Even after Slave I came to a rest on the familiar rainy landing platform in
Tipoca City, Jango stayed in his seat in the cockpit. He dreaded going in
to Boba. How would he explain Zam's death to the little boy? How could he
explain his reasons for shooting that dart? Boba was still so young, his
heart still trusting, loving. Boba had looked up to Zam; she had been the
closest he had had for a mother. And his father, Jango, had killed her.
Jango glanced out the viewport, and saw Boba standing at the door to the building. The ten-year-old's face searched the drenched landing platform for Jango and Zam's emerging forms. But he'll only see me, Jango thought.
Jango knew he was late. The jedi would be confounded by the absence of Kaminoan records, and Jango had taken advantage of that freedom to stop at his favorite space stop on the outer rim, The Last Chance. In a favorite cantina there, he had downed a glass of Dekenbrian Ale, and, on miserable impulse, a shot of Tatooine Whiskey. "To her spirit," he'd murmured, "to Zam."
As he had waited for the alcohol to wear off, he had retreated to one of the few seedy hotel rooms, where he could think in peace. Sitting on the bed, his back to the wall, he had gone over and over what had happened in lower level Coruscant in his head. Was there any way he could have prevented it? The Jedi, after drawing the information out of her, would have killed her for sure. She had already been wounded, perhaps mortally. Jedi are not to be trusted, Jango had resolved, they are to be eliminated. Oh, how he wished he could do a Jedi capture asassination soon. It would be a joy.
It hadn't been his fault, then. Zam had known that her life came second to the hunt. It was her way. Jango knew she would never have told anyone about him, but Jedi, tricky beings as they were, would have pulled the information from her unwilling Clawdite lips. Zam would have rather died that betray him. Jango had fulfilled her wish.
But how to explain to Boba? Jango looked again at the door, then unfastened his safety harness. He was just a simple man, trying to eke out a living among the stars. He would tell the boy one way or another.
Jango glanced out the viewport, and saw Boba standing at the door to the building. The ten-year-old's face searched the drenched landing platform for Jango and Zam's emerging forms. But he'll only see me, Jango thought.
Jango knew he was late. The jedi would be confounded by the absence of Kaminoan records, and Jango had taken advantage of that freedom to stop at his favorite space stop on the outer rim, The Last Chance. In a favorite cantina there, he had downed a glass of Dekenbrian Ale, and, on miserable impulse, a shot of Tatooine Whiskey. "To her spirit," he'd murmured, "to Zam."
As he had waited for the alcohol to wear off, he had retreated to one of the few seedy hotel rooms, where he could think in peace. Sitting on the bed, his back to the wall, he had gone over and over what had happened in lower level Coruscant in his head. Was there any way he could have prevented it? The Jedi, after drawing the information out of her, would have killed her for sure. She had already been wounded, perhaps mortally. Jedi are not to be trusted, Jango had resolved, they are to be eliminated. Oh, how he wished he could do a Jedi capture asassination soon. It would be a joy.
It hadn't been his fault, then. Zam had known that her life came second to the hunt. It was her way. Jango knew she would never have told anyone about him, but Jedi, tricky beings as they were, would have pulled the information from her unwilling Clawdite lips. Zam would have rather died that betray him. Jango had fulfilled her wish.
But how to explain to Boba? Jango looked again at the door, then unfastened his safety harness. He was just a simple man, trying to eke out a living among the stars. He would tell the boy one way or another.