A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...
STAR WARS
THE TALE OF THE HEAD HUNTER
PART II
HOUNDED
by
Doug Mac Donald
Very little activity surrounded the Vinsioth system, made up of three planets in all, and only one supporting life. At the rear of the system was a tiny, almost insignificant asteroid belt, which spiraled with chunks of ice and rock, but other than that, the system was quiet. Quiet, except for the cruising speed of an Imperial Star Destroyer. It did not appear from lightspeed suddenly, nor did it come racing in at attack speed. This ship was here with a purpose, one that would not require immediate battle stations. The wedge-shaped starship sailed through the asteroid belt; not a single canon was fired as the small asteroids bounced off of the ship's shields. The Star Destroyer Contention converged with slow intent upon the Chevin homeworld and did not stop until it came into the planet's orbit.
From the belly of the ship dropped a squadron of Imperial T.I.E. fighters, surrounding a compliment of bombers. The convoy, unlike the mother ship, blasted off toward the planet's surface at full throttle, all weapons powering up to full. Seconds later, the fighters disappeared into the atmosphere...
The Scour sat amongst a myriad of activity as Chevin technicians fueled the ship; the cargo bay was full of grunts unloading several hundred crates of illegal weapons. It was early morning, there was a lot of moisture in the air, the grass still wet from dew. A thin scarf of fog receding into the distance covered the rolling grasslands. Standing in the center of all of this activity were two completely different beings, rarely seen together. Ephant Mon was shouting orders to his men, organizing them and his new cargo. When a careless grunt dropped one of the cases of explosives, Ephant Mon stepped away from the towering Amanin.
"Lookit' this mess, Albern D'or. This single crate holds enough explosive power to send ya back to your ancestors." The Chevin worker scrambled to repack the crate and move about his work. Once the crate was secure, only then did Ephant Mon return to the pilot who had brought this fresh load to him.
The Amanin rumbled something in his language.
Ephant Mon nodded his mighty head impatiently. "I know we're running late, Skr'tee. Nearly finished. Only a few more minutes - you there! Those torps should be over there, now move it! - So what were you saying?"
The Amanin leaned on the three-headed staff, his wounds fully healed over months of treatment.
The Chevin seemed annoyed by this and did not bother to hide it. In the distance what was once a very fine temple now lay in ruins. A once strong sect of believers worshipped there, a sect started by the Chevin in his spiritual quest that Luke Skywalker had set him upon. But that quest slowly meandered into nothingness, the temple crumbling into ruins. Ephant Mon turned on Skr'tee, his large hands balled into fists.
"Forget what you heard, bounty hunter, 'cause it ain't true." For a minute, the image of Luke Skywalker's face appeared before the Chevin, that smiling white face beneath a dark hood. "It ain't that easy to go back and it's even harder to stay." He muttered more to himself, than to the Amanin. "Anyway, you got news about Jabba, that's what I paid you for, so tell me, and then you can get outta here."
"I tried telling him, but would he listen? Well, I did what I could. Nothin' will change that. So who done 'im in? Tell me it wasn't Tessek."
Skr'tee shook his head ever so slightly.
The Chevin grew angry with this. "Isleff! That don't surprise me at all. That Hutt had his filthy hands into everyone's credit pouch. So what does this mean to me? You're a hunter, not a smuggler, so there must be some reason why you came here." Ephant Mon looked up at the Amanin, glaring into its eyes. "Did you come for my hide, Skr'tee? Maybe you found some buried feelings and couldn't find it in you to hunt me, so now you're askin' me?" Ephant Mon laughed at this and barked another insult at some grunts.
"The only help you're gonna get from me Skr'tee, is to buy some of these weapons. Beyond that you're on your own. I don't owe Jabba anything. And I don't owe you, you've been paid good for transportin' these goodies to me."
The Amanin seemed to withdraw for a moment, craning his head to the skies as if in deep thought.
"Now wait a minute...." The Chevin protested.
Skr'tee continued, ignoring the other creature, all members of Jabba's court. Or perhaps Ephant Mon will just be added to my collection.> Skr'tee stroked the topmost head on his staff, the runt Amanin he had been training for so long.
Ephant Mon drew himself up to his full height, he did not back down, nor shiver with fear, when suddenly a large piercing whine cut off all conversation. "Everybody down!" Ephant Mon shouted, and then he tackled the Amanin.
Eight screaming T.I.E. fighters swooped down from the sky, followed by four bombers. The fighters opened fire, ripping apart the grass plains on either side of the Scour sending the smugglers running in all directions. Several blasts merely rocked the ground, sending geysers of dirt into the air. Others found their mark, slamming into the crates of weaponry. A crate of proton torpedoes erupted into a white fiery flash, incinerating dozens of Ephant Mon's fellow Chevins. Skr'tee cursed and came to his feet. He waved his staff in the air, shouting several curses at the Imperial fighters. He was about to run to the Scour when a bomber dove in and began dropping its load on the still-fueling freighter. Several of the torpedoes scored the inside of the docking bay, destroying the remaining of the smuggled weapons. A tiny inferno erupted inside of the Scour's belly. Missiles of metal rocketed out of the bay, and across the plain. Shards of Skr'tee's ship skewered some of the fleeing Chevins.
Skr'tee opened a hole in the ship's shield to allow entrance and then raced to the helm. There, he keyed in the sequence to close the cargo bay doors and to initiate the fire extinguishers. Seconds later, the bounty hunter lifted the freighter into the air while five of the T.I.E. fighters pursued, showering the shields with a barrage of laser blasts. As the ship raised, the fueling lines, still attached to the ship, rose with it. With a sudden jarring burst of acceleration, Skr'tee ripped the fuel lines from the ship. Fuel spewed forth from the snaking lines, and from the Scour's main fuel tank. The fighter pilots, seeing this blasted away at the fuel, igniting it, and the hull of the freighter. The fire in the Scour's cargo bay had spread to the main corridors, the Scour rocked as one of the thrusters sputtered and died.
'Fire in engineering, all is not well. I must find out who attacker is.
Are they after me? Or after the Chevin?'
Skr'tee sealed off the cockpit at that point. Beneath the explosions and the stress of the hull screeching, a steady rhythmic pumping sound could be heard as Skr'tee emptied all of the oxygen from the ship. As the Scour breached the outer atmosphere, most of the fires had died, but the damage had already been done. Two of the main thrusters were damaged beyond repair and the shields were failing fast. The only system that had not suffered major loses were the weapons.
The blanket of stars on a black background appeared, the Amanin still had five fighters trailing him, while a new threat appeared. The Contention hung in a low orbit on full alert. It was the very same Destroyer that Skr'tee had fired upon in the Tanteract system. Four more fighters joined in on the chase.
'So, I have my answer. I am the Empire's target.'
Aboard the Contention, Captain Capet stood at the helm, right hand clenched into a tight fist through his leather glove. "Signal the T.I.E. fighters to begin pursuit. The bombers will stay behind and level the place. We can return later to mop up the weapon smugglers on the planet. Right now, our priority is to capture that ship."
"Yes sir, you'll have this scum within moments," Capet's first mate relayed the orders.
Capet was a young officer of the Imperial Navy, whose family had deep roots in the Emperor's Empire. His brother currently served as an Imperial Governor, and their father was once a Lord over several of the Emperor's star systems. Capet was a competent officer and served the Empire well. He had met several officers who entered the Academy under delusions, and only maintained their commission for fear of their own lives. But not Capet. When he joined he knew exactly where he wanted to be. When his fleet was ordered to attack a non-human colony and enslave them, he did so without a second thought. Capet masked his prejudices against non-humans as well as the Emperor did.
As the Contention turned to give chase, the captain felt his anger turn to delight. The pilot of the Scour had embarrassed him badly, and when his sources had learned it was an alien that had done so...he did everything in his power to track the Amanin down, though never leaving his Imperial duties behind, Capet just made sure they coincided.
The Scour was flying sluggishly with two engines off-line. The T.I.E. fighters had gained and were hammering the shields. Skr'tee remained calm in his pilot seat, allowing the fighters to come closer. The Star Destroyer was traveling at sub-light directly toward the freighter's path. A few more seconds and the ships turbo-lasers would be fully charged. The bounty hunter cursed as the Scour reduced its speed further as another engine sputtered and died.
The modified protocol droid appeared from the passageway. It did not speak, for it had been reprogrammed to respond only when spoken to by Skr'tee. All of its annoying protocol had been erased years ago.
The bounty hunter left the cockpit and raced down the corridors to the main cargo bay. He surveyed the damage through a porthole, before entering. The floor decks had melted and curled upwards, the ceiling supports had snapped, and hung from the ceiling, swaying back and forth with every lurch the ship made. The walls had no breaches, but were scarred black. Littering the floor were various crates and pieces of weaponry left from the Chevins after the attack had commenced. As the ship shuddered beneath the creature's great feet, Skr'tee made his way to a storage locker that had been charred black from the explosion. The locker was over three meters tall and nearly as wide. Opening it, the Amanin was pleased to see that the contents were undamaged. Leaving the locker opened, Skr'tee raced out of the cargo bay and slammed the door closed.
A dead nahlee spiraled into the vacuum, followed by the storage locker that had held it. The creature spun directly into the path of the oncoming fighters. One fighter exploded brilliantly onto the poor beast, as the locker spun useless away. The explosion caught the nearest T.I.E. in its flames, while causing the third to use evasive maneuvers to avoid the cloud of debris that had appeared so suddenly in its path. Large sections of charred floor spun like rotating blades. Through expert piloting, the one T.I.E. managed to evade it, but another in the distance was skewered in two.
Six more ships remained in total.
A second idea bobbed to the surface of Skr'tee's mind as he raced back to the cockpit.
'I blasted away so quickly I did not chart escape vector. It is time I turned this ship around.'
The Scour blasted away from the Contention, and turned to face the remaining fighters.
Most of the ships had followed along Skr'tee's vector, but a few had been caught by surprise and found themselves directly in firing range of the freighter. Skr'tee opened fire, destroying one of the two ships as the other out-maneuvered the blasts. Now, with his flight path clear the Scour raced toward the edge of the system, toward the small asteroid belt. The belt itself was thin and narrow, impossible to fly into or even through it, leaving the pilot to fly over or under it. To the Empire the belt posed no threat, and certainly not to a Star Destroyer.
Skr'tee lowered his speed further, allowing the fighters to gain. The bounty hunter was buying time now, time enough to calculate the jump to hyperspace. The biggest threat to jumping to hyperspace in a battle was having a stray laser blast hit your ship just as you made the jump. Star Destroyers were notorious for its precision and the destruction it caused. Skr'tee had to put distance between him and the enemy in order to jump safely.
As the ship converged upon the Vinsioth Belt, Skr'tee keyed in the sequence to ready its concussion missiles. The auto-defense systems were working overtime to destroy the T.I.E. fighters, but the pilots were skillful and evaded all shots. The Amanin brought his ship over the belt; tiny chunks of ice and rock could be heard pouncing off of the hull. Some of the bigger ones, about two meters in diameter were the ones the hunter was looking for. His timing had to be flawless.
Skr'tee fired the first set of concussion missiles. Pausing, only for a moment, the hunter fired his rear quad lasers at the fighters, counting on the fact that they would evade the blasts.
The missiles went off, only a meter away from one of the larger asteroids. The impact wave that followed hurled several asteroids away from the belt and into an evading T.I.E. fighter. The Amanin rumbled with laughter.
'As the fools evade my lasers, I provide a second danger.'
A second and third fighter followed the same demise shortly after that. The other pilots, fearing the same danger, veered away from the pursuit, allowing the Star Destroyer to have a clear shot.
"Repeat, all fighters return to bay."
The bridge of the Contention was alive with a frenzy of activity. "Lieutenant," Capet called. "That ship is going to make the jump to hyperspace! Detain it now!"
The lieutenant, who was sweating now, nodded.
"Hyperdrive on the Scour has just been activated, sir!" someone else called out.
The order to fire was finally given. Even if the ship made the jump, it would not do so successfully. The Star Destroyer's blasts would cripple the hyperdrive, and would only send the ship to the next system, all engines lifeless and nowhere for the pilot to go. Then they could make a short jump and pick up the Scour.
'If only my request for Interceptors had been put through, we would not be in this predicament,' the Captain thought. 'But the Emperor has gathered them all for some unknown reason...'
All forward batteries fired a storm of blasts at the Scour.
Seeing the fighters turn tail, Skr'tee banked the ship and pulled it away from the asteroid belt. Now the asteroid belt lay between the Scour and the Contention.
When the missiles had reached the center of the asteroid belt, they ignited. The middle of the belt erupted from the shock wave, sending sheets of debris in every direction. Skr'tee's thick red lips stretched across his face in a satisfied grin.
The asteroid field lit up bright green as the Star Destroyer's blasts collided with it. A few of the blasts made it through the wall of rock, scoring against the freighter's hull. The Scour shuddered for a moment and then leapt forward, stars turning into silver lines, as Skr'tee made his escape.
Aboard the Contention, all was silent as all eyes fell upon Capet. The Captain stood at the front view port, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the asteroid belt. Sensors indicate that they had scored some major hits to the fleeing freighter, but not enough to damage its engines.
'Twice now you have embarrassed me bounty hunter. That will double the pain I will put you through when I have you. I just pray that my brother does not hear of this, or I will never hear the end of it.'
Turning to his command crew the Captain sighed heavily. "Return to Vinsioth, we still have a mess to clean up."
"Captain!" the communications officer barked as he ran toward his captain. He handed over a datapad and with a quick tight bow and then receded into the shadows with the first mate. His face had slackened; droplets of sweat were on his forehead fearing what Capet was going to do about the latest communication.
"Moff Jerjerrod?" Capet said aloud. What would the Emperor's latest favorite want with an Outer Rim garrison? He read the datapad and returned it to his officer, visibly shaken. "Belay previous order, Lieutenant."
"We won't be returning to Vinsioth, Captain?"
Capet shook his head. "No. Recall all fighters and set a course to the Endor system."
"Endor? But what's out there?"
"Apparently our destiny."
* * * * *
The Scour did indeed drop out of lightspeed, not in the next system but several systems beyond. The freighter coughed and moaned as it gave up its great speed to sublight. The hyperdrive motivator reverberated with a startling screech across the ship. The protocol droid raced to engineering with a quick shuffle, it could feel its gears and joints shaking all over its body. Engineering was a mess. A thick cloud of blue smoke gathered in the enclosure, poisonous fumes reigned above all else. The specially modified atmosphere systems for the Scour had been damaged, now streams of water were shooting directly into the motivator, sending sparks and flames into the air.
The droid put its hands up as though that could ward off the dangerous fires and then began working furiously at the layout and managed to shut down the environment systems. Moments later the ceiling and broken water mains stop dripping. The ship was still shaking badly as it struggled to slow down, the walls shook and more water mains broke, but no water spilled forth. And then slowly, interminably, the ship slowed down, the shaking subsiding until the only sound that remained was the screeching klaxons.
The droid turned and punched a button on the console, plunging the ship into silence. Satisfied that the immediate danger had ended, it shuffled over to the main pipe that had burst and stood directly below it, water dripping onto its metal head. The droid released a sigh as though it were a true Amanin. It began speaking into a nearby monitor,
The droid could hear the tiny muffled alarm going off. It turned, head cocked to one side as it peered at the motivator and realized too late that there was nothing it could do.
The motivator exploded at that moment, engulfing the droid in an intense ball of flame. The force of the explosion breached the hull, sending thousands of metal shards into space. The Scour rocked from the explosion, lights all over the ship began to wink out as Skr'tee screeched in anger until he too was plunged into absolute darkness. The ship came to a full stop and sat there in space, completely dead.
Skr'tee remained in the pilot chair staring blankly at the endless void before him. He had lost everything in the last few weeks, first his pet nahlee, and then his apprentice (prematurely) and now a very expensive protocol droid and quite possibly the greatest ship he had the privilege to fly. The Amanin stretched his neck, reached behind to hit a switch expecting to feel a deluge of water against his dry skin. Already he could feel the dryness in his skin, as it pulled itself taught over his bones. Even his neck gills were starting to look more prominent. Anger had boiled over and was now spilling down over the brim of rationality.
The bounty hunter was ready to lash out, at anything, could feel rage now beneath that thick layer of potent anger. But Skr'tee had not survived this long by giving into such impulses. The Amanin reached down and produced a blaster pistol from beneath the front controls. With his other massive hand the creature produced a short fat cigar. Lighting it with the laser, the Amanin breathed in the fumes and released a sigh. Of Ephant Mon's very own stock this one was. He put the tip to his lips and took a mighty drag on it, the tip of which burned bright red in the center of the surrounding darkness.
Ephant Mon had introduced the Amanin to this art and he had not tasted such a fine cigar since the dancing girl had been killed in Jabba's Palace. There just seemed to be little time to enjoy these pleasures these days. And Skr'tee did not know when he would enjoy one again. The coldness of space was already seeping into the cockpit, as the Amanin exhaled a fine plume of smoke. It was time to work now, the bitter cold felt like razors against his lungs. The anger seemed to dissipate into the air with each cloud of smoke. But Skr'tee knew the anger would be there when the time came to need it, instead of wasting it, the bounty hunter hardened it into resolve.
Several hours later the Amanin slumped down in his pilot seat. For the umpteenth time his fingers crawled over the instruments hoping that the sub-light engines were repaired. From behind the engines roared an uncertain life, they started out strong and then sputtered and then came back on line again. The ship rocked as the engines struggled to keep life, the deck plates rattled beneath Skr'tee and then the engines died with a spark and a thin trail of smoke.
'Blast! I was sure I had it this time. At least I have heat and food.' He looked at his drying, flaking skin. Skr'tee ran a thick tongue over his cracked and bleeding lips and grimaced. 'I must get the environment systems on-line or I will not need the hyperdrive.'
Before returning to his work, the Amanin turned to the communications console and monitored it closely. The Scour's range was weak in its damaged state and before its signal reached a civilized planet, Skr'tee would be dead. 'This settles my problem, then.' He punched in his current coordinates and then recorded a message to Ephant Mon, explaining his problem. With a pause the creature sent the message, this time boosting the satellite's power, he used it all on this one message, knowing it would burn itself out, leaving him with no communications after that.
'But what does it matter, if I do not survive?'
The Amanin stood up and exited the cockpit, wishing he had another cigar to calm his nerves.
'I fear it will be a long while before I can enjoy one of these.'
* * * * *
Some would say that Nal Hutta would be the perfect homeworld for the Empire that is if the Emperor could withstand the mighty stench of the Hutts that had seeped into every pore of the planet. Nal Hutta wasn't a complete swampy bog, it had also sported several cities complete with numerous levels, much like Coruscant, cities built on top of cities, and like the bottommost layer of the Imperial city, Nal Hutta's lower levels were dark and dangerous. Deep in the bowels of the so-called 'Glorious Jewel' planet, few sentients made their way to the lower city levels, and those that did rarely returned with all of their limbs in tact.
The lower levels caught the scraps of the planet; it soaked in its dirt and slime and reveled in it. Sunlight no longer reached down and warmed the bare earth of the planet; the lower levels were cold and uncaring. Crime reigned supreme in the depths, although none of it was organized, or so Isleff the Hutt wanted the planet to believe. The Hutt's palace was located even further below than the planet's lower levels; the palace was rooted below the earth of Nal Hutta itself. There, Isleff felt safest and impenetrable from the other warring Hutts.
Isleff the Hutt was laughing so hard, his majordomo thought the Hutt was going to die from it. Tears streaked down his face, tears that mixed in with his drool, causing streaks of green to darken his chin. Isleff was rarely seen on the surface or abroad without being fully covered from head to tail. But here, in his palace he paraded around without clothes, as it was customary for Hutts to do. It was a shock to all that Isleff's skin was the purest ivory (and even more shocking that it had never been reported), his pupils were pink and for a Hutt, Isleff was quite thin and could still move about upon his own violation. In terms of age, Isleff was the oldest known Hutt, although his exact age was unknown, many put him around three thousand years old. His body was wrinkly and loose from the great age. Darker, pink colored spots littered his skin from head to tail.
Isleff continued his mirth and did not speak until the laughter had fully run its course. The Amanin stood patiently knowing he could possibly take hours before the Hutt found control of himself. "Ho-ho-ho, come now dear Hidda you must learn to appreciate the humor of such things. Imagine the fury of the Imperial Captain that Skr'tee has defeated twice." Isleff added another volley of rumbling laughter to the conversation before continuing again. Absently, the Hutt wiped the green goo from his face and wiped it on the hair of the scantily clad Rodian slave girl before him. "Perhaps this Skr'tee would make a promising addition to my hunters, what say you Hidda?"
Hidda was not the creature's given name; Isleff had given him this one. In Huttese it simply meant 'Humorless'. The Amanin bowed respectfully to Isleff, tired of the creature's mirth.
Isleff's laughter cut through the Amanin's words once more. "He would make a fine majordomo, at least this creature appears to have a sense of humor!" Isleff wiped the tears away again, his laughter disappearing into chuckles.
The Hutt listened, as closely as Hutts listened to anyone and made his way out of the chamber. With a tug on the chain, the Rodian dancer followed. "What makes you think he is after me, Hidda? Have you thought of this? Perhaps he is after you."
Hidda followed his master into the corridor.
"Take what we know of this creature. He has worked for so long for Jabba, successfully mind you, and now that has been taken away. He is lost and out of work. My presence on Tatooine would make him wonder, but if anything he fears me."
"That's right, my dear Hidda. Skr'tee thought you were dead didn't he? But now he knows the truth and he is searching. So Hidda, do you believe that this bounty hunter is still after me?"
Hidda could not answer as he digested this information. He could not believe it, he had been so careful to not be seen. And what was Skr'tee doing at Jabba's that day? Hidda had his resources as well, and his sources reported that Skr'tee had perished on the sail barge that afternoon along with the rest of Jabba's henchmen.
"Come along, my child," Isleff said to the young Rodian. The green-skinned creature stepped into a darkened passage. The albino Hutt followed eagerly, while the Amanin slowly made his way head cast down, mentally chewing on all of the information before him.
* * * * *
A thin, pale Skr'tee let himself fall into his chair. He had worked on the engines for three days, and for three days he had not felt a single droplet of cool water upon his skin. Not even with long stops at Jabba's did Skr'tee ever feel so parched, so drained of life. A stench more horrible than the worst Imperial dungeon had sunk into the interior of the ship. Skr'tee's body was already rebelling against his drying skin by producing a slick black oil coating his entire skin, this oil responsible for the odor of the ship that bothered even the Amanin's senses.
But at least the primary engines were repaired and the Scour was sailing at a steady pace through space. It could not return to Vinsioth, for the Empire was certainly waiting for the bounty to return there. And there was very little in this stretch of space. Communications were all but extinct on board the Scour and even now some major systems were spewing forth sparks, threatening to shut down. The first thing Skr'tee had done was to check his water reservoirs located throughout the ships. All of the holding tanks had ruptured, spilling most of the water across the deck. What little water remained had been poisoned from the fires and burning gases. Maridun was too far for his ship to limp to and so relief from the lack of water would have to wait.
Skr'tee grew impatient as his ship made its way forward, and there was very little to do except to work on temporary repairs. But all of that could wait. The Amanin had important business to take care of first. Since Ephant Mon would not aide him in his quest, then that did not mean Skr'tee would end his search for Isleff's majordomo. It was no secret that Isleff had dozens of palaces scattered across the galaxy, but what Skr'tee needed to discover was which location the Hutt was currently residing on.
Tired to the point of exhaustion, the creature reached back and retrieved his staff. The runt's head swayed eyes sunken shut, skin pale. 'Pity, for this was a fine specimen.'
With his great hands, Skr'tee removed the runt's head from the staff and set it upon his knees. He dropped the staff and ran both hands over the runt's face. Black oil smeared across it. Slowly, he brought the runt's head to his great mouth, and like the cannibals of his race, began eating the rotting, decaying flesh of his one-time apprentice. A large piece of flesh tore from the runt's face and hung loose from the Amanin's lips as he chewed, almost thoughtfully on the toughened skin.
An image appeared in Skr'tee's mind, one of Jabba. The bloated one was rocking with rage, spewing forth several insults. The Amanin took another piece of the runt. More images surfaced in the creature's mind, at first (as it always was) it was difficult to separate his own memories from that of the one being eaten. Amanins often participated in mutual cannibalism, which allowed both parties to share learning as well as memories. Considering that Amanin's could also rejuvenate lost tissue the mutual cannibalism was hardly ever dangerous. And so the creature continued his meal until the runt's entire head had been digested. When the meal was done, Skr'tee licked his fingers with a red tongue and smacked his lips. Indeed it had been quite some time since he had tasted such succulence.
Hundreds of images exploded in Skr'tee's mind, flashing from the runts early years, to his brief apprentice years. There were thousands of images to sort out, occasionally a pale Hutt would appear but no other Amanins. Skr'tee stood shakily on two feet and stood bent over, one hand keeping his balance against a bulkhead. He moved through the corridors to his sleeping quarters to meditate and rest. Only then could he gleam any important information if there was any to be had. He did not swing from the overhead pipes, but stumbled awkwardly on his feet.
'I am tired, too tired. Isleff must not be far or this hunt shall fail. I must not fail.'
"Hidda!" Isleff called out in a mighty bellow. Hidda was hosting a conference communication with several of the major crime lords of the lower levels of Nal Hutta. Isleff remained in the shadows, ever careful of keeping his identity secret.
Hidda raised a hand, a hand that was the power of Isleff himself, silencing the heated discussion being broadcast.
The ancient Hutt swiveled his head and peered at the Amanin greedily. Isleff slid into the room, and picked up Hidda's staff.
Gingerly the Amanin took the staff in his hand.
"There is a bounty as of yet unclaimed, Hidda. These twelve," Isleff waved his hand in the general direction of the darkened monitors, "have failed me numerous times, as well as the Empire. So once again I turn to you, Hidda. You will leave immediately."
Hidda looked alarmed, his skin secreting an oily chemical to maintain the consistency of moisture along his body. He had learned long ago not to question Isleff.
Isleff patted the Amanin on the lower back (Hidda towered over the Hutt); "The usual information awaits you in the usual manner. You need only to chose a ship of your liking and return once the bounty is collected." The Hutt ushered the Amanin to the rear chamber door there he paused and spoke softly.
"And when you return, you shall have all twelve heads that sit in on this meeting."
As Skr'tee climbed back into the cockpit of the Scour, he was greeted by the glowing red of a large sun in the distance. The cockpit turned red in response and Skr'tee let out a long sigh. His red eyes gleamed at the large burning circle in the distance, and with its long red rays, it brought hope like a new dawn. The runts memories had revealed that Isleff had intended to remain on Nal Hutta for the next few weeks, overseeing the usual deals the Hutt had his hands in.
Although the trip to the Hutt homeworld would take five days if his repairs kept, it was the best possible destination. Skr'tee also kept several hideouts across the galaxy, not as grand or magnificent as a Hutt's, but adequate. And more importantly, Skr'tee's Nal Hutta hideout had a vast reservoir he could bath in. He could rearm himself for the assault on Isleff's palace, and perhaps meet up with some old contacts. Excited by this new development, Skr'tee set in a new course, one that would take him directly to Nal Hutta. With a new breath of inspiration, the Amanin dangerously increased the power to the engines knowing he must get there soon. Five days was a long time to wait.
And he did not know if he would survive without water for that long.
The red sun quickly sank out of the ship's viewscreens submerging the ship with darkness, except for the blinking of lights from the operating systems.
The Scour entered Hutt space nearly twelve hours ahead of schedule. The ship sailed silently not broadcasting any signals, nor running with any outside lights. It sailed, nearly blind into the crowded space. It kept a straight course, as straight that was possible with the course systems showing dramatic drifts. The freighter moved into the occupied space lanes, several ships raced by the freighter, firing several warning shots to make the freighter move. The Scour moved only quicker than the capital ships that drifted with some unknown purpose.
As the freighter drifted deeper into Hutt space, the ship fired a few low powered laser blasts at any ships that happened to get in the way of its flight path. A Corellian freighter called the Shadow appeared directly in front of the Scour. The pilot of the Shadow felt his ship rock as its shields were hit two, three and then four times by harmless blasts. The pilot responded by slowing his ship down and swerving left to right to keep the Scour directly behind it.
Skr'tee felt his ship shudder suddenly and the creature opened his eyes for the first time in days. He felt as though weights had attached themselves to his eyelids and the amount of energy it took to open them, nearly spent his remaining energy. The Scour had run into the rear of the freighter causing the creature to stir from his meditation. With a curse, the Amanin relinquished the controls of the ship, fighting exhaustion and dehydration every step of the way. He had to reach Nal Hutta; any delay could mean his death. And there the planet lay only minutes away. Without thinking of the consequences Skr'tee powered up the ship's laser canons to full. He watched silently as the Shadow slowed his ship down. With a curse, Skr'tee opened fire.
Flashes of red lanced out, catching the bow of the Shadow full on. The pilot cursed and intensified his rear shields. Before the Scour could fire another blast, the Corellian freighter peeled away from its current position, allowing for the battered freighter to pass. Skr'tee was about to thank the gods when the ship lurched forward with violence. The pilot of the Shadow had come up behind and was firing a rapid succession of laser blasts into the ships remaining engines. The cockpit exploded into a shower of sparks as every remaining onboard system shorted out from the latest attack. The remaining engines erupted into a hot flash of white, creating another furious fire across the hindquarter of the ship.
Skr'tee's starship suddenly dropped from the major space lanes and began to spiral out of control. The Shadow followed closely behind, still firing a salvo of blasts, rocking the sinking ship. Not until the Scour had finally been caught by Nal Hutta's gravitational pull, did the Corellian stop firing and watch as the ship screeched toward the atmosphere, never knowing which ship he had destroyed and its legendary owner. The Scour shook violently as it hit the atmosphere of Nal Hutta; the entire ship was breaking apart, the hull burned red from reentry. Skr'tee did not even have the strength to open his mouth and scream.
The ship plummeted like a stone.
The bounty hunter counted off the seconds aloud, and when he judged he had reached the breathable atmosphere, Skr'tee pounded his giant fist on the escape pod release. With the last of his energy spent, the hunter let his head fall face first onto the computer console in front of him and that was the last thing he remembered for a very long time....
A myriad of sounds, smells, and sights thrashed at the Amanin when he regained consciousness. He awakened to what sounded like loud grunting and squealing. The odor of the place smelt of rancid Gamorrean, and Skr'tee could think of no odor more pungent nor disgusting. He had hunted many Gamorreans, but never did Skr'tee keep a head for his staff.
The Amanin found himself lying in the tiniest puddle of water, his body badly bruised and beaten probably beyond recognition. He was not in the escape pod, nor near the crash sight of the doomed freighter. Skr'tee was lying beneath a tall thick and gnarled tree. The tree had once stood for centuries, providing life for hundreds of creatures through shelter and food. But today it stood like a rotten tooth, withered and black, dying but not quite dead. Skr'tee stood on shaking legs, resting a large palm on the side of the tree. He had known this tree well for had he not raised it from a sapling so many years ago? The smells of the area were familiar to him, although the smells were different somehow, like life gone bad.
'I am home. But how did I arrive here?'
He shook his head and nearly tumbled over from the vertigo. His last memories left him spiraling toward the planet surface. Had he made his way here in a daze, fuelled by a fierce determination to live? Or was it something entirely different?
His eyes finally focused on the surroundings, the Amanin's Nal Hutta lair was hidden inside a warehouse, which was fully equipped with bogs and rivers of water from his homeworld. Plants and animals had also been transported here to create a complete and fully functional ecosystem. It had been nearly five years since his last return here, and it was clear that it could no longer maintain a healthy ecosystem without a caretaker. Much of the ecosystem was lost to disease; the waters were stagnant and poisonous now, perfumed by a sour smell of death.
The ceiling, which was basically a giant viewscreen which normally displayed the gray skies of Maridun was a black sheet of cracked glass, sparking and squealing, which were the sounds Skr'tee had awakened to.
Skr'tee was weak and his body felt as though his skin was burning from acid; his bones ached. He dropped to the ground again and lapped at the puddle of water; his throat rejected the stale liquid. Although the water was dirty, it was drinkable. He had to force it down, despite the throat's pained cries. Skr'tee needed water. He lapped at the water again, sneering at the awful taste of the liquid. His throat rebelled, but this time his will was stronger and the water went down, throat fighting every millimeter of the way. When it was down, and the creature was certain he was not going to throw it up, Skr'tee leaned back against the tree with a deep sigh.
The bounty hunter looked down at his left arm, it lay useless to one side crushed and mashed into a yellow and green pulp. Three fingers were missing; they weren't severed, but crushed in the crash. The appendage was crooked and bent at every angle and was completely useless to the hunter. With his good hand, he clasped the wrist of the injured arm and began tugging at it.
The Amanin stifled a scream as a flash of white-hot pain exploded at the socket of his left shoulder. When the arm finally ripped from the socket, the hunter responded with a few oily black tears from his blood-red eyes. The bodiless arm began twitching, the remaining finger spasmed with a life of its own.
Already strength was returning to the bounty hunter, his wounds starting to heal. After some much needed rest, he would explore the remains of his home, which spanned several city blocks, small compared to many of the warehouses on the planet, but large enough for one unfamiliar with the contained ecosystem to become lost. There were once nahlee roaming across the plains of this place, now they too were probably dead, but would at least offer some food. But until then, Skr'tee needed rest.
It was during the part of early morning where traffic on the streets of Nal Hutta had tapered off into almost nothingness. A time where the night is silent, as if waiting with held breath for the sudden hustle and bustle of a new business day, when Skr'tee made his way out of his home. On Nal Hutta, every day was a business day. Every muscle and bone still ached from recent events, but that did not stop Skr'tee. He walked with a stride of confidence wearing a tattered brown cloak that concealed his missing appendage quite well. The few remaining scavengers of the night gave the creature wide birth as he marched down a side street, making his way to a familiar cantina he knew that served Amanin cuisine.
The interior was very dim, and coupled with the bright flashing lights of the cantina's exterior allowed everyone inside to see newcomers before they themselves could see. This mattered little to Skr'tee since his vision was not based upon the same as humans. Several heads turned to the entranceway and then darted back when they recognized the Amanin. Skr'tee stood in the entranceway, meeting the gaze of each person before motioning to the bartender to make room for a table.
Skr'tee nearly collapsed onto the bench located at the furthest and darkest corner of the bar. He sighed, as he smelled the myriad of smells throughout the bar. An odor that made most people faint, an odor that Skr'tee had not sensed for far too long. The human bartender had disappeared into the back kitchen, no doubt to prepare the Amanin's usual order. After several minutes, a serving unit arrived with Skr'tee's usual drink.
He watched in his dark corner, sipping on ale from time to time, waiting for his meal.
"Isleff is searching for you." A voice came from nearby. A cloaked creature stepped from the shadows and stood before the bounty hunter, blocking his view of the bar.
The mysterious creature sighed inwardly, 'Yes, he's in a foul mood, but not enough of one to be lethal.' The stranger pulled up a chair and sat against the wall to the creature's right. It was a Bith who spoke very poor basic. "I have information for sale. Information about Isleff."
The Amanin merely glared his crimson eyes at the creature. He did not purchase information. Allowing informants to live was payment enough.
After several seconds of awkward silence, the Bith's eyes darted around the cantina; he finally began to speak. He thought about getting up and leaving, but it was too late for that now. The Bith had gambled on getting money from the bounty hunter, and now that it was clear that wasn't going to happen, it was clear that if the Bith wanted to live, he would have to give up his information. "Very well then, I can see you're in a hurry, Gergun will make this fast. The Unseen One has sent his many minions to every hovel and brothel." Gergun leaned closer, speaking in a cautious whisper. "The word is out on you friend, and the word is no good. The Hutt wants you dead."
"No, no, my dear hunter, that's what the word is. That's not information." The Bith leaned in even closer, his large bulbous head, poked through the hooded cloak. His voice dropped further. "The Hutt's majordomo was in here earlier, I saw him with my own eyes, this is big, Gergun has heard much. It's not the Hutt that is searching for you at all."
This piqued Skr'tee's interest, although his faced gave nothing away. His eyes did not fall on the Bith once during the conversation, but continued to make their rounds around the bar. He noted that the human barkeeper was speaking into a comlink. His meal was taking far too long to prepare. Once this creature was finished speaking, Skr'tee would check on it.
"It's the 'domo, he's seeking you." A yellow hand shot up into the air from the Bith's cloak, motioning for the Amanin to not interrupt. "I don't know why bounty hunter, but I can find out."
Skr'tee nodded.