Karen Traviss - Star Wars: Boba Fett: A Practical Man (Short Story)

Contents

Dedicated to the memory of
Sergeant 1st Class Daniel Crabtree,
Company B, 2nd Battalion,
19th Special Forces Group (Airborne)
father, husband, soldier, police officer,
and Star Wars fan: one of our own.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Boba Fett; Mandalorian Mandalor and bounty hunter (male human)

Briika Jeban; Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary (female human)

Cham Detta; Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary (male human)

Dinua Jeban; Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary (female human)

Goran Beviin; Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary (male human)

Kubariet; Jedi Knight (male humanoid)

Nom Anor; executor and spy (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Suvar Detta; Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary (male human)

Tiroc Vhon; Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary (male human)

Warmaster, we think too often in terms of dualism: Jedi or Sith, light or dark, right or wrong. But there are three sides to this blade, not two, opposed and similar at the same time. The third edge is the Mandalorian. All three sides care nothing for caste or species, only adherence to a code that unites. The Mandalorians remain the most formidable enemy of the Jedi: but the Sith are not always their allies. The Mandalorians even worshipped war itself, then simply turned their backs on their god. You might begin to understand them one day.

Vergere, explaining galactic politics to the Yuuzhan Vong shortly before their invasion of the galaxy, 25 A.B.Y .

Coruscant, 24 A.B.Y .: lowest level, in a quarter where nobody in their right mind would venture at night.

Boba Fett leveled the blaster and sighted up.

You can run, he said. But youll only die tired.

His voice rasped through an amplifier. He never needed to shout: he could always be heard. His targeta Rodian counterfeiter called Wac Bur, who was unusually overweight for his specieshad obliged him by running in ever-more-desperate maze-like circles in the depths of the quarter and had now found himself in a blind alley.

Wac meant lucky in Rodian. Wac Bur was not a lucky example of his kind, not at all.

Dead or alive, Fett reminded him. The thermal imager of his blaster optics picked out Wac helpfully radiating heat under a pile of discarded packing cases. Deads easier. Come on. Im a busy man.

The voice under the cases was muffled and pathetic. Why are you doing this to me? Ive never messed with you, Fett.

I know, Fett said. But you palmed off fake art on Gebbu. Hutts are very touchy about that.

It was just like old times. His cloned leg, courtesy of his former Kaminoan guardian Taun We, was still holding up fine in the chase. Fett never thought of himself as being in any kind of mood, good or bad, but this was as close to noticeably good as hed been in a long time. He almost felt as if the future might hold something positive. He hadnt had that sense of general optimism since childhood.

The alley was fifteen meters wide and stretched twenty meters ahead of him, with no exits: it was just a box with a terrified Rodian rattling loose in it. A quick scan for weaponsthere was no point being careless about thisshowed that Wac had a hold-out blaster that wouldnt trouble him. He walked slowly toward the rustling, shivering crates.

Get a move on, Fett said, checking the chrono in his HUD.

You havent got a scrap of morality in you. Wacs insult was rich coming from a criminal forger. Its not like Gebbus a victim. Why dont you go after real criminals?

Because Gebbu thinks youre special. Are you coming with me or not?

The packing cases rustled. Wac didnt emerge. It was an answer of sorts.

Okay, nothing personal, Fett said, and raised his blaster to concentrate on the thermal-imaging target, hold his breath as he had so many times before, and squeeze

Bar Jaraniz, Nar Shaaddaa: Hutt space, 24 A.B.Y .

The infidels call it preparing the battlefield.

This is the careful, patient work before an attack to ease the path for the army of the faithful that follows. I prepare well: I leave nothing to chance. Im Nom Anor, executor, and my task is infiltration and destabilization.

And I seek allies in this filthy place.

Do Yuuzhan Vong need allies in this abomination of a galaxy? No. We will, sooner or later, glorify the Great Ones by cleansing these worlds of their machines and the corrupt creatures who willingly enslave themselves to them. But Im a pragmatist, and pragmatists never waste an advantage, nor leave a powerful army for our enemy to enlist.

Vergere says a group of warriors called the Mandalorians are the most resistant enemy the Jedi have ever faced, other than the Sith. So being a pragmatist, I would rather have them at my side than at my back. And, in the way of all abominations, these Mandalorians sell their act of faith, sacred warfare, for credits. They fight not for godsthey dont seem any more devout than I ambut for wealth.

What do they find to buy thats more important than honor, though? Why do I even sully myself by contacting them?

It needs to be done, and its more pain I gladly bear.

As the Mandalorians skill comes so cheaply, as they have no honor, I can buy them and use them.

So this is a tapcaf. This is where I pretend to be an infidel and speak reasonably to abominations. I can look like them, and I can talk like them: but I must never become like them, and Ive been hiding among them for so many years now that I fear I might. As a precaution I entreat Yun-Harla, just in case she does exist, to guide me so that my life of deception doesnt finally deceive me.

Under the table, where no infidel can see, I pass my knife through my palm and use the pain both as worship and focus. I have just one more year to endure before the fleet arrives.

I have no faith in the Great Ones, but I might be wrong: and Im a pragmatist, so I keep my options open.

So I shall orderan ale. And I shall sit, and wait.

Bar Jaraniz, Nar Shaddaa: Buy-One-Get-One-Free Night, fifth month, 24 A.B.Y .

The sign above the blaster-charred door frame said that the Jara never closed, and despite any number of gang wars, shoot-outs, and minor armed disagreements between business partners, it hadnt yet.

Goran Beviin walked through the open doors of the Jarawelded open, for a reason known only to the ownerand paused to scan the unusually crowded bar.

Over there. The bartender, preoccupied with building an elaborate cocktail, jerked his head in the direction of the badly-lit booths in the far corner. His hands were full of fruit segments, skewers, and a sky-blue spiral bottle of two-hundred-proof vosh with those nasty little lumps of geref bobbing in it. The handsome one in the black suit. Lookin for Mando help.

Beviin turned his head discreetly for an old-fashioned visual check by eyeball. Shab, the man was ugly.