The Fett Dynasty II: Siege of Orri Prime

Leia did her best to suppress the smile battling to spread across her face by clamping her lips into a thin line. Turning on her heel, she walked back toward the communication console. “Lieutenant, re-open all public channels and holographic projectors. Admiral,” she said softly, turning a firm yet contrite countenance toward him, “I hand this operation back into your hands.”

Ackbar gazed at the young president, his large opaque eyes stern and a perhaps a little wounded, before nodding once. “Thank you, your Excellency. Tactical, load recon drone data into public channels.”

“Aye sir.”

Just alive? Luke’s disembodied voice echoed through Leia’s mind, and she could feel his mild displeasure. Not very Jedi of you, Leia. You must be fully aware Fett’s going to hand Czethros over to you beaten into paste.

Luke, she sent back with a hint of icy diplomacy threaded through her transmission, What if it was Han, and I was the one being held captive by a violent psychopath? Would you be so quick to judge then? Maybe compromise is not always the Jedi way, but sometimes…it may be necessary.

Sighing, Luke turned his attention to the tiny hologram playing across his X-wing’s projector.

“As you all can see,” Ackbar declared, stepping off his raised dais and stepping toward the holographic projection, “We are dealing with only one Imperial Destroyer. However, don’t let that fact go to your heads—one Imperial Destroyer is still one too many in my book. Orri Prime relief.” The holographic image blurred and fizzled into the cool, bluish-grey sphere of Orri Prime. The tiny shapes of TIE fighters dotted the planet’s stratosphere. “There appear to be two blockades set, one here in the Northern Hem, and one here closer to the equator. Luckily for us, all six TIE squadrons will be spread pretty thin between the manning the blockades and patrolling the Destroyer so, General Skywalker, you will take Rogue Squadron in as first wave—“ He stopped when a soft, derisive snort came over the com. “Who is that?” the Admiral demanded. “Who did that?”

Admiral,” Han piped in, “I’ll give you three guesses, and Chewie and I are not the first two.”

Ackbar narrowed his amphibious eyes. “You have a concern, MASTER Fett?”

“What are you going to use as a decoy?”

Ackbar stopped, and craned his domed head toward the com loudspeaker. “Pardon me?”

“A decoy,” Fett repeated petulantly. “What are you using?”

“Master Fett,” Ackbar replied with equal annoyance, “Why would we need to employ such a device as a decoy when we are manned well enough—“

“Because the second you leave orbit of this planet, the Imps’ scanners will pick you up more easily than Bantha hair picks up shit. It’ll only be a matter of seconds before every TIE in those squadrons will be on those X-wings. And then your whole element of surprise is pretty much fucked.”

Quiet titters and incredulous gasps flittered about the bridge as Ackbar folded his arms over his chest. “I have always held that the use of decoys should not be a part of civilized combat,ter ter Fett.”

“No wonder you’ve gotten your asses handed to you so many times.”

Ackbar’s salmon complexion burned into a dark red as he blew a sigh of utter aggravation through his gills. “Fine, Master Fett, suppose we do employ a decoy. What do you suggest we use?”

“You use me. I fly in ahead; they’ll pick me up on their scanners. I keep them busy, and then you launch your first wave.” A smirk crossed his lips under his helm. “They won’t be expecting me, and it’ll cause confusion. Plus, it’ll give me a head start into atmosphere.”

“You’re crazy, Fett,” Han piped in with a scathing snort. “They could deploy up to forty TIEs on you. How are you going to take on that many?”

“Easy, Solo. You do to them what they did to Orri Prime. You knock out their communications.”

“And just how do you propose we do that?” General Reeikan asked.

“Just leave that to me,” Fett replied flatly. He reached into a bin under the Slave I’s cockpit console, and pulled out the small silver disc marked Music From Earth. Slipping it into the silver-plated player on the console, he added, “I have my ways.”

Ackbar grimaced, turning a bemused look toward Leia Organa, who simply nodded. He turned away. “Very well, Fett. You will act as our decoy, once the battle briefing is over and we give you the signal—“

“Bye,” Fett grunted in a flat monotone as he punched the engines, and the Slave I tore from its position in a blaze of red light and fury.

“What the—“ Ackbar bellowed as he watched the Slave I growing ever smaller on the monitor. He had finally reached the end of his rope. “FETT! Gods and Hells, get back here or I’ll—“

“Don’t shrivel your gills, Admiral,” Fett snarled, veering the Slave I into an elegant arc around and away from Orri Alpha. “Just watch and follow my lead.”

The bridge broke out into pandemonium as Ackbar began barking orders and techs and officer scurried to carry them out. “Rogues Squadron, ready positions and standby! Gold Squadron, Grey Squadron, Green Squadron, stand by! Bay Four, re-launch recon drone and hone it in he She Slave I’s signal! Tantive Armada, align strike positions behind the Millennium Falcon! Transport Armada…” As Ackbar fired off orders, the coms spewed forth the affirmations of all commanders involved.

Fuming, Ackbar threw an angry glare at Leia. “President Organa, with all due respect…you better know what you’re doing.”

“I do, Admiral,” she answered with quiet composure. She paused for a moment, her gaze firm, before adding, “Trust him.”

* * *

“Report,” said Admiral Pellaeon to the shimmering hologram on the Imprimatur’s bridge.

A tall officer, wearing an Imperial ground force helmet and with meticulous looking features, lifted his holographic chin. “Admiral Pellaeon, General Maxinoy here. I am pleased to report that all enemy militia forces have surrendered and are in Imperial custody.”

Enemy militia, Pellaeon mused silently. A group of freed slaves, barely trained. Hardly a sweet victory, is it? “Where are they being kept?”

“In the mines, at the moment, until they are all identified with barcodes and the force shielding is insed aed around the townships. We have set up a temporary HQ in the Atimbora Township Hall—“

“Are there many wounded, General?” Pellaeon interjected.

Maxinoy smirked proudly. “Fortunately, no, Admiral. Imperial casualties were minimal, and they have been promptly tended to—“

“I meant the Orrians, Maxinoy. Are there many wounded in their numbers?”

The General knit his brow slightly. “Uh…yes sir, enemy casualties were heavy, but—“

“But they are being tended to, correct?” Pellaeon asked with a raised brow.

“Sir?” Maxinoy asked, his brow furrowing into even deeper wrinkles of puzzlement.

Pellaeon narrowed his eyes and set his jaw firm. “I didn’t send four medical shuttles down there for show, General! Tend to the enemy wounded, and those whose injuries are too great for field dressing will be transported to the medical bay here! Understood!”

“Aye, sir.”

“And I want all Orrians coded and back in their homes before nightfall! Is that clear?”

“Aye, sir,” Maxinoy replied, drawing his already thin lips into an even thinner line before signing off his hologram.

Pellaeon’s eyes felt suddenly dry. Reaching up to rub them, he let out a long, weary sigh through his nose just as he heard a young male voice behind him ask softly, “Sir?” He turned to see Captain Rhys standing behind him, wearing a vexed expression.

Pellaeon stared at the younger officer, but seemed to be looking more through him than at him. He lifted his red-eyed gaze to the Imprimatur’s bulkhead before murmuring, “I’ll be in my ready room if there is anything further to report.” Turning on his heel, Pellaeon began to stride across the bridge…

“Admiral!” one of the navigational officers exclaimed from his pit, “Incoming vessel! Starboard side!”

Stopping in his tracks, Pellaeon turned. “Is it one of ours?”

“Negative, sir. It’s coming from the other side of the system.”

“Lock on its coordinates! Onscreen!”

The officer’s hands flew over the sensor console until the sensor cameras locked onto the small speck hurtling through the void outside, growing ever larger on the Imprimatur’s gigantic monitor. “Sensors transmitting…” the officer reported, “A Kuat model…a Firespray 31, highly modified—“

“A Kuat Firespray?” Pellaeon muttered under his breath as he stepped closer to the monitor.

Captain Rhys came up beside his superior officer, mouth slightly agape as he perused the screen. “It can’t be…” He turned to Pellaeon. “Boba Fett?”

“Admiral! Incoming vessel is changing course!”

“Keep on him! Dispatch TIEs!” Pellaeon barked.

The nav officer paled. “It’s heading right fhe bhe bridge!” All heads snapped toward the bridge’s viewport, and all eyes saw the Slave I veer in a graceful sweep around and careen sideways right toward them…

“HIT THE DECK!” Rhys screamed as he hurled his arm around Pellaeon’s shoulders and dropped them both to the ground. All bridge and tech officers frantically joined them, diving to the deck and throwing their hands over their heads as the Slave I was about to impact…

But suddenly the Slave I, just meters from hitting the viewport’s force field, spiraled up and over the bridgetower. The energy from its thrusters lathed across the port’s glassine surface in rivulets of neon red as the engines roar shook the very bulkhead of the bridge.

Fett pulled the throttle down and over and fired off the stabilizer fins, arcing the Slave I once again over and around the massive ship. As he came up under the Imprimatur’s belly, he saw five TIE fighters hurling toward him. “Now that I have your attention,” he grunted under his breath, and a grin crept over his lips under his helm.

(Still positioned within the Republic’s convoy, Han Solo grimaced as he watched Fett’s onslaught via the recon drone’s signal. “Bastard stole my move,” he muttered to Chewbacca.)

“Sir,” Rhys panted as he scrambled to his feet and lifted Pellaeon from the deck, “Are you all right?”

Regaining his footing, Pellaeon irritably tugged down his uniform jacket and whirled around to the com officer. “Get Sword and Shiv Squadrons up here—NOW!” As the com officer barked the recall of pilots from planetside, Pellaeon gritted his teeth and threw a furiously baffled glare at the viewport. “What the HELL is Boba Fett doing here? He’s supposed to be DEAD!”

“Could it be, sir,” Rhys offered, still trying to catch his breath, “that he’s working with Czethros?”

Pellaeon narrowed his eyes as he let out a crude and highly uncharacteristic curse. “That double-crossing spawn of a Huttese whore! Lieutenant, how many more are out there?”

“None, sir,” the sensors’ officer reported, “Just the Slave I.”

“Just one?” Rhys’s mouth dropped slightly agape as his brow puckered. “Fett is attacking an Imperial Star Destroyer…alone?”

…………

Fett thrust the throttle down, dipping the nose below the path of the oncoming TIE fighters. The TIEs, in response, followed suit, spewing forth a mad flurry of cannon shots behind him. Banking hard, he veered the Slave I level again, hug jug just underneath the Imprimatur’s belly and through haze of blaster fire from the bottom-mounted turrets, heading toward the stern facing planetside and watching the dozens of twin-paneled specks emerging from the atmosphere, speeding toward him…

He hit the com. “Ackbar, stand by for my signal. When I say go…give order to attack.”

“Affirmed,” Ackbar croakvoicvoice crackled through the com. “All squads standing by.”

While controlling the ship with one hand, Fett’s other hand flew over the command console. “Ee’ui taa (Computer).”

“Cu nata (Affirmative),” responded the Slave I’s oddly feminine synthesized voice.

“Cu’aye t oot pwanai oi prenere ee’ui saastna (Load Victory-class Destroyer communication speculations).”

“Cu nata.”

As the Mandelorian-speaking computer performed the command, Fett spoke to his helm. “Targeting system.” Within his visor, the electronic data of the targeting system pinpointed the oncoming TIEs before him, enabling him to blast the leading three fighters into shrapnel while he waited for the information to load…

“Pwanai oi prenere ee’ui saastna tua’ki t (Victory-class Destroyer communication specs fully loaded).”

Hitting the thrusters and banking the throttle hard port side, Fett flew right through the explosion of one of blasted TIEs. Calmly and seemingly indifferent to the swarm of TIEs chasing him, he perused the data flying across one of the many small monitors mounted above and below the cockpit viewport. Line after line popped across the screen as the technical specs of the Imprimatur were displayed before him until he saw exactly what he was looking for…hitting the throttle hard up, he performed a graceful loop up and over the chasing TIEs, heading back toward the Imprimatur’s top decks. “Ee’ui taa.”

“Cu nata.”

“Oi-cun Impri ee’ui prebare t cua ke (Find Imperial communication frequency and lock on).”

“Cu nata.”

Fett banked the ship hard one more time until he was skimming directly over the deck, TIEs still in chase and still firing, their shots bouncing off the Slave I’s powerful deflector shields. As another dozen TIEs ascended over the tip of the bow heading straight for him, Slave I’s computer chimed, “Impri ee’ui oi-cun hada (Imperial communication frequency found and locked).”

“Cua’ di niaati pre (On speaker).” Quite suddenly, the cockpit was flooded with the dozens of voices of the Imperial TIE pilots as well as the Imprimatur’s main communications officer…

A soft curve of a satisfied smile tugged at Fett’s lips. With one foot controlling the throttle, one foot firing the thrusters and one hand tapping out blaster shots from the rotating turrets, he reached over the console, his gloved finger just hovering over the “PLAY” button on the lit little contraption with the Music From Earth disc inside…

Just as the commander of the slew of TIEs clearing the Destroyer’s bow exclaimed into the com, “Imprimatur, this is Sword Leader! We’ve got him completely surrounded! He can’t go anywhere now!”

On bridge, Pellaeon clasped his hands behind his back and ordered gruffly, “Fire at will.”

“Affirmative, Admiral. Sword Squadron, this is Sword leader! On command, rapid fire! And…”

At precisely that moment, Fett hit the PLAY button of the portable CD player that was hooked directly into the Slave I’s sensor jammers. The little electronic signal coursed through the cabling system, into the sensor jammer’s main computer ship, and out through the jammers directly above the Imprimatur’s main communication amplification dish…

“FIR—“

Sword Leader’s command was suddenly and deafening drowned out by an earsplitting, barely-pubescent male’s voice that ripped through every speaker on the Imprimatur and earpiece of every Imperial pilot—

AAAAAHHHH--Can't Stand It!

I Know You Planned It!

But I'm Gonna Set It Straight,

This Watergate!

Every pilot in every TIE all screamed at the same time, sending their fighters swerving and careening as they let go of the controls, trying to rip their helmets off. All hands of the bridge crew of the Imprimatur flew up to their ears as the blaring cacophony of voice and loosely rhythmic clamor bounced off the bulkhead and the deck—

I Can't Stand Rocking When I'm In Here
Because Your Crystal Ball Ain't So Crystal Clear

“Lieutenant!” Pellaeon bellowed over the excruciating din, “shut it off!”

So While You Sit Back and Wonder Why
I Got This Fucking Thorn In My Side!

Wincing from the sheer agony of the atrocious music, the com officer’s hands beat and pounded on every switch and button on the console. “Admiral, I can’t! I can’t shut it off! He’s overridden thmmanmmand codes!”

Oh My God, It's A Mirage!

“He’s WHAT?!”

I'm Tellin' Y'all It's a Sabotage!

“I always did like this song,” Fett muttered quietly to himself, his head unconsciously bobbing to the beat of the cataclysmic throng as he punched the thrusters and hit the stabilizers and pulled the Slave I out of the way of several TIEs just nanoseconds before they collided.

Balls of flame flashed over the Imprimatur and through its viewports, while jettisoned wing panels, engine parts, and limbs crashed through the cockpit portals and into the wings of the already distracted and deaf TIE pilots. The formerly tight-knit groupings of the TIE fighters disintegrated into a disarray of confusion and chaos, with fighters careening in all directions…

…………………

The bridge crew of the Defiance, as well as every pilot, trooper, tech, and droid in the Republic fleet, all gaped at their holoprojectors and monitors in dumbfounded shock as they watched the Slave I take the Imps on.

“Kest and Krinick!” Tycho Celchu sputtered through his com, “Look at him go!”

In his X-wing, Wedge shook his head. “They’re just flopping around like headless womprats! What the hell did he do to them?”

“He’s amazing,” Luke murmured through a soft smile, highly impressed by Fett’s piloting skills.

“He’s nuts,” Solo muttered back. The derisive Wookiee snort that came from the seat beside him did not escape Han’s attention. “What, furball?”

*Oh, nothing, cub. Except I wish I had a credit for every time someone said that about YOU…*

……………….

As Fett swerved the Slave I up and around toward a loose grouping of disabled fighters, he lightly touched the MUTE button to the speakers and hit the com. “Ackbar,” he said calmly as his finger wrapped around the cannon trigger, “they’re all yours.” With that, Fett hit the PLAY button once again…

'Cause What You See You Might Not Get
And We Can Bet So Don't You Get Souped Yet
You're Scheming On A Thing That's A Mirage
I'm Trying To Tell You Now It's Sabotage!

And the horrific music filled the cockpit once again as he pulled the trigger and began to mercilessly blast every disabled TIE fighter in his way toward Orri Prime’s atmosphere…

…………

“Ackbar…they’re all yours.”

Fett’s words coming over the Republic fleet’s com ignited an outbreak of activity throughout the fleet. The Tantive blockade-runner armada aligned itself into position, backed by the convoy of troop transports, with the Millennium Falcon sandwiched between them.

Admiral Ackbar rose from his seat, placing his webbed hands on his hips. He looked down to Leia Organa, who stood just a few meters from his raised dais and returned his look with a softly confident smile. “Republic Fleet,” barked Admiral Ackbar, resuming his seat, “ENGAGE!”

Breathing deeply to attune himself with the Force, Luke calmly ordered through the com, “OK, Rogues, let’s go!”

“PUNCH IT!” hollered Tycho with unrestrained glee.

ked ked and loaded!” added Wedge.

“Finally!” Han exclaimed. “Chewie, full throttle!”

Scores of other ecstatic battle cries filled the comways as every Republic vessel, large and small, every fighter, transport, blockade runner, and frigate launched themselves over the apex of the massive red gas giant that had served as their fortress. As graceful and beautiful as a flock of Yavin avril, the Fleet glided through the velvet blackness in perfect unity toward the grayish-blue sphere of Orri Prime far off in the distance…

And as the billowy white clouds of Orri Prime grew larger and denser in his view, Boba Fett briefly closed his eyes as words formed in his mind…

I’Lai…beautiful swi’la nai, …I’m coming…

Still sitting in her chair and cradling her infant son, I’Lai slowly raised her head as her breath caught in her throat, and her heart leapt with hope as she whispered…

“Boba…?”

* * *