Most bounty hunters look for three things when scanning a contract board: danger, reputation, and payout.
I usually look for one.
Convenience.
By the time I wandered into Mos Ila’s bounty exchange, I’d been awake for almost thirty hours, my boots still dusted with the sands of Tatooine and my patience worn thin from escort jobs, drunken mercenaries, and a failed sabaac game that had cost me more credits than I cared to admit.
The cantina attached to the exchange smelled like engine coolant and stale ale. Perfect place to waste a few hours.
I dropped into a booth near the bounty terminal and scrolled through the listings with half-open eyes.
Missing moisture farmer. Pass.
Pirate crew near Beggar’s Canyon. Too many variables.
Escaped Nexu on a private ranch. Absolutely not.
Then I saw it.
WANTED ALIVE — KELL VORRU
Smuggler, slicer, suspected arms trafficker.
Operating from abandoned mining tunnels outside Mos Ila.
Reward: 85,000 credits.
I blinked once.
Eighty-five thousand for a smuggler?
Either Vorru was secretly Imperial intelligence, or someone on the board had misplaced a decimal point.
I opened the details.
No known combat training. Limited associates. Uses tunnels rigged with traps to discourage bounty hunters and local thieves.
That explained part of it.
Most hunters hated traps. Blaster fire you could predict. Mines and pressure plates were another matter entirely. One wrong step and you became decorative stains on cave walls.
Still… eighty-five thousand.
For one smuggler.
I leaned back in the booth, drumming clawed fingers against the table. It felt wrong. Jobs this lucrative usually involved syndicates, Jedi relics, or at least a small army.
This sounded annoying at worst.
Which meant either the client was desperate or every hunter before me had been incompetent.
Neither possibility worried me much.
I accepted the contract.
The old mining site sat several kilometers beyond the outskirts of the city, buried among jagged cliffs and rusting excavation machinery left behind decades earlier. By sunset, I was crouched on a ridge overlooking the entrance.
The place looked dead.
That alone made me suspicious.
No guards. No parked speeders. No smoke rising from ventilation shafts.
Just silence.
People trying to stay hidden usually overdid it. They posted lookouts, encrypted signals, defensive positions.
Professionals made places look empty.
I activated my macrobinoculars and studied the entrance. Old Republic-era rails disappeared into darkness beneath cracked stone arches. Mining carts sat overturned nearby, half-buried in sand.
Then I spotted it.
A wire.
Thin. Nearly invisible.
Connected to a fragmentation charge hidden beneath a cart wheel.
I smirked.
“All right, Vorru,” I muttered. “You’re cautious.”
I circled the ridge instead of approaching directly. Traps are conversations. Every placement tells you how someone thinks.
The minefield near the entrance was obvious enough to scare amateurs away. Which meant the real danger would wait farther inside, where confidence replaced caution.
Sure enough, I found a maintenance shaft concealed behind collapsed debris around the eastern side of the cliff. Smaller entrance. No visible traps.
Which usually meant many visible traps.
I descended carefully into the shaft, boots scraping ancient metal ladders. Dust coated everything. The deeper I went, the colder the air became.
My helmet scanner mapped the tunnel ahead in pale blue outlines.
Tripwire at ankle height.
Pressure plate near the corner.
Motion sensor overhead.
I disabled each one slowly.
Not because I enjoyed caution. Because surviving this long required respecting paranoia.
Whoever Kell Vorru was, he’d turned these mines into a fortress built entirely from bad memories.
The deeper tunnels twisted endlessly beneath the cliffs. Abandoned drilling equipment loomed in the darkness like skeletons. Every few minutes I found another trap.
Gas canisters rigged to detonators.
Shotgun mechanisms hidden behind loose rocks.
Explosive charges disguised as mining lanterns.
At one point, I discovered an entire section of tunnel designed to collapse if someone crossed too quickly.
That one almost got me.
The floor shifted beneath my third step, sending cracks racing through the supports overhead. I dove forward as the ceiling thundered down behind me in an avalanche of stone and dust.
I hit the ground hard, coughing grit from my lungs.
Somewhere deeper in the mine, machinery whirred to life.
Then a voice echoed through hidden speakers.
“Another bounty hunter?” the voice asked. “You people are getting persistent.”
Calm voice. Male. Younger than I expected.
“Kell Vorru,” I said, standing slowly. “You know why I’m here.”
“Because eighty-five thousand credits makes idiots feel brave.”
I brushed dust from my armor. “You could save us both time and surrender.”
Vorru laughed through the speakers.
“No.”
The tunnel lights abruptly died.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Then the shooting started.
Automated blaster turrets unfolded from hidden wall compartments, spraying crimson bolts through the tunnel. I threw myself behind a drilling machine as metal exploded around me.
“Not very ‘alive wanted,’” Vorru called mockingly.
“You installed the turrets.”
“You brought the gun.”
Fair point.
I waited for the firing rhythm to stabilize before moving. Turrets tracked movement patterns. Predictable. Unlike people.
I sprinted low beneath the first barrage, slid across the tunnel floor, and jammed my vibroknife into the nearest cannon’s rotation joint. Sparks erupted as the turret locked sideways and blasted the second turret apart.
Silence returned briefly.
Then I heard slow clapping over the speakers.
“Okay,” Vorru admitted. “That was impressive.”
“I get that a lot.”
“You still aren’t getting paid.”
I followed the speaker system deeper into the mines, bypassing more traps along the way. Some were clever. Others felt desperate.
That told me something important.
Vorru wasn’t protecting treasure.
He was afraid.
Eventually the tunnels widened into a central chamber filled with old mining equipment and flickering monitors powered by portable generators. Makeshift living quarters occupied one side of the cavern. Crates of spice and stolen weapons lined the walls.
And standing beside a control console was Kell Vorru.
Human. Mid-thirties. Thin. Nervous eyes.
Not exactly the criminal mastermind I’d imagined.
He raised his hands slowly when he saw me emerge from the tunnel.
“That’s close enough.”
“You planning to surrender now?”
Vorru gave a nervous laugh and slowly raised a compact blaster pistol from beside the console.
“That depends,” he said. “You planning to shoot me the second I do?”
“I’m being paid to bring you in alive.”
“Alive until whoever posted the bounty gets me back.”
Fair point.
I kept my blaster trained on him anyway. Up close, Kell Vorru looked less like a hardened criminal and more like a mechanic who hadn’t slept in weeks. Grease stained his sleeves. His eyes darted constantly toward the tunnel entrances like he expected death to come storming through them at any second.
“You don’t look worth eighty-five thousand credits,” I said.
“That’s because you don’t know what I stole.”
I gestured with the barrel. “Enlighten me.”
Vorru hesitated.
“That bounty came from the Vargos Syndicate.”
That got my attention.
The Vargos weren’t some local gang shaking down moisture farmers. They controlled spice routes through half the Outer Rim. Smuggling, extortion, weapons, assassinations. Serious people with serious money.
And very short tempers.
“I worked logistics for them,” Vorru continued carefully. “Cargo schedules, hidden accounts, bribe records. Boring work.”
“But?”
“But I found out they were planning to erase everyone connected to a failed shipment on Ord Mantell. Loose ends.”
“You included.”
He nodded.
“So I emptied several hidden credit vaults and copied every piece of data I could get before disappearing.”
I frowned. “How much did you steal?”
Vorru swallowed.
“About twelve million credits.”
I stared at him.
“Twelve million?”
“And the data.”
“That explains the bounty.”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly the mines made perfect sense.
The traps. The paranoia. The isolation.
This wasn’t a smuggler hiding from local authorities. This was a desperate man hiding from one of the most dangerous syndicates in the Outer Rim after robbing them blind.
I almost respected it.
Almost.
“You still should’ve run farther than Tatooine,” I said.
“I tried.” Vorru laughed weakly. “Turns out disappearing is expensive when entire syndicates want your organs sold separately.”
A distant metallic clang echoed somewhere through the tunnels.
Vorru froze instantly.
So did I.
“Expecting company?” I asked quietly.
“No.”
Another sound followed.
Footsteps.
Several pairs.
Moving carefully through the mine entrance.
Vorru’s face lost what little color remained.
“They found me.”
The lights inside the chamber abruptly dimmed red as automated sensors activated. Somewhere deeper in the tunnels, one of Vorru’s traps detonated with a thunderous boom.
Then came screaming.
Professional screaming. Short.
Armed intruders.
I looked back toward the tunnels.
“How many ways out?”
“Two.”
“Good. We use the second one.”
Vorru shook his head immediately. “No. If they’re here already, they probably covered both exits.”
Blaster fire erupted in the distance.
Blue bolts this time.
Military-grade.
Not random mercenaries.
The Vargos Syndicate had sent professionals.
Vorru grabbed a data drive from the console with trembling hands and shoved it into a satchel already overflowing with credit chips.
“You know,” I said, “bringing twelve million credits with you probably isn’t helping your mobility.”
“I’m not leaving it behind.”
The tunnel behind us exploded.
Dust and smoke blasted through the chamber as armored figures advanced through the debris. Black combat plating. Helmet visors glowing orange.
Vargos enforcers.
One of them shouted, “Target located!”
Blaster fire filled the cavern instantly.
Vorru dove behind a mining drill while I rolled behind stacked supply crates, bolts scorching the stone around us.
“This bounty suddenly feels underpaid,” I muttered.
“You’re still getting paid!” Vorru yelled back.
“Not if they vaporize us!”
One of the syndicate mercenaries pushed too aggressively through the chamber entrance and triggered a pressure mine hidden beneath the floor.
The explosion tore him apart.
I glanced toward Vorru.
He shrugged apologetically.
“Forgot that one was there.”
The remaining attackers slowed immediately.
Good.
Cautious enemies lived longer.
But they also killed smarter.
A grenade bounced off the crate beside me.
I threw myself sideways as the blast shattered the entire barricade into flaming debris.
“All right,” I snapped, firing back. “Secondary exit. Now.”
Vorru sprinted toward a narrow maintenance corridor and I followed close behind while blaster bolts chased us through the tunnels.
The mine had become a war zone.
Explosions thundered through nearby shafts as syndicate mercenaries triggered traps trying to pursue us. Some sections collapsed entirely behind us, buying precious seconds.
But only seconds.
Vorru led me deeper underground through twisting maintenance passages barely wide enough to run through side by side.
“You mapped all this yourself?” I asked between breaths.
“Mining records were incomplete.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It gets worse.”
Naturally.
Ahead, the tunnel split three directions.
Vorru pointed left. “That way.”
I grabbed his shoulder before he could move.
“No.”
“What?”
I pointed toward the ceiling.
Fresh scratch marks near the support beams.
Recently disturbed.
“Trip-collapse,” I said. “Someone already came through here.”
Vorru blinked. “I didn’t even notice that.”
“That’s why I’m still alive.”
We took the center tunnel instead just as the left corridor collapsed behind us in a deafening avalanche of stone.
Vorru stared at me.
“Okay,” he admitted. “I’m starting to understand your rates.”
We eventually reached a massive vertical cargo shaft descending deep into darkness. An old industrial lift hung suspended by thick chains, rusted but functional.
Vorru hurried onto the platform and slammed the activation lever.
The lift groaned upward.
Below us, shouting echoed through the tunnels.
The syndicate had found the shaft.
Blaster fire streaked upward from beneath, sparks flying from the platform rails.
I returned fire while the lift climbed painfully slowly.
Then I heard it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I looked down.
Explosives wired beneath the platform.
“Vorru.”
His eyes widened. “That’s not mine.”
Wonderful.
The detonator blinked rapidly beside a compact receiver module.
Remote trigger.
Someone in the syndicate wanted to guarantee we never reached the surface.
The ticking accelerated.
“How long?” Vorru asked.
“Not long.”
I crouched beside the device, ripping open the casing while the lift swayed violently from incoming blaster fire.
Inside waited a tangled mess of wires attached to unstable detonator gel.
Cheap construction.
Fast assembly.
Harder to predict.
The timer beeped faster.
Vorru looked ready to faint.
“Can you disarm it?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I usually don’t get a practice round.”
The lift jerked suddenly as another blaster bolt snapped one of the side supports.
The platform tilted dangerously.
I examined the wiring.
Three primary connections.
Red.
Blue.
Yellow.
Of course.
I cut the blue wire first.
Nothing happened.
Good start.
The timer kept ticking.
I cut the red wire.
The beeping stopped.
Vorru exhaled sharply in relief. “You got it.”
Then sparks erupted from beneath the yellow wire.
Secondary detonator.
I realized the mistake exactly one second too late.
“Move!”
The explosion tore through the underside of the platform.
Fire engulfed the lift as metal screamed apart beneath us. The blast hurled me backward into the railing hard enough to crack armor plating.
Vorru took the explosion directly beside him.
He screamed as the platform collapsed sideways.
I barely caught the railing before falling into the shaft.
Vorru slid across the burning metal, one hand desperately clawing for support while the satchel of stolen credits scattered chips into the darkness below.
I grabbed his wrist at the last second.
For a moment we hung there together above the abyss while the ruined lift groaned around us.
“Don’t let go,” Vorru gasped.
Below us, syndicate mercenaries were already climbing the shaft ladders.
Above us, the damaged chains snapped one by one.
I tried pulling him upward, but dead weight and failing metal aren’t forgiving combinations.
Then the final support chain broke.
The platform lurched violently.
Vorru’s grip slipped from mine.
His eyes widened in terror.
Then he fell.
The darkness swallowed him almost instantly.
A few seconds later, the crashing sound reached the bottom of the shaft.
Silence followed.
I pulled myself onto stable ground just before the remaining lift wreckage collapsed completely into the abyss.
The syndicate operatives below stopped climbing after that.
Probably because there wasn’t much left worth recovering.
Hours later, I sat outside the mine beneath the rising suns of Tatooine, bruised, burned, and exhausted beyond reason.
My bounty puck blinked patiently in my hand.
TARGET STATUS?
I stared at it for a long moment before answering.
“Dead.”
The response came immediately.
CONTRACT FAILED. PAYMENT VOID.
I laughed once.
Twelve million credits lost in a pit.
An entire syndicate still furious.
And me?
I got nothing except cracked armor and another story nobody would believe.
I stood slowly, holstered my blaster, and started the long walk back toward Mos Ila.
Next time, I decided, I’d take the Nexu job instead.