Tales of the Bounty Hunters by Kevin J. Anderson

don’t quite understand your purpose here in attacking our ships—but you certainly shouldn’t hurt me . Think about it. Without me, the IG project would never have been funded. It was through my efficient paperwork and politicking that I managed to bring about your creation, despite budget cutbacks and Imperial mismanagement. I wish you hadn’t done quite so much, er, damage to the Holowan Laboratories, but Ithink we can work something out. We could have a long career together, IG-88. Think of who I am. Don’t you have anything to say?”
    IG-88 listened to the human babble, applying context filters and determining an appropriate response. “Thank you,” he said.
    The droid troops left Imperial Supervisor Gurdun aboard the crippled long-distance freighter among the living and the wounded and the dead. Fires continued to burn in the ventilation shafts, and the engines would never function again.
    IG-88 rode in the decoy freighter as they aligned their course and prepared for insertion along the same hyperspace vector the original fleet would have taken. “Have the incinerator mines been placed?” he asked the stormtrooper droids who returned from their airlock expedition to the external hulls.
    “Yes,” one of the droids said. “Mines emplaced on appropriate hull plates of all three original ships. Everything is ready.”
    From the pilot compartment of the long-distance hauler, IG-88 watched the ship’s battle-scarred counterpart along with its two helpless escorts. He transmitted an activation signal to the nineteen incinerator mines, and all three ships erupted into a white-hot cloud of disintegrating Shockwaves. He had to filter the input cables from his optical sensors to keep the intense illumination from overloading his eyes.
    At the end, the career of Imperial Supervisor Gurdun was very bright indeed.
    XIV
    Desperately behind schedule on the new Death Star, Moff Jerjerrod did not have time to look closely at the arriving computer core and its stormtrooper escort. Instead,he rejoiced in the new complement of workers who came like saviors to the construction site.
    Jerjerrod’s eyes were round and brown, his demeanor eager to comply—but he did not know how he could possibly accomplish the demands placed on his personnel. Unfortunately, neither Vader nor the Emperor were interested in excuses, and Jerjerrod did not wish to discover how they would express their displeasure.
    The stormtroopers opened the cargo compartment of the newly docked long-range freighter, wrestling out the heavy computer core without so much as a grunt of effort. They moved without complaining, without speaking to each other. Such professionals. Their training was so precise, their abilities so superior that they operated as a team with almost mechanical efficiency.
    Jerjerrod had cursed Imperial Supervisor Gurdun for deciding at the last moment not to accompany the computer shipment—but then he sighed with relief. The last thing the Moff needed in the midst of all his other problems was yet another paper-pusher to complicate the construction details.
    He stood in his smart olive-gray uniform, watching the new stormtrooper escorts. “Attention!” he snapped. “Get that computer core installed as soon as possible. For the next several months our schedule is exceedingly tight, with no tolerance for delay. We must redouble our efforts. These orders come directly from Lord Vader.”
    Jerjerrod clasped his hands behind his back. The new stormtroopers marched with clean, rapid efficiency. He wished all of his workers could be so dedicated to the Imperial cause.
    The blackness of sensor deprivation was distressing, but unavoidable. Humans would have called it “unconsciousness”—but when IG-88 finally reawoke after amonth or so of stasis, he found himself in an immense new world of data input.
    He had left his clunky body behind with the other droids—the last of his model—and now he was the Death Star, the same powerful and