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The hyperspace tunnel fragmented around them; Fett turned away from Malloc, to his controls.

“Reality,” said Fett, “doesn’t care if you believe it.”

Malloc threw the bottle, of course. The security system shot it out of the air with a single blaster bolt. The bottle blew apart into shards that rattled against the back of Fett’s helmet; the liquid splashed against Fett’s armor.

“You should have drunk it,” Fett said. He did not have to look at Malloc to know the gray despair that crossed his features. He’d seen it before, a thousand times.

• • •

Fett docked with the shuttle, in orbit about Devaron.

The Guild representative came across first. Fett stood in the main entryway, rifle in hand, pointing it at the representative as he entered.

The representative was Bilman Dowd, a human, tall and thin and elderly, with a severe bearing and no discernible sense of humor; he had been in the Guild even longer than Fett, which was a remarkable accomplishment in this day and age. “Hunter Fett,” he said, courteously enough.

“Dowd.”

Dowd looked the Butcher over. Kardue’sai’Malloc sat motionlessly, staring straight ahead. He did not seem to be aware of Dowd’s presence. “This is the Butcher, is it?”

“I believe so.”

Dowd nodded. He carried with him a small slate, with various controls on it; he touched one now, and spoke. “Come across.”

The Slave IV’s lock cycled again; four Devaronians entered, two of them in military dress, bearing rifles that they carried pointed at the Slave IV’s deck. The third was a female Devaronian, young, in gold robes and a gold headdress; the fourth, wearing robes of a cut similar to the woman’s, except in black, was an older Devaronian, perhaps the Butcher’s age.

All four hesitated at the sight of Fett, aiming his rifle at them—

Dowd gestured to the woman and said something in Devaronian. Fett had never actually heard the language spoken before; it was low and guttural and full of snarling consonants. It sounded like an invitation to a fight.

The woman’s expression did not change. She crossed to the spot where Malloc sat—Fett had restrained his left hand prior to allowing anyone else on board. She kneeled in front of Malloc, looking the shivering prisoner over as though she were inspecting a carcass in the marketplace. Malloc’s skin had acquired a blue tinge; Fett supposed it was something that happened to Devaronians when they were deathly afraid.

The woman stood up and nodded abruptly. She spoke in Devaronian—

Dowd said, “She says it’s her father.”

Fett nodded; it was the reason the bounty had been “Alive,” rather than “Dead or Alive.” It had only changed a few years back; the Devaronians had no longer been certain that the Butcher would be recognizable, dead.

The older Devaronian said grimly, in rather poor Basic, “We pay him now.”

Dowd handed his tablet over to the Devaronian. The Devaronian laid his hand flat against the tablet, and spoke several words in Devaronian. Dowd took the panel back, tapped two of the controls in succession, and turned to Fett.

“You’ve been paid.”

It was not the sort of thing Fett took anyone’s word for; he took several steps backward, rifle still pointed at the group, and glanced slightly to the side. In a holofield at the edge of the control panel, a live link to the Guild Bank showed the current balance in Fett’s numbered account—

C:4,507,303.

Five million credits, less the Guild’s handling fee of 10%, plus the seven thousand, three hundred and three credits Fett had had in the account—business had been bad, recent years.

The relief that washed over Fett at the sight was the strongest emotion other than anger that he’d felt in at least a decade. He could afford to have a replacement clone for his lower right leg; he could afford the cancer treatments that had been bankrupting him. Fett barely heard himself say, “Take him. He’s yours.”

They hauled the Butcher up out of the chair he was restrained in, being none too gentle with him. As they pulled him to his feet, he yelled at Fett, in Basic: “You do what you promised!” The glare in his eyes was perfectly