Blackness enveloped everything as far as the eye could see. This was because the eye in question was closed. When it and its partner opened, what they saw was hardly better. These eyes belonged to the bounty Hunter Boba Fett, and he was just waking up - an action which shot down many fear driven theories about the Mandalorian never sleeping. The inside of his helmet was dark and restrictive, as all the recon and combat software applications were turned off in order to conserve power. That being said, there /was/ a pulsing red light flashing in his left eye. This light - the thing responsible for waking the bounty hunter up - indicated an incoming message. Activating various data readout with a series of voice commands, Fett sat up in the pilot chair of the Slave IV and stretched his arms and neck before answering the call.
A six inch hooded figure popped up on the tiny holopad on the ship's nav panel. Whoever this was obviously wanted to remain anonymous, and with good reason. This particular comm channel Fett had reserved for emergencies on Kamino. In the entire galaxy, two beings knew of it, and neither could be this hooded figure.
When the figure finally started speaking its voice was full of energy, which annoyed the bounty hunter. "That took you long enough. Trouble with the ship?" Fett didn't answer, nor did he show any indication that he even noticed the little hologram. He had never appreciated small talk. "Stoic silence it is, then," the figure continued. "I'll bet you're wondering how I got hold of this frequency, and who I am. Well, that's information you don't need to know. Don't bother trying to trace this transmission, you'll just find the debris of a relay satellite light years from any inhabited systems. All you need to know is that I'm very /very/ rich, and am about to make you the same. All you need to do is remove a nuisance from the galaxy. Simple enough, right?
"So that you know I'm serious, I'm sending you a datafile. At the very end is a credit line with 100 000 in it." Fett downloaded the file to his datapad, and looked it over. Information on his target was a joke, in that it was just coordinates and a name: Aran.
"Your file is corrupted," the bounty hunter said completely monotone to this chatty potential employer.
"No it is not. I'm making you work for you pay off," the figure responded, and Boba could almost hear the creepy smile which must have been present under that hood. He scanned the file once more and came back by demanding "triple my usual rate."
"Come now, Mr. Fett," the figure spoke condescendingly, "you can be more imaginative than that. Try instead 50 million credits."
Though keeping the same statuesque exterior, the bounty hunter's eyes shot wide open beneath that ominous T visor. 50 million credits. That was enough to not only fix the crumbling Slave IV, but to buy 10 brand new ones, completely modified with every form of hard and software upgrade a bounty hunter could dream of, and still have more than enough left to retire richly on. "Have your attention now, do I? I expect greatness from you, Fett. Now hop to it."
The transmission ended immediately after that order was given. Fett sat in his pilot's chair, debating the merits of chasing down this rich bounty. It could be a trap and this mysterious person definitely though highly enough of himself to think he could take out the green Mandalorian. Or it could be another bounty hunter trying to send Boba off on a wild goose chase in order to distract him from a real bounty. Whatever the truth, Fett needed to know this hooded figure's identity, and so far he had only two leads: the wreckage of a supposed relay satellite, and coordinate that when entered into the ship's nav computer, lead to empty space several parsecs rimward of Bakura.
With a bounty of 50 million, there was no doubt that any hunter from a wannabe thug to serious competition would be on their way to this once in a lifetime opportunity, real or not. Course already plotted, the Mandalorian fired up the Slave IV's hyperdrive engines, sending him hurtling through hyperspace toward where this "nuisance" was, supposedly.