Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [31]
IG-88 alone had the activation signal that could fly like a knife blade across the HoloNet channels and awaken his invincible army of droids. He could wish for no better opportunity than now, no greater power. He would finish mopping up this minor conflict around Endor, destroy the Rebel ships and then before the Imperials could react, he would strike down the Star Destroyers as well, one after another, in a swath of death and destruction.
The Rebel ships continued to harass him, passing far inside the targeting radius of his superlaser. They were too small to bother with, though they flew into his open superstructure toward the simmering furnace of his reactor core. The Rebels were like parasites, and they annoyed him.
But it did not matter. They would be dealt with any minute now. The end of all biological life forms was at hand.
Out in the space battle, the magnificent Super Star Destroyer Executor was wounded, beginning to careen out of control through the fleet.
The tiny Rebel ships streaked toward IG-88’s reactor core as if they had a chance of succeeding, and he contented himself with his own private triumphant thoughts.
I think, therefore I am.
I destroy, therefore I endure.
Payback:
The Tale of Dengar
by Dave Wolverton
One: The Rage
Dengar could be a patient man, when it suited his purpose. And at this moment, sitting on a high mountain ridge under a rupin tree which smelled sickly sweet and sighed softly as it breathed in the night air on Aruza, Dengar needed patience. Down on a ledge a thousand meters below, COMPNOR General Sinick Kritkeen entertained a constant string of guests in his stately mansion, graced with open-air gardens and a columned portico. One after another, the blue-white lights of his guests’ speeders would sweep up through the mountain pass, and dignitaries would emerge—usually impoverished local lords dressed in white breechcloths and platinum necklaces, with the gold metal of their interface jacks gleaming beneath their ears. The Aruzans were small people, with faintly blue skin as lustrous as pearls, with rounded heads and hair of such a dark, dark blue it was almost black.
The Aruzans were also a soft people, unwilling or unable to do violence. And once they entered Kritkeen’s estate, they’d fall on their knees and begin begging some favor, seeking mercy for their people, and then they would leave with Kritkeen’s promise to “look into the matter,” or his solemn-sounding vow to “do my best.”
Little did Kritkeen know that tonight, once his guests had left, he would be paid a visit by one final caller. The impoverished citizens of Aruza, as peaceful as they were, had paid Dengar the pittance of a thousand credits to end Kritkeen’s tyranny.
It was a kilometer to Kritkeen’s mansion. Even with his boosted auditory system Dengar could not have overheard Kritkeen’s conversations. But Dengar had set up spy equipment on a tripod to aid him in his surveillance. A laser beam was trained on the glass above one large rear office window, and by measuring the vibrations of sound waves as they beat against the window, Dengar was able to make a perfect recording of Kritkeen’s final words. Dengar listened to them on a small speaker that played beneath the tripod.
Aruza’s five moons, each in pale shades of tan, silver and green, hung low over the mountains on the horizon like ornamental lights. And out over the valleys, on the warm skies of Aruza’s summer night, farrow birds would dive, letting their bioluminescent chests phosphoresce in brilliant flashes that confused and blinded small flying mammals long enough for the farrows to make an easy catch. The flashes of the farrow birds looked almost like lighting,