The Bounty Hunter Wars_ The Mandalorian Armor Part 20

The greed impulses in his Trandoshan brain, as hardwired as any droid's circuits, almost overruled all the others. He could hear the words inside his head, ancient bounty-hunter wisdom, told to him by his own father: The live ones are worth more than the dead ones. Old Cradossk had known what he was talking about, at least about that; whenever Bossk ran his clawed hands along the picked-clean bones he'd kept as mementos, he had a renewed sense of legacy and tradition. But even so, another truth remained, equally hard and obdurate. Things were different when you were dealing with a creature like Boba Fett.

On the screen of the Hound's Tooth's longdistance scanner, in the cramped c.o.c.kpit, Bossk could see the tiny speck of light that represented Fett's s.h.i.+p. The Slave I had already left the surface of Tatooine, as Bossk had known it would. Soon-within seconds-it would be beyond the planet's atmosphere, and then it would be within his own sighting and tracking range. That was how little time Bossk had remaining to him to press the b.u.t.ton beneath his clawed thumb and accomplish all that was necessary. No time for rethinking his decisions or regretting lost profits.

He had been back aboard Slave I, extracting a few more interesting files from its data bank, when the comm controls had lit up like the bright sparks of a disintegrating asteroid. That could mean only one thing: that the message about Boba Fett being alive was true, and that he had just reinitiated contact with the s.h.i.+p that he had left in orbit above Tatooine. Bossk had also known what was to follow. Slave I would obediently follow Boba Fett's remote-transmitted commands, switch on and prime its engines, and head down to Tatooine to rendezvous with its master. And then Boba Fett would not only be alive, but free and active in the galaxy once again. Free and active-and the top, number-one bounty hunter on all the galaxy's scattered worlds.

Bossk could still feel the rage and fear that had come boiling up inside him. Rage was a familiar emotion-Trandoshans woke up angry-but fear was something new. And powerful: it had pushed him into action, quick and efficient.

He hadn't wasted any thought on the mysteries that had been so tantalizingly uncovered to him. If the rich and powerful Kuat of Kuat was interested in Boba Fett being alive or dead, so be it; Bossk might still be able to cash in by confirming it to the owner of Kuat Drive Yards. And if there was some connection between Prince Xizor, the Black Sun's hidden ruler, and the raid on the moisture farm at the Dune Sea's edge . . . the answers about that weren't going to come from Boba Fett. Bossk would make sure of that.

There had been just enough time to haul a sufficient quant.i.ty of high-thermal explosives over from the Hound's Tooth, conceal them in the holding cages of Fett's s.h.i.+p, and rig the remote triggering device. Then Bossk had sealed the entrance hatchway of Slave I, disconnected his own s.h.i.+p, and watched from his c.o.c.kpit viewport as the other craft had sped planet-ward.

Now that s.h.i.+p was heading back into s.p.a.ce, bearing its helmeted master. The speck of light had grown larger; another second, and Bossk would have waited too long. All regret was expunged from his heart. He pressed the b.u.t.ton on the c.o.c.kpit's control panel. Instantaneously, the ominous light was transformed into a ball of churning flame, surrounded by extinguis.h.i.+ng vacuum. Radiant sparks, bits of heated metal no bigger than a human's hand, drifted away from the core of the explosion, the dust and atoms of the other s.h.i.+p.

Bossk leaned back in the pilot's chair, feeling ex hausted as the tension began to drain from his coiled muscles. That does it, he thought with relief. Boba Fett's dead now. For good . . .

No regrets; he knew it had to be done.

But one thing still puzzled Bossk as he gazed out at the emptiness between the stars.

Why did he still feel afraid?