[Boba Fett] - 3(8)

“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 Jaw 9779 she gave 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.”