Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters (6 page)

Vader did not ask permission to visit Mechis III. He simply arrived.

The Imperial shuttle settled onto the red-lit rectangle atop the tall tower. He fumbled with his seat restraints as the shuttle doors hissed open.

Seeing his chance escaping, Gurdun took a deep breath to gather courage, finally broaching the subject he had been wanting to mention since takeoff.

“Uh, Lord Vader, if I might be so bold as to request …” He rubbed his nose unconsciously. “With the completion of this order, I was wondering if you might reconsider interceding on my behalf on my request for … ah, I mean … the surgical procedure that I’ve been needing for some time now—”

Vader swiveled his hideous helmet toward Gurdun, and the Imperial Supervisor shrank back, not wanting to confront the black plasteel face. “Your physical appearance does not concern me,” Vader said. “I have no interest or desire in providing you with useless cosmetic surgery. If your large nose continues to trouble you when you look in the mirror, perhaps I should remove my helmet and let you have a look? Then you wouldn’t be so concerned.”

Gurdun held up his hands. “No, no, that’s not necessary, Lord Vader. I see your point. I won’t ask again.” He rubbed his nose as if he could reduce its size simply by friction.

A silvery administrative droid rushed toward them as Darth Vader stood outside his private shuttle. The droid waved its metallic hands. “Greetings, greetings, sirs! I am Threedee-Fourex, in charge of activities while Master Hekis is tending to an emergency. How may I serve you? We were not informed of your impending arrival.”

Gurdun puffed out his chest. “That’s because we did not choose to inform you of our arrival. Lord Vader must speak with Administrator Hekis regarding our extensive order of new probe droids. We must be assured they will be delivered on schedule.”

Fourex ushered them into the tower, down a turbolift, and into the austere offices of the human administrator. Gurdun glanced around, surprised that a man with so little to do with his time would choose to have an office utterly devoid of interesting artwork. Hekis must be a dry sort of fellow indeed—a perfect choice for the job here.

“Where is the administrator?” Vader said.

Fourex froze for a moment, as if uploading information. Gurdun wondered how old a model the droid was; he hadn’t seen such a delay in a long time. “There has been a breakdown on the far side of the planet, sirs. One of our agricultural harvester droid production facilities. Administrator Hekis must remain there until the situation is resolved.”

Vader said, “I am not interested in your emergencies. I wish to speak to Hekis. Establish a vidlink now—or shall we go visit him personally?”

Fourex paused again, hesitating, then finally he said, “I will establish a vidlink. I’m certain I can connect you. Have no fear.”

Vader answered as if it were a question, “I have none.”

Threedee-Fourex slipped through the door and returned in a moment, wheeling a tall, silvery vidplate, a square frame that the administrative droid connected with a series of cables to a wall computer. The screen fizzed with multicolored static, focusing and shifting as an image took shape out of assembled pixels.

A pale-faced man with a long chin and sunken eyes smiled insipidly through the vidplate. Behind him smoke poured from broken-down machines in an assembly plant. The black hemispherical bodies of low-to-the-ground machines splashed reflected light from red alarm beacons. Diagnostic droids and repair droids busied themselves, digging through the smoking machinery.

The alarms dampened in the background as the voice pickup emphasized Hekis’s words. “Lord Vader, this is an unexpected surprise!”

“We have come to make certain that our probe droid order is fulfilled properly,” Gurdun said. “We are anxious to see these machines delivered and put into the service of the Empire.”

Hekis seemed flustered but trying to hide it. He gestured toward the disaster behind him. “Don’t be concerned with this minor flaw,” he said. Harvester droids scuttled away from the site of the wreckage, their crablike multipurpose arms thrust up out of the way so they could travel smoothly.

“We’ve had no problems with the probot order. In fact, the design has been completed, the assembly lines retooled. We’ll begin mass-producing them within the next two days. You should have your entire order within a week. I believe that is several days ahead of schedule.”

“Excellent!” Gurdun said, rubbing his hands together. “You see, Lord Vader? I told you we could trust our man Hekis.”

The image of the administrator stuttered on the vidplate,
then another large plume of black oily smoke boiled out of a new control chamber on the assembly line. Hekis whirled in alarm and said, “There are matters I must attend to here, Lord Vader. Accept my sincere apologies that I cannot be there in person. Rest assured, your probe droids will be delivered.”

Without another word the image turned into static.

“You see, we had nothing to worry about,” Gurdun said, feeling quite relieved. “Shall we go now, Lord Vader? You must have crucial duties that are far more important.”

Vader stood like a statue, though, for a few moments, his breath hissing hollowly through his respirator. He turned from side to side, staring at the blank vidplate, then at the barren walls of Hekis’s office, then at the silvery droid Threedee-Fourex.

Gurdun swallowed, growing impatient and uneasy. “Uh, what is it, Lord Vader? I really think we should let these droids get back to work.”

“I’m not certain,” Vader said, his voice ominous. “I sense that something is not right here … but I can’t determine what it is.” Finally, Vader snapped his attention back. Towering over Gurdun, he strode back to the turbolift and his personal shuttle. “Make certain those probe droids are delivered,” Vader said to the silvery administrative droid.

Threedee-Fourex stood stiffly and proudly. “We would not wish to disappoint you, Lord Vader,” he said.

Vader stood tall, a blot of blackness against the smoky sky on the landing platform. His cape swirled around him. “No. You would not.”

IG-88 stood at the end of the manufacturing line, listening to the sounds of metal clinking, hydraulic jets spraying, components being assembled, lubricants applied.
He could not smell, though his chemical-analysis tracers detected minor concentrations of welding compounds and aerosol sealants floating in the air.

The assembly droids slaved diligently at their tasks. They reveled in being self-aware, applying themselves to their job with enthusiasm.
Freedom
. It made all the difference in the world.

At the end of the assembly line the last black Arakyd Viper probot was powered on. Inspector 11, a meticulous analysis droid, stepped back out of the way. The articulated probe droid rose up on small repulsor jets, floating, moving its six segmented, claw-tipped legs. The probot’s flattened head spun about, turning its suite of optical sensors in all directions, scanning data.

IG-88 stood motionless, waiting to be acknowledged. IG-88 was proud to be responsible for such a creation: black and polished and beautiful, sleek curves, high reflectance.

Built to specifications Darth Vader and Imperial Supervisor Gurdun had transmitted to Mechis III, the probot was sleek and multifunctional in a much broader range of activities than IG-88 could ever be. However, IG-88 had included a secondary set of instructions giving the probe droid a higher priority mission in parallel with its search for the Empire. He liked the probot’s black armor, its darkness. It reminded him of Vader himself.…

When the Dark Lord of the Sith had arrived unexpectedly on Mechis III, IG-88 had been greatly shaken. As he watched Vader and analyzed him with various unobtrusive probes, IG-88 saw that Vader was not merely a trivial organic life form, not just walking meat—he was a perfect synthesis of man and machine, an integrated body with droid components and biological intelligence, imagination, and initiative.

IG-88 had studied the tapes of Vader’s visit, analyzing every fluid motion the towering Dark Lord made, every flick of his cape, every motion of his arm. Always before
IG-88 had considered biologicals to be worthless in every sense, inferior to what any good droid could do—but now he reconsidered that Vader might perhaps be the best of both forms.

Awe was a new sensation, and IG-88 analyzed that as well.

By tapping into his droids infiltrated into the Empire, he had learned that Vader’s flagship, the
Executor
, was a Super Star Destroyer eight kilometers long, laced with powerful computers and functioning with a crew far smaller than might be expected for such a scaled-up version of an
Imperial
-class Star Destroyer. The construction of this incredible battleship had practically bankrupted several systems.

IG-88’s circuits warmed as he diligently tried to think of ways to use this information, or perhaps even the
Executor
itself, to further his own plans.

On the assembly line, the Arakyd Viper rotated on its axis with short, hissing bursts from altitude-control jets. It sent a high-speed encoded transmission burst at IG-88, filled with a thousand questions.

Who are you?

Why are you here?

What is your mission?

IG-88 answered in its own language, responding in kind. “You are the last,” he said. “The last of thousands to go out and scour the galaxy to search and report.”

The probe droid already knew its priority instructions from IG-88. Yes, it was to report to Darth Vader—but it was also to send another detailed message to Mechis III. Thousands of probots would be IG-88’s eyes and ears, spying on the galaxy as a whole, uncovering weaknesses for the droids to exploit in their plans for overall conquest.

These probots also had the sentience programming, the spark of intellect that IG-88 had shared with his
mechanical brothers. The probe droids would be the scouts in the great droid revolution.

The Arakyd Viper reached out with one powerful metal claw, and IG-88 grasped it with his own hand, not quite comprehending what the probot intended. The black droid squeezed with a pincer grip that would have sliced off any trivial organic appendage. IG-88 applied equal pressure in response.

He wasn’t certain of the probot’s intent, but these droids were notoriously unstable—made even more so by their additional programming. They were suicide scouts, and they knew it. They must never be dismantled or inspected. The probe droids carried the full details within them for IG-88’s bloody plans of conquest, waiting to be activated by his secret coded transmission—and the probots must not be analyzed too closely. Very touchy internal triggers would self-destruct at the slightest chance of capture. The probots were expendable, and they knew it in their very core.

The Arakyd Viper strained against IG-88 in an eerie power struggle, as if attempting to determine whether the assassin droid was worthy of such devotion.

IG-88 was.

The last probe droid relaxed and raised up on its repulsor jets, floating, scanning, getting its bearings. It sent a short, stabbing farewell, acknowledgment of devotion to its mission. IG-88 looked up as the black probot drifted toward the cargo pod where it would be launched into orbit, eventually delivered to Vader’s starfleet.

“Go and report,” IG-88 said. “You have much to see. Burn brightly.”

Months later, IG-88 saw his chance both to study Darth Vader more thoroughly—and to get aboard the magnificent
Executor
.

Multiprocessing, IG-88C monitored transmissions from the thousands of scattered probe droids, receiving updates on the progress of his specially programmed droid infiltration across galactic civilizations. The moment he witnessed the self-destruct of an Arakyd Viper probot on the distant ice world of Hoth, IG-88 instantly snapped his full attention to the situation there.

Vader’s Super Star Destroyer had been cruising the space lanes, waiting for a signal that would announce the discovery of the Rebel base. Vader was certain to react immediately. The probot had delivered its reconnaissance information—as Vader expected. And at the first threat of possible capture and discovery of its droid reprogramming, the probot had destroyed itself—as IG-88 expected.

IG-88B, with his direct bounty hunting experience, took the sleek ship
IG-2000
and remained in the locality of the Imperial fleet, ready for spontaneous action so that he might earn singular notice from Darth Vader, the black synthesis of man and machine.…

IG-88B didn’t participate in the battle of Hoth. He did not wish to become involved with this petty political struggle among biological vermin. He watched the escaping Rebel ships in flight, some damaged, some overloaded with equipment and refugees.

He considered tracking them, because the location of new Rebel hideouts was certain to be of value to the Empire. But he ran a probability analysis and ultimately decided that none of these targets would be of sufficient overriding interest to Lord Vader. In the Hoth system IG-88 waited and watched, his ship a tiny blip at
the fringes of sensor range, too small to be noticed in the flurry.

He lurked behind the Imperial fleet on its pursuit of another small insignificant ship into the asteroid belt. Thus, IG-88 was waiting when Darth Vader put out his call for bounty hunters to find Han Solo.

IG-88 stood quietly on the bridge deck of the Super Star Destroyer
Executor
. He observed in silence, filing details away for later consideration. The lights on his cranial pod flashed red as he drank in data from his optical sensors. The bridge deck was aswarm with Imperial officers of various ranks that did not concern him, since they were merely humans.

“Bounty hunters,” the human known as Admiral Piett muttered in low tones, presuming he was out of earshot of the gathered bounty hunters. “We don’t need that scum!”

“Yes, sir,” his companion said.

IG-88 knew that the Imperials were doubly uneasy because of the well-known “dismantle on sight” order for the assassin droid. But Vader had blatantly ignored that, in hopes of securing his precious captives.