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Before he even realized what he was doing Han found himself rounding the corner, rifle up and finger tightening on the trigger as Boba Fett was turning toward him, bringing up his own rifle—

They stood there in the middle of nowhere, on a planet the rest of the galaxy had more than half forgotten, pointing assault rifles at one another, from a distance of less than a meter.

Han didn’t fire.

Fett didn’t fire.

Bizarre details piled in on Han. The aperture of Fett’s assault rifle was huge, as big as the Death Star had seemed at first sight. The barrel wasn’t perfectly steady, it wavered slightly, moving around in almost invisibly tiny circles. The moonlight glinted off Fett’s scarred armor; Han could see the moon, reflected darkly on the black visor.

He was still out of breath from the running. His voice caught when he spoke. “I guess we’re going to … die together.”

Fett’s voice—as harsh and raw as ever. “Evidently.”

Han stared over the sight at him. “Your armor won’t save you. Not at this range.”

“No.”

“I doubt you can kill me quick enough to keep me from firing.”

Fett’s helmet moved, slightly—a nod. “I doubt it too.”

Han did not dare take his eye away from his rifle’s sight, aiming at the base of Fett’s throat. “You killed those people back there. The woman.”

Han could have sworn he saw a shiver run up the bounty hunter’s frame. “I’m sorry about that. They—she—was not the target.”

Han almost pulled the trigger on him. He could hear the rage in his own voice. “You’re going to die and I’m going to die and maybe we both of us deserve it. That woman didn’t do any—”

“She’s the one who called me!”

Han took a step forward and screamed, “I don’t care!” He found to his amazement that he was standing with the barrel of his rifle jammed up against Fett’s armor, that the barrel of Fett’s rifle was digging into his own breastbone. “I don’t know what made you like you are, you think you get to decide who lives and dies, I don’t care, come on, pull the trigger and we’ll die together!” He stared into the black visor. “Last decision you’ll ever get to make.”

Boba Fett said in a voice so soft Han would have sworn it could not have been Fett’s, “You first.” His voice got even softer, amazingly. “You’re married, aren’t you? You have children who need you. What were you doing out here, Solo, pretending to be young? This is no place for a man like you.”

The fury that touched Han was bone deep. “Don’t you talk about my children, I’ll kill you so fast—”

“Do you want to die?”

Han took a deep breath. “Do you?”

Fett shook his head, the tiniest possible movement of the visor. “No. But I do not see a way out.”

The faintest breath of hope touched Han. “All right. You put down your rifle. I won’t kill you if you put down your rifle.”

Fett whispered it. “No. You put down yours. I won’t kill you if you put down yours. I’ll let you go back to your family, unharmed. Put down your weapons—”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Nor I,” said Fett, “you.”

A cool wind blew across the downlot; Han felt it drying his sweat, chilling him. “We take five steps back,” Han said finally. “You drop your rifle and you run like a gundark on fire. Even if I do shoot at you that armor would protect you.”

“I have bad legs. I don’t think I can outrun you.”

Han could not stop thinking of his children, of Leia. “Just walk away, put the rifle down and walk away. I’m an honest man. I won’t kill you.”

“You’re a liar,” said Fett, “by all the evidence. I think you would.” Fett paused. “When I was a young man,” he said finally, “I think I would have pulled the trigger by now. But I find that I do not hate you, and I am not ready to die to remove you from the world.”

“I made a mistake, coming here to Jubilar. I do hate you, I hate everything you’ve done—but my wife and children need me.”

“I don’t see a way out of this,” said Fett, “that does not involve trying to trust one another.”

“This rifle is getting heavy,” said Han, which it was; he watched Fett over the sight. “What are we going to do?”

“Everyone dies,” said Fett.

“Yeah. Eventually. But it doesn’t