The Fight to Survive

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