Shoot, The Messenger

I sat next to the hangar door, idly cleaning my blaster, waiting.

I didn’t have to wait long, as a mere 3 centcycles after sending the message, the recipient turned up. He was your typical merchant, fat and overloaded with gaudy jewellery.

“What do you mean you can’t deliver? I paid good-“

“Customs gave me a random deepscan on entry.” I said, simply.

He stopped complaining and gulped.

“Oh… They find anything?”

I looked at him.

“Guess.”

He hurriedly smiled and held his hands out.

“Look, whatever it was, I didn’t mean for you-“

I fired.

“Well I meant that.”