Jabba’s Bro
The docking bay hummed with activity, the air thick with the smell of grease and ozone. In one corner, a team of ship maintenance workers hustled to complete routine repairs, their efficiency obvious to any observer. They moved with the quiet coordination of people who knew their jobs well, sharing tools and ideas without needing much discussion.
Above it all, their supervisor’s voice boomed out, a grating mix of self-promotion and unearned bravado.
“Bwo! Look at this pwogwess! That stencil? Pewfection! That’s the kind of wowk that sets us apart fwom the cwowds!”
The workers glanced at each other but said nothing. Their leader, a squat man with an oversized personality and an undersized sense of reality, strutted around the docking bay, gesturing wildly to emphasize points no one had asked him to make. His jumpsuit was pristine, untouched by the grime and sweat that defined the rest of the team.
No one knew his name, nor did they care to. He spent so much time calling everyone “bwo” that the nickname had stuck, his inability to pronounce the letter “R” only making it funnier.
“Bwo!” one of the workers whispered under his breath as their supervisor ambled past. “If he spent half as much time working as he does talking, we’d be running this place.”
Another worker chuckled but quickly focused back on the circuit panel in front of him. They were a tight-knit group, their competence born of necessity. They had learned to rely on each other, covering gaps and solving problems when Bwo inevitably over-promised and under-delivered.
The trouble began when one of the bounty ships rolled into the bay with a catastrophic containment field failure. Worse, it held a live, hulking bounty that was already rattling against its restraints, roaring in an alien tongue that no one could translate.
The maintenance team gathered around the control panel, trying to make sense of the outdated systems. “These schematics are ancient,” grumbled Jek, one of the senior techs, his brow furrowed in concentration. “They don’t even show half the connections for the field generator. What’s the plan?”
Before anyone could answer, Bwo marched up, grinning ear to ear. “Bwo, this is what we twain fow! High-functioning teams tackle anything. Pwocess ovew panic!”
“Sir,” said Vesa, the team’s unofficial leader, her voice level but strained, “we haven’t been trained on field containment systems. This isn’t part of our job.”
“Nonsense, bwo! You’we pwoblem solvers! We’we shawing ouw expewtise with the entiwe owganization!” He gestured dramatically toward the roaring bounty. “Just wemembew: efficiency and bwanding!”
Jek muttered under his breath, “Branding isn’t gonna keep that thing from tearing us in half.”
Still, they did their best. Vesa and Jek split the group, one team scrambling to stabilize the containment field while the others prepped an emergency restraint rig. The bounty hunters, watching from a distance, started to notice the cracks forming.
Brakk nudged Sskel. “They’re good workers, but this isn’t their job. We’d better step in before someone gets hurt.”
The bounty, a massive, scaly brute with claws that gouged deep into the ship’s plating, broke free from its weakened restraints. It barreled into the docking bay, roaring and swiping at anything that moved.
Vesa shouted orders to her team, directing them behind cover as they worked frantically to activate the emergency rig. But it was clear they were out of their depth.
“Bwo! What’s the plan?” Jek called out, ducking behind a crate.
Bwo’s response was predictably useless. “Uh… wemain calm, bwo! Evewything’s undew contwol!” He adjusted his spotless jumpsuit as if the chaos didn’t concern him.
The bounty hunters sprang into action. Brakk and Sskel flanked the creature while another hunter distracted it with stun blasts. They moved quickly, efficiently, and with the kind of precision that only came from years of fieldwork. Within moments, the brute was subdued, its restraints reinforced, and the docking bay quiet once more.
As the bounty was hauled back into its ship, Bwo emerged from his hiding spot, dusting himself off with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Teamwowk, bwo! That’s what I’m tawking about! High-functioning, cwoss-discipliny effowts!”
The maintenance team exchanged weary glances. They were grateful for the hunters’ help but dreading how Bwo would spin this disaster into another talking point.
Vesa approached Brakk and Sskel, her gratitude evident despite her exhaustion. “Thanks for stepping in. We tried, but… we weren’t ready for that.”
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Brakk replied, his tone sympathetic. “It’s not your fault your boss thinks stencils are the same as ship systems.”
Vesa chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, we do what we can. Just wish someone would tell him that.”
Back in the break room, the hunters shared the story with a mix of irritation and humor.
“Bwo’s lucky he’s got a solid crew,” Brakk said, leaning back in his chair. “They’re good people.”
“Too bad they’ve got a supervisor who can’t tell a vibrospanner from a paintbrush,” Sskel added.
As they raised their caf mugs in a quiet toast, they knew it wouldn’t be the last time they’d have to clean up one of Bwo’s messes. But for now, they could laugh about it.