Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Wars…The planets have yet to reach the correct alignment.

A/N: FINALLY! Oh geez, I'm so sorry for not updating any sooner than this! This last semester was really taxing on me… and I lost all of my creative flow for a really long time. This chapter is kinda short… and I'm going to try incredibly hard to get another chapter up in the next week…

Chapter IV: Skeptics

He had expected, of course, that the smugglers would question every part – down to the last minute detail – of his plan, but he had not been prepared for the nature of their skepticism. They had scowled and had turned their lips in disgusted sneers when they had heard his plans for their first destination of inquiry. The smugglers had been brazen with the volume of their insolently cynical remarks. Was not Boba Fett the most seasoned hunter of this ragtag group? Were not his skills and his instincts those that were to be held in the most high of esteem?

Of course they were; how could they – lowly smugglers whose only experience with hunting included acting as the prey – doubt his word on the matter?

But, as "smuggler" was a breed of sub-being that rarely allowed genuine thought to pass through the most sensitive parts of his brain's biomachinery, Fett was not offended.

"Alderaan?" Solo said from the pilot's seat, his lip curling with distaste. He turned to Rendar, "He's crazy if he thinks this art piece is going to be there."

"My sanity is hardly your concern," Fett stated dryly, standing in the entrance to the cockpit. "And contrary to your disbelief, if the piece is not available, then information about it is almost certainly there."

"Alderaan is a celebrated art center," Rendar acceded, almost apologetically.

Solo scowled as he punched in the coordinates. "Yeah, and it's also one of the most law-loving nurseries in the Core worlds."

Though Fett only slightly agreed, he would not dare voice it.

Solo was staring at him, an irritated look on his face. The hunter noticed that his hand was hovering over the button for the cockpit seal. "Well, Fett that will be all."

The cockpit sealed just centimeters away from the Fett's helmet.

& & & &

He was summoned to the cockpit later, when the Falcon had reverted back to realspace. For the duration of the trip, Boba Fett had opted to change into a disguise. Arriving on Alderaan in his regular attire would not be in his best interests, as the authorities would monitor his movements from his first footfall planetside.

His disguise was fairly simple in comparison to most that he owned. A light gray tunic and a darker gray hooded cape over a dark flight suit completed the ensemble; he was quite sure that the hood provided more than enough ample cover. And body armor – not to mention a multitude of weapons – was cleanly concealed under all of the cloth. It was a time-tested and reliable disguise.

The hunter sighed quietly. He did not like being out of control, not one bit. To sacrifice his command over any given situation was foreign to him, and it left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

Although, he acknowledged the thought briefly, he was not ever truly out of control. And this situation in which he had become an unwilling participant offered a new challenge to him. And challenges had always intrigued the hunter.

Straightening his hood, he entered the cockpit, where he was met with bemused looks. A snort of disbelief escaped the Wookiee. Alderaan was spinning peacefully beyond the viewpoint.

Nothing else was said. No one bothered to question him. Fett liked it that way.

The Falcon was permitted – under false ID – to land in the capital city of Aldera. The local customs officials would have no cause to question the ship or its crew, who were reported to be delivering agricultural machinery. In the hold, there was a single durasteel crate that would qualify as such, anyway.

Walking out of Aldera's spaceport – which was clean and pristine and resembled a library in many, many ways – Solo assumed the lead. When the idiot realized that he did not know where he was going, he turned to Fett and opened his mouth.

Fett quickly took the lead. He paused before answering Solo's silent question. "I have a contact that owns an art gallery," he explained.

"You must have found the shadiest character Alderaan has to offer," Rendar muttered.

"He's a businessman. He understands that not all… lucrative dealings can be made through the proper channels."

"So what's he got to do with you?" Solo sounded skeptical. "It's not as though you deal in art, Fett."

He didn't answer. Why bother?

Rendar tried to suppress a snicker – and failed miserably. "He might not deal in art, but maybe he's an art lover."

This vein ran its course between the two idiots, who, after exhausting the subject, concluded that Fett must, in his time off, go to art galleries and sip stim-tea and converse in a very soft voice about the emotional implications of Gamorrean art.

Boba Fett decided that he hated them.