A tendril of grey smoke, lighter than the dark, oily clouds from the fire in the main engine compartments, leaked from a tear in Boba Fett’s sleeve. The heat against his skin increased to a white-hot burn as the retracting line brought him inches away from the metal ridge above him. With nothing to push against from below, Fett had to wait until the line had dragged him high enough to throw one elbow across the rim of the hatchway, then lever himself into position for pushing Voss’on’t up onto the floor of the cockpit area.
Voss’on’t came to, at least enough to realize what Boba Fett was trying to accomplish. The stormtrooper’s fingertips reached out and scrabbled a hold on to the cockpit flooring; with a kicking thrust, he managed to drag himself up and out of Fett’s supporting grasp.
With both arms free now, Boba Fett threw his other elbow across the hatchway’s lower rim and tensed to pull himself the rest of the way up.
“Hey … thanks …”
Fett heard the grating, smoke-harshened voice and looked up into Voss’on’t’s grinning face. The stormtrooper had rolled over and gotten himself into a sitting position, his one good arm braced behind himself, knees drawn up toward his chest. The narrowed eyes and angles features wore a black mask of sweat-streaked ash and oil; his leering smile broke through as though cut with a diagonal swipe of a vibroblade.
“Thanks,” repeated Voss’on’t. The cockpit’s air filters had cleared away enough smoke for the ex-stormtrooper to draw in a full breath. “I appreciate it. Now you can go die.”
One boot shot out, its sole catching Boba Fett directly in the visor of his helmet. The kick had enough force to knock him back from where he had clambered onto the lower rim of the hatchway; only the line tethered from his wrist into the cockpit behind Voss’on’t kept Fett from falling back down toward the cargo hold.
Boba Fett managed to grab the rim of the hatchway with one hand. He looked up and saw that Voss’on’t had gotten to his feet, and now stood gazing down at him. In one hand, Voss’on’t held a sharp fragment of metal, part of the debris that the laser-cannon bolts had scattered through the cargo hold. His ugly smile growing wider, Voss’on’t held the edge of the shard against the line running past him, from Fett’s wrist to its anchor inside the cockpit.
“This time,” said Voss’on’t, sneering, “it’s really goodbye. For you, at least.” As he pressed the cutting edge of the metal fragment harder against the line, he raised one booted foot and prepared to smash it down upon Boba Fett’s hand.
Before the boot came down, Voss’on’t was thrown off balance by the tethered line going suddenly slack. Pressing the miniature control studs at the base of his wrist, Boba Fett let the arrow-dart’s line reel out, until it had lengthened by several meters. That was enough for him to cock his free arm back and snap it forward again. The tethered line looped lassolike and snagged around Voss’on’t’s neck. Fett hit the wrist-mounted control studs again, retracting the line once more, into a choking gar-rote around the other man’s throat.
Voss’on’t staggered backward, fingertips clawing at the line digging under his throat. The pull from the taut line enabled Boba Fett to climb up into the hatchway.
With his eyes squeezed shut in pain, Voss’on’t didn’t see the blow from Boba Fett’s gloved fist that sent the stormtrooper sprawling onto his back, head slamming against the base of the pilot’s chair. Boba Fett reached over with his other hand and snapped the arrow-dart line free from his own wrist, pushed the dazed Voss’on’t over, and used the loose end of the line to bind Voss’on’t’s hands together with a hard knot. He pulled the rest of the line down to Voss’on’t’s ankles and bound them the same way. Then he picked Voss’on’t up by the front of his jacket, hoisted the stormtrooper to eye level, and threw him into the far corner of the cockpit.
“Seal off the cockpit area,” Boba Fett spoke aloud. He was already leaning over the control panel as Slave I’s onboard computer executed the command; with a hiss, the hatchway door closed behind him. With a few quick jabs at the controls, he silenced the alarm signals once again.
The silence was broken by Fett’s own deep, ragged breathing as his lungs refilled themselves from the cockpit’s reserves of oxygen. Those were enough to bring Voss’on’t back to full consciousness as well.
“Now… now what…” Hands tied behind himself, Voss’on’t lay on one shoulder and labored to speak. “Are you … going to do …”