Chapter 7

"Slave I is a little too worse for wear," Zam noted, two weeks later, as Jango piloted the ship through Coruscant's obstacle-laden atmosphere.

Jango nodded. "That she is."

"I take it this Flar Y'yas will be an east client to collect from?" Zam asked, leaning on the rear cockpit seat.

Jango tilted his helmet slightly. "He probably won't employ lethal forces against us, if that is what you want to know. After all, we did go through all that trouble to bring Jettster here alive, as required."

"True…" Zam's voice sounded doubtful.

Slave I broke through the high, orange-tinted clouds of a Coruscant dawn. Below them, a myriad of criss-crossing speeders and pedestrian vehicles went about their way. Jango avoided the traffic, flying above it all, and heading for the highest skyscrapers tops. Slave I cruised between the buildings at an easy pace, its driver skillfully taking every correct turn.

To get where they had to, however, they eventually had to land the ship on a small, private docking space a mere one level above the underbelly of the city. A grey-colored world over-took them as they descended in a hover-lift, and the smell of rotting plants and concrete, broken only by the occasional gust of wind from above, filled their breath. But when they reached the ground, they kept moving, all the time keeping Dexter dutifully marching in front of them.

Jettster didn't try to run, even though they had no weapon on him; after all, it seemed he was intelligent enough—and calm enough—to realize he would most likely get a blaster bolt in the back if he tried anything even remotely rebellious. The occasional muttering would sometimes accompany his steps, but he was quite for the most part.

The patrons and wanderers on the street parted for the two; after all, most knew who the couple were. Zam, especially, was notorious in the underground. A myth of sorts, who didn't fear death and dealt out her own share of it.

Eventually, they laid eyes upon their target, the small café/bar. From the looks of it, not much business came through it. Its neon sign, once proudly displaying the title Flar's Drink and Food, was missing more than one letter in the name, reading more like a decrepit Asian road stand. From across the street, the hunters surveyed the layout and possible dangers it prevented.

"It looks fairly safe, to me." Zam shifted her eyes to Jango. "But, then again, some things aren't always what they seem like on the surface.

Jango nodded. "Stay on your toes, then."

The friendly sound of an electronic bell rung as the three stepped through the door. The room was nearly midnight-black, for the only light displayed upon the various objects in the room came in from the beyond-dirty window. And that did not fall more than two feet from where they stood.

Across the room, an over-head light switched on, revealing the long, handsomely finished bar and the alcohol behind it. Then another, closer now, flickered on. A pattern was revealed as, one by one, each light came to life.

Now it could be seen that the bar was smaller than all thought; no more than the length of Slave I, and the same across. As expected, no one—not even a bartender—occupied the space.

Jango rolled various thoughts around in his mind, but let them all wash away as a voice came to their ears via ceiling-mounted intercoms. "Bring him to me…" it crackled, the ancient machine struggling under its labor. "Back room… s…door."

"Did you get that?" Zam inquired.

"He said, 'back room. Side door.'"

"Right," Zam said, not so sure he was.

"He's right," Dexter piped up. "There is only one door in the back, and nothing else besides and exit and janitors closet."

Zam's eyes narrowed; perhaps she expected a trap. "You sure?"

An odd tone came through Dexter's words. "How could I forget?"

When they opened the door as requested, the scene they saw was far different than what the bar reaveled. Fine cotton seats, wood-paneled walls, and art hung gleaming brightly in the dimly-lit room. Most eye-catching of all, however, was a intricately finished desk, at which sat the man whom had started this whole hunt: Flar Y'yas.

"Hello," the poorly-dressed man said. "I guess you're here for the collection on this bounty?"

Jango nodded. "That is correct."

"And double the normal pay," added Zam. "He is, after all, alive as requested. And without severe wounds."

Y'yas leaned across his desk to look closer at the defiant Jettster, who was now absent-mindedly struggling to get away. "Yes, he is, isn't he?"

The sleazy man leaned back into his seat. "Well, that's a shame, I'm afraid."

Jango lifted his chin. "Beg pardon?" He demanded.

"Yes, I can understand your anxiety, but you read the Wanted holo-screens wrong, I'm afraid." Y'yas opened up a panel on his desk and pulled one of the numerous duplicates out. "See?" he said, pointing to the label on the bottom. "It says dead only, 10,000 creds."

Jango picked the screen up, studied it a second, then handed it to Zam, who glanced over it twice. She keyed a few buttons, then set it back on the desk.

She nodded to Jango. "That's a fake, and not the kind of money we came to collect," she said nonchalantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's been altered since we got here."

"That's impossible," Y'yas insisted. "They're all the same, always have been."

Zam stared at him with

"I'm sorry, Y'yas," she said, her voice completely void of any remorse. "We can't accept those terms."

"Oh, well that's a shame…" Y'yas' fake pity-drenched words came back. "After all, you did go through all that trouble to bring Dexter here…."

Jango's eyes shot to Flar's barely moving hand, rummaging around inside a drawer. After a moment, it came out with a gun in it's grasp.

"And I'd hate to skip a payment," the sleazy human smiled, bringing the gun up in a combat position.

Jettster started, and took a step back.

"We won't let you kill him, Y'yas," Jango warned.

Y'yas leveled the gun at Jango's chest. "The gun's not for him, bounty hunter," he chuckled, and pulled the trigger.

Jango spun in his heel and dodged the blast, at the same time drawing his guns. Flar squeezed off a few more shots, but all of them missed or glanced off Jango's armor. Zam pulled Dexter to the floor with her, but couldn't get her blaster free in time.

But it was over all too quickly for Y'yas: Jango had his blaster to the human's chin before either knew what had happened.

"Stay put," Jango snapped. "And log the credits to our accounts."

"And be sure to double it…" Zam put in. "As requested."

Y'yas nodded fervently, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Fett."

Jango raised his chin. "I'm used to it," he replied.

As Zam and Jango walked back to Slave I, Zam asked a question.

"What do you think will happen to Jettster?"

"It is not my business to wonder," replied Jango. "But I think he's going to inherit that old café soon from a consistent drug user."

"Possibly…" muttered Zam. "And what about you? What's the next assignment you'll take?"

Jango stopped walking. "I haven't thought about it yet, Zam."

Zam lifted a corner of her mouth and narrowed her eyes. "I think I know."

Jango tilted his helmet. "You do?"

"Yeah," she said solidly. "I think your next assignment is your son."

Jango reached up to remove his helmet; sliding it off, he tucked it under his arm. "You know it's my son," he replied, looking Zam in the eyes.

A moment of silence.

Zam was the first to break it. "Take care of yourself, Jango," she commanded. "Maybe I'll take you up on your partnership offer next time."

She started walking away from him.

"Zam…" Jango called after her. "Do you need a ride home?"

Zam shook her head. "No… I'll rent a ship."

She walked away.

Jango let her.

It was good hunt.