The Fight to Survive (8 page)

Boba got on the scoop and sat beside his father. He held the battle helmet in his arms as the robot scoop headed out of the arena, down a long passage leading out to the desert.

Boba was doing his job. That was all that mattered.

For now.

The droid scrap yard was under the mesa where Boba had spotted the Jedi in his starfighter. It was an immense heap of broken circuits, busted arms and legs, wheels and heads
and steel knives and torsos.

The scoop made its dump and headed back into the stalagmite city, through an underground passage. Boba dragged his father’s body off the scrap pile and onto the rocky mesa.

The mesa seemed a better resting place. More peaceful, and certainly more beautiful.

Boba removed his father’s battle armor and set it aside. He took one last look at the strong arms and legs that had protected him. Then, using a broken droid arm for a shovel, Boba buried
his father in a sandy grave overlooking the desert.

The broken droid arm made a “J,” and Boba found another that he bent to make an “F.” He arranged them on top of the grave.

JF
. Jango Fett. Gone but not forgotten.

Boba suddenly felt very tired. He sat down beside his father’s battle armor. He wished he had something to eat.

He shivered. The wind off the desert was cold.

Boba leaned back against the helmet and looked up at the great orange rings that encircled the planet. It was if they were holding it in their arms. It was a peaceful sight.…

Boba slept peacefully all that night. His dreams (and he forgot them) were of the mother he had never had, and the father he had been lucky enough to have. He awoke in the morning, rested and
surprisingly comfortable. Then he saw that a furry sand snake had wrapped itself around him as he slept, keeping him warm.

Startled, Boba jumped to his feet. The sand snake yelped in alarm and slithered away in a panic.

The same one?
Boba wondered.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that his job was done, for now. His father was buried. The little grave with the
JF
on it was proof of that.

Looking at it, Boba realized how much he was going to miss the father who had protected him, guided him, watched over him—and loved him. Now he was alone, all alone.

And for the first time, and for a long time, he wept.

It was time to think clearly, time to make plans. Time to swing into action.

First things first
, Jango Fett always said.

First was taking care of the Mandalorian battle armor: the suit, the helmet, the jet-pack, and all the weaponry.
It will be yours someday
, his father had said.

But for now, Boba was too small to wear it or even carry it around. So he cleaned it, then hid it in a small cave under a cliff. He would reclaim it later.

Second was the black book his father had left him; or rather, the message unit that was not-a-book.

It will tell you what you need to know.

Boba had to get back into the apartment to get it. That presented a problem, given the chaos created by the battle that had spread from the arena. He had been confined to quarters by his father,
which meant that his retinal print might not open the door.

Boba got the battle helmet out of the cave to bring with him, just in case. Since Jango almost always wore it, it would contain unlocking codes.

The next problem was getting into the stalagmite city.
I can do it
, he thought, hearing the crash of broken droid parts being dumped below the mesa.

First load of the morning.

So far so good
, thought Boba as he rode the scoop through the underground passage. Dad would be proud.

He felt a sad thought approaching but he waved it away. There would be time for all that later. For now, the best way to honor his father was to learn and live by Jango Fett’s code.

That would take some doing, but it would be worth it. It had been Jango’s plan for his son. Now it was Boba’s plan for himself.

Carrying the battle helmet, Boba ran up the long stairs toward the apartment. He passed only two or three Geonosians, and they hardly noticed him.

There are certain advantages to being ten. One is that no one ever thinks you are doing anything serious.

The door clicked open as soon as he touched it. The apartment was almost empty. Jango Fett had always traveled light. Boba looked for the black book in the box where he kept his few clothes and
old toys.

It wasn’t there.

Suddenly, he remembered his last trip to the library in Tipoca City. He realized, with horror, what he had done. He had gotten the black book mixed up with his library books. It looked just like
a book, after all. He had returned it with them!

That’s
why Whrr had tried to call him back. But Boba had been in too much of a hurry to listen.

The information Boba needed was on Kamino!

Boba threw a few clothes and the battle helmet into his father’s flight bag. Trying not to be noticed, he made his way along the vast halls of the stalagmite city, toward the landing pad
where
Slave I
was parked.

He had learned that the best way not to be noticed was not to worry about being noticed. That was easy. He had something else to worry about.

Could he fly the ship alone, without his father watching over his shoulder?

There was only one way to find out.

Boba hurried on.

There was a guard at the door to the landing pad. Even though the Jedi had taken over the planet, the Geonosians were still guarding their property.

It was easy enough to slip past the guard while he was busy shooting the breeze with another Geonosian.

Or so Boba thought.

“Where are you going?” The guard blocked the door with his blaster.

“My dad,” Boba said. He held up the flight bag. “He told me to put this into the ship for him.”

“Which one?”

Boba pointed to
Slave I
. It was the smallest ship on the landing pad. Its scarred and pitted surface belied its great speed and maneuverability.

“Okay, okay,” said the guard, turning back to his friend and his gossip. “But you only get five minutes. Then I’m running you off.”

There was no time to check to see if
Slave I
was loaded and fueled. Jango had schooled Boba in all the flight checks, but he had also let him know that there are times when they had to
be overlooked. Times when one had to trust to luck.

Boba hurried. The guard might come looking for him at any moment now.

Once he was in the cockpit, Boba pulled the helmet over his head and sat on the flight bag. To an outside observer, he looked like an adult. He hoped.

He kept his fingers crossed as he started the engines and engaged the drive, just as he had been taught.

So far so good. The guard at the door even flipped him a lazy “good-bye” wave as Boba lifted
Slave I
off the platform and soared into the cloudless sky of Geonosis.

The ship felt familiar, almost like home. Boba was thankful for all the time he had spent practicing, and even pretending. Pretending is a kind of practicing.

The fuel was low, but sufficient to get him to Kamino. He was on his way.
Wish Dad were here to see me
, he thought.
I know he would be proud.

That thought, instead of making Boba happy, brought a sudden sadness. He tried to shake it off.

He had other things to worry about.

Like the blip in his rear viewscreen.

It was a Jedi starfighter, on his tail.

The Jedi must have left him behind to watch for stragglers
, Boba thought.
Is he here to follow me, to force me down, or to blast me out of the sky?

Boba wasn’t about to find out.

He knew he couldn’t outrun the starfighter. And since he barely knew
Slave I
’s weaponry, he couldn’t outfight him. That left only one option.

He had to outsmart him.

Instead of heading for space, Boba dove into the canyons and mesas that surrounded the stalagmite city. Using all the maneuverability of the craft, he sliced through the narrow canyons, turning
right, then left, as fast as he could.

The starfighter was gaining. But that was okay. That was part of Boba’s plan.

He remembered a trick his dad had told him about. A trick that had been used on Jango Fett once, and once only. (No trick ever worked on Jango Fett twice.)

Boba slowed where the canyon forked, left and right. He fired a missile at the canyon wall on the right, then turned left and landed on a narrow ledge under the shelter of a cliff.

Boba shut off his engines and waited. And waited.

If the trick worked the Jedi starfighter would see the marks of the explosion of the wall, and turn back. If it didn’t…

If it didn’t, the starfighter would appear around the corner, lasers blazing. Or call for backup, and the sky would fill with starfighters. Or…

Finally, Boba quit waiting and restarted his engines. The trick had worked. The Jedi starfighter had seen the explosion and turned back.

Boba grinned with satisfaction as he took off again.
He thought I hit the wall!

Boba pushed
Slave I
up into the rings and beyond. He had never been alone in space before.

He had felt alone on the planet after his father’s death, and particularly after burying him. But this was different. There is alone and there is
alone
.

There is no place more lonely than the vacuum of space. Because space is No Place.

In space, there is only Not. Zero. Absence. And the absence of absence…

Welcome to The Big Isn’t.

Boba shivered at the thought of the emptiness around him—then pushed the thought aside. He had no time for The Big Isn’t. He thought of his father and his code:
A bounty hunter
never gets distracted by the big picture. He knows it’s the little things that count.

Boba had a job to do. He had to find the black book.

Boba slipped into high orbit, above the rings.

Geonosis below looked almost peaceful. It was hard to believe it had just seen the fierce fighting that had killed his father—and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of others.

It was a beautiful sight, but Boba didn’t intend to spend time enjoying the view. He was already preparing the ship for a hyperspace jump.

For a return, this was a simple process. Since Kamino was the last place
Slave I
had been, all Boba had to do was reverse the coordinates on the navcomputer.

The ship would take care of the rest.

So he did.

And so did it.

In hyperspace, all sectors of the galaxy are connected. Near is far and far is near.

The ship was falling into a hole. No, out of a hole.

Boba was back in “normal” space.

He was floating in orbit around what looked like a ball of clouds stitched together with lightning.

Stormy Kamino!

Home. Or as much of a home as Boba Fett had ever known.

Boba rubbed his eyes, stretched, and put
Slave I
into descent trajectory. Gray clouds whipped past like torn flags. Lightning flashed on all sides; thunder boomed. As
the little starship slowed below supersonic speed, rain splattered the cockpit’s transparisteel.

Boba adjusted his speed and circled down slowly toward the lights of Tipoca City. He had watched his father do it several times, but this was his first time at the controls.

The funny thing was, he didn’t feel alone. It was almost as if Jango Fett were right there behind him. Boba could almost feel the big hand on his shoulder.

Smooth!
He cut the engines and eased onto the landing pad with hardly a bump.

The weather in Tipoca City was normal, which meant there was a big storm in progress—which was all right with Boba. He didn’t want to be noticed.

He had worn the battle helmet, so that anyone watching
Slave I
landing would think there was an adult at the controls. But he needn’t have bothered.

The landing pad was deserted. There was no one around.

Boba threw on a poncho and scrambled out of the cockpit, after setting the ship’s environmentals on
INPUT
to take on air and water, both plentiful on Kamino.

Especially water—it was pouring rain!

The little library at the end of the street corridor was dark. Boba banged on the door.

“Whrr, are you there?”

Was he too late? Or too early? Boba was warp-lagged from hyperspace, and he realized he had no idea what time it was in Tipoca City.

“Whrr, please. Open up!”

The light behind the slot came on.

Boba wished the door would open so that he could go in, out of the rain, but the library was only a branch.

An awning slid out, though, to protect him from the rain. And he heard the familiar whirring and clicking inside.

“Whrr, it’s me.”

“Boba? You’re back! Where have you been? What happened?”

A short question with a long answer. Boba told Whrr the whole story, from the time he and his father had left the planet in a hurry, to the horrible scene in the arena, where he had seen his
father killed.

“Oh, Boba, that’s terrible. You are an orphan, at only ten. Do you have enough to eat? Do you have any money?”

“Not exactly,” said Boba. “A few crackers. An extra pair of socks.”

“Hmmmmmm,” whirred Whrr.

“I’ll be okay,” said Boba. “But I have to get something my father left with me. By accident I left it with you.”

“A book?”

“Yes! You remember! It looks like a book, anyway. It’s black, with nothing on the cover. I returned it by mistake, with the last books I brought back right before I left.”

“I will be right back.”

There was a whir and a click, a clank and a clatter. Soon Whrr was back—with good news!

“Here you are,” he said, passing the black book through the slot. “But there is a fine, you know.”

“A what!?”

“There’s money due on this book. Quite a bit.”

“It’s not even really a book. Besides, I didn’t check it out. It’s
mine
! I left it with you.”