Star Wars_Bait Read online

  One of the keys to enabling a big guy to conceal himself, Grummgar knew, was finding ways for him to get around without attracting much attention. Consequently, the specialized hunting speeder he was currently straddling wasn’t much bigger than he was.

  And Grummgar was a very big guy indeed.

  Hence the need for the remarkably compact yet powerful speeder. With its customized muted propulsion system and integrated heat masker, it was particularly useful for slipping unnoticed in and out of one of his favorite hunting grounds: the sacred jungles of Ithor. The fact that hunting within Ithor’s expansive boundaries was highly illegal did not deter him. Very little dissuaded Grummgar from pursuing his goals, be they the occasional trophy he kept for his personal pleasure or, in this case, that he acquired for a client.

  Coming from a world where physical attributes and skills were valued above all others, he had developed his own to a point where he had some time ago felt confident striking out alone. Given the current condition of galactic society following the fall of the Empire and the ongoing confusion within the New Republic, being one’s own boss and beholden to no one placed him in an enviable position. He could go where he wished when he wished, and do as he pleased. Among other things, it allowed him to spend time with some less than savory acquaintances, on out-of-the-way worlds, and generally thumb his nose at the authorities. Which, considering the size of his nose, was no small challenge.

  Besides, due to their gruff personalities as well as their intimidating appearance, his kind were not noted for an ability to socialize easily.

  Shifting his massive, bronze-hued body atop the speeder, he reached up with one huge hand to wipe raindrops from first the right, then the left of the twin, blunt, short tusks that protruded from his face. His large black eyes sank even deeper beneath a cliff-like brow as he studied the opening in the forest below and in front of him. His other hand held the heavy 242 hunting rifle as lightly as if it were a toy. No plaything, the 242 fired a propulsive shell that could bring down a full-grown rancor.

  As he adjusted his upper body position, his armored gray shoulder pads shifted slightly. Located near a clean, flowing stream and replete with a carpet of blue and pink edible fungi, the dappled glade he was observing through his magscope was just where one might hope to find the deadly molsume, its iridescent fur glistening in the sunlight to warn potential predators that the flesh of the rare multi-legged creature was as toxic as the poison that seeped from its twin fangs. Grummgar had no intention of eating his quarry, of course. The client for whom he was working wanted only the jewel-like pelt for his collection.

  There was just one small problem.

  The glade was already occupied.

  Professional hunter and wide-ranging traveler that he was, Grummgar recognized the intruding species immediately. It was a human female, and to all appearances one that was as young as she was diminutive. She sat tickling the native fungi, ignoring its food value, laughing at the small sounds it made, and for all the world as indifferent to her potentially dangerous surroundings as if she were enjoying a picnic in a city park.

  Where had she come from? Grummgar pondered. She looked too young to be out in the Ithor jungle by herself, the sizable backpack lying nearby notwithstanding. Though this individual did not appear to be fully adult, he knew that human body sizes could be deceptive. A large one could be young, a small one quite old.

  Not that her size or age mattered. What was important was that she was occupying the site he had chosen for his stakeout. She would have to be moved, or…

  He considered thoughtfully. Why move her? What better to entice a highly carnivorous molsume than a bit of vulnerable bipedal bait? He ought to help her, he knew. At the very least, warn her that in taking her ease where she was, she was inviting destruction. On the other hand, as near as he could tell she was here of her own free will, and had not been dumped or otherwise forcibly ejected into this part of the jungle. Certainly her present demeanor appeared to confirm that.

  In the end, it came down to what was strictly a business decision, he thought as he easily swung the big gun around to rest on his protruding belly. Murmuring softly to himself, he checked to make sure the 242 had a full load at the ready. After that, he continued to hover above the forest on the silent speeder, continued to watch—and waited.

  The Ithorian sun was low in the sky when he detected motion in the dense copse of n’lor trees. Rubbing the back of a huge hand across his wide, flat nostrils, he let the magscope automatically adjust to the distance and the ambient light. A flash of dark purple glistened among the greenery. As it moved, the coloring shifted to a metallic azure streaked with silver, then to bright bronze flecked with emerald green. While he could not see the outline of the creature, the glimmering between the branches was sufficient to identify the molsume. It was moving slowly and steadily toward the stream. Or toward its intended prey.

  Repositioning the scope, he saw that the girl had not changed her location. She continued to sit in the middle of the glade, surrounded by colorful fungi, native flowers, and blissful indifference. There was still time to warn her, but he would have to hurry. Once it scented food, the molsume could attack with blinding speed.

  Below, the onward flow of glistening colors came to a halt. Doubtless the creature was taking the measure of the strange potential meal in front of it. It was possible, even likely, that the girl was the first example of her species the molsume had ever seen. Grummgar knew she would be little more than a snack for the monster. Judging by the number and intensity of coat colors he had already seen, it was a mature specimen. Bigger than himself, and far bigger than the girl. Just what his client was looking for.

  Perhaps, he thought for an instant, his client would be interested in a human skin, as well. He immediately flicked the notion aside. One did not sell the shell of a fellow sentient to be stuffed or hung on a wall. While even among his own kind Grummgar was regarded as something of a rough customer, he did have principles. These excluded hunting other intelligent beings. They did not exclude allowing them to be taken by less clever but more robust predatory native species.

  Putting aside the scope, he unlimbered his rifle and began to take aim. Aware that the molsume would go straight for the human, he aimed just to her left. That was the direction from which the carnivore would charge. If the girl was lucky, he would kill the creature with a single shot and, through no intent of his own, she would survive. Otherwise, it might take several bursts to put the tough predator down, which would be…untidy.

  The slight rustling of vines and branches would not have been noticed by prey, but Grummgar was alert to the movement immediately. The molsume was tensing, preparing all ten of its short but powerful legs for the killing charge. It came even sooner than he anticipated. Not for nothing was his client prepared to pay highly for the pelt of so dangerous a creature. A single shot rang out.

  It did not come from his rifle.

  Still gazing through the magscope, he lowered it slightly. A long wheeze came from his capacious lungs as his brain tried to fully process the couple of seconds it had just recorded.

  The molsume had sprung. Before it was halfway to her the girl had whirled, knocked aside her backpack, picked up the expensive and very powerful shortblaster the pack had been concealing, and fired. The single shell it unleashed had detonated just under the molsume’s lower jaw, sending teeth, fangs, and a spray of poison flying in all directions while shattering the creature’s brain.

  Grummgar let out an involuntary snort of admiration. Despite the evident delight she had exhibited in her bucolic surroundings, it was clear the girl was far from the helpless waif she had initially appeared to be. He was grateful for what she had accomplished, and would tell her so. But he would approa
ch her carefully, carefully. He was well aware that other species found his bulk and appearance intimidating.

  Not this girl, however. In response to the speeder’s descent, she swiftly swung the shortblaster in its direction. He paused with alacrity, the soft hum of his vehicle almost inaudible above the background chatter of the Ithorian jungle. He strove to recall a dialect one of her kind would find comprehensible.

  “Take it early,” he rumbled. No, that wasn’t it. He tried again. “Take it easy. Yes, relax.” Though the absence of much of a neck prevented him from executing more than a perfunctory nod, he managed to indicate the oversized handgun she now gripped firmly in both small hands. “I don’t fully garner your intent, but if it’s hostile, remember that’s a one-shot weapon.”

  “Two.” The muzzle of the gun did not waver. “Specially modified model. Two shots.”

  He considered. “And if I evade, and you miss?”

  Compared to his, her mouth slit was so small as to be nearly invisible. “I don’t miss.”

  “Do you brag as skillfully as you hunt?”

  A thin smile creased the flat human face. “You know how to find out.”

  He was careful to keep the end of the 242 aimed away from her. But not terribly far away. “It seems we have arrived at an impasse.”

  “No,” she countered brusquely. “You’ve arrived at an impasse. My name’s Nysorly, and I’ve arrived in the Ithor jungle, where I’ve been hunting for a molsume for nearly a week. I’m going to skin it, freezerve the pelt, and sell it.”

  “You are a professional hunter?” Grummgar’s massive overhanging brow rose. “I’ve put out bait bigger than you.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she shot back. “Something as big and clumsy as yourself would likely have to resort to bait.”

  If her intent was to provoke him, it failed. Grummgar did not take offense at words. To do so would involve him in far too many unnecessary conflicts. For him, if there was no money or trophy in it, there was no rationale for fighting.

  “You could shoot me,” he hypothesized, “and I could fall off this speeder and crush you.”

  She indicated the now half-decapitated carcass of the molsume. “You’ve seen how fast I can move. Surely you’re not that stupid.”

  “I only have to hit you once, noisy stripling.”

  The muzzle of the shortblaster twitched ever so slightly. “With how many amputated body parts?”

  She was serious, he realized. Of all the obstacles he had prepared to deal with on this expedition, of all the potential problems and setbacks and possible unforeseen complications, the last thing he had expected to have to confront was competition. And pocket-sized competition, at that.

  But there was nothing undersized about her gun.

  “I could kill you,” he murmured off-handedly, “but I dislike a mess.”

  “You’ll make a bigger one.”

  “Instead of watching and waiting, I could have ignored the situation in the hope that the molsume would take you.”

  Her grin returned. “Isn’t that what you hoped would happen?”

  “Not really. I was intending to put it down before it could reach you.”

  “So my actual survival was a matter of some indifference to you?”

  Once again he managed a limited-range nod. “You wound me. In all honesty, I did have a preference.” As he spoke, his free hand was drifting imperceptibly toward the speeder’s control panel.

  “How noble of you.” Her sarcasm was blunt enough for him to recognize it for what it was. “So. What do we do now?”

  “I suppose,” he replied, “one of us is going to kill the other.”

  Whereas his size did not unnerve her, his calmness did. “Seems kind of an extreme solution.” Once again she indicated the gleaming cadaver. “All over a single molsume pelt. Why don’t we just split the proceeds?”

  He considered. “Your buyer or mine?”

  “Easy,” she replied. He could see that some of the overriding tension was leaving her. “Highest bidder.”

  He grunted. “I have a reputation to consider. But I do have a solution.” He spat in her direction.

  Being unfamiliar with the possible dangers that might be englobed in the mass of alien spittle, she threw herself to one side, firing as she went down. Grummgar raised the 242 and let loose, but her shot fragmented the rear section of the speeder, sending it spinning wildly to crash into a nearby johinuu tree. The carnivorous tree immediately tried to eat the speeder. Finding it distinctly unpalatable, not to mention hot, it spit out the smoking vehicle and its rider.

  As Nysorly rolled, she grabbed the backpack and in one smooth motion emptied it of a cartridge holding two of the shortblaster’s explosive shells. She was in the process of reloading when she saw something behind her and at her feet. The mass of shimmering fur contrasted brutally with the gaping mouth and its long, pointed teeth and poison fangs. Both double-slitted eyes were open and fixed on her. A freshly-minted dark hole between them was smoldering.

  She continued to reload the shortblaster, but with less haste now. Rising, she peered in the direction of the still-quivering johinuu tree. Instead of aiming her weapon in its vicinity, she let it hang loose at her side.

  “Hey.” There was no response. Brushing colorful leaves and grit from her jumpsuit, she took a couple of steps toward the smoke that was rising from near the tree. “Hey, big guy—you okay?” She glanced back. If Grumm hadn’t detected the other molsume, it would have torn her to shreds.

  A shape rose from among green- and rust-hued bushes. Covered in the residue from a large quantity of smooshed fungi, it had the rainbow appearance of a molsume pelt but without any of the iridescence. As this colorful mass staggered in her direction, still clutching the hunting rifle and with several mushroom-like growths dangling decoratively from one facial tusk, she fought hard to repress a smile and failed.

  “I am perfectly familiar with the full range of human expressions,” he muttered as he drew near. “I am not amused by the one you are currently displaying.”

  “You should be.” Putting a hand over her mouth, she stifled a laugh. “If you’re looking for suitable camouflage so you can do some more local hunting, I wouldn’t change a thing. Provided a hungry toscwon doesn’t try to lick you to death first.” Her tone softened and she finally lowered her hand as she gazed up at him. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “There is no need for thanks. As has already been pointed out, such was not my intent.” She tensed as he started to raise the 242, but it was to use it to point at the molsume he had just killed. “I said that I had a solution. We now each have a kill, and as a consequence each of our clients will be satisfied.”

  Looking back at the second, even larger carnivore that now lay sprawled in the clearing, she nodded. “I thought you were—I thought…”

  “That I was about to shoot you in order to take your kill?” Deep-set ebon eyes stared down at her. She could not read them. “If the second molsume had not appeared, who knows?”

  Her smile returned, but it was a different kind of smile this time. One of understanding rather than amusement.

  “I know the answer to that. Even if you won’t admit to it.”

  “I make no comment.” The huge body expanded, then contracted, in a vast sigh. “If you can tell that, then you are more in the knowing of things than I am.”

  “I’ve had to be.” She looked away from him. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. I had no choice.”

  He gestured. “I understand. That is the destiny of most Dowutins. So we have something in common besides hunting. Come. You have the frail bone structure of a calcified infant. I will help you gut your heavy trophy.”

  “And you have the hands of an automated cargo loader. I’ll help you skin your kill so those clumsy roast-size fingers don’t ruin the pelt.” As they started toward the first dead molsume she looked up at him curiously. “You ever work with a partner?”

  “Not when I’m
hunting,” he told her. “Sometimes — for other things. I have other business interests.”

  “What other interests?” she asked, refusing to let the matter lie.

  The massive, bald skull turned to gaze down at her. “None of your concern, stripling. Be glad I don’t skin you, as well.”

  “You’re as tactful as you are friendly,” she growled, turning away.

  “It is my nature,” he told her serenely. “By the way, the cost of my speeder is coming out of your bounty.”

 

 

  Alan Dean Foster, Star Wars_Bait

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