disclaimer: I am not associated with star wars despite a vigorous letter writing campaign.
It was steady, slow and silent.
His fingers ran over the switches, flicking this and that, corners of his lips twitching into a smirk when the engines roared with life. The familiarity of humming that rose through the switches and controls brought a childish sense of joy to him.
He was home.
Yet, for all the newfound pride, there was a deepening sense of dread. He glanced over at the co-pilot's chair, knowing quite well that the last time he had sat in the cockpit, he had been there. He had been a child, strapped into place, able to do no more than cheer on the actions of his father. He had been shorter than, more bone than muscle and nothing. Oh, he had fired guns and known how to take off and land, but he had been nothing by himself. Everything had rested in his father's name.
But, now, that was not the case. His name had a meaning. He was more than simply someone's son, he was their successor. He was the new them, fast on the way to becoming far more fearsome than they had every been.
It had remained, though, his goal to reclaim this old home. He refused a new ship, refused anything that was not this. It needed to be this ship. Despite it all, despite his assurances that he would not live in his father's shadow, despite his promises that he would be greater and would not simply be the new Jango Fett, he had made the decision to reclaim Slave I.
It was the piece of his father that he insisted upon keeping. For while he had shed his father's armor, taking on his own with his own colors, and made his own adjustments for weapons, he still needed something of his father. He had needed that dash of familiarity, that thing that called back to his childhood.
Yet, it was different now. Rather than his father as the pilot, he was. It was his place to be the pilot, to work the switches, to always set the course, to destroy any tracers and to track down bounties. And he would do it as his father had, with this ship, with this childhood memory forever with him.
His fingers hovered over the controls, a sense of power running up his veins. How unfortunate it had been for the man who had taken on Slave I before him. The fool had bought it from the same man that had taken it off Geonosis, buying it for what he thought was a good investment. If only he had known that coming was the true owner, taking it with a blaster rather than credits. This ship had been meant to be his and not a slimy spice trader's.
It had been his inheritance and no one could take that from him now.