Star Wars Adventures 004 - Jango Fett vs. The Razor Eaters

by Ryder Windham

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  The nine-year-old boy angled his pocker at a rollerfish and squeezed the trigger. The pocker was a laser-aimed spear-thrower, and the boy was a good shot. The rollerfish was just breaking the water’s surface when the fired spear tore through it, just behind its eyes.

  “Not bad, Boba,” said a deep voice from behind the boy.

  The boy turned to face a man with dark hair and scarred features. “Dad!” Boba said, almost dropping his pocker off the edge of the fishing platform as he jumped up and ran to his father. Both were wearing foul-weather gear, and the fabric squelched when they hugged. As their forms were pelted by a steady drizzle from the dark, dreary sky, the boy said, “I thought you’d be away for another two days.”

  They were standing at the edge of a fishing platform that wrapped around one of the enormous pylons that supported the city Tipoca on the water world, Kamino. The man was named Jango Fett. A professional bounty hunter, he received payment for hunting criminals, outlaws, and just about anyone who ran afoul of someone wealthy, as only wealthy clients could afford Jango’s services. Some jobs required that he capture his quarry alive. Others didn’t. He had just completed an assignment in the Panna system, where he’d tracked down a munitions dealer who’d been stealing from his supplier. The supplier had hired Jango to make sure the dealer never stole again. The dealer had been an easy target.

  “I finished early,” Jango said.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” Boba said.

  “So am I,” Jango said, and he meant it.

  For most of his life, Jango never imagined being a father, but that was before his mission to one of the moons of Bogden, nine years earlier. There, he’d met a man who called himself Tyranus. Impressed by Jango’s abilities, Tyranus had recruited Jango to the planet Kamino so that Kaminoan scientists could use him as source material for an army of genetically engineered clones. In addition to his payment, Jango had insisted upon being given an unaltered clone—one that had not been subjected to independence inhibitors or growth acceleration. That clone was Boba, Jango’s perfect genetic replica.

  Jango looked at Boba’s smiling face. For Jango, it was almost like peering into a time-delayed mirror and seeing a reflection of himself as a boy, except that Boba—thanks to Jango’s guidance—was stronger and smarter than Jango had been at age nine. Boba was more than Jango’s son; he was the notorious bounty hunter’s ultimate act of self-preservation.

  “Want to watch me spear some more rollerfish?” Boba asked.

  “Sure,” Jango said. “But first turn off the laser. I want you to learn to sight-by-eye.”

  “Yes, Dad,” Boba said as he made an adjustment to the pocker’s controls.

  Boba was about to step back to the edge of the fishing platform when Jango’s comlink beeped at his belt. After checking its small display, he looked at Boba and said, “There’s a message waiting for me in our apartment.”

  Boba bit the inside of his upper lip. He wanted to tell his father to ignore the message for a few minutes, but he knew his father’s work was important. Boba asked, “May I stay outside a while longer?”

  “Yes,” Jango said. He was about to leave when he noticed a small trickle of blood appear at the corner of Boba’s mouth. He bent down in front of Boba, put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and said, “When I was young and got upset, I sometimes bit my lip, too. It’s a bad habit.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Boba said. “I won’t do it again.” The drizzle changed to a harder rain, and Jango watched the red smear wash away down Boba’s chin.

  Jango rose and walked to a hatch that was set in the side of the nearby pylon. After Jango exited through the hatch, Boba returned his attention to the waves beneath the fishing platform, and watched for silver glints in the water. Without relying on the pocker’s laser, he quickly killed three more rollerfish.

  An hour later, Boba wiped his boots before entering the apartment he shared with his father. Like most Kaminoan architectural interiors, the apartment was bright white and exceptionally clean. Boba thought he had given his father enough private time to deal with whatever message had been waiting for him, but, as he placed his foul-weather gear and pocker in a closet, he heard his father talking in the next room and realized he had returned too soon.

  Jango said, “You have a job for me?”

  “If you’re available,” answered another man, his voice a deep baritone. Boba edged around a corner to see his father standing before the holocomm, a device used for holographic communication. Jango faced a three-dimensional projection of an older man with silver hair and an impeccably trimmed beard. Boba recognized the man as Tyranus, the man who had brought Jango to Kamino. Boba had seen Tyranus before in previous holocomm transmissions.

  “I’m available,” Jango responded.

  Tyranus said, “The bounty is for three targets: Groodo the Hutt, a starship manufacturer from Esseles; Rodd, the Republic Senator for the Fondor system; and Hurlo Holowan, a droid-engineer who works for Groodo.” As Tyranus spoke, miniature holographic figures materialized next to his own so Jango could identify his targets. At a glance, Groodo’s wide head indicated he was a very old Hutt. Rodd was a sharp-featured, middle-aged male human who wore a black uniform bearing an embroidered logo for the starship manufacturer Republic Sienar Systems. And Holowan was a female human in a drab gray uniform with short dark hair and extremely pale skin. Tyranus continued, “It’s my understanding that they conspired to bring ruin to Fondor’s starship yards for personal gain.”

  Wishing his employer would get to the point, Jango said, “And?”

  Tyranus’s hologram smiled. “I want you to bring all of them to me.”

  “Dead or alive?”

  “Oh, definitely alive.”

  Jango considered this. He knew it would be easy to capture the droid-engineer. However, he also knew that both the Hutt and the Senator would be difficult prey. He said, “Alive will cost extra.”

  Tyranus asked, “Did you have a specific amount in mind?”

  “Three hundred thousand Republic credits. Half in advance.”

  “Agreed,” said Tyranus without hesitation. “I look forward to hearing from you after you’ve completed your assignment.” The hologram flickered off.

  Jango saw Boba and asked, “You heard everything?”

  Boba nodded.

  Jango turned to gaze through the room’s window. The rainfall was now torrential. He said, “Once, on the planet Balmorra, I had an encounter with one of Hurlo Holowan’s creations. An assassin droid.”

  “The Razor Eater,” Boba recalled. “You told me about it—metal teeth that could bite through anything. It hurt you pretty bad.”

  That’s putting it mildly, Jango thought. The droid had nearly killed him. Jango said, “Unfortunately, that Eater was not the last of its kind. Some say that Groodo’s compound on Esseles is defended by a squadron of Razor Eaters.”

  Still facing the window, Jango caught Boba’s reflection and thought he saw a flicker of concern in his son’s eyes. He said, “I know what you’re thinking, Boba. You’re thinking we have plenty of food, clean clothes, and a place to live. We don’t even need money on Kamino. So why does your father still work?”

  “I wasn’t thinking that,” Boba said. “I know why you work. It’s what you do best.”

>   Jango was surprised. Turning to face Boba, he asked, “Then what were you thinking?”

  “I was wondering if you’d take me with you on this job.”

  Jango had allowed Boba to join him on previous hunts, but those had been minor jobs. When he thought about the possibility of running into more Razor Eaters, his first instinct was to leave Boba on Kamino. But as much as he wanted to protect Boba, he also wanted to teach him how to fight and survive, and Boba would definitely learn from seeing a Razor Eater in action. Jango also knew that Boba was as resourceful as he was brave, and there wasn’t anyone Jango trusted more. If Jango ever needed help, he’d want it from Boba.

  Jango warned, “This wouldn’t be a training exercise.”

  “I know.” Boba held his father’s gaze.

  “You’d do as I say. Obey every order.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I tell you not to move, don’t even think of moving.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Good,” Jango said. “Then we’re going hunting.”

  The planet Trandosha, one of the inhabited planets in the Kashyyyk system, was the homeworld of a reptilian species called, naturally, the Trandoshans. For thousands of generations, Trandoshan culture, religion, and economics had centered on one thing and one thing only: hunting. And of all the living Trandoshan hunters, the most feared and respected was Cradossk—head of the intergalactic Bounty Hunters Guild.

  With his yellow scales, yellow-slitted eyes, and age-blunted fangs, Cradossk looked terrifying without even trying. He was seated at a long, crescentshaped table in the Bounty Hunters Guild’s council chamber, a high-ceilinged room with a terrazzo floor. The chamber was decorated throughout with empty armor and other trophies taken from the Guild’s enemies, many of whom had been slain by Cradossk himself. Cradossk liked to use the room whenever he met with an important client, such as the one he was currently expecting.

  Cradossk looked up as the chamber’s gilded, gem-encrusted arched doors opened. A servant announced, “The foreman of the Techno Union has arrived, sir.”

  “Send him in,” Cradossk said.

  The servant bowed, and stepped back to make way for Wat Tambor, the foreman of the Techno Union. Unable to breathe air, Tambor wore a high-pressure gas mask that partially concealed his green-skinned head, and his upper body was clad in a pressurized suit of durasteel armor. As Tambor approached Cradossk, the servant left, closing the doors behind him.

  “Welcome, Foreman Tambor,” said Cradossk. “How is business with the Techno Union?”

  “Highly profitable,” Tambor answered. Because of his mask, Tambor’s deep voice sounded as if it were being filtered through a pipe. “And how is life for the head of the Bounty Hunters Guild?”

  Cradossk smiled. “As long as there’s blood, anger, and money, life is grand.”

  “Your son is well?”

  Cradossk gnashed his teeth. “Bossk is just as mean as ever, thanks. And still following in his father’s footsteps.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Tambor said. “Now that all these pleasantries are out of the way, I want to place a bounty.”

  “Well, of course you do!” Cradossk chortled. “No one ever drops by my place just to say hello. Won’t you have a seat?”

  Tambor patted the sides of his cumbersome suit and replied, “Thanks, I’ll stand. There’s something else I want you to hear.” Tambor reached into a utility pouch at his side and took out a thin, rectangular audio player. He said, “This is a recording of a recent HoloNet transmission, a conversation between Groodo the Hutt, a starship manufacturer from Esseles, and Senator Rodd of Fondor.” Tambor pressed a button on the player’s side, then casually tossed the card-shaped device onto the crescentshaped table. They then heard Groodo and Senator Rodd discuss plans to destroy Fondor’s space yards.

  When the audio was over, Cradossk pointed to the card-shaped player and said, “If you turned that recording over to the Republic Senate, Groodo, Rodd, and Holowan would definitely be arrested. But if you were interested in Republic justice, you wouldn’t be here now with me.”

  “True,” Tambor admitted. “As I said, the Techno Union is heavily invested in Fondor. I want to punish anyone who would dare to risk my investments.”

  “Specifically, Groodo, Rodd, and Holowan,” Cradossk said.

  “Correct.”

  “What’s the bounty?”

  “I’ll post one hundred and fifty thousand Republic credits for all three of them,” Tambor said.

  Cradossk whistled. “For that kind of money, I’m tempted to take the job myself.”

  “I was hoping you would,” Tambor said. “After all, you didn’t become head of the Bounty Hunters Guild because of your good looks.”

  “Hah!” Cradossk laughed. “One last item. For a hundred and fifty big ones, I assume you want all three taken alive?”

  “Oh, no,” Tambor said. “I want their heads.”

  Less than an hour after receiving the holocomm message from Tyranus, Jango Fett was piloting his starship, Slave I, through hyperspace—the time-space dimension that allows for faster-than-light travel. A Kuat Systems Engineering Firespray-class patrol-and-attack vehicle, Slave I was originally designed for law enforcement and had been used for patrolling the asteroid prison Oovo IV until Jango had acquired it.

  Although the ship remained externally recognizable as a Firespray, Jango’s extensive modifications—including the installation of a naval minelayer and concealed missile launchers—made it more heavily armed than any other model. To evade enemies and catch unsuspecting prey, Jango had also programmed Slave I’s long-range sensor jammers to make his Firespray appear harmless on other vessels’ scanners; presently, anyone who scanned Slave I would misidentify it as an unarmed courier ship.

  In Slave I’s cockpit, Jango and Boba were seated side by side. Jango wore his body armor but not his helmet, which was secured to the back of his seat. Through the viewport, Jango and Boba saw brilliant bands of light fly past the ship. Jango consulted the nav computer screen and said, “Fifteen seconds to realspace. Check your safety harness.”

  Boba did as he was told. The harness that secured him to his seat was crossed tightly against his sternum. He glanced at the nav computer screen, checked the displayed numbers, and began counting down out loud: “Six…five…four…three… two…one…”

  Slave I’s engines revved down to a snarling hum. Outside the viewport, the bands of light suddenly became more brilliant, then appeared to wash away from the ship as it reentered realspace. Gazing out at the starscape, Boba spotted a large planet that was surrounded by numerous orbital stations. “That’s Fondor?” Boba asked.

  Jango nodded.

  Boba continued, “There’s a reason why you’re going after Senator Rodd first, isn’t there?”

  “Yes,” Jango replied. He had always encouraged Boba to ask questions, but he also tried to allow Boba to figure things out for himself. Instead of telling Boba the reason they were hunting Rodd before Groodo the Hutt and Hurlo Holowan, Jango asked, “Any idea why?”

  “Because you think he’ll be weak and you’re saving your strength for the other two?”

  Jango smiled. “Almost. When you’re hunting down a group that has split up, you start with the one who is most likely to help you get the others.”

  Boba thought about this, then asked, “How do you know Senator Rodd will help you find Groodo and Holowan?”

  “Because he’s a politician,” Jango said. “And in my experience, politicians are good at two things: telling people what they want to hear, and saying anything to save their own necks.” Jango gestured at the planet and space stations that were visible through the viewport, and said, “How would you find the Senator?”

  Boba answered, “Wide-range sensor sweep, scanning for any starships with Republic Senate transponder codes.”

  “Good,” Jango said. “Do it.”

  Boba tapped at the sensor controls, and the transponder data quickly popped up on a small screen. Revi
ewing the data, he noted, “There’s a Sienar Senatorial transport docked at Lunavolver Delta, an orbital station that also contains Republic Sienar Systems Diplomatic Headquarters.”

  “We’ll begin our search for Senator Rodd there,” Jango said. “Space traffic’s not too heavy. Want to fly us in?”

  “Yes!” Boba grabbed the flight controls. He knew that his father had already set the autopilot, but he enjoyed the feel of the controls, anyway. As the ship moved toward Lunavolver Delta, a gigantic smile broke out across Boba’s face. He loved being in the cockpit of Slave I.

  Jango gazed through the viewport, surveying the other starships that were visible in the area around Fondor. Out of habit, he began silently identifying each vehicle that he recognized and made mental notes on any unfamiliar vessels so he could later study them and learn their weak spots. He had just sighted an old Corellian Engineering Corporation corvette when there was a bright flash against the starscape, indicating that another ship had just materialized from hyperspace. Jango instantly recognized the new arrival as a modified SoroSuub light freighter. From its distinctive black-and-purple paint job, he even knew who owned it. Jango said, “Slow down.”

  “What’s wrong?” Boba asked as he hit Slave I’s inertial dampers.

  “That ship over there,” Jango said, pointing to the SoroSuub freighter. “It’s the Merciless Captivator. It belongs to Cradossk.”

  Boba didn’t need to be told who Cradossk was. “What’s he doing in the Fondor system?”

  “Same as us,” Jango said. “Working.”

  Boba asked, “Is there any chance he’s hunting Senator Rodd, too?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Jango replied. “We follow him.”

  Cradossk had left Trandosha immediately after his meeting with Wat Tambor, and his freighter, the Merciless Captivator, had made good time to the Fondor system. However, he was already wishing that he’d made the journey alone.

  “You fly this heap like a pig-lizard’s grandmother,” said Bossk, Cradossk’s twenty-nine-year-old son.