Wrote this out of a prompt. As someone pointed out, Adirmal Kilian seemed to really be trying to understand Boba, so here's what might have happened had they run into each other again.
"Oritsir." Boba screamed at the screen as it flashed warnings at him. "What did those little utreekove pirates do to you?"
Slave One did not answer. The streaming hyperspace lights outside flickered in and out of existence. The gravity generators acted up for a second, shoving Boba into the back of his seat as the streams of light slowed into pin pointed stars. And the ship hung in the silent vast sea of space.
The gravity generators normalized, and Boba took a deep breath.
So, he was stuck. In the middle of nowhere.
Kriff the idiot that removed the backup power for the hyperdrive.
He grabbed the navigation computer, at least it seemed to be as he remembered it. But after only a few seconds he slammed his head against the screen. The static of the screen danced across his brow.
Too far from any system to fly to, practically, with the power core shot, which meant the engines were down. And he didn't dare try the hyperdrive again. The secondary systems had its own power supply, which meant he'd continue to breathe and be able to send out a distress signal if someone came near, and he had a fair amount of rations, but if he couldn't fix the power in time… or even just flag down another ship in time…
Boba set his hand on Jango's helmet and took a deep breath.
Keep moving Boba. The worst thing a warrior can do is to kill his momentum.
He pulled up a status report, then downloaded it onto a tablet and climbed down into the bay. He kicked away an empty package when he reached the bottom.
The entire hull was full of junk, mostly, though there was the occasional useful item or two, like the box of rations, or the speeder bike he was almost sure he could fix. Wasn't a bad model anyways. Unfortunately, it got in the way of reaching almost all of the mechanics of the ship.
Rangir
Damn pirates.
Hondo didn't have to give you my ship Boba. Be grateful, you don't see men like that often.
He set his jaw, and he set to work.
A lot of the stuff could be consolidated. There were a lot of empty crates and boxes he could throw stuff into, and some he could just toss into the trash hole to be ejected into space.
Finally, he managed to crowd most of the stuff into the center of the bay, so he could access whatever he needed to.
He hooked his tools to his belt and started detaching the walls.
It was extremely infuriating. The ship obviously hadn't been tuned since Jango had last done it, about two weeks before he'd died. Parts had been removed, maybe to put into other ships, and had been replaced with far inferior ones. And it was so dirty and rusty, Jango had always been so careful to keep everything clean and shining. Even buying droids to do it for him.
Boba had only meant to check out the immediate issues, but one thing kept leading to another, and soon he'd checked over the entire ship and compared it to the diagnostic he'd downloaded. It was wrong about a lot. In fact, when Boba went back and checked again, he figured out that the harddrive of the ship had been wiped down to the bones, and had been replaced with the code of the older model, which explained why it hadn't even noticed half the issues present in the ship. Like, that the hyperdrive hadn't been completely connected to the power generator, which was no longer functioning, or that the gun turrets were welded in place.
All that took seventeen Coruscant hours, and by the end of it he was dirty, tired and ready to consume three rancors.
He sponged himself down to preserve water, and ate a dry, tasteless expired packet of rations while he looked over his list.
If he'd known how bad it was he would have stuck around at Hondo's place longer to at least get the hard drive going again. But Hondo had been pretty clear that he didn't want Boba to stick around. Probably because he didn't want to give the impression that Hondo Ohnaka gave out ships for free.
Frustrated, and head swimming with possible repairs, he laid down on his bunk. But he couldn't sleep until he climbed up into his cockpit and grabbed Jango's helmet and put it back down on the floor next to the bunk. Where it had been on their missions together.
He woke several hours later to the alert sound from the control panel. He promptly leapt out of bed, tripped over the damn helmet, and hit his chin on the edge of an open cupboard, the magnets that kept it closed having snapped off at some point.
Nursing a growing bruise, and pressing his shirt to the bleeding cut, he stumbled up the stairs into the cockpit.
It was a Republic cruiser. It filled up the entire left side of his viewport, stretching up red and proud, as far as Boba could see.
"Dush. Dush. Dush!" That was the last thing he needed. Separatists would have been alright, but he'd already painted his record black in the eyes of the Republic.
But then a blue Seperatist cruiser appeared on the right side, scars etched into its paint up the side.
Boba watched in horror, shirt plastered to his chin, as the two crafts just floated around for a second, then the Republic ship started to fire, and the Separatists reciprocated.
With Boba still in the middle.
The two ships began releasing bombs, smaller fighters, and more blaster bolts. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Turret was stuck in one position. Engines and hyperdrive were deader than dead. And any repairs were going to take hours, not the ten seconds he had to get out of their way.
Shields, Boba. What about the shields?
The shields were one of the few things that had remained intact, partly because they were some of the hardest things to reach. They, however, had been disconnected from the power generator when the power generator had been replaced, and they hadn't bothered to connect them again.
He was just pulling the end of a coil of wire to them so he could jury rig some kind of connection from the single working generator when he felt the ship jolt. And then start moving in the way a ship did when it was in a tractor beam. He knocked his chin on the floor in his desperation to get out of the innards of the ship and ran back up the stairs and started off the bleeding again.
He ignored it, tearing into the cockpit. He hit the comm system on the control panel. Nothing happened. He smacked his head, popped open the electronics inside and manually connected two broken wires.
He reached his arm back around the control panel and just barely managed to hit the on switch. "What the hell are you doing with me?" He shouted from his place on the floor.
A familiar voice came through the other end. It was always familiar, with the Republic.
"Sorry, I got orders straight from the Admiral to bring you in. Says your ship is recognized as commonly hosting wanted criminals. We're gonna have to perform an inspection. Besides," the voice chuckled, "don't you want to get out of the battle? Looked like you were a sitting target there."
Boba ignored this. "And who's the admiral?"
"Admiral Kilian."
There were no words to describe the flash of anger inside him. So he switched off the comm system and punched the wall, screaming, before curling up into a ball on the floor. Why was it always him? Why did things like that always happen to him? Couldn't he just have one damn day to breathe?
Keep moving, Boba.
Sure, he'd been pardoned from crashing that Star Destroyer on account of being so young, after an extensive battle in court, but there was no telling what powerful men like Kilian would do. Boba had taken down his entire ship. Thousands of clones, dead. Just like, just like-
Keep. Moving. Boba.
He leapt up, ran down the stairs again and washed and put a bandage on his chin. He changed his shirt out and strapped on his armor.
He had just finished loading his pistols when someone started knocking on the door inside.
Back down the stairs one final time. He sidled up next to the door.
"What does the admiral want?" He shouted through his helmet. "Tell me!"
"Dunno. Open up your doors, or we're going to do it the hard way."
Boba hesitated, then slammed the open button. The door screeched and scraped its way up. The trooper on the other side watched it skeptically. "Nice ship you got there." He said, snickering. "Love the hull."
The hull that had been "fixed" by the pirates after Aurora Sing had crashed it. A bumpy, gray metal glob on the side.
"Can it" Boba said. "Now what are you doing with me?"
The clone pulled out a tablet from underneath his arm. There were two more troopers at the bottom of the ramp, both with their guns drawn. "Supposed to confirm your identity, match it up with our scanners…"
An explosion above the ship made the floor rattle.
"Dunno why this has to happen now. If you ask me." He muttered. He held up the data pad. "Alright, take the bucket off, we'll getcha scanned up."
Slowly, Boba removed his helmet and winced when the gasp came ou.
"Hey! You're a shiney!"
His teeth ground together, but he kept his mouth shut.
"Or…" the clone looked at his pad. "You're the original's kid. You know, Jango? Jango Fett? You that Boba kid?"
Boba nodded shortly. The hall, despite being mostly empty due to the battle, was still packed with workers and soldiers, there was no way he could escape until they got to the halls.
He'd have to leave Slave one, dammit. Come back for it later. If they didn't scrap it.
His eyes squeezed shut, and he ignored the burning in his eyes.
There are other ships, Boba. Don't risk your life over this one.
"Well in that case." The clone tucked the pad under his arm again. "We got orders to take you to the Admiral."
"But there's a battle going on!" One from the bottom of the ramp called.
"His orders. Unless the little tyke causes another crash, we're to bring him directly to the Admiral."
He clapped Boba's shoulder. "Come on kid." He hesitated. "Er, sir. You're from the first batch right?"
Acid rose in Boba's mouth, but he continued to hold his tongue.
"Cause if you are," the clone continued, after Boba didn't answer, "then you're a couple years older than me. Kriff, ain't that a strange thought?"
It was not. Boba thought about that a lot.
The clone pushed his shoulder. "Come on, we gotta get going."
When he didn't move, he shoved his shoulder again. Harder. "Come on. Don't do this the hard way. Too much kriffing paperwork."
"That won't be necessary, trooper." A voice with a strange lilting accent called across the room. "I'll be taken him in meself."
The trooper at the bottom froze up. "Sir, with all due respect, should you be down-"
"We were fortunate enough to catch a cruiser as it was returning to make repairs. It fought with General Ploon an hour ago, and is severely damaged. The battle is well in hand. This was more important."
He smiled up at Boba.
Boba glared back down at him. "Listen, you can't throw me into prison. Your court already decided I was innocent. You've got nothing else on me, now let me go."
"Oh" The admiral smiled even wider. "I suppose then ye're not interested in the job I've got for you?"
Slowly, Boba moved his hand away from his blaster. "Job?" He asked cautiously.
"Yes. A job." Kilian jerked his head to the back of the hanger. "I have something I want ye to look at."
He was kind to you last time Boba, and you're not doing anything wrong now. You can trust him.
"...alright."
They walked along the hangar. Boba scanned the area uneasily, trying to catch glimpses of whatever he was supposed to look at.
"How have ye been faring, son?" Kilian asked in a low voice.
Boba bristled. "What do you mean?"
"Ye ran away from the child's program we put you in. Shame ye hadn't stayed longer, I might have come to visit."
"You can't put me back in." Boba snapped. "I'm fourteen now. That's an adult in my father's culture."
"That also means ye've got full liability for any crimes ye commit." Kilian mused. He took a glance at Boba's face and laughed. "That's only if ye commit more son, don't worry, I'm not going to lock ye up for something that woman made ye do."
"She didn't- I wanted-" Boba grimaced. "You know what? Sure. Fine. Whatever."
They turned away from the hangar down into a hallway. Kilian continued walking with this stupid little smile on his face.
"What backwater planet did they drag you out of to fight this war in?" Boba said coldly. With an accent like that, no way was he anywhere near the core.
If he was annoyed, Kilian didn't show it. "Corellia." He leaned in close to Boba, as if telling him some huge secret. "The accent comes from my father. He's the outer rim trash. He schooled me himself, so I picked it up."
Boba didn't know what to say to that, so he gripped his helmet and didn't say anything at all.
They entered a room full of clones and people alike in lab coats, running around and looking at things through microscopes and magnifying glasses.
One of the humans noticed the Admiral. "Sir!" He said, straightening. "What do you need, sir?"
"Thank ye son, I'd like te see that chip we found som time back." He nodded to Boba. "I believe we've finally got someone that will know where it came from."
The scientist nodded, and he scampered away.
"What kind of chip are we talking about?" Boba questioned. He didn't know a lot about hardware, outside of ships. He hoped they already knew what it was.
"I believe it's called the beast chip." Kilian mused, his arms clasped around his back. "I remember, it was quite the scandal. A company released a new line of droids, millions of droids, without completin all the safety checks. Turns out their personality chips made them erratic, violent, and gave them a learning curve most sentient beins feel uncomfortable a droid having. They ended up having to shut it down and get rid of the whole line-"
The scientist returned with a small clear container holding the small chip.
"Naturally the chip went on the black market." Kilian took the case and handed it to Boba.
Boba picked it up. It seemed pretty standard to him, a few scratches, a universal port to plug into the droid with, and a small storage container for the programming.
"What do you want me for?" He asked, jiggling the container to flip the chip so he could look at the other side.
"Well, normally you find them in batches of five to twelve, if you're lucky." He pointed to the chip. "We've come across an estimated six thousand Seperatist droids in the past week that've got them."
Boba nodded in understanding. "And that means someone's supplying them." He looked up at Kilian. "And you want me to find out who?"
Kilian laughed. "I knew ye were a smart one. That's right. Ye think ye're up for the job?"
Boba handed back the container. "Depends on what you're paying."
He nodded and pocketed the container, despite the annoyed look on the lab coat's face. "I had a feelin ye'd say that. Come on, let's go to my office. We'll whittle down a price. No more need to bother any of you." He said to the rest of the crew.
They grinned, a couple chuckled.
The office was simpler than Boba expected. Nothing overtly expensive, just a neat standard desk and a few pictures on the wall of the admiral and who Boba assumed was his wife. No kids, it looked like.
The most expensive thing looked to be the visitors chair, and that was because it had padding on it.
"Sit down." Kilian took a place in his own seat and picked up a data pad on the table. "How do you take yer wages?"
"I accept an initial payment, and I charge weekly after that. Plus costs, at the end." Boba slumped back in the chair, stretching his feet so far out he almost touched the desk, but once again, Kilian seemed unbothered.
"Alright…" Kilian tapped at a few things. "Does an initial payment of five hundred thousand credits work for you?"
Boba didn't even have the sense to raise the price. His jaw just dropped, and he sat up in his chair. "You're willing to pay that much?"
Kilian grunted. "New droids are trouble. They come in groups of ten or twenty, and usually only the specialized troops or the Jedi can take them down. Sooner we can get their supply line cut off, the better."
"Ok-kay." Boba straightened. "And what about the weeks after that?"
"Fifty thousand a week?"
Holy shavit. Were they that bad?
"Sounds good." He managed to force out. Five hundred thousand credits would pay for the repairs on the ship alone, even if he hired out the more technical work. And with the additional fifty thousand he could start upgrading his equipment, start tracking down his father's armor-
Wait.
Boba froze as Kilian held out the tablet for Boba to type the account number into. "Are you trying to bribe me, or something?"
Kilian shook his head. "Oh, nah. Just saw yer ship and figured you could use it."
Of course. Of course there was a catch. They didn't actually think he was worth that much.
Boba ground his teeth together and leaned forward on his knees.
Take the money, Boba.
"Shut up." Boba snapped to himself. "Just shut up. Listen old man, I know it looks bad, but I can handle myself. I don't need anybody coming along and just handing me easy jobs because they feel sorry for me."
Kilian looked him straight in the eye. "Now, son-"
"I'm not your son." Boba yelled, standing up so he could glare right in that di'kut'si face. "Or if haven't you heard, I wasn't born, I was grown." He smirked, "I'm nobody's son. No parents, nothing. Got that?"
Kilian chuckled. "Don't you be trying that one on me, boy. There's a reason ye're carryien that ship to be fixed up when every honest mechanic on this side of the galaxy would tell you to buy new. And ain't because of its paint job that's for certain." He lifted the pad. "This is no charity case, Mr. Fett. This is an investment, and I expect my dues paid in full, with interest."
He wiggled it, his face putting on a stupid immitation of a magician about to reveal a trick. "So what do ye say?"
Boba watched the pad for a second, unable to conceal the hunger in his face, then narrowed in on Kilian again. "And if I don't pay it back?"
"Then I'll have gambled, and lost."
Boba frowned, and snatched the pad out of his hands. "Don't think this means you can hold it over me, I'll pay back in my own time, not yours."
"Fair enough." Kilian grinned. "Don't expect it'll take ye long, though."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mark my words boy," he shook his finger at Boba, "in ten years time ye'll be better known then your father. I'd be a fool not to put my fingers in that pie."
One day, Boba, you'll be even stronger than I was.
Boba frowned as he typed in the numbers to one of his routing accounts. "And how does that benefit you?"
Kilian smiled blandly. "Hmm?"
"How does investing in me support you?" Boba shoved the pad back at him. "So I'll do all your jobs?"
"So they'll be a boy in the galaxy who won't be hurtin for money." Kilian said quietly.
Boba snarled again. "Listen, I don't need your charity."
"And yet," Kilian raised the pad, "ye've already accepted it."
Boba stared at him, then slumped back down in the cushioned chair. He tapped the handle moodley. "Why?" He muttered.
Kilian sighed, and set his chin on his hands. "I don't agree with how your situation was handled. Mace Windu's a good general, but doesn't have an empathetic bone in his body. Consider this my trying to… make up for what happened. Trying to ease your day, I suppose."
He'd destroyed this man's ship. Thousands of clones, dead. Their bodies all over the floor. Just like how his father had been, so long ago.
He's a good man, Boba. And you don't meet people like that often.
Boba crossed his arms, and blinked away his wet eyes. "Thanks." He muttered.
Something beeped, and the admiral took a device from his belt and activated it.
"Ye-ees?"
The voice was familiar. It always was, with the Republic.
"The battle has been won. The ship was entirely piloted by droids, so we've taken what we can and we're shooting up the rest." There was a grim pause. "We found five hundred more deactivated droids with the beast chips."
"Good. Continue with yer work, I'll be there to assist soon." He turned it off and clipped it to his belt. "I'm afraid I can't take ye wherever ye'd like to go, but we can drop ye off at our next stop."
Boba tapped his arms and shrugged. "Fine."
"Excellent." Kilian rose. "We're having dinner at o seven hundred hours. Care to join us?"
Anything was better than those stupid rations. Boba stood up and nodded, trying not to look too eager.
They walked out of the room together.
Cue the image five years from now on with Kilian laying on a bed, clutching his stomach, saying- "I told ye it was a good investment." And Boba's shoving an oxygen mask on him, desperately trying not to lose another father.