Dark Bounty--A STAR WARS STORY Part 1

The Raiders

The black-horned Devaronian looked on with amusement as the three raiders relayed in and out of the shelter, tossing anything they could out. The assassin droid stood still and lifeless.

The pile of furniture and storage bins stacked higher each minute.

"You findin' anything?" the Devaronian called out.

"Trouble," a resolute and gruff voice from behind him returned.

The black assassin droid raised its blaster in a flash, its long head swiveling to focus its dominant artificial red eye on the newcomer. The Devaronian spun around and promptly drew his sidearm as well, just an instant behind the droid.

Boba Fett stood, the dusty wind blowing his short cape, staring directly down the sights of his carbine rifle.

"What's the meaning of this?" Boba ordered.

The red-faced Devaronian, upon recognizing Boba, laughed and replaced his blaster. "Fett!" he clamored. "Good to see you."

He stepped forward to address Boba Fett. The high-pitched whine of Boba's charging rifle sounded. The Devaronian stopped short and held up his hands as IG-88 charged his own still raised blaster. The three raiders, now seeing Boba stepped up behind, their hands each fingering their own weapons.

"Whoa, there," the leader cautioned Boba and his men. "No need for that."

Boba did not move a muscle. IG-88 did not stir either.

"Talk now," Boba again ordered, "or you're never going to talk again."

"I see," the horned man said. "That's enough, IG-88."

"STATEMENT: ORDER AFFIRMED, BRACKUS," the droid said and lowered its weapon.

"We're not here to stir up a problem. And the Keeper sent me." Brackus bowed his head slightly in salute. "Why don't you shoulder your weapon and let's talk. I've been sent with a profitable deal for you."

"I don't do deals with the Keeper anymore," Boba said. "And the rifle stays on you."

"Guys, make him shoulder his weapon," Brackus said. Instantaneously, all blasters were again aimed at Boba. "I would like to have a peaceful negotiation, but have it your way. No matter. I die, you die, but the Keeper still gets his prize eventually--the Millennium Falcon."

Boba's shoulders lowered as he thought for a split second, and then he holstered his rifle on his back. The rest put away theirs as well.

"It'll be a cold day on Mustafar before anyone gets my Falcon," Patch's voice rang out from twenty meters up.

Boba swung his head around to see Patch without her helmet rushing down the path, a blaster in her hands. PZ-85, also armed followed behind.

"Fambaa!" Boba cursed.

"Sorry, Master," PZ-85 yelled out. "She rushed off."

Boba looked back to Brackus, took a deep breath, and attempted a bluff. "Well, as you can see. . . I'm not alone. Don't be fooled by the girl's size, and that protocol droid has battle programming."

Brackus smiled and fingered his chin.

Patch and PZ-85 stopped ten paces behind Boba, both having rifles raised.

"Well, this is exciting," Brackus clapped his hands and hooted. "So you do have the Falcon! Our intel was correct!"

Boba clenched his empty fists in anger because of Patch and PZ-85.

"I can't see your face behind that mask," Brackus said. "But I bet you aren't happy."

Boba's ambiguous mask stared back at him without a word.

"So, then let's get to the offer. Three million credits," Brackus stated. "A very good offer."

"No," Boba said. "I told you, I don't deal with the Keeper."

"Oh, to be sure, Fett, the Keeper forgives those items you stole from him years back. That is if you are willing to barter." Brackus smiled showing a row of sharp yellow teeth.

"You can tell that gut grub he can keep his credits," Patch chimed in.

This was too much for Boba and he lost his cool. "If you don't shut your trap, I'm going to throw you to a gut grub!"

Brackus was amused again and laughed, but then coughed and sputtered as he stopped laughing abruptly. He looked at the girl and his eyes widened.

"I recognize that girl," he said in a low voice, his pointed finger outstretched.

The dark IG-88 droid stepped closer and rotated its eye to focus on Patch. Boba lowered his hand to his disruptor pistol.

"Yes, yes! She's a clone. One of the Terrah models from the last war. The clones the First Order had used." Brackus continued and made a step forward.

Boba quickly warned, "Stop there. And it's best if you stop talking."

But Brackus didn't listen. "She's so young. I've never seen the Kaminoans commission them this young. Unless . . ."

"That's enough, Brackus," Boba warned.

"She's unaltered! The Kaminoans must not have altered her genetic code from Terrah's. She might as well be the original," Brackus continued, then looked at Boba. "Just like you! Of course, we know that; the Keeper has known about you for a long time. But this! Oh, he's going to be thrilled to hear this. The Falcon and two unaltered clone primes--both a Jango prime and a Terr-"

A blaster crack echoed through the valley.  His monologue was cut short by a charred blaster wound on his forehead, Boba having fired his disruptor pistol from his hip. The Devaronian fell to the dry ground, dead; a puff of dust exhaled from under his collapsing body.

A chaotic snapping and clicking of armed and charged weapons followed as every hand and paw and robotic claw found a blaster, rifle, and blade.

Boba held up his left hand coolly, a thermal detonator in his hand. "All I need to do is drop this and we all go. I warned Brackus. Now don't be fools like him."

There was a moment of silence as the wind kicked up more sand. Their eyes darted uncertainly between each other.

The assassin droid broke the quiet with its unnatural IG droid speech pattern. "QUERY: DO YOU REJECT THE KEEPER'S TERMS."

"Yes, and he knows why," Boba replied. "Now get out of here, and take this meat with you." Boba kicked the dead Brackus.

There was a moment when none moved, then IG-88 ordered, "STATEMENT: PICK UP BRACKUS AND REMOVE FROM THE VALLEY."

The raiders reluctantly lowered their weapons and the Aqualish bent over to pick up the limp Devaronian. Each mounted their speeder-bike, one now unmanned. They tried to set up a tow-rope to bring the unmanned bike with them.

"No, the speeder-bike stays," Boba called. "That's the price for the damage you caused to my shelter."

The raiders started off, irefully, their gaze averted away from Boba Fett.

When their speeders were out of site, Boba deactivated the thermal detonator and replaced his pistol at his side. He turned with ominous umbrage toward Patch.

"You forgot your helmet, Patch," he stated with a displeased tone.

Patch looked at the ground, knowing how she had messed up, but whispered to herself, "My name isn't Patch." Her real name, the name her mother had given her, she had not heard spoken for five years.

Boba was too occupied with his thoughts and did not hear her.