Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [74]
Plan Three was more complicated, of course. It pitted Bossk against Imperial Governor Io Desnand, and timing would be crucial.
Chen’s Alliance contacts who had created the “waypost” probably weren’t far off. Their scanners might be trained on the Hound at this moment.
He raised a hand in greeting.
Tinian sat where she’d been told to sit, several meters away from Bossk in the large starboard sleeping cabin. Bossk sat in front of a recessed console. His orange flightsuit fit him better when he sat down; when he’d stood, it had bunched up on his back. His long greenish forearms lay in two deep, rounded grooves. He barely moved, but he seemed remarkably busy for someone who only needed to set a course. He must be feverishly probing that “waypost.”
She already guessed it was false. Bossk must be bitterly disappointed … but in his mind, the Millennium Falcon would be almost in reach. He would probably recheck this waypost after he completed this mission.
By then, it probably wouldn’t exist. She chuckled.
“What is it?” Bossk demanded. “What is funny?”
“The fact that we’re almost there,” she lied. “Those Wookiees are trying to set up their safe world right under an Imperial governor’s nose.”
“Oh. Get back to your cabin,” gargled Bossk. “We will discuss strategy once I probe the Lomabu system.”
“No drugs this time,” she said sternly.
Acceleration made it hard to turn the corner into their cabin. She braced against a bulkhead until Chen slipped in behind her.
“Quick!” she urged. Chen was already unclipping Flirt from his bandolier. He plugged her in on the bulkhead.
“Security,” Tinian scolded the miniature droid. “Hurry.”
Extra g-forces darkened Tinian’s vision at the edges before Flirt sang, “You’re secure!”
Tinian struggled onto her bunk and braced her feet against the aft bulkhead. Chen reached down over her and secured her webbing. “Thanks,” Tinian managed. Then she shut her eyes and waited for the lurch into hyperspace.
Bossk frowned at his monitors. The Hound had jumped successfully—this would be a two-hour hop—but one internal monitor had suddenly blanked. Had he lost power to the port cabin?
“Restore restraint systems inside the passenger cabin,” he ordered.
After a moment’s hesitation, the Hound’s baritone answered, “The port cabin is fully secured. Would you like imagery from the starboard cabin?”
For a superintelligent computer, it occasionally communicated like a prize idiot. That was one disadvantage of flying a new ship. Bossk exhaled sharply. “Cancel request,” he snarled.
Almost immediately, Chenlambec appeared in at the bridge hatch. He woofled and pointed at the control troughs.
Bossk would fix that short circuit later. The translation circuit echoed Chenlambec’s hooting before Bossk could shut it off and deny its existence. Translating into pidgin Basic, it said, “Want sit bridge. You made us sleep before. You need me up here. At Lomabu we outnumbered.”
Bossk eyed the Wookiee’s magnificent pelt. “The Hound’s Tooth is my copilot. I don’t need you.”
Chenlambec growled. The Hound offered, “You don’t need. But I fly under you. I want assist.”
Bossk kept his tongue behind his teeth. It would be entertaining to share the bridge with a Wookiee whose pelt he would soon peel. “Sit,” he directed Chenlambec. “But the Hound can immobilize you faster than you can touch me. And I can still kill your partner.” He flipped his surveillance switch. The port cabin appeared on-screen. Tinian crouched beside a bulkhead, trying to pry off a sheet of metal paneling with her fingernails. Bossk pointed at her image. “If I find it necessary to immobilize you,” he told Chenlambec, “I will kill her instantly.”
Chenlambec muttered. “Too dark up here,” translated the Hound.
“It’s light enough,” said Bossk. “Sit.”
Chenlambec sat.
“You’re back on watch,” squeaked Flirt, “or Bossk thinks so.