Author's Note: Okay, there was supposed to be an author's note, but I
forgot what it was going to be. Oh well, can't have been too important.
Standard disclaimer, yes Tem Morrison is very hot, Virtual Bettie (I think
that was you), thank you to all my loyal readers, and on with the show!
She was supposed to be better than this.
Cassandra hadn't been running long. Long enough, she thought, to lead the pursuers away from the Slave II, or at least some of them. There were obviously those who found Boba Fett a more tantalizing prize than... whatever they thought she was. She locked in evasive techniques for the next five minutes or so and went to join Kashya at the guns.
"What've we got?" she asked tersely as she swung up into the gunner array. Pulling down the headset over her face, she grabbed the guns and started returning fire.
"Too damn many," Kashya growled more out of anxiety than anger. "Even for us." Even for him, they both thought. TIE fighters were converging on them all like flies on a carcass, which was going to be an all-too-apt analogy if they didn't manage to make it out of there alive. It took time to plot in a course, and they'd had a rare moment of being caught flatfooted, so time was something they didn't have very much of. If Cassandra could keep the Imps off of them for a few minutes Fett could plot in a course and feed her the coordinates, enabling them both to get out of there. But there were too many of them, and they were swarming like mynocks.
And to make matters worse, 6-year-old Syra was strapped in the cockpit of the Slave II.
"We've got to buy more time... why the hell are they after us anyway?" Kashya wanted to know. She sounded panicked, and Cassandra couldn't really blame her. Unfortunately her mother had been associating with Boba Fett long enough for some of his trademark stoicism to rub off.
"We can deal with that after we've gotten back. Focus, Kashya." Cassandra's guns vaped another two imps. "Focus."
"Yeah, yeah," Kashya grumbled, sweat dripping into her eyes and obscuring her vision.
Not for the first time, Cassandra wished she'd had more time at the Jedi schools, learning the use of her Force powers. Despite that she'd never heard of them used in such a way before, she was certain that if she'd stayed longer, learned more, that she could find a way out of this. As it was her skill with machines was no use to her if she wasn't in reasonable proximity to them, and her only other real talent was with the lightsaber.
"Disengaging." Fett's voice, a deeply welcome and comforting presence to her (even if to no one else in the entire known universe), sounded in her ear.
"Just get me those coordinates," she told him. "We'll handle things here." Privately she doubted her ability to handle this many ships, but it wouldn't have done any good to tell him. In her view-screen she saw Slave II back off, vaping a couple more Imps as they tried to get in his way. She felt her younger daughter's presence in her mind, a little ball of excitement. To her, this was only Daddy doing what he did best: flying and shooting. Cassandra smiled slightly; oh to be young again.
A stray bolt hit the ship, rocking them abruptly and knocking Cassandra's head against the viewport. Blood in her mouth matched the smell of blood on her forehead, and her vision reeled for a second. "Kashya, talk to me..."
"We've got hull breach. Atmosphere venting... I'm sending Domitian to lock it down..." In the background Cassandra could hear the R2 unit bleeping to the rescue.
"Hang on, Kashya... just a few more minutes." Cassandra sent laser fire after another Imp, silently urging Fett to transmit faster. She looked up, startled, and tried to clear the blood from her eyes as a familiar ship silhouette began to creep into view. "Hey... what's a St..."
The second explosion knocked her mercifully unconscious.
Boba Fett watched the Harrier explode with an intensely blank expression. Two other Imperial fighters were caught in the explosion, but what concerned him was the conspicuous lack of anything resembling an intact escape pod. He scanned the debris, scanned it again, scanned it a third time. He blatantly ignored the Star Destroyer lurking overhead. He filed the rapid retreat of the Imperial fighters away in his mind for future contemplation. And he scanned the debris for life-signs, against all expectation and probability.
The debris was as dead as empty, cold space.
Boba Fett sat back and ignored the attempts of the Imperials to hail the ship. He reached beside him and picked up his helmet, staring into the t-shaped visor that so many were afraid of. He wondered, clinically, if there was anything he could have done. But then, Cassandra had survived the impossible before... she had survived him. Something that few others had done, not with as close a call as she had. Plenty had escaped from their captors after he'd held them. Few had escaped from him after he had captured them. None with as little fuss as her. She would survive.
"Daddy...?" Syra was staring at the front transparisteel viewscreen with wide eyes. "Daddy, where's Mommy?"
The bounty hunter stared at the girl with slowly dawning comprehension. It wasn't over yet, hadn't been over anyway, but the Force- sensitive daughter could no longer sense the Force-sensitive mother. He had hunted the Jedi before. He knew what that meant.
"Daddy?" Syra's wide golden eyes turned to Fett. He thought briefly of a day, decades ago, hot in the red planet's sun. A grand gladiatorial event where the outcome was supposed to be decided. A day that was supposed to be a celebration of a job well done.
An empty helmet lying on the sand.
"Mommy's... gone," he said quietly, calling to memory the time Jango had had to tell him of Zam's death. "She's gone." More to himself than to his daughter.
Syra's head whipped back and forth between staring at the debris floating in space and her father, her mother's eyes wide in her mother's face. Boba Fett simply stared straight ahead, hands still on the controls. His mind was still on a far away planet, a long time ago. He looked to the side again at the helmet, watching Syra pick it up in an uncanny imitation of ...
Syra looked at her father and put the helmet down.
Boba Fett's mind cleared with the gesture. It wasn't, after all, as bad as his own situation had been. Syra wasn't alone, even though she had lost her mother. It was just her and him now... and after all, that wasn't too terrible a thing. He had survived a childhood alone with his father. It was simply his job now to make sure that Syra was never totally alone. Ever.
The bounty hunter circled the debris one last time, briefly registering the fact that there were no longer Imperials in the area, making a mental note to figure out what the hell had happened later. For now, he needed to get his daughter home.
She was supposed to be better than this.
Cassandra hadn't been running long. Long enough, she thought, to lead the pursuers away from the Slave II, or at least some of them. There were obviously those who found Boba Fett a more tantalizing prize than... whatever they thought she was. She locked in evasive techniques for the next five minutes or so and went to join Kashya at the guns.
"What've we got?" she asked tersely as she swung up into the gunner array. Pulling down the headset over her face, she grabbed the guns and started returning fire.
"Too damn many," Kashya growled more out of anxiety than anger. "Even for us." Even for him, they both thought. TIE fighters were converging on them all like flies on a carcass, which was going to be an all-too-apt analogy if they didn't manage to make it out of there alive. It took time to plot in a course, and they'd had a rare moment of being caught flatfooted, so time was something they didn't have very much of. If Cassandra could keep the Imps off of them for a few minutes Fett could plot in a course and feed her the coordinates, enabling them both to get out of there. But there were too many of them, and they were swarming like mynocks.
And to make matters worse, 6-year-old Syra was strapped in the cockpit of the Slave II.
"We've got to buy more time... why the hell are they after us anyway?" Kashya wanted to know. She sounded panicked, and Cassandra couldn't really blame her. Unfortunately her mother had been associating with Boba Fett long enough for some of his trademark stoicism to rub off.
"We can deal with that after we've gotten back. Focus, Kashya." Cassandra's guns vaped another two imps. "Focus."
"Yeah, yeah," Kashya grumbled, sweat dripping into her eyes and obscuring her vision.
Not for the first time, Cassandra wished she'd had more time at the Jedi schools, learning the use of her Force powers. Despite that she'd never heard of them used in such a way before, she was certain that if she'd stayed longer, learned more, that she could find a way out of this. As it was her skill with machines was no use to her if she wasn't in reasonable proximity to them, and her only other real talent was with the lightsaber.
"Disengaging." Fett's voice, a deeply welcome and comforting presence to her (even if to no one else in the entire known universe), sounded in her ear.
"Just get me those coordinates," she told him. "We'll handle things here." Privately she doubted her ability to handle this many ships, but it wouldn't have done any good to tell him. In her view-screen she saw Slave II back off, vaping a couple more Imps as they tried to get in his way. She felt her younger daughter's presence in her mind, a little ball of excitement. To her, this was only Daddy doing what he did best: flying and shooting. Cassandra smiled slightly; oh to be young again.
A stray bolt hit the ship, rocking them abruptly and knocking Cassandra's head against the viewport. Blood in her mouth matched the smell of blood on her forehead, and her vision reeled for a second. "Kashya, talk to me..."
"We've got hull breach. Atmosphere venting... I'm sending Domitian to lock it down..." In the background Cassandra could hear the R2 unit bleeping to the rescue.
"Hang on, Kashya... just a few more minutes." Cassandra sent laser fire after another Imp, silently urging Fett to transmit faster. She looked up, startled, and tried to clear the blood from her eyes as a familiar ship silhouette began to creep into view. "Hey... what's a St..."
The second explosion knocked her mercifully unconscious.
Boba Fett watched the Harrier explode with an intensely blank expression. Two other Imperial fighters were caught in the explosion, but what concerned him was the conspicuous lack of anything resembling an intact escape pod. He scanned the debris, scanned it again, scanned it a third time. He blatantly ignored the Star Destroyer lurking overhead. He filed the rapid retreat of the Imperial fighters away in his mind for future contemplation. And he scanned the debris for life-signs, against all expectation and probability.
The debris was as dead as empty, cold space.
Boba Fett sat back and ignored the attempts of the Imperials to hail the ship. He reached beside him and picked up his helmet, staring into the t-shaped visor that so many were afraid of. He wondered, clinically, if there was anything he could have done. But then, Cassandra had survived the impossible before... she had survived him. Something that few others had done, not with as close a call as she had. Plenty had escaped from their captors after he'd held them. Few had escaped from him after he had captured them. None with as little fuss as her. She would survive.
"Daddy...?" Syra was staring at the front transparisteel viewscreen with wide eyes. "Daddy, where's Mommy?"
The bounty hunter stared at the girl with slowly dawning comprehension. It wasn't over yet, hadn't been over anyway, but the Force- sensitive daughter could no longer sense the Force-sensitive mother. He had hunted the Jedi before. He knew what that meant.
"Daddy?" Syra's wide golden eyes turned to Fett. He thought briefly of a day, decades ago, hot in the red planet's sun. A grand gladiatorial event where the outcome was supposed to be decided. A day that was supposed to be a celebration of a job well done.
An empty helmet lying on the sand.
"Mommy's... gone," he said quietly, calling to memory the time Jango had had to tell him of Zam's death. "She's gone." More to himself than to his daughter.
Syra's head whipped back and forth between staring at the debris floating in space and her father, her mother's eyes wide in her mother's face. Boba Fett simply stared straight ahead, hands still on the controls. His mind was still on a far away planet, a long time ago. He looked to the side again at the helmet, watching Syra pick it up in an uncanny imitation of ...
Syra looked at her father and put the helmet down.
Boba Fett's mind cleared with the gesture. It wasn't, after all, as bad as his own situation had been. Syra wasn't alone, even though she had lost her mother. It was just her and him now... and after all, that wasn't too terrible a thing. He had survived a childhood alone with his father. It was simply his job now to make sure that Syra was never totally alone. Ever.
The bounty hunter circled the debris one last time, briefly registering the fact that there were no longer Imperials in the area, making a mental note to figure out what the hell had happened later. For now, he needed to get his daughter home.