Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [77]
Chenlambec sprang up, hooting. “Hurts,” insisted the Hound’s translator. “Hurts.”
“To the cabin.” Bossk brandished the blast rifle he’d slung over his lap.
The Wookiee shambled up the corridor, obviously stalling. But when Bossk peered into the port cabin, the human sat on the edge of her bunk. She fiddled with her thin, inadequate claws.
“Where have you been?” he growled. Prying off bulkheads?
She stared up at him, looking stupidly blank. “Here,” she answered. “Where else?”
He thought he caught the scent of the skinning bay on her clothing. Backing out the hatch, he secured it. What could she have been doing back there? He walked a circuit of the main corridor, including both bays. No alarms had been tripped. Returning to his bridge, he ran an extra security check. It too came up clean.
Maybe he’d been mistaken.
What if he hadn’t?
He keyed for more details from the security program. Immediately after leaving the Executor, the Hound’s Tooth had scanned his passengers’ lockers. That scan revealed no metal except in the weapons crate. He’d told it to try the lockers again. Whatever they’d brought along, if it wasn’t weaponry, it needed to be analyzed.
The second scan came up just as blank: clothing or foodstuffs might have matched the scan’s biochemical readings.
He hadn’t been presented with such an entertaining puzzle in several Standard years.
An hour’s nap would refresh him, and the Hound would wake him in time to drop back into realspace. Reactivating his alarms, he headed for his bunk.
The moment Flirt declared that Bossk had locked himself into his cabin, Chenlambec set off on his own reconnoiter. To his delight, when he breached the central area he’d assumed was the Hound’s main engine, he found a sleek scout ship.
He paused, eyeing its lines. With or without subduing Bossk first, the time would soon come to run groundside surveillance.
He’d better be prepared for Plan Three, and for that, he would need to unload those lockers into this scout ship. But where would he conceal something so large?
Rounding the hull, he found two enormous empty holes on its exterior. Bossk had removed its guns. That made Chen certain that Bossk would send him and Tinian out in it. He peered into one hole.
There was room inside to hide a Wookiee.
Not him, but …
He smiled bitterly. Inside his storage lockers were two of his carbon-frozen kinsmen, executed by the Empire. Their bodies had been dropped at a Wookiee outpost. Chenlambec had vowed to avenge their deaths by making use of those bodies. Bossk’s droid, X10-D, was allegedly brainless, so Flirt could order X10-D to transfer the carbon freeze units into these gunnery sockets. He must also tell Flirt to make sure that the Hound’s scanners still showed those lockers fully loaded.
With Flirt’s help, he sneaked next onto the bridge, carrying the data chip Tinian had retrieved. Before sitting down, he slipped Flirt into position under the navicomputer. Several long seconds later, she chirped, “You’re secure … sort of.”
He demanded an explanation.
“You’ll be checked every two minutes. Whatever you want to do, move quickly.”
Almost instantly, she beeped a warning. He slouched over the controls, motionless, until she chirped, “Okay. I overrode without trouble.”
He growled a question.
“No, don’t pull any wires,” she answered. “I’ll hold off the Hound.”
Chen snatched a set of miniature tools out of his bandolier pouch. He pulled the main computer’s cover, dropped it aside, then eyed internal circuitry. He almost had it figured out when Flirt beeped again. Hastily he replaced the cover.
It took five intervals before he located the spot to slide in that chip full of doctored data. Then he locked it in place and installed a parallel circuit around it.
Just in time, too. They would reach Lomabu within half an hour.
He growled a last question at Flirt.
“Not yet,” she chirruped. “Sorry.”
Then it was Plan Three.