"It's been rather quiet. Don't you think?" Storm commented to Péla. In his first month on Bandomeer, he'd already taken six bounties.
"Because you won't take anything that's not in this city. Besides, there was more last month than there has been in a while," she explained patiently.
"I know the ones off-planet pay better, but I still don't have a ship," he sighed.
"Public transport?" Péla suggested, and Storm gave her a flat, unimpressed look. "It's really not that bad!"
"My mother used to say that if you want to waste time and money and then get stranded on an awful planet because the next ships off for the next month and a half have been cancelled, then public transport is the way to go."
Péla squinted at him, her lekku twitching. "That sounds like… a very rare occurrence," she said finally.
"She said it happened to a lot of people she knew," Storm sniffed while he idly tapped his tattooed fingertips on the table.
"Maybe during the Clone Wars. Spaceports all over the galaxy were closed down by the Republic and the Separatists."
"But you can't deny that it's a waste of money and time," Storm said victoriously.
Péla shrugged, tilting her head, which Storm interpreted as 'so-so.' She held out a packet of dried bantha meat sticks to Storm and he happily plucked out a few. "If it helps you save up for a ship, it might be worth it."
She had a point.
He needed a ship and that was a priority, especially since he was still sleeping in a tent on a roof. Unfortunately, if he wanted something he could live in, he wouldn't be able to get a cheap starfighter. "I'll check," he decided.
"Corellian freighters tend to be pretty cheap second-hand," Péla commented.
"Huh. Yeah maybe." He chewed thoughtfully on the end of the stick.
"I'll dig out my Dad's old datapad for you to take a look at, he saved loads of stuff when he was younger. You take a look at the bounties."
"Thanks, Péla," Storm said, relieved.
Her lips thinned as she glanced down at the way he was talking with food in his mouth. "Hopefully you'll find a ship you like."
The wall in the corner had all the bounties behind a cloudy glass case, so nobody put up or took anything down without permission. Pulling up a chair next to it to stand on, he unlocked the case with the extra key.
Storm sorted through the holoprojectors, dismissing any that were too close to the core- too risky - or on the other side of the galaxy- too far.
He narrowed the pool down to Phindar and Arkania. Assassination jobs that paid handsomely. He ignored the reservations he had about them. If they turned out to be good people he would... change his mind? Could he do that? Storm wasn't sure. Besides, he didn't know these people, why should it matter? Especially if someone else would take the job instead. If they were bad people, wouldn't the galaxy be better off without them? The reasoning worked well enough. He chose the Arkania assassination because the other gave him an itchy feeling.
He copied the contact frequency into his datapad and typed out ' To whom it may concern, I would like to arrange a meeting to further discuss the specifications of the job on Arkania.'
Péla dropped by a couple minutes later with a datapad full of ship specs. On her way out, she waved goodbye, leaving him in charge of the empty cantina for a while.
'My droid will meet you at the Vali Cantina in one hour, ' the new message read.
He shrugged to himself and typed back 'Okay.' Leaving the chat option, he scooped Péla's father's datapad up to continue his search, drawn to MandalMotor's sleek designs and weapons systems.
An hour later, the door to the cantina opened and sunlight poured in, no longer that shade of burnt orange that the stained glass windows made it. The droid that entered, with two ear-like protrusions sticking up from its spherical head, scanned the room. Upon not seeing anybody but Storm it bounced its way over to him on stubby legs.
"Are you 'Elve'?" it squeaked.
What? Storm wondered. "Is this regarding Arkania?"
"Yes. The message is for Elve, is this you?"
Storm was the only one that had access to the bounty from this cantina and it was the right time so presumably… "I'm Elve." He didn't know how or why, but he was going to roll with it.
"The price is up for discussion with my employer, if you wish to request alterations you must inform him within the next six hours. In two days, you will be leaving with him for Arkania. All details you need to know now are provided on the holovid." It held out a palm-sized holoprojector and, taking it, Storm puzzled over what alterations the price could take.
He asked this and the droid's long neck tilted as if thinking. "The current job is worth forty thousand. If there is something equivalent to that price, The Employer has many contacts and will likely be able to get it far more easily than a simple bounty hunter," it said, uncaring that it had called Storm 'simple.'
"What like… a used Lancer Class Pursuit Craft by MandalMotors?" joked Storm, saying the first thing that sprung to mind.
"Transmitting now…."
"Wait- What?" Storm yelped, half-slipping off his seat. "That was a-" joke .
"The Employer believes that a used Lancer Class Pursuit Craft by MandalMotors may be possible."
Storm gaped at it, flabbergasted.
"Would you like this to be your alteration?" the droid asked.
"Uhh... yes?"
"The updated terms have been transmitted to The Employer. He will see you in two days. Goodbye, Elve." The droid turned and bounced its way out of the cantina.
Storm was still feeling very out of touch with reality. What had just happened? And who the hell was Elve ? He gazed down at the holoprojector in his hand, searching for answers in the cold grey metal. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he should check the message he sent to The Employer. Sure enough, the message that he sent didn't just say 'okay' it said 'okay elv' . He glared at the low-quality screen. For a moment, he was tempted to send another message to correct the mistake. Frowning, he decided that code names could be considered cool. Loads of bounty hunters had them. Besides, Elve might even be a good option.
As a precaution, he played the message on the roof. His worries were not unfounded. As soon as the message ended, it exploded. He found out that he was getting a ride there because craft entry and exit from Arkania were heavily regulated, so no unpleasant public transport experiences.
The next morning Storm told his regular employers about the bounty and the ship.
"Maybe I should become a bounty hunter," Cersei mused, tapping her chin. Her act fell apart a second later when she started giggling.
"Wow! That's brilliant, Storm! A stroke of incredible luck, for sure," marvelled Péla. "You have the next few days off, of course. Or until whenever you get back," she added.
He had to deliver some breakfast to customers but they all congregated at the back of the bar a little while later.
"Make sure you buy everything you need," Péla reminded him, "warm clothes, scarf, hat, boots… and gloves- gloves are very important."
Storm wasn't convinced Péla believed he was an adult anymore.
"And be careful. If your employer starts to seem suspicious or something goes wrong, get out of there immediately," Cersei warned. "Money isn't as important as keeping yourself safe, there will always be other bounties."
He nodded along with the advice, feeling a warm tingle at their kindness.
He arrived at the agreed meeting place ten minutes early just in case. A ship was on the platform but Storm wasn't sure where the Employer was, so he hung back at the top of the spiral staircase.
Footsteps echoed from below, and he turned. A brown-skinned human with dark hair greying at the temples emerged from the stairway. The man didn't look dangerous, at least not in the sense that he would be able to beat Storm in a fight.
"Elve! It's good to meet you," the man said, holding a hand out to shake and Storm took it, noticing the manicured nails and smooth hands. His clothes were pressed and professional, which also seemed to apply to everything about him. He cared for appearances, then.
"I never got your name?" Storm prompted.
"You can call me Mag," he replied, releasing Storm's hand. "Follow me." He led Storm to his ship, some kind of yacht, and up the ramp. Mag sported a bit of a belly, accentuated by the odd placement of his belt. A fashion trend among the wealthy, Storm guessed.
"Nice ship," Storm commented automatically. His mother had been very particular about politeness. Unless it was about Vivienne, his older sister who steadfastly refused to have a sense of decorum in protest of the rules.
"Thank you. I understand that the payment is very important to you bounty hunters," Mag said. "So I made sure that I do have a contact that can get a Lancer Class Pursuit Craft for you. It was slightly modified by its old owner, from what I was told, but it works as well as a brand new one."
"That's awesome, I appreciate it a lot. To be honest, it seemed too good to be true."
"I have many connections," Mag boasted in a sly tone.
Storm smiled politely. This was bizarre.
Mag sat Storm down at a large table while he went to the front for take-off. It was a comfy couch, at least. Storm was forced to sit in silence and observe the decorations around him. Frivolous, he decided with a grimace after seeing a statue of a spider with the head of a tooka.
Mag returned to where he left Storm after the jump, once again signalling his entrance with the clicks of his shoes. He sat himself down on the couch opposite Storm.
"I'm sorry I couldn't give you all of the information at the beginning. The target is fairly well known so I couldn't risk too much getting out about this job. Her name is Prim Govis and I need her taken out. Killed. She will be taking a hover tram from Kobik station at two PM local time. During that time, I will be in a meeting." During the briefing, Mag had projected a rotating image of the target. She was human. Long, dark brown hair flowed down her back in artful curls. Her eyes were sharp and piercing.
Mag leaned forward and met Storm's eyes through the hologram. "Understood?"
"Yes. You need an... alibi. To avoid suspicion. Because you're enemies?"
"Of a sort."
"What... what did she do?" he asked hesitantly, glancing at the angry wrinkles that seemed to be a permanent fixture on the woman's face. He had to know. At the same time, he knew that one of the first rules of the job was to not ask questions.
For a second, he looked at Storm silently, assessing. "Govis is a criminal of the worst sort. Responsible for the murders of dozens of innocents," Mag explained, tacking on, "children."
Oh. In that case...
"Would you like to play a game of dejarik?" Mag asked out of the blue, a complete change from his earlier seriousness.
"Sure, but fair warning, I haven't played since… '67, I believe," Storm said, readjusting quickly, as the new hologram flickered to life.
"5 years? I don't think I could go that long without dejarik," Mag laughed, "it's my favourite game."
They played a few rounds, all but one of which Storm lost. Fortunately, Mag was a good sport and occasionally hummed lightly when Storm was about to make a bad move.
"Well played," Storm said. They shook hands over the board.
"With a bit more practice you'd be quite good, Elve. Perhaps we'll play again next time we cross paths," Mag said. Storm faltered slightly at 'next time,' but he brushed it off as a friendly kind of phrasing.
"Thanks. I'll do that."
"I'd better leave you to prepare your things. We're dropping out of hyperspace in half an hour. Local time is…'' he checked his watch, "...nine AM. You'll need to leave out of the hatch on the other end of the ship."
"Gotcha."
He spent a fair amount of time in a store searching for a hat that would hide his horns. While what he found wasn't quite what he had in mind, it was lumpy enough that any hint of horn tips were hidden by atrocious design. It didn't hide his forehead as much as he would've liked. Having two lightning-shaped tattoos on one's forehead did make you look rather distinct.
"Dropping now!" Mag called. Storm grabbed the edge of a seat as the ship jerked slightly.
About ten minutes later Mag was landing the ship and Storm was zipping his coat up. He appeared back in the doorway and said, "The second exit is this way."
They went to the back of the ship where Mag pressed a few buttons and a hatch opened in the floor, blasting frigid air inside.
"Nice hat," Mag commented, "did you make it?"
"... Thanks. And I think that I would quit knitting if I had made this."
"Crochet, actually. I have some friends who use it as a pastime. My ma used to knit, though, she was quite talented with the needles. Once, she prevented a break-in with those needles." Mag smiled distantly, caught up in memories.
"What time should I meet you here?" Storm asked, ignoring Mag's little bout of over-sharing.
"Let's say… four PM."
"See you then." Storm slipped through the hatch, landing on icy ground.
As the ship above sealed off, he took a look around. People were going about their day nearby, none the wiser to the stowaway that had snuck onto their planet. Over the edge of the platform, all he could see was a medium-sized starfighter. No people.
Silently, he dropped down onto the lower level.
At exactly ten AM, he arrived at Kobik Station. High-rise buildings loomed around him, and people smoked and chatted by the benches. An old, homeless woman was curled under a blanket. That was what told him that this place wasn't actively monitored. The Arkanian Government banned homeless people from outdoor public places years ago. Whether it was motivated by a dislike of the homeless or because they wanted to keep them from freezing to death outside, Storm didn't know. What he did know, however, was that the authorities were always quick to move them someplace warmer.
Biting his lip, he studied the area. The cream-coloured building north of the station would be the best option; good vantage and, easy escape. The train on the tracks wouldn't be in the way either.
Storm didn't want to get caught by the police, which would be the result of not locating the cameras in the area. The two he found didn't feel like enough, so he closed his eyes and breathed.
Reaching out into the Force had always been harder for him than it was for his siblings. He could handle the physical aspects of the Force fine... but letting go of emotions and existing solely in the moment? That was a struggle. More so now than usual. He would need to let go of his reservations about Govis. The woman was a bad person, as Mag said, but Storm still couldn't shake the feeling that killing her wasn't right. Did it need to be right for him to do it? Was money more important than taking a life he didn't care about?
Why should he feel anything about it?
He stayed like that for a while, meditating in a corner of the station.
If he decided not to kill Govis, he could hitch a ride on a freighter off-planet. But that would likely mean that he would have to leave Bandomeer, to avoid Mag, he didn't want to do that yet. He still didn't have a ship and he had to confess that he rather liked Péla's well-meaning attempts to help him finish his bounties and Cersei's veiled fretting over his safety.
The thing was, Storm was no stranger to killing. On Agamar, someone had died by his hand in the fighting ring. He'd killed others too… out of desperation and fear.
Suddenly, he snapped to awareness. There. Storm saw the third camera; it was well disguised. He concluded all the cameras were pointing at the station itself, and not the buildings around it. Perfect.
He got out the pieces of his A280-CFE blaster and put them together. Its adaptable configuration meant that it could function as a sniper rifle. He still had no idea how the dealer let him walk off with it. Were you allowed to sell guns to kids?
Two o'clock was fast approaching by the time he was ready. Storm scanned the station below for Prim Govis through the scope of the rifle. There she was, with her long dark hair and black winter coat. He flicked the safety off, feeling his hearts pounding faster than usual in his chest as the adrenaline kicked in. Adrenaline and something jittery and apprehensive that he didn't want to poke. Now wasn't the time to be having second thoughts.
Storm squinted through the scope, focusing on pushing emotion away like any good Jedi-trained individual should, and lined up the shot. On the other hand, Jedi-trained individuals were meant to appreciate the value of life.
He pulled the trigger. The bolt streaked towards Govis.
It connected directly with her head. The plasma left a smoking crater behind. It took a few, slow, breathless seconds for her to collapse like her strings had been cut. He couldn't hear her body hit the ground, but he felt as her quiet presence vanished.
Shouts and ear-piercing screams echoed from below and Storm's muscle control returned in a wave. He pulled back from the edge. Too late, though.
Somebody screamed, "Up there!"
He felt a swooping in his stomach. Eyes widening, he backed away further. Storm ran for the other side of the roof, unscrewing parts of the rifle and shoving them into pockets. And took a running jump off the edge, onto the next roof.
Security droids would soon be rallying together. He continued sprinting, his awareness of anything that wasn't a priority blurring away.
The whirring of flying droids started up behind him. Storm checked over his shoulder. They were closing in.
Blaster bolts struck the ground at his heels and he dodged out of the way a few, jumping to the next roof. He pulled out the blaster pistol from where it was tucked away and took a wild shot. It clipped something. Nothing hit the ground.
He leapt for the next roof, twisting in the air and took two shots. Two droids went down.
Rolling backwards as he hit the ground, he sprung back up on his hands- dodging a few bolts- and twisted. Storm kept going, his muscles burning from the prolonged sprint.
Two droids left and hopefully, their reinforcements wouldn't find him. Sensing a bolt heading for his back, he dodged over it in a backflip, returning the shot midair with one of his own. The third droid fell too.
He jumped to the next roof.
Storm spun and took the final shot, sliding across a section of ice and towards a ledge as he did.
His bolt hit just as he fell over the edge. Falling off a roof wasn't part of the plan, he thought as he plummeted.
"Kriff…" muttered Mag under his breath in a domed building with blaster-proof, floor-to-ceiling windows. He watched as a small figure leapt and ran across rooftops.
Next to Mag sat a lady dressed in an exquisite red pantsuit. Rich, yes. But more importantly, she was dangerous.
She, too, watched as the humanoid made a jump and took a shot that toed the line of impossibility. And she knew those limits well, having both studied and challenged them.
"Do you know them, Maggrax?" she murmured to him. Nobody else noticed, too absorbed in their drinks and idle conversations.
"Of course not," he replied, trying for nonchalance.
The Lady catalogued his reaction carefully as she unconsciously traced the scar tissue on her inner wrist. She turned her eyes back to the figure as they disappeared from the edge of the roof.
"Hello Mag," said Storm, leaning against the luxury craft, having arrived minutes before. After some minutes spent behind a dumpster, stripping out of his warm clothes and shoving them into a makeshift bag, he emerged, shivering, to make his way back to the ship without being stopped by the police. "Shall we go pick up my ship now?"
"I- yes. Sure. Let's go." Mag clicked up the ramp ahead of him.
It sounded like annoyed clicking, Storm thought with an amused frown.
"That was risky!" Mag hissed when the ship door closed. "You could've been caught. I hired you for discretion, Elve."
Storm narrowed his eyes.
"You didn't, actually. You hired me so you wouldn't be implicated in a murder. And you won't be. Yeah, I got seen. So what? The job was completed successfully," Storm bit out through a faux smile. He clenched his fists to stop a growl from creeping into his voice, it did things to people's perception of him.
"Very well." With that Mag turned and walked to the front.
He didn't come back for a while.
Storm felt the ship jerk as they jumped to hyperspace and flopped down onto the couch. A wave of tiredness hit him as all the adrenaline finally wore off. Today was, for a lack of better word, scary. Disastrous fit too. He could compartmentalise at the moment, sure, but right now that was all spilling back out. The thought that he could've been stuck in jail on a completely different planet for the rest of his life was terrifying.
Storm couldn't half-ass things off Bandomeer, especially not when it was illegal. Bandomeer was relatively safe and the risk of getting arrested was miniscule. Out here, in big cities? In the galaxy? Not safe. His plan today was crap. He should've ricocheted the bullet off a magnet. He should've had an escape plan that wasn't 'run.' And most of all, he needed to let go of the confidence that things would go right for him just because they had before. It was reckless, and if he wasn't careful, it would get him killed.
It wasn't only that, though. Storm found that after that shot was fired, he stopped caring entirely. Maybe he was better at tossing his emotions away than he was at examining them. He had taken a woman's life and yet... It made him feel like the merciless soldier his mother wanted him to be.
Mag finally returned. "We'll be there in an hour," he said. Softer now than earlier. Storm supposed he must look a bit pitiful, sprawled out on the couch. He squirmed his way into a proper sitting position.
"Dejarik?" Storm offered.
"How about sabacc? We can bet candy. You need more practice at Dejarik," Mag said. He tossed a packet of sweets at Storm.
"Works for me," Storm shrugged. Betting real money never was a good idea for him. Usually that ended with him losing all his savings to his little sister. He allowed himself a moment to wonder how she was before he shoved the thought away.
They played a few rounds. Storm had won four and lost one by the time the ship gave a warning beep that it was dropping from hyperspace. Mag went back up to the front after saying the customary, "Well played," while Storm munched on his winnings.
"There she is!" the ship dealer, Verrin, declared. She gestured dramatically towards a red and silver lancer class pursuit craft. The ship was shaped like a disc and had two cylindrical engines mounted on either side. Sleek and dangerous.
"Wow!" Storm gaped. It looked like it could be brand new.
"Come on. You can have a test drive," she said, grinning.
Would now be a good time to mention he didn't actually have a licence? Nah . He'd get one eventually… maybe on Corellia where nobody actually cared that much about laws. Besides, he could pilot just fine, his mother had taught him.
Storm got to take the ship for a loop around the city before he had to bring it back. There were rules against testing the hyperdrive- it was technically stealing- but Verrin showed him that all the gauges were in the right range. Upon getting out he told Mag that the ship was perfect.
Money transferred hands and Mag waved goodbye to Storm as he left.
Storm boarded his new ship and prepared for launch. He ran the preflight checks- which he promised Verrin he wouldn't neglect- and when everything seemed to be in order he took off and began putting in coordinates for Bandomeer.
Hopefully, he didn't run into any imperials that would ask for his licence, he thought as he pushed the lever to accelerate to hyperspace.
With controlled, measured steps, Deram Xanthos glided into the meeting room. His client was wealthy and introduced to him through mutual Imperial acquaintances. Bron Govis was a sickly-looking man. With thin, pale skin that had Xanthos flexing the claw-like fingers of his metal arm, thinking of how easy it would be to tear his throat out.
"Govis," he said. Courtesy of the implanted vocoder, his voice was a low buzz.
"Deram."
His claws twitched at the presumption. "The target, if you please," Xanthos held out his tan flesh hand expectantly.
"They murdered my sister, I want them dead. I want them to suffer. Do you understand?"
Xanthos wiggled his fingers, waiting for the bounty puck. Govis gave it to him, the holo image already projected. There wasn't much to go on. Blue eyes shone up at him, surrounded by black tattoos. Red-grey skin on the nose and either side of the target's eyes. An ugly hat covered the forehead and a mask was pulled over the lower half of their face. Hm.
"Give me access to the Arkania Street cameras," Xanthos demanded.
"Done."
"Perfect. I will bring this murderer to… justice," he drawled.
By the next morning, Xanthos had a tattooed, red-skinned zabrak to update his bounty puck's image. More importantly, he had the ship codes of Maggrax Miller, who transported the criminal off-planet.