Read an Excerpt
I.
Lando
Chapter 1
The Teljkon vagabond was on the run once more. But this time, there were hitchhikers aboard.
“Hyperspace?” See-Threepio echoed in a dismayed tone as he struggled to free himself. The droid’s limbs were tangled up with Lobot, R2-D2, and the equipment sled in one corner of the vagabond’s airlock—a chamber that had suddenly become a spacegoing prison. “You must be mistaken, Master Lobot.”
“I am not mistaken,” said Lobot, pushing a flailing golden leg away from his faceplate. “All my data links terminated at the same moment, in exactly the same manner I associate with a hyperspace jump.”
“There was a course change, too, during the acceleration,” Lando said from the opposite corner of the lock. He flexed his ungloved right hand, trying to drive the bone-chilling cold from his aching fingers.
“Master Lando!” See-Threepio cried in his most plaintive voice. “Can’t you make it stop?”
“I didn’t make it start, Threepio,” Lando snapped.
“With all respect, Master Lando, you most certainly did,” Threepio said huffily. “Now, you just reach back in that hole and undo whatever you did, and quickly, too. Colonel Pakkpekatt will be most upset with us for running off with his starship.”
“Colonel Pakkpekatt is probably inventing new words in Hortek right now,” said Lando. “But at least he’s on a ship that he can boss. We’re not. Any damage over there? Lobot? Artoo-Detoo?”
The little astromech droid emerged from the jumble of bodies and chirped once.
“Artoo-Detoo reports that all his systems are operational,” said Threepio.
“I’m uninjured, Lando,” said Lobot. “My suit took the impact of the equipment sled. But my data links are still all down, and I am finding it disorienting.”
Lando nodded. “Artoo, can you help Lobot out?”
Rotating in midair with the aid of its microthrusters, the droid chittered disagreeably.
“Don’t be rude,” Threepio chided.
“What’s going on?”
“Master Lando, Artoo says that he prefers to keep his systems private.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like telepaths, either, Artoo,” said Lando. “But I’d sure like to be able to think at the colonel right now. Give Lobot a link to your event log. There might be something in there we can use to figure out what happened. Does anyone see my right glove?”
Lobot was clinging with one hand to the equipment sled. “I think your glove blew out the airlock in the decompression.”
“Just perfect.” Lando looked at his purpled hand, then at the inflated wrist cuff that was keeping his suit sealed. “What’s the pressure in here now?”
“Six hundred forty millibars,” said Lobot. “Repressurization began after the entry sealed.”
“Repressurization? That’s interesting. From where?” Lando craned his head and looked at the seamless, featureless bulkheads. “Artoo, see if you can find the vents.”
The droid acknowledged the order with a beep and rose to begin cruising along the bulkheads at close range.
“All right—here’s the way it looks to me,” said Lando. “We’re no longer invited guests and welcome visitors. She shook off Lady Luck and tried to spit us out. Probably would have succeeded if she hadn’t been trying to run away from the task force at the same time.”
“Which raises a question,” said Lobot. “Why didn’t she know?”
“I’m listening.”
“It appears to be a misjudgment. Two defense routines were activated without consideration of their combined effect. The repressurization of this compartment appears to be another inconsistency.”
“Do you have an explanation?”
“These events suggest to me that the ship is either under the control of systems with limited intelligence, or under the control of beings with limited intelligence.” When he saw Lando’s expression, Lobot added, “At this point, it’s not possible to distinguish between those possibilities.”
“Maybe if we figure that out, we’ll know something that can help us get on top here,” said Lando. “I’m sure of this much—that lock closed because of the jump, not as any favor to us. We’re not wanted here. And if we’re not clear of this compartment by the time the vagabond leaves hyperspace, I don’t think too much of our chances.”
“Master Lando, I am certain Colonel Pakkpekatt and the armada are pursuing us,” said Threepio. “The sooner we leave hyperspace, the sooner they can rescue us.”
“Yeah, they’re going to be looking for us,” said Lando. “But finding us—we could pop out five light-years from where we were, or fifty, or five hundred. And normal evasive tactics would call for an immediate course change, then another jump. Once that happens, you might as well be playing hide-and-seek with the Ewoks on Endor.”
“But, Master Lando—there must be some way they can rescue us. Surely they wouldn’t abandon us. If they do not come for us, we are all doomed to perish as prisoners, lost in space—”
“Threepio, we can’t afford to wait for them.” Lando tapped his faceplate to remind the droid why. “The chrono’s already moving. Lobot and I could be dead before this ship even decides to leave hyperspace. That’s why we have to act now. We can’t count on any help from the armada, unless we can figure out some way to give them some help finding us first. Until then, we’re on our own.”
Threepio raised his arms and his voice together. “We apologize,” he called to the ship. “Please, believe me, I never meant to harm anyone—”
“Shut up, Threepio.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lando,” said Lobot.
“What?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” said Lobot. “Someone might be listening.”
Lando frowned. “As far as this ship is concerned, we’re pirates, burglars, tomb-robbers, or worse. Not too likely they’ll forget that just because we suddenly develop better manners after breaking down the front door.”
“The probability of success may be low,” said Lobot. “But diplomatic words are the tool Threepio is best equipped to wield. And perhaps an apology will prove to be the key that will open the next door.”
“Sighing, Lando waved his gloved hand toward See-Threepio. “All right. But, Threepio, a little dignity, please.”
“Of course, Master Lando,” the droid said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I am programmed to conduct myself in a dignified manner at all times. Why, it’s one of the fundamental principles of etiquette and protocol—”
“Right,” Lando said, cutting him short. “Just get to it. We have no idea how much time we have. Use the secondary comm channel so Lobot and I can still hear each other.”
“Very well, Master Lando,” Threepio said, then seemingly fell silent.
“Lobot, you have access to Artoo’s event log?”
“Yes, Lando.”
“See if you can figure out our new heading from his gyro and accelerometer readings leading up to the jump. Maybe that, plus Artoo’s astrographic database, can tell us something about how much time we have—”
