“I thought it might be important,” the clone said. “I’m glad I caught up with you.”
Around them the turbolift descended smoothly, silently. Above the door a stream of blinking lines and numerals indicated that they were slowly approaching Level Two, thousands of meters below the first level. Boba put the book back into his pocket, beside the shining card. The boy clone looked at him curiously.
“You’re not wearing a helmet,” the clone said. He tapped at his own helmet. “Are you an odd or even?”
“An odd or an even?” Boba repeated. “What do you mean?”
Then he remembered.
All young clones were numbered. All young clones wore learning helmets like the one worn by the boy in front of him. The only difference was that some of the learning helmets had gold-colored hardware. Others had plain black metal hardware. Odd-numbered clones wore gold. Even-numbered clones wore plain.
This boy’s helmet had gold plating. He was an odd. He was still staring at Boba, patiently waiting for a reply.
“Oh,” said Boba at last. “I’m, uh, same as you. Odd.”
The boy clone nodded seriously. “Is your helmet getting repaired, too?” He tapped his own helmet, making a face as a burst of static came out of the earpiece. The noise was loud enough that even Boba could hear it.
“That’s why I’m here,” the clone went on. “I should have remained on board with the others. But my helmet has been malfunctioning. Our commander said it would be faster to just get it repaired here, down on the Tech Support Level.”
“Tech Support?” said Boba.
“Level Three. That’s where all repairs are done.” He looked at Boba and, for the first time, frowned slightly. “You should know that. Your helmet really must have malfunctioned.”
Boba knew that the learning helmets provided a constant stream of data that the young clones absorbed. Some of the information was spoken through the earpieces. Some of the information was visual, streaming across the small screen that protruded from the helmet to cover this boy’s left eye. Clones developed at twice the speed of normal humans. They grew twice as fast, and by using the learning helmets, their brains developed twice as fast, too.
“That’s right,” said Boba slowly. “I was on my way down to see if it’s been repaired.”
The clone nodded. He smiled again, and Boba wondered if his friendliness might be a result of his malfunction. Clones were usually not very emotional.
And even though there were hundreds of thousands of them, they were always alone.
Like me, thought Boba in mild surprise. For the first time he smiled back.
“I’m 9779,” said the clone. “What designation are you?”
Boba thought fast. “1313,” he said.
“I’m from Generation Five Thousand,” the clone went on. “Is that your Generation, too?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Boba. He hoped he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. Still, he was curious himself. He asked, “Why are all the troopers here on Aargau?”
“You mean us?” 9779 looked surprised. “You better get your helmet fixed if you forgot that! There are rumors that Separatists are here on Aargau. This is a neutral planet, but we clone troopers are supposed to keep an eye on them. Just in case of trouble.”
Just in case, Boba repeated to himself. He wondered why the army would’ve brought a clone whose training was not complete. This had to be part of the training—going to a relatively stable world to learn how to patrol and defend.
“We are now approaching Level Two,” the turbolift’s mechanical voice intoned. “Please stand back from the doors.”
9779 obediently moved aside. Boba started to head for the door before it opened, but the clone stopped him.
“Did you forget?” 9779 asked, his face serious. “We’re going to Level Three. Got to get your helmet back!”
“Oh—” Boba stammered. “I, uh—”
But then the doors began to open. And Boba didn’t have to worry about just in case of trouble.
Because trouble had found him. Standing outside the turbolift was—
Aurra Sing!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Boba darted to one side, behind 9779. The clone stood, oblivious, as a small group of people waited to get into the turbolift with them. In the front of the little crowd stood Aurra Sing, her face dark with anger. When she saw 9779, she gave a low laugh of triumph.
“Gotcha!” she crowed, and lunged for the clone.
“Hey—!” said 9779, confused, as Aurra Sing grabbed his arm.
“Sorry,” said Boba under his breath to the clone. “But this is my stop.”
Other people were crowding into the turbolift now. Before Aurra Sing could spot him, Boba squeezed between the newcomers, out onto Level Two. Behind him he could hear the clone’s protests getting louder.
“—let go of me! I’ll have you deported!”
“I told you to wait for me!” said Aurra Sing furiously. “Did you think you’d get that money for yourself?”
That’s right! said Boba to himself. He moved quickly away from the turbolift. That’s exactly what I thought!
The mechanized voice made its final announcement. Then the sleek metal doors closed, and the turbolift descended once more.
Boba was on his own again.
Just how he liked it!
He quickly checked to make sure he still had his father’s book and the data card.
He did. He smoothed his hair, wishing again that he had his Mandalorian battle helmet to help disguise his appearance. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be mistaken for a clone again—next time he might not be so lucky. He turned and began to look around.
He was in a long, shimmering green tunnel. As a matter of fact, everything around him had a greenish glow—the walls, the floor, even the people.
And there were people everywhere. Thousands of them! He saw representatives of every race he could imagine—Gotals, Twi’leks, Dugs, Ithorians, and many more—as well as beings he didn’t recognize at all. Mingled among them was an occasional clone trooper. They were easy to recognize in their sleek white body armor. Even they had a green glow on Level Two.
But mostly, he saw members of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. They were tall, thin figures in distinctive drab uniforms. Their faces were dead-white, their cheeks sunken like those of San Hill, who Boba had seen on Geonosis. Boba knew they never ventured outdoors. They spent their entire lives inside, managing their vast stores of currency.
If I was rich, I wouldn’t waste my life indoors, Boba thought.
No—not IF I was rich—
WHEN I’m rich!
He put his hand in his pocket. He touched the smooth card that would lead him to the treasure.
If only he knew how to find it!
But where to start?
Boba frowned. Then he heard the mechanized turbolift voice behind him.
Now approaching Level Two.
Uh-oh. The first thing he better do was get away before Aurra Sing discovered his deception. He looked around.
Level Two was much bigger than Level One. There was a central area—that was where Boba was standing now. And, extending out from this central area, there were tunnels. Hundreds of them, shining green tunnels with moving walkways. A nonstop stream of people went in and out of the tunnels. They stepped onto the walkways, which led them away.
Where did they go?
Boba walked a safe distance from the busy turbolift area. He went toward one of the tunnel entrances. There was a sign above it.
FIRST ROYAL BANK OF M’HAELI
Boba turned and looked at the next tunnel.
BOTHAN INDEPENDENT TREASURY
“Huh,” he said. He looked at another tunnel, and another.
N’ZOTH BANKS ONLY
REGISTERED BANK OF AMMUUD, CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS
“Banks,” murmured Boba to himself. “They’re all banks.”
That’s what the tunnels were. Every tunnel led to a bank, or treas
ury, that belonged to a particular planet. He turned slowly in a circle, looking at all the tunnels stretching in every direction.
There weren’t just hundreds of them. The galaxy contained untold numbers of planets. Even if only some of these had representative banks on Aargau, there might be thousands of them!
How could he ever figure out which one held his father’s treasure?
Boba fingered the card in his pocket. Around him a steady flow of people went by. No one paid him any attention. After a minute he put the card back into his pocket, and slowly took out his father’s book.
It wasn’t just a book, though. Boba walked over to a quiet spot a short distance from one of the tunnels. There he opened the black book.
Inside there were no pages. There was a message screen. The first time he had opened it, after his father’s death, he had seen his father’s face and heard his father’s words.
“There are three things you need, now that I am gone,” his father’s image had said. “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.
“And one last thing, Boba. Hold on to 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.”
Hold on to the book. Boba bit his lip in remorse and anger. How could he have left it up on Level One? If it weren’t for Clone 9779—
Boba shook his head. No time for remorse now.
But, he thought, if I ever see that clone again, I owe him a favor. A really, really big one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Boba looked around. He could barely see the turbolifts from here—too many crowds. That meant Aurra Sing would have trouble spotting him, at least for a little while. He glanced from one tunnel to the next, all of them glowing silver-green in the eerie light of Level Two.
Did one of them hold the treasure?
It was like a puzzle. Or no—it was like a labyrinth. A maze. And beneath this level was another level, and then another, levels upon levels extending for kilometers to the surface of Aargau, where the Undercity was. Even if he ever claimed his credits, how could he find his way around? Would he be able to get back to Level One and his ship?
Mazes upon mazes. His father had told him once about being captured and imprisoned in an underground labyrinth on Belsavis and another time on Balmorra. A deadly scorpionlike kretch insect hunted him through the tunnels.
“How did you escape?” Boba had asked breathlessly.
“By keeping my head,” his father replied. “Mazes are designed to confuse you. To disorient you. But mazes always have an inner logic. Someone had to design them, after all. If you can stay calm and think, you can always find your way out—if you have enough time.”
Boba shook his head. He looked at the vast number of tunnels around him.
No one had enough time to check out every one of them!
He glanced down at the book, still in his hands.
Open it when you need it, his father had said.
Well, I sure need it now! thought Boba. He opened it.
The message screen was gray and blank. But slowly, as he stared down at it, letters appeared.
NEVER SEEK OUT HELP, the screen read.
Boba read the message over and over. Finally he closed the book and put it back in his pocket.
Never seek out help. He looked around at the thousands of silver-green tunnels. If he didn’t ask for help here, how would he ever find his way?
“Excuse me,” said a small voice beside him.
Boba jumped, his hands thrust out in a fighting posture. Next to him was a little figure, not even as tall as he was. It had a vaguely donkeyish face, pale yellow in color, with large pointed ears that swooped out from either side of its head like wings. It wore plain yellow homespun pants and a vest over a matching yellow shirt. Its hands and face were covered with short, soft fur.
It was a Bimm, Boba realized. A native of Bimmisaari.
“I could not help noticing that you seem a bit confused,” the Bimm went on in its singsong voice. “May I be of assistance?”
“Uh,” stammered Boba. Then he remembered what his father’s book had said.
Never seek out help.
Boba glanced nervously, across to where the turbolifts were discharging more passengers onto Level Two.
Could that flash of red and white, fast as crimson lightning, be Aurra Sing? Or was he just imagining it?
The Bimm said, “I am Nuri. An independent money exchanger.” Nuri gestured at the teeming crowds around them. “It is confusing, is it not? Especially when one is a first-time visitor to Aargau. Might this be your first visit?”
Boba looked at Nuri suspiciously. But the Bimm’s singsong voice was friendly, his small bright eyes warm and welcoming. Besides, Boba was a whole head taller than the little alien. Reluctantly, Boba admitted, “Ye-e-es—it is my first visit.”
The Bimm nodded wisely. “I thought so. Much of my business consists of helping people like yourself. Making their time here easier. Visitors from all over the galaxy come to Aargau—”
Nuri swept his little hand out. A group of brightly dressed Mrissi swarmed past them, their brilliant feathers peeking from long robes. Close behind them a group of security guards paced watchfully in formation. Behind the guards were more members of the Banking Clan.
This group, however, seemed different from the others of the Clan. Boba stared at them, frowning. There were more heavily armed guards, for one thing. And a number of security droids—lots of S-EP1s. In the middle of them all walked a very tall, very thin man with a face lean and sharp as a razor. Two lieutenants flanked his sides.
“That is San Hill,” said Nuri in a low voice. “He is the head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.”
“He looks like a big stick insect,” said Boba, not wanting the Bimm to know he’d seen San Hill before.
Nuri tried to hide a smile. “Perhaps. But he is one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. His presence here, now, is very interesting indeed.”
The two of them turned and watched as the procession disappeared into one of the eerie green tunnels.
When they were gone, Nuri said, “But enough of that!” The Bimm put a small, furred hand upon Boba’s shoulder. “Tell me, what is the nature of your business on Aargau?”
Boba started to reply. But the words stuck in his throat. From the corner of his eye he had seen another flash of red and white, darting across the far side of the crowded level.
This time, there was no doubt that it was Aurra Sing.
CHAPTER NINE
The Bimm’s face creased with concern. “What is it?” he asked.
Boba said nothing. He started to move very slowly back, going into a half-crouch. Nuri turned and let his gaze flick across the crowds moving everywhere around them. After a moment he drew his breath in sharply.
“You have made an impressive enemy, young man,” he said in his fluting voice. On the far side of the great space, Aurra Sing’s muscular figure could be glimpsed. She was standing near the turbolifts, scanning the area with her keen eyes. Nuri glanced at Boba, then took a step back to stand beside him. “A bounty hunter! And not just any bounty hunter, but the legendary Aurra Sing!”
Boba looked down at the Bimm. He was surprised to see that the little alien did not look frightened. Instead, he looked impressed.
That made Boba feel a bit better. “Yes,” he said. “I, uh—I had some business with her. You see, I’m a bounty hunter, too. Or will be, when—”
The Bimm raised one small, furred hand. “You need say no more. My business is your welfare. But I suggest we discuss that elsewhere!”
Quickly, the Bimm grasped Boba’s arm. “This way,” Nuri said. He pointed to a small, dark pass
age a short distance away.
Boba glanced back over his shoulder. Aurra Sing was gone. A security droid now stood where she had been.
“Oh, no!” Boba said under his breath. He felt a stab of panic. Aurra could be anywhere, behind anyone….
He had been careless. And his carelessness could cost him his fortune—or his life.
“Quickly!” whispered Nuri. “Come—”
Boba hesitated. He didn’t know anything about this small, pointy-eared alien. Nuri looked harmless enough, but—
But Boba had no choice. If he remained here, he’d be playing hide-and-seek with Aurra Sing, with a bunch of clone troopers for an audience.
“Okay,” said Boba. He followed Nuri toward the dark passage. “I’m coming.”
Unlike the other tunnels, this one was narrow and dim. It had a low ceiling and rounded walls. There was no blinking sign overhead to identify it. A small panel was set into one wall beside the entrance. The panel had a lot of buttons on it. Nuri pressed the buttons in a pattern Boba tried to follow. An instant later the wall slid open to reveal a second, hidden passage.
“This way,” said Nuri. He ducked into the passage, with Boba at his heels.
The door closed behind them. Boba straightened, blinking. They were in a small, circular room. Instead of the eerie green light that colored everything on Level Two, the light in here was soft and yellow. Soothing, like Nuri’s voice.
“Where are we?” asked Boba.
The Bimm stared up at him. His bright black eyes narrowed. “I will answer your questions in a moment, my young friend,” he said in a low voice. “But first, you will have to answer mine.”
Boba swallowed. His hand moved protectively toward his pocket. The Bimm’s gaze followed it. Boba fingered the card in his pocket, but did not take it out.
He didn’t have to. Nuri had already guessed what it was. He looked up at Boba. A smile filled the alien’s broad face.
“Ah! I see!” said Nuri. “You have a filocard. You have come here to convert currency—or to get currency that you have stored in one of the banks here. May I see your card?”
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