Hard Merchandise 3

As he stepped from the last tread of the ladder, Boba Fett could see a swimming cluster of black dots form in his vision, a telltale sign of oxygen starvation. The spots quickly vanished as his battle armor's reserve oxygen supply kicked in. As useful as those reserves were in emergencies such as this, they were still limited; Fett knew that he would have to accomplish his mission here fast, and get back up to the cockpit with Voss'on't before they ran out. All his strategizing would do him little good if he was lying on the cargo hold's floor unconscious when the enemy ship approached.

"I was...wondering... when you'd show up." Gasping for breath, eyes reddened from the smoke that filled the cargo area, Trhin Voss'on't held himself upright with both fists tightly clenched upon the holding cage's bars. "Figured... maybe you were dead already..."

"Lucky for you that I'm not." The miniaturized security key was implanted in the fingertip of Boba Fett's gloved hand; the mere act of grabbing the pull-bar on the cage's door would unlock it and allow him to yank Voss'on't out. He could feel the renegade stormtrooper's hard gaze bearing down on him like two laser trackers as he stepped close and reached for the door. "Let's get going." Fett had already calculated that he didn't have time to render Voss'on't unconscious, or the strength, given the depleted level of oxygen in the cargo hold, to drag the stormtrooper's limp body up the ladder to the cockpit. It would be better just to get him up there, with whatever degree of threats or personal violence was necessary, then knock him out so he wouldn't interfere with the rest of the operation.

"Why should I?" Voss'on't hunched over, his head at a level with his hands gripping the bars, chest laboring to draw in enough breath to support life functions. "What... do I get.... out of it?"

That was one more thing he didn't have time for: one more argument from Voss'on't. The stormtrooper had never yet seemed to realize that Boba Fett wasn't interested in his opinions on what to do next. "What you get," said Boba Fett as he pulled open the holding cage's door, is a chance to go on living a little while longer. If that's not important to you-too bad. You don't get a vote on it." Voss'on't straightened up, "I'll tell you... what's important to me...pushing himself back from the vertical bars. "Giving you..little surprise..." His voice was suddenly louder and more forceful, as though he were now expending a carefully husbanded store of vital energy. Taking one step backward to brace himself, he swung the single bar that had somehow come loose from its mounting at both the top and bottom welded frames of the cage.

The length of glistening metal moved through a flat horizontal arc, its end striking Boba Fett directly in his abdomen. The blow had all of Trhin Voss'on't's weight and strength behind it, hitting Fett with enough velocity to lift him for a moment off his feet and slam his spine back against
the edge of the open cage doorway. Stunned and doubled over from the blow to his gut, Boba Fett lay on the cargo area's grated metal floor, one shoulder rolled beneath him. His own sudden flurry of motion revealed to his dazed and swimming vision what had previously been concealed by the thick smoke gathered at the base of the cage: the laser-cannon bolts from the hidden enemy ship had buckled
the hold's floor enough to spring loose a section of cage bars. The one with which Voss'on't had struck him had come completely free, and had been
held in place only by the stormtrooper's fist, giving the visual impression that he was still trapped inside the cage. In fact, and as Boba Fett had just painfully learned, he had been merely waiting for Fett to unlock the door and come within striking distance.

"You should have . . . listened..." Voss'on't's words came from somewhere in the blurred, red-tinged distance above Boba Fett. "When you had... the opportunity. As Fett tried to push himself up from the floor, another blow from the metal cage bar to the base of his battle armor's helmet sent him sprawling again. The helmet's visor scraped across the cargo hold's grating. His mouth filled with the taste of smoke as he gulped for breath.
"But you... didn't..." Voss'on't had planted his boots on either side of Boba Fett, the better to raise the cage bar high and aim a killing blow
at the top of the bounty hunter's vertebrae. "You don't get . . . a second chance..." Boba Fett heard the bar come whistling down through the oxygen-thinned air. But the broken weld of its tip struck the hold's floor instead of his spine as his own arm grabbed hold of one of Voss'on't's legs and jerked him off balance. Voss'on't lost his grip on the metal bar as he fell backward, and it clattered across the floor and against the farthest bulkhead. The butt of the holstered blaster pistol was already clamped in Boba Fett's fist. Before he could draw it and fire, Voss'on't's close-combat training asserted itself: with his elbows braced against the floor, he brought the heel of his boot hard under Boba Fett's chin, snapping his helmeted head back. The blaster went flying from Fett's loosened grasp. Before Boba Fett could recover, the renegade stormtrooper dived for the weapon.

Voss'on't landed with his chest scraping across the edges of the grate, outstretched hands clawing desperately for the blaster. Fett didn't wait to see if Voss'on't came up with it. He scrambled onto his knees and snatched up the cage bar that had fallen from the stormtrooper's grasp before. In one fluid motion, Fett twisted about, the bar poised javelin-like in one gloved hand; he saw Voss'on't also kneeling a couple of meters away, turning with the blaster pistol gripped in his doubled fists. Behind the and through the eye-stinging haze filling the cargo hold, the harsh angles of Voss'on't's triumphantly grinning face could be seen as he took aim and squeezed his finger upon the weapon's trigger. weapon, The cage bar flew from Boba Fett's hand as he whipped his arm straight before him. A bolt from the blaster pistol scorched an inch away from Fett's helmet as he dived to one side. Across the hold, a screeching intake of breath sounded from Voss'on't' as the jagged tip of the cage bar ripped through his sleeve and tore a red wound through the flesh underneath. The force of the thrown bar was enough to pull one hand away from the blaster-but the other hand tightened its grip.

"Good... shot..." With his heart and lungs laboring in his chest,Voss'on't stood up, his wounded arm pressed tight against his side in a vain attempt to stanch the flow of blood. Dark red ribbons wound past the hip of his grease-stained uniform trousers and down his thigh. "But not...good enough..."
Boba Fett made no reply, but watched as the blaster pistol in Voss'on't's shaking hand drew down upon an invisible line to the center of his helmet.
"I might've... put you in the cage..." Voss'on't grimaced with the effort of pulling in enough breath to remain conscious. Beneath the smoke
and ash streaking his narrow face, the scarred and chiseled flesh was as pal- lid white as a sheet of flimsiplast. "And kept you . . . alive. . ." He held the blaster, unwavering now, straight out in front of him. "But I've changed my mind." Fire and a blinding glare erupted through Slave I's cargo hold, overwhelming the single bolt that shot out from the muzzle of the blaster. Boba Fett felt himself being thrown backward as the hold's grated flooring ripped into pieces from the explosion that pushed apart the ship's bulkheads as though they were mere fluttering sheets of metallic cloth.-Chpt.5 pgs.555-556-557