Free The Fight to Survive by Terry Bisson Page A

hand on his shoulder.
    Smooth!
He cut the engines and eased onto the landing pad with hardly a bump.
    The weather in Tipoca City was normal, which meant there was a big storm in progress—which was all right with Boba. He didn’t want to be noticed.
    He had worn the battle helmet, so that anyone watching
Slave I
landing would think there was an adult at the controls. But he needn’t have bothered.
    The landing pad was deserted. There was no one around.
    Boba threw on a poncho and scrambled out of the cockpit, after setting the ship’s environmentals on INPUT to take on air and water, both plentiful on Kamino.
    Especially water—it was pouring rain!
    The little library at the end of the street corridor was dark. Boba banged on the door.
    “Whrr, are you there?”
    Was he too late? Or too early? Boba was warp-lagged from hyperspace, and he realized he had no idea what time it was in Tipoca City.
    “Whrr, please. Open up!”
    The light behind the slot came on.
    Boba wished the door would open so that he could go in, out of the rain, but the library was only a branch.
    An awning slid out, though, to protect him from the rain. And he heard the familiar whirring and clicking inside.
    “Whrr, it’s me.”
    “Boba? You’re back! Where have you been? What happened?”
    A short question with a long answer. Boba told Whrr the whole story, from the time he and his father had left the planet in a hurry, to the horrible scene in the arena, where he had seen his
father killed.
    “Oh, Boba, that’s terrible. You are an orphan, at only ten. Do you have enough to eat? Do you have any money?”
    “Not exactly,” said Boba. “A few crackers. An extra pair of socks.”
    “Hmmmmmm,” whirred Whrr.
    “I’ll be okay,” said Boba. “But I have to get something my father left with me. By accident I left it with you.”
    “A book?”
    “Yes! You remember! It looks like a book, anyway. It’s black, with nothing on the cover. I returned it by mistake, with the last books I brought back right before I left.”
    “I will be right back.”
    There was a whir and a click, a clank and a clatter. Soon Whrr was back—with good news!
    “Here you are,” he said, passing the black book through the slot. “But there is a fine, you know.”
    “A what!?”
    “There’s money due on this book. Quite a bit.”
    “It’s not even really a book. Besides, I didn’t check it out. It’s
mine
! I left it with you.”
    “Exactly,” said Whrr. “Which means the library owes you, let’s see, two hundred and fifty credits.”
    “That’s impossible—” Boba began.
    “Sorry,” said Whrr, passing the money through the slot. “A fine is a fine and must be paid. Now go on about your business, Boba, and good luck. Come and see me sometime. If
you’re ever around.”
    I get it
, Boba thought.
I’m a little slow, but I get it
.
    “Thank you, my friend,” he said. “Someday I will come back to Kamino. I’ll come by and see you then, I promise.”
    “Good-bye, Boba,” Whrr said through the slot. The light went off and Boba heard a strange snuffling sound.
    Must be the rain
, he thought,
because everybody knows that droids don’t cry.
    Boba could hardly believe his luck! Two hundred and fifty credits would buy groceries and supplies, even clothing, with some left over for fuel. This was vital—since he
didn’t know how to access his father’s accounts.
    And he had the black book! He patted it under his poncho, where he was carrying it out of the rain.
    Before heading off-planet, Boba wanted to make one stop.
    He wanted one last look at the apartment where he and his father had lived, where he had spent the first ten years of his life (although, of course, he didn’t remember most of it).
    Fortunately, it was on the way back to the landing pad.
    As Boba rode up in the turbolift, he wondered about the locks. Had they been changed? Would they still recognize his finger and retinal prints?
    He never found out. The door was wide