Left for dead upon the sands of Tatooine, Boba Fett is reborn!
Hi fellow fans!
My name is Benedict Sky and I am a friend of LP Marcus Writes Fanfiction. I was inspired by him to start writing my own Star Wars fanon stories, and to warm up for and set up my eventual Soul of the Jedi series, I decided to rewrite The Book of Boba Fett! He helped me with the editing of the story.
Now, I don't want to be judgemental. LP Marcus and I had our criticisms with the show, but they are ours alone. If you enjoy BoBF as it is, awesome! But, if you want to see a slightly different approach to the story, then here is my take on...
THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT
Written and Reimagined by Benedict Sky
Chapter One: Stranger in a Strange Land
Life; a short, brutish, and nasty thing. So it was for bounty hunters from across the Galaxy, Core to Rim. Even the greatest like Jango Fett, a great warrior who was the source of the famed Clone Army of a long-lost Republic, met their end within time. It was inevitable. His clone, no, his son, Boba still remembered the day vividly. 22 BBY, Geonosis. In a massive, dusty arena Jango had engaged a fierce, dark-skinned man in tan robes, wielding a burning violet lightsaber; Jedi Master Mace Windu.
The Mandalorian foundling fired a few bolts from his blaster. Windu deflected each of them, one-by-one, with a few flicks of his wrist, as he charged forward with great pace. Jango desperately attempted to fight off Windu with his fists, as he had done before with so many Jedi before him. Instead, he got a lightsaber's blade run through his neck. As his head flew one way, Jango's silver-blue, t-visored Mandalorian helmet flew the other. After the battle left the arena, young Boba would cradle the helmet against his forehead, as if it were his own father's face.
Now, Boba wore this same helmet and the accompanying armor, like Jango before him, repainted green, red, and covered in wear from years of use. And like Jango before him, his time had come. Lying barely conscious in the dark, dank depths of a sarlacc's stomach, Fett was defeated. Not with honor, but by a flailing blind man in the most pathetic way. The fact that this flailing blind man was the famous Han Solo did nothing to change the fact that he was a flailing blind man.
Now he was in the gut of this massive creature, rooted in the sands of Tatooine, ready to be digested over a thousand years. As the belly of the beast squelched and the thousands of voices trapped in its walls cried out for help, Boba awoke, though almost suffocating from the lack of oxygen.
"This can't be it," he told himself, though the thought came out as a muffled groan.
Feeling the slimy walls of the beast's stomach, he assessed the situation, holding his breath for as long as possible. As he pushed against the sides of the sarlacc's gut, constantly oozing with acid, Boba noticed a light-colored shape in a gap. Flipping down the antenna on his helmet and turning on the light on its in-built sensor, the fallen bounty hunter saw a skull-like helmet still attached to its body, embedded in the walls. A stormtrooper.
"We must tell Lord Vader," the remnants of the trooper's mind moaned. "The droids are no longer traceable. Must send a search party. Must send uhhhhhhhh."
Ignoring the eerie call of the sarlacc's victim, Boba crawled his way over to the dead soldier, gasping every once in a while. After climbing over a few tentacles, he arrived at the trooper, where he reached up the trooper's helmet, feeling around the face of the lifeless grunt. Upon feeling a tube, he pulled it out, causing it to hiss with air, before he shoved it up his own helmet and into his mouth. Taking several deep, labored breaths, the bounty hunter regained his strength. Well, at least enough strength.
Suddenly, he felt the walls shift and pulsate around his body, and felt himself slide – no, get dragged – down, even further, into the depths. Boba frantically clawed at the Sarlacc's gut, desperately trying to find something, anything to cling onto. He found only acids and slimes as his grip slipped. He needed to make his own opening. Pulling his hand into a fist, Boba punched through the oozing wall of the sarlacc's gut and activated his flamethrower, burning through the side of the rooted beast, and began to dig.
An hour later, back at the surface of the pit where the sarlacc's mouth lay, under the scorching twin suns and in the massive shadow of the remains of Jabba's ornate sail barge, Fett's arm burst from the ground. Drained and exhausted, he grunted in pain as he slowly dragged himself out of the sand and crawled onto the surface, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the blinding light of the twin suns.
He had done it. He was utterly drained, his skin felt like it was burning, and he saw spots in his eyes. Sand and slime dripping from his acid-burned armor, he looked up to the blue sky through his t-visor. He made it. He had no more strength to give, and in his delirious relief, he finally rested in the scorching heat.
Later that night, the loud rumbling of a massive sandcrawler echoed through the desert, as a piercing beam of light shone upon Boba, lying next to the wreckage of Jabba's sail barge. Soon enough, the cloaked diminutive Jawas of the sandcrawler, having initially come for the remains of the barge, found the hunter. Flipping him over, they inspected all aspects of his suit, chattering amongst themselves. They removed his helmet and began to strip away his armor. First came the chest plate, then his jetpack, then his gauntlets. Boba noticed what they were doing and immediately grabbed one of the Jawas by the legs.
If this were Fett at any other time, these Jawas would all be on the ground with charred holes embedded into their tiny skulls. Maybe even disintegrated into ash. However, this was not Fett in those times, so the Jawa raised its blaster and bashed him in the face, knocking him unconscious yet again, before leaving him on his belly to die in the now searing cold desert sands.
By morning, a viciously fierce sandstorm had kicked up and four figures in dark flowing robes emerged into the scene. They were armed with tribal staffs, each one with a club-like spiked head on one end and propeller-like spike on the other, gaderffii sticks, and some with cycler rifles. These were some of the many Tusken Raiders who had roamed Tatooine's desert for time immemorial. Through the turbulent, shifting sands, they notice the injured, weakened form of Boba, reduced to a man wearing a badly tattered, raggedy white jumpsuit. One of the Tuskens flipped the fallen hunter onto his back.
The once-great warrior has never looked worse. Pale beyond imagination, his skin flaking from the vicious burns inflicted by the sarlacc's stomach acid, one could hardly recognize this as a clone of the great Jango Fett and kin to the soldiers of the greatest army the Galaxy has ever known. Even his eyebrows had all but melted away. Putting Boba's hands together and kneeling down, the Tuskens bind his hands together with a rope and pull out a thin, tapering desert gourd. The Tuskens squeeze it, causing fiercely bitter juice to ooze out from its tip into Boba's mouth, awakening the son of Jango. The Tuskens then pull him up and tether him to a massive, spiral-horned, shaggy beast of burden, a bantha, before dragging him back to their camp, through the desert heat and sands.
Boba awoke briefly after the journey ended, slowly opening his eyes. As he came to his senses, he felt a light jab from a wooden staff, barely larger than a twig. Looking up weakly, he stared face-to-face with a young Tusken, who was about his age when his father had died, presumably female from the wide slit-like eyehole on her mask. She wore a black tunic, wrapped by a brown belt, her hands covered by tan gloves and feet by dark boots.
He then looked to a nearby tent and found an adult Tusken emerging with fabulously ornate robes, both dark and red, and the typical mask of this species often called "the Sand people", wrapped in linen and topped with horn-like spikes. He also held a strikingly long gaderffii stick, almost like a royal scepter in his right hand. This was presumably the chief. Boy, did he look magnificent.
Boba was so busy admiring the chief that he only realized too late when other young Tuskens ambushed him and knocked him back into his slumber, by bashing him repeatedly, while the chief and an adult female Tusken Warrior with long dreadlocks watched on, with the chief taking a drink from a black-colored, rounded gourd. The last thing the outcast heard were the thundering bellows of the tribe.
When Boba Fett woke up again, it was already nightfall. He was seated by a blazing, yet small campfire, still tied to a post. Looking forward, Boba found a crocodilian, dog-like reptile with spikes along its back sleeping next to the fire. A massiff. Those creatures were used by the Tuskens, as any other species would the dog-like Anooba. One thing to keep track of.
As he kept scanning, Boba found that next to him was a red-skinned Rodian in dirty clothes, also tied to a post. The Rodian species was a reptilian one defined by their bumpy skin, two antennae, and massive night sky-like eyes. They also tended to produce some very rough individuals.
Boba recalled the life of the bounty hunter Greedo, a Rodian who always got into scraps as a child; rumor has it that he even fought a young Darth Vader after accusing him of cheating in a podrace, striking the first blow. Greedo apparently finally learned his lesson, though at the cost of his life, as Boba was working with that idiot when he was shot by Han Solo without even having a chance to react. Some wealthy Pantoran client of Boba's, Papanoida, insisted that Solo was reacting to Greedo's shot, but Boba knew the Galaxy's Biggest Scoundrel well enough to see otherwise.
"Gah!" Boba grunted, realizing the uselessness of his wandering mind. Focus, Boba, focus!
The Rodian immediately turned his attention to Boba.
"Sleemo!" cursed the Rodian.
"Mind your own business, skughole!" Boba growled at the Rodian.
The captive, once-great bounty hunter began to tug his wrists against the ropes. Each time he struggled, the viciously tough fibers burned and cut into his already burned skin, creating a flaking noise. The massiff opened its eyes, looking Boba right into his eyes. The reptilian dog snarled, opening its crocodilian jaw, revealing a sizable row of razor sharp teeth that could cut through the flesh of any beast softer than a Bantha. Softer than a Bantha. Boba had an idea.
He continued to struggle, causing the massiff to stand up and begin to approach him. He struggled. The beast got closer. He did so again. It got even closer.
One struggle. Closer
Two struggles. Closer.
Three struggles. The Skughole Rodian looked at Boba like he was an idiot, but the massiff still drew closer.
Boba then began rubbing his bindings against the wooden post, leading the massiff to lunge at him, jaws wide open. The skilled hunter knocked the wind out of the creature with a single swipe of his fists, leaving its jaw gaping wide. Seeing his chance, the heir of Jango began to rub the ropes against the teeth of the massiff. The rope began to loosen, slowly but surely. Looking around, Boba made sure no one saw him when he finally cut his way to freedom with one more rub of his ropes against the fangs of the reptilian dog. The ropes came undone, leaving Boba with a satisfied grin on his face.
Turning to the Skughole Rodian, he gave several sneers to the prisoner's face. The message was clear: "I freed myself, you idiot. Now have fun in Hell!" The Skughole Rodian immediately began to cry out incoherently, yet loudly, attracting the attention of the young female, who was armed with her small wooden stick.
As she lunged towards the bounty hunter, he grabbed her staff and flipped her to the ground. Raising the stick with a grimace, Boba was about to beat her, as she had beaten him. Yet something stopped him. Her age. Much like him when Jango had been murdered by that Jedi. Her size. The same as the weak, small little boy who got in over his head trying to avenge his father. Her cries for help. Much like himself calling for Aurra Sing after the Jedi captured him as a child on a mission he took to avenge his father. Fett lowered the stick, though he kept it, having the feeling that he would need it to escape.
"Urhhhhhhhhh!" bellowed the other Tuskens.
Boba ran away, as several of the nomadic warriors and the newly reawakened massiff chased after him into the frigid desert night. The Tuskens stop, but their beast continues after the hunter.
Jango's heir quickly scaled over a small hill of sand, though the massiff followed closely in hot pursuit. Soon enough, the creature kicks him over with one of its front claws, before nipping at his heels. As it prepared to bite the fallen hunter in the face, Boba swung the stick into the creature's face. He bashed it several times, as a band of Tuskens, led by the Chief and the female warrior from earlier, approached him.
As he stood up on his own two feet, the Chief tapped his gaderffii stick, commanding the massiff to retreat, which it did. Boba watched as the Chief and the Warrior looked each other in the eyes. Giving a nod, the Chief permitted her to engage the mighty, at least once-mighty, Boba Fett in combat.
As Boba adjusted his stick, the Warrior drew hers out, one made of a sturdier wood and tipped in metal salvaged from ancient technology. The Heir of Jango and the Warrior of the Tuskens circled each other.
They did so once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four times.
Boba broke the standoff, swinging with as much ferocity as he could. The Warrior blocked it with ease using her staff. He swung again, with even more force. She quickly twisted her staff, blocking the blow. Growing desperate, Boba began flailing with his stick around, desperate to get a hit. It reminded him of how Solo knocked him into the pit- focus, he thought, You need to get out. The Warrior easily dodged all his attacks with a dance-like grace before knocking him to the ground, with a single, surgically precise swipe of her staff. Fett got up immediately, ready to continue fighting, but was interrupted with a club to the side of the head.
Boba's world spun and blurred, his head throbbing from the impact. Yet, he steeled his focus, looking the Warrior in the face, trying to stare into her eyes behind the wide slit on her steel-plated mask. This mask certainly reminded him of the helm of a Mandalorian. Of his father's helm. Of his own helm.
Roaring with determination, Boba started flailing again, though he attempted to be more focused. He was blocked blow-after-blow. He missed blow-after-blow. The Warrior herself got several hits against him, before catching the little stick he was wielding with her staff and throwing it into the desert. Unarmed, Boba could do nothing as she knocked him to the ground. With a few grunts from the Chief, the Warrior retreated, leaving the other Tuskens to encircle Boba and strike him again and again until everything turned to black.
How much fight had that cursed smuggler, knocked out of him? That was all Boba could think about for the time he was unconscious. He had certainly been knocked out far more times than he could count or would be willing to admit later.
For days, he would awaken again and again, beaten and humiliated at every turn. Being forced to dig for black melon gourds filled with scrumptious water over and over again, yet never having the tantalizing chance to be refreshed. Every time Fett was forced to do this, he felt the rough, irritating sand scorching his already damaged skin. He felt the heat of the twin suns beating him down more than even the Tuskens did.
One dreadful morning, Boba, already parched from days of work, felt the vexing prod of a small wooden stick. The Tusken princess needed her servant to do more digging in the sands. Oh, what a wonderful life.
Being sloppily dragged up by the Tusken child, Boba grumbled and grunted, as he unceremoniously staggered onto his feet.
"Enough pulling, A'Kagri," complained Boba, almost surprised that he knew the Tusken's name. "I'll get digging."
The Tusken child, A'Kagri, looked at him with a slightly cocked head. She seemed equally perplexed as Boba about his recognition of her name.
"A'kaagriiiii!" rumbled the Tusken Chief, A'Kagri's father.
She soon started off across the camp in a hurry. He didn't know whether knowing the Tuskens by name was a good thing or a bad thing. Whether he was starting to bond with them or whether he was getting too familiar with them. Probably the latter.
Boba began to stumble clumsily after the young Tusken, soon arriving at her and her father's tent. He watched them speak with another in sign language, which was shockingly sophisticated for such a simple seeming folk. There were several sweeping hand waves from A'Kagri. When her father returned these gestures, A'Kagri began to wave frantically, as if pleading for a different outcome. The Chief then gave several harsh gestures, almost as if bashing his hands together; this was final. The Tusken leader then dragged the Skughole Rodian over in a coarse rope, made of thick, irritating cords. He then bound Boba's right ankle to this same rope.
Boba grumbled in protest, noticing A'Kagri doing the same thing. Perhaps the Skughole Rodian had more than one adversary.
"I hate him too," Boba whispered to A'Kagri, a twinge of sympathy in his voice.
She looked at him and for a second, he could imagine a small smile behind her mask. However, A'Kagri promptly turned, calling for the massiff.
As they trekked, Boba, A'Kagri, her massiff, and the Skughole Rodian crossed the endless sands. They climbed mountainous dunes and wide, arid plains as A'Kagri kept on the lookout for water for her servants to dig. Boba was softly grumbling and cursing to himself, just out of the Skughole Rodian's earshot, when he noticed an ashy smell in the air. Looking up, he saw a towering plume of smoke in the distance. A'Kagri quickly bashed him in the side, prompting him to lie on the ground, where he got a better view of where the plume came from.
A few hundred meters away, in a valley between the dunes was a quaint little homestead, made of sandstone. At least it was a quaint little homestead. Now, it was just a charred wall, emblazoned with a symbol resembling a "J" and an "L"; the Huttese character for "K". In front of the burnt wall, a band of Red Niktos, scaled, horned reptilian beings known for their thuggish ways, was looting the corpse of a man in tattered rags. Stealing a few credit chips, they go over to their elongated speeder bikes, each armed with two blaster cannons, while levitating off the ground, and ride off.
Later that journey, the group arrived at the base of what must have been one of Tatooine's largest sand dunes, towering over the others like the tallest tree in a forest of thousands. A'Kagri, armed with her little stick, pointed it at the sand dune's base, gesturing for Boba and the Skughole Rodian to begin digging.
Boba dug pile-after-pile of the searing hot desert sand, yet could find nothing of worth. He soon turned to the side to see the Skughole Rodian drinking cool, refreshing water from a round, dark-colored, gourd; a black melon, valued by all who wander the deserts of Tatooine. Boba cursed again, as he kept on digging. Soon enough, his fingers poked at something. Something slightly soft. Something like a black melon. Excited at the prospect of drinking for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the fallen hunter rapidly and trepidatiously clawed the sand away until the melon was exposed. With a satisfied grin, Boba was about to quench his endless thirst, when A'Kagri swiped the melon right out of his hands.
She walked over to her massiff, prompting it to open its jaws wide. Cracking open the melon, the young Tusken proceeded to pour it down her companion's throat, giving it some nourishment. So much for Fett getting a sip.
"E chu ta!" sneered the Skughole Rodian, with a loud, hideous snicker.
Before Boba could denigrate his tormentor, A'Kagri rushed over to the loathsome rodian and snatched away the Skughole's melon. Walking over to Boba, she hooked his mouth with her stick, prying it open. Boba grunted in a brief flash of pain, but soon withdrew that reaction when a bitter, herbal taste entered his tongue. A'Kagri was allowing him to drink from the Skughole's black melon. Perhaps she wasn't so bad after all. Soon enough, Boba was quenched, all while the Skughole was forced to keep digging.
"Graaaaaggghhhhrrrrrrr!" A deep shriek bellowed through the air. The pained roar of a beast.
Boba turned around quickly, catching sight of the Skughole Rodian's face being enraptured by a massive arm with three claws, covered in brown armored scales. More of the arms erupt from the sand, following with the rest of the creature; a muscular centaur-like reptile with large bulbous black eyes and massive, pointed fangs. The creature dragged the Skughole Rodian into the air and Boba with him. Thinking fast, Boba glanced back and forth for the massiff.
"Come on! Come on!" he called.
The massiff, who had initially run away, approached the beast tentatively.
"No hard feelings, right?" inquired Boba, panting.
"Graaaaarrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh!" the sand centaur roared.
Its head lunged at the screaming Skughole Rodian, mouth gaping wide. Within seconds, the Skughole Rodian, literally had a skughole where his head should have been. Boba was running out of time.
The massiff suddenly leaped at the sand centaur, finding one of the beast's arms in its jaws. The centaur roared, failing to notice Boba hooking part of his rope in the massiff's mouth. Rubbing it frantically, the fallen hunter was able to cut the bonds loose and plunged to the ground. He was able to land squarely in the sand on his two feet, a surprise considering how poorly he had been using his skills lately.
"Errrrrgghhhhh!" A'Kagri's voice called from nearby.
Boba watched as the sand centaur casually tossed the massiff down and turned to face the young Tusken, armed with her little wooden stick. The Beast roared and went to attack A'Kagri. Now here was his chance. After a little trek to Anchorhead, Boba could escape anywhere. Yet, what of A'Kagri? She had spared his life by giving him that water. Was he to leave her at the mercy of this sand beast?
A'Kagri was locked in a vicious yet desperate duel against the Sand Centaur. She was able to dodge and parry a few attacks by the beast, but was soon knocked over and grasped in its claws. It was about to make a meal out of her. Her life was about to end. Its jaws were closing in. Suddenly, its grip loosened and she fell to the sands below. Grunting as she almost bruised herself on landing, A'Kagri got onto her knees and looked up. On the back of the beast, armed only with the tough rope used to tie him to the strange, red jerk, was the pale human, struggling against the great beast.
Indeed, Jango's heir was in a vicious struggle of his own. The beast heaved from side-to-side, desperately trying to hurl Fett off into the sands beyond. Yet, Boba held on, wrapping the tough rope around the Beast's neck, like a noose. Pulling with all the strength worthy of any clone of the greatest Bounty Hunter the Galaxy had ever known, he ensnared the beast's throat so much that it collapsed, a spray of sand showering around it. The Sand Centaur was dead.
Boba got off and approached A'Kagri. She began signing at him.
"You saved me and killed it," she gestured in shock. "You are a Warrior."
"We both are," Boba chuckled, gesturing as he spoke. "You were brave."
The young Tusken noticed several black melons scattered across the sands like mines; they were exposed by the collapse of the Sand Centaur. She picked several up and offered half of them to Boba. He chuckled at her and accepted the offer. For the rest of the day, Boba Fett drank joyfully with A'Kagri. When they were done, he would return to the camp. Not as a servant. But as a member of the Tusken Tribe.
Author's Note:
Hello world, Benedict Sky here. The amount of views has honestly been a surprise for me. However, it is a welcome one. Thanks! While the story may seem pretty much the same as the show (it will for another two chapters, to some extent) that is because this is only the beginning. As the title suggests, this is a reimagining not a rewrite. Things will change up soon enough. Thanks again for the support! And yes I dissed George Lucas's opinion on the "Han Shot First" debacle. If you haven't seen it, keep looking. Have a great day, and May the Force be with You!