The Final Bounty--Dark Bounty Part 2

Time to Return

A dry rag rested over the control arm of the harvester that crept through the yellow Quinto grain, leaving a path of dead fallen stalks in its wake. Twelve moisture vaporators stood tall beside the flat sea of grain that drank from them and grew on the burning, arid soil of Geonosis.

The man sitting at the controls of the harvester took the rag with his leather-gloved hand and wiped the precious sweat from his head. His hair was gray; the lines on his face were rough, made coarser by the short stubble of his chin. Sand goggles sealed tightly over his weary eyes. He replaced the rag with a quivering hand and took a gulp from his shaking canteen. Next to him, sat a protocol droid, fitted three months prior with an aftermarket body that would have been pristine if not for the red dust that consumed the planet.

The two were silent as the harvester traced the field. The man continued to wipe his brow every few minutes, and replace the fluids again from his canteen.

"Master Boba," the droid commented, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Peezee," the man replied.

"I thought I'd inform you as I am sure you would want to know," PZ-85 started as was his usual, with too many words. Boba breathed deep and waited for the pertinent information. "M-my scans show an incoming assault craft."

Boba raised his goggles to his forehead and looked to the sky. A small red speck emerged from the tawny clouds. Boba stopped the harvester, its spinning blades halting to a stop. He reached under the harvester's control panel and removed his EE-3 carbine rifle. "Take the controls, Peezee," he ordered and stepped off into the waist-high golden field.

Boba walked away from the harvester with a noticeable limp. PZ-85 started the harvester behind him and continued. Boba crouched painfully in the grain, and watched the ship approach, his hand on the trigger. It drew near enough for him to recognize that it was a familiar red Firespray.

"Huh," he said to himself and stood up. "What do you know."

The ship advanced within thirty meters and settled down, just outside of the field. The wind from its exhaust flattened the nearby stalks of Quinto. Boba limped toward the ship, his carbine hanging low from a sore shoulder.

The ramp descended in a gust of vapor, and a female figure stepped out. She wore her bright red armor, but her helmet was still on board the ship. She approached Boba, her dark hair blowing in the breeze. Boba plucked a head of grain as he walked to her.

They stopped a few meters from each other. Her bright green eyes lit up the drab planet. Boba gave a half-smile. "I was wondering when you would show up, Red."

Terrah smiled. "You knew I wasn't dead, then."

"I've known since I saw Slave-1 in The Keeper's hangar," he replied. He angled his head to look at the Firespray. "Can't say I like your detailing."

"Yeah, I think you're going to hate me for a lot of my mods on that ship," she stated.

"Red, I've hated you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. Nothing's going to change that," he said with a smile.

Terrah returned the smile. "So you knew I was alive but didn't come after me?"

"Would it have mattered?" Boba asked.

"No, I suppose not."

Boba continued. "I knew you'd come when you were ready." He let the grain drop from his hand.

Terrah averted her gaze to look at the harvester behind him. It was ambling aimlessly through the field. "Uh, your harvester. . ." Terrah nodded to direct Boba's attention to the harvester.

Boba shook his head. "You remember Peezee. He's, uh . . . He's got a limp like the rest of us."

Terrah pushed back her hair behind her ears. Both Boba and Terrah watched PZ-85 circle the harvester. A moment passed in silence, then Terrah overcame her reservation. "Maybe I was wrong," she said weakly.

Boba smiled and made a little chuckle. "Dess got to you, too, huh?" He referred to Videsse.

"Yeah," Terrah agreed.

"We're hunters," Boba said, still watching the harvester as it wandered out of the field and onto the rocky ground. "We keep searching and striving until we find what we were looking for. Then, finally, we can rest."

"Did you find it?" Terrah gazed back at Boba.

He nodded. "I did. Did you?"

Terrah smiled and reached out to wipe some dust off his shoulder. "Yeah, I think I did."

"Shelter's not far from here. We've got to work on that droid some more, as you can see."

"Master," PZ-85's voice could be heard faintly in the distance as the harvester sailed away from the Quinto field and into the dusty wasteland. "I'm afraid there is a problem with the grain field."

"Dess and I could use your help." Boba's voice remained calm and unemotional.

"I'd like that," Terrah answered.

"She's going to be surprised to see you," Boba predicted and lowered his goggles.

"I bet she will," Terrah replied.