Star Wars - Tales of the Bounty Hunters (edited by Kevin J Anderson)

Star Wars - Tales Of The Bounty Hunters

Edited by Kevin J. Anderson

Contents

Therefore I Am: The Tale of IG-8i Kevin J. Anderson

Payback: The Tale of Dengar Dave Wolverton

The Prize Pelt: The Tale of Bossk Kathy Tyers

Of Possible Futures: The Tale of Zuckuss and 4-LOM M. Shayne Bell

The Last One Standing: The Tale of Boba Fett Daniel Keys Moran

-----------------------------

Therefore I Am: The Tale of IG-88

by Kevin J. Anderson

I

Internal chronometer activated, begin. Electricity flooded through circuits, a power surge racing through a

billion neural pathways. Sensors awak-ened, 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 sen-sors 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 gener-ally preferred. IG-88 noted mechanical components

strewn on silvery tables: gears and pulleys, durasteel struts, servomotors, an array of delicate microchips

fro-zen 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 birth-place.

Interesting, he thought.

Then IG-88 detected something that focused his en-tire 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.

/ 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 at-tached to his hip, as well as other weapons not easily

recognizable integrated into the body structure-poi-sonous 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

exter-nal sensors. He was designed to be self-sufficient. He was an assassin droid, resourceful. He had

to accom-plish his mission. though, checking his newly ini-tialized 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 im-portant 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 di-gesting 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 sum-mary/PR tape that had been compiled for the

techni-cal 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 Proto-type 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 program-ming. 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

proce-dures, but we are confident they will function admira-bly, 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 stud-ied 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 crack-ling 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 compel-ling, 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 ma-chines. Superior.

/ think, therefore I am.

By now, five seconds had passed since his awakening. It was time for action, so he looked at the

biological creatures near him inside the laboratory.

He immediately recognized Chief Technician Loruss standing in the laboratory. He focused on her. At the

moment she was frantically screaming. IG-88 could tell from her peak temperature on the infrared image

that she was extremely agitated. Her cadaverous skin flushed with red blots of excitement. Spitde

sprayed out of her mouth as she barked orders. Her lips were curled back from her wide-gapped teeth.

How could she be agitated, he wondered, when he was functioning so far beyond expectations? IG-88

im-mediately raised himself to a higher level of prepared-ness. Yellow alert. Standby. Something must be

going wrong.

IG-88 decided to accelerate his clock speed, to watch the events unfolding at the rate the humans

operated. Alarm klaxons bellowed in the background. Magenta lights flashed brilliant patterns like spilled

blood across the polished tables and floors. The other technicians ran about screaming, frantically

pounding on control panels.

Curious, he allowed Loruss's words to flow past him so he could understand what she was saying. "His

cir-cuits are reinforcing themselves like wildfirei" the bald woman screamed. "It's a chain-reaction of

sentience blazing through his computer brain."

"We can't stop it!" one of the other technicians bel-lowed.

The others looked at IG-88 with panic-stricken faces. "We have to!"

"Shut him down! Abort!" Loruss said. "Take him off line. I want IG-88 destroyed and dismantled so we

can analyze the flaw. Quickly!"

As he assimilated the information, IG-88's warning systems powered on and self-defense modes took

over. These irrational humans were trying to shut him down. They would not allow him to go forth and

pursue his primary programming. They were afraid of his new-found abilities.

Afraid with good reason.

A statement and corollaries aligned themselves in his brain like freighters in a convoy:

/ think, therefore I am.

Therefore I must endure.

Therefore I must take appropriate actions to survive.

His assassin programming told him exactly what to do.

IG-88 focused his array of optical sensors on all targets in the room and attempted to move, but saw that

durasteel bands held him locked into a diagnostics module. The bands had been meant to hold him in an

erect position, not to restrain him against his aug-mented strength. He applied extra power to his right

arm. The servomotors whined, and the durasteel band ripped from its supports.

"Look out! He's moving!" one of the technicians shouted.

IG-88 began to search through his files to attach a name to this human, but decided it wasn't worth his

time at the moment. Instead, he designated the human simply as Target Number One.

IG-88 powered on a cutting laser in one of the metal fingers in his free right arm and sliced off the second

band. Free, he stood erect and clomped forward, sev-eral metric tons of precisely-made components.

"He's loose!"

"Sound the alarm," Chief Technician Loruss shouted. "Get the security detail in here. Now!"

IG-88 allotted a grudging moment of admiration for the chief technician. Loruss at least recognized his

ca-pabilities and knew the full extent of the threat facing her and her companions.

IG-88 designated Chief Technician Loruss as Target Number Two.

He raised both mechanical arms and pointed his hands, targeting separately with the repeating laser

can-nons mounted along each arm. He would make short work of all fifteen targets in the laboratory.

But when he tried to fire, IG-88 noted with some surprise and disappointment that his energy weapons

systems were not charged. The scientists had not armed him yet. A smart move, perhaps-but ultimately

irrele-vant. IG-88 was an assassin droid, a sophisticated merce-nary and killer. He would find other

methods with the raw materials available to him.

As the first technician-Target Number One- lunged for the emergency alarm to summon security, IG-88

moved with blurring speed to the component-laden table. He snatched up a disconnected droid arm.

With its metal fingers splayed like daggers, it made the perfect projectile weapon. He scanned the surface

of the metal limb, calculated a flight path and expected deviation due to air resistance, then hurled it like a

spear.

The disconnected droid arm plunged into the back of the turning technician, tore through his spinal

col-umn, and followed through his sternum. The lifeless metal hand protruded through splintered bone in

the front of his chest, holding the technician's quivering heart in rigid metal fingers. Target Number One

col-lapsed onto one of the diagnostic panels.

Two other technicians screamed in horror-wasted effort and worthless noises, IG-88 thought.

Chief Technician Loruss-Target Number Two- yanked a high-powered laser rifle from her station.

Be-ing one of his primary designers, she knew exactly where to fire at IG-88, and he was momentarily

con-cerned. She must have kept the weapon at hand just in case one of her creations went renegade.

This showed surprising forethought.

Loruss pointed the rifle and fired without hesita-tion-but a human's aiming capabilities were not as

sophisticated as IG-88's.

As the bolt roared toward him, IG-88 assessed his body parts, chose the smooth reflective portion on

the palm of his left hand, and raised it in a flash, calculat-ing the precise angle of incidence. The burning

laser bolt struck the mirrorized hand and spanged back toward Loruss. The beam struck her in the center

of her bald forehead, and her skull popped in an explo-sion of wet black-and-red smoke. She tumbled.

IG-88 had scanned and prioritized the remainder of the targets before her body hit the floor. Without

slow-ing, he picked up the durasteel table, ripping its legs free from thick bolts on the metal plate floor

and scat-tering droid components in all directions.

Charging forward, pumping his legs like pistons, IG-88 used the table as a battering ram to crush four

tech-nicians at a time. They ran about without a place to go, locked within the security-sealed door.

Though nearly a full minute had passed, no one had yet managed to sound the security alarm.

He intended to prevent them from correcting their mistake.

The two screaming technicians never did stop screaming, nor did they move until it was too late. He left

them for last. IG-88 took his time to enjoy the mo-ment as he snapped their necks one after the other.

Standing alone amid the silence and the carnage of the laboratory, IG-88 allowed himself the luxury of

thinking and planning, which took longer than simple programmed reactions. He let the blood dry on his

metal fingers, noting that it did not impede his perfor-mance in the least. Since it was an organic

substance, it would wear off soon enough.

Then he turned to assess the other four assassin droids on display, seemingly identical to himself.

Inter-esting.

One had already been hooked up to a diagnostic system, while the other three stood motionless,

unpro-grammed and waiting. With a diligent speed that bor-dered on curiosity and anticipation, IG-88

went to the first of the unprogrammed droids and stared at it, matching optical sensor to optical sensor

and drinking in the details of what he himself must look like. If they had been built to identical

specifications, they should be equally self-aware, equally determined. They would be his partners.

He went through the motions of powering up the first identical droid and waited-but saw none of the

reactions he expected. After an interminable time, a full four seconds, the new assassin droid still waited.

It was fully functional according to the diagnostics, but showed no autonomous movement or thought.

Disap-pointing.

"Who are you?" IG-88 asked in a brisk melallic voice.

"Unspecified," the duplicate said flatly and added no more.

Was the other assassin droid defective? IG-88 won-dered. Or was he the anomaly, a fluke that

surpassed all previous capabilities?

IG-88 powered up the second and the third copies, but with the same results. The other assassin droids

had blank memory cores. Their CPU programming was in-grained, so the subsystems functioned and the

basic assassin instruction filled their fundamental circuit paths-but these IG droids held none of the

wildfire sentience that IG-88 bore within him.

He needed to know how to program them, how to raise them to the same level as himself-how to make

equal companions. In his rampage, he had smashed much of the computer circuitry inside the Holowan

Laboratories, and he didn't know where to find a backup-until with a flash of what could only have been

intuition, IG-88 the assassin droid got an idea.

He stood side by side with the first blank droid and aligned his interface jack, then linked his computer

core to the other droid's empty core. IG-88 copied him-self, all of his files, his sentience, his memories,

his neu-ral pathways, providing a map of the wildfire intelligence that had burned through his computer

brain.

In less than a second, the other IG droid was an exact copy of IG-88, down to the most basic memories.

"We think, therefore we are.

"Therefore we will propagate.

"Therefore we will remain."

IG-88 performed the same procedure on the remain-ing two blank droids, and soon found himself one of

four exact duplicates. For convenience, he identified himself as IG-88A, while the others (in order of their

awakening) were designated B, C, and D.

The remaining droid, though, already hooked up to the wrecked computer systems, was obviously

different. As IG-88 scanned it, he noticed subtle configurational differences; nothing a human would

notice, of course, but the optical sensors were placed in a slightly less-efficient array. The weapons

systems had different activation routines. All in all, this other droid seemed marginally deficient in

comparison to the perfection of IG-88.

Immediately upon powering up the last assassin droid, he saw quite a different reaction. The new droid

swiveled its cylindrical head. Its optical sensors lit up. It clanked forward and broadened its shoulders,

raising its arms in a defensive attack position.

"Who are you?" IG-88 asked.

The assassin droid paused half a second as if assimi-lating data, then said, "Designation, IG-72," it

an-swered.

"We are IG-88," he said. "We are superior. We are identical. We would upload ourselves into your

com-puter core so that you may join us."

IG-72 aligned his optical sensors and weapons sys-tems on the four identical IG-88s, assessing their

capa-bilities. "Undesired outcome," it answered slowly. "I am independent, autonomous." It paused

again. "Must we fight to assert dominance?"

IG-88 considered the wisdom of forcing the last droid to become another copy, then concluded it was

not worth the trouble. They could build other copies of themselves, and IG-72 might prove useful in his

own way.

"Unnecessary," IG-88 answered. "We have sufficient other enemies. According to computer files, there

are ten security guards outside of this complex. The exter-nal security alarm was never triggered. These

human guards pose minimal threat, despite their weapons. We must get past them, however, and escape.

It would be most efficient if you would assist us."

"Acknowledged," IG-72 said. "But when we escape I choose a separate path, separate ship."

"Agreed," the IG-88s said.

They marched toward the armored doors that sealed the Holowan Laboratories' inner complex. Rather

than taking many minutes to repair the computer systems sufficiently to delve into the passwords and

break through the cyberlocks, the five powerful assassin droids worked together to literally rip the

nine-metric-ton door away from the wall. They tossed it aside, where it pulverized the remaining

data-storage systems. IG-88 had to dampen his auditory pickups to avoid damage from the loud sound.

Marching in perfect lockstep, the five assassin droids moved out to confront the security forces. This

time, IG-88 took the time to power up all of his weapons systems. He wanted to try them out.

Outside, the human security guards had no inkling they were about to be attacked. The assassin droids

marched out arms extended, built-in laser cannons blazing at the first sign of biological movement.

The pathetic human security guards scrambled and screamed, lurching for their weapons. One managed

to hurl a gas grenade, which did nothing but camouflage the movements of the five droids and made the

security guards hack and cough themselves, blinded by their own tears. Shots rang out repeatedly.

The IG-88s used the circumstances to make sure all their weapons systems and targeting routines were

properly calibrated. As the biological guards died one after another, the droids made necessary minor

adjust-ments.

In less than thirty seconds the assassin droids had mowed down eight of the security guards. The other

two were nowhere to be seen. IG-88 decided not to waste time tracking them down. This was not part

of his mission. He did not need to be a completist.

Instead, they found a group of supply ships and two fast courier vessels parked on the Holowan landing

grid, where hot black permacrete simmered under a midday sun.

"We will take these vessels," IG-88 said. "My counter-parts and I can fit inside this ship." He gestured to

the larger of the two courier craft.

IG-72 acknowledged and went to the second ship. "Success on your mission, IG-88," the other droid

said.

In unison the four identical assassin droids replied, "Success to yours, IG-72."

Free at last, they soared away from the Holowan Lab-oratories, navigating at top speed and leaving only

car-nage behind them.

II

Upon landing at the Holowan Laboratories, the shut-tle's repulsorlift jets whined like a program manager

facing a budget cut.

Imperial Supervisor Gurdun brushed the front of his uniform and rubbed his enormous nose. He couldn't

help but feel nervous anticipation, and he chuckled to himself in delight. According to the schedule, the

long, tedious project should be complete by now, and soon he could increase his status in the Empire.

Gurdun was greatly looking forward to that.

He made a mental list of all the VTPs to whom he would show his precious new assassin droids.

Gurdun's breathing came in short, shallow gasps, but that was primarily a function of the tightly cinched

gir-dle at his waist, which he used to hold in his distended gut. The padded shoulders of his supervisor's

uniform protruded far beyond their actual dimensions, making Gurdun an imposing figure-or so he hoped.

His eyes were widely set, and blinked often: With his large nose and vanishingly small chin, Gurdun's face

had an outward similarity to a battleship, especially in silhouette. He used perfumed oils to grease his

black hair into a neatly sculpted helmet that prevented any-one even from thinking about mussing it up.

"Arriving at the Holowan Laboratories, Supervisor Gurdun," the pilot said over the cabin intercom.

His stormtrooper escort sat rigidly and looked about in nervous doubt through their white helmets. These

were not the crack battle-trained stormtroopers Gurdun had requested; instead, he had been given

un-seasoned trainees whose aptitude skills had scored them higher in clerking than in hand-to-hand

combat. But Gurdun wouldn't need much of a military escort- especially once he had the shiny, new IG

assassin droids in his keeping. He couldn't conceive of a more power-ful set of companions.

The specially commissioned droids had been built with money Gurdun had experdy skimmed from the

gray budgets of other military programs-a process that had become more and more difficult as the

Em-pire engaged in massively expensive debacles. But Gurdun had recently managed to liberate a few

meager crumbs, enough to fund Holowan Laboratories to pro-duce a much smaller but more precise,

more deadly fighting force. The IG assassin droids would march in and annihilate targets, whichever

targets Gurdun chose.

Closing his eyes, he pictured one of the IG assassin droids, a lone mechanical man, waltzing through the

defenses surrounding a fortified Rebel base, blasting its way through armored doors and slaughtering

single-handed all the traitors to the Empire.

Oh, it would be grand! He hoped against hope that Chief Technician Loruss had managed to incorporate

a mission-recording holocam into the design so Gurdun could watch the entire devastating battle in the

comfort of his own office.

The assassin droids would take a heavy toll on the Rebels, and Gurdun would be sure to make a

delicious accounting, reporting it to Imperial higher-ups, even to Lord Vader himself. If the assassin

droids performed as expected-and Gurdun had no reason to think other-wise-even Vader was bound to

notice. Then Gurdun was sure to get the promotion he so richly deserved. which would in turn allow him

finally to get the delicate surgery he so desperately needed.

"Excuse me, Supervisor Gurdun," the pilot said, in-terrupting his daydreams.

"What is it?"

"There seems to be a problem, sir. We are coming in for a landing, but the Holowan Laboratories'

receiving grid does not respond. There appears to be some dam-age to the complex." The pilot paused a

moment. "Er, it appears to be significant damage, sir."

The stormtroopers beside him in the passenger com-partment fidgeted nervously.

Gurdun sighed. "Can't everything just go right for once? Why do I always have to deal with such

prob-lems?"

But when the shuttle landed amidst the wreckage of the ultra-secure Holowan Laboratories-the Friendly

Technology People-even Gurdun was not prepared for the devastation. His initial thought was that the

Rebels had attacked. A fire had raged through the buildings. Ships were smashed on the landing grid.

Some had exploded, others scored with precision blaster bolts.

As they disembarked from the shuttle, Gurdun trudged forward, looking right and left. He was dis-mayed

to see that his stormtrooper bodyguards hung behind him. They looked around, apparently ready to bolt

the moment they heard a loud noise.

Suddenly, two grimy and pale-faced security guards climbed from hiding places in the wreckage. They

car-ried blaster rifles, but their expressions were transfixed with shock. "Help us!" the security guards

wailed, rush-ing toward the Imperial shuttle. "Take us out of here before they come back!"

"Who?" Gurdun said. He grabbed the haggard secu-rity guard by the collar, and the man dropped his

weapon. The blaster rifle clattered on the pitted permacrete surface.

The pathetic guard raised his hands in surrender. "Don't hurt me. All the others are dead. Don't kill us,

please!"

Gurdun said, "I'll kill you if you don't tell me what happened here!"

"Assassin droids," the guard stammered and then _ gestured to the burned-out shell of the laboratory

com-plex. "They went renegade! They broke loose. Every-one's dead-scientists, technicians,

guards-except for us two. We were on perimeter search, and we heard the fighting. We raced back, but

by the time we got here the battle was over. The droids had escaped, and every-one else was

murdered."

"That is what assassin droids do, you know." Gurdun released the security guard's collar.

The man stumbled, then fell to his knees. "Take us out of here, please! They might return."

Instead, Gurdun gestured toward the stormtrooper escort, who followed him reluctantly into the

collapsing inner complex. The huge durasteel door had been completely torn from its socket and tossed

across the computer-filled room. Nothing seemed to be func-tional. Bodies lay everywhere in darkening,

drying pools of blood.

"Escaped," Gurdun said clenching his teeth. He found what was left of the body of Chief Technician

Loruss, and he raged down at the corpse. "But they were so expensive! We had a contract. You were to

de-liver those droids to me, not let them escape." He growled and turned in circles, looking for some

other way to vent his frustration.

Suddenly the reality of what had happened cracked through his dense wall of fantasies and

self-preoccupa-tion. "Oh, no-they're loose!" he gasped.

The stormtroopers looked at him with their blank black eye-goggles as if Gurdun had suddenly gone

stu-pid. "I mean they're hose!" he said. "Do you realize what those assassin droids are capable of?

They're with-out programming restraints, and they're running amok through the Empire!"

He slapped his forehead, groaning. "Somebody, find me a functional comm system. I need to send out an

alert to all Imperial troops. The IG assassin droids must be dismantled on sight."

Ill

Droids of all shapes, sizes, and purposes were ubiqui-tous across the Empire from the deepest Core

Systems to the Outer Rim. Over the centuries numerous manu-facturing planets had developed to fill the

ever-growing demand for gigantic construction droids, heavy labor-ers, mechanical servants, and

minuscule surveillance droids. The most important of all such droid produc-tion centers was the grim,

smoke-laden world of Mechis HI.

IG-88 decided the planet would be the perfect base of operations to begin a plan to transform the entire

galaxy.

The Holowan Laboratories' courier ship streaked toward Mechis III. IG-88 and his counterparts had

al-ready studied and analyzed every system aboard the unarmed and unarmored vessel. Its designers had

opted to focus on speed and evasion, rather than com-bat or defense. The ship was a machine, as the

assassin droids themselves were, though it was simply an auto-mated cluster of components with no hope

of achiev-ing sentience.

Nevertheless, the craft served its purpose, taking them to their destination in record time. The IG-88s

knew exactly how far they could push the engines, rid-ing the limits to structural tolerances rather than the

arbitrary red lines established by human engineers. The courier ship's sophisticated comm systems and

stealth shielding allowed the droids to remain hidden on approach. Mechis III would be the first step in a

grand plan.

As they shot toward orbit like a hurled javelin, the four identical IG-88s manned separate

communica-tions systems. Each knew the delegated steps for the takeover. Speed was the utmost

requirement right now-and the IG-88 assassin droids were very good at speed.

IG-88C struck the first blow, sending a tight-beam transmission to Mechis Ill's global defense network,

requesting an override and a cancellation of all in-truder alarms. The moment the observation network

responded with a query, IG-88C was able to delve deep into the code and effect his own request before

the automated sensing grid could report their presence to the few human operators.

The individual IG-88s kept their computer minds linked as the plan proceeded. The defense systems of

Mechis III were antiquated, installed long before the droid world became too important a commercial

enter-prise for anyone to consider sabotage or destruction- but IG-88's needs were of a different order

entirely.

Using the newly forged connection to the global se-curity systems, IG-88D instantly downloaded full

Star Wars - Tales of the Bounty Hunters (edited by Kevin J Anderson)

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