The swirl of hyperspace twirled in vibrant light as Fett sank back into the pilot's seat. The trip would be a long one but he was in no rush. This hunt was one of many parts. Tilting his helmeted head back Fett let out a sigh. Bossk was not particularly creative when it came to battle tactics, it was why Fett was able to continually outfox him.

Fett ran a gloved hand over his chest-plate and felt the indentation of where he'd been hit with a blaster bolt. The dent was not deep but it was a reminder that he needed to stay focussed at all times. The Mandalorian armour he wore had many scars and each was a reminder of a mistake or a lapse in concentration he'd once had. Most of the scars were from his early years as a bounty hunter but Fett always left them in place as reminders.

Continue when you can, I don't want to rush you, but I want to see what happens next!

LOL, great line Mel, and a Great story.  Wish I'd seen the first part sooner; can't wait for more

Consciousness returned to Bossk in the form of a throbbing headache. The metallic taste of his own blood tainted his mouth while his wet flight suit moulded against his scaled body. The damp cloth seemed to cling even more to the places that ached reminding him of the whacking he’d taken from Fett.

The thought of the other hunter made Bossk sit upright immediately. He scanned the area but the Mandalorian clad fool was gone. “Next time I’ll bring a damn can opener,” Bossk cursed.

Standing awkwardly Bossk looked over to see the twitching remains of IG-88. Well at least an IG-88 mock up. The droid was not a true IG-88 model, it was bits and pieces put together to resemble one. Bossk had merely purchased the droid as a decoy to use on Fett. It seemed an abysmal failure. “Piece of scrap,” Bossk growled to himself as he pried the pieces of the fake IG-88 apart. He confiscated what he considered worthwhile and headed off.

At the docking bay Bossk saw a tattler, as he liked to call them. “You snitch, tell me where Fett went, now before I ripe your throat out!”

The skinny robed figure began to tremble and spoke in a foreign tongue that Bossk did not understand.

Never one to be gifted with patience, Bossk grabbed the tattler by the throat and started beating his head against a wall. “Speak in a language I can understand, snitch.” Bossk snarled and licked his sharp teeth to give the tattler some incentive.

“Vector North! Vector North!” The tattler squealed in a high pitched panic.

Bossk bashed his head against a brick wall one last time, not caring if he’d done more than just knock the tattler unconscious. “Well then time to work,” Bossk said with an insatiable ferial grin.

Excellent work, Mel, as always. Keep it up, can't wait for more