Star Wars_ Tales From Jabba's Palace - Kevin J. Anderson [137]
He whispered, “How did you do that to me?”
He had the brief impression of amusement. It was easy. No—you were easy. You live strongly.
A chill descended upon Fett, and he shivered fiercely, there in the darkness, with the near and distant popping sounds. “Who are you?”
A fair enough question, it said, and the dark amusement was unmistakable this time. As you are my past, Boba Fett … I am your destiny.
“The grimace is quite wonderful,” said the Hutt. “We are impressed with your efforts, and we are pleased to pay seventy-five thousand credits for the person of Han Solo.”
Fett shook his head. “Jabba”—and he heard the stir that went through the room at the familiarity—“we’re not dealing here with the person of Captain Solo—who I recall had a bounty on him of one hundred thousand credits.”
Jabba’s tail twitched and his voice deepened into a dangerous near-growl. “This is not Solo?”
“This?” said Fett, as courteously as he was able—it was not his strong suit. He had not been raised speaking Basic, and his voice and diction tended toward a certain harshness when he used it. “This finely rendered carbonite sculpture, the person of Han Solo? No. What I brought you today is art. Art created by the Dark Lord that happened to use Han Solo as material, like another artist might shape clay.” He shrugged. “I tell you what, I’ve gotten attached to it during my journey here. It has a presence to it, don’t you think?”
The Hutt said slowly, “The grimace is … quite wonderful.”
“And the hands,” said Fett, pushing it. “Let’s us two admire the hands together. I like them, they show the quality of the Dark Lord’s work—”
“Rather,” the Hutt murmured in a bass rumble, “rather. One sees Solo’s final moments of fear in them.” He examined Boba Fett, standing beside the carbonite-encased Han Solo; both Fett and the piece of art under discussion were well back from the trapdoor before Jabba’s throne. “There is news,” Jabba continued, “that Vader failed to capture Skywalker, that Organa and Calrissian escaped him as well … and that Chewbacca is likewise free. Their combined bounties are … impressive.” Heavy-lidded eyes examined Fett. “Impressive.”
And Chewbacca, at the very least, will be coming for Solo. Fett nodded. “We might discuss my staying,” he conceded. “As to the art, an original piece from the hand of the Dark Lord—” Fett could feel himself warming to the subject; the faintest breath of disappointment touched him when Jabba interrupted, with something so close to enthusiasm that Fett found it notable.
“There is further work here, for a brave bounty hunter.” The Hutt’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he leaned forward. “A hundred thousand credits for the capture and delivery of a krayt dragon to do battle with my rancor.”
Fett said dryly, “That seems a lot. As much for the delivery of a krayt dragon as for Solo?”
The Hutt waved a negligent hand in dismissal. “We will find a fair price for Solo. For the art. But now—”
Fett raised his head slightly. “A quarter million.”
A hush fell over the watching crowd. Those nearest Fett edged slowly backward.
Jabba leaned forward. His voice emerged from his chest as a rumbling threat. “So … that seems quite a lot. Even for Vader’s art.”
Fett shrugged. And waited.
Jabba’s lips twitched. Fett did not mistake it for anything approaching amusement. “So, a quarter million credits for … the art.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “And we will enjoy your efforts toward acquisition of a krayt, and we will enjoy your company among us. For some time.”
“A quarter million.” Boba Fett actually bowed slightly. “For some time.”
Very expressive … yes.
Fett shook his head to clear it. Jabba’s throne room faded into nothingness; he hung on the wall himself, deep inside the Sarlacc, the air around him growing dank. A foul taste had begun to develop in his mouth; he sipped at the water tube in his helmet before replying. “Don’t do that to me again.”
There was a pause. I won’t,