Disclaimer, Bandai owns bebop, not me, and naturally George Lucas owns Star Wars, and I lay no claim to them. I am a simple fan with a simple idea on loan from a good friend of mine. Thanx, vicskywalker(you know who you are)

Chapter One Jet was awakened by the sound of something moving outside the apartment he shared with his business partner, Spike. He leapt off his cot, fully alert, and crept toward the door, hoping to catch the would-be intruder flat-footed.

Unfortunately, Jet forgot that Spike had fallen asleep in the middle of the room. He tripped over the sleeping twenty-seven year old, landing by the door with a loud crash. Jet swore under his breath as he leapt to his feet. Unless the intruder was deaf, he would be long gone by now. Still, he swung open the door, hoping to find a clue as too the would-be intruder. The former ISSP officer found nothing but a simple white envelope addressed to himself and Spike lying on the ground.

He stared at it for a few minutes, then went back into the apartment, and grabbed his pack from under his cot. He placed it on the only table in the room, and took out a pair of tongs. Jet went back to the envelope and picked up carefully. He shut the door, and carried it to the table as though it might contain a bomb-which for all Jet knew, it did.

He spent the next hour and a half checking the envelope for explosives, poisons, viruses, or anything else that might send him and Spike to Kingdom Come. The envelope seemed to contain nothing but a letter, but Jet had not survived this long by taking unnecessary risks. He carefully opened it, and let the note card slide out onto the table.

It was a simple black note card with gold lettering. He sat down in the one chair, and read the note. He allowed himself a cautious smile. "So, someone wants to hire us." He read the note again. No specifics were given, only that the pair were to be at the disclosed location at the time indicated for the job offer. Jet didn't like the sound of that; it meant that more than likely, something fishy was going on. He began to wonder if this would be worth it.

True, he and Spike were short on Credits, but that was nothing new. They were freelance bounty hunters; they worked when someone hired them- which wasn't often nowadays-and occasionally, they were paid in things other than credits. There had been times, not many, thankfully, but times when they hadn't received any pay for their services. This would probably be illegal, not that it would matter if the pay was good.

Jet thought about running the idea past Spike, but thought better of it. Spike would hear the words job and credits, and he would be on it like a Hutt on Spice. Jet was about to throw the card away and forget it had ever arrived when he took a good look around the apartment.

Apartment was too kind a word for their living quarters. It was only one room, with a washroom and an extension that some were kind enough to call a kitchen, but Spike and Jet simply called a waste of space. With its antiquated appliances and limited storage space, they used it mostly for heating and reheating instant coffee. The only furniture was Jet's cot, the chair and the table-everything they had managed to save from the wreckage of the Bebop when it crashed on this backwater planet. The washroom was small: one toilet, a small sink, and a shower stall barely large enough for Jet. Spike, a good head taller than Jet, had to stoop whenever he needed to shower.

Jet sighed. They had been short on Credits before, but never as bad as this. They hadn't had a decent job in six months. The credits from that job-and the credits Spike had managed to get for a load of glitterstim spice-had run out two months ago. Since then, the occasional odd job or the local bounty was all that kept a roof over their heads and the occasional real meal on the table. It gotten to the point that to conserve Credits they were eating the rations they had in their field kits. If they didn't at least try to get this job, there was no telling when the next one would come along. He looked over to where his partner lay snoring away on the floor. "Hey, Spike." He called.

Spike made no move nor reply. Indeed, his only sign of life seemed to be the fact that he snored louder than a Wookie. Jet shook his head. For someone who had to live each day as if it might be his last, he sure slept soundly. A herd of stampeding Banthas couldn't wake him up. He called out again, louder, although he expected no response. He wasn't disappointed. He put his foot on Spike's shoulder and shook him. When that didn't work, Jet kicked him in the guts. Spike just rolled over, and muttered something unintelligible. Jet went into the so-called kitchen and grabbed a pitcher of ice water and carried it back to where the lazy dog lay. He threw the entire thing into Spike's face; nothing. Jet then remembered that Spike had come in late, and had come in drunk. There was only one way to wake him up now. He once again went for his pack.

This time he came back with his blaster carbine. He aimed at the ceiling above Spike, thanked whatever gods people worshipped in this whacked out galaxy they were well secluded from everyone, and fired. Spike rolled out of the way, and leapt to his feet. He pulled out his own Heavy Blaster. "What's happening, who's attacking?" Spike yelled, trying to catch his breath. "Rebels, Imperials, my old syndicate? What's going on?!!"

Jet shook his head, and lowered his blaster. "Relax, Spike-o, no one's attacking. I simply shot the ceiling to wake you up. You would think someone from your background would sleep lighter."

Spike sat back down on the floor, and place a hand on his head. "Jet, I have a hangover the size of Mos Eisley. I don't need lectures this early in the morning. What time is it?"

Jet looked at his watch. "Noon, by Tatooine time."

"Okay, then, too early in the afternoon."

Jet shook his head, and headed back toward the kitchen, this time to reheat some of yesterday's coffee. "I still don't how you survived so long in the syndicate sleeping like you do."

Spike gave him a "shaddup" look, then shrugged. "I'm blessed with good luck." He shook his head to clear it, but that only made things worse. He groaned, and laid back down. "Okay, Jet, do you mind telling me why you tried to wake me up."

Jet brought the coffee over. "We have a job offer."

"Job offer?" Spike looked up. He took the cup of sludge that Jet called coffee. It was old, stale and nasty, but it was strong, and it did the trick. It would hold him til he could get a prairie oyster. "So, tell me some more."

It didn't take Jet long to fill him in on what the card. Spike looked at him, eye twitching. "So we don't know who the offer's from."

"Seems that way."

"And we don't know what kind of job it's going to be."

"Seems that way."

"And we don't even know how much we're gonna get paid."

"Seems that way."

Spike sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't going to be fun?"

Jet went to his pack and started to reorganize. "I don't know, but I do know one thing, if we want to get this job, you need to clean yourself up. You look a wreck. And when you get out of the shower, pack your things. For Better or for worse, we won't be coming back to this shack."

"Well, there's one good thing about this." Spike said as he headed to the water closet.

"What's that, Spike?"

He looked over his shoulder. "We won't have to worry about those annoying girls and the mangy dog."

Three hours later, they arrived at the desert palace of the ultimate crime lord in the galaxy, Jabba the Hutt. It was massive. Spike looked at Jet as they stood in front of the Colossal doors. "So, uhm, do we knock or something?"

"Don't look at me. You're the one who found this galaxy in the first place." Jet replied.

"Hey, it's not my fault the hyper gate malfunctioned, sending us across time and space to this place."

They argued for several more minutes when a small portal opened, and a robotic eye came out, and began to speak gibberish. Jet said something back in something else, and the eye disappeared. Moments later, the doors began to open. Spike looked over at his partner. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Not much, I simply told him we were summoned for a job." He said as he went inside. It was dark, and smelled rather bad. The Gamorrean guards didn't help any. Their smell was almost as bad as the place itself. They had barely entered the place when a tall figure approached them.

It was Twi'lek. He was pale for his species, and his twin head tails were thrown over one shoulder. He smiled, showing off his mouth full of canines. "You must be the two Master Jabba sent for. I am Bib Fortuna, his major domo and go between." He said in Ryl.

Spike had a blank look on his face. To him, all he heard was gibberish again. Jet looked at him, and shook his head. He then turned to Bib Fortuna. "You'll have to forgive my friend here." Jet said back in Ryl. "He only speaks Basic. We've only been here a few months, and he hasn't gotten around to learning the myriad of languages spoken here."

Bib nodded, and he repeated what he said in halting Basic, and he added, "I'm sorry that Master Jabba couldn't be here himself, but he had pressing matters to handle elsewhere. He did leave me the specifics of the job he wants to hire you for." He pulled out a picture of a human male. He was somewhere in his twenties, with dark eyes and hair and eyes. He had a roguish good looks, and a smirk on his face that seemed permanent. "This is Han Solo. He dumped a load of Jabba's spice. He has yet to pay back the loss, although he swears he that he will as soon as makes it big. He is you bounty. The reward will.worth it."

"Uh-uh. How much, or we don't take the job." Spike said.

"How does one hundred and seventy-five thousand credits sound, plus your ship, the Bebop restored and modified for travel in this galaxy sound?"

Spike and Jet turned and had a little meeting. "How much is that in woolongs?"

"Somewhere in the tens of millions." Jet answered.

Spike turned back to Bib Fortuna. "We'll take it!"

Bib nodded. "You ship can be found in docking bay ninety one in Mos Eisley. I am also to give a thousand credit advance for any expenses that you might have. If you need more, you will have to talk to Jabba himself." He turned to Spike. "Your personal fighter has also been repaired and is aboard the Bebop. Do you have any questions, gentlemen?"

They shook their heads, thinking about what they could to with 175,000 credits. No they didn't have any questions, just dollar signs running through their heads. He handed them the keys to the Bebop, and they left.