Chapter VIII

Then, shortly before the events of A New Hope…

Fett woke alert as ever shortly before he exited hyperspace. Nothing awoke him, although the ship's automatic ping would have done so a few moments before the destination arrived—Slave I did not exit hyperspace on its own unless strictly programmed to do so, and that had been once in the last five years. It was equally uncommon for the bounty hunter to be awoken by the soft warning noise. He chose when to awake, and did so as easily as breathing.

He was on his way to Tatooine.

Not one of his favorite places in the galaxy to go, but that meant nothing. There was rarely anything of value on that world, but he had delivered some expensive merchandise, and received the appropriate compensation, for more than one powerful crimelord on that dusty desert-planet. Of course, right now, there was really only one of any power, although the Whippid seemed determined to make a go of it. She had lasted longer than most others, but Jabba's network reached deeper than the "Lady" knew. Deeper, perhaps, than Fett did. But then again, Fett's contacts within Jabba's people did likewise.

And Jabba's people had eyes within Black Sun.

While the Hutt was not officially aligned with the criminal empire, you did not have an operation that size without having close…liaisons with them, of one sort of another. Prince Xizor and Lord Jabba made a show of courting one another and doting with "friendship" and gifts, but their "friendly" rivalry existed only so long as Jabba proved both useful and effacing enough to stay on Black Sun's good side.

Right now, Xizor was on Fett's bad.

The bounty hunter landed the Slave in Bay 94 in Mos Eisley under cover of darkness. With Tatooine's—and especially Mos Eisley's—gossip circle, that meant nothing, but he did not care who knew he was there. "Secrecy" of one's comings and goings on Tatooine was a practical impossibility (though he had managed it on a few occasions) and rarely necessary. There were many reasons to come, the prime one being the Hutt himself and the bounties he offered. It was not uncommon for Jabba to request Fett to show up in person for a private contract, though usually holocommunications were adequate.

Walking alone through the back alleys of Mos Eisley was dangerous after dark. If the womp rats did not attack, the sentient predators would. Anything not welded-down was fair game, and if something was stupid enough to wander to them, all the better and easier to strip it of any sort of value. Even stormtroopers didn't want to travel the smaller streets in anything less than a full complement after nightfall; Tatooine's scavengers were not above stripping the Imperials as thoroughly as they did the lesser scum.

Not even the rodents would bother Fett.

That is not to say that he relaxed while walking there; he never relaxed outside his ship, and rarely there. "Relaxing" meant being careless, and being careless meant being dead. Everything dies, but Fett was in no hurry to do so. Still, he was not expecting any serious trouble. Even if there was someone on planet with both the skills, money, arsenal, anger, ambition, or gumption—pick any combination—to try for him, he had just arrived, and not even Tatooine's gossip net could work that fast. Any hit would come either near or within Jabba's enclave or on his return trip back to the Slave.

So when the first blast hit, he was caught as off-guard as was possible.

Well-used reflexes and over-eager shooting saved him. Whoever the sniper was, it was excited about the chance to kill him, and it had not taken the necessary time and precision with its aim. The laser blast grazed his helmet, scoring off some of the paint and leaving a slight scorch mark along it. Fett was already diving and rolling out of the line of fire, his own blaster flying from its holster to his hands as he fell. The first shot was followed almost immediately by a volley of others from different angles. Most of the shots came from above, and the doorway he had rolled into had enough of an overhang to block most of those. By tucking tightly against the wall of the small alcove, he maneuvered himself into decent cover.

He could not allow himself to be pinned down here, though. Noises along the small alleyway alerted him to the fact that not all of the shooters were above him. Fortunately, the alley he had been in was small and cramped, making hitting a target from above more difficult. Further, Tatooine houses rarely had windows and these were no exception. The only places the shooters could be were on the roofs—again, not exceptionally tall ones for the city, which preferred shorter ones to begin with—or from doors and adjoining streets, and there were few streets that led into this one, and fewer that were safely passable or unblocked. All of that helped shift the odds more into Fett's favor.

Fett's helmet sensors picked up the noise of creatures moving towards him down the street. Both good news and bad: his cover would be useless from a head-on assault, and they were surrounding him; however, their proximity would force the overhead shooters to take more time on aiming and eliminate most of them from the battle unless they wanted to risk shooting their compatriots, who had just become living shields for the hunter they were trying to kill. Above him, some of the would-be assassins seemed to be realizing this, because the amount of blaster fire decreased. Fett's 360-degree field of vision that his visor offered him showed one of the roof-toppers on the other side of the alley creeping along the grimy building to line up a shot straight into Fett's alcove. Without moving from his position, the bounty hunter calmly adjusted his blaster as the creature brought its own laser-rifle in line. A short burst of red settled things.

He was, however, still cornered. But the alcove he had ducked into was a doorway. Maybe…

…………………..

The beautiful blonde walked calmly through the dark hallway, not bothering to turn on any lights. Her optical sensors could operate perfectly well without assistance from the light globes that, dark now, dotted the long, lush hall in the palace of the Dark Prince. She taped in her code and paused while the numerous security measures assured themselves that the woman standing in front of them was indeed the human replica droid Guri, then entered the large and opulent bed chamber.

"My Lord," she spoke calmly.

Despite the late hour, Xizor was not asleep. Reptilian eyes flashing from the flimsiplast printouts in his hand to her, he removed enough attention from the selection of his next mistress—he was bored with his latest one, and was just about to order Guri to inform her that the affair was over and offer suitable gifts, when the droid continued speaking.

"You wished to be informed as soon as the ship arrived anywhere."

Instantly, all of Xizor's attention snapped to the matter at hand. "Where?"

"He is on Tatooine."

"Why?" Xizor hissed.

"Uncertain," Guri replied calmly, unfazed by her master's menacing attitude. "There are many number of reasons, from a transaction with Jabba or Lady Valarian or any other such personage there, or the location and capture of merchandise, or meetings with his own contacts there, or even non-business–related actions, though given his history, that is extremely unlikely." Guri was nothing if not thorough, and while Fett had never been known to engage in any pursuits other than those directly dealing with his profession, there were many things that could be bought or sold on Tatooine, and many creatures found those things prime reasons for frequenting the sandy planet.

"We have people in place?" Xizor asked. It was not a question.

"Of course, my lord," Guri replied just as coolly.

"Excellent." Xizor allowed himself a small smile. "Give the signal."

Guri nodded and exited the Dark Prince's room as silently as she had entered to do his bidding…

…………………..

Hodge "Sharp Eye" Trapperjump squirmed forward on the gently sloping roof. He couldn't believe his luck. First, his reputation as a crack shot sniper gets him a job with Black Sun—and nice, lucrative work it looked like, too—but then he gets the word that he's about to be shipped off to become an official assassin of the Organization. A chance to see the worlds, and get paid while doing it! Hodge had thought that life truly couldn't get any better (well, unless he got really lucky with one of Jabba's dancers, but he didn't think that was too likely to happen—until he upped his rep a lot). Then the word had come that Boba Fett was on planet, and that the Org was putting together a team to take him down, with a hefty price attached to his head, indeed. If he bagged Fett, there wouldn't be a dancing girl in the galaxy that wouldn't be willing to wait on him hand and foot, and that would just be the edge of the sandstorm! That was lucky enough, but now the hunter had chosen the doorway directly under Hodge's position for his cover!

Man, but something was with him, all right. Now, if Hodge could just edge out over the roof enough to lean down, he'd be able to take out Fett from above without the hunter even being able to see him coming until he swung down and fired. Even if the hunter could get off a quick shot, it would be a wild one, and Hodge would certainly have enough money to pay for any sort of medical attention to get rid of a scar from a snapped shot—or maybe he'd just keep it. I got this scar takin' down Boba Fett…yeah…

Hodge grinned and leaned out a little farther. He should be getting a glimpse any minute now—yes, there was the edge of the door! Excellent. His grin was threatening to split his cheeks now. Holding his wild yell in check, Hodge swung over and squeezed off a shot. He started his euphoric cry, then realized something was wrong. Where there should have been a dead bounty hunter sliding to the sand, there was instead…nothing. Just a blaster scorch burned through the ratty door and the fried edge of a lock that had been picked a little too fast and a little too roughly.

Something cold and tight squeezed around Hodge's guts as he stared blankly at the empty alcove. What the…? he had just enough time to wonder stupidly…

…………………..

Fett removed his hands from the human's mouth and throat and dropped the limp body quietly to the roof. He wiped the edge of the vibroblade on the creature's rough clothing and reholstered it. He had a feeling that there was no point in cleaning it any more right now. It would more than likely be seeing further use tonight. Keeping close to the roof, Fett crept along it towards the edge of the building. Scanning to see if anyone's attention was directed anywhere but into the street, he rose slowly and jumped. Dropping quickly into a crouch, he looked around again to see it his quiet landing had been noted by anyone. It hadn't. Sloppy, he noted calmly, and snuck over to the next potential sniper. He removed the vibroblade without so much as a hiss of metal on leather, and moved in. He kept it off to prevent the slight humming that an active vibroblade made which might give away his presence to the oblivious Rodian in front of him…

Fett cleaned the dripping, thick blue blood off of his blade on the once-white tunic of the pale-skinned, tattooed humanoid staring blankly up at him from the dusty roof. As of yet, no one had noticed him. His distraction below was just winding up; the blaster bolts engendered from the remote device he had left in the alcove, just in the edge of the doorway he had broken through, were largely un-aimed and had hit very few of the potential targets, and fewer of those were debilitating wounds. Nevertheless, it had sufficed to attract the necessary attention to allow him to creep the roofs unobserved while he cut down the odds a bit. They were not the worst he had ever faced, but there was the potential of one of these incompetents getting lucky with a wild shot, and it was better to decrease that possibility.

Having the full use of his left arm would have aided him in his endeavor, but he would cope with it. After all, if he had not been sloppy enough to allow it to snap in the first place, it would not have been wrapped in a compression bandage that would not allow it to either straighten entirely or to bend closed completely. It was an annoyance, but at least he still had as much use of it as he did. Hopefully the lack of full mobility would not be crucial in this battle. Either way, he would know within the next few minutes.

While most of Fett's attention was devoted to dealing with the situation he found himself in—both paying attention to his attackers as well as strategizing the best way to eliminate them—the back corner of his mind was busily working out precisely what had happened. There had not been enough time to get such an ambush set up—not unless someone knew he was heading to Tatooine before he arrived. He might have blamed Jabba, but the Hutt didn't know he was on-planet (or at least, he hadn't know he was coming; the crime lord's spies had likely long-since passed the information on). Fett wasn't here to see Jabba, or Lady Valerian, or any of the others who paid for his services that made Tatooine their home. No one had been aware of his impending arrival; that meant no one could have sold him out.

Which meant that for this ambush to be set up, someone off-planet had to know he was coming here. And since his trajectory entering hyperspace was never where he intended to end up—it cost fuel and time to change direction, but complicated jumps meant that his arrivals could not be guesstimated from the direction of his departures—that meant someone was tracking his ship.

Frrecóusé. Not the man, or even his company; they wanted Fett alive and working for them. But when he was meeting with Shavlin Frrecóusé, someone must have planted a bug on his ship. He had lifted off without making his customary security check to avoid detection from Black Sun. Now it was obvious that he had erred. That small misstep had become a glaring problem; so much for a furtive meeting with his contact and a quick departure, gone before Black Sun's agents could be mobilized. Before he could do what he came here for, he would have to clean up this mess—which was easier said than done.

But then, that was why Fett avoided unnecessary talk. He preferred to simply do.

To that end, the bounty hunter was now lying prone on one of Mos Eisley's sloping roofs, tucked against the side of the dome on the slim flat edge. The shadows helped to hide him, but he knew that once one of the mercenaries looked his way, he would be more than visible enough. He slowly edged his left arm along the plaster roof; he ought to have switched gauntlets, but he hadn't thought about it until now, and doing it now would be a liability. He straightened it as far as the compression bandage would allow, bearing his forceful will down on the pain to keep himself from blacking out. He sighted carefully, preparing to make the shot. His right hand hovered over the trigger mechanism. Once the thugs saw him, he would be exposed to their fire—and they could not all be as poor marksmen as the Empire's bulk-troops. Still, there was no other option. He would have to time this carefully…

Suddenly, bolts of red split the night. The mercenaries scattered, yelping with surprise at seeing the blasts come from the same level as they were on—rather than from the street, where they were sure they had pinned their target. The spun, directing their frantic fire at the source of the attack; their own beams crisscrossed the night, painting a web across the roof that cut everything on it to ribbons. Respecting—or perhaps fearing—his reputation, they kept shooting long after common sense would have told them that nothing living could remain there.

Fett watched calmly, then squeezed off a second shot. Another mercenary spun and slumped on the roof. The creature next to it turned in shock and opened his mouth to shout an alarm as it tried to turn its ponderous sniper rifle to face the other direction. Another blast of red hit it directly in its open orifice with surgical precision. It tumbled from the roof to land silently in the soft sands of the street below.

The bounty hunter scanned for his next target, and focused on the back of a twi'lek's head. Another short blast and it, too, slumped halfway off its perch. His next shot dropped a human through the throat, but the scum had been one of those idiots who forget the shoulder strap of their rifles the minute the start shooting. The gun tumbled from the creature's dead grasp, and the clatter across the roof before it finally slithered off to hit the sands caught the ear of the Devaronian in front of the corpse. Fett shot that one too, and it slumped, dead, but it had managed to turn halfway before he got it, and the random blast from its gun hit the side of a building just in front of two other snipers. They turned in shock, saw Fett, and raised the alarm before he could kill them both; the compression bandage around the broken arm was slowing his movements just enough.

Not bothering to waste energy on a curse, Fett rolled as the blaster fire streaked his way. At any rate, the ruse would not have lasted more than approximately two point seven more seconds, anyway; by then, they would have realized that they were shooting at nothing more than his blaster rifle, rigged with a remote mechanism that would squeeze the trigger on command. He had fired that gun at the same time he shot with his wrist laser, so the sound had seemed to be only one, and over the noise of their own weapons they would not have been able to detect the second discharge, and it had bought him time to secretly sniper a few of them.

He tumbled off the roof, rolling as he hit the sand. He was on his feet for only a split second before he launched himself across the alleyway; blaster fire roared as he came into sight, but he was gone around another corner before any of it could be aimed. He removed a small globe from a pouch hanging from his belt and counted, listening to the laser fire. A few of them were moving into better position, but the majority were still working on understanding what had happened and were firing largely out of instinct.

Fett waited a moment more, then lunged out of cover. He dove to the sands and laser bolts streaked harmlessly over his helmeted head; he lurched to his feet, feeling a blast crease his side but not penetrate his armor. There was a brilliant flash of light, then everything went dark…

To be continued…

And that the end of Part Two! I should have the third part starting up eventually, really I should! It's just, I'm working a lot this summer, getting ready for college, and we just moved, and there's a whole lot going on, and I promise I'll finish everything up here eventually, please be patient! Okay, I'm done now. Thanks!