[Bounty Hunter Wars] - 01(99)
That’ll hold them for a while, thought Boba Fett as he tugged at the end handle of the tube-shaped container, caught tight by the rubble collapsed around it. More laser bolts stitched the air around him with their burning tracery; he glanced over his shoulder and saw Bossk, standing with legs braced wide apart, squeeze the blaster rifle’s trigger stud with wild disregard for the counterfire now coming from all directions. IG-88, with the cold rationality typical of droids, had grabbed the weapon of another dark-uniformed figure, that had been cut nearly in half by one of Bossk’s initial shots; crouching down behind the corpse and a jagged sheet of bent plastoid construction material, IG-88 carefully aimed and picked off its targets.
Another sight had caught Boba Fett’s eye even as he wrapped both hands around the durasteel tube’s molded grip, braced his boot sole against the singed remnants of one of the platform’s side panels, and tugged harder; as he tilted back, arms locked straight down to the tube, a laser shot sizzled through the exact space in which his head had just been. The streak of light temporarily set his helmet visor blind and opaque, so that it was only behind his eyelids that Boba Fett could still see the image of D’harhan, roused from his silent torpor by the sounds of combat echoing inside the great reception hall’s spaces. As the mercenaries’ fire streaked past D’harhan like a giant spiderweb set aflame, the barrel of the laser cannon, inert and silenced, rose upward, as though it were the neck and head of some primeval beast, taunted to madness by its captors. The optics of the cannon’s tracking systems pulsed red through the clouds of hissing steam emitted from the apertures of the black metal housing; as the reptilelike balancing tail thrashed behind him D’harhan’s arms spread wide, black-gloved hands clawing into themselves, trembling with their thwarted desire for destruction. A keening, wordless howl sounded from deep within the machinery curving into the creature’s heart.
The visor of Boba Fett’s helmet cleared as he looked back
down at the container trapped in the dais’s wreckage. Another tug, putting all of his weight and force into it, and the metal tube finally scraped through the debris, shedding flakes of rust. A dot of green light beside the handle told Fett that the container’s seal was still intact, the object inside still as primed and ready to go as it had been when first hidden here, during the construction of the great reception hall.
With a last dragging rasp of metal against metal, the tubular container came free. Boba Fett caught himself from toppling backward, then cradled the heavy object in his arms. As he turned he saw Zuckuss pulling himself upright, a few meters away. The disorienting effects of the explosion had obviously faded from inside the smaller bounty hunter’s head; Fett could see the enlightenment behind
the
other’s
insectoid
eyes,
the
sudden understanding of all that Zuckuss had been told before. Surrounded by the noise and quick glare of laser bolts, he even managed a slight nod of acknowledgment, to show that he had just now realized what Boba Fett had meant when he had told him those few fragments of the deal that had been struck between a bounty hunter and an architect. An investment, that pays off later. In a big way …
“Here!” That was Bossk’s shout, from a few meters away. Another mercenary, braver or stupider than the rest, had come charging head down toward the Trandoshan, and had actually gotten close enough that Bossk had taken him out with a single blow to the chin, swinging the butt of the blaster rifle around in an upward arc. Another jab of the rifle butt, right between the mercenary’s eyes, had made sure he’d be no further trouble. “Get busy!” Bossk had reached down and grabbed a blaster pistol from the holster slung at the fallen mercenary’s hip, and now tossed it underhand to Zuckuss. “We could use a little help!”
Zuckuss
caught the blaster in both
hands
and continued holding it that way as he pressed the trigger stud, sending a wild spray of fire across the reception hall as he rolled onto his shoulder, dodging the bolt that dug a molten gash through the floor where he had been kneeling.
The added fire gave Boba Fett enough cover that he could turn with the durasteel tube in his arms and sprint toward D’harhan, still howling in impotent rage at the glaring blaster streaks that laced through the reddened clouds of steam. Before he had taken more than a couple of steps away from the dais wreckage, a pair of thin mechanical arms wrapped themselves around Boba Fett’s neck, their crablike claws scrabbling at the visor of his helmet.
Eyes starting from their fat-swaddled sockets, the Shell Hutt Gheeta squealed in maddened rage; blood webbed his broad face as the force of his encasing cylinder’s repulsors knocked Boba Fett off balance. Fett managed to remain standing; for a split second he was lifted almost clear of the red-spattered floor as Gheeta dragged him upward by the neck. Then he twisted around in the Shell Hutt’s sharp-edged grasp and swung the length of the tube-shaped container around into the side of Gheeta’s skull. The impact left a trenchlike dent in the gray, wobbling flesh; Gheeta’s eyes went unfocused as the crablike me chanical hands flopped apart, dropping Boba Fett.