Boba Fett Fan Fiction

The Snatch by Stealth Warfare: A Boba Fett Story

Written by Jason Cross aka Avatar Darth L ight

Published Updated • Approximate reading time: 9 minutes (1,970 words)
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Boba Fett looked grimly through his infrared scope in his ancient and upgraded Mandalorian helmet; his prey had been in the Mos Eisley Cantina for seven and a half hours approximately. The bastard isn't coming out, thought Fett. He checked all the local talk frequencies; after a few minutes, he ascertained there was nothing unusual. He contacted Slave I's main computer. The ship was securely parked nearby.

"Slave, total scan," he ordered briskly.

The Corellian swooper inside had no major biomarkers, except his steady inebriation Slave I quickly reported. The near-empty Cantina, owned by his current boss, Jabba the Hutt, was to be protected and its integrity maintained.

The bastard will be there all night, mused Boba Fett.

He ordered a local escort girl by his advanced comlink. She arrived rather quickly, a few blocks from his query. Fett paid the credits upfront in the deep shadows of the alley, nearby the raucous Cantina.

"Your ass is mine now, Dengar."

After a time, Dengar was quite sweaty and dancing with his new Twi'lek "girlfriend". She was quite a show, and he was falling deeply in love, despite his usual crass, stone-like heart. He was deeply cut.

Dengar, after the Cantina closed jumped on his shiny swoop speederbike with the Twi'lek in tow as the night desert wind blew into the streets of Mos Eisley.

"Incoming message from Darth Vader, master," sounded Slave I's computer in Fett's helmet.

Boba Fett retreated.


"There is a hidden Jedi in the vicinity. I want him found and made ready for delivery."

"Yes, Lord Vader."


Dengar woke up in his messy quarters.


"What? Where is the girl, did we?"

He clenched his nasty jaw and fist.

"Back to the bloomin' bounties," he stated gruffly.


"Sorry boss, I have another contract."

"Fett! Fettttt. You know I love you, but if you don't get that, fat pig, Dengar, I will cut you from the Palace," said Jabba with his large eyes staring at Boba Fett in the static hololink.

"As you wish boss."


Boris the vibroblade, a bloodthirsty maniac, stoner and nasty freebooter and smuggler, looked at Boba Fett with contempt and surprise. He feigned a yawn.

"To what do I owe this great... pleasure, Boba Fett?" he said, as he scratched his nose, and nicked his fingernail with his favorite and well-used old vibrobowie.

They sat in the Cantina, nearby the exit, a place for quick business according by its many traditions.

"We talk business, no?"

"A hundred credits for Dengar in chains."

"Fett you must be totally joking."

"A thousand."

Boris coughed suddenly, as he was taking a sip of his Imperial wheat flame water. He held up a hand.

"Deal by, all the ghosts of my ancestors."


Strider Cognitive, a tall black man and a journeyman bounty hunter with the guild from Tanga-Six—a jungle world far from Tatooine—sat alone as usual, despite some offers from nearby.

He approached Boris the vibroblade who was sitting totally alone.

"Striderr, what? You want to join me for a drink?"

"Yes, Boris, I shall," said Strider grimly.

Underneath the round table, Boris the vibroblade, deftly took out two vibroknives in his hands from their hidden places.

To that no one knew what happened exactly in the Cantina or who shot or stabbed or threw first.

Boris the vibroblade ended up with his knives "stuck" in him at the end.

"That bounty is mine," said Strider Cognitive; he flexed his tall black muscular body as he flipped a credit chit to the aging, greasy bartender, a favorite of the local Hutts and Jabba.


Dengar had been on a desert joy ride for four hours now.

"Bloomin' heat," he muttered wiping his brow.

"Mos Eisley should really get rid of those Jawas," he said to himself, and considered purchasing more security for his shiny swoop bike. He scratched himself, and thought about the female Twi'lek with no name, sighing deeply and heavily.

He decided to go see Lander and Teebo in hopes of there being a bounty at the local impound. They ran a impound center by contract for the locals.

Lander had his tall electro stun rod in his hand.

"Anything?" said Dengar, as he walked into the shadows of the impound building; a few of Lander's security droids were tracking him.

"No, Dengar," said Lander, "I am busy. There is a Gungun however, two actually."

"Forget it, bloomin' hot rods. Forget it Lander. Where is Teebo?"

"He's on a joyride somewhere."

"I have to get back to the Gungun now, Dengar."


Strider Cognitive now had that drink for Boris the vibroblade's departed soul. It was his favorite reddish concoction. He had been following the Twi'lek for four hours now and wondered where she got so much money, if she wasn't "working" all the time.


The female Twi'lek with an unknown name had been dancing for a long time now. She was sweaty and tired and needed a drink.

The Bantha Blues Bar was nearly empty.

Strider Cognitive walked in, and suddenly a Gungun in rough travelling clothes approached him.

"Me'ca think you look nice," said the Gungun.

"Get lost friendly interloper."

Strider looked around, but the Twi'lek was gone, and he didn't want to start trouble with the establishment; he already had enough Imperial trouble since he escaped the heavy security and occupation on his jungle homeworld of Tanga-Six.


Dengar was furious and arguing with a short-haired female bartender who wore male slacks and bizarre earrings and heavy tattoos.

"What do you bloody bloomin' mean the price has gone up?"

"The price has gone up Dengar."

"But I love a good Blood Bantha," he muttered, "If Jabba didn't?"

She pressed a security button.

Dengar was on the ground having been thrown out, and he noticed some Jawas were pawing his shiny swoop bike.

"Ya bloomin' rats, get lost!!"


A nearby Dewback was "doing its duty" as Strider walked by ignoring the heavy smell. He now knew he would have to get Dengar directly.

Dengar roared by on his now dusty swoop bike.


Zee-1, Dengar's old cleaning droid, informed Dengar his place had a visitor. The female Twi'lek entered and sat beside him on his messy and heavily-stained bed.

"Boba Fett is after me, Dengar."

"Bloomin' hells girlie," he burped suddenly.

She kissed him on the cheek suddenly.

"I'll get him. I'll get him, by hells or high water."

Security alarms suddenly rang.

Dengar lifted his rocket launcher and fired a rocket as he saw a large shadow creeping through the doorway.

Sirens rang outside throughout Mos Eisley, as Dengar looked through the massive hole in his apartment.

The girl was gone suddenly, and Dengar grabbed his gear, and looked out with his sniping rifle at all the corners and tried to cover all the vantage points possible for sniping out or being sniped.

He walked down the stairs of his rented apartment slowly, and was suddenly knocked unconscious with a blow to his exposed head.


In total darkness, Dengar awoke; he knew he was bound with coarse ropes and gagged.


The unknown named Twi'lek kissed Strider on the cheek, as he sat in the Cantina drinking his favorite red drink, a kind of Blood Bantha with exotic herbs and strange spices.

"You are a true marvel to look at?" he began as she pressed a finger on his lips and kissed him quickly and passionately.


Dengar with his lion-like strength heaved and heaved against the coarse ropes. After twenty standard minutes of heavy sustained effort, he broke free, coughing and sweating and angry as an Imperial bureaucrat working heavily on overtime.

Boba Fett suddenly stunned him with one stun shot.


"We must talk Dengar."

"Oh? Why should I, Fett?"

"Because Jabba will have your ass if you don't."

"What's the bloomin' deal, Fett?" said Dengar with adrenalin and fatigue in his nervous and endocrine systems.

"There is a Jedi loose out there."

"No deal, Fett, no deal. I prefer the gentle Jabba," said Dengar waving his fingers.


The Gungun was really pissing off Dengar in one of Lander's cells; one that he shared with the non-stop talking and talking Gungun. If I wasn't into bizarre things, he muttered to himself, but he knew he was in enough trouble. He had been in this nasty smelling and dry cell for three weeks with the talking, talking Gungun, or more, he lost count.

I'm starting to go bloomin' crazy, he thought, and prayed to the unholy spirit of Jabba the Hutt with his eyes closed and repeated it.


"I am most displeased with your current lack of progress, Boba Fett. Your bounty is now cut in half."

"I'll get on it, Vader."

"If I get the full bounty, you will have him today."

"No disintegrations," breathed the dark lord of Sith.


Boba Fett had total hope he would succeed. He knew he was the best, or would soon be the best, in this galaxy under galactic Imperium.

He thought to himself, "How does one hunt a Jedi?"


He contacted a local talkative Gran to plant a rumor about a lightsaber that was in the possession of a handsome young swoop racer in these parts, and Boba Fett paid him to get others to "talk and comment" about it in cutthroat and highly competitive Mos Eisley.


The pretty female Twi'lek and Strider Cognitive sat on his bed. Why am I so in love? He thought, it is almost unreal, like a?naw, he thought.

"I have a ship," she articulated.

"It is called Nemesis's Voice," she smiled sweetly.

He kissed her again and again with deep passion.


"Me'ca happy."

"No, me'ca happier than u."

The two Gunguns walked side by side, and skipped sometimes, in the massive desert heat in streets of Mos Eisley, someone had fed them, recently as well.


"We're letting you out, Dengar," said Lander.

"Why does Teebo have that bloody stun rod in his hand?" muttered a red-eyed Dengar through the bars of his cell.


Dengar had never had any more black and blue bruises than he did now in his entire life and stun marks.

He shivered, and... "Ow, that bloomin hurts," he thought, "That's what I get for insulting a fickle Hutt princess at Jabba's Palace." He stared into the hot and heavy suns of Tatooine.


The comely female Twi'lek counted the chits in a leather bag, full of Imperial credit chits, made in Rylothia, the Twi'lek homeworld, as Strider Cognitive lay sleeping, exhausted in his quarters.

This is really getting dark, she thought.


Boba Fett had ordered Slave I's computer to monitor the local transmissions for any "Jedi talk", intragalactic or local.

He soon knew what he was dealing with and passed the information to Lord Vader.


"It would be wise for you to lower your defenses, little Jedi," breathed the vile Darth Vader.

The pretty Twi'lek did just that and lowered her blue lightsaber, as elite Imperial stormtroopers took her into their custody.

She had been lured into a swooper racer warehouse as Vader and Fett had set a trap for her. She had now not only endangered herself by looking for token ancient lightsabers of fallen Jedi, but her former Jedi mistress as well. Lord Vader was most pleased she had contacted the other Jedi.


Dengar tripped, drunkenly, over something. He stared in disbelief at the Rylothian leather bag and its contents and his hands began counting through the drunken haze in his brain and shivering. He stared wide-eyed for a moment.

"Time to bloomin' gets off-world, hic—," he muttered and smiled. He would try his luck on the professional swoop race circuit like he always dreamed.


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