Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [51]
An alien came up to the booth, and stood, looking at her. The creature had dark brown fur, an enormously broad mouth that was wider than her shoulders, short legs, and long arms with claws that scraped the floor. The short horns on its head nearly scraped the ceiling. It stood looking at her for a moment from deep red eyes, then growled. “Your dance—good! Strong! Jabba will like! If he likes dance, you live. Come!”
He grabbed her arm, and Manaroo looked at the creature uncomprehendingly. “I won’t dance for Jabba!” she said.
The creature glanced furtively both ways, then pulled at a flap of skin beneath its throat and lurched at her. For one moment she screamed as the beast grabbed her. Then she found herself sliding down into the creature’s belly pouch.
There was little to breathe in there, and the air smelled of hair and putrid flesh. She struggled and kicked, but the creature’s hide was very thick—if anyone noticed the odd-shaped bulge kicking at the creature’s stomach, they must have assumed the worst and did not want to become involved.
Manaroo held her breath for a long time, as the creature casually sauntered out of the cantina. Too soon the pouch began to feel hot, and the air failed her. With burning lungs she kicked and pummeled at the beast, but could not break free.
Dengar entered the Hutt’s palace at night, when the inhabitants were most active, and knelt on one knee. Jabba was surrounded by his lackeys—nearly all of whom were required to sleep in his chamber, for the Hutt feared assassination and knew that the best way to thwart it was to keep all of the would-be assassins within sight. Dengar looked up, saw Boba Fett in the shadows off to Jabba’s right, nodded at the man.
“Why do you come before me?” Jabba grumbled in Huttese. “You did not bring me Han Solo. You can expect no reward!”
“I have heard that you have Han Solo captive,” Dengar said. “I came to see if it was true.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Jabba laughed. “Behold for yourself!” A light switched on behind Dengar, and he turned. On the wall, in what Dengar had believed to be a decorative frieze, he could see the face and features of Han Solo, frozen in gray carbonite.
Dengar laughed, walked over to Solo, and grasped each side of the frame that held his frozen body. “Gotcha,” Dengar said. “At last.”
“Ho, ho,” Jabba laughed from deep in his belly, and his menagerie of murderers laughed with him. “You mean I have him.”
Dengar turned to look over his shoulder. “No,” Dengar said, staring into the Hutt’s eyes. “You only think you have him.” The Hutt frowned at this. “You cannot keep him in … this!” Dengar waved at the carbonite containment device. “Surely, he will escape.”
“Ho, ho, oh, hooo!” Jabba roared. “You think he can escape from there! You amuse me, assassin.”
Dengar turned to Jabba, folded his hands before him. “Hear me, oh great Jabba,” Dengar warned. “I do indeed believe he will escape from you. And when he does, you will be the laughingstock of the underworld. But I can spare you from this fate. For I propose to remain here, to catch him once again. And when I do, I expect you to pay me twice what you have paid Boba Fett!”
“Do you intend to free him yourself?” Jabba roared, so that part of his retinue fell back, fearing his wrath.
“He will never be freed by my hand,” Dengar whispered.
“Do you suspect a plot?” Jabba asked, eyeing the cutthroats and hoodlums in his employment.
“His friends in the Rebellion will seek to free him,” Dengar answered earnestly.
“The Rebellion?” Jabba laughed. “I do not fear them. So it is agreed. You may stay and join my retainers. And if the Rebellion frees him and you manage to bring him back, I will pay you twice what I paid Boba Fett!”
Boba Fett stepped forward, brandishing his blaster rifle menacingly, and Jabba silenced him with a glare. He spoke with a low voice, “But if the Rebellion fails in its attempt to free Han Solo, then you will work for me for one