9 ABY

He looked at the body at his feet. Finding deserters in the middle of a war was standard procedure for him and other bounty hunters. It kept the rent paid. The Imps, hell, any army, had to make an example of those who ran. When morale was down, you had to scare people into lining up and getting shot at in return.

This one, however, didn't have the sense enough to run far. Nor was he a deserter. He stuck around, he got his nose into trouble. He got noticed by those usually too high up to notice the individuals under their command. His name was known. He got let go an then wasn't smart enough to get gone. And that bought him a world of hurt and then a bad case of the stabitties.

The bounty hunter chuckled. His callsign was "Racer". Well, this clown wasn't running anywhere any time soon.

This one hadn't taken long to find. He found the mark mere hours after picking up the bounty, specially requested even. No mere pull off of the guild boards. Tadath didn't have much for entertaining but it had a thrilling dive bar scene. He found the kid spouting off at the mouth - blind drunk - telling anyone who would listen two completely contradictory stories. One, it was all a misunderstanding and he would get back into the Corps. He was the most loyal trooper the Empire had. The other story, slightly closer to true, was that he was working with others who had an axe to grind and they were going to get back at the Empire. Shadowy forces were being assembled and he - of course - was going to be key to rolling out the plan.

The bounty hunter noted that he was paying per drink. Even the barkeep wasn't buying this kid's crazy, even for a one night tab.

He followed the staggering drunk back to the siesta rate flophouse he had probably lucked into. Most military rejects ended up in an alley unless they had somewhere to go and a guardian angel looking out for them. Well, an angel wouldn't leave you in this slum, but someone with a need for what you had in your head might spend the credits thusly.

He let the lad get comfortable, check in with whoever he needed to or check on bolo ball scores, or just pass out. A quick slice of the door locks, some stern but not overly violent Q & A, and a quick jab to the rib cage with a vibroblade when he got all he was going to get out of the kid. "Racer" was no genius, not even particularly bright or even likable, but he deserved a fast end when it was time. It was a better offer than the crowd he fell in with was probably going to give him in the long run.

Time to report this one in and get his first credit line of pay. He was promised more work depending on what he could get out of this washout. He wasn't sure what he had but the crematorium cadet bleeding on the rug didn't know squat about security. Not that it was his job to slice the info out. He grabbed the kid's datapad and a stack of papers and left the door open.

A Tale of Two Tales

One of the advantages of being a bounty hunter was all the cool toys that were constantly being developed for the trade. By the time he had come up to the farmhouse he had accertained that there were two heat sources in the building. One Pphilf Aobo and one fire in the fireplace. No pets, no other beings. Thankfully no family or little children. His job was capture, detain, or just incapacitate flawed beings. Slotting animals and younglings was distasteful and cowardly unless it possitively could not be avoided. Sure, he wasn't a soldier, but he wasn't a coldblooded killer either.

He had a job to do and he did it well.

Another advantage of his profession was that sometimes, only sometimes, he got to act like a Holonet star.

Sensing that Aobo was ready for him to barge through the door, he crept behind the building, applied some shaped charges to the wall, and stepped back and pulled out his blaster pistol.

Triggering the charges, he stomped through new entrance next to the fireplace and planted a stun bolt into Aobo's body as he was trying to pick himself off of the floor. The blast had taken him completely by surprise and had knocked him from the chair he had been sitting in.

Kicking the sawed off slugthrower aside, he bound and gagged the ontime naval officer and popped him with the spray stick as well. Grabbing a wheelbarrow, he went back outside and went looking for the other bounty hunter. Bolt was a few yards from where he left him, trying to roll away. A few kicks to the rib cage made him a tad more compliant. A stun bolt to the head made him easier to load up and roll back into the farm house.

He tied up Rolto Bolt to another chair, put on a pot of caf and waited to see who would come to first.

Aobo did first. With a grimace he looked up and then noticed the being next to him.

"Wait a minute," he mumbled. "If he's not with you, who the hell do you work for?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, he's a wild card. I was hoping you could tell *me* why Bolt is here."

It was Aobo's turn to shrug. "He works for the Alliance. The folks I used to run with have tangled with him in the past. He's the patsy of some General named Vanbox. Arguv Vanbox. Some kind of special ops team dedicated to take out us smaller Imperial factions.

"Honestly, I'm kind of out of rotation. I couldn't quite get on board with Tolm's master plan. Yeah, I get that he's got a bone to pick with the VE, but I'm still an Imperial. As are they. So I got replaced. Do I funnel info and new recruits their way? Sure I do. I don't like everything they do or how they do it, but they gave me a better deal than most. You get stuck out here in no man's land, and you stick by your friends. But some of what they are planning to do just sticks in my craw, man. You may not care or want to do a damn thing about any of it, but I bet the ones writing your checks do."

Aobo went on a bit more, talking about his start at the bar on Tadath, his plans to stake a claim and make something of himself out here on Serek. He gave up a lot about Tolm's band, pointing him to a stack of data chips and an encrypted reader. The bounty hunter got a sense that he felt his end coming, and a way to clean his conscience.

At some point, Bolt came to and listened to the end of Aobo's tale. The more he was allowed to listen to, the more he realized he wasn't getting out of this either.

The spacer was done for now. Turning to Bolt, he asked, "One hunter to another. You've got anything to add to this?"

"Not much," the man admitted. "We've got the goods on Tolm. What his 'army' is composed of, a roster of the few squads he's got, what he's got left of funding. What we don't have is the lair he's hiding out in. I don't suppose a trade can be arranged?"

He shook his head. "Not really. If anything, you've complicated things for me.

"Tell you what, give me your ship's sec codes and I'll make it quick. One thing though, why tie yourself to one of these crazy warring sides? What's in it for you? Cutting off your profit margin, getting you a fast track to be kicked out of the Guild and a bunch of other career ending options."

The Duros laughed. "Stupid, isn't it? Honestly, my brother got shot by an Imperial patrol. Sure, he was probably up to no good, but he didn't deserve to do for cheating at cards or whatever he was up to. *I* am the criminal in the family. He was the screw-up. So I started taking jobs from the Alliance and then just never got around to stopping. That simple.

"What about you? Seems like this isn't your first crack at working for the Imps."

"Strictly business. This particular group seems to be a good contract. One, everyone seems to be a screwup. Two, the screwups are many and profitable."

He stood up and took his cup of caf to the sink. He didn't know why he rinsed out the cup, but it seemed important.

"Frankly, I don't need both of you to die. So, Aobo, you're coming with me. Sorry about the mess and your guards. And sorry about what I'm taking you in for. It won't be pretty and I'll give you the chance to opt out of it if you want. I can always say you were shot escaping."

The older man shook his head. "Nah, I might just be able to talk myself out of this. I've got nothing to hide and not much left to lose, other than the bar and this scrap of land. Let's see if I've got another adventure in me." He turned to the man beside him. "Bolt, nice sparring with you."

The Rebel bounty hunter nodded. "Be seeing you." Aobo nodded.

"Not likely," came the response from behind him, followed by a blaster bolt.

He wasn't sure what to expect. He shows up on the back end of nowhere, a world known for some shady dealings at that. He's in a craft no one outside of certain segments of the military have seen. A ship designed in secret by the New Republic, a design stolen and modified in even more secrecy by the Imperials. He announces he is after a group of people and their droid army who have made this place their home.

Although, they somehow managed to bring a world of hurt to said home. Hopefully that counted for something.

So he followed the fighter escort to ground and got pointed to an actual hangar. Not a docking berth on some flattened mud field, but an actual structure. He was given a number and followed the light grid to his spot. Sure, he was trapped, but still impressed.

Then again, he was trapped the moment he entered atmosphere with four Preybirds and a couple Supas in formation around him.

He powered down the ship, set it's security systems as paranoid as he could and stepped off. He had his full rig of personal protective gear on but one man, one ship, no one coming for backup, he was pretty much floating of the winds of fate here.

Looking around the hangar he was also impressed by their operation. Off again the massive hangar wall was a very old bulk freighter, probably the ship that brought the first band of settlers here by the looks of it.  Some other large transports about, nothing bigger than a CEC Action-class. Most notable were the light freighters, varying from utilitarian to some just built for speed and secrecy. But not a ship near his berth. No one was aiming anything at him at the moment, but he definitely had nowhere to hide.

A speeder came up to him. Not too old, not off the lot either. They made some decent coin here apparently but you still had to travel into civilization proper to buy anything. And they were far, far away from the Core.

A man came out, flanked by a duo of the usual planetary constabulary. He waved both of them back.

"I am Subaltern Fessip. You've got your secrets. We've got our's. The only thing I want to know is why you are after Tolm, why did you show up right now, and what you expected to happen."

The bounty hunter nodded. "Tolm and his group crossed paths with an Imperial faction. Recruited a trooper to help them out; with what I'm not sure. Weapons systems, cash, data, I wasn't given chapter and verse. Found the kid, found his handler, found this place. Anything to do what you folks had go down is purely coincidental. As for what I was gonna do, this ship behind me is packed with recce gear. I was gonna take some pretty pics and hand them to someone to decide what to do next."

"You were planning to lead a military assault on our planet?"

"Well, if you put it that way it sounds awful.  Actually, no, I really doubt it. I'm not aligned with any faction. This could have easily been an Imperial Commando op and it isn't. I still don't know why, and as long as I'm getting paid, I'm not going to wonder too hard either.

"I am just here to find out where Tolm stacked his goodies, maybe even figure out where the man himself is. I'm not in the business of setting up Imperial labor camps or land grabs. I'm just looking for a guy and hoping to get paid when I either tell someone where he is or haul him in myself."

Fessip considered this for a moment. And then laughed. "Alright, bounty hunter. You've sold me. Just a man doing a job. Get in. I'm gonna show you something."

Everyone climbed into the speeder. He figured he had nothing to lose.

Two hours later, over some very severe terrain, he saw something he wished he had been able to capture from orbit. Across an otherwise empty plain was a temporary city. A city now in ruins. He could make out bunkhouses, prefab buildings used for storage, offices, and maintenance. And, to top it off, an old droid control core tilted sideways, smoking and rent into two pieces.

"What the frak is this?" he murmured.

"Don't you know?" answered Fessip. "This is the headquarters to the mighty Imperial Army of Salw Tolm. Let me get you up to speed.

"Two years ago, Tolm and a company of hard cases show up and start acting like they own the place. For those of us who live here, that just wasn't going to fly. We don't like to butt heads unless we need to, and the planet is pretty much empty, so we *encouraged* Tolm to take his business down the road. After we buried twenty or so of his goons, he takes us up on the offer, and heads out here. We don't bother him, he doesn't bother us except for the occasional shipment or departure, plus whatever repair work he brought into town.

"So we settle into a routine. Honestly, except for the occasional visit by a few - and only a few - of his hired guns coming to town, we would have forgotten about him. He had learned caution and his boys were always very polite. Yeah, we run a somewhat criminal enterprise here, but we're still people. We've got our families here and no one gets to mess with that.

"So we get a little bothered when that droid core shows up last year. No one clears it with ground control, they just set that damn thing down right where you see it and start unloading. By the time my boss and I get out here, they've got about 10,000 droids rolled out waiting for us. Tolm himself comes out, his excellency and all that, and welcomes us. Welcome us to our own world! Nerve of that guy.

"He tells us there is nothing to worry about and that he bought himself an army for use elsewhere, not here. I don't know whether to believe him but it's our two guns against their robot army, right? So we leave.

"And that's it. Except two months ago we get an emissary from the Ssi-ruuvi. You know them right?" He nodded. "So yeah, we're not on their turf, but you can see it from here if you know what I mean. It is a ship full of those P'wecks, their slaves, because, you know, drug runners aren't ever going to parlay with an actual Ssi-ruuk.

"As you also know, spice is mostly mined rather than actually grown. We've got a great vein of the stuff here, but apparently Tolm found some excellent grade stuff a sector or two over, right in the middle of Ssi-ruuvi space. Managed to basically take it at blaster point. I don't know what the Ssi-ruuk do with the stuff, but they thought it would be important to teach the thieves a lesson. They came to warn us of their coming and to be sure we weren't involved. And you were damn sure we convinced them of that. The emissaries seemed sure of it and left.

"We let our defense forces know to stay close to home in case the bastards changed their mind. We're too small to be targeted but not so small they wouldn't get some takeout on the way to the restaurant if you know what I mean. So we waited to see how this was going to go down.

"It didn't take long. Four hours at most. They must've had their assault teams just outside of the system. They came down on this place like a hammer. You could hear and feel the assault from back in town. True to their word, they didn't touch us or any of the outlying farms and mines. Only Tolm's people.

"A bunch of us headed out after they left. It was the better part of a day and you can see why." They had walked to the center of the camp and he saw the mounds of burial trenches. In a clearing were some abandoned gear. In the main, busted enteching equipment.

"They seemed to have taken out the core station first, then just came by and picked up the droids and loaded them up. Whoever they captured alive, they 'enteched'. Sucked the life force out of them and left the bodies here to rot. Poor bastards are probably operating some of their army surplus droids right now."

"And?"

"And what? We buried the bodies and left this place the hell alone. There's two ships, probably stolen, of Imperial army gear on the other side of the camp. I'm not touching it. I don't want it. Check it out if you need to. Take all the pics you want. But I'm done with this place. In fact, take this too."

He pulled a data chip from a packet on his belt and handed it over. Then he sat down on a crate and lit a cigarra.

"It took us the better part of a day to bury those people. They were scum, but no one deserves to go out like that. Go on, take your tour, I've already seen it."

He loaded the chip into his datapad. It was a gold mine of scanned documents and filed abandoned by Tolm's army when they were taken. Rosters of personnel, notated by Feesip or his people of their fate. He recognized some of the TO&E from what the Empire had given him. It was roughly notated by legible.

   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   
   
       
       
       
       
       
   

Killer Squad
Position	Rank	Callsign	Specialty	Fate
Squad Leader	Sergeant	Neol	Vehicle Crewman	Enteched
Assistant Squad Leader	Sergeant	Solsho Nehemidi	Combat Engineer	Dead; dismembered
Trooper	Corporal	Urakan	Medic	Enteched
Trooper	Corporal	Mako Sanggine	Combat Engineer	Enteched
Trooper	Corporal	Gerell Semess	Heavy Weapons	Dead; partially recovered for burial
Trooper	Lance Corporal	Ordos Nes	Combat Engineer	Enteched
Trooper	Lance Corporal	Eltso Hehro	Infantry	Enteched
Shadow Squad
Position	Rank	Callsign	Specialty	Fate
Squad Leader	Sergeant	Melso Nehars	Infantry	Dead
Assistant Squad Leader	Sergeant	Keel Earnharst	Combat Engineer	Enteched
Trooper	Corporal	Olohcan Wiss	Medic	Dead
Trooper	Corporal	Afye Irvz	Combat Engineer	Enteched
Trooper	Corporal	Aero	Heavy Weapons	Enteched
Trooper	Lance Corporal	Tyrs Qualt	Combat Engineer	Enteched
Trooper	Lance Corporal	Vol Neil	Combat Engineer	Dead
Trooper	Lance Corporal	Lok Wars	Sharpshooter	Dead

The lists kept going like this. He actually felt happy for those who merely died. He walked around the central camp, capturing holos where needed. Eventually he came upon the two freighters Fessip told him about.

Yeah, someone was very, very pissed about that particular development. No wonder he was told to slot the little trooper.

After a few more minutes he collected a couple ration packs and made it back to Fessip and his boys, passing out the pilfered lunches.

"Thanks. I guess," said the cop. It didn't stop him from digging in. "Any other questions?" he asked around a mouthful of ronto stew.

"Yeah, how many made it out of this?"

"Ah, there it is! You noticed the gaps in the rosters. Honestly, I can't say. We saw four ships lift off but no clue if any made it past the Ssi-ruuvi patrols. Either Tolm wasn't here in the first place or he at least got off the ground.

"You've been okay about all this though. You're a good bounty hunter. Not one of those shoot first guys like from the holos. So I'm going to drop another present in your lap. We *did* find one of them alive. He crawled into town two weeks after the attack. He's one of the higher ups on your roster there. And I'd just love it if you took him off our hands before the creepy aliens come back for him or anyone else that lived."

The bounty hunter smiled at that. "Oh, you just made my day." He tossed his empty ration tin aside. "Let's go meet the man."

OOC:

Why can't we use BBCode tables?

He didn't want to die in a backwater shithole like this. But if he didn't think fast, that was exactly what was going to happen.

Upon entering the Mega he had time to start looking for targets to put down. His first quick scans showed that there was a concentration near what would be the crew barracks.

Along with the usual stockpile of grenades, nets, stun bolts, and various other lethal/nonlethal gear, he had knockout gas. The goal wasn't to off everyone but Tolm - which he was still happy to do - but to put down anyone in his way. A blaster bolt would do, but so would stunning them or delivering a solid concussion.

Either way, it might have been a good plan if not for the patrol coming to check on the detached ship.

Four soldiers, armed and alert, turned a corner just as he was considering whether or not to mess with the life support system or just gas the living quarters.

He had heard them running and had a couple of seconds to get ready, but four-on-one was still bad odds. He managed to chuck out a stun net as they turned. This caught one of them full on and slowed the man next to him. The two behind reacted quickly, starting to fire as he ducked into a random doorway.

Juggling a gas grenade, he threw it out. The noise was going to bring others and he just wanted these men out of the way.

It worked. He had to kill the two shooters and merely tie up both men who had gotten hit by the net, though the second had been going for a blaster.

Leaving the dead bodies in the hallway, he set up a tripwire to a trio of grenades and left that behind to be found by others. He stashed the other two in a utility room, and left them their with the cleaning droids.

He moved on, more cautious and less worried about whether to keep the body count down or not.

He set a shaped charge against a bulkhead and put a ten minute timer to it. It was going to vent atmosphere when it went off and he wanted to both be away from it and also know that anyone following him was probably getting sucked out into the void.

Having covered his backside, he headed into the living quarters. His scanner showed he had anywhere from eight to twelve beings ready for him, waiting at a T-intersection. As he moved forward, he could almost feel their blasters being raised as they heard his footsteps. Grabbing two grenades from his belt he lobbed them both and dove to the other side of the intersection he had reached. And kept running.

Sure, the grenades had to have hurt someone, but a few grenades had come back in his direction, along with heavy blaster fire. He slapped a door panel, prayed it would open and ran inside before the blasts started pelting the walls with shrapnel. Crazy.

It was one thing for him to use explosives. Quite another for the defenders to do the same.

He checked himself for injuries and boosted his audio receivers.

"Is he dead?"

"Nah, I saw him run. Let's get him."

"Hang on, that wasn't a lizard. Who the hell is attacking us?" Ah, so they thought their lair had been found. He'd have to work even faster once these guys figured out he was probably alone. Or at least not a Ssi-ruuvi snatch-and-grab team.

Coming out of the room, he had both his snare gun and a flechette pistol in hand. He could hear the breathing of the men preparing the turn the corner to hunt for him. Turning down the receivers - no need to go deaf on this gig - he waited for them to move, knowing time was of the essence. It didn't take long. Two men came about, one immediately tangled in the snare projectile. The other bleeding profusely from two bursts of ceramic needles.  Grabbing the more wounded of the two, he threw him ahead of him and turned down the corridor, tossing yet another grenade down the hall.

He wasn't sure how many still opposed him, but after the grenade's burst, he only found the need to shoot two more crewmen.

He heard an explosion from where he had just come. It had only been a few minutes so someone had found the bodies. And added to the pile.

He counted - maybe - nine bodies here. Plus the four he had earlier met and maybe one or two right now. Probably half his adversaries were down.

And, if really lucky, a couple on the ship he had cut loose.

Good. But not good enough.

Now they were alert and thinking straight. He could either go for the engines, not knowing whether he'd need the ship or not, or the bridge.

Since he was really here to collect a bounty on Tolm, he knew where he had to go.

He set up some more timed charges as he went, bracing for the hull detonation when time had come up. He doubted anyone was looking for him but he was careful.

Now, near the bridge, he could sense his movements being monitored. He wished he'd been able to slice into their comms. The engine room defenders might be coming up behind him and he'd never know it. The bridge was locked down, everyone behind the blast doors, daring him to come in.

That said, his earlier timed blast had made things a little dicey here. Klaxons were blaring and the inertial dampeners were suffering, giving the ship a slight tilt. Apparently, as he kept walking, tethering the other ships to this one had been more of a survival tactic than not. His sensors showed that the oxygen levels were falling fast as atmosphere rushed out the hole he made. No one had come to seal the hole and bulkheads hadn't dropped to seal off the breach.

It made sense to him now that this ship was essentially dead. An onboard computer would have triggered automated bulkheads to protect the rest of the ship. This crate was only operating based on the power provided by the remaining two vessels he hadn't properly seen.

Which meant....

He heard them before they turned the corner but only just. There wasn't a need for the crew to defend the engine room. He had been suckered and now was in for a fight.

Diving into a crew cafeteria he got behind some tables and flipped them over. Three men were behind the door frame, randomly poking in to provide cover fire for the four troops trying to enter at the other end of the room. He tossed a smoke grenade and ran to the kitchen area, blaster bolts seeking out to find him in the smoke.

Great. Now he was pinned down in a room full of explosive reheaters with knives hanging everywhere.

Knives and sharp-tined cooking utensils.

He threw out a couple handfuls of exploding contact caltrops to slow down the enemy. Usually he used them to disable vehicles following him, so he wasn't sure what they would do to a living being. A simple repulsorlift push would trigger them. A foot would be more direct.

Laying down some cover fire and tossing his last couple pilfered grenades over the counter, he ran back further into the kitchen, hoping for another exit.

A blast told him that someone has tried to come after him. The others would be more careful, buying him some time.

Taking a chance, he placed a timer near a fuel propellant stove and backed into a frozen storage locker. Other than a missile armory, or the engine fuel storage area, a kitchen was the most volatile part of a ship. Which was why you never found anything bigger than a hot plate on a freighter; it just wasn't worth the trouble.

He moved some boxes to create a bit of a shield, wishing there were a few sides of nerf to hide behind. No such luck.

He heard someone open the door to the locker and he took the shot, hitting the man in the shoulder. Down but not out. Return fire was random and kept glancing off of the metal walls. He took a couple shots to his armor, knocking him down but not penetrating. Glancing shots stung but were usually not life threatening.

He was pinned down, outgunned, and in trouble.

And that was when the stove blew up.

10 ABY - Serra Vessa

He walked through the door and hung up his coat. His son ran to him, screamed "Hello Papa!" and gave him a hug. He put the boy down and tossled his hair. He smiled and went into the kitchen to scare up a snack.

And froze solid.

At the kitchen table was a man he had not seen since he peeked out from behind a stack of ammo crates and saw boarding an Imperial shuttle.

He had sworn he would never see the man again if he could help it. He had patched up a freighter, took a careful trip back through Wild Space, skimming Imperial worlds until he'd reached the fringe of the Unknown Regions. He had sold what he could, packed up his family, and made his stake out at the edge of civilization, running a small repair station at a spaceport and forgetting he'd ever serve as a soldier for Salw Tolm.

He reached for a blater he no longer carried at his side. His wife noticed his alarm and visibly flinched.

"Relax Del, this is a courtesy call," said the bounty hunter sipping tea at his hearth. Looking at the man's wife, he said, "If you don't mind, I have a bit of unfinished business here. I apologize for the deception but thank you for the tea."

"He said he was an old friend," she explained.

"It's alright dear. Hopefully we'll be done in a moment." He poured himself a cup and sat down.

He sighed. "You have no reason...." The bounty hunter lifted his hand.

"You're right, of course. I don't. You did me a huge favor once, however, and I am a man who honors my debts.

"Your bosses were turned over to what I presumed was the Empire. I was wrong it seems. Not by much, but the difference made me feel like I'd been played.

"So I went back to Zaddja, looted the weapons from the ships. Damn thing is still orbiting. Even managed to fix it up. That's my first favor to you. If you ever need a place to run to, I think that damn ship will be there forever and only the two of us know it's still functional.

"Here's my second favor." He slid a small satchel of credits across the table. "About 30 million credits. Half of what I sold the weapons stash for. All your's. My way of saying thanks."

Velmont paused, then pushed the bag back towards him. "I don't want to profit from what I did that day."

The bounty hunter looked up. "You've got a nice house. You work for yourself. You got your family off of a dirt farm in the Outer Rim. You disappeared. I paid a good slicer a pretty penny just to track you down. It wasn't easy. Bravo. You saying you didn't do that with whatever you packed onto that freighter?"

Del shrugged. "Okay, but why track me down?"

"Like I said, I had an itch that we hadn't squared that day between us. Seriously, take the money. Bury it in the yard for all I care. I don't want it.

"Honestly, I think I've found the one who can give me some good answers. And I might not walk out of that meeting once I start asking the questions. So, please, take the money. It might be all the legacy I'll ever have."

The old soldier sighed. "Fair enough. For what it's worth, thanks for letting me have another shot at a normal life. I just didn't want to die on that ship just to feed the ego of a guy way out of his depth. I mean, you took on two dozen of us and damn near erased the lot of us. And then let me live. Seriously, for nothing else, I'll take the cash for that reason alone."

He got up and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man. Thank your wife again for the hospitality. Take care."

"Be seeing you again?"

He turned and smiled. "Not a chance. Good luck to you."

And out the door he went.

---

Besdoaari City - Kindred Spirits Club

He was crammed into a ventilator shaft, one of those things some spacers insisted on calling a Jeffries tube for whatever reason. He'd been in here for the better part of four hours, trying to get to the upper levels of this high end cantina.

He had spent much of the afternoon trying to get a sense of the layout of the place. It was nice, dark woods, filtered air, decent food. And liquor from all over the galaxy. Some gaming tables but no sense of any desperate games by folks gambling their last credits. It wasn't a stuffy place that kept people out, but it definitely made them conform to some rules. He had noticed a couple of Dashade bouncers noticeably stalking the joint. They were hard to beat in a fight, even an unfair one, and were Force resistant to boot. Whoever owned the place knew what he was doing. And that was the security he could see on a simple scan of the room.

So he definitely had the right place.

Eventually he figured out where the best vantage point was to watch the floor and decided to get himself into that room. Which had put him here, creeping in a series of maintenance shafts trying to drop in on whoever was in charge.

He wasn't even sure why he was going to the trouble. He'd been hired to capture some folks stirring the pot against an Imperial faction. They had stolen from them, recruited double agents from within, created mayhem.

That justified a response, but why not drop a commando team or two on the offenders?

Who had to hire a bounty hunter and give him experimental tech and track his every movement to do something easily done by anyone's military?

Someone who wasn't the military or just didn't want to have their name put on the hit.

Someone who could look like the Empire but not actually be the Empire.

Someone who had their fingers in both commerce and war, running planets and guns.

He paused to scan the room below him. Just one being. The man he was looking for.

He moved the ceiling panel and dropped.

The man didn't even move. Sitting in a chair, he continued watching the floor. He moved now, but only to pour a refill into his glass, and then fill another.

"Have a seat. You must be tired after all that climbing."

It really did not surprise him he'd been discovered. But the way he was being toyed with - the way he'd been getting toyed with since he accepted the contract by the man seated in front of him - was really getting on his nerves.

"So, you were never a headhunter looking for the best of the best. At least, not some anonymous ex-pilot hired by the Empire to find a hitman."

The man smiled. "Not exactly. I do, however, still like to do some of my outside contract hiring myself." He looked down at his dress greys. "As you know, I just got in from a tour of the homeworlds. Hadn't bothered to shower and change into my civvies yet. I was hoping to relax and enjoy the evening but I figured we might as well get our meeting over with before sitting down to some cards."

"How long have you known I was coming?"

He shrugged. "A couple weeks now. Velmont's wife was told a long time ago that the price of her husband's freedom was her letting us know if anyone like you ever showed up. I'm not proud of that, but it seems it was one of my fits of paranoia that paid off. The wife keeps her family and I get to keep my head."

He shook his head. "I don't think I ever planned on killing you to be honest. Maybe I just wanted an answer or two, but no, not that."

"Yeah, trouble you couldn't afford, even at what we paid you." He paused, taking a drink. "Really, you should try the stuff. Smoke whiskey, rare stuff. I try to keep a bottle wherever I plan on actually hanging out for awhile. Come on, no more games. Just try it."

He lifted the glass, took a sniff, figured he had been allowed to get this far for a reason. And drank.

"That...that's amazing. How do they get it to...." He couldn't quite explain the sensation.

The man laughed. "I don't know. No one has ever been able to explain what it feels like. Half the reason I pour it out for folks is to finally get a reaction. To be fair though, the distillery is...was...an old orbital factory and there is just something about the place. Low gravity, stronger solar radiation, I can't say."

He got serious again. "But you came here for a reason. I'll give you what I can.

"The Tolm faction BS? Not even really my problem. Our worlds have been hit - hard - by Thrawn and his goons so worrying about a guy with some 40-year old droids really wasn't it. Even the thieving of equipment and war plans wasn't really what pissed me off. Turning our troops? Getting closer.

"No, what really got me was the whole idea of not going rogue and trying to backstab your allies. And then just to put the knife in a little harder, the bastard - and his runt Racer - stole from me."

The man sighed. "Yes, I'm an Imperial. And a loyal one. I do my duty. I could have sent in the troops, shot up the place and iced the damn traitors and been done with it. It would have been one of those grand, old school lessons like Palpatine liked to slap down. Heads on fence pikes, the whole nine yards.

"But I am also a businessman. I don't like thieves. I really don't like thieves who steal designs I'm planning on making mountains of credits from. There is a walker I'm planning to roll out to much fanfare and some light cruisers that would buy me a planet or two if I sold even half what I think the market will handle. That kid Racer thought it would be cute to slice and run with the plans, giving them to Tolm so he could sell them off to the highest bidder.

He laughed again. "Isn't that the pettiest thing you've ever heard? I sent you after some blueprints while you thought you were delivering a debt of honor. No, I really do apologize for that. I've got a business to run, but you don't stay in business if everyone who makes a deal with you thinks you are going to go Hutt crazy on them if something doesn't go your way."

He sighed. Then took another drink.

The bounty hunter did as well. He thought of what he meant to say. "That's it? You saw you were going to lose market share or some poodoo like that and you set me out to kill anyone involved?"

Another laugh. "Well, that's not entirely true. You kept like four people alive. Something like that. And no, asking where they are just wouldn't make you like me at all. As those old pirates both you and I have run with say, 'Business is business and action is action.' I did not mean to string you along. I also did not worry about much except making sure me - and my business - didn't get a bad rap."

He leaned back and took yet another drink. The bounty hunter kept getting angrier but the Imperial officer cum businessman felt like getting something off of his chest. "But what do you care? You got paid well, you sure the hell got an experience out of it. Too bad you had to screw that up by coming here." He turned his seat dismissively and went back to looking at the cantina floor.

He slowly went to his holster. "And what the hell does that mean?" If this was a trap, he wasn't feeling it snapping closed.

He started to draw his blaster and was stopped by a red plasma beam emitting in front of his face.

The man turned back around. And laughed.

"You know, I just had a feeling you were here tonight Bob. I don't know why after all these years but I just knew it. After my last little 'vacation' I knew I'd see you again.

"Alright bounty hunter. Put the blaster on the table. And anything else you think might do us some harm." He had nothing to do but comply.

"What you've got in front of you of course is a lightsaber. Bob there decided I'd be a pet project for him a long time ago. He's saved my bacon more times than I can count. He's a Dark Jedi with all the insidious potential that entails. And he does whatever he thinks is best without any of the blathering like I've been doing here tonight.

"What is going to happen now is that he's going to put your out cold, maybe scramble your brains if that's some kind of Force power he's got. I honestly don't know. Some of my guys are going to come up and take you out of here. Then I'm going to take that shower, play some cards, drink some more.

"You, my poor inquisitive fellow, are going to get sent to some retched facility when they use chemicals to burn out certain spots of memory loci in your cranium. It isn't an exact science unfortunately, but I have hopes. You've been good for me. You did me a nice bit of work and I hope you'll remember how to keep doing your job. But I am afraid you are going to wake up in a few weeks in the cockpit of your ship on some forlorn dirtball in the Outer Rim. You might remember your name, but you won't remember me, or Bob, or Del Velmont or his wife and kid or even Salw Tolm.

"Sorry about that. But you need to remember to keep your eyes on the task in front of you. When you aren't a gun for hire, maybe then you can ask why you do what you do?"

He could feel something like ghostly fingers inside his head and that was the last thing he knew.

---

Irith, Hutt Space

He woke up with a pounding headache. He managed to sleep in his pilot's chair again. Whatever he had drank, it wasn't the usual kind of hangover, if such a thing could be "usual".

Looking out the viewport he could see the sun was up, but finding it hard to break through the layers of pollution and dust that passed for atmosphere here on.... Where the hell was he anyway?

He went to the refresher and then made a pot of caf as he tried to figure it out.

He had a splitting headache, was dehydrated to boot. He seemed to have lost weight and had a recent haircut he couldn't remember.

Sitting back down at the controls he pulled up the latest reports for BoSS and the local news.

And felt like he was falling into an abyss.

Somehow, some way, he had lost four months of his life. Even trying to think of it just led him to a mental wall. Nope, nothing there. No idea whatsoever why he felt he couldn't recall it.

Except for one thing. One tiny detail.

He was in Hutt space and he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure he was supposed to be in the Outer Rim.

He didn't think that meant much of anything but it was the only thing he had to grasp onto.