The Second Galactic Civil War is over, the FIRST ORDER has been defeated by the RESISTANCE and a new Senate has been elected to govern the galaxy. Boba Fett, having profited from the war returns home, but his exploits have not gone unnoticed in the...
A/N: Since the Keeper had ships from multiple Star Wars era's, I have included pictures of each instead of bogging down the narrative with multiple ship descriptions. I hope that helps rather than detracts.
The lightning storm started to thin but would not concede defeat, its blue flashes strobing through the open hangar bay. The Keeper's men began to return one-by-one. First, the A-Wing floated through the open port, followed by a Delta-6 Sprite-class starfighter.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Boba and Videsse stared out of the cockpit window of the Falcon at the entering ships, studying them and forming a plan. Meanwhile PZ-85 was just recovering from the ion pulse, shaking his head. Sparks crackled from his chest wound and his right arm hung limp. "I don't know what your headaches feel like," PZ-85 said cradling his head with his left hand, "but I think I can relate."
The other two ignored him, concentrating too hard to even tell him to shut up. "There, that's the third one," Videsse said. One of the TIE fighters entered and came to rest in its designated place.
"Yeah," Boba agreed. "We'll let them land, then take out the next two on our way out. That will divide them well enough."
"Do you think Donal took any of them out," Videsse asked.
"Ha! Donal? He'd be the only pilot in the galaxy that could manage to shoot his own foot with that ship before he hit a moving target. I'm lucky he could hit the tethered X-Wings."
Videsse giggled at that and turned to leave. "I'll get on the guns." She left the cockpit and climbed the center gun well to the dorsal gun turret.
"Get ready on the shields, Peezee," Boba ordered the protocol droid as Boba deactivated the ion pulse and punched the ignition.
PZ-85 moved to the copilot seat, his head down and sluggish. "I don't feel so good, Master."
"You'll get over it. Forward shields," Boba replied.
PZ-85 complied. Boba closed the ramp.
Another A-Wing and the Naboo fighter darkened the blue hangar bay port, slowly entering.
