in the vacuum of space there was little effect on the craft's speed. Boba Fett knew who the pilot was, a free-lance hunt saboteur named N'dru Suhlak; a kid who had washed out of the Rebel Alliance's Tierfon Fighter Base not for lack of flying skills, but an excess of insubordination. The expertise and training that Suhlak had picked up while he was hanging out with ace pilots like Jek Porkins and Wes Janson, plus his own natural abilities-there were just some things in this galaxy that you had to be born with-had quickly gotten him to the top of his chosen speciality. It was one for which he commanded top credits: a hunt saboteur's trade was essentially the secure transport and delivery of hard merchandise, one creature at a time. Suhlak made the claim that he could get any sentient creature with a bounty posted on its head-that was what" hard merchandise" meant, in bounty hunter jargon-from Point A to Point B without getting intercepted, no matter who was gunning for the cargo.

Big talk, thought Boba Fett as he punched in another course micro-correction to stay on the Z-95's tail. But the kid had proved he had the pilot chops, getting past even the few other bounty hunters for which Fett had any respect at all. IG-88, the droid bounty hunter, had been blitzed so fast that the optical processors inside its durasteel head hadn't even spotted Suhlak getting past its interceptor stakeout point. Most of the other bounty hunters, even before the Bounty Hunters Guild had split up into its two main factions, had made it a general rule not to pursue Suhlak's ship, the pursuit being a waste of time and fueland one's life. Not all of Suhlak's escape maneuvers were based on speed alone.

Boba Fett punched in an override command, diverting Slave I's excess atmospheric-maintenance functions to the cooling system for the main thrust engine. If there had been anyone in the holding cages below the cockpit area, they would have been asphyxiated in a few Standard Time Units. But Slave I wasn't carrying any passengers, willing or unwilling, right now. Fett's ship had been lurking in the debris shadow cast by a ring of wrecked and stripped star freighters above the toxic atmosphere of the planet Uhltenden; he had been waiting, with all propulsion systems in abeyance-trigger mode, for Suhlak's Z-95 to show up. When it had, the chase was on.

N'dru Suhlak had been either lucky or smart so far not to have crossed Boba Fett's path. The merchandise that Suhlak had ferried had all been below Fett's threshold of interest. Letting the kid get away with it, for as long as there was no impact on Fett's business interests, had been a good way of letting Suhlak grow overconfident. Any misestimation of one's skills-or one's luck-was a fatal error when Boba Fett was involved. You've made your mistake now, Fett silently told the ship speeding through the vacuum ahead.

He kept one gloved hand hovering close to Slave I's hyperdrive controls. No astrogation coordinates had been read out of the navicomputer and locked in yet, but the tracking devices and targeting computer were ready to go. If Suhlak had made one more mistake, that of taking the little Z-95 into hyperspace, he would have found Slave I right on top of him when he emerged back into realspace. Nobody escaped from Boba Fett

that easily. He must know it's me, thought Fett, right behind him. The helmet of the Mandalorian armor nodded slowly as its bearer gazed out the cockpit viewport. His nod indicated both satisfaction and anticipation; the pursuit and the inevitable capture would be all the better now.

The Z-95 suddenly disappeared from sight.

Fett's hand darted closer to the hyperdrive controls, stopping a fraction of a centimeter before hitting them. The tracker lock-on signals hadn't flared red yet. He's still here. Boba Fett leaned forward in the pilot's chair, bringing his visored sight closer to the cockpit's forward viewport. His appreciation for Suhlak's skills had gone up a notch. It'd been a smooth maneuver, and one that Fett hadn't encountered before. If he'd been fooled into jumping into hyperspace, even for a moment, by the time he'd gotten Slave I back out to this navigational sector, Suhlak could easily have gotten an insurmountable lead. Or if not insurmountable-Fett didn't admit that possibility; it hadn't happened yet-then one that would have taken a lot more work and time to overcome. That cut into his profits, a notion that was the only one that could evoke his anger.

He quickly scanned the bank of tracking indicators, while pushing forward the linear aperture control from near vicinity to far. The thermal and radiation trackers showed no sudden bump in the emission profile of Suhlak's Z-95; if he had taken some sharp vector away from his previous course, those trackers would have picked up the additional thrust necessary, even if Suhlak had been able to conceal the visual flare from his ship's engines.

The puzzle of N'dru Suhlak's sudden disappearance, along with the hard merchandise he was carrying aboard his ship, intrigued Boba Fett on a coldly rational basis. He wasn't concerned-yet-whether he'd figure out the answer in time to catch the fleeing hunt saboteur. If he's here-and Suhlak had to be-then I'll find him. . .

It wouldn't do to overshoot whatever hiding place the Z-95 had found. Boba Fett reached over and damped the main thrust engine. The slight vibration in Slave 7's frame ceased as the ship immediately lost speed.

That was what saved him.

At the upper edge of the viewport, Boba Fett saw one of the visible stars shimmer momentarily, vanish, and then reappear in the same location. Without conscious thought, but only pure reaction, his hand flew from the engine controls to the reverse thrusters. His palm hammered flat the thruster controls, giving them maximum power.

A split second later, Slave I hit the invisible object whose presence Fett had barely managed to detect.

The impact tore him from the pilot's chair, sending him tumbling across the curved bank of the cockpit controls. His spine struck the clear transparisteel of the viewport, a blow hard enough to send a shock of pain into the center of his skull, blinding him. If he had still been carrying the back-mounted weapons he wore when outside the ship, their sharper edges would have crushed his cervical vertebrae and left him paralyzed, helpless against whatever happened next.

The pain ebbed a fraction, enough for Boba Fett's blood-reddened vision to clear. At the limits of his consciousness, he could hear Slave I's perimeter-breach alarms sounding with high-pitched, ululating cries. The vertical, tail-downward flight position of his ship-the engines' thrust-ports were all mounted on the hull side opposite the rounded curve of the cockpit-had resulted in the main viewport being the part to take the brunt of the collision with the unseen obstacle. Or seen too late to prevent a crash; the memory of the brief glimpse Boba Fett had caught, the telltale shimmer and reappearance of a star at the edge of the viewport, was still vivid.

At least, he had been able to slam on the reverse thrusters in time. There was an inherent limit to transparisteel's toughness; there had to be, for it to have enough of a glasslike refractive index to be used in viewports. If Slave I had been traveling any faster, the rounded exterior shape of the cockpit would have shattered like a crystal egg. Boba Fett would have found himself breathing vacuum, surrounded by glittering shards.

The ship's artificial gravity was still working; he managed to scramble back down to the pilot's chair from which he had been thrown. The alarm signals were still shrill and loud in his ears. That meant Slave I was still losing internal atmospheric pressure. Boba Fett made a quick visual scan of the viewport arching before the control panels. There was no crack in the transparisteel, but the crash had been hard enough to loosen a section of interstitial bond between the clear material and the surrounding dura-steel of the hull.

"Activate emergency weld sequence." The procedure was one of the few keyed to a voice command for the onboard computer. Fett had anticipated that if it had ever become necessary, he might not have been able to reach the cockpit controls at a time when speed was of the essence. He quickly gave the structural coordinates for the leaking section of the viewport bond; every millimeter of Slave I was precisely charted in Boba Fett's memory, as clear as if he had been looking at the original blueprints and design parameters." Initiate thermal ramp-now."

He could feel the glow of heat through the dark,

T-shaped visor of his helmet as the circuits laid in the cockpit's surrounding bulkhead powered up. A moment later the durasteel next to the viewport leak turned red, then white-hot; the crystalline structure of the metal turned ductile, just enough for the seal to reform around the transparisteel. The perimeter alarms fell silent as the loss of atmosphere tapered down to just a few molecules hissing out into space, then none at all.

The whole emergency repair process had taken only a few seconds. Slave I was like a living organism, designed in its essence to heal itself. Boba Fett could feel in his own nerve endings when that happened, just as any wound to the ship's fabric was sensed as a wound to himself. The only things closer to him, even more of a perceived extension to his spirit, were the weapons he carried. Those were as much a part of him as his own hands, instruments of his will.

Losing even a few seconds in the pursuit of N'dru Suhlak and his cargo was irksome. And to have it caused by a trap like this one turned Boba Fett's durasteel-like resolve even harder and colder.

The mechanics of the trap were close enough now for him to easily discern. Floating in space just in front of Slave I was a sheet of mass-altered, optic-filterable transparisteel, its jagged edges reaching out wider than the ship's hull. Suhlak must have gotten it from the ring of transport wreckage in orbit around Uhltenden; Boba Fett recalled that some of the wrecked freighters had been hijacked supply ships bound for the construction docks of Kuat Drive Yards. Chances were good that they might have been carrying advanced armaments-technology supplies-and that Suhlak had put them to use for his own escape route scheme.

Optic-filterable transparisteel hadn't been developed for observation purposes, but for armor plating of heavy destroyers and cruisers in the Imperial Navy, as well as tactical camouflage. The light transmitted through it could actually be routed, through interior" bucket-brigade" datalinks, from one side of a ship to another, effectively passing on the visual perceptions to an outside observer. A crude form of simulated invisibility, but with one important strategic advantage. The nano-tech datalinks could also be programmed to filter out any specific visual data, such as the presence of other navy ships. . . or the trail of a speeding Z-95 Headhunter. The optical image sent through the filterable transparisteel would show the distant stars on the other side of the barrier, and nothing else. Boba Fett realized that had been how N'dru Suhlak had managed to disappear from view, while the thermal and radioactive profiles from his small ship had continued to register on Slave Is tracking systems. A perfect trap. . . or almost. The only thing that had saved Boba Fett from a fatal crash into the floating barrier had been his lightning-fast reactions and the quick response of Slave I's reverse thrusters.

That still left the small matter of catching Suhlak's Z-95, which had an even bigger lead now than it had before.

Or did it? Boba Fett's preeminence in the bounty hunter trade was based on more than mere weaponry skills. Psychology played a significant part as well. Without ever having met him face-to-face, he had a good notion of how Suhlak's brain worked. Cocky, thought Fett as he reached out toward the cockpit's control panel. And not quite smart enough to play it safe, and just run when he's got the chance.

With a few quick adjustments, Boba Fett extended Slave I's docking claw; the sharpened points of the pincerlike extension dug hold of the huge piece of optic-filterable transparisteel. Fett slammed the joystick control hard to one side, simultaneously releasing the claw's grip. Through the forward viewport, he saw the distant stars shimmer and then become clear and focused once more, as the jagged-edged sheet of armor-thick, glass-clear material tumbled to one side of the ship.

There be is. Straight ahead through the cockpit's forward viewport, Boba Fett saw Suhlak's Z-95. Closer than it had been when he had been chasing the smaller craft, and with its powerful thruster engines damped down to standby level. Suhlak had turned his ship around, angling it back toward the vector it had previously traveled, so that he could get a clear view of Slave I crashing into the barrier trap he had set in place. And a perfect shot of Boba Fett dying in that crash. Only, thought Fett, it didn't work out quite like that.

And now there was no place for Suhlak to run. This close, he would never be able to maneuver his ship around, rev up its thruster engines, and hit top velocity before Slave I would be able to catch up with him.

Boba Fett slammed his palm down upon the thruster controls of his own ship. In its viewport, the Z-95 loomed closer and larger, like a bull's-eye target under high magnification.

The first crash had been satisfying enough to watch. N'dru Suhlak had smiled to himself, imagining the famous bounty hunter tumbling head over heels inside the cockpit of his ship, caught by an invisible trap.

The second crash was glorious.

"You see?" Suhlak turned away from the Head-hunter's viewport and displayed his self-satisfied smile

to his only passenger." So much for your unstoppable, implacable pursuer, the great Boba Fett."

Beside him, the Twi'lek Ob Fortuna, former major-domo at the headquarters of the Bounty Hunters Guild, leaned closer toward the transparent curve of the viewport. The Twi'lek's eyes, like those of all the males of his species, were usually half-concealed behind their lids, perfectly suiting his darting, sneaking gaze. But now those eyes were opened wide in amazement." I. . . I never would have thought such a thing possible." One of Ob Fortuna's pale, long-fingered hands reached out, coming within a fraction of an inch of touching the viewport's concave surface." He's gone. Absolutely. . ."

Suhlak's smile split open, emitting a harsh laugh." You can say that again."

He turned his own gaze back toward the viewport. The churning light from the explosion was just beginning to fade, but it was still bright enough to have tripped the protective glare shields lining the curving transparisteel. Without those shields, both he and his fare-paying cargo would have been blinded. It would have been worth it, thought Suhlak. Almost. The glare from what had been Boba Fett's ship Slave I, now being consumed by the unleashed fusion of its impact-shattered engines, was almost tangible, a warm thermal glow across the intervening vacuum and onto Suhlak's smiling face.

"How did you do it?" Wonderment had filtered into Ob Fortuna's voice as well." It's impossible. . ."

"Nothing's impossible," said N'dru Suhlak. He let his smile curdle into a sneer." Unless you start believing your own mythology. Then everything starts to get a little difficult-at least if I'm around." He nodded toward the viewport." I had this Boba Fett

character figured out from the beginning. Somebody like that always figures he's the only one with brains. Real brains, that is. So if he falls into a trap and gets out of it, he figures that's the only trick you had up your sleeve."

"But. . ." Ob Fortuna's brow creased as he labored to comprehend. The heavy, fleshy masses of a male Twi'lek's double head-tails rolled across his shoulder as he tilted his head." He hit that optic-filterable transparisteel you set up. And he managed to hit his reverse thrusters in time, so his ship wasn't damaged. . ."

"Exactly." Suhlak shook his own head in disgust. These Twi'leks had a knack for simpleminded skulduggery and flattering more powerful sentient creatures, but anything else was a stretch for them." You just don't get it, do you? That wasn't the only piece of armor-grade transparisteel I set out there for him to run into. Look, Boba Fett's dead now, but that doesn't mean I underestimated him. I knew he had the kind of smarts and reflexes that would keep him from a fatal crash-the first time, that is. So I put out a second piece of transparisteel, only I didn't set up any optical filtering on it; that way, Fett would see us just sitting here, waiting for him to come and get us. He wouldn't be able to resist gunning his engines and coming right for us-and he didn't. At that kind of speed, the mass of the second piece of transparisteel was more than enough to crumple that ship of his into scrap metal and blow his thruster cores into fusion overload. There probably aren't two atoms of the great Boba Fett left connected to each other by now."

"That's. . . that's very clever." Ob Fortuna gazed wide-eyed at him." I would never have come up with something so. . . final."

"Yeah, right." The last thing Suhlak wanted was to hear any oily Twi'lek flattery turned his way." You

just keep remembering that. Then you won't mind paying me."

"Ah, but it's a pleasure to do so. Even if all I bargained for was to just get past Boba Fett. Not have him eliminated totally."

"Whatever works." Suhlak shrugged." Sometimes speed does the job. . . and sometimes you gotta do a little extra. Besides. . . knocking off somebody like Boba Fett is good advertising for a person in my trade. It never hurts for creatures to know that you're the best." In the viewport, the fiery, roiling glow from the crash was almost gone. Nothing was visible of the wreckage of the late Boba Fett's ship; the explosion had vaporized every fragment." Enough of this," said Suhlak, reaching for the Z-95's controls." Let's get out of here. I've got other business to take care of."

Times like this, he wished his craft were as big as Boba Fett's ship had been, something with enough space aboard that he could have stowed his fare-paying merchandise somewhere else. Most bounty hunters had cages in the cargo areas of their ships, where they kept their hard merchandise safely out of the way until delivery. To outrun a bounty hunter ship, though, required something much lighter and faster. The old Z-95s weren't so tightly designed as the T-65 X-wing starfighters that had replaced them, and thus had more modification possibilities. For his hunt sabotage purposes, he had stripped out all the heavy armament and weapons systems, and had bubbled out the passenger space-not all hard merchandise was as compact as humanoid life-forms.

Even with the extra space gained from those modifications, the net result was that passengers-or merchandise; Suhlak was beginning to use the same language as bounty hunters-still wound up right in the already cramped cockpit area of the Z-95. And

this Twi'lek, thought Suhlak, is really getting on my nerves. All those oily, unctuous mannerisms, plus Ob Fortuna's ratlike smile and weaseling words, were right in his face. Suhlak felt the impulse to take the Twi'lek's floppy head-tails and pressure-tape them to the far bulkhead, just to keep from seeing them all the time he was trying to navigate. Well, he won't be on my hands much longer. . .

Suhlak readied the Z-95's main thruster engine, then reached for the vector-align controls. Once the headhunter was safely away from this sector, with all its drifting transport debris, he'd be able to make a clean jump into hyperspace.

His hand froze above the controls as he looked up to the viewport. Inside Suhlak's throat, his breath was stilled as well.

"What's that?" From behind him, Ob Fortuna's voice was a terrified squeak. The Twi'lek's pale hand reached past the side of Suhlak's face, pointing to what was now revealed, floating in space before the Z-95.

"It's. . . Boba Fett's ship." Suhlak spoke the words, a simple statement of fact. But one that sent his heart plummeting down toward his boot soles, at the same time his spine contracted in apprehension." He's not dead."

There was more proof of that as the image of Slave I, the ship that was as much the emblem of Boba Fett as the dark-visored Mandalorian helmet he wore, turned slightly in the viewport. It seemed to loom upright in the vacuum, the large curve of its cockpit centered in the elongated oval of its hull. And between its two main laser cannons-their dark, menacing apertures swung directly toward the Z-95, and locked on to their target.

Two bolts of coruscating energy struck the Headhunter. The viewport filled with the white glare of their impact; their force sent the smaller craft tumbling. Blinded, N'dru Suhlak felt himself tumbling backward, out of the pilot's chair and landing heavily against the insufficient cushioning of his passenger.

"Don't do anything stupid." Another voice spoke, from the comm unit mounted on the cockpit's control panel. Boba Fett's voice, unmistakably so, even on a tight-beam relay from his ship." You've got something I want. I'm coming over to get it." The voice's lack of perceptible emotion made it all the more intimidating." Right now."

Dazed, but with his vision slowly coming back, Suhlak placed a hand against Ob Fortuna's muscleless chest and pushed himself upright. He grabbed hold of the back of the pilot's chair and dragged himself toward the Z-95's controls.

"What. . . what are you going to do?" The Twi'lek sounded close to panic.

"Like the man said." Suhlak damped the main thruster engine. And prepared for a visitor." Nothing stupid."

The hunt saboteur looked just as Boba Fett had expected. On the dark and lean side, wearing Tierfon Fighter Base fatigues with all identifying insignia stripped off. Suhlak's sharp-angled face was both avaricious and-at the moment-sullen.

"I make it a rule," said Boba Fett," not to interfere with other creatures' business. Except" -he stood in the opening of the transfer hatchway extending from his own Slave I, not wanting to step into the already crowded quarters of Suhlak's Z-95-" when they interfere with mine."

"Really." N'dru Suhlak gave an ostentatiously weary sigh." I don't need a lecture on operating practices from you."

"You don't need me to kill you, either. But I'd be happy to do it." Boba Fett had donned his usual arsenal before crossing over from his ship. He didn't bother drawing his blaster or reaching over his shoulder for any of the higher-powered weapons; their mere presence, silent and intimidating, was enough." And believe me-it would be just business. Nothing personal."

The kid didn't make a reply. A weapons belt, with a standard-issue Imperial Navy blaster pistol in its holster, was slung from a protruding angle of the Z-95's structural frame. It was within easy reach of Suhlak, but he continued to stand with his arms folded across his chest, chin lowered, and eyes glaring.

Good, thought Boba Fett. That shows he's not completely stupid.

"And as long as we are talking business. . ." The bounty hunter turned toward the other sentient creature in the Z-95's cockpit. The Twi'lek Ob Fortuna cowered back against the bulkhead, his hands raised toward his face in cringing supplication." You and I have some unfinished matters to take care of."

"I. . . I don't know what you mean." Ob Fortuna's hands crawled over each other like blind, hairless animals." I am but dirt beneath your boot soles, Boba Fett. Nothing but a poor-and currently unemployed-servant to those with real power. Ever since the esteemed Cradossk died-"

"Correction. Cradossk didn't die; his son Bossk killed him. And then he took care of the remains the way Trandoshans do those things."

A visible shudder ran through the Twi'lek. Even the scowling Suhlak appeared a little sick at the men tion of Trandoshan dynastic practices. By now, the late Cradossk's bones, complete with gnawed tooth marks, were treasured items in Bossk's personal trophy chamber.

"Well, then. . ." What was meant to be an ingratiating smile appeared on Ob Fortuna's face. He lifted his empty hands, palms upward; his shrug raised the pendulous weights of his head-tails." You can hardly blame me for wanting to seek other employment. I had been Cradossk's major domo for a long time; it would have been too traumatic for me to have undertaken those same services for his son Bossk."

"Seems reasonable to me." N'dru Suhlak's shrug wasn't as encumbered." Give the guy a break, why don't you?"

The gaze from the helmet's T-shaped visor was as cold and hard as the half-forgotten legends described the Mandalorian warriors, long vanquished by the Jedi Knights, as being. Boba Fett was well aware of the effect that dark gaze had on other creatures; it was as much a weapon as any other slung behind his back." I've already given you a break," he said quietly to the hunt saboteur." You're not dead. Yet."

Suhlak leaned back against the pilot's chair. He glanced over at Ob Fortuna, then slowly shook his head." That was my best shot."

"But. . ." Panic obliterated every other emotion in the Twi'lek's eyes as he looked back toward Boba Fett." You have to understand. . ."

"I understand a great deal," said Boba Fett." That's not the problem. And neither is your not wanting to work for Bossk. I don't even care to work with a creature like that. The problem is who else you were working for when you were in Cradossk's employ."

The skin of Ob Fortuna's head-tails took on a sweating translucency, as any remaining color drained from his face." But that. . . that's insane. It's a lie!" His desperate gaze swept in the hunt saboteur, as though an ally could be found there." I was completely loyal to Cradossk! I swear it!"

"Loyal in your way. As loyal as any Twi'lek is." Boba Fett didn't need to step forward from the transfer hatchway to keep Ob Fortuna pushed against the Z-95's bulkhead." And that's just about as much loyalty as credits can buy. Anybody's credits." He turned his visored gaze toward Suhlak." How much were you getting paid for safe delivery of this merchandise?" He used the bounty hunter terminology, even though it was technically incorrect in this case; no bounty had been posted for Ob Fortuna.

Suhlak looked back coolly at him." Enough."

This time, Boba Fett did step forward. He dug into a small, belt-mounted pouch and extracted a few credits, then slapped them into Suhlak's palm." There," he said." Consider it delivered."

The hunt saboteur inspected the credits." Looks a little short." He glanced up." Know what I mean?"

A few seconds passed before Boba Fett answered." You've got an excess of nerve," he said slowly." That's not a bad thing, given how you're trying to make a living. I can even admire that. But let me give you some advice." Fett had returned to the transfer hatchway that led back to the waiting Slave I." Don't try it on me-"

"No!" A shrill cry cut across Boba Fett's words. The few scraps of control remaining to Ob Fortuna had suddenly evaporated; his face distorted and mottled by fear, he flung himself across the cramped space of the Z-95's cockpit area. The weight of the Twi'lek's head-tails lifted clear of his robed shoulders. His clawing hands reached out, not for Boba Fett's throat, but for the holstered blaster hanging near the pilot's chair. Ob Fortuna's rushing flight propelled him into Suhlak's chest, sending them both sprawling across the cockpit's metal-grated floor. The bounty hunter kicked himself free of Ob Fortuna, then scrambled as far away as possible, shielding his face with an upraised arm.

Ob Fortuna got to his knees, fumbling with the unfamiliar blaster. Both his long-fingered hands wrapped around its grip; the barrel wavered, pointing wildly in all directions. Before he could find the weapon's trigger stud, a sharp hissing sound hit against the bulkheads, followed by the Twi'lek's gasp of pain as the blaster was torn from his grasp.

The blaster was snared in the thin line of mono-linked filament running from the wrist of Boba Fett's battle armor to the small, nonexplosive projectile he had fired. He drew back his outstretched arm, at the same time retracting the line to its source reel; the blaster flew as rapidly as Ob Fortuna's panicked rush. Boba Fett deftly grabbed hold of the weapon.

"Not a smart move," said Fett. Though from the way the Twi'lek had been sweating and twitching, it was exactly what he had expected. He pulled the blaster free of the line's tangle, then slung it toward Suhlak. The hunt saboteur had uncoiled himself into a sitting position, and now caught the blaster with both hands." Hold on to that," instructed Boba Fett. He knew that Suhlak was at least smart enough to sit tight and not provoke any further demonstration of his skills.

Crouched into a whimpering ball, Ob Fortuna cowered back against the cockpit's farthest bulkhead. His pallid face was luminous with sweat, the head-tails drawing damp, sluglike trails across the front of his robe. He shrieked and tried futilely to compress himself into an even smaller mass as Boba Fett stepped forward and reached down. Grabbing hold of the robe's collar, he pulled the unresisting Twi'lek upright.

"Let's go," said Boba Fett. He stepped back toward the transfer hatchway, dragging Ob Fortuna along with him.

"Where. . ." Ob Fortuna's hands clung to his captor's forearm." Where are we going. . ."

"That's not really your concern anymore." He turned and shoved the Twi'lek into the hatchway, toward the other ship waiting at the other end of the connecting passage. Ob Fortuna stumbled and landed on his hands and knees.

"Hold it."

Boba Fett heard the simple command from behind him. He brought his dark-visored gaze around, looking back over his shoulder. He saw N'dru Suhlak standing in the middle of the Z-95's cockpit area, the blaster held unwavering toward the transfer hatchway. The weapon was aimed directly at Fett.

"Now what?" Boba Fett held himself motionless.

"Isn't it obvious?" Suhlak's lopsided smile appeared." You screwed up. Now you're going to do what I say."

"Oh? Why should I?"

"Because-" The smile showed how much pleasure Suhlak took in the explanation." If you don't, I'm going to drill a smoke-lined hole right through your gut."

Boba Fett shook his head." You're not doing it with that piece." He held up one gloved hand, displaying the power cell he had deftly palmed from the blaster, before he had tossed it away." If I'm not a fool the first time, I'm not likely to be the next time, either."

"Guess not." Suhlak glanced at the useless weapon in his hand, then lowered it. He looked back up at the bounty hunter." So answer me something."

"Make it short. I've already wasted too much time here."

"How'd you do it?" Suhlak appeared genuinely puzzled." I mean-how come you're not dead?"

"Simple," said Fett." I knew there'd be another piece of armor-grade transparisteel floating out there. The best traps-the kind a clever barve like you would lay-always have two sets of teeth in them. So just before I hit the transparisteel, I took my ship in a hard one-eighty degree roll, so my main thruster engines were pointed straight at it. Put the engines at maximum, dropped a high-thermal explosive charge, and jumped to hyperspace before it went off." Boba Fett's emotionless voice made it sound easy." While you were still looking at what was left, my ship was jumping back into realspace, just on the other side of you. Then all I had to do was wait."

"Huh." In the cockpit area of his own ship, Suhlak nodded in admiration." That must be why you're letting me go, then. So I can tell everybody I run into about what a tough customer you are."

"Tell them whatever you want. I don't need the advertising. I'm letting you go on your way for one reason only."

"What's that?"

Boba Fett tossed the blaster's power cell into the Z-95's cockpit; the small object clattered across its flooring." You're the best hunt saboteur I've come across, at least recently. And if you're the best there is right now. . . then I don't have to worry about you interfering with my business."

"Maybe," Suhlak said quitely," I'll be even better next time."

"I'll worry about it then."

With one finger, Boba Fett punched the control pad mounted on the sleeve of his battle armor. The transfer hatchway rised shut, sealing itself from the Z-95. He turned as the hatchway disengaged and began retracting the short distance back into the hull of Slave I.

The Twi'lek Ob Fortuna had saved him some trouble. Boba Fett found him with a length of thin cable, part of the line that had snared away the blaster, wrapped around his throat and pulled tight with his own hands. The look of fear frozen in the dead creature's eyes was mute testimony that self-asphyxiation was preferable to whatever fate he'd imagined would be delivered by his captor.

It didn't matter to Boba Fett. This was one of the few times when something he had hunted down was worth more dead than alive. He knew too much, thought Fett. Specifically, about what had gone on behind the scenes with the break up of the old Bounty Hunters Guild. And, just like a Twi'lek, he'd always talked too much. Now he won't.

There was one task left to take care of, as far as the late Ob Fortuna was concerned. Other sentient creatures, much more important and powerful than a sniveling, opportunistic Twi'lek majordomo could ever have been, were interested in silence being maintained about certain matters. They would want proof of that silence. Boba Fett extracted a few sharp-edged tools from one of his uniform's pouches, then knelt down beside the still-warm corpse.

He left Ob Fortuna's stiffening body in the transfer hatchway. Once back inside Slave I, he slung the sealed bag he carried into a storage locker, then mounted the ladder to the ship's cockpit. Seated in the pilot's chair, Boba Fett hit the hatchway's atmospheric purge button; the quick blast of air pressure was enough to expel the corpse out into the vacuum, drifting close enough to Suhlak's ship that the hunt saboteur would be able to have a last good look at it.

Fett hit the main thruster engines control, heading out of the sector while simultaneously punching in the coordinates for his next jump. There was plenty more business to take care of, before he was done.

There was always more business.