Foundling
Chapter 1
Amidst the infinite tapestry of stars, the sleek silhouette of Dooku's solar sailer glided gracefully into view, a majestic vessel designed for a lord. Its delicate sails unfurled to their full extent, capturing the fleeting whispers of light and energy from distant stars. The sailer's destination was the gleaming jewel of the galaxy, Coruscant, where Dooku would immerse himself in the dark secrets of the Force under the watchful guidance of his new master, Darth Sidious.
As the shimmering orb of Coruscant grew larger in the cockpit's viewport, casting its luminous glow over the ship's interior, Dooku rose from his seat, his regal posture commanding the space around him. He ventured deeper into the vessel, the soft hum of its engines providing a soothing background melody. To his surprise, he discovered a flickering blue hologram of his master awaiting him in the dimly lit chamber, the ghostly image casting an eerie glow on the polished metal surfaces.
Dooku dropped to one knee immediately, his heart racing with respect and surprise.
"Master," Dooku uttered, his voice low and respectful.
"Lord Tyrannus," Sidious's spectral form replied, a hint of menace in his gravelly tone. "An urgent matter has arisen and must interrupt your training. The Bando Gora has become a dangerous parasite. It must be irradiated. I believe you once had the opportunity to eliminate its leader. Why did you not take it?"
Sidious's question probed at a dark, festering memory in Dooku's past. The leader in question was Komari Vosa, a fallen Jedi and the former apprentice of Dooku himself.
"This deranged former Jedi has no place in the vision of my future," Sidious continued, his voice a chilling symphony of darkness and power. "I expect you to correct this error."
"As you wish," Dooku replied, carefully choosing his words. "And what of your plan for the clone army?"
"Our cloners require a host," Sidious explained. "You must find an ideal specimen, perhaps among the galaxy's most dangerous mercenaries."
As Sidious's words echoed through the chamber, a cunning idea took root in Dooku's mind, an idea that would allow him to eliminate Komari Vosa and find a worthy host for the clone army in one fell swoop.
"I shall accomplish both of these tasks with a single stroke, Master," Dooku announced, his voice brimming with newfound resolve.
Sidious's holographic form seemed to smile, his voice dripping with sinister satisfaction. "Yes... yes... I look forward to completing your training, my friend."
On the verdant world of Concord Dawn, a place marred by the celestial scars of a long-forgotten war, a young Jango Fett toiled away beneath the warm, golden rays of the setting sun. The boy, barely ten-years-old, possessed a mop of curly dark hair that framed his youthful, sun-kissed face and deep, dark eyes that seemed to hold a galaxy of their own, filled with dreams and ambitions that reached far beyond the humble boundaries of his home.
As Jango tended to the crops of the family farm, his small hands working deftly to care for the fragile stalks and leaves, he couldn't help but gaze upward, his eyes drawn to the unique sight of the planet's shattered horizon. Chunks of the world hung suspended in orbit, remnants of a long-forgotten war whose echoes had faded into the mists of time. As Jango's imagination soared among those celestial fragments, he yearned to traverse the stars and explore the galaxy, discovering the secrets and wonders that awaited him beyond the familiar fields of his childhood.
As he walked, lost in his daydreams, Jango's foot caught on something unseen. He stumbled, falling gracelessly onto the parched earth. As he picked himself up, his hands brushed against the ground, and he discovered what had tripped him: tracks in the soil, left behind by someone clad in the unmistakable boots of a soldier.
Distracted by the footprints, Jango failed to hear the soft crunch of footsteps approaching from behind. His father's firm, calloused hand suddenly clasped his shoulder, startling him. Jango leaped to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. Jango's father bore a stern expression, his eyes holding a mixture of concern and authority. In his hands, he clutched a woven basket covered by a coarse cloth that concealed its contents.
"Jango, I need you to fix the harvester," his father commanded, his voice firm and resolute.
Jango nodded in compliance but couldn't suppress his curiosity. "What's in the basket?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the mysterious bundle.
His father's eyes narrowed, a shadow of concern crossing his face for the briefest moment. "It's food," he replied, his tone guarded. "There's a beggar in the fields. I'm going to see that he's fed."
"A beggar? Who is it?"
With that, Jango's father turned to leave, pausing just long enough to fix Jango with a stern gaze. "The harvester, Jango. Don't make me tell you again," he warned, and strode purposefully toward the fields, the basket swinging gently at his side.
As Jango watched his father depart, a sense of unease began to unfurl in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help but connect the mysterious boot prints with the so-called beggar. Was this stranger a soldier of some kind? But why would anyone like that be on a backwater world like Concord Dawn?
Jango turned his attention to the task, his mind still preoccupied with the mysterious tracks and the beggar his father had mentioned. He approached the harvester, the blue vehicle with an air of rugged elegance. The harvester's side panel had been damaged, and Jango set to work diligently, repairing the damaged side of the harvester with practiced precision. As he labored under the relentless sun, beads of sweat collected on his brow. He wiped them away, pausing momentarily to survey his progress. When he glanced up, he caught sight of a reflection in the harvester's gleaming windshield—a tall, imposing figure stood behind him.
The stranger's appearance was both menacing and intriguing, with long unkempt black hair and a stubble framing his gruff features. He was clad in red and black armor, a symbol resembling a red hawk emblazoned on his shoulder guard.
"Hey, kid," the man called out, his voice rough and demanding.
Jango whirled around in surprise, his heart thudding in his chest. He discovered two more armored figures behind him. One was dressed in all black, wearing similar armor and a stylized helmet with a T-shaped visor. The other sported armor accented with blue pieces, his thin frame matched by even thinner hair. He pointed a blaster directly at Jango, his finger hovering over the trigger.
"Let me see your hands," the first man ordered.
Jango complied, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "What do you want?" he stammered, his voice trembling.
"We're looking for some bad men," the first one replied gruffly. "Have you seen any strangers around?"
Jango couldn't resist a retort. "Other than you?"
"Smart kid," the blue-armored soldier sneered. "Let's just shoot him and move on."
The first one, clearly the leader, fixed Jango with an unwavering stare. "Make no mistake, kid. I will let him shoot you."
Jango's mind raced as he considered his limited options. He knew he didn't stand a chance against these seasoned warriors. "My... my dad gave a beggar some food today," he began, his voice hesitant. "I think the beggar wore boots. Soldier boots."
A flicker of recognition and determination flashed across the black and red armored soldier's face, his eyes narrowing as he muttered a single name: "Jaster..."
"What now, Tor?" the blue-armored soldier demanded, his tone impatient and sharp.
"We'll make sure the boy gets home," Tor, the leader, replied firmly.
With no other choice, Jango found himself led back to the farm at gunpoint by Tor and his men. His heart pounded in his chest, and every fiber of his being screamed for him to fight back, to run and warn his family. But with their weapons trained on him, he could do nothing.
As the farm came into view, Jango's father caught sight of them approaching and instinctively reached for his rifle. The helmeted soldier accompanying Tor reacted instantly, blasting Jango's father in the leg. The man crumpled to his knees in pain, a strangled cry escaping his lips.
"Dad!" Jango shouted, his heart wrenching at his father's suffering.
He tried to run to him, but the blue-armored soldier restrained him with an iron grip.
"Make sure the kid doesn't do anything he's going to regret, Kijir," Tor ordered.
Jango's eyes filled with tears as he stared at his father, but his fear was eclipsed by vengeance. He made a mental note of the names he had heard, vowing that one day, he would make these men pay for what they had done.
More of Tor's soldiers appeared, gathering around the farm and securing the area. Jango counted fifteen in total, each one as fearsome as the next. Tor approached Jango's father, still on his knees and clutching his wounded leg.
"Your son tells me you were helping a beggar earlier today," Tor said, his voice cold and unyielding. "Did his name happen to be Jaster Mereel?"
Jango's father stared defiantly at Tor, saying nothing. In response, Tor delivered a vicious punch to the man's face.
"Silence isn't an answer," Tor snarled.
Blood dripping from his mouth, Jango's father spat defiantly at Tor. His defiance only earned him another strike. With each blow, Jango struggled to break Kijir's grip, desperate to help his father. But Kijir kept him pinned to the ground, his voice mocking and cruel.
"Don't even try it, kid," Kijir taunted. "You're no soldier."
Tor continued to pummel Jango's father mercilessly, and his face twisted into a snarl of anger and frustration. "This is the last time I ask nicely," he growled. "Where is Jaster Mereel?"
Jango's father, his face a bloody and swollen mess, struggled to speak through the pain. "I haven't seen him since he was exiled, and I took over his post," he choked out. "I'm the journeyman protector here... I'm the law!"
Tor scoffed, pulling out his blaster and pointing it at the man's face. "No. This is the law. Answer me, or your kid will see your brains in the dirt."
Suddenly, a shot rang out, and Kijir was sent backward, a searing blast to his shoulder forcing him to release his grip on Jango. Confused, Jango looked over at his home to see his mother standing on the porch, a rifle gripped tightly in her hands. Behind her, Jango's older sister, Arla, stood trembling with fear.
"Get away from my son!" Jango's mother screamed, her voice full of desperation and fury.
In the chaos that ensued, Jango found himself momentarily free but frozen in place, overwhelmed by the horrifying events, and time seemed to slow down as his world crumbled around him. It was his father's desperate shout that finally broke the spell.
"Jango! RUN!" his father's voice pierced through the haze, snapping him back to reality.
With a surge of adrenaline, Jango took off, sprinting as fast as he could into the crops surrounding the farm. He didn't dare look back, but the screams of his parents and sister tore through the air like knives, their pain cutting deep into his soul. He didn't need to see what was happening to know the truth, and his tears flowed freely as he ran.
Jango's heart raced as he suddenly awoke from the nightmare that had gripped him in its icy embrace. The shrill sound of his alarm filled the air, jarring him back to reality. The events of Concord Dawn, the darkest memory of his past and the day that forever altered the course of his life, had once again invaded his dreams.
He found himself in his apartment on Outland Transit Station, a massive space outpost in the Outer Rim. Twenty-four years had passed since that fateful day, and now, at thirty-four, Jango had made a life for himself as a bounty hunter. He had been living on the station for several months, assisting the Toydarian owner, Rozatta, by taking on various bounty jobs.
Jango took deep, steadying breaths as he attempted to shake off the lingering specter of his traumatic memories. The shrill alarm that had pulled him from his nightmare morphed into the familiar sound of a Holonet news report. The newscaster announced that Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation would soon stand trial for his unlawful invasion of the planet Naboo a mere month prior.
Jango sighed, his thoughts drifting away from the pain of his past as he focused on the present. The galaxy was a vast and tumultuous place filled with conflict and intrigue. And though the ghosts of his past still haunted him, he knew that he must continue to forge his path, one bounty at a time.
At the end of the day, Jango Fett was just a simple man trying to make his way in the universe.
Regaining his focus, Jango's thoughts turned to the task at hand. He needed to go to the Borhek pit-fighting arena, where Rozatta had arranged a contract for a new bounty. It was time for him to get back to work, to immerse himself in the one thing that gave him a sense of control in this chaotic galaxy.
With renewed purpose, he rose from his bed and began preparing himself for the mission. The familiar ritual of donning his Mandalorian armor was almost meditative, each piece of the intricate suit fitting with practiced ease. The armor's distinctive T-shaped visor and detailed design symbolized his strength and resilience. And more importantly, it instilled fear.
Next, Jango secured his jetpack to his back, ensuring it was properly connected and ready for use, and holstered his twin blasters. With his gear in place and his resolve steeled, Jango Fett exited his apartment and began his journey, each step carrying him further from the ghosts of his past and closer to the challenges ahead.
Author's Note
Wow, I never thought I'd get around to writing this. Star Wars: Bounty Hunter is the first video game I ever played, and solidified Jango being one of my favorite characters in that universe. I was surprised to see that there was never a novelization, so I guess I'm trying my hand at it while adapting things to correlate with the existing canon, as well as elements of the excellent Legends comic series Open Seasons. Get ready for some wild surprises as this story unfolds. And if you know the game, then you know we're just getting started.