Flashing in and out of consciousness, glimpses of Boba Fett’s life flashed before him as he tumbled through space aboard an out-of-control Slave lV. His father’s death, his lost family, the enduring loneliness, the many brushes with death. Fleeting memories of a life fueled by tragedy, hidden away from the galaxy underneath a cloak of worn Mandalorian battle armor. And still, Slave lV plummeted through open space. Power down, oxygen quickly depleting from the cabin. “Everyone dies. It is the final and only ever lasting justice,” Fett once told a former bounty many years ago before disintegrating him. It appeared as if he soon live up to his own words.

Fett’s helmets HUD display was malfunctioning and his verbal command sensors were down. He struggled in vain with his right hand to reach his left wrist’s command keypad, but the centrifugal force of Slave lV’s spinning threw his right hand away from his opposite arm time and again. Slowly, he concentrated to make another attempt to hit the keypad, this time plunging his right finger into the system override button, causing his helmet and armor to revert to emergency mode. Oxygen rushed into his helmet as he quickly regained consciousness and screamed “Override” into his helmet’s microphone, reestablishing contact with Slave lV’s onboard computer. The cockpit suddenly lit up, Slave lV’s control system alarms at blast, alerting Fett that something had gone horribly wrong on the last jump to hyperspace. The spinning slowed as Slave lV’s engines began to regain control and enter a new orbit in a strange system. Fett checked the Hypderdrive computer. It read ‘Inaccurate course trajectory altered by black hole.’

Fett ignored the message from the Hyperdrive and tried to remember what had happened prior to the equipment blackout. Had it been minutes? Days? He couldn’t be sure. All onboard computers, including his HUD display, had been reset following the override request, which he had never had to use in over 40 years of space travel. He looked in the hyperdrive’s direction again. He had heard of black holes, read about them in his father Jango’s journal, but had never experienced them. Nor had he ever known any beings that had gone in or out of them. In all his years, the prospect of a black hole was equated with death. Even the Galactic Empire had avoided them in their flight manuals. And the Empire certainly wasn’t afraid of throwing away one of their own in the name of experimentation.

There was little time to speculate. Fett’s emergency power would soon be emptied. He needed to find a habitable system. One who’s atmosphere was filled with oxygen. There, he could refuel, inspect Slave lV for damages and hopefully figure out what had happened in the past few days to himself. He surveyed life readings and system habitations on Slave lV’s computer to no avail. This system was completely alien to anything Slave lV had previously encountered. As power dropped to emergency levels, Fett narrowed his onboard computer’s searches down to systems with oxygen in the atmosphere. There was but one. Supporting life, within reach, divided between land and water, Fett directed Slave lV to the third planet away from the system’s sun.

As Slave lV approached the atmosphere, Fett surveyed life readings below. The system was highly populated, almost to the levels of Coruscant, the political hub of the galaxy for millennia. Fearing an ambush in this unknown system, he switched on Slave lV’s cloaking device as he broke the barrier from space to atmosphere. Slowly, the atmosphere gave way to sunlight, clouds, high readings for a gas called carbon dioxide and unidentified aircraft. He programmed Slave lV to land in a highly populated metropolitan area sandwiched between several rivers that opened up to an ocean. Assuming danger at all levels, Fett piloted Slave lV into a forested area over a river and due east of the metropolitan center. The area housed the oldest deciduous trees of the region, allowing ample camouflage for his ship if needed. He spotted several humans nearby as he silently landed Slave lV in a heavily wooded area. While powering the emergency systems down, he noticed a marker outside the cockpit window. In Galactic Basic, it read “Welcome to Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. Park closes at dusk.”

Fett reclined his head against the cockpit seat back, took a few deep breaths and strained to relax. It wasn’t the first time he had stared death directly on. Though it had been some years since, he briefly pondered over the worst encounters, several sojourns in the stomach of the Sarlaac monster on Tatooine. Had it not been for the kindness of strangers or distant acquaintances, he never would have emerged from the Sarlaac’s pit. But this time was different. The unidentifiable system he had just landed on would offer no outside assistance. Once again, as so many times before, Boba Fett was alone, left to his own devices, without a hope in sight. He stepped outside.

The air was temperate. A few humans were in the area, dressed strangely and seemingly enjoying the natural landscapes surrounding them. A man approached him. Middle-aged, no unusual features and spoke to Fett in Galactic Basic. “Halloween’s early this year, huh? You in some kinda paint ball game,” he asked.

“Um… no…. Can you tell me where the nearest power source might be,” Fett asked.

“Power source? Look around ya. It’s everywhere. If you need to charge anything, go find a Starbucks or something,” the man said as he continued to walk by.

“Thank you,” Fett replied. What in the world was Starbucks, he thought to himself. He decided to return to Slave lV and scan the area for power sources. As he switched on auxiliary power, he noticed the reserves near empty. Something during the voyage had drained the ship’s power more than any other journey had ever done in his personal history of space travel. Something was wrong. And suddenly, Slave lV’s scanner alerted him with nearby power sources. The list was neverending in the area which he had landed. Power sources seemed to exist close by in many unusual forms, including a primitive form of power known as electricity that Fett had once read about as a child on Geonosis many years ago. Unfortunately, electricity was the only familiar power source on the list. This system seemed to be mainly dependent on highly combustible gaseous energy. Fett reasoned with himself. Once, during the Empire’s occupation of Bespin, he had powered Slave l’s blaster cannons using Tibanna gas, a very rare gas native to Bespin, during the trip from Bespin to Tatooine. It was to return Han Solo to Jabba the Hutt and collect a rather large bounty. In retrospect, the trip didn’t end well. But Tibanna gas, on the other hand, had powered Slave l’s blaster cannons with more energy and firepower than any other energy source he had experimented with. If, the gases native to this system could be adapted to refuel his power cells, there might be hope. He downloaded the scanner’s findings to his helmet’s computer, powered down and exited an invisible Slave lV to humans once again. By now, the atmosphere had darkened and no humans were in the area. He recited the security code for Slave lV, its hatch sealing shut. And then he began walking in the direction of a more heavily populated area punctuated by a variety of energy sources. Cautiously, with his EE-3 carbine rifle ready to draw, he stepped into the unknown night of this strange system.

Fett’s HUD displayed an ETA on foot. “30-40 minutes in all directions.” In this low-lying heavily wooded area, his scanners could not work at full capacity. He noticed the outer lying quadrants filled with tall buildings. Reaching the top would most likely allow his scanners to work better, but it might also draw attention to him. An alternative would be needed. His scanners located several bridges connecting the land masses in the area. There were signs of life along these bridges, but nothing in the way of habitable residences. They served simply as methods of crossing the water underneath for the humans in the area. Reasoning to himself, he deduced he could use his jetpack to fly to the epicenter of the bridge, then scan for power sources using this more lucrative vantage point. It could be risky, but with the amount of activity in the area, including aircraft, human activity and land vehicles of all sorts, he might just slip through the cracks. He scanned the middle of the bridge for coordinates, located a landing zone just before the bridge and began to power up his jetpack.

The first blast shot Fett up over residential and commercial properties, scores of land vehicles and humans. As far as he could see, this system’s only subspecies were humans. He landed atop a statue close to 10 meters off the ground, just before the beginning of the bridge. Unfamiliar vehicles whizzed by in every direction, loud noises emanating from each one as collisions were narrowly avoided. It reminded him of several systems. Primarily Bespin, which had employed a series of drones manufactured by the Sorosuub Corporation to control traffic. Assuming there were no such drones here, along with the primitive power sources and the number of land vehicles in relation to ground vehicles, it was plain to see that this system was not nearly as advanced as Fett had hoped. ‘It could make the search for a power source more difficult,’ Fett deduced to himself as he powered up again and headed for the center of the bridge.

He landed on a walkway at the center of the bridge. Land vehicles continued to whiz by, though he was separated from them by a metallic cage-like contraption which spanned the length of the bridge. For the moment, he was alone. ‘Scan area for adequate power sources,’ he said into his helmet’s microphone as he briefly scanned this strange new area he had somehow arrived into. It was primitive, largely populated and clearly unlike any system he had seen prior to this journey. Yet, something was unusually calming about this unknown world. If he was unknown here, he could blend in, leave his former life behind; the jedi, the smugglers, the cut throat bounty hunters guild, the life of pursuit and capture. The brief preponderance ended as his HUD detected several human forms approaching from both directions. Fett looked up. Five meters overhead were outcroppings of linear steel. He aimed his right wrist gauntlet up, shot a Fibercord Whip upwards and waited a brief second as the cord wrapped tightly around the beam. He reached up with his left hand and within mere seconds, he was lifted up to the safety of the steel skeleton, unbeknownst to the humans passing by below on two-wheeled self-propelled vehicles. ‘Primitive and stupid,’ he thought to himself. The humans passed by underneath as a sound began to build from afar.

A few moments later, Fett glanced up to find himself face to face with a fast approaching human transport vessel of some sort. The vehicle careened at him with no signs of slowing down. And his wrist gauntlet was still attached to the Fibercord Whip. There was no time to think. Fett detached the Fibercord Whip and jumped back down to the walkway below, narrowly avoiding the transport vessel. The fall was quick and painless. Fett tumbled as he hit the ground and quickly jumped back to his feet. Just in time to come face to face with a human aboard one of those self-propelled vehicles. His HUD read ‘Male human, approximately 30 years old, no weapons.’ He looked friendly. His eyes were covered with spectacles, further attesting to the primitive assumptions Fett had already been making about these humans. From his utility belt hung several unique thinly shaped pieces of metal that rattled together. His torso armor read ‘The Shins’ in Galactic Basic.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Sarlaac’s belly still?” the human asked.

Fett pushed the human hard against the handrail of the bridge walkway, left forearm pressed down against the human’s throat, applying crushing pressure.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“I… I… can’t breathe,” he gasped.

“How do you know about the Sarlaac?” Fett continued.

“I… can’t… breathe,” answered the human.

Fett’s forearm pressure relaxed enough to allow the human to talk, still pinning him to the handrail.

“Can you talk now?” Fett asked.

“Yes… just barely. Chill out man, if you want my money, take it. Please don’t kill me,” he begged.

The human was visibly shaken, terrified according to the HUD sensors. Fett relieved more pressure. Any other system, the human would’ve been dead. But on this unknown system, meeting a human with former knowledge about himself might prove useful. And besides, this human was too scared to prove dangerous. Fett stepped back as the human dropped to his knees, visibly shaking and gasping for air.

“I don’t want your money,” Fett said. “I do want to know how you know about the Sarlaac,” he continued.

“If this is some kinda of sick fucking joke man, I’m not laughing,” said the human. “I don’t care what the fuck you’re dressed like!”

“This is no joke. You have prior knowledge about me and I need to know how,” Fett demanded.

The man stood up, grabbed his self-propelled vehicle and starting walking away. “Fuck you man, take a fucking joke if you’re going to Manhattan dressed like that. Fucking asshole.” He straddled his vehicle and began descending down the bridge ramp.

Fett didn’t have time to think. This human, though appearing harmless, possessed knowledge that could prove valuable. Fett powered up his jetpack and launched from the center to the other side of the bridge in awe of the few humans passing over the bridge.

As he landed, he spotted the human from the bridge approaching him with some velocity. The human saw Fett as he landed from the jetpack launch and attempted to steer around Fett, still terrified. His vehicle, unable to stop, crashed into the wall and sent the human skidding to the ground. Fett ran to the human, grabbed him and using his auxiliary jetpack power, carried himself and the human to the underside of the bridge, in a darkened area surrounded by small birds and not much other human life.

“Look man, I don’t know how the fuck you did that, but you better let me fucking go or I’ll call the police,” said the human.

“I don’t know how else to say this so I’ll just say it. My name is Boba Fett. I am not from this planet. My ship somehow escaped a black hole and ended up near this system, and its power supply is near empty. I was in the middle of the bridge scanning for power sources when I ran into you, and you somehow knew something about me that not many humans know about, especially in an unidentified system such as this, so what I need to know from you is how you know what you know about me, and also if you can help me,” Fett said. It had been a long time since he had spoken so extensively on any issue, but the current situation required some distant measures, such as speaking and dragging strange and terrified humans under bridges to ask for help.

The human leaned his head back against the dirtied wall he was standing next to and took a deep breath.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked.

“No, I am totally serious,” Fett answered.

“Prove it then, disintegrate one of those pigeons,” the human said.

“What’s that?” Fett asked.

“The birds all around us!” said the human.

Fett aimed his concussion grenade launcher at one of the birds, set his HUD sights on the flying animal and fired. In a split second, an explosion erupted underneath the bridge which disintegrated every bird in sight. The human ducked against the wall, covering his head with his arms.

“Is that good enough for you?” Fett asked.

The human peeked out from underneath his arms. “Don’t kill me, please!”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Fett demanded. “You have my word.”

“Then what do you want from me?” asked the human.

“I want your help, and I want to know how you know about me,” Fett replied.

“Fuck it, we’re not going to figure anything out here. The cops will probably be here in seconds anyway,” said the human.

“My name is Royce. We need to get out of here now,” said the human. The sound of police car sirens was rapidly approaching. “If that story is true, and I hardly believe that it is, then you should come with me and we’ll figure out something away from the police,” he continued. “You can start by taking off that helmet and blending in with society a little bit… Everyone’s gonna think you’re a terrorist.”

“No chance,” Fett replied as he followed Royce down an alley off of Avenue B.

Royce walked a few meters in front of Fett down a darkened street in the city. The sounds of strange vehicles and humans arguing was everywhere.

“You know, I thought something strange was going to happen today, but I had no idea that this was it,” said Royce.

“I know how you feel,” Fett replied cooly. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m taking you to my apartment. The least I can get out of this are some photos and a good story to blog about,” said Royce.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” said Fett.

“Good, keep it coming Boba. It’s a good thing I’m a little buzzed,” said Royce.

Suddenly, he stopped at a door and inserted one of the metal devices from his utility belt into it. The door clicked and opened. Royce ascended some stairs inside of the doorway and Fett followed him up three flights of stairs. Royce reached another door and inserted another metal device into it, which again, clicked and opened into Royce’s home. The room was dark, full of unusual technology and dilapidated. On the wall hung a piece of art which resembled someone Fett had not seen in a long time, Darth Vader, former Dark Lord of the Sith.

“What is that artwork?” Fett asked.

“Oh, of course you’d notice that. It’s from when I was a kid. You know, Star Wars, the movie?” answered Royce.

Fett shook his head in disagreement.

“You can take off your helmet if you want. No one’s going to hurt you here,” said Royce.

Fett agreed. He released the safety latch and lifted the helmet off. To Royce’s surprise, the face of Boba Fett was that of a scarred, elderly man. A face that had seen wars, death, tragedies.

“I haven’t revealed myself to another human in a long time,” said Fett. “I used to say that I had a face that appeared familiar to everyone, but these days, it’s not so apparent.”

Royce extended a small white object and placed it near Fett.

“What is this?” Fett asked.

“It’s an iPod. I’m recording this exchange so I can write about it later on,” said Royce. “C’mon, it’s the least you can do after scaring the shit out of me AND making me lose my bike. Trust me, I’m trusting you. And I don’t trust anyone in this damn town. Do you?” Royce asked.

“It’s not in my nature to, but under the circumstances, I’ve gotta trust at least one person in this town,” Fett answered.

Royce positioned the iPod so that the microphone was directed at Fett.

Royce: “So, I’m sitting here with a guy dressed like Boba Fett that accosted me on the middle of the Williamsburg Bridge approximately an hour ago, then blew up a flock of pigeons underneath the bridge a few minutes later. He tried to choke me, insists on telling me that he’s from another system in the galaxy and is playing out this Star Wars bit to no end. As a journalist for Gawker.com, I’m inclined to include this unexpected happening in my blog this week, so here I sit with someone dressed like Boba Fett that enjoys choking people, telling tall tales about intergalactic space travel and blowing up pigeons. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Boba Fett: “I need your help in finding an adequate power source in the area.”

Royce: “Well, what kinda power source do you need? There’s a power strip over in the corner if you need to plug in your cell phone.”

Boba Fett: “I need something that can restore auxiliary power to my ship, Slave lV, docked in a wooded area on the other side of the bridge where we met.”

Royce: “Well, if that’s true, then I’m going to need to see this purported ship. Where did you find a wooded area in Brooklyn?”

Boba Fett: “At something called the Botanical Gardens.”

Royce: “I’m gonna need to see this thing if we’re going to go any further with this interview.”

Boba Fett: “Come with me then.”

Royce paused the iPod, picked up his bag and motioned Fett out of the apartment. He locked the door and descended the stairs with Fett following behind him.

“We’re taking the train over there since my bike is most likely gone,” said Royce. Fett followed Royce underneath the city street into a long tubular transportation hub. They walked briskly through groups of humans, with many people taking notice of Fett. Royce continually motioned towards Fett, saying “Late night comic convention” to them, who nodded and moved on following the statement.

In a few minutes, they boarded some sort of tubular transport and moved briskly through a dark tunnel. It reminded Fett of Coronet City, the capital of Corellia. Many years before, Fett had boarded Coronet City’s subway system in search of a much younger Han Solo. But here, in this strange world, there were no bounties to chase, just Fett himself, hoping that a strange human might be able to help him. As Fett daydreamed, the transport slowed down and Royce motioned for them to disembark.

They stepped off onto another platform and began walking. Within minutes, they were on a darkened street yet again, less populated, with lower buildings. Royce continued walking in front til he arrived at a fence which read ‘Brooklyn Botanical Garden.’ Fett recognized the name and assured Royce that his ship was inside the borders of the fence. They located a hole through the fence a few meters away, and ducked inside the park when no one was looking. Fett’s HUD lit up, sensors tuning into Slave lV’s onboard computer. They were only 50 meters away from the ship. Fett took the lead, with Royce behind him, who held out a strange comm link type device which lit up and allowed him to navigate easier.

“What type of comm link is that?” Fett asked.

“C’mon dude. Give it a rest. It’s a Blackberry,” Royce answered.

“I don’t know that model,” Fett replied.

In a few moments, Royce and Fett approached a wooded lot bordered by flowers and low-lying trees. Fett typed a code into his left wrist gauntlet computer and a low hum began to emit from the ground in front of him. Within seconds, Slave lV appeared.

Stammered, Royce approached the ship and knocked on the ship’s exterior. It was metallic, he could make that much out. He cautiously followed Fett to the rear of the craft, witnessed the hatch open and followed Fett inside. If this was some kind of mock up craft to fool him, this crazy person had sure put in a lot of work.

“This is Slave lV,” Fett said to Royce. “If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. I can imagine what’s going through your head as it’s probably just as bad what’s going on in mine.”

Royce stepped back from Fett. “This thing is real, huh?” he said.

Fett nodded affirmative. He pointed to the Hyperdrive’s navigating system, which still read ‘Inaccurate course trajectory altered by black hole.’ And then he pointed to the Power Level readout, which read ‘.05%’

“I really need your help,” Fett said to Royce. “This isn’t my home,” he continued. “I don’t know how you know about me, but you must know some way to help me if you do.”

Royce started blankly at the old man’s blank expression. “I can help you. I think… But first, there are some things you need to know,” he said.

Back at Royce’s apartment, he withdrew a circular shaped object from an envelope, it resembled a primitive form of data storage he had once seen. Royce inserted the disc into a piece of equipment underneath the digital display monitor and fumbled with a few buttons. He also turned on his digital recorder again, the white device Royce referred to as an “iPod.”

“You see, if you are who you say you are, then you’ve been in the minds of our collective consciousness for over 20 years,” Royce said.

“Who’s mind?” Fett demanded.

“Humans, on Earth, this planet. Your likeness has already been depicted in movies, television, comics, you name it.”

“I don’t understand,” Fett replied.

Royce pressed a button on another unfamiliar comm link device, and an image suddenly appeared on the monitor. An image of Darth Vader walking past himself on Bespin, discussing the terms of Han Solo’s expedition to Jabba The Hutt.

“You may take Captain Solo to Jabba the Hutt after I have Skywalker.”
“He’s no good to me dead.”
“He will not be permanently damaged.”

A long moment of silence transpired as Royce hit the pause button on the DVD.

Shocked, Fett let no emotions out. “How could this be,” Fett thought to himself. Attempting to not display a daunting response to the images, he kept his head down and spoke no words.

“See, there you are, talking to Vader on Cloud City,” said Royce. “Now I don’t know how this shit happens, but you’re a character from a human’s imagination, only you’re not really. You’re a real person, stranded in a world that created you out of imagination… This shit is too crazy. I need a smoke,” Royce said. “You smoke weed?” he asked Fett.

“I don’t think so,” Fett replied.

“Good, more for me,” answered Royce. He reached into a wooden box on a table, retrieved a pipe and placed some type of brown, dried matter inside of it. He lit the end, inhaled deeply, held his breath and then exhaled a cloud of smoke that smelled strangely. It appeared to be some type of mind-altering substance.

Royce coughed, and then attempted to speak. “So what are you thinking about any of this,” he asked Fett.

“I don’t know what to think,” Fett answered. “Is it possible that a Jedi Librarian slipped through the same black hole as myself?”

Royce perked up. “Oh, this just gets better all the time, so you think some magical jedi librarian came here from your universe and assembled six movies for humans to watch and enjoy, hoping that no one from your universe would ever find them?” Royce asked.

“I’m speculating,” Fett retorted. “And your sarcasm is not welcome right now,” he continued.

“Fine, let’s just skip the whole existential crisis and figure out a way to get you out of my life already,” Royce replied. “But you should know that these movies are how I initially knew about you in the Sarlaac pit.”

“Well, if you knew that much, then why didn’t you know that I had escaped the Sarlaac?” Fett sternly asked.

“Because I’m only a mild Star Wars fan. I don’t keep up on the expanded universe…” Royce replied. “Maybe that shit happened in some comic book or something, I don’t know. By the time you probably escaped, I was more worried about getting laid and smoking grass…”

Royce took another puff of smoke from the pipe, exhaled and stood up from his chair. He walked over to another monitor, one with a keyboard and ushered Fett over.

“This is the way we can research your power source needs,” Royce said. “Hell, maybe I can find out if George Lucas is a jedi librarian too?”

Fett looked confusingly in Royce’s direction, his interest focused on the name he had just heard. Part of a name he hadn’t heard in many years. Definitely not a jedi, but the name, or the part of the name, sounded vaguely familiar. He feigned interest on the computer tutorial as he desperately tried to remember why the name George Lucas had sounded so familiar.

“So I Googled the word energy, cause I don’t know a damn thing about power sources. I used to have a car, that ran on gasoline and oil. I don’t think space ships from other galaxies depend on fossil fuels, do they?” Royce continued thinking aloud. “Here, we’ve got kinetic, potential, electromagnetic, chemical, nuclear and mass types of energy, does any of that sound familiar?”

“Slave lV is powered by an ion engine. It can be fueled by power cells, liquid chemical reactants, onboard generators, or virtually any other device capable of providing sufficient power. The engine utilizes internal fusion reactions to produce a stream of highly-charged particles that are forced through the engine’s exhaust port at nearly the speed of light,” Fett said matter of factly. “I don’t need a new ion drive, I only need an initial power charge to restore auxiliary power to the ship’s ion engine. Once it gets the initial power surge, it then recycles and alternates energy from the ion engine’s power cell. In a way, Slave lV’s generates power from being powered, but it’s initial engine thrusters are drained beyond the point of powering up fully, so I only need the initial surge of energy,” he continued.

Royce looked up at him, amused. “You mean your ship needs a jump start? I think we can do that….”

This sounded hopeful to Fett. He was unaware of the parameters of a jump start, but a glimpse of hope was better than nothing. And then it hit him from out of nowhere: György Lukács, a Kaminoan he had once encountered while living with his father Jango on Kamino. After cloning himself, calling for an overthrow of Kamino’s government and murdering several citizens, he was exiled from the planet and seemed to disappear from existence altogether. A bounty was placed on his head by the government of Kamino, and given Fett’s loyalty to the Kaminoans, he had always hoped to bring in the bounty. But the bounty for Lucas, after all these years, was still open. The vile creature had seemingly disappeared from the galaxy. Until now.

Royce retired to the other room. “Look man, I’m going to bed. You can crash on the couch if you wanna, or you can do yourself a favor and lock the door behind you if you decide you want out. Just be sure to leave me some money for the bike you made me leave in the middle of the bridge in that event. And don’t rob me,” said Royce.

“One final question,” Fett said.

“What’s that?” answered Royce.

“Who is György Lukács?” asked Fett.

Royce chuckled. “He’s the guy that created you on Earth. The dude that thought you up and put you in the movies I showed you earlier. I think he lives in Nor Cal. He’s way rich from Star Wars and a few other movies. Go ahead and Google him if you feel like it, I’m going to bed,” he finished.

Fett took his helmet off and reclined on the couch. The day was long and his head ached. A day of confusion, unwanted realizations and maybe, just maybe, one final bounty before the end arrived. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep in this strange system.

In the morning, the first glimpses of light that peeked through the window stirred Fett from his slumber. Still tired, he remained in a reclined position on the couch in Royce’s tiny living room. His entire life, he had been a poor sleeper. Always expecting an attack, an enemy or an opportunity to arrive. But the years had begun to wear on him. Even though he was an unaltered clone of his father, which gave him a standard life expectancy of up to 100 years, the recent months had worn hard on his aging body. Following a bout of clone degeneration and an unsafe bone marrow transplant, Fett had managed to cheat an early death, but only for the time being. He had been warned about the degenerative effects of living as a clone since he was a child, but symptoms such as tumors and liver failure were just words until only recently. For the time, he was healthy, but he knew that the advancing years meant his end was near. His doctor on Geonosis, Beluine, knew the same. So on this strange world, as the light advanced over the day, Fett stayed in a reclining position. His body needed the rest. And there was no imminent danger in this system. Except for a name.

Royce soon walked out of his bedroom, half-dressed and unkempt. He turned on another iPod device near the kitchen, it started to play music with a woman’s voice singing. “Let me guess, you don’t know who Regina Spektor is,” Royce said.

Fett ignored him and tried in vain to relax. Royce shuffled about the kitchen, preparing food and washing dishes, before sitting down in the chair opposite the couch. “She just got popular this year, but I liked her before anyone really cared,” he continued. “That’s my other job, I contribute to Pitchfork.”

Though the two communicated clearly in Galactic Basic, there was much miscommunication and misunderstanding between the two. Royce didn’t know what a comm link was and Fett didn’t know what Pitchfork was. Nor was he good with pleasantries. Ever.

“So what’s on your agenda for the day then,” Royce asked. “I’ve gotta work a bit, so I can’t be running around with you after Han Solo or anything. And I really need privacy when I work, so I don’t think you can hang around here all day.”

Fett took a deep breath and started in about the Kaminoan Royce had mentioned. “Can you show me an image of what this György Lukács person looks like, I think I might know him,” he asked.

Royce got up, walked over to his laptop and pulled up a Wikipedia page for George Lucas. Fett put his helmet on and analyzed the image. He went into his bounty records, brought up the name George Lucas and compared the two. The terminology was different. His records spelled the name as ‘György Lukács.’ And this being was human, not Kaminoan. Fett scanned his records for species type. Lukacs was listed as ‘Changeling,’ a species which could change or alter their appearance or shape. Because Changelings were notoriously mistrusted throughout the galaxy, they often hid their species of origin. And they were often employed throughout the galaxy as assassins and spies. It was a long shot, but it could possibly make sense. Had this Changeling slipped through the same black hole, opted to stay and cataloged the galaxy’s wars and exploits in this unknown system?

“You say he’s rich?” Fett asked.

“Extremely, this says he’s worth 3.6 billion dollars. In this galaxy, that’s a lot of credits,” Royce replied.

“I think I know him… A long time ago, he murdered several citizens of the planet I was born on. He was exiled, but a bounty was placed on his head. I’ve been searching for him on and off for over 50 standard years now, but according to all accounts, he had disappeared from the galaxy. Not dead, but disappeared. He’s of a species known as changeling. They can alter their appearance and become other species. It could be a long shot, but there’s a slight possibility that he slipped through the same black hole as me, decided to stay and documented the exploits of our galaxy in those movies you showed me to get rich. Changelings are that kind of scum… And some of the markings on their faces bear a similarity according to my bounty records,” Fett said.

“Dude, that would be the vindication of the century if that shit was true,” said Royce. “So many mother fuckers have staked their whole lives on those movies, thinking it was one dude’s imagination. If that shit was real… well.. you’re here… it would seriously wreck havoc all over the message boards. So many dudes that made their own Darth Vader costumes for the premiere of Phantom Menace would be so psyched…. Is there any way to verify it?” Royce finished.

Fett pondered the thought for a few seconds. There were more extensive bounty records on Slave lV. If he accessed those records and scanned this new system for any open bounties, it might detect György Lukács, but it was a long shot. He punched a key code into his right wrist gauntlet and made contact with Slave lV. “Search György Lukács,” he said into his helmet. After a few seconds, it located the file as Fett read the details on his HUD display. ‘Subject detected, Modesto, California,’ it read.

“It’s him,” Fett said. “Finish your breakfast and figure out a way for me to get to Modesto, California,” he said to Royce.

“Holy fucking shit, this keeps getting better by the moment,” said Royce as he turned up the volume on his iPod and threw his cereal bowl in the sink. “But California’s a long ways away, even for a bounty hunter like you…”

There were choices to make. Hard, life-altering choices. Boba Fett never thought he was actually getting out of this system alive. He had already endured a life of hardship. But surviving a black hole, this was something considered physically impossible for anyone. Even Sith Lords couldn’t perform such a task, and some of them had mastered the art of resurrection. Black holes meant death, and and always. There would be no way to reenter the same one, and by chance, stumble back into the original galaxy from where he once existed. There were avenues to restore power to Slave lV, but unless he could track down an astrophysicist with knowledge of black hole navigation, he was more than likely… stranded.

The thought had lingered in the back of his mind for the past day, but he kept it hidden, wanting anything except being stranded on this primitive and strange world. But if Boba Fett’s past experiences had taught him anything, it was that life, and more so fate, had an unknowing and unforgiving way of steering every creature in the galaxy to their destiny. Some were simply gunned down chasing quick credits on desolate planets in the Outer Rim, while others led glorious lives, surrounded by power and greed, ruling over the galaxy comfortably before being thrown off a balcony by your number two in command. Life’s beginning, middle and end took many shapes. And as someone who had sent many to their deaths, Boba Fett knew this.

Though his end had not yet arrived, his destiny was renewed the instant he had set foot on this strange planet. There would be a final bounty before he retired and faded into obscurity. In the past few years, Fett had eased up on the few bounties that had eluded him. The very small amount that were still living. There were more pressing matters in his later years; rebuilding Mandalorian society, reconciling with his granddaughter, searching for a cure to clone degeneration. But now, because of this strange world and an impossible circumstance, his lifelong purpose took precedence.

“So what’s your plan Bob?” asked Royce, who was in the other room getting dressed. He emerged in a rather utilitarian outfit similar to the one he had been wearing prior. The only difference was the chest armor, which now read ‘Lily Allen’ in Galactic Basic.

Fett pulled his helmet off and took a deep breath. “In the past few years, I’ve let bygones be bygones… Bounties that weren’t worth the chase, I erased their data and turned a blind eye. I became a leader and a grandfather… Before that, bounty hunter was the only way I was defined in the galaxy. Then it changed, drastically… I became less of a cold-blooded killer and more of a… more of a human. Some bounties were more personal than others though, so I kept ahold of their data, and made a promise to myself, that if I ever did encounter those bounties, I would adhere to the Bounty Hunter’s Creed and safely collect on their acquisition… This György Lukács is still on the top of that list… It was a promise I made to the very beings that raised me after the death of my father, some 60 standard years ago…. I know there’s no way off this rock. Slave lV’s energy can be restored, but what then? I fly around airspace here til I’m blown out of the sky by your military? No way in hell I am going to come out of a back hole and die at the hands of a primitive race’s weapons… I think my destiny lies with this final bounty… Afterwards, I will just need to make peace with the fact that I am finishing my life on this planet as an old man hiding safely somewhere in the margins of society… Something brought me here, and I refuse to ignore its calling… Once more in my life, I will become Boba Fett the bounty hunter… And then it will end.”

Royce had been listening as he searched the Internet for travel to California. When Fett was finished, Royce turned to him and said, “Well, I think I have some good news then. Greyhound can get you to Modesto for $59 one way… I’ll front the money if you want,” he continued.

“What’s Greyhound?” asked Fett.

“It’s… uh… ground transportation to your final bounty,” Royce answered.

“And when does it leave,” asked Fett.

“In two hours, let’s get our asses to Port Authority,” rallied Royce.

“So you’re with me,” asked Fett.

“I can’t go with you, but I’ll certainly get you to your transport in much the same way that Han got Leia on the Millennium Falcon when they evacuated Hoth,” answered Royce.

Disgruntled, Fett should his head, thinking to himself, “This György Lukács needs to die.”

Humans of all kinds, clutching travel bags and prepackaged food stretched the width of the transport station that Royce had escorted Fett to. Voices in Galactic Basic spoke over intercoms, announcing departures and arrivals to unknown cities that Fett would soon be passing through. On a wooden bench, Boba Fett sat, carrying his helmet and weapons in a soft cloth bag that Royce had dug out of the closet. If he hadn’t already lived such a solitary life, he might have felt alone, but this awkward moment in a strange transportation hub was just one small part of a job. And besides, loneliness never mattered much to a clone.

Royce approached him with a stack of paper tickets. He passed them into Fett’s hand and said, “Here are your tickets. With tax and everything, you owe me about $70, but I doubt I’m ever going to come chasing you for it.”

The irony was lost on Fett. “Thank you Royce,” he answered.

“When you get to Modesto, ask anyone you see where Skywalker Ranch is, that’ll get you to where George Lucas lives,” said Royce.

“Don’t worry, when I get close enough, my sensors will notify me and eventually guide me to the bounty,” Fett answered.

“Now you’ve got about four days on the bus before you actually get to California. Are you prepared for that?” asked Royce.

“I’m typically prepared for the worst,” Fett answered.

“Good, cause this is as close as you can get,” replied Royce.

Royce sat down next to Fett on the bench and waited in silence with the bounty hunter. “So do you have a plan then?”

“Follow my destiny,” answered Fett.

“Well, I really don’t want to involve myself with this business of killing the guy that created Star Wars anymore than I already have, so I’m gonna make myself scarce and get out of here,” said Royce.

“Don’t worry, no one will know a thing. He’s simply going to disappear,” said Fett.

“Well, I’m hurting for a drink anyways, this whole deal has sorta blown my mind,” answered Royce. “So I guess this is goodbye Boba Fett.”

“Indeed it is… Thank you Royce… It’s been… educational,” answered Fett.

“You can say that again. If you’re ever around these parts again, you know where I live. No more blowing up any pigeons, ok?”

“Affirmative,” answered Fett.

“Good, I’m going to the bar,” said Royce. He turned away and began walking through the hubris of humanity in the Greyhound Station. Before he turned the corner, he looked back at Fett. His aged face was devoid of emotion, unaware of the many humans that surrounded him. Royce put his iPod headphones into his ears and stepped out of the building.