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Jedi Insurgency 131
🕑 Added 2025-10-27 16:14:53 +0000 UTCThe early morning mists had burnt away, and the sun peaked through on a clear blue-sky day. Gathered at a large race track full of obstacles, boost pads, and other gimmicks, were 8 contestants. Mounted upon sleek speeder bikes, they awaited the signal to begin.
The crowd in the stands was a roaring ocean of color: nobles, gamblers, mechanics, and droids all pressed together in the stands were happily mingling, the anticipation of a fast pace, high-skill race was pushing them into a fervor.
Amongst the participants was the cloned son of Jango Fett, and famed future bounty hunter, Boba Fett. Several years had passed since the murder of his father, and he had grown into a young teenager. Fit like any Jango clone, he had been trained in traditional Mandalorian warfare, and currently ran a small crew in pursuit of bounties.
Initially, Boba had entered this competition to earn enough money to bribe his way off of the Empire’s wanted list. He didn't know who he had offended, but life as a bounty hunter often went beyond the law. Receiving a bounty was a point of honor for a true Mandalorian, but that wasn't to say it wasn't a hassle.
Visiting Imperial planets always required an abundance of caution, and already, he had survived several ambushes from several fellow bounty hunters. Each victory had been close, and almost cost him his life. Yet he would have it no other way. He wanted to be the best, to prove his father's true teachings were much better than what those amateur clones received. For himself, and the pride of Mandalore, he would kill every last Jedi, and bring justice to their people.
Clenching his gloved fists on his handlebars whilst his emotions began to get heated, a message over the comms entered his ear.
“It's been confirmed. The short one with the black hair. He's listed as KIA, but the scanner has a 92% match.” A woman's voice sounded out.
“And the price for his head?” Boba calmly asked, as if he were asking the price of some vegetables.
The sound of a keyboard typing away met Boba's ear, and then the woman spoke again.
“...he's listed as a Padawan, so 10,000 creds should be the market value.”
“A Padawan.” Boba said with an ugly expression.
He wanted to challenge himself, to fight against a Knight at least! When his father dueled Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, it had been like those fights from the old sagas. A Padawan was too easy, hardly worthy of his time.
“Don't get full of yourself, kid. The official file says he's KIA, but the darknet dossier says differently.”
“...” Boba remained silent. His associate, Aurra Sing frequently tried to get a rise out of him.
“This arrogance is going to see you flying face first into a Sarlacc pit someday, I swear.” Aurra sighed over the mic. “This shortie, Yon, is known to follow Revan. Supposedly entered a dogfight with the Anakin Skywalker, and lived.”
Aurra's words were serious, and the underlying meaning was clear. Yon was trouble.
Boba grinned to himself. Trouble was what he was least afraid of.
“Good.”
“Kid, are you listening to anything I'm saying? If we merc this shortie so blatantly as in a bantha-loving Grand Prix, than his Master-who is more than likely lurking nearby-will slice you into a thousand pieces. I know you saw the footage of him electrocuting a hundred soldiers at once!”
“Imperial propaganda." Boba replied noncomitally.
“More stubborn than his father.” Aurra sighed in frustration. “Fine, but if we do this, we might as well do it clean. No need for you to make a move or be so blatant. Once the course is a third of the way through, I'll snipe him down. Bosk, meanwhile, will be lurking in the swamp section nearby, I'll have him put on a camo cloak, and set up some explosives.” Aurra said in a matter of fact tone.
“No. He's mine. Interfere, and you're next.” Boba coldly intoned.
“Kid yo-” Aurra got out, and then Boba cut the line.
Shifting the-slightly too large-beskar helmet he had inherited from his father left and right, Boba narrowed his eyes as he took in the competition.
One racer, three bikes over to his right, drew his attention. Short, and possessing black hair, this was his target, this was Yon. Official records said the Jedi Padawan had perished during a pirate raid months ago, but Boba never forgot a face. He didn’t need some scanner to confirm the truth. A warrior was always aware of his surroundings, and Boba had noticed Yon the second he had stepped foot on the track.
Clad in armor that had waged war upon both the Jedi & the Sith, pride and anticipation flooded his veins. This family heirloom was full of servos and gears meant to enhance a man so that he could compete with those mystics, and their speed. His scanners could track individual bolts, and he was equipped with both flammable, & sonic weaponry. His one regret was that due to the nature of the race, he had left his jetpack behind.
Ensuring that all of his gear was in order, Boba began to plan his mission. Although Naboo was an Imperial planet, and theoretically pro-Palpatine, he was not an idiot, and knew that these bleeding heart artists would not approve of a blatant murder. His goal was to catch the shortie on one of the boost panels, and accelerate him beyond control into a wall. Should that plan result in failure, then the swamp section of the race had plenty of paths that went out of bounds…his warrior spirit was inclined towards this path, but a victory due to his own intelligence and guile would be no less honorable.
As for Aurra, Bosk and the others, it wasn't that he thought less of them, or that he disrespected his enemy. In fact, it was because he respected this enemy-someone who dueled Anakin Skywalker was not some no name-and was worthy of being the first Jedi he slew. For himself, for his father, Clan Fett, and the glory of Mandalore, it had to be by his hand!
During Boba's musings, an announcer’s voice crackled through the loudspeakers, and quietened the crowd down as everyone was eager for the race to finally begin.
“Ladies and gentlebeings, welcome to the Outer Rim Division Finals, the Naboo Eve Grand Prix! The finest racers this side of the Core are risking life, limb, and dignity for your entertainment!”
The crowd erupted in cheers at his words, and people desperate to get rich were betting their homes on the outcome of the race.
“And let’s not forget our generous sponsor, Palpatine Protein Shakes! ‘Because unlimited power starts with unlimited protein!’”
A laugh rippled through the stands, and the announcer continued to read out ads, and introduce the contestants. Boba didn’t smile. His attention never left Yon. The Jedi’s posture was steady, calm…perhaps too calm. He wondered if the boy sensed him. If he could feel the faint pulse of hate radiating from him.
Imagery of a hot desert arena came to mind. Boba’s gloved fingers flexed over the throttle, his breath was hot as he relived that fateful day. Long hours of training took over, and Boba entered the zone. His hatred became like a half forged blade, his iron will struck it, and molded it into outward energy, into purpose.
By the end of the day, a Jedi would lie dead.
The lights above the track began to flash, and all idle thoughts shifted to the back of his mind.
Red.
Yellow.
Engines revved in unison, clogging the air thick with the smell of repulsorlift exhaust and the sound of a speeder coming to life. Boba’s heart slowed as his focus sharpened. He could see Yon’s reflection in his mind's eye, and imagined the look of horror upon his face as he lost control, and crashed.
Snapping his eyes open, he saw the light flash green. Depressing the handle, his bike was off!
Dust and heat tore through the air as they rocketed down the course. The track started off in an open air, concrete area reminiscent of an inner city. After the initial section ended, they would pass through a section of Theed, enter a swamp, emerge through an underwater tunnel, then return to the start.
Boba’s bike hugged the turns, and landed on boost pads like an expert. None of his motions were wasted as he weaved through the chaos of the pack like a predator on the hunt. The roar of engines, the vibration of his handlebars, they ignited a boyish glee in his heart, and for an instant, he almost forgot about the bounty, and wanted to win.
One racer ahead swerved wide on a curve in a reckless maneuver.
‘Amateur.’ Boba internally scoffed.
Seeing this opening, he cut close, then clipped the man’s stabilizer fin with a well timed flick from his bike. The other contestant's speeder spun out, and skidded into the wall, its operator barely bailing in the knick of time.
Cheers erupted from the stands, but Boba felt no pride or pleasure from the action. He was a professional. Only those who shared or surpassed him in skill were worthy of respect.
“Looks like Racer Five’s taking an early retirement! Courtesy of our favorite young daredevil, Boba Fett! Who said Mandalorians were pacifists!” The announcer jeered.
Boba barely registered the words. His visor tracked another racer to his left, this one was a green-skinned Rodian. The alien tried to block him, and force him into an upcoming obstacle, but Boba twisted his bike sideways, and fired a smoke canister from his vehicle's forward mounted cannons. Lethal weapons weren't allowed on this course, but gadgets were! The blast of smoke blocked his vision, and the Rodian panicked, veering off-course and into a pylon. Another fireball erupted due to a crashed speeder, this time its operator wasn't so lucky.
Scanning the crowd, Boba saw that Yon had dispatched two other racers who had tried to gang up on him. The Jedi Padawan was fast, faster than he had expected. His racing line was graceful, clean, and without flaw. It infuriated him. Although he respected skill, he refused to respect a Jedi!
Boba grit his teeth, and narrowed his eyes. It was time to end this farce.
On the next straight away, they entered the swamp section of the course, and Boba pushed his speeder to the absolute limit. The craft shook and shuddered, almost losing control, and escaping his grasp. Yet Boba's hands were steady, and his will was iron. No risk was too great when hunting the most valuable prey!
Engines screaming, he came up beside Yon. Ahead, the course forked, and one path was deliberately lined with acceleration pads that would launch a racer to beyond dangerous speeds. This alternate route was theoretically possible, but in reality, it was a trap set up by the organizers. Everyone who had fallen into these boostpads during previous races had died without fail.
‘Perfect.’
Boba nudged closer, and was now shoulder to shoulder with Yon, his speeder’s fins brushing the other’s side panel. He slammed his weight to the right, forcing Yon toward the acceleration lane. The Jedi’s bike caught the edge of the pad, and its boosters flared, hurling him forward toward the wall.
For a split second, Boba thought it was done. That he had triumphed over his hated foe.
But things were never so simple with these religious fanatics. Yon twisted his handlebars and pivoted in midair with impossible skill. The bike skimmed the wall, causing sparks to fly, and bounced back toward Boba’s lane. The maneuver threw them both off balance. Their repulsorlift fields tangled, and the sound of screeching metal met his ears as each teen struggled for dominance.
Boba swung a fist, connecting with Yon’s jaw. When the Jedi raised his own fist, Boba was confident in the armor of his forefathers. However, Yon struck back with a wave of his hand, causing Boba to experience vertigo.
‘Damned Jedi tricks!’ Boba seethed.
The two continued to trade blows, and their speeders locked together, skidding down the track in a storm of sparks.
““Fett and Yon are giving us a show! This is the birth of a new rivalry folks!” The announcer cheered.
Boba snarled, shoving Yon off, just as the track curved sharply. Both racers wrenched their bikes free at the last second, narrowly missing a murky puddle of water. Trees and the croak of amphibians met his senses as the swamp whooshed by.
For a heartbeat, everything slowed: the dust, the noise, the pounding in Boba’s chest. It was all so intense.
And then the sound of a high powered sniper round sang through the air, and bright orange explosives met his eyes.
Flying off-track-and conveniently out of the prying eyes of the race cameras-Yon was forced to abandon his burning speeder, jump flipped to the side, and ignited his lightsaber.
“Afraid to lose the race, Mandalorian? For a people who pride themselves on honor, you sure are cowardly.” Yon taunted.
Inwardly, Boba was seething at his teammates actions, yet he refused to rise to Yon's provocations.
“Hollow words, Jedi. It is not I who am the coward.” Boba simply stated.
He had read up on Jedi psychology. He knew that the Masters were tough, but the Knights, the Padawans? The best way to subdue them was to undermine their psyche, to unbalance their emotions. He was going to break him.
Yon grinned ferally, and then disappeared.
“Kid, run!” Aurra's voice came on the comms.
“I smell, hssss!” Bosk began, but soon his camo-cloaked form was revealed, the tip of a green lightsaber tinged in red had penetrated his back, and was poking out of his chest.
“I haven't killed a Trandoshan before! You're next, Mandalorian.”
Boba frowned as he watched his long-time crewmate fall lifelessly to the ground.
This Jedi was clearly unhinged.
Unholstering two pistols from a hidden compartment in his speeder, Boba gave them a twirl, then opened fire.
Deflecting the shots, Boba was forced to maneuver with his speeder.
His heart raced, his eyes dilated.
Boba focused his everything on the Jedi before him, and was hyping himself up for the duel of his life.
Suddenly, and without any warning, his speeder came to a dead halt.
Emerging from the dark of the swamp, and clad in living shadows like a creature from nightmare was the boogeyman of all old Mandalorian tales.
Feeling his throat go dry, Boba revved the engine for all it was worth, and the speeder bucked, and shuddered in place. Yet it would not move!
Boba raised his hands and fired his blaster. The man vanished, and reappeared in front of him without a word.
Sweat drenched Boba's spine, was this it?
~~~~~~
AN: Insert Revan Theme.exe
Comments
Anthony Maxwell
Well rip boba Fett and good riddance. 💀☠️
Sin Vergil
Even Corvus's students are already carving out their own legacy, their own mark upon galactic history.
