Star Wars Infinities: The Warrior

By Christopher W. Blaine (darth_yoshi@yahoo.com)

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations contained in this story are ©2003 by George Lucas and are used herein without permission for fan-related, non-profit entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2003 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

CHAPTER 15

"I hate bars," Boba Fett said as he and his father strode into the smoky room. A jizz-band was playing in the background, the singer either drunk or a hopelessly poor talent, wailed to the music. Several glances were cast at the two and some figures in the darkest corners slowly made their way to one of the many exits.

"It's the best place to find information," Jango remarked as they moved towards the bar. Nobody tried to stop them, many of the older spacers putting their hands on the shoulders of their younger partners. Within a minute, the entire cantina realized that Jango Fett was back, seemingly from the dead. "We need to find a trail."

"And you think its here?" Boba asked, not believing it. He was itching to get back to their ship. He honestly hated bars, watching people poison themselves with smoke and drink and the Force knew what else. These people disgusted him in a way he could not even begin to describe.

He was not here to offer opinions, though, and his training and discipline kicked in as he marched behind his father, his blaster rifle loose and ready for action. Jango Fett stepped up and a barfly moved away after seeing her reflection in the visor of the bounty hunter's helmet. The bartender, a large four-armed alien that Boba could not identify stepped up. "Nice costume," it said in Basic.

"I can't believe you're still alive," Jango said as he put his own blaster rifle on the bar. The alien looked down at it and shook his head. He said something about no weapons, but Jango ignored him.

"You'll never change," the alien said with a smile. He nodded towards Boba. "Is that your kid?"

Jango said it was. The alien smiled, showing sharp green teeth. "Don't remember me, do ya?" Boba said nothing but instead turned his head away and let his father continue the discussion with the bartender. Jango had indicated that this particular bar, located on the planet Kuat, was home to a unique breed of scum. These were not the best pilots in the galaxy, but the most desperate. It was from here that the mighty shipyards often found test pilots for their prototypes.

The pay it was said was very good, but the risks were too high for the better pilots. It was also a good place to pick up loaners, or ships for rent. Jango had figured that Mara had joined up with the rebellion proper. If that was true, it was possible that some of the vessels in the smaller yards of Kuat were being rented out using Chandrillan funds.

Boba could feel the tension in the air and he could guess that his father's reputation was too much of a temptation for some of the others in the cantina. A rather surely looking man approached and Boba took a few steps towards him.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?" the man said. Boba was thankful for the helmet after getting a look at the man's dental work. "You one of them Jedi killers?" The man then turned to the rest of the patrons and raised his voice. "Looky here everyone! We got us two true blue Mandalorian Warriors!"

Jango ignored the man and continued speaking in hushed tones with the bartender who looked at Boba's back and could tell the younger man was like a predator ready to spring. In the old days, it would have been Jango staring down the whole establishment. Looking at Boba was like looking into the past.

"You need to sit down and keep destroying your brain cells, cretin," Boba replied, his voice sounding cold through his helmet filter.

The man poked Boba in the chest. "You don't tell me what to do, boy!"

Boba moved like a predatory cat, his hand lancing out and gasping the throat of the man. A quick twist and the man's throat was crushed. Even as the man sagged, grasping his neck, another patron was pulling out a holdout blaster from an inner skin fold. The alien aimed for Boba who had his rifle up as well.

Both fired at the same time and both compensated for the expected dodge. Boba did not move and the blast passed by his shoulder and caught the barfly in the shoulder, sending her spinning. The alien who had fired the shot went down in a heap as his head exploded.

A Bothan snarled and leapt over several patrons and tables, holding a wicked-looking knife. Boba didn't hesitate to bring his other arm up and activate the grappling line. It had the Bothan ensnared before the alien hit the floor. Boba stepped over the agitated alien and Boba dodged a wild swing with a bottle of cheap brew. He fired a wide-angle stun blast into the general direction of the crowd and swung back to knock his attacker in the head with his rifle butt.

"There's a lot of anger in your kid," the bartender said.

Jango shrugged and accepted a tall glass of water with a long straw. He opened a small hatch in his helmet and put the straw through. "He can't stand waste."

"Sounds like he's too much like his old man," the alien chided. He didn't bother trying to stop Boba. If he had been trained as a true Mandalorian warrior under Jango Fett, then the best thing to do was let him do what he had to do and then send Jango the bill. He and Jango had worked several profitable ventures back in the old days, back before the Empire.

In those days, Jango Fett was not known so much by his actions, but by the myths that surrounded him. If you were fortunate enough to work with him, the credits could be beyond imagining. The bartender had been part of a particularly large group Fett had compiled to search for, of all things, a buried treasure rumored to be on some backwater world.

When the treasure, which turned out to be inside a crashed freighter, was found, the entire group, except the bartender, had turned on Fett. That kind of loyalty was not lost on the bounty hunter. Over the years, when Jango had retired to the Outer Regions to ply his trade as, and the alien had to chuckle at the thought, a law enforcement officer for a farming community, it had been the bartender that sent him regular packets of information about the comings and goings of the galaxy-wide underworld.

Fett had been surprised to find out that Black Sun was back on the rise, rumor being that a new, mysterious leader had gained control of the warring factions. The organization had been splintered by Darth Maul, the former apprentice of the Emperor, and it was thought by many that it could never reform.

Another alien died and the jizz-band ran off stage as Boba kicked a would-be assassin into the instruments. It had been decades since a Mandalorian had cleaned house and this was a sure-fire way to let the galaxy know that Jango Fett was back and he wasn't alone.

"Do you have the information I wanted?" Jango asked. Someone started to come at him but Boba caught them in the neck with a poisoned dart.

The bartender pushed over a memory chip. "It took some doing. With Chandrilla blown to bits, their currency is worthless except on the collector's market. Whomever this chickie your looking for is, she had converted her cash over to Imperial script through, shall we say, illegal means."

Jango understood exactly. It meant that Mara Mothma was getting help from the underworld. Her personal fortune would have been worthless unless someone was willing to exchange her credits. "Black Sun?"

The bartender nodded. "The rebellion is working with them, but Black Sun is working the Imperial side as well. Pretty smart way to rebuild." There was the sound of bones cracking and a female bounty hunter went down, her hands holding her broke thighbone. Boba stopped and looked around the cantina. Those that were not moving were dead; anybody who was had injuries. "Let this be a warning: do not touch me. Do not approach me. When I enter the room, get out of my way. Unless you have credits to spend on my services, then you are taking up my space."

"Didn't you give that speech once on Tatooine in Jabba's palace?" the alien asked.

Jango actually smiled behind his helmet, a sign he was mellowing slightly in his old age. Looking at Boba, who was actually a clone of him, he was seeing what he must have been like only twenty years before. "Thanks. Send me the bill."

The bartender pushed over another memory chip. "Already figured it out. I was expecting you after all."

"I don't understand why you paid him extra, father," Boba said as he engaged the hyperdrive for Slave I. "If he had kept a better patronage, then maybe there would not have been as much damage."

Jango said nothing but instead wondered if perhaps it had been a mistake to raise Boba on his own. Maybe if the boy had been granted a mother early on he wouldn't be so quick to rush into danger. He was trying to live out the life of the Mandalorian as it was displayed in entertainment holos.

Jango Fett had many regrets in his life, the number one being getting mixed up with Palpatine. Palpatine's idea of order was nothing more than disorder in a pretty package. The Empire appeared efficient, but it wasn't. The rebellion was only one symptom of the disease and he had begun questioning taking on this mission to find Mara Mothma.

Then he would listen to Boba speak and he realized that he was looking into a mirror of the past. Jango had been the exact same way, a warrior looking for war. Maybe he should have been harder on him; maybe it would have been better to abandon the boy at some point and let him learn about the galaxy the hard way. Instead, his son saw the universe through a rose-colored visor.

Yes, Boba Fett was dangerous, a skilled bounty hunter and tracker. He was the perfect example of the Mandalorian warrior except for one thing: he lacked patience. Patience normally came with the desire to do something correctly, such as get revenge. Jango knew that if for some reason he had been killed when Boba was a boy, that the younger Fett would have nursed his rage and learned the value of subtlety.

Jango sighed. "He's a good friend."

"We don't need friends."

"I wish that were true, but it isn't. I'm not saying we should go out drinking and chasing women together, not that I would, but you need to have people you can rely on in an emergency." Jango removed his helmet and set it down, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Have you put in the course?"

Boba nodded. "The information indicates that several shipments of medical supplies put in flight plans to Mon Calamari; so why are we going to Yavin?"

Fett pulled up a star chart. "Here is Mon Calamari. A couple of parsecs out is an old trade route that takes you to Yavin. In the old days, even before my time, smugglers used to hole up in Yavin if the security forces were after them. I doubt the Imperials know about it because they do not often employ space pirates."

"They execute them," Boba finished.

Jango nodded. "But do you know who would know about it?"

"Black Sun?"

"Exactly. I looked for medical supplies going to worlds that normally would not need them. There is an Imperial garrison on Mon Calamari, but they don't need fifteen shipments of supplies." He pressed another button and brought up a list of ships. "See these? These are the names of vessels rented out on Kuat; with Corellia under interdiction, this is the only place to get decent freighters. None of these vessels ever picked up any cargo, yet these vessel types did."

"The pilots changed the vessel registrations?" Boba asked, absorbing the information.

"Yes. Now, when the Imperial accountants go back to verify if the correct taxes were paid, there is going to be all sorts of confusion." He pressed another screen. "The names that the smugglers used, as well as the transponder codes, all correspond to vessels that the Imperials have impounded on the other side of the galaxy."

"They'll spends weeks trying to figure out what happened; but won't they start searching for the spy that provided the names of the ships and transponder codes to the Rebels?"

Jango laughed. "I'll bet that spy is highly placed that he'll never be suspected. These Rebels are making a lot of trouble. In a way it's admirable."

"They are rabble-rousers, father. They need to be brought down."

Jango regarded his son and he saw a familiar look in his eyes. It was a look Jango used to see in the mirror every morning and now did not. He really had changed. "Well, politics is not our business, is it? The first rule of being a bounty hunter is…"

"Never get involved," Boba responded.

"Right," Jango said, not entirely convinced. "Never get involved."