"It's not a matter of luck. Not for me." — Boba Fett, Hard Merchandise

Live and Let Die

What happens to the bounty after the delivery is not my problem.

Written by Michael MacCubbinUpdated • Estimated reading time: 4 minutes (936 words) • Resize Font

Boba Fett stepped off of the boarding ramp and onto the sand of Nar Shadda. The sand shifted under his boot, and he could feel the warmth through it. He circled his foot around and then kicked it up into the clear sky. Off into the distance he could see the dark cloud of smoke that billowed from the overcrowded inner city. Out here, in the wastelands, it was similar to the desert of Tattoine, except for the tint of the sand. Here, it was more of a reddish tone than the bright tan of Tattoine. He sighed and flipped up his transmitter. The shade of the Slave 1 was above him, so there was only a slight glare in his helmet. He reached up and adjusted the brightness in the viewplate with his finger.

The cord he was holding kept tightening and relaxing, so he gave it a hard tug, and the Rodian that was attached by the arms at the other end fell flat on his face onto the boarding ramp. Fett turned his head slightly to address his bounty. "Speak Basic." The Rodian frowned, and pushed himself up with his legs. "I can walk just fine." Fett smirked inside his helmet. He tugged the cord once more, harder this time, and stepped out of the way as the Rodian flew past him and landed face first in the sand. "Then do it."

Fett slid into his seat on the Swoop and revved the engine. The translator in his helmet understood every word. Fett turned again. "I'm not going to repeat myself." The Rodian sighed. "I'm not stupid enough to jump, Fett." Boba Fett smiled dryly. "I heard you the first time." He stomped his foot down hard on the gas and wrenched the accelerator, jerking the Rodian back in its seat.

Obeiron Guun was getting anxious on his large black leather chair at the head of Core Galaxy Systems. The room was getting colder every second, and he didn't like it. He opened one of his droors under his glossy ebony desk and pulled out his favorite pair of black leather gloves. He slipped them on, and ran his hand through his greasy, black hair. With his other hand, he pressed the "talk" button on the small Comlink installed in his desk. Which was also black. He put his hands together and spoke. "Mercy." He waited for a response from his receptionist. A high-pitched, nasal, female voice came back at him. He grimaced at it as it spoke. "Yes, Mr. Guun? What can I do for you?" He sighed as he thought of her sitting there at the front desk, painting her nails, he supposed. "First, Mercy, I want you to turn on the blasted heat. I don't pay for this building, and put up with you people to sit here and freeze." He waited. "Right away sir." He waited. He could hear the heat click on, and a quiet "whir" was now heard inside his office. He waited. "Anything else, Mr. Guun?" He winced at her voice. "Yes, Mercy. Where is that damned bounty hunter?" She started, "Well, he's...oh!-" She was cut off. He heard the sound of boots on the black marble floor outside, and the black steel doors to his office hissed open.

The dark silhouette of the hunter appeared in his doorway. It was Boba Fett. "It took you long enough, Fett. I hope you at least got Darzen somewhat in one piece? Or at all?" Boba Fett did not say a word. He turned and shoved the Rodian, Darzen, in front of him. Darzen continually stared at the floor. Obeiron chuckled. "Good, Fett. Nicely done. I assume you expect your payment now." Fett nodded. "I see. Well, I'll just transfer it to your account, and-" He was cut off by Boba Fett placing a small, brown, cloth bag on his desk. Fett spoke only one word to Obeiron the entire time, and it was, "Cash."

On the way out of the office building, he looked over at the receptionist, who was waving her hand back and forth, and blowing on it lightly. Doing her nails, probably. Not like many people came to have personal chats with Obeiron Guun very often. The hangar where his Swoop was stationed was not far away, only about a block, but he still did not like the City. It was thick with the smoke of industry. Industry and the filth of the universe all crowded into one small city. He picked up the pace, and almost forgot to push the rotating door in front of him. He was so used to just having to walk near the doors to have them open. The welcome droid outside the building was trying to persuade him to try a new perfume, so he kept walking, and bumped it with his shoulder as he strode buy, knocking it backwards a few steps. It turned to him, exasperated, "Well, pardon me, sir." He stopped at the street and gave a heavy sigh. "Droids."

Before he crossed, he glanced back up at the building, straight at Obeiron's office suite. The building, entirely paned, glossy black tinted windows, had a bright glare from the double suns. As he started to turn back to the street, he sword he heard a blaster shot, followed by a Rodian scream. He looked back towards the front desk, and saw the receptionist quickly get up and flip the sign outside. It read, "Closed," now. He pivoted on his foot, and crossed the street, throwing his tattered cape back as he stepped off the curb.

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