A-right. Here's ze next chapter for U. Sorry it took so long-- I have a monster of a head cold. Please forgive me? puppy dog eyes
Chapter five
Boba heard it before he felt it. The whine of the blaster reached his ears long before he felt anything. But he could do nothing. While falling down the sand dune, something had bitten him. He had felt it, but thought that it was nothing more than armor scraping against skin. But, as he now realized, he had been wrong, now knowing that he had been bitten by a Fire Orpon. Orpons were not deadly to things as large as humans, but if bitten, the poison was strong enough to paralyze one for a few seconds. Boba thought of the ludicrousness of the situation. Of how something so small could play such a large part in killing, him, one of the best and most successful bounty hunters in the galaxy. Then beam of energy hit him. The blaster bolt caught him in the side of his abdomen where there was a gap in his armor. His flame retardant suit caught some of the energy, but was otherwise insufficient in blocking such concentrated energy. Boba bit back a scream. He'd had no idea that one could experience so much pain. Wave after wave of fire hot pain ran up his stomach unceasingly. Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, trying to get a look at how bad it was, but was forced to the ground again by the unrelenting sensation. The world started getting fuzzy. Boba felt himself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, the blackness seeming to call him into its painless realm. Breath coming in shallow, painful gasps, Boba tried to fight it. But the pain was relentless, ramming into him again and again. Boba's will was slowly weakening as his body took on an odd numbness. Giving one last try to stay conscious, Boba rolled over onto his stomach, this time unable to keep quiet a scream of pain. Then there was nothing.
Fidel almost winced when he saw the blaster bolt hit Fett. The bounty hunter didn't wince or even moan when he had been hit. But after a few moments, he had tried to stand—and Fidel heard the consequence. Big mistake, buddy, Fidel thought with a grimace. Fidel had no wish to see Fett die---in this deadly game of cat and mouse, Boba Fett was doing his job and Fidel was doing his. Nothing personal. Just business. Fidel wrestled with what to do. His instinct told him to go down there and help him. His practical side told him not to—if he did save Boba Fett's life, then once Fett was well enough, he'd come after him again. Fidel looked at the fallen bounty hunter, torn. But eventually, his instinctive side won out. After all, Fett did save his life. Approaching Fett, he got his first look at the damage he'd inflicted. A dark stain of blood was quickly saturating the sand it fell onto. And the wound showed no sign of stopping. Fidel cursed softly under his breath. Hurriedly kneeling beside Fett, he applied pressure to the wound, ignoring the faint moan the bounty hunter gave. Trying to keep an even pressure on the gushing wound, and not wanting to think about what damage he was doing internally to Fett, Fidel maneuvered himself around so that he could carry Fett while still applying pressure. Grunting with effort, Fidel carefully slung Fett over his back, tottering slightly but staying upright. Then he began making the painstaking journey back to the swoop. Fett was a lot heavier than he looked. It's probably all the hidden weapons he's got on him. Maybe I could just "borrow" them off him… That particular thought disappeared as suddenly as it came. Upon reaching the swoop, Fidel started the warm-up sequence on it before carefully placing Fett on the saddle in front of him. Turning on the engine, Fidel felt relief wash over him. At least the swoop wasn't damaged. What a perfect ending to a horrible day, Fidel thought wryly before setting of for Mos Eisley.
Boba was in a haze, his mind flirting with the realms of unconsciousness and consciousness. He was dimly aware of being carried, but he couldn't be sure if it was reality or just a figment of his imagination. But right now, he didn't care. I don't want to fight it. Boba tried to think of a reason why he didn't want to fight it. Because I just don't care. What was there that was worth living for? If he did live through this, so what? All he would be doing would be satisfying peoples' thirst for revenge. For the first time in his young life, Boba really thought about how empty and meaningless his existence was. So what if he died? No one would mourn him. His competitors would be the only people that really cared if he lived or died. Especially that di'kut, Bossk. Not for the first time, Boba felt loneliness. But unlike the other times, this one completely and utterly enveloped him. He had never felt so alone. I'm sorry Dad. I've failed you….
Fidel shifted uncomfortably on the swoop. One thing was for sure—Fett sure didn't go out of his way to make things the least bit commodious. Glancing at the machines built-in chrono, he estimated that they would arrive in Mos Eisley in roughly 15 standard minutes. Now came the real problem—what in the name of the Force would he do with Fett when he got there! He most certainly didn't want to run into the swoop gang again. Yikes. Alright, number one priority, evade stupid nerf herders. The next obvious answer would be to take Fett to a medic. But there were a lot of people that would love to know that Boba Fett was badly injured and incapable of defending himself. And paying someone to keep silent was going to be very expensive indeed. But, in Fidel's opinion, a human life was worth more than all the credits in the galaxy. But that doesn't mean that I won't kill. In front of him, Boba Fett had started shivering uncontrollably. Fidel had done all that he could to stop the blood, but he was no field medic. Fett was obviously going to need treatment for shock he was going into. Fidel muttered angrily to himself. He didn't exactly have and inexhaustible supply of credits on him…
A bounty hunter never surrenders to pain. A bounty hunter NEVER gives up. These things separate the real bounty hunters from the mere wannabes… Boba mentally flinched. He had almost gone into the tempting blackness. After all, it promised him relief. Both physical, and mental. But something stopped him. Boba struggled to remember who had said those words to him.It seemed such a long time ago... Jango Fett. His Father. His mentor. A bounty hunter never gives up… He had been a true bounty hunter. He had taught Boba all he hadknown, and how had his 'son' repaid him? By letting him die on the hot Geonosian sands, alone. And this isall Bobahaddone to try and redeem himself? Mentally snarling at himself, Boba started fighting viciously for consciousness.
In the distance, Fidel could see Mos Eisley's lights twinkling at him, telling him that he was almost to the outskirts of the city. About five more minutes and he, and Fett, would be comparatively safe, from Tusken Raiders at least. In front of him, Fett flinched, his whole body shuddering from it. The regular breathing resulting from unconsciousness turned into shallow and ragged gasps. Fidel glanced uncertainly at Boba Fett. He assumed that this was a bad thing. Another shudder shook the bounty hunter's weak form, prompting Fidel to get a better hold on him. His relief was palatable as he passed the first structures of Mos Eisley. Now to find a medic….
Oh, and sorry I haven't been posting updates on my pen name thingy... They changed the edit thing, and I'm just so confused... ;(