Boba rose early and headed for the restaurant to get some breakfast. A waiter droid accosted him as he entered the lushly-upholstered room. “Follow me, sir.”

The tables were situated in bubbles that hung below the restaurant, which jutted from the hotel like a balcony. Indeed, the top of the restaurant was a balcony-like landing pad for visitors. The bubbles hung at different distances from the restaurant, connected by a tube through which an anti-grav energy cylinder transported diners to and from their tables. For the guests that were afraid of heights, there were non-transparent bubbles within the restaurant, instead of below, the walls of which could be changed in an instant to set the mood.

The droid stiffly led Fett to a circular door, about four feet in diameter, in the floor, where he paused to ask, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you, Sir?”

Boba tried not to laugh. “No.”

“That’s very good, Sir.” The droid pushed a button on it’s left forearm. Immediately, the door retracted into the floor, and a disk, slightly smaller than the door, was floating there.

Boba stepped onto it, and energy walls sprang up around him, protecting him from the walls of the tube as it plunged downward. Luckily, Boba Found, his feet were temporarily bonded to the disk, to prevent him from hitting the energy “ceiling.”

When the disk landed in his dining bubble, less than a second later, the energy walls retracted, and allowed him to step off the disk. As soon as his weight left it, the disk shot back up to its post above him.

There were two seats, cushions suspended in midair, by a round, levitating table. Boba sat on one to study the menu, which popped up in the middle of the table, a two-sided holoscreen. After sifting through many exotic dishes with long names, he found something a little more normal: cinnamon rolls. Boba punched his order number in on the touchscreen, and in five minutes was staring at a platter of a dozen or so. With a shrug, he selected one and began to break his fast.

The boring buisness of ordering over with, the bounty hunter allowed his mind to wander. Dad wouldn’t have called this a breakfast, he thought, He would have told me to eat a yanshen fruit or something, with Bantha milk. The twenty-two-year-old shuddered. He had always hated Bantha milk. Dad always said that dislike would be a weakness, Boba bowed his head momentarily, remembering Jango’s tirade, he said that all an adversary had to do was ask me to drink that stuff, to gain the upper hand. But now he’s dead, and I can’t prove otherwise to him. It had been a joke, of course, but a weakness was a weakness, and Jango had not let Boba forget that.

The cinnamon bun lay forgotten on his plate as he contemplated his father’s demise. Dad died before I could prove anything to him. He never saw me follow in his footsteps. He never saw my list of successful captures, which rival his! He left me, an orphan, alone, and even...a little...afraid. Boba Fett banged his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. How dare he? I was only ten! We didn’t even need to be on Geonosis anymore. We’d held up our part of the bargain as best we could, hadn’t we? We didn’t need to watch those executions, and we didn’t need to be there when those Jedi showed up to knock his head off! Boba remembered bitterly the first time he had seen a Jedi, one called Obi-Wan Kenobi, a nosy pest who wouldn’t die, despite Jango’s best efforts. ‘Always a pleasure to meet a Jedi,’ Jango had said. How ironic it was that that Jedi would lead to his doom, at the hands of another Jedi.

They claim they are peacekeepers. Ha. They brought no peace to my life. Dad and I were fine until they intervened. So what if this Naboo senator was on our hit list? It was Dad’s job. And then they discovered their clone army... Boba let the thought trail off, as he had thousands of times before when the memories returned to haunt him. No amount of emotionless killing could his heart from that sword. Boba Fett had tried his whole life to be worthy of Jango, to make “Dad” proud of him. And then Jango had deserted him on a remote planet, a child grieving over a Mandalorian helmet. The ten-year-old in him would not let the twenty-two-year-old forget the deadly swing of that purple blade. Someday, he would have his revenge.

Dad was always stronger than me emotionally, Boba admitted. He never let his feelings get in the way. Not even with Zam.

Boba winced, remembering his father, who had worked closely with Zam, but had dispached her without pause as soon as she threatened to reveal information. Oh yes, Jango had tried to hide that fact from his ten-year-old son, who had been very fond of Zam, but Boba had found out, and he had never truly forgiven his father, his idol, for killing her.

And then Jango had died. Boba remembered all too well cradling his father's empty helmet. Unable to bear retrieving the severed head, he had simply crouched, holding the helmet that he now wore. That helmet was the face the galaxy had known and feared as Jango Fett; and was already beginning to respect as Boba's visage. But Jango had been a fool. He had gotten too involved; taken sides. Boba would stay detached. He was no one's bodyguard; no one's fool. Jango had liked to make big explosions. An excellent marksman, he was nearly always successful, but there were some, like that cruel Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had been able to elude him because of Jango's dramatic tactics. Boba didn't take chances. "If it's still movin', keep shootin'," he said quietly, remembering what Zam had taught him long ago.

Zam had been the closest to a mother Boba could ever have hoped for. She would always bring some of her own mother's cinnamon rolls to Kamino when she came to work with Jango, and they had remained his favorite food, no matter how much Jango tried to convince him to eat his yanshen fruit. Zam had doted on Boba, while Jango had been fond, but stern. Jango had regulated Boba's diet strictly; Zam had smuggled in treats. Jango had pushed Boba to the edge of his endurance--and a little further--and Zam had picked him up when he was done. Jango had taught Boba how to be a galaxy-wide feared bounty hunter, but Zam had taught him about the code of honor that even his father had respected and held to. As a result, Boba never killed unecessarily and didn't always lend his services strictly to the highest bidder. There was something in his mind that had snapped when he lost both parent figures within a few days of each other. He had vowed never to cause that kind of pain to another child without adequate reason.

Boba suddenly realized he was gripping the edge of the cushion tightly, and he glanced down...and down...and down. Now he understood why he had been asked whether he was afraid of heights. He was dizzyingly suspended above a thriving city, through which traffic flowed like a shining silver river of speeders. The Henberans were going about their daily business, and it was time for Boba Fett to be about his.

His appetite lost in memory, he pushed the plate away, downed his coffee, and reached for the disk summoner. He needed to stop this; this remembering. Mercy was weakness, and feelings were failure.