Dead or Alive

by Rust

First published 16th of January, 2013

Boba Fett has a new bounty; Princess Celestia. Needless to say, things don't go smoothly.

Boba Fett. Notoriously known as the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy. From the Outer Rim to the Core Worlds, his exploits are the stuff of legend.

His latest hunt --for which the reward offers enough credits to purchase a small star system-- takes him to the farthest reaches of explored space, to a distant and unknown planet, where he is to kidnap a notable figure of great power and return to his employer with all due haste.

The target?

Princess Celestia of Equestria.

---

The 'Human' tag is not present on this story because it involves immersion into a universe that contains a great deal more species than them. Expect far more than mere humans to make an appearance.

[Chapter 1] - Scum and Villainy

The Galactic Empire is ascendant. The Jedi have been all but destroyed by Order 66, the merciless hunt led by Emperor Palpatine and his dark apprentice, Darth Vader. And yet, the Sith Lords still sense a great power in the Force, sequestered away far beyond the charted space lanes. Beyond the beyond, something lurks.

Imperial probes sent to this blackest of deserts made a startling new discovery -- an entire world, attuned to the ebbs and flows of the Force. The Emperor has decided that this new planet, and all its inhabitants, would submit under the banner of the Empire or face utter annihilation.

To this end, he has summoned the galaxy's greatest bounty hunter, the mysterious Boba Fett, to kidnap the leader of Equus and deliver her to the Empire to be used as a bargaining chip for the fate of her planet...

Liliat Sector, Komra System, Aboard the Trading Station Ba-2456, in orbit over the planet Tyto...

Heavy boots thudded against the floor in an ominous rhythm, echoing through the stillness of the dark, powerless hallway, lit only from the light of the nearby star shining through the observation windows. Through the shafts of silver light that cut through the blackness, an armored figure slipped in and out of view as it steadily made its way to the reinforced blast doors at the far end of the hallway.

It paused before the door, rubbing the barrel of its blaster carbine as if in thought. About two meters tall, the figure struck a grim image. It wore a ancient, battle-scarred suit of beskar, Mandalorian armor, faded green with yellow pauldrons. A frayed, shortened cape hung behind it and a string of Wookie scalps dangled from one shoulder.

A gloved hand reached out and politely knocked on the heavy door; one, two, three times.

After a moment's pause, the entryway rolled to the side with a mechanical hum and the screech of metal on metal.

An ugly face poked out of the threshold, followed by the rest of the creature. A Toydarian, with a bulbous midsection and constantly flapping insecticidal wings. He spread his arms wide. "Ey, my friend! It is good to see you again, yes? What brings you to Battro's post?" Battro waved the figure inside. "Come, come, we talk more."

The Toydarian ambled through the room, which was cluttered with piles upon piles of parts and pieces from every possible origin. Droid, starship, or simple machine, most everything found itself passing through Battro's wares room at one point or another along the journey from the factory to the scrapyard. Battro chattered as he wove his way through the debirs.

"It's been a while since I last see you! Battro remembers these things, you know. What was it you buy again? Ah! Trip mines. Duraplast shrapnel. Proximity trigger, I am thinking." The figure behind him remained silent, picking its way carefully, lest it upset one of the many leaning towers of junk.

In a hidden pocket of the room was a small booth, covered with the fetid remains of what seemed to be the remains of meals from now until the last year. Battro sat down on one side and swept this all away with a loud clatter. "You sit now, yes? We talk business."

The figure slid into the seat across, the jetpack strapped to its back causing it to have to lean forward a bit.

"So, what can Battro do for you,?" asked the trader. "Battro has all kinds of things you might enjoy for use. A new shipment of darts came in last cycle. Ackalay venom. Very potent. One dart will drop a bull bantha in mere seconds." He held up a vial of darts and rattled them about. "Fifty credits per dart. But for you? Battro can go forty."

The figure made no motion to reply. The black, T-shaped visor on the helmet remained fixed upon the Toydarian. Battro could see his reflection in it.

"No? All right, he plays hard to get. Battro can work with this." Battro dug into a sweat-stained pocket and removed a small, squashed looking hunk of metal. "Starship tracker. Imperial-class. Top notch, won't even find this on the black markets. Effective to almost 50,000 light years; that's half the known Galaxy!"

Again, there was no response. Battro had to resist the urge to shiver.

"Okay," Battro consented. "You caught me. I have been holding back, the best wares for the best customer, eh?" He flitted across the room and rummaged around in a junk heap for a moment, before returning and placing an item upon the table, a cylinder measuring around a foot in length, covered in rusting grip and a couple buttons. "Lightsaber. Antique. One of those old Outer Rim types sold it to Battro when he was just starting out. The energy crystal is missing, but, well, you know what these babies can do!" He chuckled.

"No." The figure finally spoke. "I need a Force Inhibitor. As powerful you can make it. Twenty thousand midichloria, bare minimum."

Battro recolied. "One of those!?" he shouted, then lowered his voice, "one of those? I haven't seen one of those since the Clone Wars," he hissed. "That kind of tech has been blackmarked for years. Nobody who deals that stuff survives long without the Empire coming down on them like they pissed on the Emperor's robe. You can get sent to an asteroid prison for life, just for talking about them."

The featureless helmet remained utterly impassive.

Battro tried to stare it down, but all he could see was himself, glaring imperiously back. "What would you even use one for?" he demanded. "Are you hunting Jedi, is that it? Battro knows these things. You don't want to mess with those guys!" He pointed an accusing finger at the broken lightsaber on the table. "There's a reason they were wiped out. Got too powerful, too strong for their own good."

"I'll pay double."

Battro paused for half a heartbeat. "No."

"Triple."

"No. Battro will not do this, even for you, his best customer."

"Five times the going rate."

At first, Battro thought he had misheard. His sweaty brows furrowed. Now that was a lot of credits. Enough to let him retire, possibly... But for this kind of money to be thrown around so callously, something big must be going down. And for Boba to be able to use it for bribing a merchant? There was something underneath the surface of this deal, and Battro did not like it.

"And if Battro turn that amount down?"

"Then I take it, and blow the place to atoms." The figure crossed its arms. "Your choice."

Battro felt a trickle of sweat slip down his back. It wasn't from the heat, no, he felt icy cold. It was from the fact that he knew the figure sitting across from him would follow through on the threat, and give absolutely not one second of doubt about it. Hell, the station was probably already rigged to explode.

"Fine. Battro can sell you one. And one only, because it is all Battro owns." He narrowed his eyes. "But only for one condition." The figure made no move to deny that request, so he continued. "You must tell Battro what you intend you use it for, Boba Fett. Battro will not have his conscience at risk by sending his old friend's son off to die on some foolish mission for some old Jedi scum."

Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter in the known Galaxy, and quite possibly the most lethal being outside of the Dark Lords, shrugged his armored shoulders.

"Just the usual."

"The usual don't require Force Inhibitors strong enough to bring Vader to his knees." Battro glared at the reflective visor. "You aren't hunting Jedi, that is clear to Battro."

"You're right, I'm not."

Try as he might, the Toydarian couldn't wring any more information from the stubborn bounty hunter. He admonished himself for even trying; Fett's iron will was renowned from here to Courasant. With a bit of grumbling, Battro delved into the mounds of junk until he found the object of his search; a reinforced safe, to which the combination for only he knew. A few expert spins of the dial, and the door swung open.

The Force Inhibitor, for what it was, didn't look very impressive. A simple, finger-sized device, attached to an adjustable belt of cortosis metal, which, outside of Fett's Mandalorian beskar suit, was some of the toughest in the Galaxy. "Put that on a Force-wielder, and they wouldn't be doing anything special anytime soon," he announced upon procuring it for Fett.

"The trick is getting it on in the first place, then." Boba Fett took the item and callously slung it over one shoulder, before picking his way back through the doorway. "Your credits are waiting in the hangar."

Battro was stumped for a moment. Fett had already set out the payment? He had known... Battro had folded like a deck of cards, and the damned bounty hunter had foreseen it.

"Like father, like son!" he called after the retreating figure.

Battro then began to think about just exactly what he'd spend his newfound wealth on. He was several hundred thousand credits richer, he had gotten rid of his most illegal piece of contraband, and Boba Fett had just walked out of his shop without disintegrating him.

Today was a good day for Battro.

Boba Fett entered the solitary hangar of the Toydarian trader's space station. The only thing in the room, his signature vessel lay comfortably in the tight berth; a Firespray-31 patrol and attack craft, one of six ever made. With a class 3.0 hyperdrive and blaster cannons powerful enough to scrape the paint off a Star Destroyer, it was twenty tons of pure, unadulterated aggression in starship form. Pound for pound, the Slave I was one of the most dangerous ships in the space lanes.

Even more so, with the few personal touches Fett had installed.

The gangplank was already lowered, and Boba entered the craft, comforted by the familiar sights and smells. He had inherited her from his father, just one more piece of a mighty legacy to carry on. Boba allowed himself to remember all the adventures he'd had in this ship, if only for a moment.

The helmet scraped his ears as he pulled it over his head. Boba scowled, lines etching his craggy, chiseled face. It was said that the number of beings who had seen that face could be counted by with the fingers of one hand of the average Human. He set the helmet on a peg just inside the spacious cockpit, before sitting down in the well-worn seat that had offered views to some of the most incredible sights the universe had to offer.

The Slave I's ion engines warmed up with a gentle throb. Boba's experienced hands guided her out of the now empty hangar, and set a vector for the nearest safe jump point.

But as the ship smoothly slid away, Boba Fett dug around in his pocket before removing two cylinders, the first being the lightsaber from Battro's shop, and the other being a detonator for the gratuitous amounts of explosives he'd set in the derelict space station. He carelessly tossed the lightsaber into a compartment, where it joined almost a score of others, old relics from his Jedi-hunting days. He then put his thumb over the detonator.

"Sorry, Battro. Can't leave a trail for this one."

The space station lurched, then sparked into a small star as the explosives went off. The Toydarian had served him well, the least he deserved was a quick death, and a happy one at that.

The Slave I entered the jump point some moments later. With an audible whine and the press of a few buttons, the powerful hyperdrive warmed up. Boba threw the switch. There was a sickening lurch of acceleration, and then the view outside the cockpit dissolved from the carpet of stars into a multitude of white streaks.

Boba Fett flicked on the autopilot, put his arms behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and fell asleep.

[Chapter 2] - Beyond the Outer Rim

Unknown Sector, Unknown System, Unknown Planet...

It was a truly beautiful day. Celestia felt that she had outdone herself. The alicorn happily hummed while she worked, a whimsical tune she often wished some of the nobles took to heart more often.

All you gotta do is smile, smile, smile... Celestia dipped her quill into the inkwell, before signing her name on the last of the small mountain of decrees, petitions, letters, and accounts. Finally done with the day's work, she rewarded herself with a luxurious stretch, almost catlike. A crick in her neck vanished with a satisfying pop. Celestia closed her eyes and savored its defeat, that one had been bothering her all day.

Her office lay in a state of near-perfection. Everything had a place, a purpose, and a peculiar point of interest to her. Nothing unnecessary, just what was absolutely essential for her workplace to keep it functional and tasteful. She glared at the mountain of parchment in the "Out" pile. If only my kingdom worked the same way.

There was one last appointment to make before she could pat herself on the back, however. She flipped through her dossier and felt her temples pulse a little at the title of the pony.

5:45 - Verdict regarding allocation of funds for management of agricultural taxation:

----The Assistant Undersecretary to the Secretary of the Treasurer the Ministry of Commerce.

...Who even came up with these positions, anyway?

A polite knocking at the door announced that the Assistant Undersecretary to the Secretary of Treasurer of the Ministry of Commerce was here, and right on time as usual. "Yes?" Celestia called out.

The door squeaked open, and an armored head poked through. One of her guards. She coughed politely and said; "There's a stallion here to see, you, Your Highness. He says he's the Assisstant Undersecre-"

"-Send him in, please," Celestia smoothly cut her off with a gracious smile. Best to spare her the trouble of running out of breath. The door opened further and a young, very rumpled-looking earth pony slouched in, looking around the room in awe. His eyes settled on the Princess, and he began to go about the familiar motions she'd seen uncountable times.

He bowed deeply, almost kissing the floor. She hated when they did that. "Uh, good afternoon, Your Majesty, my name is Brass Scales, and I am the Assissta-"

"-Undersecretary to the Secretary of Treasurer of the Ministry of Commerce?" She couldn't help herself.

Brass Scales looked taken aback, yet very pleased. "Why, yes! Usually nopony gets that right. How did you know, Your Benevolence?"

"The title stands out," she deadpanned gracefully, carefully hiding the jab under years of diplomatic experience. "Now, Mr. Scales, before we settle down to business, would you like some tea?"

"Absolutely!" he declared, then abashedly added, "I mean, if it's not too much trouble. Er, Princess."

"It is certainly no trouble at all," Celestia affirmed. Her horn alit with a soft golden glow, and a tea set began to move around of its own accord, as the water inside the teapot was instantly heated to boiling point. "You seem nervous," she offered to keep the conversation form drying up.

Brass Scales looked in awe as a cup of tea began to pour itself right in front of him, teabag plopping into the mix with nary a droplet spilled. "It's just. This is the first time I've ever had an audience with you in private. Er, your Majesty. Ever, actually. This is the first time the Ministry sent me up here!" He seemed quite proud of himself.

Oh, they sent me a greenhorn? They must think I'm slipping. This should be fun... Celestia hid a smirk behind a sip of tea, masking the scalding of her tongue with a wall of willpower built over the course of an eon. She was suddenly looking forward to this meeting. She could finally lay out a finalizing plan that would keep the bit-hungry Ministry of Commerce on leash. "That's good to hear, my little pony. I'm sure you'll do a fine job here today. Now, then, let's begin with the first item you have to present me."

"Of course, Your Highness." Brass Scales brought out a portfolio. "Firstly is the set tax rate for agricultural business, which the Ministry thinks should be raised from 5% tax on all goods to 6.5% tax..."

Almost an hour later, they were done, and Celestia was in a very, very good mood. Every single tax increase on farms proposed by the Ministry had been blocked, the increase in funding had been granted with the extra money being funneled straight into streamlining the system itself rather than the paychecks of the higher-ups, and the Ministry now lacked an Assisstant Undersecretary to the Secretary of Treasurer , because she had done away with the position and made Brass Scales the Senior Ministry Representative. They had seriously erred in sending him, as she had them on a leash, now. That'd show the rest that she was still Princess, and not a complacent ruler to be coddled into signing away the money of her ponies. She had to admit, she rather liked working with the young stallion -- he was intelligent and eager, unlike so many of the members of the bourgeoisie that made up the government.

It was a shame he was probably being lambasted by his superiors at the moment. She resolved to offer him a position in the Royal Vaults if things took a tailspin.

Still, lamenting the state of Canterlot's bloated bureaucracy would only serve to sour her high spirits. It wasn't often she finished up early. Celestia poked her head out of the door, checking the hallway. The solitary Royal Gaurdsmare was on duty, standing rigidly at attention, almost painfully so. Celestia coughed politely.

The mare noticed. "Princess. Is there something you wish to request of me?"

"See that I'm not disturbed, please," said Celestia. "I've had a long day and I need to take a small rest." She was about to withdraw back into her study when a thought struck her. "And...at ease," she added kindly.

The guard visibly relaxed. "Yes, your Highness. Thank you."

"Thank you." Celestia shut the door and crossed the room in a flash.

Almost with a giggle, she glided onto the balcony and took flight. It felt nice to slip away, even if it was for only a couple minutes. Soon, she would be required at supper, likely treating with some dignitary or ambassador of some kind. her wings filled with air as she leisurely began to ascend above the spires of the castle.

There was a certain satisfaction she took in running her country, oiling the cogs and tinkering here and there with the gears to make it run as smoothly as possible. It had been a long time, however, since she'd had a break. The monotony of court life did tend to chafe one's patience, especially for her, who had not taken a day of from being Princess since she donned her crown many centuries ago.

She was a Princess. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Sunset found her at the very peak of Canterlot Mountain. Celestia bit her tongue thoughtfully as she put the finishing touches on the end of her day.

She stepped back, and the golden glow of her horn faded. There was a deep sense of accomplishment she got from doing this. It was one thing to simply perform a task, but another thing entirely to enjoying ever moment of it. Celestia had never considered herself an artist, but when she looked at the stunning sky she had painted, she couldn't help but smirk a little.

It was riot of color and light, the soft orange and red of the sun bleeding gracefully into the few clouds. The deep purple behemoths hung like ships in the sky, tinged pink around the edges and the deepest of blues were no light passed through. The sun itself was tenderly kissing the horizon, a shimmering scarlet orb of warmth and contentment.

Celestia nodded to herself. The day was at an end, and it was time for her to retire. Luna would be taking over the responsibility of the kingdom while she slept. Her sister had been gone a long time, and Celestia had to admit that she had grown exhausted with managing the state of affairs on a nearly uninterrupted cycle. She might be a Princess, but she was still only one pony.

Speaking of...

A midnight-blue streak of vapor cut through the fading sunlight and landed a couple steps away with a soft rush of air. It struck the ground and splashed up, condensing in a split second into the form of Princess Luna. The smaller alicorn stretched her wings out and huffed. "There you are, sister! I have been looking all over the castle for you, and I find you out here, lazing about like there's no tomorrow!"

Celestia smiled softly. "Sorry, Luna. Would you like to sit with me?"

"I would like for us to return, post haste," Luna grumbled. "Your little ponies are in a state of near panic, not knowing where their precious Princess is."

"So is that a yes?" Celestia cocked an eyebrow.

Luna made an indistinguishable grunt, then flopped down next to her sister. "A pox upon you. They woke me just to assist in their damnable search. We've fought dragons, sister. Surely they might show some faith in our capabilities."

"Luna... they're your subjects just as much as mine." Celestia stretched out a wing and wrapped her sister in it, drawing her close. "And they will warm to you. You'll see. You just have to give it time."

Head resting in her fetlocks, Luna murmured, "maybe."

"And for the record, it was you who fought the dragon, I assisted the evacuation efforts. You know, I hear that they still tell stories about how the Night Princess defeated the great Brimstone... by punching him in the face."

"Ah, those were the days," her sister sighed. "When we weren't shackled by these... things upon our heads."

Celestia squeezed her tighter. "Maybe."

They were quiet for a time, each content in the other's company and the warmth of the setting sun. Celestia was glad; it wasn't often that she and Luna got to spend time together like this. Her sister usually slept through most of the day, keeping to a strict nocturnal schedule. She was a Princess with just as much authority as her sister, holding her own special court at night for those who sought her audience.

...And yet, all too often, it was Celestia's door they knocked on when something was amiss.

Celestia waited until the grand doors came to a rumbling halt, before finally relaxing. Her personal chambers were quite messy for somepony so organized everywhere else. But, to each their own vice, she supposed.

Dinner had been a minefield, as usual.

The late arrival of the Princess had been something of a minor scandal, the way the gossip was spreading around the castle. Some of the dignitaries and guests had taken it as a personal slight, and Celestia had spent most of the meal smoothing down ruffled egos. There had barely been enough time for her to eat, and the majority of her already-small servings had gone to waste.

Luckily, she had a secret stash for just such an occasion. Repressing the urge to cackle in glee, she placed a hoof on the wall and pushed. The stone shifted an inch inwards with a grumble of hidden gears, then vanished completely. In its place lay a hidden hollow, filled to the brim with succulent, chocolate cake.

The ivory predator smiled a wide, satisfied smile. The kind that was worn only when the prey was absolutely helpless before them. And oh, was she going to enjoy this. A few whispered words with Pinkie Pie, a few bits in the right apron, and somehow the hidden compartment kept itself full. Celestia didn't question it. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Or in this case, chocolate frosting.

Some time later, in a near sugar coma, the Princess lay sprawled in a heap atop her luxurious bed, lazily wriggling around in the glow of the solitary candle. She took a sip of a glass of wine as she scanned her Faithful Student's most recent friendship report. It had been too long since she had indulged herself like this. An unplanned flight, delicious cake, and now a bottle of one of Equestria's finest vintages.

Princess Celestia hadn't had a day off in centuries.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

...Right?