[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 03(41)
“Oh, but of course.” The voice coming from the speaker was tinged with sarcasm. “It just happened that he got blown to atoms while he was bringing a piece of hard merchandise to me, a piece for which I’d have to hand over a pretty sum of credits. Creatures will believe that, all right.”
“Let them believe whatever they will. You’ve got more pressing concerns right now.”
“What?” Kud’ar Mub’at sounded puzzled. “To what are you referring, Xizor?”
“Simple enough.” His own admiration for Boba Fett had increased, now that he could see what the bounty hunter was up to. “Your ‘business associate,’ for whom you’ve expressed such concern-Boba Fert-he’s headed right your way.”
“Well, of course he is. He’s got merchandise to deliver-“
“I’m afraid you don’t understand.” Bestowing bad news on another sentient creature was a minor diversion that paled next to murder and plunder, but it was one from which Xizor could still derive some pleasure. “Or perhaps more likely, you simply have no awareness of what condition his ship Slave I is in. But we’ve already done a complete damage assessment. So you can believe me, Kud’ar Mub’at, when I tell you-Boba Fett’s not going to be able to stop.”
“But… but that’s absurd!”
“No,” said Xizor. “It’s actually rather clever of him. He’s burning up the last remaining thruster engine aboard his ship, and he’s already achieved a considerable velocity. It’s a tribute to his piloting skills that he’s able to keep Slave I-what’s left of it-on a steady course, at that speed. But what Boba Fett can’t do now-no one would be able to-is bring Slave I to a halt before it crashes into your web. From our scanning of his ship, we know that all of his braking rockets are out of commission. Which, of course, is something that he knows as well.”
A wordless, panicked shriek came over the comm unit speaker. The image that came to Prince Xizor’s inner eye was that of Kud’ar Mub’at almost literally flying out of his nest inside the drifting web, with his spidery legs thrashing around him.
“How-” The absent assembler managed to regain a measure of control, enough to sputter out a desperate question. “How much time do I have?”
“I’d say…” Xizor glanced over at the tracking monitor and the rapidly flickering numbers on the readouts below it. “You’d better brace yourself.”
Before any more annoyingly high-pitched sounds could come over the speaker, Xizor reached over and broke the comm unit connection between the Vendetta and Kud’ar Mub’at’s web. A monitor below the main viewport showed the view from a remote scout module stationed on the other side of the web; glancing at the screen, Xizor could see the flaring jet of Slave I’s remaining thruster engine. From this angle it looked like a star going nova, all glaring flame, bright enough to sting one’s eyes.
“Your Excellency.” Standing beside Xizor, the comm specialist spoke up. “Do you have orders for the crew?”
Xizor remained silent for a moment longer, watching the bounty hunter’s ship as it sped on its trajectory straight toward Kud’ar Mub’at’s web. His cold admiration of Boba Fert-and his appreciation-went up another notch. The game of death had just been made more complicated-and much more interesting. There was no doubt about the eventual outcome; there never was
when Xizor played at it. But however sweet the bounty hunter’s death would have been before, the pleasure was enhanced far beyond that now.
“Track and pursuit,” said Xizor at last. “There’s going to be some pieces to pick up. Interesting pieces …”
Boba Fett emerged from Slave I-he had to step back and kick the exterior hatchway door open; its operational power had failed and a loosened section of hull plating had wedged into one corner-and stepped into absolute, screeching chaos.
He’d expected as much. This result had been a part of his plan, from the moment he’d conceived the notion of plowing his ship into Kud’ar Mub’at’s space-drifting web. His long familiarity with the arachnoid assembler, their years of doing business together, had enabled him to scope out the web’s nature and capabilities. Kud’ar Mub’at had designed and spun the web out of self-extruded filaments, both structural and neural, so that it could incorporate bits and pieces of ships and other artifacts made by sentient creatures; both the web’s inside and outside were studded with those segments of durasteel, like functioning wreckage mired in the irregular, scum-thick surf of a frozen sea. That physical incorporation of such items had been due to Kud’ar Mub’at’s greed-its desire to magnify and glorify itself with trophies from those unfortunates who’d found themselves enmeshed too deeply in its schemes to get out-and to a need to preserve the web itself. The web had no other defenses; its ability to quickly incorporate and seal itself around anything that penetrated it was the only way it could maintain a life-supporting environment inside its curved, matted, and tangled fibrous walls.