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.
8
Someday, thought Prince Xizor. Someday he and I will meet face-to-face. Either here on Coruscant, in the Imperial throne room itself, or in some bleak, remote corner of the galaxy-that moment would surely come. For the last time. And then the little war, deadly and personal, between himself and Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, would be at an end.
One way or another.
He strode through the vaulted corridors of the palace, the reddening twilight of Coruscant's sun casting angles of blood-colored light across the richly inlaid floor ahead of him. A single unbraided rope of Xizor's night-black hair, drawn back from his bare skull like a glistening viper, swung across the flaring shoulders of his robe with each stride.
Xizor focused his thoughts as he came closer to the great doors of Emperor Palpatine's throne room. The concerns of dominion-both Palpatine's Empire and Xizor's own Black Sun criminal organizationwere manifold and urgent, made even more so by the rise of the impudent Rebel Alliance. And now, he was summoned for this audience with the galaxy's ruling power, a power in the shape of a wizened old man.
If it weren't for the eyes set in that gaunt, wrinkled face-eyes that were as cold and commanding as Xizor's own violet-colored ones-he would never have thought the Emperor to be more than a cloaked beggar, if he had come across him in some dark passageway of the Empire's capital on Coruscant. But once having looked into that gaze, so bereft of any of the tender emotions that sentient creatures were prey to, Xizor could understand how the former Senator Palpatine had climbed astride an Empire built out of the old Republic's ruins. If there had been any last barriers to Xizor's own ruthless ambitions-any weakness or sentiment within himself-he had been inspired by the Emperor's example to root it out. Whether the mystical, universe-spanning Force of which Palpatine and Lord Vader talked was real, Xizor had no idea-or at least not enough to believe in it over his own strengths and cunning. But the dark side of that Force was something he could attest to. He had seen it beneath the hood of the Emperor's cloak, like twin gravitational wells that could absorb and crush a weaker creature's spirit.
The high, intricately patterned door swung open before Xizor. Once more, he found himself in the presence of that dark strength.
"Xizor. . ." The Emperor's simple throne turned, bringing his hooded gaze and his thin, humorless smile toward the center of the cold, empty space. The ancient-appearing figure sat deep in the throne, as though the weight of his thoughts and schemes were crushing him toward the planet's core." As much pleasure as there can be found in one's scurrying underlings, I find in you."
The throne room was both empty and occupied by another. Without turning his head, but with just a
glance from the corner of his eye, Xizor saw a dark apparition. The holo image of Lord Vader, insubstantial yet oppressive, stood at one side of the throne room.
He brought his gaze back to the Emperor." You honor me with your praise, my lord."
One corner of Palpatine's bloodless lips twisted in a sneer." I do not praise you, Xizor. As with all my servants, you neither surprise nor disappoint me. I expect foolishness and incompetence, and I find I am richly rewarded in those things."
The Emperor's tongue-lashing was in his usual manner. Xizor had grown used to it, though the words still rankled his proud spirit. Someday, old man. His thoughts were a silent and carefully guarded promise inside the chambers of his bare skull. Your precious Force and all your servants won't be able to save you.
In the meantime, though, the show of servility had to be maintained.
"If I fail you, my lord-" Xizor bowed his head." Then the regret truly is mine."
The holo image of Lord Vader spoke up." Do not be deceived by this one." Bands of visual static flickered through the black figure, as one holographically reproduced arm rose, its hand pointing toward Prince Xizor." His speech is elegant, my lord-as always-but it is as hollow as his unfulfilled promises."