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Tatooine was supposed to be an afterthought. A temporary hideout. One of those worlds where the sand would barely have the chance to cling to her boots before she was off again.
That was before Fennec had shot her mouth off instead of her sniper rifle. She’d had bounties on her head before, but none this… enticing. Bad luck for her that the fool she’d pissed off had powerful friends in the New Republic. Now here she was shipless and on her own, deep in the Dune Sea.
She had a plan, though. Always did: two or three if she was lucky. She settled into wait on the rocky high ground beneath the gleaming triple moons. They were prettier than she’d remembered, their light surprisingly clean and clear despite the ever-present sand on the wind.
It was by that fading light, mingled with the rising dawn, that she sank to her knees from a blaster shot in the gut. Her cuffed hands could do nothing but break her fall. She crumpled to the ground, blood in her mouth mingling with the fine grit of sand.
The last thing she thought before the light vanished was Another rookie mistake.
Firelight danced on the sand. The smell of burning bantha droppings, sweeter than she would have guessed, drifted past her on the night breeze. Boba Fett sat beside her, skulking in the heavy dark, and he spoke plainly.
She listened with a wary ear. Could be another trap. Anger flared within her, the sick sear of knowing that that Corellian punk had been the one to take her out. She’d had him on her side. The audacity! What did Fett have to offer that made him any more trustworthy? Trust was just another liability.
But her hand brushed against the whirring mechanical mods humming away in her belly. Fennec gave Fett a long, appraising stare, the intense sort that most people instinctively looked away from. He didn’t break. He simply regarded her with the same level of concentration.
This wasn’t the same Boba Fett she’d seen in passing here and there in scuzzy nightclubs or glittering highrises, taking jobs from the highest bidder. That Fett would have left a competitor to their death without a second thought. This one… The armor and ego were gone now, replaced by plain black robes and a keen gaze.
Maybe there was something here. Maybe she could bear the sand on her boots a little longer.
She’d always thought Jabba’s palace had good bones. Not just the ones piling up in the rancor pit and the middens, but the walls themselves, good solid Tatooinian sandstone. In the Core, this stuff sold well for luxury apartments. Examining its red whorls and patterns up close, feeling its cool slickness beneath her gloved hand, she could see why.
There was work to do here here. The sort she was good at, yes, but there were hints at something more. Partnerships, trade networks, even… diplomacy. Shit she’d never in a thousand years or a million parsecs thought she’d have a hand in, but here she was. Life was funny that way.
She leaned back in her chair, raising up one boot to rest against the wooden table. Wood on Tatooine was priceless beyond measure, and the feast laid out upon it worth nearly as much. She grabbed a platter of ronto ribs and a dish of braised Rustibaran vegetables, gleaming with fresh red and green herbs that left a delicate perfume wafting above the dish. She allowed herself the private luxury of a wide grin of anticipation, before letting her face settle back into its customary mask.
She didn’t mind being on her own for the moment. Boba was still working on healing after his ill-planned spelunking in the sarlacc’s corpse, and while he was decent company, this was a spread as easily enjoyed by one as it was two. She dipped a vast crusty tengrain loaf into the glistening ronto juices and took a bite. It was a helluva lot better than black melon juice.
Fennec let out a long breath, eyes skimming over the exit points of the room, always searching for the flicker of movement that might indicate a threat. But there was no movement. There were only the sounds of the distant desert winds out on the Dune Sea, audible even through the shielded windows. They sang a lonely song, and Fennec wondered about Boba’s Tuskens, the journeys he might have taken with them, the curious weapon he kept always at his side. Perhaps they were out there still, beneath the triple moons.
She took a drink of spotchka, sighing as its familiar burn gilded her throat. How strange to find a tribe instead of being born to one; how strange to stay with one at all. Leaving was far easier. It was one of her many well-honed skills.
A shadow at the entrance to the hall moved, but it was only Boba, looking better. He surveyed the table and its offerings, luscious meats, basted landshrimp and sandfish, towering platters of green flatbreads and mashed marrow.
He grunted. “I’ve told them this is unnecessary.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Fennec, dropping her leg from the table so she could more easily tear into one of her ronto ribs. Dank farrik, it was good. “Besides, your new pet can always have the leftovers.”
Boba’s face worked into something like a smirk. “Fair enough.”
He sat at the table, serving himself. She made a note to try some of those roasted jewelbirds later. They ate together in near-silence, breaking the quiet periodically to discuss the next plans of attack, what they would need to deal with the Mayor and the Pykes, what they could commit of their allies and tribute. It was talk among equals, business-like and direct, but easy, too.
It’s probably temporary, she thought. But here, spotchka bright and burning in her chest, Boba Fett at her side, and damn good food at the table, she could believe that maybe it was something more.