Free Tales of the Bounty Hunters by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

determine what Fett intended to do, yet could come up with no reasonable solution. He spoke across the comm channel again. “Surrender your prisoner and you have a thirty percent probability of surviving this encounter.”
    Boba Fett continued to dive down and down and down. Slave I ’s hull glowed cherry red. The atmosphere of Tatooine clawed against his shields as he streaked lower, picking up inevitable speed.
    IG-88 transmitted again. “I am far more capable of withstanding the gravometric pressures than you. This tactic has a zero probability of success.”
    When Boba Fett again refused to answer, IG-88 increased his speed to tolerance levels, narrowing the gap between his ship and the Slave I . He rode tight in the bowshock from Fett’s ship.
    But suddenly, in a remarkable move, Boba Fett activated his inertial damping system, slamming his descent to a halt in the atmosphere of Tatooine; the stress and power required for such a maneuver utterly trashed his hyperdrives.
    IG-88 zoomed past him, unable to squelch his velocity sufficiently. He brought the IG-2000 to a halt in less than two seconds—directly in the targeting cross of Boba Fett’s ship. The Slave I’s ion cannons blasted out with all the remaining power in Fett’s engine core, slagging the IG-2000 ’s shields and weapons systems.
    Boba Fett activated his tractor beam, grabbing the crippled IG-2000 and drawing it closer, closer to the Slave I like a combat arachnid drawing in its prey. IG-88 looked up to see the barrel of Fett’s concussion missile launcher pointed directly at him.
    Boba Fett finally responded over the comm system. “The Empire has issued a ‘dismantle on sight’ order for you, but I wish they offered a higher bounty. You’re persistent, but you’re not worth much.”
    IG-88, disbelieving, did not even remember to transmit a full personality backup to Mechis III before it was too late.
    Boba Fett launched a full bank of concussion missiles. The second IG-2000 erupted into an incandescent cloud that spread molten spangles across the atmosphere of the desert world.
    XIII
    Shielded and in radio silence, the decoy Imperial fleet hung in a wasteland of space, a void without stars or planets, nothing the least bit interesting—except that the real convoy carrying the Death Star’s computer core would traverse this sector within one standard hour.
    IG-88A captained the decoy fleet waiting in ambush, while his counterparts went off to strike against Boba Fett. He sat in silence aboard the main ship, unconcerned with what IG-88C and D were doing. He had full confidence in their abilities, and Fett would no longer be a problem.
    His own primary concern was to become the marvelous new Death Star battlestation. The time was now, the plan was set, and his assault team of stormtrooper droids was ready. The plan had been burned into their primary programming. They would not hesitate.
    They waited with mechanical patience in their trap—and then pounced.
    The unsuspecting original fleet—one heavy long-distance freighter and two escort fighters—sprang out of hyperspace, piloted by real Imperial stormtroopers, carrying the genuine Death Star computer core. The Imperial ships hesitated, gathering their bearings to make another jump along a different transdimensional pathway.
    The moment they saw the decoy fleet waiting for them with weapons powered up and ready to strike, the Imperial commanders must have thought they were seeing sensor reflections of themselves.
    IG-88 transmitted his order. “Fire at will.”
    Ion cannon bursts slammed into the three ships like a tsunami, crippling all three Imperial craft before they had a chance to fire a single shot. The original ships were expendable anyway.
    The two Imperial escort ships were irrelevant, and IG-88 ignored them. He used powerful tractor beams to draw his identical freighter up against the real craft, linking hulls with an airtight seal before the droid assault team blasted open the