The Jedi's words bring with them a sinking feeling in Boba's stomach. If none of these ships can fly off-planet, then he truly is stuck here. He wants to believe that it's all a lie—that this is some Jedi trick to keep Boba from escaping—but he knows deep down that that's unlikely. After all, if the ships were space-worthy, why would the Jedi even still be here on this dead planet? Why would anyone?
Boba stands unmoving in the narrow corridor, hands curled into fists at his side. This isn't fair. He'd come so close, survived so much. He'd found Jabba, killed Libkath, did everything his father asked of him. And now it's all just going to end here because some stupid dead civilization had trapped him on their stupid dead world. He feels a sudden flare of hatred for them, this doomed people he's never met.
After a long moment, he speaks. "The ones who brought us here—the Agrii—can they send us back?"
His voice is stiff and tightly controlled, trying not to let the anger or despair he feels shine through. Though, maybe the Jedi can feel them anyway.
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Boba stands unmoving in the narrow corridor, hands curled into fists at his side. This isn't fair. He'd come so close, survived so much. He'd found Jabba, killed Libkath, did everything his father asked of him. And now it's all just going to end here because some stupid dead civilization had trapped him on their stupid dead world. He feels a sudden flare of hatred for them, this doomed people he's never met.
After a long moment, he speaks. "The ones who brought us here—the Agrii—can they send us back?"
His voice is stiff and tightly controlled, trying not to let the anger or despair he feels shine through. Though, maybe the Jedi can feel them anyway.