Again, many thanks for the reviews. Of course, more are welcome!
This chapter was inspired by a SW short story that I read a long time ago. Can you guess which one? (You have to read to the end to see). The premise of this chapter – mainly the setup of the Sarlacc situation and other elements – are that author's ideas. Also, I don't follow the newest SW films' canon when it comes to Boba Fett's past. Am not a fan of him being just another clone because he is supposed to be the one and only awesome Mandalorian. Anyhow, I like the idea that he's from an ancient, mostly extinct warrior culture, so let's play with that. Sorry, I'm SW old-school.
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Pitch black dark. Boba Fett breathed shallowly, just barely conscious. Memories of a skirmish fluttered in and out of his mind. He saw the Hutt's sail barge in flames. Skywalker, Han Solo, a fall . . .
In the darkness, he saw something flickering in the distance. A glimmer of silver-blue flittered in the periphery until it shifted and changed into a familiar form. It reappeared closer, in full view, smiling sweetly.
I'm so glad you're here, Boba, the figure said. Her voice chimed like a thousand silvery bells. Boba Fett kept his gaze fixed on the woman, unsure of what he was seeing.
Fett hardly knew he was speaking when he heard himself whisper, "Greta?"
The figure continued to float closer, her eyes wide and smile growing wider. Yes, Boba. She bared her teeth.
"Have we died, Greta?" he asked.
The ghostly image floated until they were face-to-face. She peered at him with large, sad eyes. Soon. she said. When this horrid life is finished, we can start over. Tendrils of long hair framed her silvery skin and cascaded down her shoulders, covering her breasts. It was then he noticed she was naked.
Before he knew it, she was pressed up against him, but he felt no weight, no pressure. Just cool, moist air, like a mist. But he felt her fingers touch his face, run over his scars. Gods, she was beautiful.
His heart ached; his body responded with desire. Almost as though she could read his mind, she reached down and stroked his inner thigh, meandering her hands further toward his groin.
Her touch sent an electric charge surging through his body.
You've loved me for such a long time, haven't you? she purred. The sound of her voice was different somehow – silky, distorted, like many voices in one
"Yes," he answered.
You acted like you didn't.
"I have tried to deny all human emotion."
You won't deny them now, will you?
Putting both hands on his face, she leaned in to kiss him. Every part of his body was throbbing now, desiring her desperately. He had never felt such overpowering emotions before, never felt so completely vulnerable as he did now. As he took her into his mouth, he tasted her cool, moist lips – and nearly lost every ounce of control he had built over the last thirty years.
But even as much as he yearned for Greta, he knew, deep within, that there was something wrong with all of this – something very wrong – because it was all too perfect. Trying to break from the kiss, the figure only kissed harder, more aggressively, and pressed herself more firmly to his body.
Finally, he broke from her, growling, "This is not real. This is all a lie."
The figure stared for a moment, smile growing wider from ear to ear. Her mouth opened, then erupted in a deafening scream. Blinded by the sound, Fett shut his eyes, only to see images from the past – both good and bad – race before him. When he opened them, he no longer saw Greta's beautiful figure before him, but a rotting corpse, half eaten away by acid and dangling upright by long, slimy tentacles – hanging like a gruesome puppet.
Disgusted, he pushed it away; the tentacled corpse recoiled, disappearing into the darkness.
Silence.
Deep in the lightless depths of the Sarlacc, Boba Fett hung, his arms and legs swallowed up in the digestive wall of the great beast and secured by huge, wet tentacles. As he came to understand where he really was, he saw that he still had his helmet on. Quickly, he attempted to assess the situation using his carefully honed skills. His helmet had a long crack in the visor, which displayed distorted stats and several systems offline, including his jetpack.
Damn.
A quick scan indicated that his armour was slowly being dissolved by the acids in the tentacles holding him. Surprisingly, the scan also revealed that the acids had already eaten through the unarmoured areas of his flight suit – but he couldn't feel a thing, nor see it happening. He guessed that the Sarlacc was injecting an anesthetic that kept its victims calm while being digested alive for thousands of years. If this was the case, he had to act fast before the anesthetic drugged him into compliance.
Then, a strange noise like a cloud of winged insects emerged from the darkness. As it grew louder, he detected whispers – multiple voices, speaking fast and hushed. Then, he began to make out words. Most, he did not understand, but some spoke Basic. Others spoke what sounded like ancient, long-forgotten languages. Though he could see nothing, the voices rose from all around.
We thought it would make you happy, a chorus of silvery voices sounded. The girl.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you?"
We are the Sarlacc, the voices replied. The collective consciousness of all those we have and are consuming. You are becoming part of us as we speak.
"You can't have me," Fett spat.
The walls around him began to convulse. The voices around him erupted in an eerie laugh. You are in no position to say so, it replied, tightening the tentacles around his body. But aren't we lucky to have you "drop in" on us . . . Boba Fett.
"How do you know me?"
The many sentients we have consumed bear memories of you. Horrible memories. Accompanying them is fear and dread. As such, we want to keep you.
You fascinate us, the Sarlacc continued. The walls around him pulsed a little in excitement. The voices giggled. Tell us: Does a man like you ever experience . . . fear?
"What does it matter to you."
Oh, it said off-handedly, It will be so fun to experience what you experience. The great, mysterious bounty hunter. So many of us want to know. The tentacles twitched with delight. To be so smug . . . so confident . . . so strong.
Boba Fett was angry now, disgusted by the prospect of having a million consciousnesses invade his mind – the violation of everything he stood for.
Again, he repeated, slower than the first: "You. Can't. Have. Me."
The Sarlacc seemed to shrug. Oh, but we already do. You don't need to worry, Master Fett. You only benefit from this arrangement, you know. We can give you everything you want. Make all of this very comfortable and pleasing to you.
"I don't want your filthy tentacles on me," he spat.
Too late, the Sarlacc replied ruefully. We've already given you a taste. We know you want more.
Boba hung in the darkness in silence, thinking of the vision of Greta. "How did you know about her? You're a telepath?"
The Sarlacc chuckled. Some of us were. Telepaths, mind-readers, Jedi, Sith, whatever you call them. Though after years of being the Sarlacc, our abilities have become somewhat diminished. Our apologies, Master Fett.
"Get out of my head," he growled.
Ah – but there's still so much to see. And we've already seen Greta. She certainly is beautiful; delightfully charming. No wonder your feelings for her are so deep, so warm. We want to have them; to bathe in them. Soak them up. You will not deny us this pleasure, Boba Fett?
"Do you always do this?"
Do what, dear Fett?
"Play with your food."
The Sarlacc chuckled. The walls shook again. We don't eat like you do. It's more akin to – what do you call it? –
"foreplay."
Fett cursed under his breath, running through the possibilities of escape – and the most vicious ways to destroy this bloody creature. There was a silence as the Sarlacc awaited his response. Finally, it spoke, but with a different voice.
It sounded like a woman – a very old woman – and her voice was quiet and raspy. I remain the strongest telepath, she said. An old Sith thrown into the Sarlacc several hundred years ago. I cannot remember my name, but I can tell you that I have been here a very long time. And I remember your kind. The Mandalorians.
"What of my people?" Fett growled, almost defensively. The name of his kind stung; most of them were dead – made extinct by an ancient war – and now only he and a handful of others remained as the last descendants.
They were warriors, like you. Fierce. Relentless. Loyal to your cause. You are an interesting and rare specimen, bounty hunter. Human, Mandalorian, solely devoted to your craft. You feel, but control your emotions with unparalleled skill, quite unseen among non-Force sensitives.
"Tell me something I don't know, woman," Fett growled.
You've had a painful past. I sense much anger, loss, rage. . . all simmering beneath a protective veneer of cold brutality. You decided you'd never be hurt again, if you became the aggressor – the victor – in all circumstances.
But the Mandalore – your people – they were lethal warriors. They never denied their emotions. No – the ones I knew, they trusted their emotions as much as they trusted their instincts. To them, their feelings were an integral part of themselves and skill, though they kept them well-guarded and private.
"I did not know them," Fett confessed. "I was only taught their war arts, nothing else."
Did you know, then, that not only did the Mandalorian people fight fiercely, they loved fiercely? They were monogamous; loyal to their mates for life. They would die for each other.
Boba Fett shifted in his armour. "I remember . . . a little." It was not easy for him to hear of his long-lost heritage, or think of his family. Having been orphaned at a young age, he remembered only the relentless training he endured as a boy, under his father's keen watch, and the distant memory of his mother's warm smile. It had been years since he thought about his parents, but the Sarlacc, with its tranquilizing fluids, tapped into his nervous system, forcing open the floodgates of memory. Yes - he remembered them. He remembered their loyalty to each other; their dedication. They were not affectionate people, but their bond was unspoken. He remembered how their eyes revealed their deep love for each other.
Unknown to Boba Fett, the Sarlacc had attached itself with a neurostimulating tentacle before he had regained consciousness. Tapping into his spinal cord, the Sarlacc was squeezing whatever emotion it could from the hunter, pulling them out, raw and unfiltered. It was then a great pang seized Boba Fett as memories he had long forgotten raced before his eyes. He had spent a lifetime trying to forget everything; forget that his mother and father were murdered before his very eyes.
The old woman spoke again. Did you not want what your parents had? The kind of subtle love they had for each other?
"You will not speak of them," he commanded quickly, afraid of betraying the rising emotions in his chest. But before he knew it, the grief he had suppressed his entire life had seized him, body and soul. The force of his emotions literally knocked the breath out of him.
Fett hung in the darkness in a state of shock and panic, unable to breathe – and shaking. He saw his parents being murdered once again, lying in a pool of their own blood
Their deaths left you alone, vulnerable, drowning with grief. You swore off your humanity then, to wash yourself clean of your weakness . . . your guilt in their deaths.
Fett struggled to answer as intense emotions wracked his body. "N-n-no. It was not my fault."
True. The Pangean crimelord killed them. But you could not save them. You were not strong enough. Too emotional.
The guilt washed over Fett so viscerally, his body spasmed under the intensity. Yes, he remembered being so young, so vulnerable. He hated himself for his weakness and vowed that he would never lose again. Grief consumed him, and borne out of this was an unquenchable thirst for power. And this meant denying himself of all feeling, attachments and trust.
Then, the tentacles loosened and all became quiet and still. The intensity of emotion Fett experienced began to fade, leaving him exhausted and spent.
She spoke again. You denied yourself of feeling for so long, Fett. I see you for what you are. The boy you were, fighting and scrounging for survival, steeling yourself against the harsh world before you. That is, until you met her. Until you saw her working tirelessly in the Hutt's shipyard. You recognized yourself in her devotion to her craft; in her attempt to distract herself from the painful memories threatening to overcome her. Like you, she had watched her father killed and forced to survive with the lot given to her. True, she is not as strong as you, not nearly as capable. But what you saw in her was not simply her pain, but her ability to give generously to those she loved. Her fullness reflected back to you your own forsaken emptiness.
I want to help waken you from your emotional slumber, Fett. Simply think of the past, and let me do the rest. The tentacle attached to the base of his skull gripped his spinal column once more. Again, memories from the past – the palace – began to resurface before his eyes.
Fett was watching Greta outside, on an abandoned observation deck atop Jabba's palace overlooking the Dune Sea. He immediately recognized the memory: It had taken place a number of years since they met, before the cave blindness incident. He remembered this keenly, as it was the first time he had shared anything personal about himself with her.
That night, he could not find her in the shipyard. He found her here, watching the setting of the twin suns under the twilight sky. She was watching something from a holocube in her palm.
A small, glowing figure projected from it, speaking. "There is unrest in the galaxy, Greta. I make this recording for you in case we get separated. The voice was hushed, with notes of desperation. The sound of blasterfire could be heard in the background. "If I don't make it, please don't be angry with me, or yourself. You'll need to move on; find others you can trust."
There was fear in the man's eyes, made even more intense by his love for his daughter. The blasterfire got louder. "No matter what happens, know that I'll always love you."
The holocube came to the end of the recording. Her father's face froze in tableau. Reaching out to the image, Greta tried to touch him as tears rolled down her face. "Dad" she whispered. "– I'm so alone."
Greta sat in silence, contemplating the past as Fett watched. It was the first time in many years that he felt any sort of empathy for another sentient. But he felt, when he saw the longing in her eyes, an understanding of the same kind of loss he had experienced long ago.
"You are not entirely alone," he said slowly, startling her and surprising himself. Greta looked up, her brown eyes looking at him large and nervous. Immediately, she blushed, feeling ashamed for unwittingly revealing her intimate feelings before the bounty hunter.
"What do you mean?" she asked, quietly. Her embarrassment manifested itself as fear in her body language. She shrank away from him and was unable to meet his visor. It was strange, then, when Boba Fett noticed her fear. She had never been afraid of him; and it unsettled him to realize how much he did not want her to be afraid of him.
"There are others who share your . . . sentiments," he replied. He let out a breath, hardly audible from behind the helmet. He looked over at Greta, who was looking at him quizzically with the same penetrating look that somehow made him reveal more about himself than he allowed himself to do – ever. This same look was begging him to be vulnerable with her, and gods – damn it all – did it ever work.
"I, too, lost my father at a young age," he added.
There was a silence between them as both parties considered the monumental step they had taken, no matter how small it seemed.
Greta was the first to speak. "I'm sorry," she said. Then bravely, she asked, "And your mother?"
Fett cleared his throat. "Also perished. Both of them murdered. Before my eyes."
Greta's eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "How awful."
Not being accustomed to being pitied, Boba Fett quickly deflected. "The galaxy is an unforgiving place. You move on, you survive," he said, coldly.
"But it seems fate dealt you a fortunate hand," she replied thoughtfully." You've become very successful in your trade. There must be some solace in this?"
Her words struck a sore point in Boba Fett. His parents were staunch followers of the Mandalorian way, warriors who believed in the integrity of their ancient war arts. They regarded those who used these skills for bounty hunting with disdain. Not wanting to discuss this detail, Fett only repeated his words again. "You do what it takes to survive."
"I suppose. I've tried to keep out of trouble and out of sight. I do my work and make no fuss. But, unlike so many who end up here, I have survived this palace much longer than anticipated."
"You are . . . ," he paused, "very good at what you do."
A smile and a blush slowly spread across Greta's face as she received his compliment.
"Your father taught you well," he continued.
Greta's smile faded as her thoughts wandered back to her father. "It wasn't for this kind of life that he taught me. It would have killed him to see me live like this. He intended for me to have a good life – a free life. And what have I to show for it? A prisoner in a filthy crime hub, guardianship of a strong-headed girl, and no hope for the future."
Fett moved, closing in the distance between them until they were only a foot apart. "He wanted you to survive. You have done what you could with your lot," he said, not harshly. He was so close, she heard the nuances of his true voice past the metallic hiss of his helmet mic: rough, deep, yet surprisingly warm. Then, moving a segment of hair from her damp face, he added, "He would have been proud of you."
Greta could only stare at her own reflection in his visor, unsure of what to make of all of this. Fett remembered the smile that crept across her lips as she allowed herself to receive his compliment.
"Thank you," she replied with a brightening light in her eyes. Her smile reached its full bloom, and the sight of it tugged deep beneath the Mandalorian armour. Her smile reminded him of so much lost – of home, family, of long-abandoned trust in others.
Then, as suddenly as the memory came, it slipped away, returning Fett's consciousness to the darkness of the Sarlacc. But exiting the memory was painful and disorienting, like he had been hurled out of hyperdrive, cut open with his nerves exposed.
As he collected his thoughts, Fett thought of Greta's holocube, hidden away in his utility belt, strung on a new silver chain. Not long after this exchange on the observation deck, Fett had given Greta a chain so she could wear the holocube around her neck. That chain was broken now, snapped apart when he first captured her. It was the girl, Lethia, who gave him the cube after their last conversation in the palace. Before heading to join Jabba on the sail barge to see Solo and his friends thrown to the Sarlacc, Fett had found another chain and stashed away both in his belt until he would see Greta again.
Sensing his thoughts, the old woman spoke again. You know how much she treasured that holocube – the memories within it. But do you know how much she treasured the chain you gave her? It gave her hope; it reminded her that someone in the present cared for her.
And yet, she hissed, you betrayed her.
Sick of the mind games and manipulation – and knowing he was losing precious time, Fett growled, "That's enough. You've invaded my privacy. Violated my memories. What I do is for my own reasons only."
Oh, but there is more. So many layers of emotions you feel for her. It's all quite fascinating, really. Do you know where she is, right now?
"Yes."
And do you know what kind of fate you have sent her?
No answer.
You have heard, but you do not really know what they do in these labs. Do you want to know?
There was only one thing Boba Fett did want to know. He bit his pride. "Tell me. Is she alive?"
The voice coughed in the darkness and answered enigmatically. Yes, but not quite.
Boba Fett shook furiously in his confines. "What does that mean, hag? Tell me!"
Alive, but not in spirit, the old woman replied. The girl you loved is different now. She can no longer be the same because of what you and they have done.
"What has happened to her?"
Too horrible to tell. What men do to assert their power over women.
"No time for riddles, woman. Tell me."
They have made her suffer, but she survives. Her body has changed. Her mind, fragile – but she tenaciously holds on to who she is. One thing I am certain: She hates you.
"Then she would never forgive me," he said, more to himself.
Only she can answer that, Fett. However. I do know, that no matter how much she hates you, she also cannot stop loving you.
Boba Fett remained silent, taking in the woman's words. Then, as though the anesthetic from the Sarlacc had loosened his speech, he muttered, "I would do anything to make it right."
The old woman drew in a quick breath. Would you? she asked.
Growing increasingly weary, Fett answered easily, "Yes. I love her. I need to save her. I can't stay here."
It was then the Sith's voice suddenly grew soft, whispering quickly and with desperation. Listen to me, Boba Fett. Now, listen to me. I tell you this, apart from the Sarlacc, bounty hunter. Though I am old and have lived too long as a disembodied consciousness in this beast, I can remember what it was like to love. The Sarlacc, it wants to drug you into passive compliance. The anesthetic is taking hold. You still have your jetpack. It was damaged during your fall but I can reconnect the broken wire. Use it. Use it before the Sarlacc hears me.
Boba Fett blinked. Inside the helmet, he saw the status reports waver before his eyes. To his astonishment, his jetpack was back online.
If you want to save her, you must do so quickly. . . The voice continued, rasping and growing silence.
The chatter of voices of the Sarlacc returned. We think you've conversed long enough with the old Sith, Master Fett. We are growing hungry. We would like to taste more of you, to crack you open, like an egg.
The tentacle on his neck gripped again, and memories of the past flooded his mind once more before he could properly realign the jetpack. Fett began to feel the same strangling emotions of guilt, loss, love escalating. The tentacle gripped harder. The flood of emotions were so undistinguished, so torrential, that Fett's body shook against his confines.
The Sarlacc walls were pulsing now, the tentacles squeezing harder around his body. It sighed in delight. Yes, Fett, it moaned. Your grief is delicious.
Struggling to regain control, Boba Fett was held fast by the tentacles, feeling the essence of his very self being drained from him. "What are you doing to me?" he screamed.
Tearing you open, the Sarlacc replied, calmly. Whipping noises cracked in the darkness. The tentacles around him were thrashing. Concentrating fiercely, Boba Fett pulled up the commands on his visor to ignite the jetpack. He looked up, seeing a distant dot of light above him. He figured he had enough fuel; but how much strength he had left to execute the plan, he did not know.
With one command, the jetpack fired to life. The Sarlacc screamed, and the tentacles released him in shock. With his arm free, Fett grabbed his blaster and fired at the remaining tentacles threatening to tie him down. Then, at full power, Fett tore out of the great beast toward the distant opening at the top. Bursting through the air, he crash-landed into the sand with rib-cracking force.
All he could feel was burning.
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Hi again, and thanks for reading! I was going to continue this chapter, but it was getting way too long. I have to say that this was my favourite chapter to write. It came out much easier than the others. Anyhow, I would have written more, but I wanted to get on with the story.
The answer to the question at the top: Certain elements of Boba's predicament in the Sarlacc were inspired by J.D. Montgomery's short story, "A Barve Like That" from Tales from Jabba's Palace. The chilling character of the Sarlacc playing with its food, its ability to enter Fett's mind and the collective consciousness of the eaten are Mr. Montgomery's ideas, and not mine. The rest of the story is my own take. Hope you enjoyed it! Don't worry, I am truly working on getting the next chapter out.