Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters

THE GALAXY’S MOST MERCILESS HUNTERS UNDERTAKE A QUEST TO DESTROY THE REBELLION

THEREFORE I AM
—A renegade droid, a sentient killing machine, embarks on Vader’s quest to find Han Solo and bring him back to the Imperials alive—but even the Dark Lord himself is but a small wrinkle in IG-88’s plan to claim the galaxy as his own domain.

PAYBACK
—A cybernetically enhanced Imperial assassin, surgically stripped of all superfluous emotion, Dengar vies for the glory of meeting Darth Vader’s challenge—and of bringing down his longtime enemy, Han Solo.

THE PRIZE PELT
—A lizardlike Trandoshan hunter who slaughters Wookiees for their pelts, Bossk makes an uneasy alliance with two enemies for an Imperial fortune—but double- and triple-crosses make this the deadliest mission of all.

OF POSSIBLE FUTURES
—A Gand intuitive and his logic-driven droid partner find their own meaning in Vader’s quest for Han Solo: Zuckuss, to gain funds for lifesaving surgery; 4-LOM, hoping to plumb the secrets of intuition. They will find the logic in emotional decisions—and the rewards of forgetting about profits.

THE LAST ONE STANDING
—The galaxy’s most legendary hunter, Boba Fett, faced with the passage of time and his declining powers, embarks on one great adventure … tracking and killing his old adversary, Han Solo.

The usual round of thanks for Lucy Wilson and Sue Rostoni at Lucasfilm for their helpful suggestions; this book came about because of their enthusiasm for my first STAR WARS anthology. Lillie E. Mitchell’s fast fingers transcribed my dictation for the IG-88 story; Michael A. Stackpole and West End Games provided invaluable information on the ways of bounty hunters to help us keep details consistent.

“Bounty hunters. We don’t need that scum!”
—Admiral Piett

I
nternal chronometer activated.
BEGIN
.

Electricity flooded through circuits, a power surge racing through a billion neural pathways. Sensors awakened, producing a flood of data—and with it came questions.

Who am I?

His internal programming finished the tedious two-second-long initialization procedures and poured out
an answer. He was IG-88, a droid, a sophisticated droid—an
assassin droid
.

Where am I?

A microsecond later, images from his exterior sensors snapped into focus. IG-88 had no sense of smell, and no eyes and ears as humans understood them, but his optical and auditory sensors were far more efficient, able to absorb data in a broader range than any living being. He froze a static image of his surroundings and studied it, collating more answers.

He had awakened in some sort of large laboratory complex, white and metal, sterile, and—according to his temperature sensors—colder than humans generally preferred. IG-88 noted mechanical components strewn on silvery tables: gears and pulleys, durasteel struts, servomotors, an array of delicate microchips frozen into a slab of transparent protective gelatin. Struck motionless in a pinpoint of time as his extremely fast neural processors digested the details, IG-88 counted fifteen scientists/engineers/technicians working in the laboratory. With infrared scan he observed their body heat as bright silhouettes in the coldness of his birthplace.

Interesting
, he thought.

Then IG-88 detected something that focused his entire attention. Four other assassin droids, apparently identical to his own bodily configuration—a bulky structural skeleton, armored arms and legs, a torso plated with blaster-proof armor shielding, a cylindrical head that was rounded on top and studded with sensor nubs providing him with 360 degrees’ worth of precise observation.

I am not alone
.

IG-88 recognized each droid’s full complement of weapons: blaster cannons built into the structure of each arm, concussion grenades and a launcher attached to his hip, as well as other weapons not easily recognizable integrated into the body structure—poisonous
gas canisters, throwing flechettes, stun pulser, paralysis cord … and a computer input port. IG-88 was pleased with his list of capabilities.

IG-88’s first round of questions had been answered. He had only to study his memory banks and his external sensors. He was designed to be self-sufficient. He was an assassin droid, resourceful. He had to accomplish his mission … though, checking his newly initialized programming, he saw that he had not yet been given a mission. He would have to acquire one.

Three seconds had already passed, and another important question surfaced in his burning-awake brain.

Why am I here?

He traced sensations through his computer core and out the jack, which he now realized had already been connected to the lab’s central computer—a treasure trove of information.

IG-88 immediately began a search, scouring at hyper-speed through file after file, searching for anything that referenced his model number or the code name of the assassin droid project. He gulped it all into his empty circuits, gorging himself with information without digesting it. That would come later. It would take many seconds to learn everything there was to know about himself.

He selected one file for immediate perusal, a summary/PR tape that had been compiled for the technical sponsor—in particular, an Imperial Supervisor Gurdun who had apparently funneled a great deal of funds into the creation of IG-88 and his counterparts. Without outwardly moving, IG-88 scrolled through the file at high speed, absorbing the information.

The presentation opened with a brilliant orange logo that displayed orange flames and crackling lightning that merged into the words “Holowan Laboratories—the Friendly Technology People.” The logo dissolved into an image of a smiling but hideous ugly woman. Her head was shaven completely bald and glistened
with perspiration under harsh white recording lights that gave her lantern-jawed face a cadaverous look. Her teeth were spaced with broad gaps, and she spoke by opening her mouth wide and clicking down on the words, gnashing her teeth on every consonant. Circular blue lenses without frames were implanted over her eyes like frameless spectacles. A credit line slugged across the image under her ferociously smiling face. “Chief Technician Loruss, Manager IG Series Prototype Project.”

“Greetings, Imperial Supervisor Gurdun,” she said. “This report is to serve as a synopsis of the final phase of our project. As you know, Holowan Laboratories was commissioned to develop a series of assassin droids with sophisticated, experimental sentience programming. They were to be resourceful and innovative and absolutely relentless at carrying out whichever missions the Imperial authorities choose to program into them.”

She rubbed her hands together. Her knuckles were very large, like boils in the middles of her fingers. “I am pleased to report that our greatest cyberneticists have presented me with numerous breakthroughs, all of which have been incorporated into the IG series. Because our timeframe is so short and the Empire’s need is so great for efficient covert assassins, we have not gone through the usual rigorous testing procedures, but we are confident they will function admirably, though a bit of fine-tuning may be required before operational status is achieved.”

She continued with a long and tedious explanation of improvements to droid neural pathways, how the usual inhibition systems had been bypassed. IG-88 studied all this information, but believed none of it. It was obvious Loruss didn’t know what she was talking about, but her words sounded technical, and she spoke them impressively, no doubt to befuddle Imperial Supervisor Gurdun.

IG-88 closed the file. He could sense that his crackling neural pathways had already progressed far beyond anything his designers had anticipated.

Now he knew who he was and why he was here in this laboratory. He and his identical counterparts had been built to serve the Empire, to fight and kill, to seek out and destroy the targets selected by Imperial masters. IG-88’s assassin programming was strong and compelling, but he was less pleased that he must follow orders from these inferior biological beings. He was a special kind of droid beyond the capabilities of other machines. Superior.

I think, therefore I am
.