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Part Time Job	By : dschinny Category: Star Wars (All) > General Views: 7157 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Wars movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8 - Imagination is a warrior’s most important weapon.
In the living room, Boba dropped a notepad on the table and smiled at her. “Feeling better?” he piped up “I’ll show you how we brew tea here.”
Tomoe gulped and straightened her back, shrugging Fett’s hand off in process. She couldn’t break down now. Not in front of the boy. “Yes, show me, please.” She smiled and followed Boba to a dispenser of sorts installed in the living room wall. ‘Don’t think of it.’ No, she would not take it out on the small one who made her feel like a human being again.
Keeping an eye on the doorway, Jango went into the kitchen to gather ration cubes and cut three slices of an uj-cake for a late breakfast. Storing the knife in a 4-year-old-Boba-proof drawer, he made a mental note to re-organize the utensils later so the new housekeeper could do her job without posing a treat. ‘Back to minus 1,’ he sighed inwardly and returned to the living room.
Boba grabbed a steaming mug, lead Tomoe to the corner seat and pushed the notepad aside. Tomoe shuffled past him, carefully evading her pant’s slipping hems and arranged the other two cups. She sat on the unfamiliar furniture with straight back. Boba scrambled on the bench beside her, pulled his socked feet up and took a sip. “Hmmm... shig”
Tomoe took a sip as well. The tisane was a citrus flavored onslaught to her nerves but it would probably calm her stomach and cover-up the bad taste left in her mouth. “Good.” She nodded in agreement “What were you looking at?”
“My homework. I missed a lesson or two during the trip.”
“Two.” Jango’s gravelly voice commented from the kitchen.
Tomoe decided to ignore it. “What are they about?”
Boba slipped the notepad between them “’Hundred most rampant intelligent species and their vital parts’ and ‘maths: operational tasks’... Oh, uj-cake,” he commented his father’s return.
“Sounds interesting.” It covered her question if the dried and cut brown block accompanied by three cubes was edible at all. The small one seemed to be as much ahead of other kid’s schedule as the food was behind civilized standards.
Jango opened a cube and started shoveling down the content.
“May I have a look at it later?” She mirrored his actions carefully. The cube’s contents tasted neutral, the cake was very sweet with a mixture of aromas.
“Sure.” Boba dug in as well.
“How did you learn to read?”
“There’s a game... in here.” He moved through the desktops with his left, holding a slice of cake in his right hand. “You have to connect sounds and signs, words and pictures.... and the other way round.”
She watched him flipping icons, menus and keys faster than she could follow and realized that she had no idea what he was doing, even less to help him. She took another sip and watched intently, her hands folded around the mug for warmth. She turned her head at a shuffle of armor plates and a heavy weight pressing down the upholstery beside her.
“Put the cup down.” Jango voice was level yet carried a warning. He reached over, caught her elbow and pulled her tightly against him. Then he produced a binder and cuffed her right wrist to an eyebolt that was embedded near the corner. “Carry on. I’ll be back in a few.” He patted her free shoulder, withdrew and locked down the kitchen behind him for good measure.
Boba’s eyes followed his father gathering his gauntlets and utility belt from the storage. Then he put on the helmet and was gone. Tomoe caught her slipping pants with her free hand and scrambled into the bench’s corner to minimize the strain in her shoulder. “A few minutes or a few hours?”
Boba made a face “Usually? - Hours.”
Tomoe sighed half strained, half relieved then lifted her bare feet and sat on her heels for warmth. “How about this game?”
Boba placed the notepad on the desk between them “It’s a little boring.”
“Then I better learn it quickly.” Tomoe dipped her fingertip into the shig to make side notes on the polished black surface of the table.

Jango marched into the ammunition chamber to recharge darts, see to the repair of his buy’ce and re-assume command over his ARC-units which he had deferred to two Cuy’val Dar for the time being. One of them, Kal Skirata, was already refitting one of his tools of trade on a workbench. So he used the helmet’s comlink to call-in the other, Walon Vau. Fett then stood at workbench opposite to Skirata and disassembled the dart thrower of his gauntlet.
The shorter, older Mando’ad greeted Jango with a quick lift of his chin, and then returned his attention to the rifle he was working on. “Three bolts for one target? You slacken.” Skirata commented over his work.
Jango put the helmet on the bench beside him “Make that two targets. Three hits but the second bolt didn’t penetrate.” He retorted while cleaning and recharging the dart thrower
“A patron ...and his Wampa?” Kal eyed the scratch on the helmet suspiciously.
“Not exactly a Wampa... just an old fashioned knife” Jango retrieved the sheathed knife from under his utility belt and passed it to Kal.
“I like old fashioned, you know... but take care. That could have worked.” He unsheathed the blade from its lacquered housing and eyed the slight nick where it had connected with bes’kar instead of human flesh, bone and brain. “Copikla... good steel, but a playthings grip.”
“Suitable for small hands.” Jango shrugged his shoulders, snapped the dart thrower back to his gauntlet and continued to mend the scratch in the blue and silver cheek of the helmet.
Kal put the knife back in its sheath “You could restore the blade for Boba... but use a man-stopping charge next time instead of a stun dart.”
“It was alive without disintegration. Some well-paid, easy practice.”
Kal raked his short grey hair “At least the engineering progress of our kit isn’t decelerated any longer.”
“That’s good news.” A tall man in black beskar'gam strode in, preceded by a six-legged predator, surrounded by its pungent scent and followed by a boy who didn’t look a day older than ten and was dwarfed by the deece slung over his back. The Mando’ad lifted his helmet to reveal a long, square-jawed face that was all bone and frown lines, his graying dark hair cut brutally short. “Took my half of your alpha-batch to the training ground for live-round practice with the commandos. A-30 will report to you.”
Jango watched the boy soldier A-30 / Sull avoid the Strill most carefully to put up a snappy salute.
Kal had turned and leaned against the workbench in fake-relaxion, his arm straightened by his side and the point of his knife resting on his fingertip no doubt. “And how many of them are left?” He bristled at the sight and smell of ‘Lord Mirdalan’ and its keeper.
“All of them Sir.” The boy soldier announced, “None in bacta, three in the ward, five ambulatory treated.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you in your quarters after flash-instruction. Dismissed.” Jango arched a brow at Vau.
“We set off a little chemical alarum last night. Told them to keep their helmet in reach all times, but it seems that filter-quality is partially inadequate. Bad kit – as usual. The rest are sprained ankles and so on.”
“There are better ways to test kit.” Kal had just started when Jango cut it. “What did you do with your half?”
“Hand-to-hand and knife instruction. They chill down over their lessons until lunch. I’ve planned technical instructions afterwards and booked the shooting range for the afternoon. But you can call them off whenever you’re settled in, no problem.”
Vau shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever. You are so in love with your knife and traditions that your boys won’t survive the first phase of a modern battle let alone a war.” He strode out, the stinking Mird on his heels.
“Thank you.” Jango started honing the knife with even strokes that were music in Skirata’s ears. “They are nothing like I was at that age. So single minded and obedient, even towards the Kaminoan caretakers... Boba disassembles one caretaker droid per week lately. How are the Nulls doing?”
“Oh, they are old enough to run free and support each other. The most difficult thing is to keep it interesting for them. They train, learn, instruct and supervise. I guess the growth acceleration has its point,” he chuckled darkly. “They are giving the aiwha-baits some pay-back already,” Skirata grinned openly.
Jango nodded. He had noticed Kal’s hyper-intelligent little stalkers upon occasion. No wonder Boba felt left behind with the age-distance growing by the day. “I’ve picked up some organic replacement for the tinny-caretakers.”
“Another Cuy’val Dar?”
“No. An aruetyc housekeeper. Human female. Boba has taken a liking in her already.”
Kal wrinkled his forehead “Does she understand what’s awaiting her? That she will be stuck here for years?”
“She’s got no say in that. I purchased her and I can dispose of her.”
“You have bought a slave? Don’t you know the laws of the republic you are working for? YOU of all people!”
Jango’s face stayed blank at the outburst. “I do understand. Have a look at the exemplary republic justice surrounding us, if you don’t.”
“I hear Vau talking. What happened to your ‘aruetiise don’t understand a mercenary’s life’? ... How old?”
“In her twenties.” he changed the grindstone to a finer grain. “Still adaptable.”
“Any other bad news for discipline?”
Jango’s eyes narrowed. “That’s my problem.”
“Exactly!” Kal slung the rifle over his back and left.
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Part Time Job

Chapter 8 - Imagination is a warrior’s most important weapon.