20: The Bounty Hunters
ABOARD THE SLAVE I
IN ORBIT ABOVE BESPIN
Slave I made its slow, tactical approach to the planet. She was a modified prototype Firespray 31-class patrol and attack craft, a series of ship originally designed by Kuat Systems Engineering for use by the Republic Correctional Authority as a means to capture and rehabilitate the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals. The Firesprays had been mothballed after Kuat suffered financial hardship, and so it had been easy to get them for a steal. The man piloting the ship was its second owner, the son of the famous bounty hunter who had obtained it ages ago. Just as they had done with their modified Mandalorian armor, both father and son had made serious modifications to both fortify Slave I’s defenses, and help it maintain a low profile on sensors. It was coated in infrared-suppressant paint, and its interstitial spaces were packed with sensor wave-distorting insulation.
The pilot wanted to keep off any Imperial radar, even though, at the moment, it appeared no major Imperial forces were at Bespin. Reports said a fleet led by the Impaler had been here recently, but had gone out to the edge of the system on some unknown mission.
Through a narrow red visor, Boba Fett gazed down at the diminishing profile of his target. That same red visor fed him data via a heads-up display, or HUD. It had forged a link to Cloud City’s local grid, revealing weather reports across his HUD, and it looked like it was going to be a clear day around the mining colony. The sun was setting as his target, the Millennium Falcon, made its approach to the floating city.
Darkness was soon to fall on Cloud City.
Fett made a calculation. He could either follow the Falcon, which had blasted its way free of Hoth two weeks prior, and discover precisely where it was going to land, and by doing so risk being spotted by his quarry’s sensors, or he could remain high above Bespin in geosynchronous orbit and count on his local contacts on Cloud City to give him details on the Falcon’s final destination.
No disintegrations, Vader had said.
The bounty hunter weighed this in his mind. His reputation had preceded him and that was not always a good thing. There were times when he had rushed in to finish a job, which meant it was done in a timely manner, but that often ended in a target becoming desperate, forcing him to go one step beyond the parameters of the bounty. Some bounty hunters were fine with obliterating a target, using something like an Amban phase-pulse disruptor sniper rifle to simply disintegrate their enemy and claim a substantially decreased bounty. It was safer, yes, but it came at a cost.
But I get paid absolutely nothing on Solo and the other targets if they are disintegrated, he pondered.
He had to be careful here, for there were more threats than just losing a bounty to a disintegration situation. Other bounty hunters might come in and snatch up his prize. There were no Imperials currently in orbit, but they weren’t too far away, and if he simply broadcasted his location and told them exactly where the Millennium Falcon was going, he was just as likely to see the Empire apprehend Han Solo and his friends themselves, and never pay Fett a single solitary credit for his trouble.
And then he would miss out on the double payment from Jabba the Hutt.
That was the thing on this bounty; he had the opportunity here to collect twice. That was rare in his line of work. And both the Empire and Jabba were paying an absurd amount of money.
And Jabba also wants him alive. So I can’t be sloppy here.
Fett had done a lot of legwork in zeroing in on the Millennium Falcon. He had figured Solo, being a smuggler, would have some sort of trick up his sleeve when leaving Hoth, and when he heard that the Falcon had completely disappeared from the Executor’s scopes, Boba Fett had had a notion of what sort of game Solo was playing at. He had not told anyone else because then he would have had the same problem as now—alerting the Empire to the trick would not net him the credits gained by the chase-and-capture contract of a bounty.
And he knew the trick Solo would play. Or at least a hunch. For his father had been duped by a similar trick in an asteroid field ages ago, when chasing down a Jedi near Geonosis.
Fett had followed the Falcon from a distance, barely outside the edge of the YT-1300’s sensor range. It had been nerve-wracking, following his quarry for days through black space, utilizing asteroids and carbonbergs wherever he found them and hiding in their shadows, making microjumps and using sublight engines only. It hadn’t taken long for Fett to guess where Solo was going. There was only one other major habitable place out this way.
So, with that mystery solved, he had had a second one. How to ensure that Han Solo and his friends were detained long enough for Fett to move in and make the grab, without setting off any alarms in Solo’s head? He had some contacts on Cloud City, including an officer from the Propaganda Bureau named Killison, who had a small group of stormtroopers guarding him wherever he went. As part of the Propaganda Bureau, Killison was in charge of dispensing news from across the galaxy and gauging the average citizen’s overall feelings about the Empire at any given time. Killison and his squad of stormtroopers were currently the only Imperials on Cloud City, and Fett had sent him a payment in the amount of twenty thousand credits—a bribe to get him to lean on Lando Calrissian, as well as a number of bigshots in the Mining Guild, to ensure there would be no safe harbor.
If he’s going to meet friends here in high-up places, Fett was thinking, then he’s going to be in for a big surprise.
So far, neither Killison nor his team knew exactly who it was Fett was looking for, and he meant to keep it that way. Right then, all they had to do was make sure the Mining Guild felt that they were under suspicion of aiding the Rebel Alliance. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter, it could help stall any actions Han Solo took while on Cloud City, and Calrissian could keep him in play, while Boba Fett formed the next part of his insidious plan.
Fett made a call down to a man named Dizel Okrun, a Corellian conman he had worked with before, and who he knew was working Cloud City. Dizel, a handsome Human with a square jaw and a scar across his eye, appeared in hologram. “Yes, Fett?”
“I need you to do something. Double the usual pay.”
“Yeah?”
Fett laid the plan out for him. He needed Dizel to pretend to be an undercover Imperial spy, and approach the Cloud City’s administrators, telling them to delay any unknown pilots coming from off-world. “It’s important they think this is coming from the Empire,” Fett stressed.
Dizel stroked his chin. “Triple the usual pay.”
Fett sighed inwardly. “Very well.”
Dizel smiled and signed off without another word.
With that done, he now had a new problem. What to do about all this? Fett knew the Falcon was down there, he just had to secure an exact location and close in on Solo and his friends before anyone else, then make some sort of arrangement to keep Solo in play even longer until the Empire could get here—for Solo could very well have other Rebel contacts and resources on Cloud City that could thwart Fett’s plan.
I need to keep him in play, contact Imperial forces, and be there to share in the capture myself, or else I’ll never get paid. The timing has to be perfect. He spoke the plan into his mind to focus on the individual problems with each step. He thought about his local contacts. Fett knew that the Bounty Hunters’ Guild operated heavily in this region—even though he was a loner himself, he oftentimes crossed paths with Guildmembers.
It took him only a moment to gain access into Guild records—a year ago, Fett had paid a slicer named Ghent to give him back-door access to the Guild’s systems, and so far they had not detected his presence. After a few minutes he saw three names that appeared to have been assigned this patch of space recently: Tyr, Ockio, and Rezzint.
Figures, he thought. He knew them well.
Part of him was on alert, momentarily concerned that the trio might have somehow figured out Solo’s trick and gotten here ahead of him. But Fett immediately dismissed that when he remembered who he was dealing with. Tyr was a solid bounty hunter when it came to boots-on-the-ground work, and sniffing out his prey through alleyways, and Ockio and Rezzint were good men to have in a tight spot, Rezzint particularly was fast on the draw. But all three were dumb as durasteel, and could not have surmised the Millennium Falcon was here.
He might be able to use them somehow, though. Tyr had certainly proven receptive to bribes in the past. But at present, the Guild’s database was showing that Tyr and his pals were on an “unspecified assignment.” That meant they were following a lead from personal connections. A very private bounty.
The Guild had courted Boba Fett many times to join, and every time he had turned them down. He preferred working on his own and collecting a hundred percent of the bounty, rather than sharing part of it with the Guild. The Guild took a slice of every bounty its members took in, because the Guild offered so many local resources to assist with the capture—criminal informants, friendly relationships with Imperials, and access to the best ships and weaponry. But Boba Fett knew that many Guildmembers, such as Tyr, were fed up with the Guild taking a bigger and bigger chunk each year. That left Tyr, Ockio, and Rezzint open to bribery.
The Mandalorian helmet hid the cold, even gaze of the man as he weighed his options. He decided it could not hurt to give the Trandoshan a call and see if he knew or had seen anything, such as a YT-1300 docking at Cloud City. If he did so, it would have to be done with consummate delicacy, he could not afford for the Trandoshan to catch on to the fact that the largest bounty in the galaxy was right in his back yard.
It took a few minutes for the call to be routed through Cloud City’s grid, and then it found the Trandoshan’s datapad and sent him a message that Boba Fett would like to speak. Seconds later, a twitchy hologram of a toothy reptiloid materialized at the panel to Fett’s right.
Tyr gave a savage grin. “Well, well, well. Fett. What a nice surprise.”
“Tyr,” he said, giving a casual nod.
“What brings you out our way?”
“I was wondering the same thing about you. Bespin a recent assignment for you?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Is it something big?”
“Why? Are you after our targets?”
Fett realized at once that they could go around and around like this for days, asking questions and getting nowhere, each one trying to get info while they both tried to conceal more, so he decided to give Tyr some bait, just the smallest, tantalizing morsel to get him going. “I’m in the area checking a lead.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there aren’t many possibles in the area, as far as I know.” By possibles, Tyr meant the number of bounty targets rumored to be in the area. It was commonly used slang in the bounty hunter world.
“This one’s a new lead, not out on the UnderNet yet. And before you ask, I’m not interested in partnering on this.” If Fett wasn’t forthright with that from the beginning, Tyr would only become suspicious. Fett was a known loner. He could not behave out of character. But telling the Trandoshan that he wasn’t interested in partnering up would only entice him further.
Tyr’s tongue slithered out between his sharp yellow teeth and ran over his gums thoughtfully. “Must be big, to bring you all the way out to our neck of the woods.”
“Big enough. I will pay for some information.”
“How about information for information?”
“Depends. What are you offering?”
“What are you offering, Fett?”
Fett summoned all his patience. “What are you after? Maybe I can help.”
“Any info you might have on a Zabrak coming in-system, potentially trying to find his way onto Cloud City. He’ll likely have a scar on one side of his head, and a broken horn on his crown.” He added, a bit reluctantly, “The person who gave me this job…his name is Zumter. He’s an Imperial. And it sounds like he’s after one of their own, an operator who’s gone rogue. I…don’t know about him.”
Tyr meant that he did not know if he fully believed the Imperial was on the up-and-up. He was also asking, as casually as he could, if Fett could help him determine this Zumter’s legitimacy.
And Fett was okay doing that. After all, they might be occasional competitors, but they were also colleagues. A certain unspoken code went between bounty hunters. Their relationships were tenuous and often strained, but they tried to help each other whenever they could. It was just good business not to make enemies.
Fett shook his head. “I haven’t heard of anyone like that.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Tyr looked like he was about to sign off.
“I’m looking for a YT-1300 freighter,” Fett said. “Have you seen any docking on Cloud City lately?”
Tyr paused. “I have some friends at the ports. I might be able to ask around. But why would I, when you don’t have anything for me?”
“I could pay you.”
“I told you, I want only information.”
“And I told you, I haven’t heard of any Zabrak—”
“Is that right?” Tyr’s face split into a grin. “Is that right? Then perhaps you can explain this rumor I heard about Slave I.”
“What rumor?”
“Met a big Wookiee bounty hunter on Tatooine, name of Lonnacoba. He got to talking a lot one night at a cantina in Mos Espa. Heard him say Boba Fett’s ship has some kind of decryption suite on par with the Rebels, maybe even on par with the Imperials. Something about a YH-120-GG sensor module that came expressly from a deal you made with Jabba the Hutt? Sound familiar? They say it can pick up on just about any signal and listen in on encrypted messages.”
Fett did not move. If he was the type to sigh in exasperation, this would have been the time. But then something chimed from his sensor board. A hyperspace disturbance was occurring nearby. A big one. And by the time he was trying to figure out where it was coming from, two large blips appeared on his screen, at his sensors’ furthest limits.
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Star Destroyers. Two of them. The Impaler and the Regulator. Returning from a patrol out-system, it seemed. It looked like by their trajectory and speed they were in no hurry.
Well, well, fortune smiles.
To Tyr, he said, “Give me one hour.” He logged off.
For a few minutes, Fett sat there tapping keys on his control panel, setting Slave I to move out of its geosynchronous orbit to fly a bit higher, up around where the two Star Destroyers were performing their patrol of the area. He pretended as if he was setting a course out-system, ready to leave Bespin. He moved within range of their comms, between them and Bespin. Then he tapped a few more keys and activated the YH-120-GG sensor module Tyr had been referring to.
A tiny antenna extended from the top of Slave I’s hull. The antenna could pinpoint and then receive leaking radio signals from any source, specifically from the transceiver/receiver inside a ship’s comms that performed the encryption that made the device secure. By absorbing these leaked signals, which appeared as only peaks and valleys in the radio waves before they were converted by the computer into the ones and zeroes that made up the base electrical signal, the comm unit’s encryption could be deciphered.
The module was indeed a gift from Jabba, taken from a salvaged Imperial ship near Gamorr, and given to Fett in lieu of a very large payment on his last job. A reward greater than money.
Once he had a lock on the incoming and outgoing messages from the two Star Destroyers, Fett ran all decrypted communications through his data-mining software to look for key terms and phrases. He looked for words like Zabrak, fugitive, spy, and rogue operator.
After just ten minutes of monitoring, he got a hit. The chime came from his computer when it detected the phrase “fugitive Zabrak” being spoken by a female comms officer from the Impaler. Boba Fett set his spy module to record and replay the message. And as he listened, he found himself becoming intrigued.
“The fugitive Zabrak’s name is unknown,” she said. “All Imperial assets on Cloud City, please be advised that this target is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Do not approach without first alerting Command and bringing a stormtrooper squad with you to assist. This is IIS Priority Level Three. Please confirm receipt of this message.”
Fett heard a familiar voice. The voice of Commander Killison, the very same Propaganda Bureau man he had bribed to lean on Cloud City’s Mining Guild leaders.
“This is Commander Killison,” he said. “Confirm message received.”
The woman replied, “It is imperative that you follow strict rendition protocols if you find either the Zabrak fugitive or the former IIS commander known as Hej Zumter. Both men may be in collusion with the Rebel Alliance, so taking them alive is preferable, but if not possible then you are cleared to use lethal force. Please confirm receipt of this message.”
Fett leaned in slightly. After the commander confirmed receipt, the channel went dead.
Zumter.
Tyr had said he was given the job to hunt down this Zabrak by Zumter himself. But that meant that the man that had given the Trandoshan the job was himself wanted by the Empire. Fett tried to make sense of that. Couldn’t. He bet that Tyr wouldn’t be able to, either. But the old Trandoshan has good instincts not trusting Zumter.
Something else was going on here, shadows moving within shadows, a strange plot involving spies and some sort of internal investigation. And while he was certain a bounty would be forthcoming from the Empire, Fett was more interested in the part about these two wanted men being in collusion with the Rebel Alliance.
If that’s true, they might have insight as to where the Millennium Falcon has gone, even if Tyr fails to give me the information I need, and if Killison is unable to find anything with his limited resources.
He altered his course to once again orbit Bespin, and calculated an approach vector for Cloud City. While he did so, he called down to Tyr again.
“Tell me good news, Fett,” the Trandoshan said when his hologram flickered back on.
“I’m afraid I can’t. Your friend Zumter is also wanted by the Empire.”
Tyr’s smile died. “What?”
Fett played back the entire recording for Tyr and waited patiently for the slew of Trandoshan curses to cease. Then he said, “I delivered on my end. What about you?”
“Zumter! That sithspitting piece of trash! He’s got us looking out for anyone tailing him! We’re supposed to kill anyone on his trail! He was trying to trick us into killing undercover Imperials on his trail! I’m going to find him and eat him for—”
“Tyr. My payment.”
Tyr growled. “Yes, yes, yes. While you were checking into Zumter, I was checking into the YT. Two YTs landed on Cloud City within the hour. One of them is a family of cargo haulers, a mother and three sons, probably not who you are looking for, I’m guessing.”
“No.”
“The other one landed somewhere unknown, probably on a private platform. So, I can’t tell you where that freighter went because I don’t know.” Tyr added, “But I can tell you that a couple of cloud cars gave it a few warning shots, until they got clearance to meet up with some local bigshot. A Rodian informant I know at the docks says his name’s Lando Calrissian.”
Calrissian. One of the names Killison had mentioned when talking about the leaders of Cloud City. A man who controlled almost everything, despite being outside of the Mining Guild.
Boba Fett’s gloved hands typed all this into a file he kept on his ship’s database. While he tried to figure out what to do next, Tyr had launched into another string of curses, swearing he was going to eat Zumter very, very slowly if he got his hands on him.
“I understand you’re angry. I would be, too. It means the bounty Zumter offered you is no good, but you can be sure there is a bounty forthcoming from the Empire for both him and the Zabrak. But I’m not interested in them.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Those are your bounties. But Zumter and this Zabrak may be colluding with Rebels, according to that message from the Impaler. These two may have friends inside local Rebel groups hiding out on Cloud City, and that’s all I’m interested in. Because those Rebels might be able to lead me to my quarry. So I’ll make you a deal.”
Tyr sneered. “Let me guess. You’ll help us bag and tag both Zumter and the Zabrak when they arrive, but only if we allow you to interrogate both of them about your YT.”
Fett nodded. “Tyr, you were always smarter than the rest of the Guild.”
The Trandoshan smiled.
Of course, Fett did not tell him that that was not much of a compliment.
* * *
CLOUD CITY
THE WAYFARER’S HOTEL
OWNED BY CARJUKK THE HUTT
The mind of a Hutt must be a great wonder to lesser beings, Carjukk thought as he looked down on the Human. To him, all Humans looked pretty much the same. Indeed, if not for their hair, he would probably misidentify them as Zabraks or Mirialans or some other humanoid subspecies. I wonder at their small brains. I wonder how they get anything done at all in their short lifespans.
Hutts could live up to a thousand years if they took good care of themselves. Carjukk was just a sight over two hundred, and in his two centuries had seen the Humans clawing for power. Indeed, all the humanoid species had risen, fractured, fought one another, then resolved into different sub-governments. Carjukk had seen the Old Republic fall, had been watching Palpatine’s “Imperial Address” to the Senate when he officially dissolved the Republic into the First Galactic Empire. Now he had seen them begin to collapse.
They all fall. They all crumble and scatter. And we Hutts remain. Like durasteel columns that hold up the roof of a great monument, we hold up the galaxy. We alone create continuity of leadership, continuity of government, while all the others scatter to the wind.
And that was what Zumter, this gray-bearded Human, was doing here. His presence confirmed it. Along with some of his friends in the Imperial Intelligence Service, Hej Zumter had also shared his knowledge of the Faith-index’s prediction with Carjukk, and no other Hutts. Zumter had done this so as to guarantee himself an out if he ever needed it.
Hej Zumter now stood before His Excellency, Carjukk the Hutt, Reaper of Souls and Devourer of Traitors, humbling himself and asking for expediency. But he would not grovel or beg. Carjukk knew he could not push Zumter that far, though he dearly wished to see the Human on his knees. Perhaps someday soon, he mused. A slimy green hand wiped a bit of drool from his chin. “You say you want expediency,” Carjukk boomed. He spoke in Huttese. His voice was deep and loud and reverberating. His girth was not so large as many Hutts his age, and he could still slither around, though slowly. “What do you need expedited?”
“Let us not play games, Carjukk,” said Zumter, answering in Basic. “You know why I’ve come. Your people at the bank must’ve already told you.”
“I know that you have come to collect your money and leave. So go. Why call me away from my dinner guests for this meeting?”
“Because,” Zumter said, “Cloud City Coin is holding my money. Now, it may only be a clerical problem, but I have the feeling it’s taking longer than it should. It has been five days now and still my credits are not in my hand.” His voice did not raise, but Carjukk could tell it was close. Carjukk had done too much business now with Humans to mistake the microexpressions moving subtly across Zumter’s face. “I need you to release the funds, and in exchange I will grant you a larger slice than the one we discussed.”
“For your continued protection while you’re on Cloud City,” Carjukk clarified.
“Yes.”
The Hutt had one lazy eye, and it remained fixed on the Human as he slithered around him, taking him in, observing his erect posture. Posture born of military efficiency. And yet there was a break in it. Subtle, but it was there. The man was becoming desperate, it was plain.
Carjukk chortled, and his belly jiggled when he did so. “You want me to use the power of my majority share in Cloud City Coin to accelerate the transfer of your funds. Your illegally gained funds.”
Zumter swallowed. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you are no better than the rest of us. That you are no paragon of goodness and virtue.” Carjukk came to a halt directly in front of the Human. “I heard you say once that your standards and morals are vastly superior to we Hutts.”
Zumter blinked. “When did you hear me say that?”
“Upon your last visit, when we bugged your room.”
Carjukk had the pleasure of watching Zumter’s brow crease in consternation. Even now, he must be wondering how that is possible, when he and his teams always sweep every hotel room in which they stay, and place piezoelectric oscillators all about their rooms to scramble radio emissions. How could we Hutts possibly know? He must be wondering, perhaps for the first time, whether Hutt intelligence spheres are more advanced than the Imperials’.
Again, Zumter swallowed. “I apologize if you heard…it was only talk, Your Excellency. Just talk amongst officers.”
“I see. Just talk.”
Carjukk took another turn about the room, and slithered over to a large bowl of snakes. He plunged a heavy hand into the bowl and came out with a fistful of the delicious serpents, and swallowed them whole. “These are venomous. At least, they are if they bite anyone but a Hutt. I once ate twenty of these, and then swallowed a Twi’leki majordomo who had failed me. I swallowed him alive. I let him battle it out with the snakes inside my stomach for two minutes before he finally died, either by snake bites or suffocation.”
Zumter nodded. “Is that a threat, Your Excellency?”
“It is a promise. That majordomo, he was dear to me, but he betrayed me to Desilijic Clan, to Jabba, and that I cannot abide. Do you understand?”
“I…think so, yes.”
Carjukk regarded Zumter a moment longer. Behind him, through the blast doors, there were the sounds of wineglasses clinking and people laughing. Carjukk’s week-long party was still going on. He enjoyed his parties immensely and detested being pulled away from them for business. It was nearly sacrilegious. Parties for a Hutt were both for enjoyment and for the ceremony, for indulging enemies and courting new allies, for networking, and, occasionally, for outing a traitor, such as he had done at his last party when he called his former majordomo in front of everyone and confronted him with the evidence of his treachery.
Carjukk smiled at the memory. Such a delicious bit of revenge that had been.
“I will help you, Zumter,” he said at length. “But do not cause me any more trouble, or I will hand you over to the bounty hunters myself.”
Zumter’s mouth parted slightly.
Carjukk relished the Human’s discomfiture, and laughed. “Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! So, you didn’t know. Yes, we intercepted a transmission from an Imperial vessel only moments before you arrived. The ship is called Impaler, and it is now hovering far away from Bespin, but transmitting on UnderNet channels to the Bounty Hunters’ Guild. There is a bounty on your head now—yours, and an unnamed Zabrak’s.” He snorted. “So those bounty hunters you hired to cover you, they will surely be set against you by now. Depend on it.”
A long silence passed.
Behind Carjukk, his three Gamorrean guards and two security droids stood watching Zumter, hands on their blaster rifles, ready to do their lord’s will.
Carjukk slithered towards the blast door leading back to his guests. “You will remain under my protection. For now. But that means nothing beyond these walls. This is not a Hutt-owned world, nor a Hutt-owned operation. We own a majority of the bank, that’s it. The rest of Cloud City belongs to our dear Baron Administrator, Calrissian, and his cohorts. My clan has a few friends there, but they aren’t exactly loyal. Do you understand?”
Zumter swallowed a lump again and nodded. “If I go beyond this place, I am on my own.”
“And I also will not hide you if an Imperial search team shows up here. I will not go down for aiding and abetting you, and ruin the delicate relationship I have been cultivating between myself and sector Moffs. So, if they show up, you must run. If you don’t, and I find you first, you’ll wish the Moffs had dragged you off screaming.”
The blast doors opened for Carjukk and left Zumter there, a dour look on his face.
To one of his security droids, he muttered, “Watch after him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. And call our contact at the bank, have them release his funds immediately. Whatever it takes. After he has paid us for our expediency, as he puts it, and our protection, send him on his way. Then contact you-know-who and let him know where he can find Zumter.”
“Yes, Exalted One,” said the droid, bowing curtly before leaving.
As Carjukk rejoined his party, he chuckled to himself. It was a thing that needed to be played delicately. Zumter was a sly one and could still serve a purpose many years down the road, but he had to go ahead and notify certain people that the Imperial was here, so that later he would have plausible deniability—Oh, of course I helped Zumter, my dear Moff, but I had no idea he was a wanted fugitive by the Empire at the time! If I had, I never would have abetted him! He smiled. He was covering all his bases, meanwhile still getting paid a lot from Zumter. And if Zumter happened to give the Empire the slip—which was entirely possible considering he was a veteran of the Service—then he would still be an asset for Carjukk to use in the future, since he would not know that Carjukk had alerted certain persons to his presence here.
Of course, the person Carjukk had his droid call was not an Imperial. Giving an anonymous tip to an Imperial could still come back to bite him. Therefore, he would call an individual he happened to know was in the area, a reliable sort who had been summoned, if rumors were true, to the deck of the Super Star Destroyer Executor, to chase down some unknown Rebels.
The bounty hunter droid IG-88 was both a client and a customer of Carjukk the Hutt. The rogue droid was a deft killer with plenty of guile to recommend him for stealthy operations such as this. He only hoped the droid’s ship, the IG-2000, was within subspace range to receive the message in time.
* * *
JUST OUTSIDE THE ANOAT SYSTEM
ABOARD THE IG-2000
The mantis-shaped craft drifted in that vast gulf between star systems. Halfway between Bespin and Hoth, and well away from any established hyperspace route, IG-88 sat still in its cockpit seat, strapped in. Had any organic being been looking at it, the bounty hunter droid would appear to be doing nothing, or perhaps even dead. In fact, it was collating data on a new hyperspace route it had discovered, one that bounced close to a black hole that had kept the stellar cartographers of the past from full mapping out this region.
Much of the galaxy was unmapped. At times, IG-88 had been amused to see just how many organic sentients seemed to believe the galaxy was more or less established and explored, when in fact if a person were to stray just a single light-year away from an established trade route, they would likely find all sorts of dangers, all sorts of new worlds, obstacles that had kept galactic explorers and cartographers well away for tens of thousands of years. Worlds with incredible resources but far too close to a star that was critical, and might go nova at any time. Or worlds that suffered so much from solar radiation that no organics could survive for long. Or worlds soon to crash into their stars, or be swallowed by black holes.
That last one had probably kept stellar cartographers away from the star system he had just discovered. Two planets orbited a black hole he had just designated with an alphanumeric code. Initial scans indicated a wealth of platinum, diamond, and even kyber crystals, but to go anywhere near it meant that time would pass slower for the passengers on any ship. IG-88’s calculations suggested that six hours on the planet would equate to about a year for the rest of the galaxy.
That would be a problem for organics with families and duties and people relying on them. Not so much of a problem for a droid. Indeed, such a planet could hold a valuable tactical advantage. If he ever needed to run and hide, he could come here, and be sure no one would want to go in after him. Days spent looking for him would be decades passing outside of the planet, and IG-88 could emerge much later, when the rest of the galaxy had moved on and forgotten he even existed.
IG-88 looked at the ship’s sensors, looking at the relatively small black hole, haloed by the fiery mass of a destroyed star it was in the process of swallowing. IG-2000 was still a safe distance away from it, yet its sensors were becoming distorted.
The droid stared at the planet on its scopes, its servo-brain performing calculations, weighing the possibilities, perhaps even contemplating what a peaceful existence it might be to just go there and let the galaxy age around it.
But if IG-88 ever wanted a long, peaceful life, it would need to accumulate resources to take down to the doomed planet. It would need to purchase backup batteries, repair tools, special wiring and plating to keep itself, and its ship, functioning for many more years. If the droid was going to live on its own, it would need to be self-sufficient. It would need lots and lots of tools. And all of that cost credits.
So, when the alert came in from Carjukk the Hutt, IG-88’s hand shot out and received the call. It listened to the message, which came across quickly in binary, from one of Carjukk’s own security droids.
Target: Hej Zumter. Substantial reward in Imperial credits.
IG-88 pondered the doomed planet and its black hole for another 0.8135 seconds, then set a course for Bespin.