[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 03(18)

She had saved his life then, hiding him with the help of Dengar, and keeping him safe long enough to let his wounds heal, wounds that would have killed a creature of lesser will. Even unconscious, under the chemical weight of the most powerful anesthetic drugs, he had still been Boba Fett, tenacious in his grasp on the world of the living.

And Boba Fett afterward, as well-frustratingly so. Gratitude seemed to be a substance in short supply among bounty hunters. Save the guy’s life, thought Neelah bitterly, and what do you get? Not much-and definitely not answers to questions. Anything she knew of her past was limited to the few scraps that had survived that mystery-producing memory wipe, and the infuriatingly little bits and pieces that she had picked up back in Jabba the Hutt’s palace, and then here aboard the stolen ship Hound’s Tooth. So far she had gotten nothing from Dengar; the history he had been relating to her, of the infighting and skulduggery that had finally broken up the old Bounty Hunters Guild, hadn’t yet revealed anything of her past. And what it had told her about Boba Fett’s past she had already pretty well figured out: that he was nobody to get involved with, even on a partnership basis. A successful business dealing with Boba Fett was one where he kept all the credits, and the other creature got to keep its life. And an unsuccessful one? Boba Fett still kept the credits.

For him to have hauled Neelah onto first his own ship, Slave I, when they had all been under siege by a couple of well-armed lowlifes out of Mos Eisley, then onto this ship he had taken from the reptilian bounty hunter known as Bossk, didn’t indicate any gratefulness on Boba Fett’s part, any recognition of the fact that he wouldn’t even be alive now if it hadn’t been for her. He’s got some use for me-Neelah had figured that out a while back. If she wasn’t exactly hard merchandise-the bounty hunter term for their captives, to be traded in for the nice fat rewards that had been placed on their heads-she was nevertheless part of one of Fett’s mercenary schemes. I just don’t know what part yet.

“Careful might not be enough.” Boba Fett’s cold, emotionless words broke into her thoughts. “Being smart is better. A smart creature doesn’t make it a habit to come up behind me without warning. I’ve killed a few, just for doing that.”

“Oh?” Neelah had become sufficiently used to his capacity for violence to no longer be intimidated. Plus, having nothing to lose-not even one’s self-reduced one’s fears. “And for no other reason?”

“A warning, perhaps.” Boba Fett gave a slight shrug. “To others, not to do the same thing.”

“That only works,” said Neelah, “when the creature who’s listening cares what happens.”

He gave no sign of being amused by her comment. “You don’t?”

“I’m still trying to find out. If I do or not.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” said Boba Fett, “whether you do. Just as long as you stay out of the way. While I go about my business.”

Neelah felt a hot spark of anger igniting inside her, triggered by Fett’s matter-of-fact tone. “And what business is that? Specifically.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. When we reach our destination.”

Even as small a piece of information as that had proved impossible for her to pry out of Boba Fett. He hadn’t seen fit to divulge it to Dengar, either, even though the two bounty hunters were supposed to be partners. Instead, Fett had been cagey and silent as to the course he had plotted for the Hound’s Tooth since they had taken over the ship.

“I’ve asked you before.” Neelah spoke through gritted teeth, her hand straying toward the blaster pistol she had tucked inside her belt. “Why all the big mystery?”

“No mystery at all,” replied Boba Fett. “Just as I said, you’ll find out soon enough. Right now, you don’t need to know.”

A part of herself that was as cold and dispassionate as the bounty hunter observed her own reaction to his obstinate words, as though there were some small clue to be derived there. Neelah was well aware that the imperious response, which she had to keep a tight grip upon, was not that of someone born to be a slave, a dancing girl, and eventual food for a pet rancor in some obese Hutt’s palace. She had known that even while she had been under the control of the late and unlamented Jabba, without even the slightest scrap of memory as to how she had come to be there. The only thing left of her previous existence, whatever it had been and on what distant world, had been the certainty that the cold attention the bounty hunter Boba Fett had directed toward her, in that grisly pit of depravity known as Jabba’s palace, had been for some reason inextricably linked with that past.