Greta awoke slowly. Her right jaw was throbbing and the bruises on her arms had blackened overnight into the shape of the hands that caused them. It also didn't help that she had to sleep on the floor and that her neck and shoulders felt whiplashed. The pain told her immediately that the events of the night before were not a dream, that she had indeed been taken by Boba Fett and treated brutally by him. Her eyes were sore and it was hard to open them. And there was a cut on her lip that cracked when she tried to move her pasty mouth.

The lights in the cell never turned off, emitting a sharp florescence that flooded the entire cell. Probably to keep prisoners in plain view at all times. Besides a small drain in the floor, there was nothing in the cell. No sink, no toilet, nothing that could be taken apart and used as a makeshift weapon. He certainly didn't take any risks.

Steadying herself with the wall, Greta limped over to the door, a thick slab of steel with no windows and no latches. She felt around the door, but she found nothing. Somehow, he must have surveillance output linked to the cell, or at least audio. Her cheeks flushed in anger and shame, fearful that she was nothing more to him than the other galaxy scum he had collected as hard merchandise.

How had this happened? she wondered. She remembered coming out of her quarters that night and had turned down the corridor toward the shipyard. Rounding the corner, she felt a hand on her shoulder and something hard at her back.

"You're coming with me," said the familiar, metallic voice. Greta, confused, turned to face him, but he already had her arms in grip, twisting them behind her back. Bewildered, she fought back, struggling against his tight hold, but managed to land a hard kick. As she got up to her feet, she felt the hard edge of his rifle butt hitting her jaw from the right. It sent her to the ground and on to her side, crushing her confined arms beneath her own weight.

As quickly as it had happened, the bounty hunter was kneeling over her, assessing her jaw. It was as though he were making sure it wasn't anything serious. Then, when satisfied, he yanked her to her feet and pushed her down the corridor to the shipyard and docking bay. She had stumbled onto the Slave I, unsure of what lay ahead of her. Her question seemed answered when he brought her to the holding cells. Incredulous, Greta confronted him again. "This isn't like you, Boba."

He dragged her into the cell by the cuffs until she lost balance and fell. "This is exactly who I am," he growled, picking her up and pinning her against the wall . . .

Greta snapped out of the memory when the cell door began to open. She backed away into the farthest corner, unsure of what he might do.

"Time to go," he said flatly. "Lord Vader is waiting."

Greta's mouth gaped slightly in surprise. "You're taking me to – no . . . you can't be." She shrank from him even more. The betrayal was worse than she'd imagined.

Boba clenched his jaw. She would not make this easy for him. Without hesitation, he pointed his blaster at her.

"Do it," she said. It didn't matter if she lived or died now; he was really going to hand her over to Darth Vader – and that was worse than death.

"You're not worth anything to me dead," he replied. He moved so quickly, she barely realized he had put her in cuffs – again.

"Son of a bitch," she snarled. "You son of a bitch!"

With a jerk, he pulled her out of the cell and down the hall.

* * *

She said nothing as she walked, unable to accept her fate and the truth of Boba Fett's ruthlessness. She found it difficult to reconcile the two Bobas she now knew. It didn't help, either, that old memories kept invading her mind, that she unconsciously allowed them, to look back at the cherished moments that once gave her a reason to live.

She was thinking of the first time he had touched her, his hand grazing her lower back as they walked down to Jabba's audience chamber. There was something instinctively protective about the gesture, and it had sent a spark racing along her spine. Or, the time she had developed cave blindness from lack of exposure to natural light. She had woken up early one morning to find herself absolutely sightless. Her friend, Lethia, knowing that Jabba threw infirm slaves to the rancor, bravely sought out the bounty hunter for help. He came quickly to her side, his gloved hands lightly examining her face and eyes. She remembered the smell of blasterfire and fuel fluid. The memories could not be false. She had to try again.

They were near the off-ramp when she quietly asked, "Was it something I did? Something I said?" She had boldly turned to face him, knowing full well what he was capable of.

Boba smiled bitterly beneath the visor. None of this was her fault. Her eyes were pleading – the same look that drew compassion from him; that unlocked his emotions and made him unbearably weak, unbearably human. He could not afford showing any weakness now, especially not at Vader's doorstep.

"Vader placed the bounty on you; I took the job." he said finally. "This is what I do; who I am."

"But you don't have to do this," she said, searching for his eyes behind the visor. "You chose to take the job."

"You presume there's a reason why I shouldn't," he said coldly.

Greta's face darkened. So there it was. He had spoken the fear that had been eating at her ever since he captured her: She meant absolutely nothing to him.

"I guess I did," she replied numbly. "I was wrong."

* * *

Several Stormtroopers and a Crimson Guard greeted them in the landing bay. As Greta stepped out of the Slave I, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, chilled by the shielded and visored gaze that surrounded her. It seemed to be a pattern, being held captive by men who discarded compassion and sympathy, and all the things that made them human. These men, exchanging their faces for masks, seemed destined to rule her life.

And this was it. Boba Fett had brought her as far as the Deathstar, and she watched helplessly as he spoke to the Crimson Guard, who seemed to be studying her. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but the Guard handed Fett a credit chip and that was all she needed to know. Without a word or even a glance her way, Fett nodded to the Guard, and left. Greta watched as he walked stiffly into the ship, his hands clenched into fists until the ramp began to close.

Greta, to put it lightly, was falling apart inwardly. Though she didn't dare show it, she felt the hole in her gut widen and grow until it consumed everything. Then, everything went numb. The guards took her by the arms and led her deeper into the Deathstar, headed by the Crimson Guard. She hardly heard the Slave I's jets fire, launching it into space as her heart sank deeper into the consuming darkness. By the time the spaceport doors closed, her heart had completely disappeared.