Caedus would have to do something about the Bes’uliik. The simplest option was to buy a squadron for the GA, even if that rankled. But if Fett could play the longer game, so could he; the fighter was a joint project with the Verpine of Roche, part of a cozy mutual aid treaty between Keldabe and the Verpine hives. Caedus put the Verpine down on his list of beings to educate later. He would also steer clear of Mandalore for the time being. He had more urgent issues in front of him.
Fondor was still a major irritant, churning out warships for the Confederation at its orbital yards. It was a continuing threat, and it lay close to rich mineral resources in an asteroid belt; it built Star Destroyers. Assets like that couldn’t be allowed to remain in enemy hands.
So he would deal with Fondor as his next priority. He picked up his comlink and keyed in the code of his closest and most irritating colleague, Admiral Cha Niathal, joint Chief of State of the GA.
He didn’t see eye-to-eye with admirals lately.
“Admiral, “he said cheerfully. “We really have to do something about Fondor…”
Chapter 2
Thank you for your recent payment. The outstanding estate of the late Hidu Rezodar has now been released by the Registry of Testaments and Legacies, and you may collect the items anytime in the next ten days. Now the claim process has been activated, any item not removed by that time will be auctioned by the State of Phaeda and you will forfeit all ownership. Any taxes or duties payable on the items must be settled before leaving the planet.
-Message from the Phaedan State Treasury to Boba Fett, Mand’alor, Al’Ori’Ramikade-Leader of the Mandalorian Clans, Commander of Supercommandos
BRALSIN, NEAR KELDABE, MANDALORE
The weathered helmet of Fenn Shysa still stood on a granite column in the clearing, firmly secured by a durasteel peg.
Only animals or storms would have dislodged it; nobody would have thought of stealing the relic of a much-loved Mandalore. It had even survived the Yuuzhan Vong’s attempt to devastate the planet. Shysa was revered.
“Been a long time, Shysa.” Boba Fett didn’t make a habit of talking to dead men, except his father. It was the first time he’d visited the site. “You got your way.”
The helmet had once been vivid green with a red T-section, but the paint had dulled to browner tones, and the scrapes and dents of battle were more visible. The memorial was a substitute for a proper Mandalore’s grave; Shysa’s body was still in the Quence sector where Fett had left it. The helmet was all he’d brought back. It was an apt memorial for a populist leader, to be commemorated in the same way as any ordinary Mandalorian. Only the Mand’alor, the head of state of a stateless people, was buried. Their nomadic warrior culture had no tradition of orderly cemeteries.
Where will they bury me? If I have any say in it, when the end really comes, I’ll just set Slave I on autopilot for the Outer Rim, and keep going.
Fett had been an absentee Mand’alor, ignorant of blown people’s traditions. His lessons, whether he wanted them or not, came from his newfound granddaughter Mirta, who insisted on calling him Ba’buir-grandfather-and encouraging him to embrace his heritage. Relations between the two of them were…. tepid. That was a big improvement. They’d started out as homicidal.
He stared at Shysa’s helmet, remembering. The crazy barve. Was I worth it? “You’d only say I told you so, so save your breath - “
“I can’t wait for you any longer.”
The sudden voice in his helmet’s audio-link made him jump, but it was just Mirta. She was itching to get under way for Phaeda.
“You’ll wait, “he said. “You’ve waited three months. You can wait ten minutes more.”
Fett tapped two fingers to his helmet in a farewell salute to Shysa and swung back onto the speeder bike.
If you only look after your own hide, then you’re not a man.
That was just about the last thing Shysa ever said to him before he died.
Fett set off for Goran Beviin’s farm, skimming above the silver ribbon of a tributary that flowed into the Kelita River. The landscape was changing. Since he’d first returned to a planet still struggling back to life after the Yuuzhan Vong had done their best to kill it, Mandalorians scattered around the galaxy had started coming home, thousands of them, and then hundreds of thousands, and more. The land was recovering. Farming was beginning again on tracts salted and poisoned by the vongese. It gave him a good feeling. Mando’ade showed their defiant streak by getting old farms thriving again rather than find new, easier land to cultivate.
No, the crab-boys-as Beviin still called the Yuuzhan Vong-hadn’t won.