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Informationen zum Autor Kevin J. Anderson has written many bestsellers and has been nominated for the Nebula Award, the Bram Stoker Award, and the SFX Reader’s Choice Award. He also holds the Guinness World Record for largest single-author signing. Klappentext In the dusty heat of twin-sunned Tatooine lives the wealthiest gangster in a hundred worlds, master of a vast crime empire and keeper of a vicious, flesh-eating monster for entertainment (and disposal of his enemies). Bloated and sinister, Jabba the Hutt might have made a good joke -- if he weren't so dangerous. A cast of soldiers, spies, assassins, scoundrels, bounty hunters, and pleasure seekers have come to his palace, and every visitor to Jabba's grand abode has a story. Some of them may even live to tell it. . . . Featuring original stories by: Kevin J. Anderson, M. Shayne Bell, John Gregory Betancourt, Mark Budz and Marina Fitch, A.C. Crispin, Dan'l Danehy-Oakes, George Alec Effinger, Kenneth C. Flint, Esther Friesner, Barbara Hambly, Daryl F. Mallett, J.D. Montgomery, Judy and Gar Reeves-Stevens, Jennifer Roberson, Kathy Tyers, Deborah Wheeler, Dave Wolverton, William F. Wu, Timothy Zahn.A Boy and His Monster: The Rancor Keeper’s Tale by Kevin J. Anderson Special Cargo The unidentified ship tore through the brittle atmosphere of Tatooine with a finger of fire, trailing greasy black smoke. Waves of sound, sonic booms from the crashing ship, made an avalanche through the air. Below, the Jawa sandcrawler continued its endless path across the Dune Sea looking for forgotten scraps of abandoned metal, delicious salvage. By sheer luck the crawler stood only two dunes away when the plummeting ship struck the ocean of blind sand and spewed a funnel of dust that glittered like mica chips under the blazing twin suns. The pilot of the corroded sandcrawler, Tteel Kkak, stared out the narrow window high up on the bridge deck, unable to believe the incredible fortune the luck of his ancestors had dropped in his lap. His crawler’s year-long trek across the wastelands had been practically fruitless, and he would have been ashamed to return to his clan’s hidden fortress bearing so little—but now a virgin ship lay within reach, unclaimed by other scavenging clans and unsullied by time. The ancient reactor engines shoved the immense sandcrawler into motion. It ground over the shifting sands seeking purchase with wide treads in a straight line for the smoldering wreckage. The ship lay in a crater of loose, blasted sands that might have cushioned the impact; some of the cargo should still be intact. The armored chambers and parts of the computer core might be salvageable. Or so Tteel Kkak hoped. Jawas swarmed out of the sandcrawler toward the wreckage: the entire scavenging arm of the Kkak clan, little hooded creatures surrounded by a rank musty scent, chattering as they claimed their prize. The front group of Jawas carried chemical fire-suppressant packs, which they sprayed on the hissing hot metal to minimize further damage. They did not look to see if anyone had survived the crash, because that was not their primary concern. In fact, living passengers or crew would only complicate the Kkak salvage claim. Those injured in such wrecks rarely survived Jawa first aid. The Jawas used up two battery packs in the sputtering old laser cutters to cut their way through the hull into the armored bridge compartment. Dim light from emergency systems and the still-flickering glow from internally burning electronics components lit the abandoned stations. Harsh chemical fumes and curling gray-blue smoke struck Tteel Kkak’s sensitive nostrils—but underneath he could detect an undertone of metallic fear, the copper smells of blood splashed and burned. He knew he would find no one alive in the captain’s chair. What he was not prepared for, though, was to fi...
