Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [72]
“Confirmed,” it answered.
According to the Hound, they were headed for the outskirts of the Aida system. It seemed a logical place for a Wookiee waypost. Aida was solidly Imperial but sparsely settled.
When Tinian awoke, she felt ravenous. Chen bent over her, crooning, sounding concerned.
“I’m awake,” she groaned. “I must’ve slept awfully hard—”
He growled.
“Drugged?” Tinian exclaimed. She sat up straight, glad to be alive. “Is Flirt having trouble?”
Flirt squeaked softly, “You’re safe now.”
Tinian slipped off her bunk. Her limbs bent stiffly. “What happened?” she asked the miniature droid.
“Sub-q injectors in the mattress and deck. The Hound’s been programmed with both of your body weights. You were down for three and a half days.”
No wonder Tinian had lost all sense of time.
Chen asked Flirt if she’d gotten inside the Hound’s security.
“Not exactly inside,” Flirt admitted softly. “He has accepted my presence, but he hasn’t let me do much. Still,” she chirped, “I’ve secured your cabin and brought up your lights. That’s something.”
Instead of gray, the bulkheads glimmered steel-blue, and Chen’s silvery pelt shone. Now Tinian could see that the Hound had high overheads and long, narrow bunks. “Where’s Bossk?”
“In the cargo bay, trying to scan your weapons crate.”
Chen growled an elaborate threat.
“It’s safe for the moment. So are you.”
That crate was a decoy anyway. Tinian rubbed her face and slipped into the washcabin. She hoped Chen’s boxy little siren hadn’t met her match this time. If Flirt could insinuate herself inside the Hound’s main security circuits before they jumped again, she and Chen ought to be able to overpower Bossk, restrain him, and deliver him wherever they could get the best price.
Plan One counted entirely on Flirt, though. Tinian had yet to run a bounty mission that turned out simply.
Bossk’s gruff voice spoke from the bulkhead. “Chenlambec, Tinian. I’m on my way to speak with you.”
“How about dinner?” Tinian called back.
No reply. Chen wurfled concern. “I won’t faint,” she answered, “but you must be starved.”
Flirt spoke up. “Bossk just programmed the galley to deliver a big meal.”
“You’d better dim our lights,” Tinian suggested. “He’ll get suspicious if you don’t.”
The bulkheads faded to gray again.
“Do we dare eat?” Tinian asked Flirt. “And where are we?”
“Just a few degrees out from the waypost,” Flirt answered. “He hasn’t doped your food.”
Tinian checked the charge on her blaster. “Uh, oh,” she said. It had been drained. “Is yours zeroed, too?”
Chen fingered his blaster, then examined his bowcaster. He yipped and pointed. Its loading spring had been removed.
The hatch slid open. “Come out and eat,” said Bossk’s voice, but Bossk didn’t appear. The passageway was even darker than their cabin.
She marched up the murky corridor, following her nose toward the galley. Bossk sat at a table, bending over a bowl full of wriggling red worms. He no longer wore his blast rifle. By this dim light, he looked drab brown. “Eat.” He waved a forelimb at two plates set far from his own. “Your food disgusts me.”
“It’s mutual,” Tinian muttered, but whatever Bossk had prepared for her, it smelled splendid.
On the other hand, raw plasboard with groundcar-fuel sauce would have been difficult to push away. She shoved in a mouthful before Chen sat down. Bossk flicked his tongue at his bowl. A worm vanished into his mouth with his tongue. She decided not to watch him any more.
Several minutes and half a plateful later, she asked, “Where are we?”
“Near the Aida system and your waypost. Now I need your hairy master-Hunter’s help.”
Chenlambec muttered at her for a while, questioning Bossk’s competence, his taste in food, and the keeping quality of the egg he had hatched from. Tinian pretended to translate: “Why didn’t we drop out of hyperspace at the coordinates he gave you?”
“In case he was