But that was part of the trap that had already seized hold of Boba Fett. The cruel irony-and one that Xizor savored-was that Fett was now doomed by his own fierce nature. All that had kept him alive before, in so many deadly situations, would now bring about his destruction.
Too bad, thought Prince Xizor to himself. In another game, a piece as powerful as that would have had it uses. Only a master player would dare a strategic sacrifice such as this. To lose, however necessarily, such an efficient hunter and killer was his only regret.
“Pardon
my admittedly clumsy intrusion.”
Kud’ar Mub’at’s high-pitched voice broke into his musing. “But there are some other tiny, almost insignificant matters to be taken care of. To ensure the complete success of your endeavors, which are as always of such brilliance and-“
“Of course.” Xizor regarded the assembler sitting in its animate nest. “You want to be paid.”
“Only for the sake of keeping our records straight. A mere formality.” With an upraised forelimb, Kud’ar Mub’at directed his accountant node toward the prince. “I’m sure one of your keen perception understands.”
“All too well.” He watched as the subassembly named Balancesheet picked its way toward him. Nothing happened with Kud’ar Mub’at except on a pay-as-you-go basis. “We’ve done business together enough times for me to remember without prompting.”
A few moments later, when the transfer of credits had been
completed, Balancesheet swiveled its eyestalks toward its parent. “The prince’s account is once again current, with no outstanding sums due. Per your existing agreement, final payment will be made upon a satisfactory resolution
of the Bounty Hunters Guild situation.” Balancesheet gave a small nod to Xizor and returned to its perch on the central chamber’s wall.
“Affairs are going well,” said Xizor. “So far.” He had already summoned his ship, the Virago, from inside the detection shadow of one of the moons of the nearest planetary system. “I’ll be watching to make sure they continue that way.”
“But of course.” Waving all its sticklike forelimbs, Kud’ar Mub’at dispatched a scuttling flock of nodes to ready the web’s docking area. Boba Fett’s Slave I had departed only a little while before, leaving behind a captive in the darkest subchamber. “You. have nothing to fear in that regard.” Xizor knew that as soon as he was gone, Kud’ar Mub’at would be in contact with the Hutts, to hand over the bounty hunter’s merchandise and collect its middle-entity fee. “All will be well… .”
The screech of the assembler’s words followed Prince Xizor as he stalked down the tunnel toward the docking area. He’d already decided that as soon as he got back to the Emperor’s court, he’d spend a few soothing hours listening to the dulcet croon of his own personal troupe of Falleen altos, to flush any residue of that drilling and defiling voice from his ears.
“What a fool.” Kud’ar Mub’at muttered the words with a grim satisfaction. Right at this moment the designation could apply to either of two entities. Both Prince Xizor and Boba Fett were somewhere in hyperspace, speeding toward their destinies; the bounty hunter to a rendezvous with the despised Bounty Hunters Guild, Xizor to the Empire’s dark corridors of power. Neither one of them suspected what they had gotten themselves into, the finer web in which they were already enmeshed. They don’t know, thought Kud’ar Mub’at. That was how it preferred things. I spin the traps, then pull them in.
It reached out with one of its smallest forelimbs and stroked the shell of its accountant node. “Soon,” said Kud’ar Mub’at. “Soon there will be a great many credits for you to tally up and keep track of.” As far as Kud’ar Mub’at
was
concerned, true power equaled
riches, something that one could rake delicate claws across. Only maniacs like Palpatine and his grim lieutenant Lord Vader valued the trembling, bootlicking fear of a galaxy of underlings. That was the kind of power that Prince Xizor wanted as well; his criminal associates in Black Sun were no doubt unaware of their leader’s long-range intent. They might not ever find out, either. Some traps were woven for their prey to die in.
“Very well.” Balancesheet tapped its own tiny claws together,
as
though the numbers involved could be counted that simply. “Your accounts are all in good order.”
Something in the node’s bland response
troubled Kud’ar Mub’at. It had extruded this particular subassembly some time ago, and had developed it into one of the web’s most valuable components. Flesh of my flesh, mused Kud’ar Mub’at, silk of my silk. And a part of its brain