Chapter 10

Fidel was still dazed about what had just occurred. When the Randian had run into him, it had surreptitiously shoved a small vibro-blade into his pocket before whispering in his ear that "A sufficient distraction will happen soon, with the purpose of misleading your captor. During that time this will enable you to free yourself." Fidel felt the reassuring weight of the vibro-blade in his pocket. Although he was 100 sure that he could slip the blade out unnoticed, the hard part would be turning it on. The slight hum that an activated vibro-blade made might be enough to alert the wary bounty hunter. Fidel clenched his jaw, determined that this time he would escape.

"Ah, good and gracious Sir! May I interest you in some of my goods? These are the very best of traps in all of Randia!" Boba shouldered past the elderly Randian, who was calling out her sales pitch in a whispery, throaty voice typical to all Randians. The Randian capital, Sliven, was very crowded, with silver-gray and blue bodies shoving past each other, each trying to get to their appointed designations on-time when they were already 10 minutes late. Boba shook his head, glad that he didn't have to go through this every time he went on a hunt. He was rudely jolted out of his thoughts by something slamming into the back of his helmet. Snapping into combat mode, he spun around, blaster raised—to face an irate-looking female Randian glaring up at him. The Randian in question barely reached his chest, but that didn't seem to deter her in the least. Lifting her cane, she brought it down solidly on Boba's helmet, shoulders, and any other place she could reach all the while screaming in a high-pitched voice, "I can't believe that you just did that, you Vronk! Get away from me, now! Didn't your Mother ever teach you manners!" Guess not, Boba thought angrily, before the elderly Randian stood up on the tips of her toes and grabbed hold of his helmet, shoving her face right in front of his, continuing to rant and rave. As if on cue, Randians from all sides started surging in around him, jostling him so much that he almost lost his grip on Masdon. With angry snarl he ripped his helmet away from the still-screaming female and tried to get a better hold on his merchandise.

This was it. His chance to escape. Fidel slowly brought his hands to his front pocket and reached in, straining a bit and hoping that Fett didn't notice. He could feel the cold handle of the vibro-blade brushing against his fingers. Thrusting his hand in a little deeper, he was finally able to grab it, albeit barely. Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies swarming in his stomach, he thumbed it on.

Boba froze. Something here wasn't right. (What, besides the fact that an insane old lady is trying to whack the brains out of him?) Every instinct was telling him to get out of there right now. Jerking out his blaster he pointed it skyward and fired three shots, simultaneously backpedaling and dragging Masdon with him.

Fidel had to give it to the Randians: what they lacked in brawn they more than made up for it in creativity. He couldn't have asked for a better distraction. Apparently the vibro-blade's hum didn't alert the bounty hunter. Al…most… there… Fidel started sawing at the ropes as vigorously as he could without being noticeable. Almost immediately they gave nicking his wrist in the process. But Fidel didn't even notice the pain.—he was too busy feeling the exhilaration of being free, from the ropes, and from Fett. Unfortunately, it was short lived. He suddenly felt himself falling backwards, and without thinking, he twisted around to try and stop his fall throwing his hands out in the process. He hit the ground hard, his fall being only partially broken. Knowing now that time was really of the essence, he scrambled up as quickly as he could, but was suddenly assaulted by little black dots dancing in his vision. Fortunately, as suddenly as the sensation had come, it was gone; only to be replaced by a black T- shaped visor staring at him. Wasting no time he charged, hoping to catch the hunter by surprise. No such luck. Fidel had always thought that he was an exceptional fighter. But to his surprise, and chagrin, Boba Fett was better. The bounty hunter waited until Fidel was right on top of him before sidestepping and booting Fidel behind the knees, causing his legs to buckle. Fidel's head pounded. He was done for; finished. He'd messed up his only chance of escape. Or not. With a deafening roar the Randian onlookers surged around Boba Fett nearly knocking him to the ground. Fidel felt himself being hauled up and gently pushed in the opposite direction of the hunter. Yelling a quick "thank you" Fidel shot off in the direction that he had been directed. This is a backwater planet, no one here's gonna take you off-planet. Fidel grimaced at the realization. As much as he hated it, he'd have to stick around for a while.

Boba was livid. According to the Randians, he'd just broken one of their laws. And soon, he was to be tried. Boba vaguely wondered what his punishment would be (not that he'd allow them to carry it out), since they didn't allow prisoners on their beloved planet.

"Excuse me?" The appointed judge looked at Boba calmly. "That is your sentence, Sir." The notorious Boba Fett had rarely, if ever had a conversation. But he had never been at a loss for words. Until now, that is. "That is a highly illogical way of dealing with crime," Boba hissed through clenched teeth. He had been prepared to hear what punishment he'd be given, but the judge's castigation completely floored him. "You find your punishment—unfair?" One of the jury asked quizzically. "But why? With our one-sentence-for-all-misdemeanors, our crime rate is the lowest in the galaxy."

"Well I wonder why," Boba said sarcastically. The judge raised his ring-adorned hand to stop any further comments. "We do not have the time for this. Fortunately your sentence will be carried out painlessly. Our scientists have developed a drug that will dispense of you as quickly and as comfortably as possible." Right. Boba grimaced inwardly at the repulsiveness of the idea. Death as the punishment for every type of crime, from the smallest of thefts, to the most grisly of murders. "Alright Mr. Fett, if you would just roll up your sleeve to here and relax you won't feel a thing." It looks about the right time for me to get out of here.

Great. Just great. Fidel sat on his wrecked land-speeder and fumed. Dang piece of junk. The machine had worked fine when he'd tested it at the rental shop. But now, roughly 40 kilometers from the city, it had decided to stop operating. Fidel had tried for the past few hours to try and fix it: but the problem was too great for Fidel's limited mechanical expertise. "Oh, for yelling out loud," Fidel muttered angrily, after glancing at the sky. To top everything off, it was getting dark. Force knows what creatures come out after dark on this sith forsaken planet...