Summary: Spoilers for episode six of The Book Of Boba Fett. Freetown has been threatened by the Pyke Syndicate. They need to make a decision on where they stand, or others will make it for them. They can't afford that, and Boba Fett knows it. Or, Cobb Vanth and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. One-shot. Post episode six. Written before episode seven, so probably an AU.
A/N: Possible second chapter incoming.
Tatooine Ain't For Sale
Cobb Vanth wakes up violently, eyes snapping open, limbs launching into action.
His heart is racing a klick a second, and his lungs are working double time. His throat is as dry as the hot sand ingrained into the side of his face. He nearly makes it to his feet, despite the protests around him, but he collapses before his legs are properly beneath him. He gets a face full of sand again, and a groan tears from his throat. His head pounds, but it's nothing compared to the horrible burning sensation in his right shoulder. It almost feels like it's actually on fire. It must be wounded pretty bad if slamming into the sand like that hurts that much.
"Marshal, it's alright!" Jo is there, easing him over onto his back. "Rest easy, Marshal. You got shot up pretty bad."
He ceases his movements, not feeling quite well enough to try to move again anyway. His eyes flicker around at the small crowd of concerned faces above him, and he frowns, diving back into what he last remembers to try to figure out how he was shot. Because he never gets shot.
He remembers a man walking into town from out in the wide, vast desert. He remembers a large hat shadowing blue skin and bright red eyes; a Duros. He remembers telling the Duros to deliver the Pykes a message that they're not welcome on Tatooine, that the world has had more than its fair share of violence. He remembers Scott's twitching fingers hovering above his blaster, waiting for the tension to become too much.
"Where'd he go?" He croaks, wiping the sand from his face with his good arm and sparing the dark, argyle-shaped blaster burn on his bare shoulder a glance. Someone had removed his shirt to look at it.
"Walked back out the way he came."
A pang of baffled frustration spikes up and he casts his gaze out to the empty stretch of sand that the gunslinger had come from. Empty. He almost chokes on his words, his throat far too dry to properly express how he feels. "Why the helldidn't Scott go after him?"
"Cobb." The tone of her voice, combined with the use of his first name, demands his full attention. He gives it. "The deputy's dead."
He feels the breath leave his lungs at the shock of her words. He allows his eyes to close briefly as he sighs, feeling impossibly worse than moments ago. Scott had been a bit brash, but the man had had so much potential, so much to offer to Freetown. His final words had been in Cobb's own defense. He would've made a fine deputy at his fullest.
"The bounty hunter got four shots in on his chest."
"Quick bastard." He growls, grinding his teeth. Then he shakes his head and takes a deep breath- he can't do anything about Scott's death right now, he shouldn't think too hard about any of what happened. "Someone get me somethin' to drink."
He lets Jo tend to his shoulder with some of the- surprisingly effective- Tusken salves.
"Boba." Fennec stops by the dimly lit meeting room. "I'm borrowing your ship."
"Why?" Boba Fett asks, frowning at her. Djarin's across the holotable from him, and it's clear that she's interrupted some sort of important discussion.
"Someone strolled into Mos Pelgo and shot up their deputy and marshal."
"What? I was just there earlier." Djarin's voice is sharp in disbelief. "Who told you this?"
"A Weequay. Didn't give his name."
"Is Vanth alive?"
"For now." She says. "But his deputy isn't."
"And why are you going out there?" Boba inquires.
"Because the shooter left them a warning from the Pykes." Fennec informs him. "I want to see what else I can find out."
"I'm coming with you." Djarin declares. Something about it sounds personal.
"We'll all go." Boba decides, powering off the holotable. His boots clink as he makes for the hangar, Fennec and Djarin right behind him.
The sands of Tatooine are roasting during the daylight hours. The twin suns make sure of that, glaring down upon the miserable world. But when night falls and it cools down, a light breeze soothes the land. Normally, this is Cobb Vanth's favorite time of day. But right now, this is the part of day that worries him the most.
Freetown doesn't get very many visitors. But they've had two today, both on different sides of a war over the planet. The Mandalorian had pleaded for his help. The Duros had warned him to stay out of it, and then killed Deputy Scott.
Cobb's running on stims in the aftermath of his injury, for he too had been shot, and he's determined to stay up all night to watch over his sleeping town- to the others' mixed dismay and gratitude. He's not expecting the Pykes to lead an attack just yet, but he'd rather be on the lookout than helplessly laying in his own bed when they arrive. Night, he knows, really is an opportune time to attack any settlement.
The energy of his last stim is beginning to fade, leaving his restless body even shakier. He'll need to pop in another one soon, his aim won't be any good if the shaking gets worse.
The night is early, but most everyone has already turned in, leaving the streets empty. There's not much work they can do without the light of the suns. Thecantinais still open, and Taanti is serving most of those who are still up. Cobb's pretty sure that he and Jo are the only ones up who aren't in there, keeping each other company as the air grows cooler. He's absently sitting on a crate near her as she tinkers with something via lantern light. He needs to do another round of the town soon, check the perimeter to make sure that no one's strolling in like that Duros bounty hunter did. The day's events, coupled with the stim, still have him a bit jittery. He can't stay still for too long.
He runs his left hand through unkempt silver hair and hops down from his perch, wavering in place for a moment before settling. His other hand, with difficulty from his screaming shoulder, unholsters his blaster from his side. He knows that he should've agreed to the sling, but he really needs to keep his shooting arm available. "I'm gonna do one more round and pop another stim. If you see anything strange, you come find me, you hear?"
"Of course, Marshal." She obliges, giving him a firm nod. "Don't work yourself too hard."
He already is, but he huffs in response and gives a small smirk as he tilts his head. "Never."
With a nod of parting, he turns and lets his feet guide him down the route he's taken nearly a dozen times since the shoot-out. His tired eyes scan between the buildings and carry out over the horizon, but there's nothing out of place. It's quiet, other than when he passes by the back of the cantina. He can only imagine what they're talking about in there, the gossip going around after the attack. Maybe they're even having that meeting he'd planned on holding, the one he'd never got around to. But the night air is soothing enough, the light breeze that brushes at his skin and hair keeping his emotions away from anything such as anger. He still has to bury the feeling of being exposed to anyone else intent on ambushing him or the town.
Other than holding his blaster, his right arm is at rest. But the pain in his shoulder is beginning to pick up again, and he knows that he needs to finish up this round quickly if he wants to get a stim before he collapses somewhere.
It's a shame that he only has one shirt. He knows how much of a pitiful sight he is with the singed, black-rimmed hole standing out against the red. He isn't entirely fond of the sympathy that the others have been giving him. He's supposed to give off a strong appearance, and, right now, he neither feels nor looks strong. But he's not going to let the others' concern drag him down into resting. He no longer has Scott to watch over them in his stead, and he is not leaving the town unguarded for a single moment. He might not be in ideal fighting condition, but these patrols put him at ease just enough to keep himself together.
But, at the same time, the patrols do give him a bit too much time to think. Which, he knows, thinking is rather dangerous when someone's in such a damaged state. His mind keeps going back to the Syndicate spice runners that he'd encountered the previous morning, to the Mandalorian's request to aid Boba Fett in chasing them offworld, then back to the Duros, and to the sunset funeral and cremation of Scott. So much in such a short period of time.
He should've known that sending the lone Pyke back would gain the Syndicate's attention. He really should've considered the consequences to it. Now, Scott's dead, he's wounded, and the whole town is on edge because they saw the whole damn thing. It's his fault. If Scott had known, would he had defended him in the face of the Duros?
"Hey, the Marshal ain't for sale."
One of the last sights Scott'd had of him was the glare of an annoyed superior officer, and, stars, does he regret it now. He wonders if Scott saw him fly back after he got shot, if that distracted him and made him slip up enough to die. Yeah, the kid had been cocky, but it would be a lie if Cobb ever says he hadn't cared for him. They'd made a good team, could have made a better one if fate had allowed it.
He's too exhausted to feel angry about it, too exhausted to fully berate himself for his naïve mistake. He knows he messed up. He'll chew himself out for it further later on, when his town is safe from the war brewing outside.
He scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing at eyes that he's almost certain are bloodshot. He's on the opposite side of town from where he began. It's not enough. He has to finish his sweep of the outside before he can head back to the inner streets and pick up another stim. It sounds horribly taxing, but it has to be done. He has to keep his people safe.
He pushes his weary legs just a little harder, picking up his pace, and readjusts his slackening grip on his blaster. This isn't exactly a nice little evening stroll that he's meant to be having. Not even close. The sooner he gets that next stim, the better. Maybe he can outrun his thoughts while he's at it, as tall an order as that is.
It's getting harder to breathe again.
He pauses to take a pull from the flask of water hanging from his belt.
The light of the three moons disappears for a brief moment, coming back almost as soon as it's gone. Cobb almost chokes, for as he looks up, he catches the sound of a ship's engines and spots a moving shape silhouetted by pale light. The ship is passing over the town, headed to land on the other side.
"Marshal!" It's Jo. Whatever she's working on now has brought her further into town. Well, he supposes that he's almost completed a full circuit of the perimeter himself.
"I know. I see it." He abandons his patrol and makes his way over to her, trying to keep his jaw from grinding in sheer frustration. He's at his limits. Is it too much to ask for a quiet night? "We haven't had this many visitors in a long time. What a day. Look now, you stay back here while I go check it out."
He doesn't wait to hear her response, moving on with an urgency to his step. He doesn't know this suspicious ship, and one stranger has been more than enough for one day. He needs to see what this one wants and send him on his way. He can hear a second pair of boots and knows that Jo's following him anyway. But he doesn't have the mental stability to argue with her about it before confronting the newcomer, so he lets it be. She'd just better not get herself killed.
The trip over to where the ship has landed takes no more than a couple of minutes. Someone inside is shutting it down as he and Jo pass by the last few buildings. Her footsteps stop at the final one, however, and he casts an uneasy glance over his shoulder to reassure himself that nothing's happened yet.
He brings himself to a stop a respectful distance from the ship, erring on the side of caution- he doesn't know what he's getting himself into, the way the visitors onboard the ship might treat him. He doesn't want to pressure them into shooting him. Chances are he won't be as lucky as the first time.
The ship's entry hatch, facing the town, lowers. Artificial light shines out onto it, cutting through the pale moonlight. He hears a couple of voices, but no one emerges from within the ship for a long moment. And he is definitely not marching on board himself.
Finally, two figures emerge, padding from the metal onto the soft sands. At first, they're silhouetted by the light within their ship themselves, but then-
"You should've never given up your armor."
It's not the man from before; it's not the Duros. It's the armor that his eyes lock onto, a newer coat of paint making it look as good as new. Now, this, he definitely didn't expect. He'd traded the armor off to the Mandalorian months ago- the armor that would have protected him from that shot earlier if he'd still had it. How'd it end up back here? And why is the man wearing it strolling in as if he owns the place?
Cobb snaps his hanging jaw shut and does his best to school his expression, manipulating his whirlpool of emotions into a front. "State your business."
The second figure, a woman donned in dark clothing and an orange-topped helmet is the one to speak, completely avoiding the question. "Are you Cobb Vanth?"
He goes rigid, and his jaw ticks. "Now, that depends on who's askin'. The last stranger who wandered into town knowin' that name did me in pretty good."
The green suit of armor doesn't move. "We've heard."
Well, they're no talkers, are they? The way the pair are standing, he has an inkling that they're waiting for someone else to disembark the ship. In the meantime, he might as well try to make himself seem likable. He probably won't get the chance to later. He finds himself pointing to the man with his empty hand, gesturing at the painted beskar that adorns his hefty frame. "That fits you real nice."
"That's because it was built for my father." The man reaches up and removes his helmet, revealing a scarred, bald face. It's a face that Cobb's only seen on the HoloNet; Boba Fett is a clone, like one of the ones that fought in the war before the Empire took over. It makes sense why the armor fits him so well, now: it belonged to the blood donor. "I am Boba Fett."
Right. The Mandalorian mentioned Fett. He's the crazy son of a gun challenging the Pykes- the one who, apparently, needs Freetown's numbers to aid in the oncoming battle. He's the guy that the Duros had told him to keep away from. But given the events that had transpired after the warning, Cobb's open to hearing the Daimyo out. He certainly can't send him away.
Following the man's example, the woman pulls her own helmet from her head, black hair falling from it. "Fennec Shand."
"You already know my name." He tells them, reluctantly holstering his weapon at last as he decides that they might as well get into it. Stars, his shoulder hurts. He really needs that stim right about now. "What can I do you for?"
The sudden clinking of metal on the ramp jerks his attention back to the opening in the back of the ship and he freezes, tired eyes narrowing uneasily. He recognizes the silver figure that emerges, reflecting the three moons. It's the Mandalorian, the same one that helped with the krayt dragon, the same one who swung by earlier.
For the tiniest fraction of a second, he's relieved to see a familiar face, so to speak, but something else cracks and his mental stability crumbles. This is too much. Too many visitors, too many outsiders. He doesn't want to deal with this right now, any of it. There's been too much going on today and he's finally had enough.
So, when the Mandalorian nods in casual, friendly greeting, he explodes beneath the weight of the day's heavy events.
A growl tears from his throat and he spins around, throwing his hands in the air- or, well, trying to. His right arm doesn't make it very far, falling back with a stab of pain, a choked sound tearing from his throat. He pulls it close to his body, bending it at the elbow. His shoulder throbs in tune with his heartbeat, and that fuels whatever this emotion is. "What in the- Why?" He snaps back around to face them. His voice rises an octave, cutting through the air as the grievances overpower any sense of actual thought. "What's so important that it couldn't wait until the mornin'? I can't deal with this right now, you hear me? I-"
He shakes his head, teeth grinding together almost violently as he snaps his jaw shut and whips around, letting his legs carry him back towards town. He needs that blasted stim, and he needs a drink. He needs the universe to just stop for a single blasted second.
"Vanth!" The Mandalorian calls after him.
His boots drag at the sand as he goes, moving to brush past Jo. He's surprised when she grasps the elbow of his injured arm and brings him to a halt. "Cobb."
He reluctantly raises his eyes to hers, and he finds himself freezing up yet again. He wants to be annoyed at the calmness in her eyes, but he finds that he can't be. Her gaze digs deep into him, and there's something in it that grabs at the overwhelming stress plaguing him and draws it from his body, leaving him bone-tired.
He drops his eyes, sighing heavily, wondering how she does this to him. Then he nods, to which she releases his arm, and turns back to face the visitors. His feet feel like they each have a camtono full of silicax crystals pulling them down, trying to root them to the sand. He stops about where he'd been standing before, and addresses the Mandalorian in a voice far quieter than he expects it to come out as. "You know, if it was daylight and the others were out here, they'd send you right off. What're you doing back out here?"
"Heard you got shot." The silver helmet nods towards his shoulder for emphasis.
The rueful quirk of his lips is almost sheepish. "As soon as you left."
"I'm sorry." The Mandalorian says. "Are you alright?"
Cobb offers the best half shrug he can. "Eh, I've been worse."
"I'm surprised to see you walking. You should be out of commission." His ally notes, pausing, letting his head tilt the slightest bit as he observes him. "You're running on stims."
Is his body still that jittery? His eyes shift away for a moment, taking in the intimidating form of Fett once again. He forces his gaze back to where it needs to be. "Yeah, well, forgive me for bein' a bit paranoid. Can't be too careful in these parts."
"I'm sorry about your deputy." There's not much emotion to it, but there never has been to that voice, not with the helmet modulator. Still, he can tell that it's genuine.
He gives a small nod, doing his best to keep his lips from turning down. This exhausted, it's truly difficult to keep his expression somewhat neutral. "Yeah, me too, partner."
The Mandalorian doesn't offer up any other words, turning to glance at Fett as he steps back, giving the nod to go ahead with whatever offer or questions he's brought along. Fett does just that, taking a couple of heavy paces forward.
"The shooter, who was he?" The Daimyo is straight to business.
"Not anyone I've ever seen before." Cobb tells him what he knows. "He was a Duros. Had the blue skin and red eyes. Wore a long coat an' a pretty big hat. Came out of nowhere, kinda like a ghost. Now, I didn't see it, but the others say he vanished like it too." He nods to the silver armor of the Mandalorian. "Drew his blaster as quick as your starfighter flies. Was starin' at him one moment, woke up with my face in the sand the next."
Fett and his female companion turn towards each other with grim expressions.
"What, you know him?"
"Cad Bane." Fett reveals. "He's a bounty hunter from the days of the Clone Wars. He's one of the best there is. I've worked with him before."
"He's been off the grid for years. I was beginning to think that he was dead." Fennec adds. She frowns. "I wonder what the Pykes want with him."
"To send a message. They're using him to inflict fear." The Daimyo grunts. He turns to Cobb, brow creased thoughtfully. "What did he say?"
"Tried to bribe me into keepin' the town out of it. He also called you a cold-blooded killer. Didn't take too kindly to me tellin' him to get the Pykes to leave."
"He said that Tatooine belongs to the Syndicate, that they'll leave us alone if we let them do as they wish." Jo pipes in, her voice carrying out from behind him. He turns to look at her, surprised that she'd caught something he didn't. "Shooting you was a message, Marshal. An example of what they'll do if we don't listen."
"He shoulda gone for the head, then." Cobb tells her, crossing his arms, then turning back to Fett. "Our land is off limits to the Pykes. I already told 'em that, and it's not changin'."
"Djarin tells me that he came here earlier, to recruit you to the cause." The Daimyo recalls, fixing him with a look of carefully masked interest. "Have you made a decision?"
"Look, all I want right now is what's best for the folk here." He sighs, letting his arms fall back to his sides. He has to refrain from chewing on the inside of his cheek. He's never going to hear the end of this until he makes a choice, is he? But how can he? How can he know which option is more dangerous? He doesn't want to be pressured into this. "And, as much as I hate to say it, I don't know what that is just yet. Tell you what: let me sleep on it. Come on back in the morning, an' I'll tell ya what I think."
But Jo has different ideas, it seems. "We'll help you."
His eyebrows shoot up as he half turns to look at her. "Now, hang on-"
Fett raises a hand to silence him. "Let her speak."
Seriously? Cobb can't help but to balk at him for a moment. He shakes his head in growing frustration, but bows to the request nonetheless.
"We'll help you." There's no mistaking the conviction on her face.
He grits his teeth and begins making his way over to her. He glances back at Fett. "Give us a minute, will you?"
He gets a stiff nod in response- which is good, because he isn't taking no for an answer, Daimyo of Tatooine's crime empire or not.
Hand on the back of her shoulder, he guides Jo a bit further back, to allow a false sense that the others can't hear their conversation- because they can. His body is on its last legs and he's not going far from where he needs to be if the town's not on the verge of being blown to dust.
He keeps his hand light on the top of her shoulder when they stop.
"This ain't your decision to make, Jo." He reminds her. "We need to be smart about this. Don't want to go bettin' on the wrong pod."
"Don't tell me you don't wanna help them out, Marshal." She warns.
He flinches back, his arm falling into place at his side. He hadn't realized how strongly she feels about this. "Now, look- I do. But look around, Jo. The folk 'round here are tired of fightin'. I don't wanna drag 'em into something they don't wanna get involved in. People are goin' to die- and, call me selfish, but I don't want to see that happen. Best option might be to hold tight an' see how things play out. I'm not goin' to put lives at risk if I don't have to."
"The deputy would've gone after them." It's not intended to be, he can tell, but it really feels like an insult. What does it matter what Scott would've done?
"The deputy's dead!" That emotion from before is rising back up to overwhelm him. He tries to rein it in, he really does, but he's never cracked under pressure like this before. He's burning up in the cool night air, and his breaths grow heavy. What is he supposed to do? Criticizing Scott is the route he ends up going down. It still gets his point across. "He was inexperienced anyway, too reckless. Would've gotten himself killed tryin' that. He was real damn good with a gun, but he didn't know bantha crap about strategy or controllin' himself. That's why he's dead: his fingers were itchin' all over the trigger, made himself look like a threat."
"What if we do nothing and they come anyway?" Jo questions, fixing him with a pointed look.
Fett, Fennec, and Djarin are wise to stay as silent as they are. The Daimyo and his partner look almost completely unbothered, and the silver-armored Mandalorian hasn't yet made a move towards them, even though his fists are tight at his sides.
"Then, we'll fight." He promises.
"What if it's too late by then? We'll be enslaved for something we could have prevented."
"Jo, the people here don't want to fight nobody. I can't ask them to follow me to their deaths fightin' a battle they want no part of. I wouldn't be able to live with that. Would you?"
"It'd be a might harder to live with letting them in." The small part of him that's kept him stable enough to let this argument ride out this far is proud: If Jo hadn't turned down the offer to be deputy, she'd have him running for his money.
But he's feeling too much right now, and he cannot finish this conversation properly, not like the others want him to. He's really not in his right mind. He says as much, even as he knows that it comes out sounding like a bumbling excuse, the final traces of the last stim's adrenaline finally leaking out of his system. He casts Fett a significant glance as he speaks. This time, his voice is steadier than he is. "You know, there is a reason I'd rather deal with this come tomorrow mornin'. I don't like arguin' with you over this, Jo, you know that."
Cobb has said more than his fair share of words for the rest of the night, he thinks. He's told Fett to wait for his answer, he's done. He turns to stroll back into town, to head to the cantina, to fetch himself something strong to drink. His body agrees that he's done for the day.
He doesn't even make it a single step. The moment his foot makes contact with the sand again, his bones turn liquid and his left knee absolutely buckles beneath him. A choked sound of surprise leaves him- and then his breath- when he touches down, landing roughly on his good side with a jolt that sends a wave of shock rippling through his body and reigniting the fire in his bad shoulder. The inside of his mouth feels grainy and dry, but he's already too far gone to realize that it's sand and that it shouldn't be there.
Jo's dropping to kneel beside him in a heartbeat, rolling him onto his back. He catches sight of Djarin hovering over him on the other side, hands floating around in anxious concern.
The rest is a blur as he weakly fends off the darkness calling to him. He hears Fett say something about a bacta pod in Mos Espa, hears the gunship they'd come in start up. A couple of them heave him to his feet to drag between them, and he somehow catches a voice ordering Djarin to fill in for him in his absence over the horrible agony tearing through his shoulder.
Out of energy and no fight left in him, his world goes dark.
