Bossk turned away again, his grumbling even louder than before.
The other team member was there with them in the landing dock. IG-88, a droid that had managed to become one
of
the Bounty Hunters Guild’s more respected members-in fact, one of the few that Boba Fett would even consider to be a serious rival-brought his optical scanners around in Fett’s direction. “There is patience,” said IG-88 in a harshly synthesized voice, “and then there is hesitation. The latter comes from fear and indecision. We decided upon you as the leader of this team’s operations because we assumed that such were not your qualities. Our disappointment would be great if we found out otherwise.”
“If you think you can pull off this job without me”-Fett lowered the data readout in his hands- “then go ahead.”
IG-88 regarded him for a moment longer, then gave a single nod of its head. “You remain our leader. But I warn you: Don’t exhaust what patience we do have.”
“Mine’s already gone.” Bossk had obviously continued stewing; the look in his slitted eyes had gone from murderous to annihilating. One hand hovered dangerously close to the blaster slung at his hip. “I’ve changed my mind. This whole team notion was a stupid idea-“
“Um, Bossk …” Zuckuss raised his voice. “It was your idea.”
“If I started it, then I can put an end to it as well.” His gaze slowly moved across the three other bounty hunters. “You lot can do whatever you want. But I’m out of this. I’m going out after Oph Nar Dinnid by myself.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have that option.” Boba
Fett tucked the readout inside one of his armor’s storage pouches. His voice seemed even more level and emotionless, compared with Bossk’s boiling anger. “You know too much about this operation for you to be on the outside of it. When you come in with me on a job, you stay until it’s over. There’s really only one way for you to quit.”
“Yeah?” Bossk sneered. “What’s that?”
IG-88 remained standing as before, his equally cold droid
emotions-or
the lack of them-observing
the confrontation. Zuckuss drew back, ready to duck behind the fuselage of one of the ships in the landing dock as Boba Fett dropped his hand to the curved grip of his own blaster.
“Go ahead,” said Boba Fett, “and try walking out on us. And you’ll find out.”
The
atmosphere tensed, as though
filling
with subphotonic discharge from a battle cruiser’s venting ports. In the taut silence, Boba Fett gave a silent com mand to the heavily armed figure standing in front of him. Go ahead, he thought. It’ll save us all a lot of time… .
“There’s
someone coming!” Zuckuss’s voice
broke through the adrenaline-frozen moment. He pointed to the distant high arch that formed the entrance to the landing dock; beyond it, a streak of fiery light cut a crescent past the stars. “Another ship-“
Bossk held his gaze tight on Boba Fett’s for a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder. The approaching light had grown brighter, its docking jets flaring into a sudden corona. He looked back at Fett. “Is this who we’ve been waiting for?”
“It could be.” Boba Fett didn’t take his hand from the grip of his blaster.
“Lucky for you.”
“That’s right,” said Fett. “If I had killed you, I would have needed to find another person for the team.” His hand moved away from the smallest of his weapons. “I find personnel changes to be aggravating.”
Zuckuss peered past them at the approaching ship. “I don’t recognize this one.” It was close enough that its outlines could be seen: a featureless ovoid, barely larger than a TIE fighter, trailing a metallic seine, a stiffly interlinked net, behind its flaring engines. “How did it get clearance-“
“I arranged for that.” Boba Fett stepped past Zuckuss and
the others, walking toward the pad that
the approaching craft had locked upon. “But it wouldn’t have made any difference if I had or not.”
“What do you mean?” Zuckuss scurried after Fett.
“Believe me-this barve goes where he wants to.”
The ovoid could be seen more clearly now as it slid into the landing dock, thrust engines shut down and repulsors on. Its rounded surfaces were pitted and scored with
the impact marks of high-intensity armaments, including one large scorch mark where the metal had actually melted and fused back together. As it hovered above the pad its trailing mesh shifted and drew forward, one part curling above like a scorpion’s tail, the other forming a reticulated cradle beneath, onto which the craft slowly sank and was still.