Chapter Text
Disclaimer: Star Wars is a property of Lucasfilm and Disney.
Author’s Note: The Book of Boba Fett pissed me off. And the fanfictions I’ve seen being churned out aren’t fixing what I felt were the main problems. So, in the words of Thanos, “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
If you’re clever enough to figure out where the chapter titles come from, congratulations. You have my respect. And also my ear. Enough talk; let’s fight.
Chapter One:
IF GOD DID NOT WANT THEM SHEARED
“Wake up, boss.”
Fennec’s soothing tones were almost immediately contrasted by the harsh ones of the medical droid: [Healing session suspended.]
Good; he’d been stuck in that tank long enough. Just because he knew the bacta was necessary didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially because…
“The dreams are back.”
No reply from Fennec. Typical. Never a wasted word from her. One of her traits he admired the most.
“Time to go. They’re lined up to pay respects.”
Well, that, and her down-to-earth nature. Appearances came first in everything, whether you were an assassin, a bounty hunter…or a Daimyo.
A nod to indicate he’d understood, then it was off to get himself suited up. Fennec’s parting remark followed him as she left:
“I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”
On his way.
He’d been on his way for the past forty years. Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found where he was supposed to go.
The end of the road. One way, or another.
The helmet slid over his head with ease. The HUD immediately bathed the surrounding area in infrared light, granting a layer of crimson undertones to the images now reaching his eyes. Targets, none. But that would change.
Very soon, that would change.
Time to go, she’d said. And so it was.
The ancient Mando’a slipped from his lips unbidden. “Pa’rah. Nu pa’rah. ”
Time. Time indeed.
The door slid open, and he marched forward to meet his enemies.
Aqualish. Why did it have to be Aqualish?
Huttese, sure. Mando’a, rusty but serviceable. Bocce, eh. Trandoshan, Shyriiwook, even a little Jawa and Uganaught. But Aqualish? Never had reason enough to learn. Well, up till now.
When the Lish finished (presumably) making his obeisances, he leaned in close to Fennec. “Did you catch any of that?”
“Something about friendship?” Fennec whispered back.
He was afraid of that. A sigh escaped unseen behind his helmet. “We really need a protocol droid.”
There were certainly enough scraps downstairs to build one that was relatively functional. Courtesy of Jabba’s (and later Fortuna’s) sadistic torture droid, EV-9D9. Fennec had taken quite a liking to the thing, and Boba found himself sleeping just a little bit less comfortable because of it. Still, 9D9 did a pretty fair job as a majordomo for the moment. Especially since she’d been running a bit low on… stress outlets lately, and her correlating demeanor both unsettled and intimidated the scum of Mos Espa.
For instance, just now Boba could practically hear the disappointment in her vocabulator as she was forced to introduce someone probably too important to kill. [Presenting Dokk Strassi, leader of the Trandoshan family; protectors of the city center and it’s business territories.]
“Small galaxy.” he groused to Fennec. “I used to work for him.”
Fennec laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Relax; just think about how weird it must be for him.”
Dokk Strassi was exactly as sleazy as Boba remembered him; slimy and simpering. “A thousand tidings to the new Daimyo,” the lizard softly salivated.
One of the politer openings. Better to respond in kind. “It’s an honor to be welcomed to Mos Espa by you, Dokk Strassi.”
The lizard bowed. “May you never leave Mos Espa.”
Boba couldn’t help but chuckle as Strassi showed himself out. “Even when a Trandoshan pays you a compliment, it still sounds like a threat.”
Fennec nodded in agreement.
Here came 9D9 again, this time accompanied by a bright pink Twi’lek. [Presenting His Excellency Mok Shaiz, Mayor of Mos Espa and its surrounding plateaus.]
“Ah,” interrupted the Twi’lek, “The Mayor’s Majordomo, actually.”
Fennec sat up just a little bit straighter. “We were told the Mayor was coming to pay tribute.”
The Twi’lek continued to hem and haw. “Ah, indeed, yes; with apologies; I understand how one might draw such a conclusion from the correspondence.”
This guy was disposable; no question about it. Which meant the Mayor had sent him knowing full well whatever he’d been told by the Mayor to say to the new Daimyo would be worth his death. No wonder he was acting so nervous. Still, Boba figured he owed the guy at least a chance to dig himself out of the hole he’d been shoved in. “Very well. Extend my greetings and appreciation for the Mayor’s tribute.”
Unfortunately, the majordomo just kept right on going. “Another understandable misunderstanding. The, uh, only tribute I bear is the Mayor's heartfelt welcome, which I express in his stead.”
He was afraid of that. Well, looked like Fennec and 9D9 might have something more to do than just talk about the theoretics of troture very soon. What’s more, Fennec seemed to realize it as well. He could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “So…you bring no tribute?”
And now the true nature of the Twi’lek made itself known: pomposity at its most ingratiating. “The Mayor's heartfelt welcome and regrets that he's been drawn away by pressing matters, milady.”
There was no stopping Fennec now; even 9D9 was starting to get that hungry look in her eye as Fennec continued to speak in that same terrifying manner. “If you had spoken such insolence to Jabba…he'd have fed you to his menagerie.”
Ah; now the Twi’lek was getting it. “Apologies.” he stammered. “Ap... Apologies.”
Time to step in and establish himself as the reasonable one. “Quite alright. I understand how such matters can arise at an inconvenient time. Please convey my regrets to the Mayor that he was not able to join us today. Dismissed.”
“Uh, actually,” kriff, this Twi’lek just did not know when to quit, did he? “There is one other matter, if I may.”
What now? “Speak, then.”
“The matter of tribute.”
Not for the first time, Boba found himself thanking the ka’ra that his helmet covered his face entirely. Because if it didn’t, there was no way the mewling scum in front of him would have missed first his expression of confusion, and then of pure, unadulterated anger. “ I. Am the Daimyo. I am the crime lord. I do not pay the Mayor; the Mayor pays me.”
Fennec was practically purring. “Shall we kill him?”
He wanted to; oh how he wanted to. But he couldn’t. “He works for the Mayor.” he sighed.
“So that’s a no?”
“That’s a no. However, light to moderate inconvenience is fine. Any suggestions?”
Unsurprisingly, it was 9D9 who had the first one. [We could remove his tongue.]
“And deprive him of his entire career?” Boba shook his head. “I think not.”
“His clothes?” Fennec asked.
“He’s a Twi’lek, Shand. We might as well be signing his death sentence if we send him back to Mos Espa underdressed.”
He could practically hear 9D9’s processors whirring. [That would be unacceptable. His demise is deserving of a more…personal touch.]
“Excuse me!” the majordomo spluttered. “Could you please stop talking about me as if I weren’t here?”
Naturally, they ignored him.
What to do, what to do…aha! A stroke of brilliance fell. “What vehicle did this stunted slime arrive in, 9D9?”
[It is reported as an Ulv-Air L93 landspeeder, Lord Fett.]
Under his helmet, Boba smiled. “Excellent. Congratulations, Majordomo; today is your lucky day. You may walk free.”
The Twi’lek clasped his hands together. “Oh thank you, Daimyo; truly, your wisdom and understanding knows no bounds.”
“I am aware. When you return to Mos Espa, please convey my deepest appreciation to your employer for the gift of the landspeeder, and assure him that it will be well-taken care of.”
It was quite entertaining to see the confused expression on someone else’s face for once. “I’m sorry, I'm afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite simple, really;” Boba said, taking care to emphasize his words slowly. “The Mayor has decided that I am not worthy of respect. Therefore, I shall convey the same courtesy to him. The only reason you are still alive, Majordomo, is that it is considered bad luck to shoot the messenger. However, your employer may not have the same… compunctions . While my servants transport you back to Mos Espa, I suggest you spend your time composing an acceptable speech to the Mayor explaining just why it would be better for him to consider the matter settled. Am I understood?”
The Twi’lek paused, and then bowed. “Completely and utterly, Daimyo Fett.”
“Good. 9D9, take one of the speeders and escort our good friend the Majordomo back to town.”
[As you wish, Lord Fett.]
“And 9D9? Your conversation need not be the most pleasant.”
He could’ve sworn the droid’s eyes were gleaming. [It will be my pleasure, my Lord.]
“Excellent. Next!”
As EV and the Majordomo exited, two Gamorrorean guards in binders entered to take their place. Ah, yes; Boba remembered these two quite well. This should be interesting.
Very interesting indeed.
“This is a bad idea.”
Classic Fennec; optimistic as ever.
“You should have let them carry you on a litter.”
He scoffed. “I'm not being carried around the streets like a useless noble.”
“It’s a sign of power to the people of Mos Espa. They're used to seeing the Hutts paraded around the streets.Things would go a lot smoother if you accepted their ways.”
“Acceptance is merely surrender under another name. Times are changing; to keep on calm waters, you must stay in front of the wave.”
“That a Mandalorian saying?”
“No.” As a matter of fact, it was a Kaminoan one.
Only their arrival at Madame Fwip’s Cantina kept Fennec from pressing the subject.
The astromech at the door bleeped a pleasant inquiry at them.
“No, we're not here for drinks.” Boba replied. “We have business with Garsa Fwip.”
The droid beeped again in understanding, then rolled away to (presumably) deliver Boba’s message. Boba took the moment to scan his surroundings; full booths, crowded tables, and a general atmosphere of joviality.
Fennec noticed too. “Looks like business is good.”
“Indeed.”
The astromech was coming back their way. And accompanying it…was not Madame Fwip. Instead, two sparsely-dressed Twi’leks (one green and one gold) were following along behind, both doing a damn good job of pretending not to have a care in the world.
The first one (the green one) sauntered up just a little bit closer than the other. “Would you like your helmet serviced and cleaned while you wait for Madame Fwip?”
Ah; so it was like that then. A quick countermand of Fennec’s decisive ‘no’ was in order. “Of course; here, take both of ours.”
Reluctantly, Fennec handed hers over, then shot him a sour look.
He smirked in reply. “Things will go smoother if you accept their ways.”
“I thought you said acceptance was surrender.”
“So it is…when dealing with an adversary. When dealing with a neutral party, however, acceptance is often the only path to victory.”
Fennec hummed. “But is it victory we’re after?”
The arrival of Madame Fwip was all that saved him from answering.
Boba had known of the stately Twi’lek for some time; had even observed her dealings with Dokk Strassi back in the day. But this was the first time he’d ever seen her truly in her element. Regal, sophisticated; but with just a touch of ice to her smile and steel to her spine. Objectively, she was an extremely dangerous woman. Subjectively, she was one of the few people in Mos Espa he was inclined to trust.
“Welcome to the Sanctuary,” she intoned with all the grace of a queen, “would you care to partake in any of our sundry offerings?”
“A tempting proposition, Madame,”he said with a bow, “but I’m afraid that we are a bit pressed for time. Perhaps on another occasion. For now, there is business that we must discuss.”
Madame Fwip shook her head affirmatively. “Then business it is. Would you like your Gamorreans hosed down and fed while we are sequestered?”
“The thought is appreciated, but this won’t take long. This,” he gestured, “is Master Assassin Fennec Shand. And I…am Boba Fett.”
There it was; just the tiniest spark of recognition. And, perhaps, fear.
“...I see.” Madame Fwip remarked coolly. “It is indeed a pleasure to see that the reports of your demise were greatly exaggerated.”
“I am glad to hear it. I also bring other pleasant news; I have replaced Bib Fortuna.”
The small bit of color that had faded from Garsa’s cheeks returned as she realized he wasn’t there as an enforcer. “My apologies, my Lord; we did not see your litter.”
“I wasn’t carried on a litter.” came his dry reply. “I make it a point not to set myself too high above those I intend to protect.”
“Really.” Those cold, calculating eyes seemed to shift; appraising him in an entirely different light. “How interesting.”
Not the word he would’ve used, but he’d take what he could get. “I’m just here to introduce myself, and to assure you that I intend to do my best to see to it that your business continues to both thrive and flourish.”
“Well then,” Fwip said with a small smile, “thank you, Lord Fett, for the gracious introduction. And thank you for making the long journey to visit our establishment. It is our little slice of paradise, and you are always welcome.”
Fwip snapped her fingers; instantly the two Twi’leks from before reappeared by her side. “I trust we shall have a long and prosperous… relationship, Daimyo Fett.”
He allowed a charming smile to grace his features. “One can only hope, Madame.”
A final nod of acknowledgement and Fwip was gone, leaving her servants behind. “Your helmets, masters.” the gold one meekly offered.
There was a distinctive clink of coin as he accepted the returned item; as expected.
“Huh,” Fennec said as she looked over, “yours looks shinier than mine.”
Classic Fennec.
“Jabba had many vassals; Fortuna only slightly less. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we are to keep our standings intact.”
“I can make the rounds without you,” suggested Fennec. “Jabba rarely left his chambers.”
“Jabba ruled with fear,” he reminded her. “I intend to rule with respect.”
“Hence the walking?”
“Hence the walking.”
Fennec hummed, then slightly tilted her head in the direction of a water salesman not-so-discreetly crossing out his prices and raising them. “In difficult times, fear may be a surer bet.”
“It always seems that way, at first.” It was his turn to nod, this time at a storyteller delighting a group of children with some fantastical tale. “But when the difficult times pass, if they ever do, the damage is done. No leader who ever began with the fear of their own people ended with their respect.”
“That may be. But those who began with respect all too often resort to fear by the end. And for good reason.”
“Guess we’ll just have to wait for a good reason, then.”
Naturally that was when the ka’ra saw fit to drop twenty screaming assassins on top of them from the sky.
Umbaran ray shields. Because of course they had Umbaran ray shields.
The good news was, they were all extremely susceptible to a well-placed EMP grenade. Bad news, he had absolutely no idea how an EMP would affect Fennec’s cybernetics. Good news: his gaffi stick was practically designed for reaching around shields to hit their wielders. Bad news: he hadn’t actually remembered to bring it because he had yet to make a mount for it on his jetpack. Good news: he actually had someone to watch his back this fight, as opposed to being all on his own. Bad news: their opponents had someone to watch their backs, sides, and their fronts.
It was a mixed signals kind of a day.
He immediately abandoned his E3 carbine in favor of his blaster-pistol and fists. Sure, he could potentially jetpack up high enough to take advantage of the E3’s range, but that would leave Fennec surrounded and alone. And he refused to do that.
Instead, he began subtly testing the waters, looking for exploitable openings in their enemies’ defenses. The thing with Umbaran designs: they ate through power like a rancor ate through eopies. A tradeoff of duration for strength. Sure, their wielders could bunker down behind near impenetrable walls but sooner or later their power would run out. Outlasting twenty close-range brawlers was difficult, but not impossible.
Br-ZAT!
Oh great. They had stun pikes.
Like he said, mixed signals.
He dropped to one knee and let his flamethrower roar at ankle-level. Naturally, the assassin he was aiming at immediately slammed his shield into the ground to protect their precious feet.
Big mistake.
A blaster bolt from his Westar pistol, and their opponents were down to nineteen. Shoulda been more worried about their face instead of their feet. S’why he wore armor; so he didn’t have to worry about either.
A stun-pike caught him in the wrist, forcing him to drop the Westar. The next pike blow found him with his feet planted and hands outstretched. One of the advantages of growing up on Kamino: you learned real quick to make sure your armor could protect you from lightning. Or, rather, from electricity.
(That fracked up Sith-Apprentice of Vader’s had been supremely confused when he’d shrugged off his magic tickle-fingers like they were nothing. Well, confused for about half-a-second and then furious from then on out. Yet another day that’d been full of mixed signals.)
Unfortunately, the assassin in front of him didn’t even have time to make it to the confusion stage before he found himself being spun over Boba’s head in an unexpected pole-vault, before being slammed down on top of one of his compatriots. Specifically the one that had been just about to ram a bad-vibe rod into Fennec’s gut.
Huh; lucky aim, or calculated strike? Were their enemies counting on their numbers to see them through, or had they actually studied the weak spot of their supposed victims?
Wha-DON-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-G!
Luck it was. Because there was no way anyone who knew anything about Mandalorians would’ve ever been stupid enough to hit a buy’ce with their full strength.
Said di’kut that had just tried exactly that dropped his still-vibrating pike with a howl. Hey, free weapon! Boba kicked it up into his hand and gave it a quick twirl to find the balance. More centered than a gaffi; he’d have to remember that.
Thrust, reverse, sweep. A shield was batted briefly away from it’s owner’s vital areas, leaving him open.
His jetpack finally roared to life, turning his left knee into a missile aimed directly at the man’s face.
CRUNCH!
Ooo; got the nose and teeth on that one. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.
“BOSS!”
Right, Fennec. They really needed to practice fighting together. Neither was used to having someone to watch their back.
He twisted mid-air and heaved the stun-pike like a javelin. Naturally, Fennec caught it perfectly and proceeded to play percussion on her assailant’s ribcage.
Unfortunately, that left him once more without a weapon.
One hand grabbed his foot, then another. He cut power to the jetpack, and let gravity add its own force to his flying fist. No good; the bounce off the shield left his hand throbbing.
A pike hooked around behind his knee and caught; next thing he knew he was staring up at the sky wondering where the ground had gone.
THUMP.
Oh there it was. Kriffing ow.
Three separate pikes flashed in the sun, humming a song of pain as they fell. His jetpack activated just in time to avoid two of them. The third, however, jabbed him right in his unarmored shin.
The pain was enough for him to lose control of the pack, and he went skimming along the ground, breaking ankles as he went. Bounce once; bounce twice; land hard as the rocket died.
So far, the outlasting was going amazingly well.
One knee-rocket went out, and then they were on him. And no amount of armor can save you from the pain of seven stun-pikes landing all at once.
Shin, bicep, helmet, chest, arms, legs, everywhere…
And then it stopped, as the Gamorreans finally got around to doing their job.
He’d passed out enough times before to know when he was on the edge of consciousness. But before he could let himself go, there was one very important thing to tell Fennec.
“Alive”, he rasped. “Tell Shand…we need one…alive.”
One of the Gamorreans took just enough time to nod, then was off again, hacking and slicing with abandon. Really great things, kinetic weapons: move slow enough, no shield in the world could stop you.
He’d have to remember that.
White; everything was just so white. He just needed…he needed…
Sleep was on him.
And with sleep…came the dreams.