Accessing the HoloNet, Fett found himself instinctively perusing the list of bounties currently being offered; suffice it to say they were few in number and none offered much incentive. Without any contact for days - since killing Cadman Aric on Tresidiss - Fett hadn't had a great deal to occupy his time. And so, to his chagrin, he found himself scrolling through uninspired listings on the public bounty boards, jobs that any beardless rookiee from here to Tatooine could accept.
The only one that stood out to him was Drasek Cale, with an obscene amount of credits on his head, and an even more obscene lack of information. Whatever he'd done, Fett imagined it had riled up a lot of people.
He read further, and arched an eyebrow; Cale had apparently massacred twenty-five citizens of Baltimn. Not quite on par with the Butcher of Montellian Serat, but it's a start, Fett mused.
He didn't doubt that there'd be a lot of others on the hunt for this particular mark, considering the offering. Many hunters immediately jumped on higher bounties out of desire to win big and win fast, but Fett had long since passed the winning stage. He'd earned his credits, and his reputation, and he didn't work for loose change. If he was to participate in a public bounty hunt such as this one, he'd do it for the most credits offered for his talents.
Silently, he began altering course; not for Baltimn, for that would be too obvious, and he thought it highly likely that Cale would have a contact person back there in the event that a hunter came prowling. No, he set course for Almania; there, he'd track down an old acquaintance of his, one who was always willing to exchange or hunt for information, for the right price.

Punching in the co-ordinates, Fett was disturbed by an incoming long-range transmission. Before answering, Fett waited for his onboard computer to track down the source of the transmission, bypassing and decrypting it's many security walls.
Finally, the display showed Kamino as the source.
"This is Fett, what do you want?" he asked, deadpan, upon answering the transmission. He didn't even look into the holocam, instead focusing on the stars beyond.
"Boba, you sound perturbed" came the soft, sing-song voice of Tera Ki. Deceptively sweet, Fett knew the true mind of the benign-acting Kaminoan. As brutal and practical to the point of extremity, she, like all of her species, was as ruthless as they came. Perhaps not in as obvious a way as many of the mass-murderers Fett had put down over the years, but still ruthless.
"I'm assuming there's a point to your transmission" Fett shot back at her; as always, he wasn't feeling conversationally inclined.
"I'm simply checking on your progress in finding Fenn Shysa" Tera Ki replied. "Taun We regrets she isn't able to contact you herself..."
"Shysa can wait, I have more pressing engagements" Fett replied, reaching to shut off the transmission.
"You're... not hunting Shysa?" Tera Ki said, sounding surprised.
"Shysa is an ongoing deal. I'm the only one hunting him for a price, and he isn't going anywhere" Fett countered. He didn't need to explain himself to the Kaminoan, and he knew Taun We wouldn't pass the contract onto somebody else; she knew first-hand that he'd see the job through to the end.
"I shall relay your comments to Taun We, Master Fett" Tera Ki said, bowing her long neck. So, Fett thought, it's Master Fett now. Formality in the face of injured pride.
"You do that". Fett cut the transmission and returned his attention to his navicomputer. Allowing the autopilot to realign Slave I to the right trajectory, Fett fine-tuned his course, then put the old ship into hyperspace.

there was one lead, however small. in the rather recent past, a vessel matching the description of cale's personal vessel had been seen on nar shadda, around the vicinity of an establishment belonging to one njon the hutt. it was nowhere near a solid lead, but as maximov exited hyperspace and began the process of landing at nar shadda, he could feel he was stepping in the right direction.

All of a sudden, the wooden doors slammed open and let in a powerful rush of wind, leaves from outside scattering through the sudden opening and obscuring all from view. Most of them drunk and trigger-happy, the room of pirates overturned tables and unholstered blasters in a heartbeat, pouring laserfire into the doorway, shredding the leaves as they whipped inside and filling the cramped inn with the smell of ozone. For two minutes it was complete chaos, as stray blaster bolts bounced from the metal walls and ricocheted around the room, shattering bottles and blowing holes in the plastered ceiling.
Then, one by one, the blasters stopped firing, until all that could be heard in the gale was the click-click of emptied weapons.
Captain Forda squinted against the light from outside, shielding his eyes, then leaped out of his skin as a single figure became silhouetted in the doorway. Forda would recognise that silhouette anywhere; Boba Fett, the bane of his existence.

***

Fett waited with patience as the drunken pirates emptied their blaster cartridges into the empty doorway, silently shaking his head at the stupidity of men with too much testosterone and itchy trigger fingers. When the cacophany died down, Fett stepped out, the gale whipping at the brown poncho he'd thrown over his armour. He rested the stock of his EE-3 in the crook of his elbow, the muzzle pointed skyward, as he surveyed the scene before him; a dozen or so pirates, all dressed in dirty cold-weather gear, hiding behind tables or crouched near the small bar, some still squeezing their triggers in the hope of a final shot.
"Come out, Forda" he rasped, entering the inn and closing the doors behind him.
"What do you want, Fett?" Forda slurred, pushing himself to his feet and managing to extract himself from behind the dejarik table. "There's no price on my head anymore".
"Get rid of your men" Fett instructed, nodding to the room in general. "We need to talk".
One man, barely an adult, came charging out of nowhere with a bottle in his hand, and smashed it across the back of Fett's head. Glass sprayed back into the young pirate-wannabe's face, deflecting from Fett's helmet, followed by a half-hearted backhanded punch which broke the mans nose and sent him reeling.
"Get rid of your men" Fett repeated, this time lowering his blaster into a more comfortable position; the stock buried beneath his arm, a hand gripping the underside of the barrel, the muzzle pointed squarely at Forda.
"Okay... take a hike lads, all of yer!" Forda bellowed, managing to slip his own blaster pistol into its holster after a couple of tries. With a chorus of groans and disbelieving moans, the pirates made themselves scarce. Fett grabbed Forda by the front of his jumpsuit and hoisted him toward the doors.
"Hey, where we going?" Forda protested.
"Somewhere a little more private" Fett growled in response.

***

Somewhere a little more private turned out to be a speeder shed, which had long since fallen into disrepair and had sprung leaks from every surface possible. Fett threw Forda into a deep puddle of ice-cold water, and planted a foot on the Twi'Lek's chest, keeping him down as the drunkard yelped and gasped for air. The shock to the system would hopefully sober Forda up enough to hear what Fett had to say.
"Okay okay, you've made your point" Forda screamed out, and Fett relinquished. "By the stars, I knew you were hard, Fett, but I've never known you be one for torture".
"Shut up and listen" Fett snarled, as Forda rolled out of the puddle and climbed groggily to his feet. "This time I'm not here for you".
"Coulda fooled me" Forda shot back, wrapping his arms around his ample torso to warm himself. "Can we make this quick? I'm gonna catch my death out here".
"I'm looking for someone" Fett said, producing a datapad from beneath his mud-splattered poncho. "Drasek Cale. Ring any bells?"
"Name sounds familliar" Forda said, scanning the 'pad. "Oh, him. Yeah, everyone from here to the Core is looking for him. What's he got to do with me?"
"Nothing, yet. You're connected to almost every crime ring and underground syndicate in the Outer Rim. I need information, and I need it fast" Fett said, clasping his forearm with his left hand, letting his blaster point to the floor.
Forda laughed, and seemed to forget about the cold for a moment, some colour returning to his ocean-coloured face.
"And I suppose the only payment I'll get is the promise that you won't kill me" he chuckled.
"No" Fett replied. "If it ever comes down to that, I guarantee it'll be my blaster that puts you down". This wiped the smile from Forda's face.
"So, what then?"
"I keep quiet about your operation to the authorities, and there's a small finders fee in it for you".
"How small are we talking?" Forda asked, predictably more intrigued by the credits than the safety of his slave ring.
"Twenty percent, once I find Cale and claim the reward" Fett said; his tone made it clear that there was no room for negotiation.
"Well, that'll more than pay for the two ships you owe me" Forda retorted. "One thing I don't like about you Fett, you're not careful when it comes to collateral damage".
"I told you not to run" Fett replied, almost curtly. "You'd think anyone would know what trying to power out of a tractor beam can do to your ship".

Forda grumbled to himself, and ran a hand along the rusted steering yokes of an old BARC speeder, long fallen into irreversible disrepair.
"Well?" Fett asked; he was a patient man, but as Forda had already highlighted, a lot of people were after Cale. Time was of the essence.
"Okay, I'll do it. Don't be surprised if I can't dig up much though" Forda said with a sigh.
"Just get me somewhere to start, and it'll be enough" Fett nodded, turning to walk away. "I'll be waiting. Don't keep me too long".
"You still using the Slave I?" Forda asked.
"Thats right. You should know the frequency by now". With that, Fett left Forda shivering in the cold. It was some time before the Twi'Lek gained the strength and courage to return to the lodge, and begin sweeping his contacts.

the smell of refuse was all about maximov as he stood in the dank alleyway, arms crossed as he glowered at the rather nervous-looking trandoshan backed up against the wall in front of him. a nervous trandoshan was something one would not expect, but frack's nervous eyes kept darting to the two huddled piles behind maximov; piles that had been trandoshans before dimitri had dispatched them barehanded.

"man came into the bar. fool shot it up."

"drasek cale shot up a bar?"

"no no no. other fool. dead one now. havoc. hung him on dantooine."

"and cale showed up there afterwards?"

"not cale. dark man. dark armor man. i don't know more than that."

maximov growled in frustration and tossed a fifty credit chip at the trandoshan's feet. "next time, don't try to mug someone looking for information."

as he left, he shook his head. a dark man? that was no link. the trandoshan had been an observer of the bar massacre. maximov had no wish to speak to njon directly either. hutts left a peculiar taste in his mouth; one he did not like. the trail ran cold here it seemed.

As he headed skyward, Fett went over the conversation again in his mind. Cale's ship, an old StarViper attack platform dubbed Undying Vengeance, had been seen at Nar Shaddaa; specifically, near the location of Njon the Hutt's territory. He hadn't seen a StarViper since Xizor's days, and doubted that many of them were still active, so the vessel would be distinctive enough. As for Njon the Hutt... Fett had enough personal experience with Hutts to know it wasn't going to be an easy bargain. He just hoped Njon wasn't related to the late Orko the Hutt, or things might get awkward.
Breaking atmosphere, Fett checked the course set by his navicomputer, and took a moment to check the general route and fine-tune it to skim an hour off his journey. Silently, he commended himself for keeping Slave I running with a full complement of arms, for now he was on his way to Nar Shaddaa and there was a chance he'd be assailed by pirates before the day was through.
As an afterthought, he accessed the holonet and set his onboard computer to perform a continuous scan for the next few days, and report anything regarding a StarViper from recent days, no matter how minor. Much of his scanning equipment was thought of as illegal, but nobody had ever had the chance to give Slave I a proper inspection except from the inside of a holding cage. Nobody except those damned rebels that had impounded his ship following that incident with the Sarlacc. But they wouldn't have been able to access much of what I have in here, Fett reminded himself.

Satisfied that he was at last on some sort of lead, Fett put Slave I into hyperspace once more, heading to Nar Shaddaa. He knew a way or two to make a Hutt talk if necessary, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. That sort of slime took hours to clean off.

as he floated in space above nar shadda, working rapidly on searching databases and starport registries in the outer rim for signs of said vessel, it might actually be possible that boba fett passed him by unnoticed, save for the fact that maximov flew a ship identical to that of the famous bounty hunter.

Fett performed a wide-range sensor sweep, seeing if there were any vessels of note, looking in particular for a StarViper or any other ship of rare or luxury status; if Cale had a taste for StarVipers, Fett wondered if the man had a collection of other unusually expensive or uncommon ships.
Curiously, he noticed another Firespray in the region, eyeballing it as he made his way toward Nar Shaddaa. Though Fett missed owning a unique ship, the sad fact was that KSE had long ago cashed in on his reputation, and mass-produced Firespray-31's. They were commonly seen as security vessels, or owing to their versatility, hunting ships.
At least they didn't come with all the modifications I've made over the years, Fett thought.
Still invisible to sensors, Fett set his approach vector, and descended on Nar Shaddaa, heading for known Hutt territory. As he flew over the cityscape, he tried to recall the last time he'd been here, but it had been a while ago and the details escaped him for now.
He brought Slave I in to land in an empty spot in a docking bay ring, and climbed out of his chair. After attaching his jetpack, he opened his secured overhead weapon racks, and selected his concussion grenade launcher. Folding down the stock, he slid it into his hip holster, placing the 'Disentegrator' pistol in the rack, then removed the barrel grip and scope attachments for his EE-3. Locking them in place on his weapon, he sealed the racks and exited Slave I. Already a greasy Yarkora in a stained overall was waiting at the foot of the ramp, whiskers twitching in the light breeze. Fett, his blaster-torn side cape flapping about him, marched upto the being and looked him in the eyes.
"Ya wann' refuel? Canopy cleanin'?" the Yakora asked in heavily accented basic. "Discoun' price for sir".
"Refuel her, then leave. I'll know if you try and get inside" Fett said, tapping the side of his T-visor with the muzzle of his EE-3. He dropped twenty credits on the floor, and continued on his way, finding himself in a run-down neighbourhood on what looked to be the mid-tier of the city.

"Any spare change for a homeless kid?" someone asked; Fett looked down, and saw a red-headed boy in rags with dirt streaked across his face a little too convincingly. He looked about the same age Fett had been, when he'd taken his first job for Jabba the Hutt.
"Get lost" Fett muttered, moving past the boy, and further into the neighbourhood. Here and there, he saw shadows in alleys, and credits being exchanged. Armoured figures walked around, oblivious to his presence, while others showed signs of ill-disguised wealth. Those were the ones asking to be robbed.
After a half-hour or so, Fett paused at a data terminal, and pretended to search for information on the latest goings-on. While hunched over the terminal, he checked his datastream, the information from Slave I's uplink filling his HUD. So far, no recent mention of errant StarViper platforms had been made publicly, and no private reports had been filed away. Dissatisfied, he closed the display, and turned, to find himself face to face with the red-headed boy again.
"Get lost" Fett repeated, this time with a harsh edge to his tone. The boy flinched, but stood his ground.
"Can you spare a credit?" the boy asked, trying his best to look needy. Fett sighed, and reached into a belt pouch.
"I can spare ten, if you take me to Njon the Hutt" he growled, showing the kid the credits.
"Njon?" the kid asked. "Sure, I can take you to his place" he said, looking a little less enthusiastic now. With the bounty hunter following closely, the kid set off briskly for Njon's place.

The inside of the pub struck him as somewhat bland; by far the place was the most uninviting and inconspicuous in the region, and it didn’t escape Fett’s consideration that this might be a purposeful fact. As pubs went, it was pretty standard, with the devoted clientele and a selection of tables and privacy booths, and the obligatory bored-looking bartender. It was all too… staged for Fett’s liking, but he suspected that was because he’d walked in here armed with the knowledge that it was tied to Njon the Hutt.
The few patrons – or lackeys, as Fett silently labelled them – gave him an ice-cold reception, staring at him as he stood framed in the open doorway. He continued to face them, though his attention was on his HUD, examining the room. He switched to infra-red view, checking there were no other beings in the rooms above (which, he noted to himself, he should explore later, if the opportunity arose), or any lifeforms in any hidden rooms below; he’d spent too long with the likes of Jabba to not suspect something of the sort.
After a few moments, he switched views again, and mapped the place on his in-built radar, before switching to his normal view and taking a few steps forward. He cast an obvious glance at the Ishori and the Diamal, and silently set his HUD to track the Nikto that had so obviously made a sloppy reason to leave the pub, probably to fetch back-up or send an alert to his employer; presumably, Njon the Hutt. They’d been speaking Huttese when he’d entered, which indicated to Fett that they were used to dealing with Hutt’s, so much so that it had become a natural second language to them, as it had to him from his years of service to their kind. Their reversion to Basic had only upped his suspicions that they were trying to pull something on him, ignorant of the fact that he spoke more than one language.

Boldly, Fett made for the bar, making it clear he wasn’t afraid to turn his back on any of them. Of course, he could still see them, thanks to his helmet’s three-sixy degree vision, but they probably wouldn’t know this.
He sat, in the seat right next to the Aqualish, and nodded his helmet silently at the being. Then he pointedly turned to the barman, resting his EE-3 carbine on the bar, his finger still in the trigger guard.
“The name’s Kast. Jodo Kast” Fett said, then almost smirked to himself at the irony. Kast had boosted his own career by feeding from Fett’s name and, subsequently, his reputation. It was one of the very few times Fett had taken a personal interest in a hunt, and of course Kast had ended up dead. Now, his identity served to help Fett when he needed to remain incognito and not let his own reputation bring the roof down on his head.
A sudden stroke of inspiration struck him, and he considered it momentarily. Dropping the name of his target would perhaps provide him with information, no matter how small.
“I’m looking for a man called Drasek Cale, got some wares he might be interested in. Mighty hard to place him these days, though…”

He let the statement hang. The situation would soon come to a head, whether that be a lick of information, an arranged meeting with Njon, or the shoot-out that Fett was still anticipating. He kept an eye on the HUD icon, indicating the Nikto’s position, and waited patiently.

Dimitri Maximov had not missed the emergence of Slave I to Nar Shaddaa. Boba Fett's vessel was known wherever he went. That, in retrospect, was the problem with having such reknown in the underworld. When everyone knew you and saw you coming, they tended to scatter or batten down the hatches. It also meant other hunters, such as Maximov, knew something large was afoot. Maximov had tracked Drasek Cale, or at least someone using Cale's vessel, here to Nar Shaddaa. It seemed like a dead end, but with the appearance of Fett, all bets were off. It was for that reason that the GenoHaradan agent had landed and followed the other bounty hunter to an establishment known to belong to Njon. The logic was sound; little happened on Nar Shaddaa without one of the Hutts knowing. Njon was as good as any.

Wallking into a cantina owned by said Hutt with another hunter present was a recipe for disaster though. As such, Maximov opted for the eaasier route: backtracking to a different cantina that operated as a front for Njon. Either way, he intended to have a meeting with the grotesque being. It was no different from the string of murders he had committed on Coruscant, beginning with a bookie and ending at an ambassador. Oh, he was still curious, far curious about the jobs, but he had long sinc stopped asking questions. He acted and he was paid. The balance in the galaxy was kept and everyone went on praising the New Republic and the Jedi for their peace and happiness and well being.

That was a load of bantha poodoo if Maximov had ever heard it. As he sat in the dingy cantina, he was unable to repress a chuckle. It had always been the GenoHaradan, working behind the scenes, in the shadows, pulling strings when needed. The galaxy would revolve and the New Republic would fall years after Maximov was nothing but dust. The Imperial Remnant might well rise again, or the galaxy be subjugated by beings from beyond. Still, the GenoHaradan would endure, always working. Never ceasing. Balance would be kept.

Njon the Hutt had always been fond of the symbolism of his "palace" (in fact, an old Lucrehulk-class freighter) floating in orbit over Nar Shaddaa as if watching benevolently, or not so benevolently, all that happened on "the smuggler's moon." A misnomer, he had always thought; Nar Shaddaa belonged not to smugglers, but to him. For the small moon, which put even Mos Eisley to shame as a "hive of scum and villainy," was the center of the Hutt Cartel, the most powerful criminal empire in the galaxy since the implosion of Black Sun. Njon had eyes all over the moon, and it was for this reason that it wasn't terribly hard to contact him. Usually, as Dimitri had surmised, it was a question of finding one of the Hutt-owned businesses, like this cantina, and making enough of a scene that Njon or his people would be persuaded to listen.

The nondescript cantina that Boba Fett was in at this moment was the favored place for dealings with the Hutt, but this other cantina, too, would suffice. This one was nicer, however; it had a bar, of course, and tables and booths throughout, but it also had a few gaming tables, some Hutt tapestries on the walls to cover old blaster scoring, and quite a few customers. It was not as conspicuous a front as some of Njon's more drab establishments, but it was a front nonetheless.

Maximov stood finally, stretching and meandering over to the bar. The tender, a Rodian missing an ear from some fight or another, was his target. The Hutt tapestries were a dead giveaway to the bounty hunter and, as he stopped at the bar (his hands on the bartop), he gave the tender a friendly smile. "You wouldn't happen to be one of those handy bartenders who do more than serve drinks, would you? I'm not referring to the pimps or the ones who do stuff like that; heavens no! I was actually hoping you could set up a meeting of sorts for me. A friendly little get-together with the owner of this fine drinking paradise. Preferably a long distance meeting. I'd hate to inconvenience him by having him come all the way down here, and I'd hate even more to inconvenience myself by having to go all the way to... well, wherever he is. Unless he is in the back right now, which I highly doubt."

In fact, Njon wasn't—he had far too many fronts on Nar Shaddaa to tend to them all personally. Instead, he had a rogue's gallery of lieutenants, unpleasant characters all of them, tend to cantinas like this one in his stead. Moreover, the Hutt was fond of lounging on his ship and wasn't in the habit of leaving it. And why should he, when he had everything he needed on his ship, the Franchise? The Hutt had spent a considerable amount of money not only to fortify the ship, but to renovate it; now, it boasted large wading pools, arboretums, holographic entertainment suites, and everything an idle Hutt could possibly need. Most of his businesses, however, had comfortable, private lounges in the back that Njon could use for holoconferences. This had the added benefit of keeping him out of danger, something that a being of his position and power had to be wary of.

The bartender, however, was not convinced that Dimitri was worth the Hutt's attention. "You have a complaint about the service, take it to him," the Rodian said, pointing at a decidedly unfriendly-looking Togorian bouncer standing near the door. Clearly, the bar wasn't interested in customer feedback. "And we're not hiring, either," the Rodian added, "if that's what you're interested in."

"Let me try again, my unusually thickheaded friend." Dimitiri offered another smile that was as warm and friendly as the first. "I have a hundred-credit chip if you can put me into contact with Njon Anjiliac. He is selling something I would like to purchase. As for the service, it's been fine so far. As for hiring? I wouldn't stoop to your level to work alongside you. No offense intended, you understand. To yourself or the extremely angry looking gentleman who is undoubtedly a fine bouncer for this equally fine establishment. You see, my tastes in work are a tad different. I enjoy travel. Excitement. You haven't livd until you've met an arachnoid assembler in person, after all. Have you ever stood inside one of their webs? It's a breathtaking experience... but I digress. Njon, if you please?"

"I'll level with you" he said, in a low tone. "The fact that you're the only one here who isn't reaching for a blaster or panicking into a comm - or panicking at all, for that matter - gives me reason to believe you're the only lackey here with any semblance of power. So call your thugs off and listen to what I have to say.
"Word has it that Njon the Hutt has had dealings, or is believed to have parlayed with Drasek Cale. I don't really care what those dealings are, but it might be in your best interests to arrange a little get-together for me" Fett growled. He continued to lean forward, his finger still inside the trigger guard of the EE-3 carbine resting on the bar.
"Cale seems to be on everybody's hit-list, even the Republic's. Might be some reward in it for your master, should his compliance lead to Cale's capture. Or..." he paused, leaning back on his stool and nodding his head back over his shoulder, indicating the thugs behind him, "we can have a good old-fashioned bar fight, and then I'll beat the Hutt's location out of you".
He'd grown tired of pretense; he'd always preferred a direct approach, but either way, all this talking was beginning to get under his skin. His patience for self-important hired flunkies was wearing out.
"Of course, I'll make sure you survive. Maybe not in once piece, but enough to take the brunt of Njon's anger when this turns out bad for him". They were bold words, and had they been issued to the Hutt himself, Fett knew he'd now be fighting for his own survival. But he was counting on the fear of the Hutt's servants to work in his favour.