Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [94]
“But your daughter’s husband—”
Booster’s voice dropped into a bass growl. “He’s dead and I’m helping her deal with that.”
“And I want to help the Bothan people deal with their grief, too.” Fey’lya looked up. “The Bothan people hold dear the memory of the Martyrs, but the Imperial troops who killed them also destroyed their bodies. The monument on Bothawui is empty and, because of that, it is diminished somewhat. I wish to see Asyr interred there, and I am willing to cover the costs of an expedition to find her. I really think, if you went back, you would find Asyr’s body.”
Booster frowned. “Did you miss what I said? It’s not there.”
“And I think you missed what I said. I need a body as a symbol.” Fey’lya smiled. “I think a man who is as resourceful as you could find a suitable body, and you would be well rewarded for that search.”
Booster’s mouth slowly opened as he sat forward. “You think I could just find a Bothan body out there?”
“I have the utmost respect for your ability to get things done discreetly.”
“Even if it meant the death of a Bothan?”
“There are bandits and others whose lives will come to no useful end. This could redeem them.” The Bothan smiled. “I would be most generous and grateful. You would find my gratitude very useful.”
“Perhaps I would.” Booster slid from the desk and peered past Fey’lya for a second, then snatched him up by the front of his tunic and hauled him out of his chair. The Councilor struck at Booster’s arms and felt the chair go tumbling behind him. As surprised as he was, it took him a moment to remember his claws could open the man’s arms in seconds.
Booster slammed Fey’lya into a bulkhead with tooth-rattling force. All reason evaporated from Fey’lya’s brain as stars exploded before his eyes. The man hammered him into the wall again, then drove his forehead into the Bothan’s sensitive snout. Fey’lya raised his hands to protect his nose, then felt a heavy fist pound his stomach. Air whoofed from him and he wanted to vomit.
The dim closeness of the office vanished as the man carried him out to the docking bay and tossed him to the deck. Booster towered over him, his fists doubled, and Fey’lya shrank back, pulling himself along the decking for a moment. Then he remembered who he was. He stopped, but still flinched as Booster feinted with a fist.
Booster straightened up and posted his fists on his hips. “I don’t know how your Bothan Martyrs got their hands on Death Star plans, but I’ll bet it wasn’t by asking others to do their wet work for them. It’s pretty evident you don’t think highly of me, my species, or my ship. I won’t say I can’t be bought, but I can’t be bought by the likes of you.”
He lowered his voice. “How you could even dream of sealing some glitbiter away in Asyr’s tomb, I don’t know.”
Borsk Fey’lya felt the hot lash of the man’s words and almost, for a nanosecond, let shame ruffle the fur on the back of his head. I never had Asyr’s compliance with my wishes, and I would have had it from the grave. It would have been for the glory of Bothans. Could that be wrong? Yet before he could frame an answer, his bodyguards arrived at his side and were helping him up. His embarrassment at needing their aid swallowed any shame he might have felt.
Borsk coughed and rubbed at his nose. “You have misunderstood …”
Booster waved away his words. “Oh, I understood you. You didn’t understand me. When I smack someone into a bulkhead and toss him on the deck, that’s me saying he should get his carcass off my ship. The other things, the head butt and the stomach punch, that was just because I don’t like you.”
“Then our business is concluded.” Borsk Fey’lya freed his arms from his bodyguards’ grips and straightened his tunic. “I shall not forget this, Booster Terrik.”
“Never did think you were stupid enough to let this lesson get away from you.” Booster pointed