A tug came on the line. Dengar stood up and pulled, grabbing more of the line as he backed step-by-step away from the opening. He could tell from the weight that there was more than just Boba Fett at the other end of the line now.
More muscle … than brain, thought Dengar as he brought the line inch by inch over the rocks and sand. He supposed that was why he had a certain place in the bounty-hunter business, and Boba Fett had a different, and much more famous one. He dug in, the line’s tautness keeping him from falling over backward, and finally saw one of Fett’s arms reach upward from the hole, his hand sinking into the ground and leveraging his chest into view. Boba Fett had his other arm around Neelah, holding her tight against himself; the hole had been widened just enough, between Dengar’s efforts and the crashing of the Sarlacc segment, to allow the two close-pressed bodies to scrape through.
The line went slack, dumping Dengar onto his seat, as Boba Fett got Neelah up onto the sand, then with a final push against the sides of the hole, collapsed beside her.
In all directions, the silence of the Dune Sea ex tended from them. Wearily, Dengar got to his feet and scanned across the low hills; tilting his head back, he searched the cloudless sky, sun glare almost blinding him. There was no sign of any ships. The bombing raid that had left the desert wasteland cratered and scorched seemed effectively over, its perpetrators having removed themselves beyond the atmosphere of Tatooine. Though by this point, if they had returned, Dengar didn’t feel capable of anything other than flopping on the ground and letting the explosive charges finish him off.
He walked over to the other two. Boba Fett lay on his back, eyes closed; the only indication of life was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Whatever strength had been left in him was enough for basic respiratory functions, and nothing else.
“How are you doing?” Dengar’s shadow fell across Neelah’s face.
She nodded slowly. “I’m okay.” With the back of a begrimed hand, Neelah pushed her sweat-damp hair away from her eyes; the motion left a black smear across her face. She sat up and drew her knees toward her breast so she could examine the ankle that had been pinned beneath the weight of the Sarlacc segment. A wince drew her eyes shut for a second as she poked at the bruised flesh. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think.” Leaning against Dengar for balance, she stood upright and gingerly put her weight on the leg. “Yeah, it’s all right.”
A voice sounded out of the hole from which they had just escaped. “Given the circumstances I have just observed,” called SHSl-B loudly, “I would anticipate that medical attention is required by all parties in the immediate vicinity. Plus, the patient we had previously been attending is undoubtedly in need of-“
The hectoring comments were cut short when Neelah picked up a rock and tossed it down the hole. It clanked against metal and plastoid, rendering the medical droid silent for a moment.
“I’m not going back down there,” announced Neelah. “I’ve had enough time on that line already.”
Dengar gave a weary sigh. As always, he supposed it was up to him. The medical droids still had their uses-for one, SHSl-B had been obviously right about Boba Fett needing some further attention, especially after what had been drained out of him underneath the Dune Sea’s surface. And there were the various supplies-bits and pieces; not much-that he and Neelah had managed to carry with them from the hiding place. Those would un doubtedly come in handy, given their present exposed situation.
“All right,” said Dengar. He looked around for the nearest boulder to which to fasten the line. “But when I get done, you’re both going to owe me. Big time.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Neelah smiled up at him. “You’ll get all the rewards that’re coming to you.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant. Even as he was clambering back down the escape-route hole, the strap of the lantern clenched in his teeth, he was wondering whether those rewards would be a good or bad thing, when they finally got to him.
All that noise had upset the felinx; it trembled in Kuat of Kuat’s arms as he stroked its silken fur. “There, there,” he soothed the frightened animal. “It’s all over now. You have nothing to worry about.” That was the difference between creatures such as the felinx and the galaxy’s sentient inhabitants. “Go to sleep, and dream whatever you want.” He stood at the great viewport of the Kuat Drive Yards’ flagship, watching the mottled sphere of the planet Tatooine dwindle in the distance, a clump of dirt among the hard, cold stars. A good part of that dirt was now in considerably more battered condition than before; the military squadron that had pounded the surface of the Dune Sea to dust was already en route, heading back to Kuat by a circuitous route, jumping in and out of hyperspace to foil any possible attempts at tracking and linking them to the just-concluded bombing raid on Tatooine. All insignia and identification beacons had been carefully stripped from the vessels before they had left on their mission. When word of the raid filtered through the watering holes and back alleys of Mos Eisley, and any corresponding places on other worlds, the specu lation would most likely be directed toward the Empire or possibly the Black Sun organization. That notion pleased Kuat of Kuat as he scratched behind the sighing felinx’s ears. We move in secret ways, mused Kuat. The better to reach our destination …