He hadn’t rescued the ship a moment too soon. A burst of fire filled the tug module’s viewports as a sudden crashing impact struck the frigate from below. The shock wave of an explosion ripping apart the empty dock jolted the frigate’s stern. Klemp struggled with the navigational controls, fighting to keep the ship from toppling end over end and the prow out of the churning debris that welled up toward it.
The nearest dock cranes still towered above the frigate, like immense durasteel-strutted gallows. Even with the thruster controls pushed to their maximum, the ship seemed to be only inching toward the clear space where Klemp would be able to hit the main thrusters and bring it out of danger. The fierce heat from the explosions seeped through the tug module’s thin hull, evaporating the sweat as it beaded on his brow.
A sharp blast ripped through the base of the nearest crane. Glancing toward the side viewport, Klemp saw the tapering metal structure begin to topple toward the frigate. There would be no way he could get the ship beyond the reach of the crane’s top-mounted arm as it swung scythelike into the hull. If the crane’s weight struck midship, it would break the frigate in half, sending the pieces tumbling back down toward the exploding construction docks. Klemp knew he would be dead before the ship’s remnants hit the twisted metal rubble below it.
He quickly calculated the chances of abandoning the tug module, sprinting back toward the Y-wing, and flying it out through the entangling construction shroud and into the clear. Possible, he told himself. But you wouldn’t have done the job you came here for—
Cursing, Klemp reached for the navigational controls. The frigate halted its slow rise as he diverted all available power from the auxiliaries to the stern’s side thrusters. With increasing speed, the ship pivoted about on its vertical axis.
The toppling crane hit, its mass shearing along the flank of the frigate, grinding and tearing away any protruding structural elements; inside the tug module, the impact of metal shearing away against metal sounded louder than any of the explosions below. Wincing against the stabbing, deafening noise, unable to take his hands away from the controls to shield his ears, Klemp saw a jagged piece of the crane snag the construction shroud’s fabric. As the crane continued to topple away from its shattered base, it ripped away the shroud and the Y-wing fighter mired in it.
No great loss, Klemp told himself as he looked over his shoulder and saw the Y-wing breaking apart, dragged toylike across the topside of the ship’s hull. With a last, shuddering impact, the crane hit the stern and then toppled away.
The ship was clear-at last. Klemp expelled his pent-up breath in one gasp, then slammed on the main thruster engines. The Lancer frigate seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, then heaved its bulk toward the stars.
“All right. That does it.” Dengar picked himself up from the floor of the Hound’s Tooth’s cockpit. On wobbling, unsteady legs, he confronted Boba Fett. “The partnership’s over.”
He reached over to the nearest bulkhead and steadied himself against it with one hand, watching as Fett methodically checked out the weaponry strapped across his Mandalorian battle armor. Lucky we’re even alive, thought Dengar. Though how long that was going to last, he had no idea. Their ship had barely managed to survive the high-velocity plunge from open space into the thick of the construction docks’ roiling explosions. More of the blasts, approaching in sequence, shook the Hound’s shock-loosened frame, the metal of its hull grating against the rubble-strewn area on which it had crashed.
“Suit yourself,” said Fett. “I owed you for saving my life back on Tatooine. You decide if that debt’s repaid by now.”
“Oh, it’s paid, all right.” Trembling with anger and accumulated shock, Dengar stepped back as Boba Fett
approached the hatchway. “A few thousand times over. You haven’t managed to get me killed yet-but I don’t feel like giving you any more chances.”
“Fair enough.” Boba Fett started down the ladder to the Hound’s cargo hold. “I’ve got business to take care of.”
From the cockpit hatchway, Dengar stared at him in amazement. He’s going looking for Kuat. The realization caused Dengar to slowly shake his head. There’s no stopping him.
“You go your way,” Dengar shouted into the smoke filling the hold. “And-“
The explosions out in the construction docks grew louder, mounting on top of one another and blocking his words.
And I’ll go mine, he thought to himself. Dengar turned from the hatchway and dived toward the controls.
He didn’t bother plotting a trajectory, but simply slammed maximum power to the main thruster engines. Holding on to the controls inside the Trandoshan-sized forearm grooves, Dengar heard and saw a tangle of cables, their insulated sheaths charred and smoking, drag across the forward viewport. The hull’s underside scraped across the warped freight tracks beneath as it accelerated; the explosions that had been marching across the docks finally caught up with the Hound’s Tooth, lifting the stern as though it were caught and thrown by a giant hand. Dengar hung on desperately as the ship spun end over end, directly toward the side of one of the towering cranes.