IG-88, with a tone so dry that only another elite assassin droid could be sure it was meant to be humorous, emitted a short reply.
“Absolutely not.”
BESPIN ESCAPE
Martha Wells
Lonaste woke to her cousin Beetase standing over her and shouting. This behavior wasn’t unusual in her clan, and Lonaste was groggy from a double shift in the reclamation pits. She swatted at Beetase and groaned, “Stop it.”
Beetase shook her urgently. “Wake up! There’s an evacuation alert!”
Lonaste blinked up at her, the frightened tone in Beetase’s voice penetrating. The warning message blared from just outside the door. “What—” Lonaste flailed out of her warm blankets and flung herself upright. “What is—”
Beetase grabbed Lonaste’s shoulders. Her expression was stricken, her white hair standing up in untamed wisps. “You were right. It’s happening.”
Lonaste’s heart plummeted toward her feet. She pulled her coat on over her nightclothes and lurched out the open door of her podroom. Out on the walkway, the small messenger droid raced away, still blaring the evacuation alert. The message echoed down all four levels of Cloud City’s Ugnaught Town, where the inhabitants crowded out onto the walkways and platforms, frantic and confused, their worried voices adding to the din.
Lonaste found herself equally frantic but not confused. It was the Imperials. The Imperials were taking over Cloud City. You planned for this, she told herself, you knew this was coming. She had never believed in Bespin’s neutral status; no planet was neutral, if it had something the Empire wanted. But the reality was a cold shock. She said, “How close are they? Do we know?”
Beetase waved her arms. “No idea! The others are gathering—”
Lonaste hurried for the stairs, and Beetase clattered after her.
She reached the door of their clan meeting room on the level below and pushed inside. The whole family was there, aunts, uncles, all the cousins and their children. “There you are!” cousin Jamint said, as if Lonaste had been hiding. “We need you to tell us—”
“I know.” Lonaste pushed past assorted relatives and dumped a young cousin out of the chair at her jury-rigged console. She tapped the pad to pull up the hacked interface she had used to break into Baron Calrissian’s private comm.
Behind her, everyone was talking. “She told us,” Beetase was saying loudly. “And none of you would listen—”
Uncle Donsat began, “Stop your panicking—”
Lonaste ignored the rising arguments and exclamations. Ever since the Imperial lord and his troops had arrived in the city looking for rebels, she had known this would happen. The communications she intercepted, the rising suspicions and fear of the other sentients in the city, the warnings passed on from human workers, had all told the same story: The Imperials would take Bespin. She had tried to convince her family to leave, even if the other Ugnaught clans wouldn’t. But the reality of the situation made her hands shake as she paged through the console’s screens. They’ll take us into slavery, just like on Gentes. As usual, no one was listening to her, but she said, “You all need to pack, just the essentials. I’ll figure out how much time we have—”
“Yoxgit and the others say not to worry,” Donsat objected. Lonaste knew Donsat wasn’t an Imperial supporter, he was just desperately afraid of change, but it didn’t make it any easier to listen to him, especially now. “It’s not as if they’ll blow up the city.”
“Because Imperials never do that,” Beetase said grimly. There was a chorus of frightened objections, and cousin Jamint added, “Calrissian himself said to go.”
“He’s talking to the humans, not us. Yoxgit says the Empire has no quarrel with us,” Donsat countered. Yoxgit was a member of the wealthiest Ugnaught clan in the city, and Donsat was a terrible social climber.
“Oh, and you believe everything that arms dealer says. Are you his puppet?” Aunt Maloste entered the fray swinging. She wasn’t the best ally, as her idea of a discussion was to bludgeon the others into agreement, and it always caused bad feelings. Half the family had old disagreements with her, and now they all jumped into the argument on Donsat’s side.
Lonaste searched the comm records. She had set the system to do regular captures of Calrissian’s communications, because she had to sleep and work her shifts and she couldn’t sit here all the time, even though it made her nerves vibrate not to know what was happening.
The last message capture was only three hours ago. Calrissian’s sources had warned him that an Imperial takeover was imminent. Why he had waited until now to call the evacuation, Lonaste had no idea. The Tibanna gas merchants had spread the rumor that Calrissian had made a deal to leave the city free of Imperial control; maybe Calrissian had been counting on that, but obviously it hadn’t worked out. Humans, she thought in disgust. But it’s going to be all right, we have a plan.
Two days ago, Lonaste had made a secret deal to buy passage for the clan on a Duros cargo ship, trading them a stockpile of scraps saved from the reclamation center. It had taken most of the past year to get enough precious metals, even with Beetase and her other cousins helping her. All she had to do now was contact the crew to arrange a meeting at the city docks. She tapped in the secure comm code the ship’s captain had given her, but the console refused the connection. Lonaste’s throat went dry. She tried it again, hoping she had just fumbled the keys, but the comm wouldn’t connect. Uh-oh.
Beetase jittered at her elbow. “Did you call the ship? What did they say?”
Lonaste tried to connect to the port controller as a test. The comm gave her static and ineffectual beeps. “The Imperials must be jamming the city’s communications,” she said, loud enough to cut through all the agitated voices.
The others went quiet. There was no reason for the Imperials to jam the internal comms of a city they didn’t mean to attack; surely that would convince the doubters. Lonaste pushed to her feet. They were all still standing there, staring at her. “What are you doing? We need to get ready to leave!”
Everyone turned to look at Aunt Temarit, the eldest. Her tufts of hair and brows were silver-white, and age had left deep furrows in her round cheeks. She stood silent and enigmatic, clasping her forearms. Uncle Donsat said, “Surely there is no reason—”
Temarit interrupted, “Jamint, go ask Amigast what his clan means to do.”
Jamint elbowed his cousins aside and hurried for the door.
Lonaste seethed at the delay, but she thought Amigast, the leader of the largest Ugnaught clan in the miners’ union, would support her. At the last meeting, where the clans had argued about the Imperial presence in the city, Amigast had asked, “If this Imperial lord only wanted the rebels, why hasn’t he left with them?”
Yoxgit the arms dealer had said, “He’s waiting to capture a rebel leader called Skywalker, then he’ll leave.”
Amigast had countered, “The city militia says there are rumors of a Star Destroyer somewhere in the system.”
Yoxgit had raised placating hands. “They only want the rebel humans. For us, everything will go on as usual. There’re credits to be made here, no point in disrupting it.”
Lonaste had bared her teeth in disgust. Didn’t anyone else notice how fast Yoxgit had gone from “the Imperials will take what they want and leave” to “everything will go on as usual”? And Yoxgit seemed to know a lot about what the Imperials were planning. She had raised her voice and said to Yoxgit, “You probably want the Imperials here. It’s good for your business, right?” Yoxgit sold Tibanna gas to the arms merchants, though why he thought the Imperials wouldn’t just take the gas for themselves, she had no idea.
It caused a stir, some clan leaders demanding Yoxgit answer, others defending him. Uncle Donsat had weighed in, saying, “The unions would never permit—”
Lonaste had flailed in exasperation. “The unions can’t prote
ct us! This is just like Gentes, the Imperials will enslave us and send us away from one another! It’s what they’ve done on a hundred other worlds!”
Uncle Donsat had turned to Yoxgit and the clan elders. “You must excuse her,” he had said loudly. “She’s young and has lots of strange notions, and they panic her.”
Aunt Moloste had smacked him in the shoulder and growled, “Don’t air family matters at the union meeting, you fool.”
Lonaste had tried to speak again, but Donsat had dismissed her so thoroughly, no one would listen to her. Again.
Now here they were, with precious seconds passing and no one doing anything. Lonaste drew breath to say something, hopefully something persuasive and not furious. But then Jamint shoved in through the crowded door. His expression frightened, he said, “Amigast’s clan is gone, their section is empty!”
It was like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Shocked, his voice suddenly uncertain, Donsat said, “What?”
“Gone!” Jamint repeated. “They evacuated.”
The silence was deep enough for Lonaste to hear urgent shouting echoing from far down the walkway. Then Aunt Moloste, her expression sober, said, “We should go.”
“But you couldn’t call the ship.” Cousin Sallat turned to Lonaste. “How will we—”
“I’ll go to the port and make sure they can take us aboard,” Lonaste said, her heart pounding.
Beetase said immediately, “I’ll go with you.”
The others all looked at Aunt Temarit. Lonaste clamped her jaw shut and forced herself not to plead or argue.
Then Temarit said, “Go. We’ll be ready when you return.”
Lonaste gasped in relief. Beetase grabbed her arm, and the others cleared the way as they rushed out of the room.
* * *
—
Lonaste stepped out of the shelter of the habitation corridor and flinched. Shouting, the pounding of running footsteps, echoed down from the galleries above. It sounded like a riot. Many of the other inhabitants of Cloud City must be just as certain as she was that escape was the only option.
As they passed the high white halls of the junction, other sentients ran past, mostly humans. No one seemed to notice them, probably because they weren’t looking down to see two smallish Ugnaughts hurry along. Normally Lonaste found all the looming of larger species annoying, but for once it was coming in handy.
Then blasterfire erupted in the corridor ahead. Lonaste grabbed Beetase’s arm and hustled her down toward the next side passage.
“All these people trying to get away,” Beetase said. “Our ship didn’t wait, did it.”
“It did,” Lonaste said firmly, ignoring her own fear. “The comm was down. And if it didn’t wait, we’ll steal a ship.”
“Do you know how to steal a ship?” Beetase objected. “Because I don’t.”
Lonaste didn’t have an answer for that. She was a scrap worker and a tech, not a pirate. If the ship wasn’t there, she had no idea what to do.
They crossed onto the upper walkway above the big open space of the West Hall. Lonaste glanced down to see stormtroopers running past, and— She slid to an abrupt halt, Beetase thumping into her back.
“What?” Beetase whispered.
“I thought I saw Yoxgit.” Lonaste tried to see through the curved balusters, angling her head to squint down. She was right, it was him. He stood near the inward entrance to the hall, talking to a stormtrooper.
Beetase squeezed in beside her to see, breathing heavily in Lonaste’s ear.
Yoxgit and the stormtrooper spoke, then Yoxgit stepped back and the stormtrooper moved off down the hall. Yoxgit glanced around and ducked away down another corridor. Lonaste pulled back from the railing and looked at Beetase. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Beetase agreed soberly. “You know, I think he knew that Imperial lord was coming here, long before he arrived. Mirsame said her aunt said the gas merchants knew all about it.”
“Yoxgit must have made some deal with the Imperials.” Like Calrissian’s deal to keep the Imperials out of the city, it would probably come to nothing. Lonaste turned away from the railing. “Lots of people selling one another in this city suddenly. As if the Imperials aren’t going to take us all in the end.”
“Bespin’s changed. I’m not going to miss it,” Beetase said, and they hurried on.
From the echo of blasterfire, Lonaste decided it was better to avoid the city’s central core. She took the next hatch into the outer ring’s maintenance passages. It was a confusing maze, added on to as the city’s industries grew, and would be hard for outsiders to navigate.
There were no bright white halls in the maintenance sections. The light was dim and the corridors dingy, the grated floors wet from the dripping city hydraulics overhead. Lonaste was used to it, but the eerie quiet was new; workers used these passages to access every part of the city’s infrastructure, and they were never this empty. But from the scattered debris—discarded tools, a spilled bag stuffed with travel ration packets, and the occasional shoe—a lot of people had moved through here with the speed of desperation, very recently.
The mining clan, Lonaste thought. And probably others, too. She and Beetase moved quickly through the section, despite the ladders and stairs designed for longer-limbed sentients. Their size meant they could take the low-ceilinged shortcuts intended for droids. As they reached the first freight turbolift access, another distant, muffled burst of blasterfire made them both flinch. Beetase whispered, “Still far away.”
Lonaste forced her hackles down and stepped into the tube.
They worked their way down from tube to tube, and finally stumbled out at the large-load docking level, in the broad corridor that opened onto the cargo bays and landing pads. Lonaste hastily glanced around, wary of stormtroopers, but it was empty and quiet here, too. Up and down the high, curving corridor, the big hatchways into the bays were open, letting in a fresh outside wind that swept dust and some torn flimsies down the dock. The emptiness gave Lonaste a terrible feeling; she had expected it to be full of people, loading the ships for escape.
“I thought it would be frantic here. Where is everybody?” Beetase echoed her thought as Lonaste hurried to the dock supervisor’s station in the open control pod. The station was meant for a much taller sentient; Beetase had to give her a boost so she could reach the control board.
The blinking red status numbers made Lonaste’s heart sink. The vid views of the docks showed empty bays and pads, blasted hatches, or a last few drive flares as the stragglers lifted off to safety. The Duros ship she had made the tentative agreement with was gone, the hatch of its bay open to the bright daylight outside. “All the ships are gone,” Lonaste said, a lump forming in her throat. “The red means they didn’t pay their fees and broke the locks to get out.”
Beetase gasped in dismay, swaying as she supported Lonaste. “How can they all be gone already?” she protested.
Lonaste forced herself to think past rising panic. “Some people, like Amigast’s clan, must have had an earlier warning, or knew enough to start running as soon as Calrissian said to go.”
Beetase snorted in dismay. “Nobody warned us!”
Lonaste thought about Yoxgit, talking to the stormtrooper. She bared her teeth. “Maybe there was a warning and our union never got it.” If the Imperials wanted to take over Bespin’s mining operations, and not just blast the city to pieces, they would want the Ugnaught clans to keep working. “The Imperials will need forced labor here.”
Beetase growled agreement. “But what are we going to do?”
Lonaste pushed aside her anger and concentrated on the problem, stretching to look for bays without red tabs. According to the status display, there were still ships in the more expensive upper city dock, but that was where all the Imperials would be, too. “Oh, here!” She stopped, hope blossomin
g. Toward the west end of this dock level was a large bay for the cheaper dreg-freighters that picked up extra loads of gas or scrap that the contracted freighter lines couldn’t or wouldn’t carry. There wasn’t a vid view, but the status showed the bay was still occupied. “We can try there!”
They ran down the dock as fast as they could, and Lonaste was winded by the time they reached the bay. The big loading hatch slid open when she tapped the entrance panel. The bay’s outer hatch was still closed and the lights were dim, making the large space shadowy. Two ships, both long, blocky cargo carriers, stood on the battered and stained deck plates.
Lonaste started forward hopefully but saw immediately why the first ship was still here: It was a wreck, with holes blasted in the engine housing and lower hull. Despairing, Beetase said, “An unstable load probably blew up after the ship was under way, and they towed it back here for repair.”
“Right.” Lonaste was already moving toward the other one, bracing herself for disappointment. She had done a lot of walking already, and her joints were sore. If this ship was derelict, too, they would have to brave the fighting and try the upper docks.
But as she drew closer, the second ship’s hatch slid open. She stopped, startled, unable to see anything in the dark interior. A chill crept up her back as every horror story about abandoned ships and Imperial traps ran through her head. “Who’s there? I can’t see you.”
Something beeped and the ship’s interior lights blinked on. Lonaste huffed in relief, and felt Beetase relax beside her. It was a droid.
It had the lower body of an astromech but its upper portion had multiple arms. Like a droid designed to fly a mining ship, Lonaste thought. She said, “Hello, where’s your crew, please?”
It spoke in a machine language Lonaste didn’t know. Beetase cocked her head to listen. “Unusual dialect, but it says its crew abandoned the ship days ago due to debts, and the droid can’t return it to its owner.”
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