Star Wars: Empire of the Eternal Star

{Chapter: 17 Get News}

While the engineering droids were busily working on repairing and refitting the spaceship, Quinto and Truda stood off to the side, engaging in a casual conversation. The two of them had known each other for a long time, and their reunion carried a sense of familiarity despite the chaotic circumstances surrounding them.

"By the way, where did Farrais go? Why didn't she come with you?" Truda asked, his sharp gaze scanning the group that had arrived with Quinto. His eyes lingered on Edison, Leo, and the others, taking in their unfamiliar faces with mild suspicion.

Quinto hesitated, his mind racing for an answer. He couldn't exactly reveal the truth—that Farrais was essentially a hostage on the Dawn planet under Leo's control. That would only invite more problems.

"They're my new... uh..." Quinto began, struggling to find the right words.

Before he could decide on a plausible excuse, Edison casually stepped in from behind him and supplied an answer, "Partners."

"Oh, yes, that's right! Partners," Quinto quickly echoed, nodding a little too enthusiastically, as if hoping to sell the idea through sheer confidence.

Truda didn't look entirely convinced, but he simply shrugged. "Well, you'll have to deal with your own mess. I've already sent word to Jabba, and his people should be arriving soon."

Quinto's expression fell. "Hey, old man! Why are you setting me up like this? I just got to Tatooine—I should at least be able to sit down and have a drink before you throw me to the wolves!"

Truda sneered, clearly unimpressed with Quinto's whining. "We all work for Jabba, and you know how things work around here. There's no time for taking it easy."

As if on cue, the doors to the docking bay hissed open, and a group of armed figures strode in. Clad in the unmistakable gear of bounty hunters, they carried themselves with the aggressive confidence of men used to getting their way. One of them, a Twi'lek with deep crimson skin, called out the moment he entered.

"Quinto! Get out here! Where's the shipment Jabba wants?"

Quinto stiffened, his body going rigid with nervous energy. His eyes darted toward Leo, silently pleading for some kind of intervention. But Leo simply stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Seeing no other option, Quinto swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Alright, alright! I'm coming!"

Another mercenary, a burly Rodian, pointed a high-end blaster rifle at Leo and barked, "You lot! Start unloading and loading the cargo. These are Jabba's goods now."

Unlike the cheap DL-18 blaster pistols that Quinto's group carried, this rifle was a military-grade model—sleek, powerful, and deadly. It was no surprise that these mercenaries carried themselves with such arrogance.

T-850 instinctively took a step forward, ready to teach the Rodian a lesson for his hostility, but Leo raised a hand to stop him. Instead, Leo simply nodded and said, "Alright, load the cargo."

Without hesitation or complaint, Leo strode into the ship's hold and, despite the dust and grime, started hauling out heavy cargo containers. One by one, he stacked them onto a Bantha II-class floating cargo skiff, working tirelessly under the watchful eyes of the bounty hunters.

After a few tense minutes, the lead Twi'lek mercenary pulled a small pouch from his belt and tossed it toward Quinto. The sound of coins jingling echoed as the pouch landed in his hands.

Quinto peered inside, his face darkening. "Hey!! This is only 2,000 Upi! The deal was for 5,000!" he protested.

The mercenaries were already walking away, but one of them turned back, smirking. "Consider yourself lucky we're giving you anything at all! Take the money and shut up, you useless moisture farmer! Hahaha!"

Quinto's expression twisted with frustration and humiliation. He clenched his fists, his body trembling with barely restrained anger. As the cargo skiff disappeared into the distance, he raised his middle finger at the retreating bounty hunters and spat, "A bunch of Bantha-spawned bastards!"

Edison, ever the optimist, clapped a hand on Quinto's shoulder and gave him a shake. "It's alright. We still have some money. We'll take on a few jobs when the time comes. Once our colony is up and running, we won't have to worry about Jabba's mood swings anymore."

At the mention of Jabba, Quinto's shoulders slumped. He let out a defeated sigh. "Jabba…" he muttered, as if the mere name weighed heavily on him.

Edison grinned and gave him a playful nudge. "Come on, let's go find a cantina and have a drink. My treat."

Quinto let out a bitter chuckle. "After all, it's my money, so I should be the one treating you."

The group made their way into the chaotic sprawl of Mos Eisley. The city had no real structure—just a maze of haphazardly placed buildings, dusty alleyways, and makeshift shanties, forming a massive slum under the relentless desert sun.

The streets teemed with a mix of beings from across the galaxy. Most wore cloaks or head coverings to shield themselves from the heat. Some peddled strange goods, others scouted for work, and mercenaries leaned against walls, scanning the crowd for potential clients.

Most mercenaries went out of their way to look intimidating—scars, cybernetic enhancements, and heavy blasters were all on display to ensure no one dared to pick a fight with them.

As they navigated through the crowd, a tall, cylindrical droid resembling a walking bamboo pole strode down the street. Several severed Quarren heads dangled from its metal arms, dripping blood onto the dusty ground.

The moment the droid appeared, the street fell silent. Pedestrians hurried to clear a path, while even the toughest mercenaries quickly ducked out of sight.

Whispers spread through the crowd.

"Those are the Quarren from the Iron Fish Gang…"

"They hijacked Jabba's cargo a few days ago…"

"IG-41 got them. Damn, that thing's ruthless…"

Quinto grabbed Leo's arm and pulled him aside, lowering his voice. "That's IG-41, one of Jabba's top bounty hunters. Stay out of its way. If it sees you as an obstacle, it won't hesitate to shoot."

Leo didn't respond. He merely observed the droid for a moment, then turned and followed Quinto into a nearby cantina.

Inside, the cantina was alive with noise—laughter, music, and the clinking of drinks filled the air. The place was packed with aliens of all shapes and sizes—Quarren with squid-like faces, massive Gamorreans with pig-like features, and Twi'leks with colorful, head-tentacled appearances. The cantina was a melting pot of outcasts, bounty hunters, and traders, all using their hard-earned credits to drown their troubles in cheap alcohol.

Edison, eager to explore, borrowed some credits from Quinto and wandered off. Within minutes, he had cozied up to a Twi'lek woman, already deep in conversation with her over drinks.

Leo, on the other hand, made his way to the bar. He signaled the bartender, ordered a drink, and discreetly slid a Upi Upi coin across the counter. "I'm looking for information on the Skywalker family," he murmured.

The bartender pocketed the coin without missing a beat, continuing to clean glasses as he spoke in a low voice. "They're in Mos Espa, slaves of a Toydarian trader named Watto. He won them in a gambling game against Gadulla the Hutt. That was years ago."

Leo slid another coin forward. "If I wanted to find them, any advice?"

The bartender smirked. "Mos Espa is Gadulla's turf. And Jabba and Gadulla… well, let's just say you should tread carefully."

Leo absorbed the information, but before he could respond, a drunken man stumbled against the bar, reeking of alcohol. "Hey! You, little pinkie!" he slurred. "How about makin' some money?"

Leo narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

The drunk chuckled darkly. ""Hahahaha! You look so delicate and tender, your family must be rich, right? Hiccup~! Hiccup~I kidnap you, see? Then your rich family pays up. Easy money, eh Hahahaha~~~~ Hiccup ~~~!"

At another table, a group of his friends burst into laughter.

Leo remained silent, but his fingers curled into fists.

*****

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