Gazing ahead, baking under the intense sunlight, and cloudless blue sky, Boba Fett studied his ship the Slave 1. Although it was not handsome by most standards, it was never the less a powerful vessel that had become an extension of himself.
    Fett turned his attention back to the prisoner he was walking with, giving himself a mental kick for that basic mistake. If you don't cover all the basics, you deserve your fate.  True, the current acquisition hadn't made any hostile or even defensive moves since Fett had captured him from this hellish planet, just over a standard hour ago. However, Fett noted to himself as he escorted his prisoner up Slave 1's ramp, it was not following those basics that had lead to many a former colleague's demise.
      The interior of Slave 1 was cramped and sparsely furnished, with no decorations on the walls or clutter in the living areas. It was the way Fett wanted it, leaving no impressions of who he was or who he had been.
      He gestured to one of his holding cells.
 "In there," he said, his harsh mechanical voice leaving no room for discussion, and without a single word or complaint the prisoner complied. "It will be a three day trip to our destination. During that time, if you behave yourself, you will be allowed to move about down here freely.  However, if you cause trouble," Fett paused for emphasis, "you will regret it."
     "I understand," the acquisition responded simply.
     As he looked down at the prisoner, Fett experienced a rare feeling of annoyance. He looked to be an older man in his later forties to early fifties, if Fett was to guess. His hair was a mixture of brown and grey with a neatly trimmed beard looking as if it didn't belong on his face. But it wasn't the appearance of this man that bothered Fett, it was that he didn't even know the bounty's name, or what this man had done to merit the swift and final justice of the Empire. Normally, under these circumstances, Fett wouldn't have taken such a bounty, but with the recent purchase of  very expensive equipment for his ship and the high price on this individual's head, he had made a rare exception to his moral code. And why the Empire refused to reveal who the prisoner was, was a mystery in itself. You are being well paid, leave it at that. he told his conscious firmly. Turning back to the prisoner, he added. "If you need anything in addition to what is provided, inform me or one of my droids. If it is a final request within reason, I will try to provide it."  The man simply nodded his understanding. As Fett turned and climbed up the ladder to his cockpit,  he wondered, certainly not for the first time, about the oddities and complexities of the galaxy's many creatures, and in particular the creature in his holding cell right now.

     The first two days of the trip were uneventful. The prisoner never asked for anything and wasn't aggressive in any way, thus few words were spoken between them. It was odd Fett noted, that the prisoner didn't seem troubled or even sad about his capture and impending death. Fett had to admit a grudging respect for the man. Not many sentients could boast having this much dignity while staring in the face of death.
     On the third and final day of the journey, about four hours from their destination world of Rila Seven, the prisoner called for Boba Fett.
     "You said you would grant me a last request."
     "If it is within my power to do so," Fett replied. Here it comes. Fett thought, his respect for the man already wanning.
     "It is," the man responded simply, "I want to talk to you."
     At first Fett was caught off guard by this strange final request. Most captures asked for liquor, spice, or other such sins of the flesh.
     "Don't bother wasting a last request on trying to bargain with me, it won't work, and I doubt you have the credits to pay me what the Empire is going to."
     "No, that's not it at all." The capture shook his head in mild scolding, almost as if Fett himself was the one in the cell. "I just want to talk for a bit, and I want you to promise to listen."
     "Fine." Fett replied shortly. In a strange way, Fett mused to himself, it would have been easier to just give the man intoxicants. "Go ahead."
     "I want to know why. Why you feel you have to do this?"
     Fett had heard that line used before, but decided to act out the part for the benefit of his capture. "They are paying me four hundred thousand credits for you, thats why."
     "No, it's not the money, at least not the whole reason, or even the majority of it. There are far more profitable fields to enter into. Why this one?"
     Fett gazed down at the prisoner, a sense of unrest stirring in his being. So it's not the old game, perhaps a new one then.   "Because I can do it, because it has to be done, and because Justice needs to be served."
     The prisoner rose gracefully from the hard bench he had been sitting on and slowly began to pace the length of the cell. "Who are you to decide who lives and who dies?"
     "I am the one that caught you and put you in this cell." Fett retorted smugly.
     "You're stalling," the capture replied.
     "Fine, lets be done with this old man." Fett said, suddenly tired of the game.  What right did this man have to question him.  "I can judge because I serve the greater good. I serve society so that it can survive."
     "Is society perfect?" the prisoner asked.
     "Of course not." Fett replied, his throat becoming sore.
     "Then you serve something imperfect, and if it is not balanced how can Justice truely be served?" the capture asked as he turned to face Fett.
      "Do you know all the stories behind the faces you send to their deaths? Do you bother to find out why they have committed such acts?" the man continued. "How about you, Boba Fett, are you totally in balance?"
      Fett stared at the man behind the forcefield, and it was a long time before he found his voice again. "No, I am not perfect, no man is. However, when atrocities have been committed, and the greater good can  no longer exist in relative safety, then the evil must be eliminated."
     "Why. Why not try to help evil to make it good again?" asked the bounty.
     "You are being naive, if you truely think that evil can be cleansed." Fett returned, a hint of contempt in his tone.
     "Most would judge you as evil, do you think that you could not be saved?" the prisoner asked as he continued to pace the cell.
     "I have nothing to be saved from, and I do not care how others view me." Fett countered harshly.
     "What about after this existence? Do you care how you will be viewed then?" inquired the bounty.
     "That is none of your business." Fett shot back. Stirrings of anger welled up within him.
     "It is my last request," he reminded Fett.
     Fett wanted the discussion to end, but this request was within reason, and thus he was honor bound to fulfil it now.  With a flash of annoyance at the situation, he answered. "I hope that when I die, if there is anything at all after this existence, I will be judged fairly, with the same Justice I now serve." Fett growled.
     "Never question the existence of life everlasting my son," the man gently replied.
     The casual endearment from a condemned man angered Fett even more. "I am not your son."
     The bounty ignored the comment and continued. "How can you say you judge fairly and hope to be judged fairly when you do not even know my name?"
The prisoner had stopped pacing and now stared at Fett. No, not at Fett but through him; through his mask, through his eyes and into his soul. It was a look Boba Fett would carry with him the remainder of his years.
     "We will be dropping out of hyperspace soon. I suggest you get your thoughts and belongings in order," Fett said ending the discussion. He then turned and climbed the ladder to the cockpit, the prisoner's final questions lingering in mind, echoing his earlier misgivings. He had expected the bounty to cry out, demanding further discussion, but he did not.

     "Get up," Fett commanded. "We're here."
     Silently, the prisoner did so.
     "In all my travels I can honestly say I have never met anyone like you," Fett said, his mechanical voice flavored with a hint of admiration. "I have considered your words. While I don't agree with everything you said, you do seem to serve your own Justice." Fett paused, hardly believing himself, what he was about to do. "I will not turn you in to the Empire, this time. You are free to go."
     Fett moved his hand to release the controls that worked the forcefield.
     "No need," the former prisoner said, and smiled.
     To Fett's amazement the control panels flicked and the forcefield disengaged on its own. The old man then gathered his meager belongings together, and silently walked to the entrance ramp. Just outside the open ramp, the planet bustled with the noise and confusion of city spaceport life.
     "Hold," Fett said, as the words flowed now unabated. "What is your name?"
     "Obi-Wan Kenobi," the man replied, and without another word turned and walked away.