The Fight to Survive (9 page)

“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!

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.”

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:

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:

“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.