[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 01(23)
Kud’ar Mub’at’s accountant node carefully picked its way along the fibers and entered the central chamber. Of all of the subassemblies, this was the one that Boba Fett had always found most to his liking-and not just because it was the one that actually handed over the bounties that its parent would be holding in escrow. The crablike Balancesheet, as Kud’ar Mub’at had named its extruded creation, had a laconic, no-nonsense approach to its duties that Fett found similar to his own. He would be sorry-or as much so as he ever was-when Kud’ar Mub’at would determine that the little accountant node had developed as much intelligence as could be allowed. Balancesheet, like other nodes before it, would be eaten by its parent before there was any danger of independence and mutiny of the kind that had made Kud’ar Mub’at master of the assembler web.
“Boba Fett, current account; balance due …” The accountant node maneuvered its pliable shell close to his shoulder, extending its eyestalks parallel
to
the chamber’s floor as it made an ID scan of the bounty hunter’s distinctive helmet. “Just a moment, please.”
“Take your time,” said Fett. “Accuracy is a virtue.”
Balancesheet said nothing, but a brief flicker in its gaze acknowledged that it and Boba Fett were kindred entities, in spirit if not species.
“Previous balance zero.” Balancesheet had finished its show of calculation. “Due upon delivery of one humanoid, designation Nil Posondum, client being the Huttese
business front Trans-Zone
Development
and Exploitation Consortium, the sum of twelve thousand five hundred credits.” The accountant node swiveled
its eyestalks toward its parent. “Our fee has already been paid by the Hutts. The entire bounty being held is now payable to Boba Fett.”
“But of course,” crooned Kud’ar Mub’at softly. “Who would deny it?”
The eyestalks turned back toward Fett. “And the individual Nil Posondum is in a living and desirable condition, certain nonessential injuries excepted, as per standard bounty-hunting practice?”
Boba Fett raised his wrist-mounted comm unit to the front of his helmet. A tiny red spark indicated that the link to Slave I’s cockpit controls was unbroken. “Open inspection port Gamma Eight.” That port allowed visual access to the cages in his ship’s cargo hold. “Perimeter defenses on standby.”
A
moment later Balancesheet looked over at its parent. “Designated merchandise appears to be in good condition.” The announcement was more for Boba Fett’s hearing than the assembler’s; the sensory data from the remote optical node had traveled down the neural network linking Kud’ar Mub’at with the accountant and all the other subassemblies in the web. “Initiating transfer.”
That was the kind of thing that would get the little accountant eaten; it hadn’t waited for Kud’ar Mub’at’s order. Boba Fett supposed that the next time he came to the web, a newly extruded node would be maintaining Kud’ar Mub’at’s intricate finances.
“I most sincerely hope that you enjoy the well-earned possession of those credits.” Kud’ar Mub’at watched as Fett tucked the amount-sealed credit packet into one of his gear’s carrying pouches. Balancesheet had made the payment and picked its way over to another section of the chamber. “I often wonder-” The assembler extended its smiling face toward him. “Just what is it that you do with all the credits you get paid? Granted, you have considerable expenditures, to keep going such a level of operation. The equipment, the intelligence sources, all of those things. But you make so much more than that; I know you do.” A few of Kud’ar Mub’at’s eyes peered more closely at him. “But what do you spend it on?”
One of Boba Fett’s rare flashes of anger rose inside him. “That’s none of your business.” Slave I had signaled that the captive had been removed from the cargo hold and into one of the web’s dismal subchambers; all ports had been resealed. The temptation to stalk out of this place, to get back into his ship and tear himself into the cold, clean depths of space, was almost overwhelming. “Let’s talk about the business that you and I do have with each other.”
“Ah, yes! Most certainly!” Kud’ar Mub’at flexed its main limbs, causing its segmented torso to bob up and down in front of its visitor. “It’s not really the usual sort of thing you do; it’s not a matter of tracking down someone and delivering them, all wrapped up in a neat little package. But you’re so versatile-aren’t you?-that I’m