Four year old Boba had seen his father's jet pack before. He had even seen him fly with it. He hadn't, however, seen him give a demonstration with his jetpack to a group of clones. Boba didn't like the clones, so he kept his distance. He stood on the opposite side of the platform from them beside Zam Wesell.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed as his father executed a flip in the air. He held the hood of his waterproof poncho so he could tilt his head back and watch his father soar above the group. "This is so wicked!"
Zam had seen it all before, but she tried to smile and nod. Boba's excitement was understandable. Jango showed off a few more tricks, including a free fall for ten meters, a few somersaults, and some quick spins. He did it all without looking completely ridiculous. These were battle tactics, after all.
"This is so wicked!" Boba repeated. His enjoyment seemed to irritate the group of blank faced clones on the platform of the opposite side. They stirred and glanced his way.
"Calm down," Zam lightly ordered. "You'll be flying with a jet pack soon enough."
"Soon?" Boba exclaimed.
"Soon enough. Where you're older," Zam clarified.
"I hope that is soon…" Boba remarked wistfully.
Zam straightened the poncho on his shoulders. "Hey look, your Dad is landing." Jango skillfully guided himself back to the ground. When he switched off his jet pack, the group of clones filed back inside to continue training.
Boba and Zam walked over to meet him. "That was wicked, Dad!" Boba roared.
"That's the third time you've said that," Zam chuckled.
"How did you fly like that? Was it fun? Can you teach me?" Boba fired off a volley of questions.
"You'll have to wait a few more years before I teach you how to fly one of these," Jango said.
"But I can almost fly Slave 1!" Boba pointed out.
"Almost?" Zam looked to Jango, who was only partially dressed in Mandalorian armor. He wore no helmet. "Somewhat," Jango shrugged. Zam laughed, and the two adults started up a fresh conversation.
Boba was beginning to look bored, but stared at the jetpack with great interest. Jango crouched down so he was eye level with him. "Want a ride, son?"
Boba perked up. "Yeah!"
"Don't squirm or I'll drop you," Jango teased as he picked his son up by the waist, securing him in one arm. "Hold on."
Boba cheered as he and Jango rocketed into the air. "I can see everything! Look, there's our house!" Boba pointed out the building their home was in.
"Whoa!" he yelled as Jango did a flip. Rain peppered his face.
"Ah!" he screamed with glee as Jango let them free fall, only to relax as his father switched on the fuel a few feet away from the ground.
"Not too high," Zam advised from her place on the platform. "You don't want to- wait a minute. CHECK YOUR FUEL TANK LEVELS!" She shouted to them. They had been in the air a while and the tank hadn't been full in the first place.
Jango checked the fuel gauge. It was almost empty. "Ride's over, Boba."
"Aw man," Boba groaned as Jango's feet touched the ground. Jango set Boba down.
"That's enough flying for one day," Jango said.
Boba was still grinning from the thrill of flying. "That was so fun!"
"Good," Jango shrugged off the jetpack. "Let's go inside. You're getting soaked."
Boba nodded and started running towards the buildings, calling over his shoulder, "thanks, Dad!" over his shoulder as he did so.
ooooo
Jango returned from yet another jetpack demonstration. Zam was away, and Boba had stayed home again. He headed down the hall to Boba's room. The door was open, and Boba was bouncing all over the place with a backpack on his shoulders.
"Boba," Jango began slowly, "what are you doing?"
"I'm a rocket man!" Boba jumped in front of his father, pointing to his backpack.
"Really?" Jango asked, amused. "How?"
Boba whirled around, presenting two empty food canisters he had taped to his bag. "My backpack's got jets!"
