by Terry Bisson
woman looked up.
All around the arena, the Geonosians started looking up.
Boba stopped and looked up, too.
Gunships were descending from the sky,
One, two, three gunships... six altogether.
They landed around the Jedi survivors. Doors in the ships opened and
troops poured out, running down the ramps, firing at the droids. Boba knew
the troops well, although he was surprised to see them. The Jedi began
backing into the ships, still blocking laser blasts with their lightsabers,
The battle was on again, but Boba hardly noticed. He was running
again, jumping from seat to seat, down toward the arena, as the gunships
took off, with the Jedi still running up the ramps. Some were barely
hanging on by their fingertips as the ships rose.
They were getting away. Not only the beautiful woman, but the Jedi he
and his father hated. The Obi-Wan Jedi; the apprentice Jedi; the dark-faced
fighter called Mace Windu. They were all escaping!
Boba didn't care. All he cared about was finding his father. He ran
down the last aisle, pushing his way through the stunned crowd.
He climbed over the wall and jumped into the arena.
"Dad! Dad! Where are you?!"
The dirt and sand under his feet were soaked with blood. Bodies lay in
heaps on all sides.
A droid that had been blasted in half was thrashing around in a
circle, kicking weapons, droid pieces, and bodies in every direction.
One piece rolled toward Bobs, hit his foot, and stopped.
Boba looked down and saw - Jango Fett's battle helmet.
Dad! With its narrow eye-slits, it was as familiar as his father's
face. More familiar, in fact,
It was bloody. It was empty. It was as blank and as final as the
period at the end of a book.
Over. End of story.
As he fell on his knees and picked up his father's battle helmet, Boba
knew that the nightmare he had seen from the stands had been no dream.
It was real. All of it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
No one notices a ten-year-old kid especially in the midst of a battle.
Especially when he is wandering in a daze, Stepping over bodies and
trails of blood, oblivious to the laser bolts whining through the air near
his head or spinning into the bloody sand at his feet,
Especially when he is ignoring the shouts of the living and the
screams of the dying; ignoring even his own cries.
Bobs was invisible.
He was invisible even to himself. He didn't know what he was thinking
or what he was feeling or what he was doing. He was numb. It was like
walking through somebody else's dream.
He carried his father's empty battle helmet cradled in both arms,
while he stumbled around the arena in the remains of the battle; while the
troops were fighting the last of the droids and the gunships were departing
with the rescued Jedi; while the panicked Geonosians were evacuating the
arena in a stampede.
He carried the broken piece of his father's armor through the broken
pieces of his world.
Did he think he could put his father back together?
Did he think he could put his life back together?
Boba didn't think anything. He was numb. It was all gone, all
shattered.
It had all come to pieces. Pieces lay everywhere. Pieces of droids,
body parts, the dead and the dying. Those who were still alive, and some of
those who weren't, were firing their blasters wildly.
Boba walked past a spinning droid, its right leg shot off. It was
firing around and around as it spun, spraying the upper tiers of the arena
and the panicked crowd of Geonosians.
Laser bolts hit the ground around him, throwing up geysers of sand.
Boba didn't care. Boba walked on.
Crouching troops in battle armor hurried by, firing as they ran. One
grabbed Boba's arm and threw him to the ground. "Get down!"
WHARR000MM!
An explosion ripped through the air where Boba had been. He hit flat
on his belly.
W HA R ROOOM M!
Another explosion - and Boba felt sand stinging his cheeks. He buried
his face in his arms, next to the empty helmet. When he opened his eyes and
looked up, he saw -
Dad! It was his father, Jango Fett, looking down at him! Boba reached
up for his father's hand, and -
Then, suddenly, Boba saw how wrong he was. It was not his father. It
was the trooper who had saved his life, or one of the others. For they all
looked exactly alike beneath the armor. It was his twin, only older. It was
his father, only younger.
It was one of the clones.
As he stumbled to his feet, Boba realized clearly - and with horror -
that the troops that had poured out of the gunships were the clone army
that his father had trained on Kamino. Here they were, in action for the
first time, on Geonosis. And unbeatable, just as his father had predicted.
But they were fighting on the wrong side. Fighting for the hated Jedi!
No! Boba thought, clenching his fists. His disappointment was replaced
by feelings of betrayal and rage.
"Just a kid!" the trooper said. "Thought you were one of us." He ran
with the other clones toward a departing gunship.
"I'm not one of you!" Boba muttered angrily. "And I never will be. I
am Jango Fett's real son."
The arena was almost empty. The Archduke was nowhere to be seen. The
Count was nowhere to be seen. The fighting was almost over. The last
gunship was leaving, blasting upward through the opening over the arena.
Boba hardly noticed. He was looking down, not up. He didn't care about
the clones anymore. He had a job to do. One last job for Jango Fett.
It was getting dark. The rings of Geonosis filled half the sky with an
orange glow. With the helmet in his arms, Boba was walking in circles,
stumbling through the blood-damp sand. Finally, he found what he was
looking for. Stumbled across it, in fact.
It was his father's body, still clothed in the remaining pieces of
Mandalorian battle armor, scuffed and bloodied.
Boba placed his father's helmet on his father's chest, then sat down
beside him. He was tired and it was time to rest. He noticed a tear slowly
making its way down through the gritty sand on his cheek. He wiped it away
with his fist.
It was too soon to cry. Boba still had a job to do.
It was dark, or as dark as it gets on the ringed planet. The battle
had moved out of the arena and had covered a wide part of the land.
The Geonosians - now under the control of the victorious Jedi - sent
in squads of drones to pick up the dead. They were tossed on a fire. The
smashed and broken droids were luckier. They were picked up by a scoop to
be taken outside to a scrap pile, for recycling.
Boba was sitting by his father's body when the scoop rolled by, on its
second pass through the bloody arena.
Boba knew what he had to do. He was not like the clones. He was Jango
Fett's real son. It was his job to take care of his father's body. And as
long as he did his job, he could put off feeling the feelings that he
didn't want to feel.
The scoop whined and jerked as it moved from place to place, blindly
scouring the sand for more parts. Boba dragged his father's body into the
scoop's path, where it would be picked up. In his Mandalorian battle armor,
Jango Fett felt to the scoop just like a droid. A broken droid.
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.
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.
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 e
ngaged 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
