Chapter 9 - Bounty
Few days earlier…
Max Daxer hated Coruscant, especially the Underworld. It was a cesspit of vice and violence. The loud constant noise, the eternal darkness, the pervasive stench, and the relentless crowds made his skin crawl and his nerves fray. He wasn't a fan of working for the Pykes either, but a job was a job. They had put a bounty on this 'Blur' guy, a vigilante who had been making their lives increasingly difficult as of late. Whoever came up with that name needs to visit a psych ward, Max thought.
He didn't care much for the Syndicates either, but the credits were worth it. Even he had to get his hands dirty sometimes and feel his pulse race faster than seventy beats per minute. This job sounded more interesting than most at least. Besides, he could use the reward for a much-needed vacation somewhere on a tropical planet with a mild climate, one preferably not yet bombarded to dust by this ridiculous war.
Yawning, Max stepped off his ship, the Beast, into the grimy, rain-soaked Level 1991. How quaint, he noted, surveying the depressing view. Buildings that were eaten by rust and a breeze away from collapsing, blinding neon lights of all colors of the spectrum flashing not on purpose but due to lack of maintenance. And that acrid smell of toxic fumes and garbage as he inhaled. He took a last glance at his vessel over his shoulder.
"Stay put," he muttered to the ship as if it could hear him.
Nobody could pinpoint the Beast's exact make, it was most likely a fully custom craft. Max had taken it off the hands of a corrupt governor a long time ago, who made one too many enemies while lining his own pockets. Its exterior was scarred from countless battles, and showed its age, but it was fast, agile, and packed a punch—much like Max himself.
A DUM-series pit droid approached him and started beeping about the fares of the dock and that payment had to be made in advance.
"Are you kriffin' kidding me, you bucket?" Max grumbled at the exorbitant amount. The droid just nodded with a few more beeps. Max sighed and reached into his pocket, rummaging for a few chips.
"Here," he tossed them over to the droid, "this should cover a few days."
Just arrived and already a few credits shorter. Blast.
Max adjusted the collar of his weathered coat, pulling it tighter against the cold, damp air as he left the dock. His dark brown eyes took in the surroundings, taking in every detail. Years of experience had honed his senses, making him hyper-aware of the smallest things others might overlook. He noticed the two Devaronians lurking nearby, scanning the crowd for a weak target. The telltale bulges beneath their trench coats revealed hidden blasters, ready for a mugging. Petty criminals, no more. He had more important things to worry about.
He recalled the brief he had read in hyperspace on his way to Coruscant. The 'Blur' was no ordinary vigilante, he was a larger specimen from a bipedal race, capable of impressive physical feats. Or at least that was what the rumor mill was saying. So far, the Blur had dismantled a slave trade ring, aided shopkeepers struggling with extortion, and even disrupted a major spice shipment—an act that had particularly infuriated the Pykes. Each of these actions had not only undermined the Syndicate's operations, but also emboldened the local populace, stirring up more trouble for the criminal organization and its various interests.
The Blur's interference with the spice shipment was the tipping point. The Pykes' eyes were now laser-focused on eliminating this thorn in their side. The vigilante's intervention had cost the Pykes dearly, not just in credits but in reputation. Annoyingly, the Blur had managed to avoid being seen clearly. No one could definitively say if he was human or one of the countless races that could pass as a robed, imposing figure.
Given his memo, Max had a hunch that this guy had to be an idealist—extremely naive, and that also meant he was easy to trap with the right plan. Or the very least trace. Tales of the Blur's impossibly fast reflexes and incredible strength sounded far-fetched, but Max had his own theories forming that could explain those too. But he was getting ahead of himself.
He crossed the street and walked past a cantina near the docks. Although a couple of pints of Corellian ale were tempting, Max knew he had little time before other bounty hunters would show up. He needed to be quick about this, even if the investigation itself took longer. To Max, putting together clues and solving investigations was like assembling a puzzle in his mind, each piece clicking into place with satisfying precision. The thrill of the chase, the electric pulse of discovery, was what he loved most. It was a game he relished, and every solved mystery was a victory that kept him hungry for more. A buzz like no other.
While walking, he briefly consulted his holomap to see the nearby locations of reported Blur activity and sightings. One of the shops the vigilante helped out with extortion was nearby. He decided it might help to get a first-hand account of one of the Blur's missions.
Max approached the dilapidated pawn shop, 'Gree's Grabs,' its sign flickering erratically, casting a spectral glow on the damp pavement. Inside, the air was redolent of oil and aged metal, each bent shelf overburdened with relics of past lives—holo-projectors, worn-out blasters, faded garments and countless droid and other parts.
The Rodian shopkeeper eyed Max with a mix of curiosity and caution as he entered. "Welcome to Gree's Grabs, find your treasure," the owner said.
Max smiled thinly, his gaze sweeping over the clutter. "Actually, I'm here on a different sort of treasure hunt," he began, leaning casually against the counter and dropping a few credit chips. Just change for now. "Heard a specter's been floating around here. Calls himself the Blur."
Gree's antennae twitched, his skin shifting to a deeper shade of green. "Ah, yes, the Blur," he murmured, glancing nervously around the shop. "Came through like a whirlwind, he did. Those gang thugs didn't stand a chance."
"Tell me exactly what happened," Max prompted, his voice low and inviting. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"Well," Gree started, his voice gaining confidence, "it was late, just about closing time. These goons—they come in demanding their filthy credits every month. Protection, they call it. Then, out of nowhere, this figure appears—dressed all in robes that hide most of him, moves like nothing I've ever seen."
Max's interest piqued, he asked, "How did he disarm them?"
"Like he was part of the shadows, he was," Gree explained, his hands mimicking the motion. "One moment, they were sneering, the next, sprawled on the floor, wondering what hit them. Their weapons," he chuckled, "scattered across the floor like spilled dice."
"And after the commotion?" Max pressed on.
Gree shook his head. "Didn't see much after that. I ducked behind here," he patted the counter, "safety first, you know. But when I peeked up, he was gone. Vanished like a ghost. I couldn't even say thank you. Those thugs haven't been around since. I heard they are trying to find the guy."
"Any ideas of his species?" Max queried.
Gree shrugged, "He seemed human-like to me, though shorter and broader than most I've seen. But that speed... not normal, not normal at all."
Max thanked Gree, flipping a few more credit chips onto the counter. "For your troubles," he said with a wink, stepping out into the misty air of Coruscant's underbelly.
Outside, Max paused to record everything in his datapad. Gree's account confirmed that the Blur was more than just a thorn in the Pykes' side, he was a force to be reckoned with.
His mouth felt as dry as the deserts of Tatooine. With a sigh, he decided to head back to the cantina near the docks for that much-needed ale he'd been craving since landing. It would also give him a chance to sort out his thoughts and potentially eavesdrop on some local gossip.
As he came around the building again, he noticed the sign above the door simply read Thirsty Dock.
Very imaginative, he thought wryly, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he pushed the door open. The cantina buzzed with life, its tables mostly occupied by a colorful array of aliens and humans. Droids wheeled between the patrons, delivering drinks and the occasional snacks. The noise was deafening, with many patrons already drunk and shouting over each other. Max scanned the room, his eyes settling on a table in one of the corners. From there, he could easily observe most of the cantina while remaining close to the exit, ready to leave when he'd had his fill of the rowdy atmosphere.
He took a seat at his chosen table, and a droid promptly came around.
"Welcome to the Thirsty Dock. What can I get you?" the droid asked in a mechanical voice.
"Corellian ale. Make it a big pint," Max ordered. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out his datapad, setting it on the table and tapping on it with a finger. The drink arrived in a matter of seconds, and he thought how impressive the service was, despite the place being in literal hell. He took a sip and felt the cold, fresh drink rejuvenate his mind and dry mouth. With one big gulp, he was already halfway through the pint.
Max looked around the cantina. In the neighboring booth, a group of humans were laughing about some Twi'lek dancers they enjoyed the last time they were out like today. From their attire and gear, Max deduced they were pilots, or more likely smugglers. Perhaps even employed by the Pykes too, he thought.
On the other side, two Sullustans were close to falling asleep. Their table was cluttered with empty cups, and their words were gibberish and not any language Max knew. He met a Sullustan before and even that one could never hold his liquor. Idiots.
In another booth, three humans huddled over their drinks, attempting to keep their conversation private. Max narrowed his eyes and focused on one of their mouths, relying on his skill in lip-reading. While he couldn't catch every word, he managed to grasp the main points. They were discussing a scheme to rip off some Clone Wars refugees by offering false promises of relocation to more prosperous worlds, only to take their money and disappear with the credits. It sounded like the kind of operation that might draw the Blur's attention. Interesting.
Max picked up his datapad and meticulously reviewed his notes. The Blur was a large figure, possibly human, and likely young and idealistic—intent on tipping the scales and aiding those in need in a place where one good deed often led to two wrongs. His inhuman speed and capabilities reminded Max of a certain group of monks turned generals in the Clone Wars, raising suspicions about the Blur's origins. The vigilante primarily operated in the docks' neighborhood on Level 1991, with most sightings occurring at night on three days of the week. Today happened to be one of those days. Max might just get lucky.
He ordered another ale and kept a close eye on the shady group. If he followed them from a fine distance and the Blur showed, he might be able to track him to his lair.
Max lingered in the dark, the night wrapping around him like a well-worn cloak as he traced the steps of the gang known to exploit the vulnerable. They moved with the casual arrogance of predators among sheep, their path taking them deeper into the labyrinth of Coruscant's underworld, to a sector where the air hung heavy with despair—the refuge of those fleeing the scars of war.
As they neared a ramshackle settlement, a desperate huddle of makeshift shelters clung to each other like drowning sailors. They were there to collect their pound of flesh, the credits squeezed from the last hopes of refugees. Max watched from a distance, huddled into the corner of an alley, his presence nothing more than a whisper against the backdrop of murmuring voices and distant sirens.
The few thugs came up to one of the tents and began painting a rosy picture for a family of four, promising them passage to a lush garden world if they paid a deposit in advance. They assured the family that they would return the next day to smuggle them off Coruscant and away from the war.
However, their scheme was interrupted when refugees from nearby shacks appeared.
"It's you again? You promised us passage off-world!" one man shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of broken promises. "When are we leaving? You've stolen everything!" cried another woman, her hands clenched in helpless rage.
"Did you ever plan to help us, or did you just need our money?" another person chimed in.
The refugees swarmed around the thugs like a storm surge, their voices a tapestry of fear and fury. Kriffing amateurs, Max thought, shaking his head. He noticed a strange flash in his peripheral vision.
Cornered by their own deceit, the gang turned to flee, their faces masks of fear as they scrambled for an escape. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
As they spun around, a figure materialized from almost nothingness—the Blur. Cloaked in the anonymity of his robes, he moved with the grace of a ghost. With swift, deft movements, he incapacitated the thugs, his hands instruments of retribution that left the criminals crumpled on the ground like discarded playthings.
In a fluid motion, the Blur reclaimed the stolen credits, his hands dipping into the thieves' pockets with ease. He then turned to the gathered crowd, distributing the credits back into the trembling hands of the rightful owners.
Watching him in action, Max felt his earlier theory confirmed. There was no way this was just an ordinary person, he had to be a Jedi. What the kriff was a Jedi doing here, when they were out in the galaxy leading clones to battles? he asked himself.
Max, observing the unfolding drama, knew this was his moment. He cracked his neck and slipped into the character of a drunk passerby. As the Blur turned to disappear into the night once more, Max stepped forward, positioning himself with calculated precision. Their paths collided seemingly by chance, a simple pedestrian mishap in the darkened street.
"Watch where you goin'," Max grumbled, his voice the perfect blend of drunk carelessness, as he subtly affixed a small tracking device to the edge of the vigilante's robe. The device, no larger than a button, clung to the fabric, ready to whisper the location ping to Max's datapad.
With the tracker in place, Max didn't allow himself the luxury of allowing the Blur to completely disappear; instead, he followed immediately, blending into the environment like a chameleon droid. He kept his distance, careful to use the cover of darkness to mask his pursuit. The Blur moved rapidly, darting between alleys and leaping over obstacles with supernatural ease, and Max had to admit he was struggling to keep up. He checked his datapad as he lost sight of the vigilante, the red dot getting farther away. Max slowed his pace, eyes fixed on the screen as he tracked its movement.
Eventually, the dot slowed down. Max burst into a sprint, quickly closing the gap between them. As he peeked around the last corner, he saw a similarly built figure removing his hood just as he approached a cantina called The Rusty Blaster. The figure glanced around before stepping inside, the light from the pub's sign revealing his face. He's just a kid, Max realized, seeing his boyish features on a body that looked more mature. This whole bounty got a little too complicated for his liking.
The revelation sent ripples through the still waters of his conscience, disturbing the sediment of his usually unshakeable resolve. Here was this youth, barely a man, navigating the Underworld not for profit but to cast light in places that had seen too much darkness. Foolish and naive, but commendable.
Max's gaze lingered on the flickering sign of The Rusty Blaster, its erratic light like the pulse of a dying star. It was like the doubts in his own heart, the questions that suddenly loomed larger in the dim light of his revelations. How could he, in good conscience, drag a boy trying to mend a fractured world to those who would likely break him?
In a way, it reminded him of his own youth, when he was still believing the galaxy could be a better place and he could make a difference. Since then, Max lost that faith, but he wasn't sure he wanted to shatter it for someone else.
Drawing a deep breath that tasted of rain and regret, Max pulled out his datapad, the screen illuminating his features with its pale light. He began to type, each tap a hammer strike shaping the iron of his thoughts. Jedi weren't supposed to be down here, mingling with the refuse of the galaxy, yet here the boy was.
Max pocketed the datapad after he recorded his new clues and stared at the cantina's entrance, a gateway to answers he wasn't sure he wanted. Collecting a bounty on a kid trying to right the countless wrongs of this forsaken level of the city didn't sit well with him.
The dilemma coiled around his thoughts like the vines in the jungles of Kashyyyk. Was he to be the hunter who cornered the Blur? Or was there a different path, a way to weave through the ethical thicket that had sprouted around him?
Max leaned back, the cold of the wall seeping through his coat. This bounty had become a mirror, reflecting parts of himself he had long ignored—a warrior's heart beating beneath the grumpy bounty hunter's armor.
With a reluctant sigh, he made a decision that felt like stepping back from a precipice. He would observe, wait, and learn more. This kid, this 'Blur', had a story worth understanding before it was ended or sold to the highest bidder. Maybe, just maybe, there was something here that didn't have to end with a capture or a kill. But if not him, there would be someone else coming for the vigilante.
Over the next few days, Max did just what he planned—paid close attention. He frequented The Rusty Blaster regularly, picking up bits of information from the Twi'lek bartender about the young Jedi. The Blur's name was Edric Kane, and he had arrived roughly a month ago as a companion of a Bith. Since then, he had been working and living at the cantina as a favor to the alien from the Dowutin owner. On the side, he was fighting in an underground brawling ring for extra credits.
A few conflicting thoughts nagged at Max. A Jedi engaging in brawling matches wasn't something their Order would approve of, so Edric was either deep undercover or had left the Order. Intrigued, Max attended one of Edric's matches after learning this information and was impressed by how well the kid concealed his Jedi abilities during the fights. Edric didn't use the same powers he employed on the streets, clearly trying to avoid suspicion. Even though he was naive, he wasn't completely stupid at least.
Max decided he would go and see Edric's next fight too, even though the arena with the bloodthirsty spectators made his skin crawl every time he stepped foot in it. The place was a cavern of shadows and raw excitement, its walls echoing with the roars of an eager audience. Max found a spot among the crowd, his keen eyes scanning the gritty pit below where fighters met their fate. By the time he arrived, the medical droids were pulling away an unconscious Zabrak back to the lockers.
The air was thick, heavy with the heat of bodies pressed close in the crude amphitheater. It was like stepping into the belly of some great beast, its breath a cacophony of shouts and jeers. Max leaned against a corroded railing, scanning from a vantage point, his presence masked by the anonymity of the crowd, just another face lit by the flickering lights that struggled against the perpetual gloom. The next match was starting, and the announcer mentioned the names. Edric's was one of them.
Below, the fighters slowly emerged. Edric entered the ring with a seemingly calm demeanor, next to him, the towering Gigoran he faced—a mountain of muscle and fur that moved with surprising grace for its size. Well, that ain't fair, he noted in thought. A Gigoran was stronger than any humans. Even if Edric had a plan, Max wouldn't have bet on him winning without showing a bit more of his Jedi self. Max's gaze narrowed as he observed Edric's stance, the careful positioning of his feet, the alert tilt of his head. The crowd erupted as the match began, a tidal wave of noise crashing against the confines of the arena. Max watched without moving a muscle, though annoyed by the constant bumps and pushes from the cheering throng.
Max's analytical mind cataloged every move. Edric was quick, darting in and out of the Gigoran's reach with the agility of a seasoned fighter. His strikes were precise, aimed at vulnerabilities that were hard to protect. Yet, the Gigoran absorbed the blows without a flinch, his own attacks sweeping out with the force of a landspeeder. Max could appreciate the skill, the raw physical poetry of the combat. Edric's movements grew slightly more desperate, his attacks tinged with urgency. Something was off.
Out of nowhere, Edric faltered, and descended onto his knees. It was like something took a hold of him from the inside. A brief hesitation, but it was enough. The Gigoran seized the opportunity, his massive hand clamping around Edric like a vise. With a deft movement, he hurled Edric towards the ray shields that lined the ring.
The impact was audible, a sickening thud that drew a collective gasp from the crowd. Max's heart lurched as he saw Edric's body crumpling to the ground, the electrocution releasing acrid smoke in the arena that tingled Max's throat. The Gigoran stood victorious above the boy.
Max frowned. That didn't seem to be a normal occurrence. The moment hung suspended, the crowd's roar dimming to a murmur of concern and disbelief. Max pushed off the railing, his mind racing. Something had distracted Edric, something potent enough to seep into his senses and throw him off his game. As the medical team rushed to attend to the boy, Max blended into the crowd and quickly left the arena.
In the backstreet, he waited for the kid to emerge from the building. As he did, Max proceeded to follow him again just from far enough to blend into the usual crowd of Level 1991. His eyes never left the figure staggering ahead—the young fighter, whose shoulders slumped under the weight of defeat and something far heavier.
The boy's pace was erratic, the cadence of a man grappling with unseen spirits. Max continued to tail him through the serpentine alleys when a sharp crackle of commotion sliced through the usual din of the city. They approached a public viewport of the HoloNet, its screen flickering with urgent news. Max hung back, watching as Edric's gaze fixed on the broadcast—news of the Jedi plotting against the Republic and the enactment of 'Order 66,' a directive to eliminate the supposed threat. Images of the fabled Jedi Temple burning filled the screen. Max raised an eyebrow, perplexed by the news. The Jedi, for all their faults, were supposed to be the good guys. This smelled like a trap that had sprung back in their faces.
The revelation also seemed to have hit Edric like a physical blow. His reaction was palpable, a mixture of shock and despair that contorted his features. If he was still part of the Order, it was no more. And now, he might be in more danger than just the Pykes and their hunters. It didn't look like he fully grasped that either. The boy turned away, slipping into a passage and running off.
Max stayed in his tracks. Edric returned to The Rusty Blaster, the young man's sanctuary and the place of his exile. Except, the scene that unfolded was brutal in its brevity. The Dowutin cantina owner was a storm of fury and betrayal as he confronted Edric at the entrance about some lost gamble on the fight he had that night. Words were exchanged—harsh, cutting words that culminated in the owner tossing Edric's belongings into the damp pavement and banishing him from the premises.
Max watched on, his silhouette hidden amongst the spill of blackness, as Edric's world crumbled. The boy stood there, the very picture of desolation and slowly turned away to head for an alley. Max heard a muffled scream and felt a shiver run down his spine. This felt all too familiar to the bounty hunter—being at a lower point than he ever imagined possible. He sighed feeling his stomach churn. My good heart will be the end of me, he thought as he stepped out of the shadows and quickened his pace to reach the same passageway. He approached the boy with the silent grace of a prowling nexu, his movements deliberate and sure. Up close, Edric was almost like a child as he sat on the ground.
Max pressed the cold barrel of his blaster against the temple of the unsuspecting youth. The click of the safety disengaging was sharp in the quiet that enveloped them.
"Hello, Blur," Max said.
Edric tensed, and slowly raised his head to glance up at Max. The kid's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. It made Max's mouth twitch for a moment as his heart sank again. That look was all too familiar, like a deja vu he'd rather forget.
"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt ya, kid."
"Says the guy pointing a gun at my face," Edric shot back, a flicker of defiance in his deep voice. A smartass, huh, Max thought.
"Well, maybe don't do anything stupid then."
"You're a bounty hunter, aren't you?" Edric asked, resignation heavy in his voice.
Max nodded. "Max Daxer, at your service. And I know you're a Jedi, Edric Kane," he added, watching for Edric's reaction. The boy barely moved, but Max noticed the slight shift that would have eluded anyone less experienced.
"Look, kid," Max said, holstering his blaster and raising his hands in a gesture of peace. He wanted to avoid any direct confrontation, mainly because he knew he would certainly lose against a Jedi, even with his own tricks. Plus, he preferred to keep his neck intact and away from a lightsaber. "While I did consider collecting the bounty on your head, I've been where you are. Someone once helped me out of my lowest point, and seeing what happened to you, I figured it's my turn to do the same." That kriffing good heart of mine, Max added in thought.
Edric looked confused and clearly not convinced.
"I've worked with your kind before and know how much of a saint you all are. I doubt your Order betrayed the Republic, as they claim on the news. There's more to this than they're letting on. But here's the thing: you have a giant crosshair on your back, and not just one. The Pykes have bounty hunters like me out to get the Blur, and if I could find you, so can they. The Republic's forces are also hunting Jedi. You're out of options, and I'm offering you a way out. I'll get a body from the morgue and tell the Pykes I killed the Blur. You come with me, help with some other bounties until you figure out what to do."
"I'm not a Jedi anymore. Not for some time now, anyway," Edric replied with a shrug.
So he really isn't undercover then. That explains the fights I guess, Max noted to himself.
"My ship is in the dock nearby. Are you in or not?" Max asked, extending a hand to Edric. The young man looked at him with piercing gray eyes, and Max could almost feel him using the Force to gauge his honesty. After a moment of hesitation, Edric grasped Max's hand and pulled himself up from the ground.
"Alright," Edric said finally with a nod.
End of Part 1