Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters (25 page)

He laid back his head and cried out softly.

“And we’ve seen the way Bossk covets your pelt,
Ng’rhr.
” She squeezed his shoulder again, then walked away from him, struck by the thought that if she lost
Chenlambec, she would be orphaned again. Her mother had abandoned her as a newborn. Her grandparents had been coldly murdered. Daye lay crushed under tons of rubble.

The
Hound’
s deck blurred.

She mustn’t let him see her like this. “You’ll notice he didn’t order us back to our cabin—and we can see,” she muttered. “Let’s get something to eat.”

She set up the best meal she could find in the galley, including a huge scoop of red worms for Bossk. Now if ever, she must act friendly. Trying not to gag, she told the
Hound
to call Chen and Bossk for dinner.

Chen shambled in first and sat down. Bossk arrived smelling like disinfectant. “Ah. Thank you, Human.”

“Is that enough?”

He sat down in front of the wriggling red mess. “For now. Friend Chenlambec, you aren’t eating.”

Chen stared at his plate, blinking and wrinkling his nose.

Tinian cursed her thoughtlessness. Of course the ship smelled foul to him. Bossk had been skinning two Wookiees. How could Chen eat? Tinian dished herself a platter of cloned saltlicker ribs, then sat down. She had to act hearty. Cheerful. Determined.

“What did he say?” Bossk asked.

“Too much excitement.” Tinian stripped the meat from a rib with her teeth and added, with her mouth full, “he’ll calm down and eat later. Listen, Bossk, things look good down there. Between Wookiees, we picked up a scanner confirmation of two human life forms. One corresponds exactly with the last known readout on Han Solo.”

“Did you record it?”

“Of course.” She had loaded that data into the
Pup’s
main computer while Chen took out the guard tower. Like the other data chip, Chen had bought this one “from a friend.”

“I have come up with a plan for live capture,” Bossk announced.

“Act glad,” Tinian woofed at Chenlambec.

Chen lifted a rib, glared at it, curled back his lips, and growled. Then he stuffed it into his mouth and chewed.

“Tell us what you want us to do,” Tinian said.

“I will drop out of orbit and draw off the freighter,” Bossk answered. “You will neutralize the safe world’s defenses. We will run a two-pronged feint and attack.”

Then, Chen guessed out loud, Bossk would abandon them.

“He says,” put in Tinian, “that the
Pup
isn’t armed heavily enough to do the defenses much damage.”

“It will be soon,” Bossk answered. Chen ordered her to argue.

“We could do you more good on board the
Hound
,” offered Tinian. “She’s a good ship.”

“I won’t leave you two alone on her.”

Tinian had heard human children prattle. She imitated one she had particularly disliked. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to leave Chenlambec alone on her and fly down with me. And you and Chen wouldn’t fit onto the
Pup
very well. What about sending Chen down, and leaving me—”

“Stop,” said Bossk. “I trust you enough to arm the
Pup
. This is merely the best way of accomplishing our mission.”

“All right,” Tinian whined.

After filling his belly with live meat, Bossk ordered Tinian onto watch. He locked Chenlambec into their cabin, rechecked the
Hound’s
security lock, and then finished skinning the second Wookiee. It was stiff, now: rigor had set in. He lifted the finished pelt, draping the moist, satiny underside over both forearms, and gently slid it into his dip tank. It vanished, bubbling, into the
tanning fluid. Delighted by the unexpected two-pelt bonus, he airlocked the meat. Wookiee tasted oily and foul.

He returned to the skinning bay. “ExTen-Dee,” he called, “unload the
Pup’s
weaponry.”

The bronze-and-crimson droid rolled forward, reached out his long grasping arms, and unlocked a cargo compartment. Holding one huge, tube-shaped weapon at two-meter arm’s distance, he swiveled around and grasped the other massive tube. Balanced now, he raised both arms and rolled up the main passage. Bossk followed.

Inside the docking bay, the
Pup
let off odd pops as it cooled. Working late with X10-D’s help, he reinstalled the
Pup’s
guns. Then he sent X10-D back to the cargo bay for two items that mustn’t be jarred. Several minutes later, X10-D returned at a measured crawl. He held his arms fully extended to their three-meter length. His left hand carried a small canister. He held his right arm high to keep from dragging an enormous oblong torpedo.

Bossk stood beside the
Pup’s
launch tube. “Load it,” he ordered. “Use full caution.”

X10-D slid the huge flame carpet warhead down the tube, then sidled up against the
Pup’s
exterior to perform lockdown and pre-arming operations.

Bossk flicked his tongue rapidly. The next time Chenlambec fired on the Lomabu colony, that warhead would splash a hideous flammable adhesive over several square kilometers. Hundreds of Wookiees would suffer by Chenlambec’s hand, and Bossk would be avenged for Gandolo IV. The Scorekeeper did not demand undamaged goods on her altar. Scorched pelts delighted her.

Finally, he wired the small obah gas dispenser into the
Pup’s
ventilation system. Unlike the benign serum he had tranquilized Chenlambec and Tinian with, obah gas caused permanent nerve disability in creatures
smaller than Wookiees or Trandoshans. It would render Chenlambec helpless, with his prize pelt intact … but it would cripple Tinian.

She traveled with a Wookiee. She knew she risked exposure to Wookiee-disabling agents. At any rate, the small bounty offered on her didn’t specify “alive” or “undamaged.”

He ran a swift check of the scout ship. He had told them to disable the colony’s defenses. Immediately after they launched the flame carpet and realized what they had done, he would gas them. The
Hound
would then remotely guide the
Pup
into high orbit, where it would be easy to pick up after Bossk laid the
Falcon
crew low.

That would be tricky, putting down a crew that included both humans and a Wookiee but leaving all unharmed. He didn’t dare risk Lord Darth Vader’s wrath. “ExTen-Dee,” he ordered, “charge six injector missiles with mekebve spores. I want them loaded in tube number three of the
Hound.
”

Most mammalian species suffered severe allergic reactions to mekebve pollen, but reptiles did not. That would incapacitate Solo and his shipmates long enough for Bossk to board and capture.

But the pollen was fifty years old, according to the Nalrithian dealer who’d sold it to him. If the Nalrithian lied, it could be much older. Was it still potent?

He could easily perform an entertaining test. “Once you’ve packed the injector missiles, put two grams of pollen into the
Hound’s
ventilation system.”

X10-D swiveled and rolled away.

As 1435 Standard hours approached, Tinian stared at the display board. It wasn’t too late to implement Plan Two.
Come on, Flirt. Finish the job
. The little droid still nestled under the navicomputer, running permutations into the
Hound’s
failsafes. Maybe he had too many
lockouts to juggle. Maybe he just kept outsmarting her. While they stayed locked in their game, the burden fell on Chen and Tinian.

On schedule, a message appeared.
GOVERNOR 10 DESNAND’S OFFICE TO INFORMANT
, it read.
UNAUTHORIZED PELT BAITING AT LOMABU III IS SUBJECT TO SEVERE PENALTY. WE WILL PAY FORTY THOUSAND CREDITS FOR IMMEDIATE LIVE DELIVERY OF TRANDOSHAN BOUNTY HUNTER
.

Vader offered 800,000 for the
Falcon’s
crew … but 40,000 was nothing to sneeze at.

Tinian bent low. “Flirt, we’ve got a bounty offer. Are you inside yet?”

After a few seconds, Flirt piped, “I’m still trying—”

Abruptly the bridge lights flickered off. Tinian sprang to her feet.

“Bossk just switched off all lighting in your wavelength range,” Flirt exclaimed.

“You stay put,” Tinian murmured. “And keep trying. Trap him in a meat locker, if you can—” She sneezed delicately, then harder. A third sneeze followed.

What was going on?

She groped out of the pitch-dark command bridge and into the passageway. Each breath grew more difficult. Her eyes stung. She squeezed them shut. Tears streamed out around her eyelids and trickled into her mouth.

Bossk flicked a comlink control. He could see perfectly by his infrared lamps. “Tinian, Chenlambec, are you all right? I’ve had a malfunction in one of my failsafes. Stay where you are. I’ll be with you momentarily.”

Good. The pollen was still allergenic. Eagerly he marched up the corridor.

He found Tinian in the passage, crouched near the door of their cabin. She held both hands pressed over her face and stifled a vehement sneeze. “Are you all
right?” he asked. “I’m terribly sorry. This system was designed to disable escaped acquisitions.”

She looked messy. Her nose and eyes poured fluid. “No.” She gulped and swallowed. “I’m not all right.”

Very amusing. “It will take me some time to repair the malfunction. Meanwhile, the
Pup
has filtered air. The safest place for you and your partner is on board, on the next phase of our mission.”

Tinian tottered to her feet.

“First hatch on your left,” Bossk reminded her. “You’ll find it by feel. I left it open.”

Bossk slapped a control and opened the cabin hatch. Chenlambec sat on his bunk. If Tinian looked bad, Chenlambec’s misery was magnificent. His face, neck, and chest fur lay in a soaked, tangled mat. “Get to the
Pup
,” Bossk said gruffly, struggling not to laugh. “Tinian will fill you in. I’m headed for the bridge to try to fix things.”

Tinian sneezed violently, then groped on up the dark corridor. She couldn’t see, and every breath hurt. Bossk’s apology had sounded false. Trandoshans never apologized.

She heard a miserable treble howl behind her. “Chen, are you there?” she wheezed.

He howled again.

“He wants us on board the
Pup
. It’s got filtered air.” She sniffed hard and swallowed.

His grumble sounded closer this time.

She groped to the open hatch and stumbled through. Her footsteps clanked: This had to be the scout-ship dock. Feeling her way along one bulkhead, she closed her hand around a breath mask. She shoved it over her nose and eyes, but it leaked top and bottom. It was the wrong shape for a human face.

She gasped out a short Shyriiwook oath and dropped the useless rebreather.

Long, strong, fur-covered hands closed on her shoulders and pushed her away from the bulkhead. Chen rumbled instructions.

“Okay. Take me in.” She grabbed his big forearms and shut her eyes. Every time she cracked them open, they stung like they were full of biting insects.

Chen leaped up the ladder like a whirlwind. She let go and slumped on the
Pup’s
deck, trying not to wipe her eyes. Her skin and clothing—and Chen’s fur—were probably covered with the poisonous pollen.

A light came on. “Are you on board?” Bossk’s voice rasped over the
Pup’s
comm system. “Is it any better in there?”

The
Pup
started to vibrate. Bossk must be powering it up from the
Hound’s
bridge.

“Much,” Tinian shouted without getting up. “Thank … y’choo!”

“Shake yourselves,” Bossk ordered. “Turn your ventilation and filters on full. That will help.”

Chen announced that he’d found an air intake.

Tinian squinted. Chen contorted himself in front of the intake, sweeping every centimeter of his body across it three or four times. Then he started picking half-dried detritus off his fur.

If he wasn’t going to stand on protocol, she wasn’t either. She skinned out of her black shipsuit and flapped it in front of the vent, then shook her hair hard. At first, her sneezing and weeping got worse instead of better. Finally, they slacked off.

She cracked one eye open. It no longer stung. She exhaled heavily.

Chenlambec sat at the
Pup’s
controls, studiously eyeing the board. Tinian slipped back into her shipsuit and then flopped down beside him. “Are you—
choo!
—ready?”

Chen growled assent.

Bossk’s voice answered out of the comm, “I will
launch you in thirty seconds. All of your systems check perfectly.”

Bossk smelled victory. After the
Pup
accelerated well away from the
Hound
, he touched a control to arm the flame carpet warhead’s detonator. Chenlambec had cocked the obah gas dispenser’s trigger by switching the
Pup’s
ventilators to full power.

Now he swiveled back to his navicomputer to make final calculations for his own approach. He keyed in a course that would take him close to the Wookiee colony.

As soon as the
Pup
fired and he gassed Chen and Tinian—their nasal membranes would be exquisitely sensitive, an unplanned dividend of the pollen test—he would dive. One swoop ought to draw the cocky Solo offplanet to chase him.

He rotated his eyes inward.
Here I am, Scorekeeper. Watch me
.

Chen held the
Pup
on course for several minutes before Tinian finally stopped sneezing. Her nose still twitched. Inside, it felt as if someone had scraped it raw.

On second thought, she smelled explosives that shouldn’t be on board. Alarmed, she unbuckled, stood up, and leaned close to Chen’s massive head. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured into the fur on one side of his neck. “I’m going to run a systems check.”

He wurfled soft assent.

They spent several minutes running through the
Pup’s
limited board. Nothing turned up. By then, Tinian’s hands shook. Something was terribly wrong, and she couldn’t find it.

Chen tapped his relay to Flirt, then flicked on the sideband and started transmitting again.

His contact howled back, almost indistinguishable
over sideband static. Tinian envisioned a prison compound full of Wookiees that was about to explode in violence.