DISCLAIMER: STAR WARS, BOBA FETT AND ALL RELATED INDICIA BELONG TO GEORGE LUCAS, MORE'S THE PITY.

            The man called Boba Fett was engaged in scrubbing down the holding cells in his cargo bay when the new bounty registered on his ship's computer. Fett could have let his service droid clean up the mess left by the cell's last occupants, but he had found that not only did the droid never quite manage to eradicate the sour stench of fear-sweat from the cells, but there was also a strange kind of satisfaction in doing the job himself. Self-sufficiency was one of the iron tenets of Fett's life. It set him apart from the rest of his colleagues, who were continually squabbling among one another, switching off partners, relying on others to get the job done. Fett had only himself. He was all he needed.

            The antiseptic solution dried quickly, restoring the cells to their normal durasteel shine, and Fett dumped the contents of the bucket into the waste disposal before heading back up to the cockpit. Slave 1 was hanging in a high orbit above the moon Logath; the main cockpit viewport showed the vast grey-green curve of the moon stretching away into the distance, the tiny glint of artificial domed cities occasionally reflecting the primary's greenish rays. He had dropped off his prey at the Logath spaceport, been paid—twenty thousand, not much, but it had been a very easy hunt--and promptly lifted off again, to cleanse his ship and his mind in the comforting blackness of space.

            The red light on his command console indicated he had a new message. Slave 1 had already relayed the information through Fett's suit com; a similar red light was blinking in his helmet's heads-up display. He sat down in the pilot's chair and summoned up the message.

ALERT ALERT ALERT ALL BOUNTY HUNTERS AS OF 6:43:20 GALACTIC STANDARD TIME A REWARD OF 500000 CREDITS HAS BEEN SET FOR LIVE AND UNHARMED RETURN TO THE DAVAN CITADEL OF THE PRIESTESS NEKARE OF DAVA

THIS INDIVIDUAL IS BELIEVED TO HAVE STOLEN A VALUABLE DAVAN TREASURE

BOUNTY REWARD SET BY INTERSTELLAR BROTHERHOOD OF KHI CONTACT BREYN AL'AHAREV HIGHPRIEST

NO DISINTEGRATIONS

MESSAGE ENDS

            Fett steepled his fingers and looked out at the distant curve of Logath. Half a million credits would buy him a complete refit of Slave 1, weapons systems, lifeplant, sublight thrusters, hyperdrive. He could certainly use a new inertial damper system.

            Yet, while the bounty was worth his while to collect, the people who'd set it were not among Fett's personal favourites. Ecclesiastical officials were even worse at paying up than Hutts were, and Hutts were notoriously unwilling to let go of credits. High priests were almost always rich—most of the galaxy's religions involved heavy tithing—and certainly not humble. Fett wondered if Breyn Al'aharev was good for the half-million he'd offered. Too often he'd brought in his captured merchandise, handed it over, and had to menace his own client in order to squeeze any credits out of the deal. Generally, they paid up once he had demonstrated that he was quite willing to return the merchandise to its original location, and take the damages and depreciation out in blaster bolts. Once creatures had been threatened by Fett, they didn't need another lesson in good economic practice. Still, Fett wasn't overjoyed at the prospect of having to convince a client to pay him what was owed.  It was tiresome.

            And there was the interesting question of the treasure. What, exactly, had this Nekare of Dava stolen, and why?

            Fett queried his computer. The Davan religion of Khi was only recently established, nascent compared to some of the larger worlds' belief systems, but it had secured a strong and economically powerful hold over Dava and its satellites, and missionary effort had managed to spread Khi over about half the worlds in the Davan sector of the galaxy. The religion itself was appealingly simple: it postulated that there was a controlling entity behind everything in the galaxy, that this entity was ultimately benevolent but also ultimately strict, and that only by surrendering one's life, soul and most of one's worldly goods to the priests of Khi could one hope to gain Khi's approval. Typical, thought Fett. Using creatures' own minds to imprison them. To stamp out independent thought and self-motivated action.

            He searched again, cross-referencing mentions of treasure with Khi and Dava, and came up with a list of possible objects which were small enough to be carried without detection. Most of them were listed as being secure in private galleries or collections: the Star Tear and the Qurine Jade were both part of the crown jewels of the defunct Davan royal family, and the Janovis Talisman, made by a long-dead Davan master, was somewhere halfway across the galaxy on the bosom of a crimelord's mistress.

            And that left the Janus amulet.

            Fett leaned back, considering. The Janus amulet wasn't particularly large or astonishingly beautiful; from what he could remember, it had been designed and created by the famous Warvan artist/architect Luchinas about a hundred years ago and was primarily valued for its unique refractive properties. The two stones set back-to-back, forming a sphere, concentrated and tuned light rays in a way that didn't seem to adhere to normal physics at all; light shone through the amulet was intensified by a factor of roughly one hundred. It was a curiosity, not a treasure.

            Then why, wondered Boba Fett, did a high-up official of a burgeoning religion throw away her career, her faith and quite possibly her life for it?

            He coughed, changing tactics, and told the computer to bring up all the information it could find on Nekare of Dava. After a moment's cogitation, the screen showed him a picture of a young woman, perhaps mid-twenties, with white hair and yellow eyes.  Her face was interesting, all sharp angles and steep curves; blue spirals had been tattooed at the outer corners of her eyes, which gave her a vaguely sultry look despite the lack of cosmetics or facial adornment. The image was several years old, and Fett knew better than most how easy it was to change appearances, but Nekare's bones would give her away. He would recognize her face now, no matter what disguise she wore.

            According to the Who's Who list the computer had called up, she had been born on the outpost planet of Cordea's Hope twenty-six GS years ago, trained as a pilot with the Imperial troops stationed there, encountered Breyn Al'aharev on the central administrative world of Amaranth, and left the Imperial fighter squad to follow her new faith. Fett raised an eyebrow at that; normally, once an Imperial, always an Imperial, but perhaps the Emperor had considered the nascent religion of Khi an asset to his power, and allowed her to go in peace.

            She was listed as having been Class A certified as a pilot—instructor level—in the old TIEs allotted to Cordea's Hope, which meant to Fett that she could fly her way out of a docking bay without leaving too many scrapes on the walls, but she had also apparently trained on captured X-wings and a couple of other single-man starfighters with more capability than the TIE. She had gold stars across the board for marksmanship and weapons expertise. Very nice, thought Fett with a wry smile. He himself had trained with the stormtroopers, years and years ago, and he could remember being frustrated at the lack of challenge offered him. He wondered if Nekare had felt the same. By Imperial standards, she was very highly qualified.

            By Fett's standards, she was very valuable merchandise. He didn't much care why she'd stolen the amulet.

            He lit the sublight drive and brought Slave 1 out of Logath's orbit before setting the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace. The hunt was on again, and Boba Fett was ready.