[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 01(109)

“True,” said Kud’ar Mub’at. Though the assembler had to admit that Palpatine operated on a grander scale. But that’s just megalomania, brooded Kud’ar Mub’at. For Palpatine to think that he could control the entire galaxy, to lay his cold hand upon the neck of every sentient creature on all the worlds … even those who didn’t have necks, properly speaking … that was madness, sheer madness. And worse, in Kud’ar Mub’at’s estimation: it was folly. To become absorbed in the big picture, the sweep of history on a cosmic scale, and overlook the little details, was to risk the complete and utter ruination of one’s plans. There were things going on underneath Emperor Palpatine’s nose that he knew nothing of; not just the hidden errands of the Rebellion and its sympathizers, but connections between beings that were yet so faint that even it, the wise Kud’ar Mub’at, couldn’t trace them out. Bits and pieces of rumors, stories of long-vanquished Jedi Knights, and its own wordless guesses were all that Kud’ar Mub’at had to go on. Something to do with the planet Tatooine, and a few humans who lived thereon, innocent and unaware of exactly how important they were. Or did they know? Perhaps one of them had a notion of these secrets, perhaps that old man living out in the endless wastes of the Dune Sea, that Kud’ar Mub’at had heard of. …



Gloom permeated the meditations of Kud’ar Mub’at as the assembler reminded himself of just how much still lay beyond the strands of his web. Just as well,

it philosophically decided, that all those things

are Palpatine’s concerns and not mine. True wisdom rested in knowing one’s limitations.



“Exactly so,” chimed in Balancesheet. It had picked up its parent’s thought over the spun-silk neural network that both connected and housed them. “That shows how wise you are. Would Emperor Palpatine ever have thought of such a thing?”



For a moment Kud’ar Mub’at was annoyed that the little subassembler node had listened in to these private musings-it thought that it had inhibited the appropriate neurons to prevent just such two-way data flow. Then its mood softened. “Now you’re the one who’s wise,” said Kud’ar Mub’at affectionately. It reached over another black, spiky leg and let the accountant node scramble onto its end. “I’ll very much regret that day when I’ll have to-” Kud’ar Mub’at cut off its words just in time.



“Have to what?” At the end of Kud’ar Mub’at’s leg, the accountant node peered back at its progenitor.



“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Kud’ar Mub’at was sure that the little node hadn’t picked up on that particular thought, the one that had to do with its inevitable-and imminent-death. “Let me do the

deep thinking.”



“Of course,” said Balancesheet. “I would not have it otherwise. The only reason I asked about Boba Fett …”



“Yes?”



“I only asked,” continued the subassembler node, “because we would have to anticipate the cost of his services to us rising as one of the results of the Bounty Hunters Guild being catastrophically disbanded. Since there would be a considerable diminishment in the number and quality of the competition for such operations. That should be factored into our calculations, regarding any further negotiations involving this individual. Unless of course”-Balancesheet spoke archly-“we were to make other arrangements about Boba Fett’s future. …”



That was a good point; Kud’ar Mub’at realized he should have thought of it himself. Though it was also one of the advantages of having a well-developed, semi-independent node like Balancesheet around.

Whatever slipped by Kud’ar Mub’at’s attention would be caught by the subassembler’s.



“Thank

you,” said Kud’ar Mub’at to the

little creature still tethered to it. “I’ll give it some thought.”



“Actually,” said Balancesheet, “I have suggestions along those lines.”



Deep in the heart of the web Kud’ar Mub’at had spun for itself, floating in the cold vacuum between the stars, the assembler listened. Just as though it were listening to its own wise and precise calculations, whispered into its ear from something outside; something almost separate.



From the docking port at the edge of the compound, Boba Fett could hear the shouting and the sound of blaster fire. None of it was aimed his way, so he went on working, recalibrating and tuning Slave I’s weapons systems.



There hadn’t been time, after he and the rest of the team had lifted off and rendezvoused with the autonomic storage unit in orbit above Circumtore, to get everything fully functional once more. Not if he was going to get Bossk back to the Bounty Hunters Guild in time to lead the breakaway faction’s uprising against the elders.