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The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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. |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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.”
“Exactly,” said Whrr. “Which means the library owes you, let’s see, two hundred and fifty credits.”
“That’s impossible—” Boba began.
“Sorry,” said Whrr, passing the money through the slot. “A fine is a fine and must be paid. Now go on about your business, Boba, and good luck. Come and see me sometime. If
you’re ever around.”
I get it, Boba thought. I’m a little slow, but I get it.
“Thank you, my friend,” he said. “Someday I will come back to Kamino. I’ll come by and see you then, I promise.”
“Good-bye, Boba,” Whrr said through the slot. The light went off and Boba heard a strange snuffling sound.
Must be the rain, he thought, because everybody knows that droids don’t cry.
Boba could hardly believe his luck! Two hundred and fifty credits would buy groceries and supplies, even clothing, with some left over for fuel. This was vital—since he
didn’t know how to access his father’s accounts.
And he had the black book! He patted it under his poncho, where he was carrying it out of the rain.
Before heading off-planet, Boba wanted to make one stop.
He wanted one last look at the apartment where he and his father had lived, where he had spent the first ten years of his life (although, of course, he didn’t remember most of it).
Fortunately, it was on the way back to the landing pad.
As Boba rode up in the turbolift, he wondered about the locks. Had they been changed? Would they still recognize his finger and retinal prints?
He never found out. The door was wide open.
The apartment was dark. It was spooky. It no longer felt like home at all.
Boba closed the door and was just about to turn on the lights when he heard a voice behind him.
“Jango.”
It was Taun We.
Boba could barely see her in the dim light from the window. She was sitting on the floor with her long legs folded up out of sight under her long body.
“I saw Slave I come in,” she said.
Boba crossed the room and stood in front of her.
Taun We looked up, startled. “Boba!? Is that you? Where’s your father?”
Boba had always regarded Taun We as a friend. So he sat down and told her.
“You poor child,” she said, but her words were cold and mechanical. Boba realized she wasn’t such a friend after all.
“What were you about to tell my father?” he asked.
“The Jedi,” she said. “They came and took the clone army, after you and your father left. They also wanted to question Jango Fett further. Now that he is dead, they will want
you.”
“My father hated the Jedi.”
“I have no feelings for the Jedi,” said Taun We. “Of course, we Kaminoans have few feelings for anything. It is not in our nature. But fairness requires that I tell you that
they are after you. Just as I have told them that Slave I has landed in Tipoca City, and that you and your father would probably be coming here.”
“You did what!?”
“I must be fair to all,” said Taun We. “It is in my nature.”
“Thanks a lot!” Boba said, heading for the door. He didn’t bother to shut it after him. He couldn’t believe Taun We had betrayed him to the Jedi. And he had thought she
was a friend. Then he remembered his father’s code: No friends, no enemies. Only allies and adversaries.
But what about Whrr? he thought as he pressed the button for the turbolift. Wasn’t Whrr a friend? It was all too confusing to think about!
Boba was still lost in thought when the turbolift arrived. Then the door slid open, and—
It was a Jedi. A woman, young and tall.
Boba ducked aside and let her walk past. He kept calm, kept walking.
“Siri? You’re too late,” said Taun We from inside the apartment.
“You bet I’m gone!” said Boba as he opened the garbage chute and dove in. He closed his eyes and held his breath as he fell—down, down, down.…
It wasn’t the fall he feared, it was the landing. The trash pile at the bottom would either be hard or…
OOOMPH!
Soft! Luckily, it was all old clothes and paper.
Boba was surprised to find himself grinning as he brushed himself off and ran out the door, toward the safety of Slave I—and flight! |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
One good thing about stormy Kamino—there are lots of electrical disturbances to cover your tracks, even from radar.
Boba Fett knew that once he had lifted off the landing pad, he would be hard to follow. He buried Slave I in the thick, gray clouds, changed course a few times just to be sure, then
punched up through the atmosphere into the quiet of space, and a long, slow orbit.
Back into The Big Isn’t.
At last it was time to check the black book. The message that his father had promised would guide him after he was gone.
He grasped the cover tightly, prepared to pull hard. But the cover opened easily. Instead of pages and print, Boba saw a screen.
It was just as Jango had said. It was not a book at all, but a message screen. An image was coming into focus, a planet…
No, a face. Becoming clearer.
Boba’s father’s face.
It was dim but it was him. Jango Fett’s eyes were wide open. He looked sad, though; sadder than ever.
“Boba.”
“Father!”
“Listen up, Boba. You are only seeing this because I am gone. Because you are on your own. Alone.”
Boba didn’t have to be told that. He was feeling very alone.
“That is the way. All things must end. Even a parent’s love, and I am even more than a parent to you. Remember me, and remember that I loved you.”
“I will, Father,” Boba whispered, even though he knew his father could not hear. “I will never forget you.”
“There are three things you need, now that I am gone. I can only point you toward them. These three things you must seek and find on your own.”
On your own. The words had a cold, familiar sound.
“The first is self-sufficiency. For this you must find Tyranus to access the credits I’ve put aside for you. The second is knowledge. For knowledge you must find Jabba. He will not
give it; you must take it. The third and the most important is power. You will find it all around you, in many forms. But beware, sometimes it is dangerous. And one last thing,
Boba…”
“Yes, Father! Anything!”
“Hold onto the book. Keep it close to you. Open it when you need it. It will guide you when you read it. It is not a story but a Way. Follow this Way and you will be a great bounty hunter
someday. I was sure of it when I was alive, and I am sure of it still.…”
The picture was fading. “Father!”
The screen was blank. Jango Fett was gone.
Boba closed the black book. The cover sealed with a soft click.
Wow.
Boba didn’t know whether to smile or cry, so he did both, while he sat with the black book on his lap. It was just a message screen, just a recording. But to him it was something very
precious. It was his only connection with his father.
It was home and family.
He felt less alone.
Boba gave the black book a little pat and slipped it into the flight bag for later.
Then he stretched, and looked around.
Slave I was in high orbit. The planet Kamino was covered with storms far below. It looked like a marble made of mud and snow. On all sides, above and below, the stars beckoned.
Boba scanned through Slave I’s energy and environmental systems. Enough for one more hyperspace jump. Then he would have to refuel and refit.
Boba leaned back and planned his next step.
First things first, Jango always said. And according to Jango, or Jango’s memory, Boba’s first task was to find Tyranus. The Count. The man for whom Jango had created the
clone army.
Boba had seen him in person, for the first time, on Geonosis. But he was sure that Tyranus had fled in the chaos of the battle in the arena. He didn’t seem like the sort who would submit
to being captured by the Jedi.
Where would he have gone?
Boba closed his eyes and remembered his father’s voice, talking to the Jedi in Tipoca City: “I was recruited by a man called Tyranus on one of the moons of Bogden.…”
The moons of Bogden. That was a start.
Boba did a search in the ship’s database. Bogden was a swampy, uninhabited planet in a far sector, surrounded by “numerous tiny satellites.”
The moons of Bogden…
Boba punched in the coordinates. Then he hit the hyperdrive switch, and hoped for the best.
The stars started to dance as hyperspace wrinkled around the starship. Boba leaned back and crossed his fingers for luck.
“Here goes, Dad,” he breathed as he closed his eyes. “I’ll do my best to make you proud of me.” |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Even though Boba had looked up Bogden in the database, he wasn’t prepared for what he found when Slave I came out of hyperspace. “Numerous
satellites” indeed!
He was orbiting what looked like a handful of pebbles someone had tossed into the air.
Bogden was a small, gray planet, surrounded by a swarm of tiny moons. Boba counted nineteen before he quit. It was hard to keep them straight. They were all shapes and sizes. The smallest was
barely big enough for a ship to land on, while the largest had room for mountains, a city or two, and even a dry sea.
Day and night were erratic on these tiny circling worlds. Some were in darkness, some in light. Several had atmospheres; most did not. Boba scanned them all, looking for a city with a spaceport;
or at least a town with a spaceport; or at least a town.
Many of the moons seemed uninhabited. Boba rejected one pear-shaped lump that oozed volcanic fumes, and another that was covered from pole to pole with gravestones. He decided against one that
was covered in ivy that looked carnivorous. He passed on one that was all ice and one that was all ash and smoldering embers.
Finally Boba located a moon that was roughly spherical, half in light and half in darkness. At least it looked occupied.
He aimed for the largest cluster of lights he could find. The atmosphere was thin and shallow, and soon Slave I was in an approach trajectory over what looked like a small city
scattered through several rocky valleys.
The ID-scan gave the moon’s name as Bogg 4.
Boba aimed for a wedge of lights that looked like a landing pad. He clicked Slave I out of auto and began to set her down.
Smoothly and easily, and then…
Whoa! Something was rocking the ship, almost like a windstorm.
Boba fought the controls, trying to slow the descent.
Later he remembered a joke that went, “It wasn’t the fall that was bad. It was just the last centimeter.”
So it was with Boba. He made a perfect landing except for the very last part.
CRUNCH!
Slave I was tipped over on its side. Boba tried to right it, but it wouldn’t move. According to his damage control panel, he had bent one of the landing struts.
At least no one was watching. The landing pad seemed deserted. Boba got out of the cockpit to survey the damage.
He felt dizzy. It looked bad. Two struts were good but the third was bent almost double.
He had no idea how to fix it. He got the flight bag down from the cockpit and looked through it for a repair manual. But there was only the black book his father had left him.
Boba pulled the black book out of the flight bag. Maybe there would be something in it that he could use. If he ever needed it, it was now!
The book opened easily. On the screen inside were two lines, looking like something out of Jango Fett’s code:
Never tell the whole truth in a trade.
A favor is an investment.
Darn! Nothing about landing gear, Boba thought, closing the book.
He was putting it back into the flight bag when he heard a high-pitched voice behind him: “Whose ship?”
Boba turned.
A small humanoid was approaching. He had beady eyes, a long snout, and narrow, hooved legs. Boba recognized him by his chin beard and purple turban as a H’drachi from the planet
M’Haeli. But modified: His right arm had been replaced with a multipurpose tool extension.
He wore coveralls with words stitched over the pocket:
HONEST GJON
STARSHIP SERVICE
“we will warp you”
“My ship,” Boba said. Then he remembered that he was just ten, and looked it. “I mean—it’s my father’s.”
“And where mmight this father of yours be?” asked the H’drachi.
“Unavailable at the moment,” said Boba. “But you can talk to me.”
“Honest Gjon at your service,” said the H’drachi. “This is mmy landing pad. Which mmeans you owe me a landing fee. And it looks like you mmay need repairs as
well.”
“Looks like it,” Boba admitted. Still feeling dizzy, he checked in his pocket for the credits Whrr had given him. He had planned to spend them on food and fuel. But now…
“How much to fix a strut?” he asked.
“How mmuch you got?” asked Honest Gjon.
Boba was just about to say two hundred and fifty credits, when he remembered the black book: Never tell the whole truth in a trade. “Two hundred credits,” he said.
Honest Gjon smiled at him. “Mmy mmy, what a coincidence. That’s exactly how mmuch it costs.”
So maybe the book helps with repairs after all, Boba thought as he gave Honest Gjon two hundred credits. He still had fifty for himself.
Plus, as a courtesy, the H’drachi agreed to waive the landing fee.
Boba gave Honest Gjon the access codes to Slave I and headed toward the lights of the little town. As soon as he started walking, he understood why the landing had been so difficult.
Something was shaking Bogg 4. He had hardly gone ten steps before he ended up in a ditch.
He scrambled to his feet—then fell to his knees again. He felt dizzier than ever. It was as if the ground were rocking under his feet—and yet everything looked stable.
The rocks stayed stationary. The ground didn’t move.
Boba stood up again, carefully. He took a step, then another. So far so good. The dizziness came and went, and, finally, Boba realized what it was that felt so strange.
It was the gravity itself! It was strong one moment, weak the next; now tilting him forward, now back. It came and went in waves.
Boba started off again, uneasily, holding onto a stone wall that ran along the road. By the time he got to the edge of the town, he was walking in a more or less straight line.
Or so he thought.
“I see you’re a newcomer,” said a voice from behind him. “A newcomer, yes.”
Boba turned and saw a skinny male in a long black coat. He looked almost human except that he had white feathers instead of hair on his head, and his long fingers were slightly webbed. His face
had a pinched, worried look, as if it had been shrunk.
“I can tell by your walk,” said the being in the long black coat. “By your walk, yes.”
“So what?” Boba said. The dizziness was making him sick to his stomach, and he wasn’t feeling too friendly. “And why does the gravity here come and go like the
wind?”
“Why, you have it exactly,” said the man, or whatever he was. “It’s the moons crisscrossing, now cancelling one another, now doubling their pull. It makes walking hard.
That’s why we locals prefer to soar, yes.”
Boba looked for wings under the long coat, but he didn’t see any. “You are a native, then, of this world?”
“Bogg 4? No. Of all the moons, of all the moons, yes. Say, you’re pretty good, kid. Pretty good, yes.”
“Huh?”
“At the walking. You’ve almost got it down, yes.”
They introduced themselves to each other and walked together into the town.
Aia (for that was his name) explained to Boba that the moons of Bogden were a kind of outlaw heaven, where no warrants were served and no questions were asked.
“What does that mean?” Boba asked.
“It means that no one wonders why a ten-year-old boy is wandering around on his own. No one, yes.”
And it was true. Boba was even more invisible here on Bogg 4 than he had been on Kamino or Geonosis. The streets in the town were crowded with creatures from every corner of the galaxy, all
walking with the same rolling gait, and none paying the slightest attention to Boba and his companion.
The gravity came and went in waves as the moons overhead (and unseen “below”) slid in and out and around one another, sometimes dark, sometimes bright. Boba was still dizzy. But he
was getting used to it.
“So tell me,” said Aia. “Why are you here, yes?”
“A short visit,” said Boba cautiously. He wasn’t sure who he could trust and who he couldn’t. “I’m looking for a certain man who hired a certain bounty
hunter.”
“Lots of bounty hunters on Bogg 4,” said Aia. “Dangerous characters, yes. They come here to hang out and trade info. To get new jobs. They usually only associate with one
another, yes. Never with their prey. You don’t have a bounty on you, do you, yes?”
Boba laughed. “No way. I’m the son of a bounty hunter.”
“Here, then,” said Aia, stopping in front of a low tavern that fronted on the narrow street. A wooden sign said THE BONNY BOUNTY. “This is where the
bounty hunters hang out, yes.”
Boba looked in the window. The place was almost empty. He could see long tables, guttering candles, and a smoky fire. “I will wait here, then,” said Boba, “while my ship is
being repaired by Honest Gjon.”
“Honest Gjon?” said Aia. “Oh dear, yes.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I mean, no, nothing. Never mind. I’ll leave you here, yes.”
“You’re not coming in?” Boba asked. Aia was his only guide. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in this strange place.
“No, my, uh…religion forbids it, yes.”
“Religion, my reptilian foot!” Suddenly two figures were standing in the open door of the Bonny Bounty. “He’s not coming in because he’s a thief!” said one.
“And he knows that we know it!” said the other.
On the right was a birdlike humanoid with leathery skin and a broad beak. Boba recognized him as a Diollan. On the left was a green and reptilian Rodian. Boba knew that members of both species
often became bounty hunters.
“This man is wanted for picking pockets!” the Diollan said.
“He stole from me, too,” said the Rodian.
They grabbed Aia, each taking one of his skinny arms. “Oh, no, yes, no!” cried Aia, excitedly. He twisted and turned but couldn’t get free.
Boba thought of the black book: A favor is an investment. Maybe if he did Aia a favor, it would pay off. At least he would have a guide. “How much does he owe you?”
“Twenty credits,” said the Diollan. “Same here,” said the Rodian.
“Here.” Boba counted out forty credits, twenty for each. That left him ten. He wondered if it would be enough to buy something to eat.
The Rodian and the Diollan let go of Aia while they counted their money. As soon as his arms were free, Aia opened his black coat like a kite, bent his knees—
And jumped. Straight up. He soared up, over the rooftop, and out of sight.
Boba watched, dismayed. There went his investment.
The Rodian and the Diollan barely noticed. They turned and went back inside the tavern.
Boba followed them. Surely they owed him something. He had done them a favor, after all, by giving them their money back. “Maybe you can help me,” he said. “Are you bounty
hunters?”
“Sure are,” said the Rodian, with a laugh. “Are you bounty?”
“I am Jango Fett’s son,” said Boba. “Perhaps you knew him?”
The Diollan and the Rodian both looked at Boba with new interest. They took him to a table and signaled for the innkeeper, who brought food and tea. The tea was bitter but it made Boba feel less
dizzy.
In fact, the more he drank the less dizzy he felt.
“We knew your father,” the Rodian said.
“A great bounty hunter and a great man,” said the Diollan.
Boba told them the whole story of how his father had died and everything that had happened since. He hoped he could trust them because they were his dad’s colleagues.
Somehow, talking about his father’s death made Boba feel better. It made it seem less like a tragedy and more like a story. Boba wondered if that was why people told stories—to get
over them.
“My father mentioned a client,” Boba said. “I thought I might find him here.”
“His name?”
“Count, uh…” Boba suddenly remembered that Tyranus was a name no one was supposed to know. “Count Dooku,” he said, using the name the Count had used on
Geonosis.
“Dooku?” said the Diollan.
“Not here!” said the Rodian.
“You must go to—Coruscant!” they both said together.
“Are you sure?” Boba asked, confused. Coruscant was the planet where the Republic and the Jedi had their headquarters. Why would Tyranus be there?
“Yes, yes, absolutely sure!” said the Rodian.
“Positively. Go to the Golden Cuff tavern in Lower Coruscant,” said the Diollan.
“Tell the bartender who you are looking for,” they both said together. “He’ll know immediately what to do!”
“Thanks!” said Boba. He tried to pay his bill but the bounty hunters insisted on treating him. Boba thanked them again and headed back to the landing pad where he had left his
starship with Honest Gjon.
As soon as he had left, the Diollan and the Rodian turned to each other and grinned.
“That’s the best kind of bounty,” said the one.
“The kind that delivers itself and saves us the fuel…and the trouble!” said the other.
The tea was wearing off, Boba could tell, as he headed back for Honest Gjon’s landing pad. He felt dizzy again. Not as dizzy as before, but a little bit.
The moons of Bogden were wheeling across the sky. Some were small, some were large; some were dark, and some were bright.
Boba could hardly believe his luck. He had picked the right moon, Bogg 4. He had found the right bounty hunters, the Diollan and the Rodian. And on his very first try, he had located Tyranus. He
had even eaten dinner, and it hadn’t cost a credit!
A favor is an investment. He had meant to do the favor for Aia. Instead he had done it for the bounty hunters, and it had paid off.
Now all he had to do was get in his starship and go to Coruscant.
There was only one problem. The landing pad was empty.
Slave I was gone. |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER TWENTY
Boba sat down on the ground, under the wheeling, spinning Bogden moons. He was dizzy again. The tea had worn off completely.
His starship was gone. So was the black book that contained Jango Fett’s code. So was his father’s battle helmet—his legacy.
Even his money was gone, except for ten credits.
Gone, all gone. How could he have been such a fool? How could he have let his father’s memory down? How could he have trusted Honest Gjon? He put his head in his hands and moaned in dismay
and self-disgust.
Then he heard a clucking sound. “Tut, tut, yes.”
It was Aia. “I was afraid of this,” the skinny moon-being said. “That’s why I ran back. But I was too late. That Honest Gjon is a crook, yes.”
“So are you,” Boba pointed out. “You steal things.”
“Only my fingers steal,” said Aia, holding up both webbed hands. “And only what I need, yes. To prove it, I will help you find Honest Gjon. Not so honest, yes.”
Boba felt a glimmer of hope. “Where did he go?”
“His shop. He tears ships down for parts. So they can’t be traced, yes.”
“Then we must hurry,” said Boba, jumping to his feet. “Before he begins to tear Slave I apart. Where is this shop of his?”
Aia pointed straight up, toward a jagged, spinning moon.
“Oh, no!” Boba sat back down. “He has taken it to another world.”
“Yes, of course. He thinks you can’t follow, yes.”
“But he’s right! I can’t!”
“But you can,” said Aia. “Come. Come with me, yes.” And he took Boba’s hand and pulled him to his feet.
“If you were any older or any bigger, this would be a problem, yes,” said Aia as he led Boba up the path. “As it is, we may just make it, yes.”
“Make what?” The path twisted and turned up a rocky hill overlooking the landing pad.
“You will see, yes.”
Boba saw—and didn’t like what he saw.
The path ended at a cliff.
Boba gripped Aia’s big hand and leaned out, looked up, looked down. Above, he saw darkness, a few moons, and many stars. Below, he saw only darkness.
He was dizzy again.
“The gravity waves rise and fall with the moons, yes,” said Aia. “If you get high enough, and if you know what you are doing, you can ride them. Like a bird on the wind,
yes.”
All of a sudden, Boba got it. And he didn’t like it.
He backed away from the edge of the cliff, but not fast enough. Aia was already stepping off into thin air—and pulling Boba with him.
Boba was falling.
Then he wasn’t.
He was rising, soaring, slowly at first and then faster, faster, faster. Rising up through the air.
“You have to ride the vectors, yes,” said Aia, whose coat was spread wide like a kite, like wings. He squeezed Boba’s hand. “When one vector gives out, we cross to
another, yes.”
Let’s hope so, thought Boba.
Aia pulled Boba with him. They plummeted down, then started to rise again.
They were heavy one moment, weightless the next.
Boba ignored the lump rising in his throat for as long as he could.
Then he lost it.
“Yu-ck!” said Aia. “If I had known you were going to do that…I would have…yes…”
“Sorry,” said Boba.
He was feeling less dizzy. The higher they soared, the easier it got. All Boba had to do was hang on to Aia’s hand and follow. Other figures darted in and out of the clouds. All of them
were small like Aia.
Aia waved at them.
“We are the couriers, yes,” he said to Boba. “We are the only ones light enough to travel from world to world. You too, yes. As long as you stay with me.”
Don’t worry, Boba thought, squeezing Aia’s hand. I’m sticking with you!
It was getting cold. Boba looked down. He immediately wished he hadn’t.
Bogg 4 was a tiny lump of stone and dust, far away. The stars were too bright. It was hard to breathe.
We’re almost in space! Boba thought. We have soared too high!
“There, Bogg 11, yes,” said Aia, pointing up ahead to where a smaller, darker moon was about to cross Bogg 4’s orbit. Gravity was pulling at both moons, tangling their clouds
together in long streams, like seaweed.
“The foam is where the atmospheres brush one another,” Aia said. “That is where we make the jump, yes.”
“And if we miss…”
“Space is cold,” said Aia. “Eternity is cold. Hang on, hold your breath, yes!”
Boba held his breath. But he couldn’t hold on.
His fingers were numb and stiff with cold. He felt Aia’s hand slipping away.
“No!” cried Boba silently, since there was no air with which to shout or scream.
No air to breathe.
He closed his eyes. He was spinning, weightless, drifting away into The Big Isn’t. The nothingness of space. Of death.
Here I come, Dad, he thought. It was almost a peaceful feeling.…
Then he felt gravity pulling at him like fingers, gently. Slowing his spin. Pulling him down.
Boba could hold his breath no longer. He gulped, expecting the cold rip of vacuum in his lungs.
Instead, he tasted air. It was hardly sweet but it tasted great to Boba.
He opened his eyes.
Aia had him by the hand again.
They were soaring in the sky of a different world. A smaller, smokier world.
“Bogg 11, yes,” said Aia.
They circled down toward Bogg 11 in long loops. Boba saw Slave I parked in a rocky little valley, surrounded by piles of spaceship parts.
“Luckily he’s just getting started,” Aia said. “We made it, yes.”
They landed on the side of a small, steep hill. Boba fell and rolled to a stop. He got up, dusted himself off, and started running down a rocky path, toward Slave I.
Honest Gjon saw them coming and stared.
“What if he won’t give it back?” Boba asked. He picked up a rock. He wished he had a blaster.
“Don’t be silly,” said Aia. “Put down the rock. Thieves have honor, yes?”
Yes. It seemed so. Sort of, anyway.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying!” said Honest Gjon, throwing up his hands. The bearded H’drachi’s smile seemed genuine.
Boba shook his head in exasperation and looked into the cockpit. The flight bag was still there. The battle helmet and the black book were inside it. Maybe there was honor among thieves after
all.
Boba tried the book, and it opened.
Money is power.
Not much help, Boba thought, since I don’t have any. He closed the book and put it back into the flight bag.
Honest Gjon was watching Boba’s every move. “What does it say?”
“It says you’re supposed to give me my money back.”
“No way!” said Honest Gjon. “I fixed your strut, didn’t I?”
“He did, yes,” said Aia.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” said Boba.
They all shared a laugh.
But while Boba laughed, he tried to think of his next move. |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Boba found that he liked these outlaws of the moons of Bogden. Crime was just a game to them. They were like bounty hunters, in a way.
“Coruscant’s a dangerous place,” said Honest Gjon, when Boba told him where he was going.
“And expensive,” said Aia. “You have no money, yes?”
“I have ten credits,” said Boba. “I guess that’ll have to be enough.”
“There are ways to get money, yes,” said Aia.
“Such as?”
“Such as crime,” said Honest Gjon. “I happen to know of some mmoney being smuggled from Bogg 2 to Bogg 9. A few fellows with a good ship and a little luck could take what they
needed.”
“You could be one of those fellows, yes,” said Aia.
Boba was intrigued. Money is power. “You’re talking about a hijacking? A robbery?”
“An interception,” said Honest Gjon. “Not exactly a robbery, since it isn’t real mmoney, yes. It’s counterfeit credits. They are made on Bogg 2, then sent by
light-air balloons to Bogg 9 when the alignment of the mmoons is just right.”
“The atmospheres brush together and the balloons pass from world to world,” said Aia. “Like we did, yes.”
“A smugglers’ trick,” said Honest Gjon. “And if we pick off one balloon on the way, no one will mmiss it.”
“They will think one just got away, yes,” said Aia. “Of course, catching it on the fly requires a very good pilot with a very good ship. You may be too young,
yes.”
“I want a third,” said Boba. “When do we go?”
“In about ten minutes,” said Aia. He looked at Honest Gjon and winked. “I told you he would do it, yes?”
From space, Bogg 2 looked like a dry dirt clod, spiked with mountains. Boba cruised over slowly, then put Slave I into a slow holding orbit just above the
atmosphere.
“No lights, no electrics, no radio,” said Honest Gjon. “That way we can’t be seen. The trick is to try to catch the balloon as it rises. If you get close, I will hook it
into the hatch.”
“We should let the first one go, so they don’t suspect anything, yes,” said Aia. “Then grab the next one.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Boba.
“Look,” said Honest Gjon. “Here comes number one.”
He handed Boba a viewfinder. Boba saw a red balloon rising out of a mountain valley.
He handed the viewfinder to Aia. The balloon rose swiftly in the low gravity. It streaked past, into the stormy space between the moons. A gondola hung below it, packed with bales of
credits.
Money! thought Boba with a grin. Money is power! If only his father could see him now. He knew he would be proud.
“Here it comes,” said Honest Gjon. The second balloon was on its way. It had an even larger gondola hanging beneath it. Even more money, Boba thought.
Aia tracked it with the viewfinder and then with his naked eye, while Boba operated the ship. “Back up a hair, yes. Now forward. Now up, yes. Whoa!”
Honest Gjon opened the ramp and pulled in the balloon. “Got it!”
“Great,” said Boba. “Now let’s close the ramp and get out of here.”
“One more,” said Aia.
“I thought two was the plan,” said Boba. “They will see us if we stay too long. They’ll send someone up after us.”
“One mmore can’t hurt,” said Honest Gjon. He held up a fistful of brand-new credit notes.
Why not? thought Boba. More is better. If the black book didn’t say that, well, it should!
He pulled the ship back into place and held it steady, adjusting for the varying gravity of the spinning moons.
“Number three!” said Aia. Honest Gjon went to open the ramp.
The red balloon was getting closer and closer. Honest Gjon went down to open the ramp and pull it in. The gondola underneath it was even bigger than the one before.
More money! More is better, Boba thought, with a grin.
“Oooops,” said Honest Gjon. “Slight problem.”
“You’re all under arrest for counterfeiting,” said a gruff voice.
Boba turned and saw Honest Gjon in the doorway. He was not alone. Standing beside him was a trooper in a security uniform, holding a blaster.
Oh, no! thought Boba.
“It’s not our money,” said Aia. “It’s all a mistake, yes. We’ll give it back!”
“Who cares about the money?” said the trooper, with a cruel smile that was all teeth. “I’m officially confiscating this ship in the name of the law. It’s
contraband.”
Boba was thinking: No way! Give up Slave I, his father’s ship? But what could he do with a blaster pointed at his face?
Then he remembered a trick Jango had taught him.
“Move over, kid,” said the trooper. “And put your hands up where I can see them. Now!”
“Yes, sir.” Boba set the power on FULL AHEAD and punched in DELAY 4. Then he stood up with his hands over his head and slowly backed
away from the controls. He counted silently: four, three—
The trooper grinned. “That’s better,” he said, motioning with his blaster toward the open hatch. “Now grab some air, all three of you.”
Two, one—
Boba lunged, grabbing the back of the pilot’s seat as the engines roared to life and Slave I suddenly sprang forward. The trooper, Aia, and Honest Gjon all flew through the air
and hit the back wall in a clump.
WHACK!
THUMP!
Boba held onto the seat and threw the ship into a sharp turn. Honest Gjon and Aia grabbed the dazed trooper, one on each arm. They dragged him to the still-open hatch—and shoved him
out!
Boba grimaced as he brought the ship back under control. “Murder of a security trooper. Now we’re in big trouble!”
“He’s got a parachute, yes,” said Aia.
“He’s no trooper, anyway,” said Honest Gjon. “That uniform was as counterfeit as the credits. That was a hijacking that failed.”
“We did it!” said Boba as he set the ship down on Honest Gjon’s landing pad. His heart was still pounding, but he had saved Slave I. And made some
money, too.
“How many credits do we have?” he asked. “Let’s divide them three ways, so I can get out of here.”
“That’s the bad news, yes,” said Aia. “They all flew out the door when we shoved him out.”
“All but one,” said Honest Gjon. He handed Boba a hundred-credit note. “Take it, you deserve it all. And you’re going to need it on Coruscant.”
Boba put the money into his pocket with the pathetic little ten. Even though he had only made a hundred credits, he felt that Jango Fett would have been proud.
He had found out what he needed to know on the moons of Bogden. He had even made a few friends (or, as Jango would have called them, allies. No friends, no enemies. Only allies and
adversaries).
Now it was time to head for Coruscant and find Tyranus.
He shook hands with Honest Gjon, but Aia insisted on giving him a big hug. “Boba, continue your quest, yes. But take care. You are too trusting. Watch your back, yes?”
“Yes,” said Boba. “Thanks, Aia.”
They hugged again, then Boba got into Slave I and took off. It was only after he was in deep space, preparing to shift into hyperdrive, that he noticed that the hundred-credit note was
missing from his pocket.
And so was the ten. |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the endless, intricate web of civilized and half-civilized worlds that make up the Galactic Core, some planets are obscure and hard to find. And others are hard to miss.
Coruscant is in the second category.
The coordinates are easy to remember and even easier to punch into a starship’s navigational computer:
zero zero zero.
It is here that civilization begins. At the heart of the Core Worlds. At the very center of the Known Universe.
Coruscant. The planet that is a city; the city that is a planet.
Boba awoke when Slave I shuddered out of hyperdrive and slid into normal space.
He shook his head to clear it of the dreams that always crowded in during hyperspace jumps.
And there it was. The legendary city planet, covered by pavements and roofs, towers and balconies, parks and artificial seas. Coruscant was one immense metropolis from pole to pole.
Not a green spot nor an open field; no wilderness, no forests, no ice caps. Coruscant was one enormous planetwide city, covered by slums and palaces, parks and plazas. It spun below in all its
glory, welcoming Slave I as it had welcomed pilgrim and pirate, politician and petitioner, wanderer and wayfarer since the Republic’s first beginnings millennia ago.
And now it awaited Boba Fett. An orphan seeking only to please his father’s ghost.
Hopeful again at last, Boba eased Slave I into suborbital approach, past the big orbiting mirrors that gathered and focused the light of Coruscant’s faraway
sun.
The starship hit the atmosphere and began to slow. Boba descended in big looping turns, past the towers of the wealthy and powerful, past the hanging gardens, and into the commercial zones
reserved for uninvited visitors. With traffic crowding in on all sides, this was a much more harrowing approach than on Kamino or the moons of Bogden. Boba’s heart tightened in his chest.
Would they find him here?
He felt a slight bump and let go of Slave I’s controls. The ship was locked into autopilot, being flown “by wire” on a microbeam. It would land itself.
That was fine with Boba. He had other things to worry about. Money, for starters. He would need to pay his landing fees before he could take off again. Then there was the problem of the Jedi. If
they were really after him, as Taun We had warned, they might have a warrant out on Slave I. He could be arrested as soon as he touched down.
He needed some guidance. Maybe the book would help. It seemed to open when he needed it, or at least when it had something to say.
He pulled it out of the flight bag. Sure enough, it opened. But the message was even more mysterious than usual:
Watch out for things that go too well.
That’s hardly my problem! Boba thought. He closed the book, disgusted, and put it away. He watched nervously as the ship eased in toward the spaceport, slipping
smoothly between the towers and under the lighted walkways and gardens of Coruscant.
Slave I bumped down, light and easy. No alarms went off.
Boba lowered the ramp. He scanned the landing pad, ready to run if need be.
Nobody was watching. Nobody was around.
This was Coruscant. Nobody cared about an insignificant little ship like Slave I. Or its insignificant little ten-year-old pilot.
Boba’s first emotion on landing was relief.
His second was fear. The Jedi had eyes and ears everywhere. And especially on Coruscant. Would they find Boba before he found Tyranus?
Boba didn’t fear the Jedi as much as he feared failure. Would he disgrace his father’s memory by failing in his first test, the search for Tyranus—and self-sufficiency?
“Welcome to Coruscant,” said a disembodied droid voice.
“Sure, whatever,” muttered Boba.
Carrying his flight bag with the black book and the battle helmet, plus a few extra pairs of underwear and socks, he climbed down out of the ship. He started down the escalator toward the
streets.
Boba had read enough about Coruscant to know that it was arranged in layers according to class and function.
The upper levels were for the rich and powerful. Looking up, Boba could see their towers and gardens reaching up into the clouds.
The middle levels, where he had landed, were for both business and pleasure. The streets were filled with creatures from all over the galaxy, rushing around, buying and selling, or just
sightseeing.
The lower levels were said to be dangerous. They were the outlaw zones, filled with fugitives, pirates, and criminals—all the denizens of the underworld that lay beneath the Imperium.
Boba hoped all would go well on the lower levels when he went to find the Golden Cuff. He’d had quite enough adventure, thank you. He just wanted to find Tyranus.
Boba was in luck.
The Golden Cuff was a little hole-in-the-wall on the upper layer of the lower levels, just under the lower layer of the middle levels.
It was far enough down that the light was dim and the neon signs could glow all day. But not so far down that one had to hire a posse of armed guards to cross the street.
Boba walked in through the sliding door.
The bar was deserted except for the bartender, a four-armed being who was using two of his arms to wash glasses, one to count credits, and one to wipe the bar with a wet rag. His skin was a dark
crimson, and a proprietor sign named him as Nan Mercador.
Boba put his flight bag on the floor and sat on a bar stool.
“No kids allowed!” said Mercador, wringing out the rag and tossing it onto the bar. “And that means you!”
“I’m not a customer,” said Boba. “I’m not looking for a drink. I’m looking for a—uh, relative. Named Dooku.”
The bartender’s face brightened. “Dooku!” He looked at Boba with new interest. “Dooku. Oh, yes, of course. Absolutely. He’s a good friend of mine. Let me give him a
call.”
Mercador started punching numbers into a comm unit. “Dooku? Is that you?” he said. “Somebody here to see you.” Static came up on the comm screen behind the bar, as if it
were a long-distance planet-to-planet call. The bartender smiled at Boba. “How about a juice while you are waiting?”
“I don’t exactly have any money,” said Boba.
“It’s okay,” said the bartender, wiping the bar with one hand and filling a mug with two others. “It’s on the house!”
The juice was cold and tasted great. Boba could hardly believe his luck. He had only been in Coruscant for an hour or so, and already he had met a friendly bartender who actually knew
Tyranus (excuse me, Dooku!), and now he was drinking a free juice!
Suddenly he remembered the black book: Watch out for things that go too well. Could it be that—?
The static on the comm screen went away, and Boba saw two familiar faces. Neither was Tyranus. The one on the right was the Diollan; the one on the left was the Rodian. The two bounty hunters
from the moons of Bogden.
“That’s him!” said the Rodian. “Grab him! You can bring him to the Jedi for the reward.” Boba tried to slide down off the stool and run. But it was too late. Strong
hands grabbed his right arm.
And his left arm.
And his left leg.
And his right leg.
Nan Mercador came out from behind the bar and lifted him off the stool, into the air.
“Hey!” Boba yelled. “Let me go!”
“Not a chance,” said the bartender, holding Boba over his head. “You’re worth money!”
“This is a mistake!” Boba said.
“No mistake, kid,” said the Rodian on the comm screen.
“You’re bounty,” added the Diollan.
“The Jedi know you’re coming,” said the Diollan to Mercador.
“They will give you your share in cash,” said the Rodian.
“I should get half,” said the bartender as he started toward the door holding Boba over his head with all four arms. “I saved you both the trouble of coming here.”
“Too late for that,” said the Rodian.
“It’s already been arranged,” said the Diollan as they hung up.
The screen went black.
Think fast, thought Boba, squirming and kicking helplessly near the ceiling. And if that doesn’t work, think faster! He stopped squirming. “Don’t be a
fool,” he said. “Count Dooku will pay twice as much as the Jedi. And you won’t have to split it with anybody.”
“I won’t?” Nan Mercador stopped. But he didn’t let go of Boba. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” said Boba. “Set me down, and I will call him myself. You can ask him.”
“You must think I’m a dope,” said Mercador, still holding Boba so high above his head that he almost scraped the ceiling. “Besides, you don’t know his number. You
asked me to find him, remember?”
“I was just testing you,” said Boba, looking at the ceiling light near his left foot. It was only centimeters away. “But you don’t have to believe me. You can call him
yourself. The number is…”
He rattled off a string of numbers, hoping they would sound right. Apparently they did. The bartender let go of Boba’s left foot and began punching them into the comm unit on the bar.
Boba was ready to move. As soon as his foot was free, he kicked the light as hard as he could.
CRASH! It shattered, showering glass down onto the bar, the stools, the floor….
Mercador lifted his hands to protect his head from the falling glass. Boba fell, straight down, headfirst. At the last moment he managed to twist in the air like a diver and land on his feet. He
scrambled toward the door, which slid open—
And revealed two gleaming boots, blocking his way. Above them were two shapely legs. And above them—
It was a woman, holding a vicious-looking blaster. She grabbed Boba’s arm with one hand. She raised the other hand and fired.
ZZZ-AAA-PPP!
The bartender howled with pain and sat down on the floor in the middle of the broken glass.
“It’s set on stun,” she said. “But one false move and it goes to kill.”
“Cool,” said Boba, looking up at his rescuer. She looked dangerous. That made her even more beautiful to him. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Aurra Sing,” she said. “But never mind that. Let’s get out of here.”
Boba didn’t have to be asked twice. He grabbed his flight bag and followed her out onto the street, toward a parked hovercraft that was idling quietly on the narrow street.
“Bounty hunters,” he explained breathlessly. “They betrayed me. I never should have trusted them!”
“Bounty hunters can always be trusted,” Aurra Sing said. “Trusted to do what they are paid to do.” She opened the door of the hovercraft. “I know, because I am a
bounty hunter myself. Get in, young Boba Fett.”
“You know my name?”
“Of course. The bounty hunter always knows the bounty’s name.”
Boba backed up, ready to run.
“Get in!” Aurra Sing patted the blaster in the gleaming holster that matched her boots. “It’s very painful, even set on stun. Don’t make me try it on
you.”
Boba gave up and got in. He groaned as the hovercraft lifted off. He’d thought he had been rescued. Instead, he had been captured again!
As the hovercraft rose higher and higher, winding through the towers and hanging gardens of Coruscant, Boba sat back in his seat and sulked, disgusted with himself.
“Watch out when things go too well.” I should have known better, he thought. I will never trust anybody ever again!
He was surprised when Aurra Sing landed the hovercraft at the spaceport, right next to Slave I.
“Aren’t you taking me to the Jedi?” he asked. “I thought you were a bounty hunter.”
“I am,” she said. “But I would never work for the Jedi. My client lives on another planet altogether. That’s why we are taking your ship. You can fly it, can’t
you?”
“What if I say no?”
She patted her blaster again.
Boba opened the ramp and checked out Slave I’s systems. To his surprise, Aurra Sing paid off the landing fees, and even tipped the droid.
“Low orbit first,” she said. “Then hyperspace. And no funny business. I’m not known for my sense of humor.”
“No kidding,” Boba said under his breath. Then he asked, “Do you mind telling me who put out a bounty on me, and where we’re going?”
“You’ll find out the who soon enough,” she said. “The where is an outer rim world called Raxus Prime.”
“Excuse me? I must have heard you wrong. I thought you said Raxus Prime.”
“You heard right.”
“But—that’s a seriously uninhabitable planet.”
“I know. And we’re late. So drop us into hyperspace, and let’s go.” |
The Fight to Survive
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Boba had read about Raxus Prime, but he had never seen it, not even in pictures. Few had. Who would want to?
Raxus Prime was the most toxic planet in the galaxy. It was the dump for all the debris and detritus of a thousand civilizations.
It didn’t look so bad from a distance. Sort of like Kamino, Boba thought, as he dropped out of hyperspace, into orbit. It was all clouds. Beautiful, swirling clouds, all tinged
with scarlet, green, and yellow.
But as Slave I descended through the clouds, Boba saw that they were actually made of smoke and steam and toxic gas. The smell was so bad that it even penetrated the ship’s
systems. The stink was terrible but the colors were beautiful as Slave I crossed the line from the dark side of the planet into the light.
Pollution makes for great sunrises.
The smell didn’t seem to bother Aurra Sing. Nothing seemed to bother her. “Fly slow and low,” she said. It was the first thing she had said in hours. The entire trip from
Coruscant had been silent.
That suited Boba fine. He had nothing to say to her, either. She was not his ally but his adversary.
As Slave I dropped lower, Boba saw the surface of Raxus Prime for the first time. It was covered with rubble, trash, junk, and garbage, piled in huge twisted heaps and rows like
grotesque mountain ranges. Rusted, busted starships, scorched weaponry, mangled machinery, gobs and stacks of glass and steel lay half buried under heaps of slag. And all of it oozed and steamed
and smoked, fouling the air above and the water below.
Though it all looked dead, it was alive. Boba saw tiny brown-robed creatures scurrying through the oily wasteland. He saw birds the color of dirt, like smears against the sky. There were no
cities, but every few kilometers a smokestack belching fumes marked the site of a refinery or recycling plant, run by scurrying oil-smeared droids.
“Slower, kid.”
Aurra Sing consulted a code on her wristwatch. “It should be along here somewhere. Look for a lopsided hill and a lake—there it is!”
The “hill” was a heap of foul refuse a thousand meters high. Twisted, leafless, mutant trees grew from its ravaged slopes, fed by the continual rain that oozed from the stinking
clouds.
The “lake” was a pool of iridescent liquid the color of bile. Following Aurra Sing’s instructions, Boba set the ship down on a flat spot between the lake and the base of the
hill.
“Don’t shut it off.”
“Huh?”
“The ship. Leave it running. I’m getting out of here. You’re staying. This is it.”
“You can’t leave me here! You can’t steal my ship!” said Boba.
“Who says? The ship is my pay,” said Aurra Sing. She opened the hatch and lowered the ramp. “There is a door in the side of the hill. As soon as I leave, it will open for you.
My client is waiting for you inside. Don’t forget your flight bag.”
She tossed it out, onto the stinking, steaming “ground.” Boba ran after it. She closed the ramp behind him.
“You can’t just leave me here!” Boba yelled, banging on the hull of the ship. “I’ll run away!”
“Look around—I don’t think so!” she yelled back. “I’m gone. Good luck, Boba Fett. I hope you can live up to your father’s reputation. He was the genuine
article. Who knows, maybe someday you will be, too. I liked the way you handled that bartender.”
Boba could hardly believe it. She had rescued him, then betrayed him, then robbed him, and then complimented him! And now she was about to leave him alone on the foulest planet in the galaxy. He
banged on the hatch in a rage, but instead of opening, it sealed with a hiss.
He felt truly alone now. There was no one he could trust.
Slave I’s engines whined. Boba knew that sound. He stepped back, out of the way. He watched helplessly as the starship—his starship!—rose into the noxious
clouds and disappeared.
Once again, he felt dangerously close to tears. At the same time, he could barely breathe. Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him.
He turned. A door in the hillside was sliding open. Inside, Boba could see a brightly lighted hall, leading to a carpeted stairway.
Boba didn’t wait to be invited. Coughing and gagging, he ran inside.
Now what? Boba thought as the door slid shut.
Before he had a chance to answer his own question, he heard a voice behind him. “Welcome to Raxus Prime, Boba Fett.”
The voice was familiar. So were the lean, lined face and the hawklike eyes.
“Count Tyranus! I mean, Count Dooku!”
“You are among friends now, Boba,” said the Count. “You can call me anything you please. Count will do.”
“My father told me to find you,” said Boba.
“And I made sure it happened,” said the Count. “I see that Aurra Sing did a superb job and delivered you here safely.”
“Yes, sir,” said Boba. “I mean, no, sir. You see, she stole my ship, and it’s…”
The Count smiled and raised his hand. “Don’t worry. Your ship is safe. Everything will be fine from now on. You must be very tired.”
Boba nodded. It was true.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” said the Count, placing his cold hand on Boba’s head. “Come, let me show you to your room. Let me carry your bag.”
Boba followed him up the long stairs. The carpets were deep and soft. Who would have imagined that there was such an elegant palace on the planet of garbage? Even the air was sweet. There was
only a very faint foul smell from the planet outside.
“I have big plans for you, Boba,” said the Count. “Plans that would have made your father proud. But first you need to rest. You must be tired after all your
travels.”
Boba nodded. He had packed a lot of adventures into just a few days. The escape from the Jedi starfighter on Geonosis, the escape from the Jedi woman back on Kamino, the recovery of his ship and
the robbery gone wrong on the moons of Bogden, the struggle with the bartender on Coruscant…
He had lost the ship, but he would get it back. The Count had promised, hadn’t he? Something like that.
A lot of stuff for a ten-year-old, he realized. He was tired. But he was also confused. He knew he should be happy. He had been lucky. He had completed the first part of his quest. He
had found Tyranus. Now he would find Wisdom.
So why had he felt a cold chill when the Count put his hand on top of his head?
Probably just nerves, Boba thought as he followed the Count up the stairs, toward his room.
And his unknown future. |
Subsets and Splits