Skira

Boba paces, frowning deeply in thought. Dia watches him silently from atop a barrel where he sits cross-legged.

There's nothing I can do, he knows. I've only got a few dozen credits from deals with the Jawas. I wish I could help him more, though…

Peli emerges from her workshop, wiping down a wrench with a rag. "Make a decision yet?" she asks, leaning against the wall.

"Is there any way we could work for you to pay off the costs?" Boba asks, pausing in his pacing.

Peli shakes her head helplessly. "I can't fix the ship without credits. It's just not doable!"

Boba clenches his fists in frustration, but doesn't argue.

"That's alright, Peli," Dia sighs, hanging his head. "You did enough just helping get the parts back."

Peli hesitates, seeing the kids' downcast expressions. She bites her lip thoughtfully, then sighs and tosses down the wrench and rag on a table.

"Alright, alright." She holds her hands up in surrender. "What I can do is keep the ship here at the hangar, and you two can fix it yourselves when you have time. I might even be convinced to help, at least to make sure you don't blow yourselves up."

"Really? Thank you, Peli!" Dia cries, hopping down and throwing his arms around Peli in a hug. The mechanic chuckles and pats Dia's head affectionately.

Dia and Boba meet eyes, Dia grinning with new hope. Even Boba relaxes a little.

"Thank you," he says to Peli.

"Yeah, yeah." Her mouth twists into a smile. "Consider it a favour, alright?"

"We're still missing a lot of parts, though," Boba observes. "How are we going to afford replacements?"

"You could get a job," Peli suggests. "I can't pay you – I barely make enough for myself. But maybe someone will hire you as an assistant, or a cleaner, or something."

Boba wrinkles his nose, but Dia nods in agreement. "We do need credits."

With a sigh, Boba says, "Fine. Let's go looking, then."

Dia releases Peli and thanks her again, and the two kids hurry to the hangar door. At the door, Boba stops suddenly and looks back at Peli, his expression somber.

"One more thing – those Jawas, what did they do with the armour that was in the ship?"

_______

Dia and Boba stroll through the streets of Mos Eisley, looking for anyone who will hire them. It's more difficult than they'd thought: not many people think two ten-year-olds are worthy hires.

"I'm sorry again," Dia says, "for fighting you earlier."

Boba shrugs, kicking a rock along the path. He'd seen clones fight out their disagreements all the time back on Kamino. It's nothing strange to him.

"I was just… ashamed, I guess," Dia admits. "I didn't want you to know I was…"

"A slave?" Boba guesses.

Dia nods.

"I'd kind of suspected it from the beginning anyway."

"Oh. I thought… that it might change the way you see me."

"That's dumb."

Shocked into amusement, Dia chuckles. "I guess so."

"I don't know much Huttese," Boba says. "What did that Dug say to you?"

Dia winces. "Well… he kept calling me a slave… and at the end he said, 'You'd better get home,' and something about – about my master, so…"

Boba scowls. "That shabuir. I don't blame you for beating him up."

Nodding, Dia seems to relax a bit. Before they can talk again, the childrens' attention is grabbed by a commotion: a crowd spills out of a nearby building, people jostling past each other to get inside.

"That's Krayt Cantina," Dia mutters, frowning. "Come on, let's see what's happening."

Dia and Boba slip through the crowd, their small size helping them, until they reach a table. They clamber up and stand to see over the patrons' heads. Everyone is watching the screen above the bar with captivated attention.

"It's the HoloNet News," Dia murmurs, holding Boba's shoulder and pushing himself onto his toes to see past a Whiphid's hairy head.

The screen shows rows upon rows of marching, white-armoured soldiers, and a line of text announces:

SEPARATIST-REPUBLIC WAR DECLARED

"War?" Dia repeats, shaken. "What…?"

The Gran news anchor reappears on screen, brows drawn in consternation. Dia can't hear them over the loud arguments and discussions of the other patrons, but Boba tugs at his arm and draws his attention to the Weequay in front of them, who's hunched over their datapad watching the same news report, with the volume cranked to full. Dia and Boba watch over their shoulder.

"As of yesterday evening," the news anchor reports, "the Galactic Republic and Confederacy of Independent Systems are at war. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has announced the formation of the Grand Army of the Republic."

A brief clip of an elderly Human – the Supreme Chancellor – appears on the screen, addressing a large crowd, before the screen flips back to the news anchor.

"It has also been announced that the Grand Army is comprised of clone troopers created by Kaminoan geneticists."

Dia feels Boba tense up beside him, but is too riveted to tear his eyes away from the screen.

"The clones will be serving alongside members of the Jedi Order in the Grand Army of the Republic, and have already fought one battle, on Geonosis. Many clones have been assigned to Coruscant to maintain peace and safety."

The feed switches to a news camera on Coruscant, filming the clones who march in perfect rhythm down the street, watched by a crowd of awed citizens.

"Tensions have been high between the Republic and Confederacy since the Separatist Crisis began two years ago," the news anchor continues. "Now, the conflict has escalated to a war that will have galaxy-wide consequences. Our sources report that – "

"Let's go," Boba mutters, grabbing Dia's hand.

"Wait, they're not done!"

Boba drags Dia from the cantina, pushing past the people still trying to get inside, and breaks into a run as soon as they're clear of the door. Dia lets himself be pulled along, wondering what exactly had made Boba freak out.

They finally stop running when they reach the shipyard at the edge of town. Boba drops Dia's hand and stares out past the haphazardly-landed ships, into the distance. He's shaking.

"What's wrong?" Dia asks. "Are you worried about the war? I'm sure it won't affect Tatooine too badly – "

"That's not – " Boba breaks off with a groan, clutching his head in his hands. "That's not it. The clones…"

"What about them?" Dia prompts, curious.

Boba hesitates, and before he can answer, a shout startles the children.

"Hey! You kids!"

A Weequay, wearing metal armour over their shoulders, approaches from the shipyard, scowling. They heft a sniper rifle in their arms.

"What are you doing loitering around here?" The Weequay makes a shooing motion with one hand. "Go on, get lost."

"Sorry, sir." Dia bows his head instinctively and grabs Boba's arm, starting to drag him away.

Boba doesn't budge. He glowers at the Weequay. "Why should we leave?"

"Huh?" The Weequay stares at Boba in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Dia hisses, tugging at Boba's arm. "Let's just leave. Please."

Boba shakes him off and storms towards the Weequay. "I want to stay right here, and I'm not gonna leave just 'cause some di'kut tells me to!"

The Weequay barks a laugh. "That's cute, kid. But you don't know who you're messing with."

Boba tilts his chin up, refusing to back down.

He's gonna get himself killed. Panic is rising in Dia's chest, and he hurries forward, putting himself between the Weequay – definitely a bounty hunter or pirate of some kind – and Boba.

"I'm very sorry, sir." He bows his head, staring at the Weequay's scuffed boots. "My friend isn't used to the heat here. It's affecting him badly. Please let us leave."

"Oi, Dagu! What's going on over there?"

Oh, kriff, there's more of them? Dia lifts his head to see two more Weequay walking over, carrying blasters.

"Just some lost kids," Dagu replies, unconcerned. They turn back to look at Dia and Boba. "I mean it, you two. Get lost!"

Dia grabs Boba and pushes him away hurriedly, despite the latter's protests. As soon as they're around the corner and out of sight, he shoves Boba against the wall and jabs a finger into his chest.

"Are. You. Insane?" he demands, livid. "You don't just go around challenging armed criminals! No matter how mad you are about something on the news."

Boba stares at him, shocked into silence.

Dia sighs and steps back. "Please don't do anything like that again."

"Sorry," Boba murmurs. He frowns at the ground, deep in thought. "Did you recognize that symbol on their armour?"

"That red, snarling face?"

"It looked really familiar… If it's who I think it is, then I might be a step closer to getting my revenge."

Dia blinks. Revenge? Boba was apparently so immersed in his thoughts he forgot Dia was there.

"What revenge?" Dia asks.

Boba looks up and stares at him blankly, before his eyes widen in realization. "Oh. I didn't… I didn't tell you."

"I mean, you don't have to," Dia assures him. "But… I'll listen."

Glancing around the street, quiet for this time of day but still far from private, Boba asks, "Is there somewhere quieter we could go?"

Dia nods. "Follow me."

________

Dia leads Boba to a secluded rooftop, clambering up a half-rotted wooden ladder and crawling behind an old water tank. They're still able to see out to the desert, but are hidden from the street and other buildings.

Dia sits cross-legged and pats the ground in front of him. Boba sits across from him, sighing as Dia stares at him expectantly.

"I… I don't even know where to start."

"Well, I think you're grieving for someone," Dia says, bluntly but not unkindly. "Elan says we should talk to others when we lose someone."

"You've lost people before?" Boba asks.

Dia nods, a shadow passing over his face. "Sometimes… other slaves are over-worked. Or they get injured and no one cares to heal them. After all – " his hands curl into fists on his knees – "we're… replaceable."

Boba reaches out and covers Dia's hand with his own, until the tension eases. Dia offers a weak smile.

"You don't have to tell me everything," he clarifies, "but I think it's important to not bottle it up."

Boba nods, and begins; "My buir – my dad, he… he was killed."

Dia squeezes his hand comfortingly. "How long ago?"

"Uh… Oh, it was just yesterday," he realizes with some surprise. He hadn't realized how recently it was: so much had happened since then.

"Yesterday?" Dia exclaims.

 Boba nods. "A Jedi did it."

"A Jedi?" Dia leans back in shock. "Aren't they supposed to be good? Aren't they peace-keepers?"

"No," Boba spits. "They're the lapdogs of the Senate now, and they murdered my father."

Dia frowns, troubled. "Why?"

Boba hesitates. He can't tell Dia everything. Staring at his boots, he explains,

"He was a bounty hunter, and he was helping the Separatists on a job when… the Jedi attacked. He fought them, but his –" Boba swallows hard, tears welling up – "his jetpack malfunctioned, and– and one of them c-cut off his head."

Dia makes a horrified sound.

Boba takes a ragged breath. "I– I watched it happen."

Arms abruptly wrap around him, and he flails for a moment before he realizes Dia is hugging him. His face is pressed into Dia's shoulder, and Dia gently rubs a hand over his back.

He can't stop the tears, then. Clutching onto Dia like a lifeline, he sobs until he can't any longer.

When he's recovered, Dia makes him drink some water and sits back on his heels to ask,

"Do you want revenge?"

Wiping his nose with his sleeve, Boba nods. "I want to kill that Jedi."

Dia sets his jaw and holds out his hand. "I'll help you."

Boba stares at his hand, disbelieving. "Y-you will?"

"Yes."

Boba looks up to meet his eyes. There's conviction in Dia's expression, and no hint of a lie. His hand seems to lift of its own accord, until he's clasping Dia's hand. Dia's somber expression melts into a gentle, encouraging smile.

"You think whoever's down there – " Dia juts his chin towards the shipyard – "can help?"

Boba nods, and Dia stands, pulling Boba to his feet.

"Then let's go see them."