in a grubby little tavern on a grubby little world

Locals gossip about Fett in an unknown bar...

Written by Patricia GoonUpdated • Estimated reading time: 2 minutes (572 words) • Resize Font

"I wonder what Fett looks like?" As usual, the conversation made its way comfortably to the favourite local news piece. When Sith Lord Darth Vader, evil fellow though he was, called Boba Fett "the best bounty hunter in the galaxy", he made Fett a reluctant celebrity.

The trigger was the entrance of a local bounty hunter, name of Greedo. Greedo was a Roharian, a race known for courage and honour, yet this particular representative was nothing of the kind. He was mean, sly and thought nothing of reneging on his word, and the locals hated him. Most people avoided him, even the prostitutes.

As he sat at the bar alone, sullenly sipping some drink, the party of locals in the corner watched him. "What's that again?" asked one.

"Fett. Wonder what he looks like."

"Force knows. Human, is he?"

"People think so. He's got the right dimensions, anyway. But then so do five other races in the quadrant."

"I hear Greedo hates Fett's guts."

The party laughed. "All the bounty hunters do. But they still fear him."

Greedo heard the laughter and turned to look. But as they all avoided his eyes and continued their talk, he turned back to his drink.

"Where do the rumours place Fett now?"

"Somewhere in this galaxy." They laughed again. "Who knows."

"Hear about his last bounty? He got the Janiston twins."

Low whistle from one of the group. "The telepathic Janiston twins? How did that happen? I didn't even know he had taken the contract on them. The Angannon family put out the contract, what, two three years ago?"

"That's how long Fett's been tracking them. Where you been, Tattooine?"

"Nah. If I'd been on Tattooine, I wouldn't even know of Boba Fett."

More laughter. "That bastard takes his own sweet time, doesn't he? I wouldn't like having Fett on my tail for three years. How would you sleep?"

"Apparently the twins have been sleeping in cycles for three years. Or so they say. Makes good gossip, I suppose. But they've chalked up their own body-count in that time, bloody deadly things. I hear it's 25 bounty-hunters they've got."

"Twenty-five! No wonder Fett was careful. What did he get for them?"

"A planet. Don't ask me where. No one knows."

The group hooted with laughter.

"A planet!"

"What's he going to do with a planet?"

"Grow his own vegetables?"

"Maybe he needs a new sniper course."

"Look, everyone needs a place to retire. Would you like Boba Fett, however old and feeble, living in your neighbourhood?"

"An old and feeble Boba Fett?" someone else snorted. "That fellow's going to get unlucky one day, and he'll go with somebody's laser in his back. He'll never die any other way."

Heads nodded around the table.

"I would hate being Fett. In a way it's worse than being..." the speaker looked around, and his eye fell on Greedo. "..that poor fool there."

"I don't know," another local said. "Greedo doesn't wear a helmet, everyone knows what he looks like. Stupid. If you were going to be bounty-hunting, wouldn't you mask up? Last thing you want is be picked off from a distance. Fett, well, he could be anywhere, anyone."

"He's not going to be here. No one wants to be here."

More laughter.

"Maybe he's on his planet, weeding."

"I hear he likes palu fruit. Fried."

There were happy cries of disbelief. "Where did you hear that?"

Three tables away, also watching Greedo, an unarmoured, unhelmeted Boba Fett sipped his drink, unconcerned. Fried palu fruit, he thought. Interesting. Might try that tonight; wasn't aware you could fry those things.