The blow had not been fatal. But the pain was
excruciating. Fortunately, he had not cried out. The droids still thought he was dead.
Far from it! Boba could feel his lungs expanding as he took in air. He could feel the droids’ servogrips tightening around him. He was tall and muscular, and his body armor added to his bulk.
But the droids hoisted him up between them effortlessly, roughly - as though he was nothing but a sack of refuse. Or fuel for Wat Tambor’s furnace…
Which, to them, he was.
Agh, he thought, gritting his teeth. He could definitely feel pain.
And he could see.
“The incinerator has been busy today,” one of the droids commented as they began to stride quickly down the tunnel. “Much organic matter to feed on.”
“Human scum,” the second droid retorted. They stumbled as another blast rocked the fortress.
Boba blinked. Good thing I’ve still got my helmet on, he thought. Otherwise they might notice my eyes are open.
He tried to find his bearings as the droids bore him down, down, down through a series of long, twisting passages. Glowing lumens showed where the fortress walls had sustained considerable damage from the Republic’s assault. Shattered droids were everywhere, as well as glowing heaps of molten metal.
Wonder who has the upper hand now? Boba thought. He hated the Jedi, but General Glynn-Beti had helped him gain entry into Mazariyan. The last Boba had seen of the battle, the Republic’s troops were putting up a good fight against the Separatists. If Wat Tambor’s forces had been weakened by the battle, it would be that much easier for Boba to escape and find his way back to his ship, Slave I.
But first he had to avoid being tossed into Wat Tambor’s furnace!
He took a chance and flexed one of his hands. His strength was returning. As it did, the pain from Grievous’s blast began to subside.
My body armor must’ve absorbed most of the blow, Boba thought gratefully. He could feel himself growing stronger, more alert. It was a real effort not to move and strike out at the droids.
But while sensation was slowly returning to his body, he still felt slightly groggy. His reflexes would not be as keen as they should be.
And he had no idea who, or what, he might encounter inside the fortress.
Better wait… he thought.
“This way,” one of the droids announced. Boba did his best not to flinch as they made a sudden turn and began to descend down a steep incline.
The darkness took on an unmistakable reddish tinge. Inside his Mandalorian body armor, Boba started to sweat.
The good news is that I’ve recovered enough from that fungus to feel the heat, he thought with grim amusement. And the bad news? This must be the incinerator!
Around him, everything glowed as though it were molten. The droids’ shining silver limbs burned crimson and gold. The heat was intense and painful. A slight adjustment of his body armor’s thermostatic cooling system would take care of that, but Boba didn’t dare move to change it.
Not yet, anyway. He turned his head ever so slightly, praying that his helmet would hide any apparent motion from his droid captors. They seemed to take no notice.
“Wat Tambor will be departing shortly,” one of the droids stated in its flat voice. “He wished to be informed when the spy was disposed of.”
“Disposal is imminent,” the other droid replied.
Boba stared through his helmet’s visor as the droids carried him the last few steps to their destination. They were in a large, nearly airless room, devoid of any equipment or furnishings. A few meters away shone an incandescent square of light, blinding and seemingly as hot as the sun. Heat radiated from it in shimmering waves. A conveyor belt, the room’s sole machinery, moved slowly toward the incinerator’s opening.
Talk about too hot to handle, thought Boba. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes. He couldn’t move to wipe it away. Beneath him, the droids stopped. Their servogrips remained in place, holding Boba above their heads. He took a deep breath, then tightened his muscles until his body went taut.
Have to risk it - hope they don’t notice!
The droids remained oblivious. In front of them the conveyor belt moved slowly, steadily, toward the incinerator.
And now Boba could see other shapes on it. Mangled knots of metal and plasteel, all that remained of damaged droids, and - shocking Boba - lifeless bundles of body armor, flesh, and charred weaponry.
Clones, he thought, and felt a stab of mingled pity and horror. Helmets covered their faces, but Boba knew what he would see if their body armor was removed
His father Jango’s face. His own face… for Jango had been the template from which all the clones had been built. Including Boba, the only unaltered clone.