"Well, here's where it gets awkward," Rev said a moment later, when he was satisfied that the hyperdrive was, in fact, going to work. He unlocked his pilot's chair and swivelled around to face Acheron. His hand was on the handle of his Luxan, though he hadn't unholstered the pistol. "The way I see it," he said, "We can either try to kill each other right now, and maybe I kill you or you kill me, whatever. But it won't get us to Nar Shaddaa any faster. Ship needs repairin', so that's where we're headed first. So I'm gonna propose we just sit here for the next hour or two and wait to figure out who's gonna kill who when we get there?" It didn't seem to occur to Rev that there might be a solution that didn't require violence.

"Or we could settle it now," he said with a shrug, as he clicked the safety off his pistol for emphasis, "Your call. I'm not particular, although you wouldn't believe the day I've had and it'd be nice to get some sleep in first."

He thought about demanding that the Sith turn his lightsaber over to him (since, presumably, it would have to be done some time before his delivery), but decided against it; so maybe the kid wasn't smart, but he could probably kill Rev here in the ship in a dozen different ways, with or without a lightsaber. He shrugged to himself, swivelled his chair and, his boots off, planted his feet on the control panel. For a moment, all that was heard was the soft humming of the hyperdrive. He closed his eyes, meaning to drift to sleep, but some minutes later his curiosity got the better of him. "Say," he said, his eyes still closed and his arms crossed over his chest, "Personal question. How come you're going around killin' folks who don't have it comin' to 'em? I mean, I only kill people who are in my way. You seem to go out of your way to kill people."

Simple enough question, really.

"I don't know," he continued, "Don't you ever just think about getting a house and a wife and a dog and a cat, like everyone else? Just seems like a lot of work to make a statement, y'know? 'specially since we're all goin' die some day and no one's going to remember it. Hell, I already forgot the name of that other one, you know, who blew up what's it? Carida. Plus, now you got people like me lookin' for you, and believe me, you don't want people like me for company."

"You know, though," he said, somewhat admonishingly (but not completely without humor), "You're pushing your luck with this whole 'letting me live' business. By now, most of my bounties are sitting right there, begging me to let them go, offering to pay me more, that sort of thing. Actually, there was this one time I brought in an escaped slave girl, well put together, must have been 19 or 20, you know the sort; so she says to me, she says, 'Release me and I'll be yours, right now and forever,' right? So I'm not made out of durasteel, right? And this is right here in the cabin, mind you, same ship; I've had this ship awhile, it's a good'un. So she gets me out of my armor, and just when it's getting good, she goes for my damn blaster. Can you believe that? No sense of decency at all. It was really a turn off, needless to say. Had to cuff her to the chair and listen to her lecture me for three hours. Most of it was in Bocce though, thankfully, so I didn't understand a word."

"What was I talking about?" he paused for a moment, then came, finally, to the point, "Oh yeah. Well I'm not into that kind of thing, obviously, but still you could offer money or something. If it's good enough I could be persuaded to let you go. Of course, it'd have to be damn good, know what I mean? You know, 50 million good reasons why I should let you go." He laughed, rather loudly in the cramped confines of the Blastboat, seeming to expect Acheron to laugh with him. He realized quickly, however, that he was the only one who found it funny, and quieted himself. He shrugged, "I don't much care, to be honest. Credits are credits, and I figure you probably don't have a lot of them anyway."

"As for my job," he paused for a long moment, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression grim. He shrugged, "I don't kill people to kill people, or prove I can, or because I want to, or whatever little theory you have about me. I kill people because that's what I'm paid to do, and money means retirement, and retirement means a quiet little piece of nowhere, where I can live out the rest of my days."

"You need to sort out your priorities, kid," he said, deflecting the subject back to Acheron, "Enough about destiny. You decide for yourself what you're here for, and what you want in life. You're all crazy in the head; need to sit down and rethink some things. Well," he grinned again, looking back up at the ceiling again, "if you survive long enough. As for that, you might not want to kill me so soon, since I've got this ship's self destruct hooked up to my vitals. I die, and the ship blows us both up." That was a lie, of course, but there was no particular reason why Acheron should know that he was lying. And even if he suspected Rev wasn't telling the truth, would he really want to take the chance?

And within a few hours time, the Bloodshot would arrive at the "Smuggler's Moon." Rev had a reserved pad waiting for him on a landing platform suspended over the cityscape; it was more expensive than landing in a port, but it was a price the bounty hunter was willing to pay to remain inconspicuous. The planet was lousy with hunters, and the word of his indiscretions earlier in the day, by now, would have spread. In short, he had more enemies than usual. This was going to be a brief visit: refuel, repair, then off to Brentaal to turn in his bounty.