HANGING UP THE ARMOR
HANGING UP THE ARMOR
by Andrea

The insistent whining of the hyperwave alarm woke him. When he climbed the ladder to the cockpit, he saw that the Slave had been ready to exit hyperspace for ten minutes.

He was getting old. Old and lazy.

Ten years before, he'd have been combat-ready in the flight centre two hours before the ship reverted to realspace, all weapons loaded and calibrated. He'd had so many enemies then.

But that had been then, and this was now. Most of his enemies were long gone; either hunted by his own hand or another. The old bounty hunters he'd known, the ones who would steal a bounty from under your nose if they could were dead. A new generation of hunters, even more ruthless than he had been at his peak, was emerging.

The days of respectful hunting, if there had ever been such a thing, were surely over. None of the new generation had any admiration for Boba Fett.

He, the great and powerful Fett, had changed, too. But not in the direction of the tide. Accepting fewer bounties -- only what he needed, he slipped into retirement. He only took a couple bounties each year, now. Filling the handful of favours he still owed.

Now, almost fifty years after he'd started, Boba Fett was heading home. To the planet that had exiled him half a century before, for the crime of murder. He knew it was likely that he wouldn't be allowed to land, but he continued onward to his destination anyway.

Jaster Mereel wanted to see Concord Dawn one final time before he succumbed to the numerous ailments from which he suffered. He wanted to see the planet he'd protected in his earliest years.

As he neared the Protector spaceport, he sent a message with codes he could barely remember. He had to search his mind for them, go back years and years to his youth.

The chrono ticked away the minutes as he waited, hands on the controls, for the reply. When it came, he wasn't shocked by what the message said.

No.

The thin cord of hope that had formed; the first such thread he'd allowed to form in years, snapped. Concord Dawn would always be the one planet closed to him, and he had known it. Still, he hadn't been able to prevent that hope from forming.

He thought about flaming the spaceport, and leaving a show of his anger, but he decided against it. He still loved the planet -- it was the only thing he loved -- and he wouldn't do that. That was why he'd killed that other Protector. Justice had been done that day.

Turning the Slave, he streaked away from the planet. When he was back in space, Fett ordered the navicomputer to program a random trajectory.

He punched the finished course, and settled back to watch the beauty of hyperspace for a while. It had been a long time since he'd simply looked at the stars.

He was finished giving service for cause.

© 06.03.01
andi@247id.net

disclaimer : Star Wars is a registered trademark; the words are mine. Thanks to Blitzen for beta-reading.