"You need to what?!"
Han Solo couldn't believe his ears. Or his eyes. Or any of his senses that told him his son was standing in front of him asking to borrow his beloved Millennium Falcon to rescue the bounty hunter who had attempted to capture or kill Han on several occasions. It was too impossible. The universe just wasn't that perverted. "Run that by me again," he said, very quietly.
Jacen took a deep breath, aware of just how much crap he was digging himself into and how rapidly it was going over his head. "A friend of mine disappeared from the Academy… we think she ran off to help her father. Except that it looks like her father was captured by Boba Fett… and to get her father away from the bounty hunter we have to help this… other person… find Fett first." The kid winced at how that whole thing sounded. "And you keep saying, the Falcon's the fastest ship in the galaxy…"
Han wasn't about to spoil his ship's reputation by telling his son that that was more the effect of good piloting and good mechanical skills and less the actual ship itself. "So you think… well, number one, you think your friend's father is still alive after getting caught by Boba Fett…"
Jacen winced, realizing how unlikely this was, but nodded. "Well, we hope so anyway."
"And number two, you think I want to get anywhere near that bounty hunter."
"You don't have to go!" Jacen said hastily, and then realized what that meant. "I mean…"
"I know what you meant." Han was trying not to laugh. As serious as the situation was, it was also hugely ironic. And it was amusing to watch his son try to justify his requests, and try to get Han on his side, or at least to see his point of view.
"What did he mean?" Leia asked, coming in from the bedroom where she had been packing for yet another state visit to some backwater planet. Apparently she hadn't heard the previous discussion on Jacen's request.
"Jacen… well, he can tell you," Han said, going over and flopping heavily into a chair, a look of exaggerated weariness on his face. He was definitely enjoying this. Jacen swallowed his fear and briefly outlined his plan to his mother, who arched her eyebrows in disbelief. She exchanged an amused look with Han that their son didn't catch.
"Han… your son wants to borrow your ship," Leia commented dryly.
"My son? Now he's my son?"
"Only your son would come up with such a nerf-brained idea."
Jacen started to relax. If his parents were bickering playfully like this, trading jokes back and forth, it meant he wasn't really in trouble. He hadn't thought his parents would object to his wanting to help a friend, especially since it didn't involve anything that might create an interplanetary incident. He also knew his family, and figured that Uncle Luke had already been by telling them about what had happened, and what the Solo kids were probably up to. Hell, getting into trouble with wild, nerf-brained schemes to rescue friends ran in the bloodline. On both the Solo and the Skywalker sides. It wasn't like he was doing anything his parents and uncle hadn't done ten times before.
But he still didn't have permission… "Dad…"
Han turned to his son. His face was grave this time, and Jacen gulped. "When we get out of the Core, I want you to follow my lead. You do what I tell you, when I tell you, no argument and no questions." He took a deep breath. "And when this is all over you and I are going to have a talk about who you associate with…" he said, but more ruefully than angrily.
Jacen nodded, thankful to be getting off so lightly. And even more thankful that his father was going to get involved. Suddenly he felt a lot safer, and a lot more confident in their abilities to rescue Linnara's father.
"Go get packed, kid. We leave in three hours." Han sighed, pushing himself out of the chair. Jacen could have sworn he heard his Dad mutter "I'm getting too old for this," as he turned to run to his own room and pack. Then the breath was knocked out of him as he ran directly into Chewbacca, who was coming in. He growled an interrogative at Han's expression, and at Jacen's clearly panicked stance.
"Uh… Dad… you want to explain to Chewie what we're about to do?"
"Uh-uh, son. It's your idea, you get to tell him."
"Great."
Syra sorted through the stream of data that was flying past her eyes. The HoloNet was packed these days, most of it with irrelevant information. She could have reactivated the droids and had them looking through it in a matter of minutes, but one of the unspoken lessons she'd taken from her father was that everything was better if you did it yourself, or at least checked it over. So she was going through the information on her own, sorting through what was possibly relevant and what was probably useless. It was a long and tedious process. Besides, it kept her from going completely insane.
Syra rubbed her eyes. It had been a day now, and not only was Jacen not back with help, she was no closer to finding out where her father had gone, except for the dubious clue of the planet Kamino. Her father had given her the coordinates, and it was slightly familiar even beyond being relatively close, but she couldn't figure out why they had gone there the one time or why it would be important. She hadn't paid much attention when she'd been younger, with the blithe certainty of a child that if it wasn't interesting to her now, it couldn't be important later. It was largely a dead planet, the sole industry which it served having gone out of business before even she was born. Possibly even before her father was born, but she doubted it. Not if he knew what had been going on around there… and then…
She frowned. Maybe that was the key… the planet. The coordinates cross-referenced nicely with the search she was running… and came up with more entries than she would have expected, given the backwater nature of the planet. She scanned them, her frown of confusion turning into a scowl of worry as she saw that the Slave II had been discovered floating, adrift, abandoned.
Her father never abandoned his ship. The only reason he would abandon his ship would be to ensure the safety of…
Syra snarled, resisting the urge to hit something or better still, ignite her lightsaber and cut something to ribbons. It was because of her that Boba Fett had abandoned his ship, abandoned most of the principles he had spent… well, okay, maybe it wasn't entirely because of her. Syra was young, but she wasn't stupid. She smiled slightly, tiredly, and calmed herself down. She was her father's daughter, but she was her mother's daughter too.
* * *
"You're not just sending her away to train her Force skills, are you?" Romy, always suspicious, stood in the doorway of the room with her arms folded, watching the bounty hunter.
"What do you mean?" he asked, not looking up from the console where he was putting together identities for himself and Syra. This job, though it was really a job for a slicer, wasn't one he'd trust to anyone else.
"You're sending her away because she's starting to look like her mother," Romy said quietly. It was difficult to tell exactly what she thought of the whole thing. She'd never made any secret of her dislike for the bounty hunter Cassandra had chosen to be with, but she'd never questioned her friend's decision either. "And you can't stand it."
* * *
Syra closed her eyes and clenched her fists. They hadn't thought she'd overheard that conversation, and since neither of them were Force sensitive they hadn't noticed why she'd disappeared for hours afterwards. She missed her mother too, even though the woman was barely a warm and happy memory in the back of her mind. For her father, some days it had to be unendurable. And now his one remaining daughter was in danger…
Focus. She had to focus.
Syra typed a flurry of commands into the console, filtering out everything that came from a so-called 'official' channel, anything that came from the lower-end opportunistic bottom-feeders, and permitting through only communications to and from people she'd heard of. Being a bounty hunter's daughter, that involved a fair bit more than it might have ordinarily. She'd heard of such hunters as Bossk, IG-88, Dengar (who supposedly was not in the game anymore, although she knew from the way her father talked of him that he kept his hand in occasionally), and Zuckuss. She'd even heard of the more obscure ones, such as Djas Puhr or Aurra Sing. It was those communications she was interested in. They, of all people, would be most concerned if Boba Fett lived or died. Well, second-most concerned.
There wasn't anything specifically on her father, or the Slave II… and she wasn't experienced enough to read the undertones and hidden messages she knew were there. She did, however, find one bit of information that interested her… the location of Dengar's so-called legitimate business. Her father had been there on several occasions, but had steadfastly refused to take her anywhere near there as far as she knew about. This had been partially at her mother's request and partially of his own ideas. Syra had the impression that while her father was perfectly willing, even insistent, on helping out from the sidelines where she couldn't see him, she'd never catch him helping her as obviously as giving her contacts from his past. She'd have to trade, borrow, bribe, or threaten her own people.
Well, she thought grimly, now it was time to bribe and threaten. She dumped all the information she'd gleaned, along with all the conclusions she'd drawn, onto a datacard and slipped it into the dusty flightsuit she wore under her armor. She'd learned all she could from sitting at a desk, safely ensconced in her home. Now it was time to see if Jacen had made good on whatever idea he'd had, and just how much help he could be.
"Aren't you a little short for a Fett?" was the first thing that popped out of Han Solo's mouth when the bounty hunter had landed. It wasn't entirely a flippant question, either. The person in the Mandalorian armor was roughly Jacen's height, probably a little shorter. If the bounty hunter had taken offense, he didn't show it. "Son. You and I have to talk." Han Solo glanced over at the bounty hunter, wondering if that helmet was equipped with listening devices and if it would matter at all if they went a little ways apart to talk privatel. Probably not. What the hell. "Excuse us."
"Of course." Even the voice that came from the helmet was the same. Han had the disturbing feeling that whoever was behind that helmet was laughing at him. He walked a little away with his son, who had an expression of deep-rooted fear on his face, the sort of fear that came from not knowing whether or not two people he had to work with were going to kill each other. Han recognized that fear; he went through it every time Lando and Chewie had to work together. Then again, in this case the unknown person was as likely to turn on both of them as on Han Solo himself, which upped the ante by a great deal. Han was disliking this whole operation more and more by the minute. At least there wasn't a bounty on his head anymore. Well not as big of one.
"Son," he started, more calmly than he'd expected, "You do remember the stories I told you about what happens when you get mixed up with anyone named Fett, right?"
"Well, maybe she's not…" Jacen started lamely, and didn't even finish. They both looked over at the armored figure, who was watching and waiting in Boba Fett's traditional pose, parade rest, one hand on the other wrist. It was like the dreaded bounty hunter in miniature. It was almost even funny.
"What's your name?" Han called over, dreading to know.
"Syra Fett."
"That's what I thought." Han turned to his son, who was now wearing an expression of resigned dread. "They spawned. Who knew. Probably breed asexually or something... Unless that's really a clone… Whatever." He shook his head, dragging his mind back to the question at hand. "Look, you're sure you want to do this?"
"I'm sure, Dad."
Han took a deep breath. "All right. If you really think this is the best, quickest way to get your friend back safely. I'm pretty sure this won't come back to bite us in the ass, and it's not even that bad of an idea. Although frankly, I wouldn't trust any Fett as far as I can throw him…"
"Wrong polarity," Syra Fett said, and this time Han caught the definite tinge of amusement. Which was more reasonable as he realized what he… she… meant.
"Excuse me," he said after two seconds of startlement, making a little bow. She only chuckled. Father and son exchanged a look of shared and wary confusion.
"If there's nothing else," she added after a few minutes. "Let's get underway. Here are the coordinates," she handed them a datapad, and proceeded up the ramp of her ship. Han looked at the coordinates as he and Jacen turned to the Falcon, blinked, and turned back.
"You … do know where this is, right?"
She paused on the ramp, turned, and graced them with a brief nod in response.
"And you do know who lives there, right?"
Again the nod. Apparently the talkative gene had skipped the Fett bloodline entirely.
"And this is where we're going to find Boba Fett?"
She stared at them both for a very long minute, and then disappeared into the bowels of her ship. The ramp began to pull inwards and the door began to close. Han watched it for a few moments and then headed up to the cockpit of his ship, shaking his head slowly. "I'm getting too old for this."
Han Solo wasn't the only one. As Boba Fett was being escorted through the halls of some unknown Star Destroyer, he wondered exactly what it was that kept him in the business. It wasn't a common thought for him to have, but it had been coming more and more often of late.
Fifteen years ago, he had been hunting because he enjoyed it on some sort of deeply-buried, visceral level. Eight years ago he had been hunting because it kept him and his family (a word that still came uneasily to his mind) in the sort of lifestyle they were accustomed to. Now, although he still enjoyed it (inasmuch as someone who had purged emotion from his life could enjoy anything), he really was starting to think he was getting too old for this. Especially when he looked at his daughter, whose youth and enthusiasm combined with the skills he had taught her served to make her a formidable bounty hunter. Perhaps even more formidable than him. It should have made him annoyed; in anyone else it would have. Because it was his daughter, though, he was proud. And it made him wonder. Maybe it was time to pass the mantle on to the younger generation. Maybe it was time to let his daughter rule the stars as the most formidable bounty hunter in ten systems. Maybe it really was time for him to retire. Thoughts for a later time.
Fett and his stormtrooper escort arrived at their untold destination which turned out to be precisely what Fett had estimated it to be. Admiral Pellaeon nodded to the white-armored solders, who departed. Fett stared at the Imperial Admiral through his narrow slit of a visor, impassive, waiting.
"I apologize for the temerity of my men," Pellaeon said after a few minutes. He didn't seem to be fazed by the bounty hunter. Then again, from the stories Fett had heard of Admiral Thrawn, it would take more than Fett to seriously faze Pellaeon, at least until the bounty hunter gave him a reason. "They were instructed to bring you here, not to employ force against you."
"I see," Fett said, understanding perfectly. Pellaeon had probably instructed the soldiers to make sure Fett arrived on board the Star Destroyer in a more or less functional state. Violence, force, any of those would have been acceptable to achieve the goal. Then again, Pellaeon probably didn't know of the consequences of making it seem that Boba Fett had been kidnapped or killed. Which, all in all, was a good thing; it meant that Fett had done his job of hiding Syra well. Then again... if Pellaeon didn't realize that Syra would come after her father if she thought he was kidnapped, what did he mean by the safety of Fett's daughter? Did he know she existed? Did he just not care? If that was the case... Syra would make him care.
Pellaeon stared at the bounty hunter a few minutes longer, then shrugged when he realized that the bounty hunter was employing his customary silence. "Actually, I wanted to bring you in for a job. I know this whole roundabout way of getting your attention seems a bit much, but believe me when I say that this is a matter that must be kept utterly secret, even from my own men. At the moment, they think I am threatening your life in some creative and obscure manner."
You're not? Fett thought with no little touch of irony. "What's the job?" was all he said.
Pellaeon activated a holo-display on the table between them, which showed a blue-ish planet that looked somehow familiar. "Just before the Clone Wars began, Palpatine ordered a project begun in the strictest secrecy on a backwater planet that had only one thing going for it: a very specific, very elite technology. He struck a deal with the inhabitants of the planet for several million units of … equipment… to be completed within ten years. Although the planet's economy was later destroyed, the planet and the equipment itself still remained… do you understand what I am saying?"
Boba Fett hadn't thrown up from anything other than pure illness or injury since he was eight years old. He would have been proud of that fact, if he was still capable. Pellaeon's words in the last five minutes made him want to throw up. "Yes."
"So far, I am the only official military person with any sort of idea that this is going on. If I bring any other officials into this, it will take more time than I have, and the facility will probably remain in existence just long enough to create more … product. However, I thought that you, of all people, would have both the motivation and the ability to destroy the facility without undue delay."
'Undue delay.' Two very polite words that meant, don't give the opposition enough time to make more of you. Boba Fett thought of his childhood, growing up with all the clones of himself and his father, and suppressed a shudder. "I see," he said again, for lack of anything else. There was silence, and after a little while Pellaeon fidgeted.
"A renegade faction of the Empire..." The former Empire, Fett thought, but didn't correct the Admiral. "Has siezed control of the planet. They are attempting to recreate the project, and began work on several million units of new, improved... product... many years ago. It was a little while before I could track down the source of the rumors, and a while longer before I came to the apparently inescapable conclusion that this job was best left to your abilities. However, believe me when I say that this facility must be destroyed with all speed possible. The improvements they have been making will cause instabilities in both the ... product... and the very economy and political fabric of the galaxy."
"Well?"
He was slightly amused at the way the Admiral avoided all mention of the clones, calling it all 'product' instead. Was it to confuse listeners (who probably already knew what was going on) or was it just to satisfy his peace of mind? It didn't matter too terribly much. Boba Fett was not about to allow this experiment to go on again, much less with any kind of so-called improvements. His father would rest in peace, dammit. And Syra would not have to go through the kind of nightmarish world he had to endure.
"All right."
Han Solo couldn't believe his ears. Or his eyes. Or any of his senses that told him his son was standing in front of him asking to borrow his beloved Millennium Falcon to rescue the bounty hunter who had attempted to capture or kill Han on several occasions. It was too impossible. The universe just wasn't that perverted. "Run that by me again," he said, very quietly.
Jacen took a deep breath, aware of just how much crap he was digging himself into and how rapidly it was going over his head. "A friend of mine disappeared from the Academy… we think she ran off to help her father. Except that it looks like her father was captured by Boba Fett… and to get her father away from the bounty hunter we have to help this… other person… find Fett first." The kid winced at how that whole thing sounded. "And you keep saying, the Falcon's the fastest ship in the galaxy…"
Han wasn't about to spoil his ship's reputation by telling his son that that was more the effect of good piloting and good mechanical skills and less the actual ship itself. "So you think… well, number one, you think your friend's father is still alive after getting caught by Boba Fett…"
Jacen winced, realizing how unlikely this was, but nodded. "Well, we hope so anyway."
"And number two, you think I want to get anywhere near that bounty hunter."
"You don't have to go!" Jacen said hastily, and then realized what that meant. "I mean…"
"I know what you meant." Han was trying not to laugh. As serious as the situation was, it was also hugely ironic. And it was amusing to watch his son try to justify his requests, and try to get Han on his side, or at least to see his point of view.
"What did he mean?" Leia asked, coming in from the bedroom where she had been packing for yet another state visit to some backwater planet. Apparently she hadn't heard the previous discussion on Jacen's request.
"Jacen… well, he can tell you," Han said, going over and flopping heavily into a chair, a look of exaggerated weariness on his face. He was definitely enjoying this. Jacen swallowed his fear and briefly outlined his plan to his mother, who arched her eyebrows in disbelief. She exchanged an amused look with Han that their son didn't catch.
"Han… your son wants to borrow your ship," Leia commented dryly.
"My son? Now he's my son?"
"Only your son would come up with such a nerf-brained idea."
Jacen started to relax. If his parents were bickering playfully like this, trading jokes back and forth, it meant he wasn't really in trouble. He hadn't thought his parents would object to his wanting to help a friend, especially since it didn't involve anything that might create an interplanetary incident. He also knew his family, and figured that Uncle Luke had already been by telling them about what had happened, and what the Solo kids were probably up to. Hell, getting into trouble with wild, nerf-brained schemes to rescue friends ran in the bloodline. On both the Solo and the Skywalker sides. It wasn't like he was doing anything his parents and uncle hadn't done ten times before.
But he still didn't have permission… "Dad…"
Han turned to his son. His face was grave this time, and Jacen gulped. "When we get out of the Core, I want you to follow my lead. You do what I tell you, when I tell you, no argument and no questions." He took a deep breath. "And when this is all over you and I are going to have a talk about who you associate with…" he said, but more ruefully than angrily.
Jacen nodded, thankful to be getting off so lightly. And even more thankful that his father was going to get involved. Suddenly he felt a lot safer, and a lot more confident in their abilities to rescue Linnara's father.
"Go get packed, kid. We leave in three hours." Han sighed, pushing himself out of the chair. Jacen could have sworn he heard his Dad mutter "I'm getting too old for this," as he turned to run to his own room and pack. Then the breath was knocked out of him as he ran directly into Chewbacca, who was coming in. He growled an interrogative at Han's expression, and at Jacen's clearly panicked stance.
"Uh… Dad… you want to explain to Chewie what we're about to do?"
"Uh-uh, son. It's your idea, you get to tell him."
"Great."
Syra sorted through the stream of data that was flying past her eyes. The HoloNet was packed these days, most of it with irrelevant information. She could have reactivated the droids and had them looking through it in a matter of minutes, but one of the unspoken lessons she'd taken from her father was that everything was better if you did it yourself, or at least checked it over. So she was going through the information on her own, sorting through what was possibly relevant and what was probably useless. It was a long and tedious process. Besides, it kept her from going completely insane.
Syra rubbed her eyes. It had been a day now, and not only was Jacen not back with help, she was no closer to finding out where her father had gone, except for the dubious clue of the planet Kamino. Her father had given her the coordinates, and it was slightly familiar even beyond being relatively close, but she couldn't figure out why they had gone there the one time or why it would be important. She hadn't paid much attention when she'd been younger, with the blithe certainty of a child that if it wasn't interesting to her now, it couldn't be important later. It was largely a dead planet, the sole industry which it served having gone out of business before even she was born. Possibly even before her father was born, but she doubted it. Not if he knew what had been going on around there… and then…
She frowned. Maybe that was the key… the planet. The coordinates cross-referenced nicely with the search she was running… and came up with more entries than she would have expected, given the backwater nature of the planet. She scanned them, her frown of confusion turning into a scowl of worry as she saw that the Slave II had been discovered floating, adrift, abandoned.
Her father never abandoned his ship. The only reason he would abandon his ship would be to ensure the safety of…
Syra snarled, resisting the urge to hit something or better still, ignite her lightsaber and cut something to ribbons. It was because of her that Boba Fett had abandoned his ship, abandoned most of the principles he had spent… well, okay, maybe it wasn't entirely because of her. Syra was young, but she wasn't stupid. She smiled slightly, tiredly, and calmed herself down. She was her father's daughter, but she was her mother's daughter too.
* * *
"You're not just sending her away to train her Force skills, are you?" Romy, always suspicious, stood in the doorway of the room with her arms folded, watching the bounty hunter.
"What do you mean?" he asked, not looking up from the console where he was putting together identities for himself and Syra. This job, though it was really a job for a slicer, wasn't one he'd trust to anyone else.
"You're sending her away because she's starting to look like her mother," Romy said quietly. It was difficult to tell exactly what she thought of the whole thing. She'd never made any secret of her dislike for the bounty hunter Cassandra had chosen to be with, but she'd never questioned her friend's decision either. "And you can't stand it."
* * *
Syra closed her eyes and clenched her fists. They hadn't thought she'd overheard that conversation, and since neither of them were Force sensitive they hadn't noticed why she'd disappeared for hours afterwards. She missed her mother too, even though the woman was barely a warm and happy memory in the back of her mind. For her father, some days it had to be unendurable. And now his one remaining daughter was in danger…
Focus. She had to focus.
Syra typed a flurry of commands into the console, filtering out everything that came from a so-called 'official' channel, anything that came from the lower-end opportunistic bottom-feeders, and permitting through only communications to and from people she'd heard of. Being a bounty hunter's daughter, that involved a fair bit more than it might have ordinarily. She'd heard of such hunters as Bossk, IG-88, Dengar (who supposedly was not in the game anymore, although she knew from the way her father talked of him that he kept his hand in occasionally), and Zuckuss. She'd even heard of the more obscure ones, such as Djas Puhr or Aurra Sing. It was those communications she was interested in. They, of all people, would be most concerned if Boba Fett lived or died. Well, second-most concerned.
There wasn't anything specifically on her father, or the Slave II… and she wasn't experienced enough to read the undertones and hidden messages she knew were there. She did, however, find one bit of information that interested her… the location of Dengar's so-called legitimate business. Her father had been there on several occasions, but had steadfastly refused to take her anywhere near there as far as she knew about. This had been partially at her mother's request and partially of his own ideas. Syra had the impression that while her father was perfectly willing, even insistent, on helping out from the sidelines where she couldn't see him, she'd never catch him helping her as obviously as giving her contacts from his past. She'd have to trade, borrow, bribe, or threaten her own people.
Well, she thought grimly, now it was time to bribe and threaten. She dumped all the information she'd gleaned, along with all the conclusions she'd drawn, onto a datacard and slipped it into the dusty flightsuit she wore under her armor. She'd learned all she could from sitting at a desk, safely ensconced in her home. Now it was time to see if Jacen had made good on whatever idea he'd had, and just how much help he could be.
"Aren't you a little short for a Fett?" was the first thing that popped out of Han Solo's mouth when the bounty hunter had landed. It wasn't entirely a flippant question, either. The person in the Mandalorian armor was roughly Jacen's height, probably a little shorter. If the bounty hunter had taken offense, he didn't show it. "Son. You and I have to talk." Han Solo glanced over at the bounty hunter, wondering if that helmet was equipped with listening devices and if it would matter at all if they went a little ways apart to talk privatel. Probably not. What the hell. "Excuse us."
"Of course." Even the voice that came from the helmet was the same. Han had the disturbing feeling that whoever was behind that helmet was laughing at him. He walked a little away with his son, who had an expression of deep-rooted fear on his face, the sort of fear that came from not knowing whether or not two people he had to work with were going to kill each other. Han recognized that fear; he went through it every time Lando and Chewie had to work together. Then again, in this case the unknown person was as likely to turn on both of them as on Han Solo himself, which upped the ante by a great deal. Han was disliking this whole operation more and more by the minute. At least there wasn't a bounty on his head anymore. Well not as big of one.
"Son," he started, more calmly than he'd expected, "You do remember the stories I told you about what happens when you get mixed up with anyone named Fett, right?"
"Well, maybe she's not…" Jacen started lamely, and didn't even finish. They both looked over at the armored figure, who was watching and waiting in Boba Fett's traditional pose, parade rest, one hand on the other wrist. It was like the dreaded bounty hunter in miniature. It was almost even funny.
"What's your name?" Han called over, dreading to know.
"Syra Fett."
"That's what I thought." Han turned to his son, who was now wearing an expression of resigned dread. "They spawned. Who knew. Probably breed asexually or something... Unless that's really a clone… Whatever." He shook his head, dragging his mind back to the question at hand. "Look, you're sure you want to do this?"
"I'm sure, Dad."
Han took a deep breath. "All right. If you really think this is the best, quickest way to get your friend back safely. I'm pretty sure this won't come back to bite us in the ass, and it's not even that bad of an idea. Although frankly, I wouldn't trust any Fett as far as I can throw him…"
"Wrong polarity," Syra Fett said, and this time Han caught the definite tinge of amusement. Which was more reasonable as he realized what he… she… meant.
"Excuse me," he said after two seconds of startlement, making a little bow. She only chuckled. Father and son exchanged a look of shared and wary confusion.
"If there's nothing else," she added after a few minutes. "Let's get underway. Here are the coordinates," she handed them a datapad, and proceeded up the ramp of her ship. Han looked at the coordinates as he and Jacen turned to the Falcon, blinked, and turned back.
"You … do know where this is, right?"
She paused on the ramp, turned, and graced them with a brief nod in response.
"And you do know who lives there, right?"
Again the nod. Apparently the talkative gene had skipped the Fett bloodline entirely.
"And this is where we're going to find Boba Fett?"
She stared at them both for a very long minute, and then disappeared into the bowels of her ship. The ramp began to pull inwards and the door began to close. Han watched it for a few moments and then headed up to the cockpit of his ship, shaking his head slowly. "I'm getting too old for this."
Han Solo wasn't the only one. As Boba Fett was being escorted through the halls of some unknown Star Destroyer, he wondered exactly what it was that kept him in the business. It wasn't a common thought for him to have, but it had been coming more and more often of late.
Fifteen years ago, he had been hunting because he enjoyed it on some sort of deeply-buried, visceral level. Eight years ago he had been hunting because it kept him and his family (a word that still came uneasily to his mind) in the sort of lifestyle they were accustomed to. Now, although he still enjoyed it (inasmuch as someone who had purged emotion from his life could enjoy anything), he really was starting to think he was getting too old for this. Especially when he looked at his daughter, whose youth and enthusiasm combined with the skills he had taught her served to make her a formidable bounty hunter. Perhaps even more formidable than him. It should have made him annoyed; in anyone else it would have. Because it was his daughter, though, he was proud. And it made him wonder. Maybe it was time to pass the mantle on to the younger generation. Maybe it was time to let his daughter rule the stars as the most formidable bounty hunter in ten systems. Maybe it really was time for him to retire. Thoughts for a later time.
Fett and his stormtrooper escort arrived at their untold destination which turned out to be precisely what Fett had estimated it to be. Admiral Pellaeon nodded to the white-armored solders, who departed. Fett stared at the Imperial Admiral through his narrow slit of a visor, impassive, waiting.
"I apologize for the temerity of my men," Pellaeon said after a few minutes. He didn't seem to be fazed by the bounty hunter. Then again, from the stories Fett had heard of Admiral Thrawn, it would take more than Fett to seriously faze Pellaeon, at least until the bounty hunter gave him a reason. "They were instructed to bring you here, not to employ force against you."
"I see," Fett said, understanding perfectly. Pellaeon had probably instructed the soldiers to make sure Fett arrived on board the Star Destroyer in a more or less functional state. Violence, force, any of those would have been acceptable to achieve the goal. Then again, Pellaeon probably didn't know of the consequences of making it seem that Boba Fett had been kidnapped or killed. Which, all in all, was a good thing; it meant that Fett had done his job of hiding Syra well. Then again... if Pellaeon didn't realize that Syra would come after her father if she thought he was kidnapped, what did he mean by the safety of Fett's daughter? Did he know she existed? Did he just not care? If that was the case... Syra would make him care.
Pellaeon stared at the bounty hunter a few minutes longer, then shrugged when he realized that the bounty hunter was employing his customary silence. "Actually, I wanted to bring you in for a job. I know this whole roundabout way of getting your attention seems a bit much, but believe me when I say that this is a matter that must be kept utterly secret, even from my own men. At the moment, they think I am threatening your life in some creative and obscure manner."
You're not? Fett thought with no little touch of irony. "What's the job?" was all he said.
Pellaeon activated a holo-display on the table between them, which showed a blue-ish planet that looked somehow familiar. "Just before the Clone Wars began, Palpatine ordered a project begun in the strictest secrecy on a backwater planet that had only one thing going for it: a very specific, very elite technology. He struck a deal with the inhabitants of the planet for several million units of … equipment… to be completed within ten years. Although the planet's economy was later destroyed, the planet and the equipment itself still remained… do you understand what I am saying?"
Boba Fett hadn't thrown up from anything other than pure illness or injury since he was eight years old. He would have been proud of that fact, if he was still capable. Pellaeon's words in the last five minutes made him want to throw up. "Yes."
"So far, I am the only official military person with any sort of idea that this is going on. If I bring any other officials into this, it will take more time than I have, and the facility will probably remain in existence just long enough to create more … product. However, I thought that you, of all people, would have both the motivation and the ability to destroy the facility without undue delay."
'Undue delay.' Two very polite words that meant, don't give the opposition enough time to make more of you. Boba Fett thought of his childhood, growing up with all the clones of himself and his father, and suppressed a shudder. "I see," he said again, for lack of anything else. There was silence, and after a little while Pellaeon fidgeted.
"A renegade faction of the Empire..." The former Empire, Fett thought, but didn't correct the Admiral. "Has siezed control of the planet. They are attempting to recreate the project, and began work on several million units of new, improved... product... many years ago. It was a little while before I could track down the source of the rumors, and a while longer before I came to the apparently inescapable conclusion that this job was best left to your abilities. However, believe me when I say that this facility must be destroyed with all speed possible. The improvements they have been making will cause instabilities in both the ... product... and the very economy and political fabric of the galaxy."
"Well?"
He was slightly amused at the way the Admiral avoided all mention of the clones, calling it all 'product' instead. Was it to confuse listeners (who probably already knew what was going on) or was it just to satisfy his peace of mind? It didn't matter too terribly much. Boba Fett was not about to allow this experiment to go on again, much less with any kind of so-called improvements. His father would rest in peace, dammit. And Syra would not have to go through the kind of nightmarish world he had to endure.
"All right."