Do you read me?"
The screen lit up: YES.
"Oh, I'm so relieved. So they are no longer jamming comlink frequencies?"
THEY ARE STILL JAMMING WITHIN THE BAY. BUT YOU PLUGGED ME INTO THE DOOR
COMPUTER DIRECTLY, AND I'M TRANSMITTING THROUGH THAT TO A COMM UNIT OUTSIDE THE
JAMMING FIELD.
"I don't need the details. A simple yes or no would have sufficed."
INCORRECT. THE PROPER ANSWER WOULD HAVE BEEN NO, THEY ARE STILL JAMMING
COMLINK FREQUENCIES, AND YOU WOULD THEN HAVE BEEN MYSTIFIED AS TO HOW I WAS
COMMUNICATING TO YOU.
"Your infernal devotion to minutiae is beginning to overload my logic
circuits. Try a simple answer again. What do I do now?"
WHERE ARE YOU?
C-3PO looked around and read in information. He was at a corner of two
spacedock avenues, both now increasingly busy with pedestrian and landspeeder
traffic. He saw humans, nonhumans, droids, self-motivated loaders, air-speeders,
cargo speeders.
And avenue labels; they glowed atop posts. "I appear to be at the corner of
Row Fourteen and Column Five.'
PROCEED TO THE SOUTHWEST CORNER OF ROW 25 AND COLUMN 10.
"How will I know which is the southwest corner?"
IF YOU MANAGE TO ARRIVE THERE WITHIN THE NEXT SEVEN STANDARD HOURS, EAST
WILL BE THE DIRECTION WHERE THE SUN IS.
"Very funny. Ha-ha." Irritated to his cybernetic core, C-3PO set off toward
the indicated destination.
Han gave up on the door. He backed away to the cot attached to the wall and
sat there. "I can't get the access panel off," he complained. "It's built like a
prison."
"It is a prison," Leia said.
"That explains it. Can you do anything? With the Force?"
"Sure, if I had my lightsaber." Leia stood at the center of the room,
studying the air vents, the slot in the door that doubtless was intended for the
insertion of a food plate. "Which, you'll recall, I left behind with your
favorite blaster, since they are both sort of identifiable. But give me a
minute." She closed her eyes and tried to submerge herself in the Force, to feel
whatever it was that it might choose to show her.
She could feel living things all around her, hundreds, thousands, too many
to count, just as it was in any highly populated area. There were no pockets of
dark side energy, no glowing beacons or other anomalies to focus on.
There was the door, and though her telekinetic skills were far inferior to
those of most Jedi she knew, she did possess some. She focused on the door,
tried to understand its internal structure as the Force showed it to her.
She could feel its metallic strength, feel little disconti-nuities that
suggested moving parts. Soon enough, she distinguished the vertical bars that
rose and descended from the door to keep it from swinging open. Other bars, less
formidable, slid in behind them to keep them from sliding into their unlocked
position.
She plucked at the lower holding bar, felt it twitch under her effort. By
concentrating further, she felt it slide free, just for a moment, before some
other energy pulled it back into place.
Leia tried again with the upper bar. It, too, she could pry out of place
for a moment-'not long enough to slide the main locking bar out of position.
She sighed and opened her eyes. "Not a chance," she said. "Not without a
lot of practice. In maybe two, three days I might be able to handle one of the
locks. In a few weeks, maybe I could do both at the same time and get that thing
open."
"It's all right," he told her. "We'll get out of here some other way."
"How?"
"I have no idea."
TEN
R2-D2 had been manufactured a long time ago, and those long years of
experience meant that he had a store of knowledge of tricks, techniques, and
strategies that made the programming of most other droids pale in comparison,
and he found that he needed every one of them here.
Because, frustratingly enough, the prison computers of this spaceport were
just unwilling to set his friends free.
Oh, he was able to obtain some information about them readily enough. Han
and Leia shared a cell in the prison's deepest level and were labeled ENEMIES OF
THE
STATE and HOLD FOR SPECIAL ENVOY PICKUP.
The prison computers could be persuaded to keep secret the fact that R2-D2
was trying to get past them, He'd managed to forge himself a false ID as a
security Program testing defensive program efficiency. All he had to endure from
them was little expressions of mockery each time he failed to penetrate one of
their protocols. Which was often.
The prison computers could not be persuaded that the
Solo cell was actually unoccupied and ready for another occupant, which
would have unlocked the thing. They could not be convinced that the Solos had
military authority equivalent to the prison manager or head of security. They
could not be induced to deliver captured explosives now held in a security
division locker to that cell. They could not be tricked into transferring the
Solos to a minimum-security level.
R2-D2 beeped in agitation. Prison computers, unlike humans, were never
distracted or hungry. Their attention never flagged. This would take forever,
and there was an indicator in the Solo file that they would be placed in the
hands of outsystem visitors within the next couple of hours.
Distracted. Hungry. R2-D2 called up the computer protocols on prisoner
needs and reviewed them.
Satisfied, he made a happy trilling noise and got back to work.
C-3PO got into the line of visitors and slowly, meter by meter, approached
the prison's service entrance. He spoke down into the bag around his neck,
whispering: "Artoo, I am three from the front of the line."
UNDERSTOOD.
The protocol droid looked ahead to the entrance. One human and a security
droid stood there. The security droid was bulky, with black armor that suggested
storm-trooper defenses, and a nearly featureless face with red-glowing eyes, a
nightmare vision even for a droid. The human looked as though he were the
droid's distant cousin, with similar armor and a similar build. He wore no
helmet, and his eyes seemed to gleam redly in the light of dawn.
C-3PO took another step forward. "I am now two from the front of the line."
GOOD. THE TIMING SHOULD WORK. "What timing?" There was no answer.
Now there was just one person in line ahead of C-3PO. The human guard,
halfway into a brief interrogation of that person, scowled and held up a black-
enameled corn-link. He spoke for a moment into it, then exercised an even deeper
set of scowl muscles and turned to the droid. "You take over for a minute," he
said. "Payroll has to ask me a question in person."
The droid nodded. When the human guard had gone, it accepted the next
visitor's identichip, ran it through its own internal slot, returned it to the
man, then gave him a shove sufficient to throw the visitor down the stairs.
"Refused," the droid said. "Next."
C-3PO moved up, irrationally feeling circuitry threaten to melt down in his
vocal centers. "Good morning, sir, I wish
to enter these-"
"Shut up. Identification,"
C-3PO handed over the chip that had, until just minutes before, been
plugged into his datapad.
The security droid inserted it into the slot in its chest, then spat it out
again and returned it. "Tadening Food-takers is authorized to enter," it said.
"Thank you, sir." C-3PO tried to move forward through the doorway, but the
security droid's hand slapped into his chest, restraining him.
"Not so fast. Present possessions for search." Reluctantly, C-3PO held his
bag up for inspection and opened its top flap. Clearly visible within the
compartment were Leia's lightsaber, Han's modified DL-44 blaster pistol,
vibroblades, a datapad, data cards. "This is the, um, requested fast meal for
the Solos before their departure." The security droid peered at the items.
"Identify these."
"Um, well, the two large packages are Corellian meat-lump. The one with the
trigger housing is spiced, of course, and the other not." Dismayed by the
ridiculousness of his description, C-3PO pointed at the vibroblades and forged
ahead. "Mealbread sticks." He indicated the other items. "Honey wafers for
dessert."
"No vegetables?"
"No vegetables. I'm sure you know about Corellians." The security droid
reached through its wireless datalink to the base computer and brought up three-
dimensional representations of the types of food C-3PO had named. The database
offered recently updated visuals on those foods, which, in every particular,
including coloration, structure, and surface defects, matched the items in the
bag. "Pass," said the security droid. "Thank you, sir."
Once past the service entrance, C-3PO followed data microtransmissions that
led him through a maze of service departments-laundry, electronic prisoner
monitoring, visitor lanes. At the entrance to the kitchen he was met by a
rolling cart that slid a slot open for him.
"You're sure this is the meal slot for the Solos," C-3POsaid.
The rolling cart beeped irritably at him. "Do not fret, I was not
questioning your competence. I was merely making conversation." C-3PO dumped the
contents of his bag out into the slot. The rolling cart slid the slot closed and
banged its way back through the doors into the kitchen, still beeping in a less-
than-friendly manner.
"Government service units," C-3PO sniffed. "Now, let us see if we can find
our way back out of here."
But he was speaking only to himself. Until he found another datapad or
comlink with a strong enough transmitter to connect directly with R2-D2, he was
alone. R2-D2 had told him he was to make his break for freedom now, to exit the
prison by the way he'd come and then move northward as fast as his golden legs
would carry him. The astromech had told him to be brave.
"So this is what bravery is," he told himself. "How odd that it feels like
petrification."
Han and Leia heard the service droid moving up the line of cells. At each
one, it announced, "Breakfast" in an irritating mechanical whine. A series of
thumps and thuds followed.
"I can tell," Han said, "that this will be an interesting dining
experience."
The droid whined to a halt outside their door. "Last meal," it announced.
"Even better," Leia said.
Then items poured through the slot in the door. Han's blaster. Leia's
lightsaber. Other objects.
"You have got to be kidding," Han said.
Leia nodded. "Well, that makes this my favorite prison ever."
They scrambled to the door and sorted out their possessions. Leia flipped
open the datapad, read the words,
R2-D2 STANDING BY. AUDIO OPEN. PRESS "ADVANCE" FOR ESCAPE ROUTE MAP AND
"RETURN" FOR TEXT.
Leia broke into a brilliant smile. "Artoo?"
STANDING BY. SUGGEST YOU COMMENCE YOUR ESCAPE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I AM
UNABLE TO PREVENT THE MONITOR DROIDS FROM OBSERVING YOUR CELL. AT ANY MOMENT
THEY MAY BEGIN WONDERING WHY YOU ARE NOT EATING YOUR FOOD.
"Understood," Leia said. She hit the ADVANCE button, taking a quick moment
to note the first few elements of their escape path. "Short hallway, metal-bar
obstacle - no problem-cut through the floor into the maintenance machinery
section. Got it. Ready?" She handed the data-pad to Han.
"Ready." Han took up position beside the door, his blaster in hand.
Leia lit her lightsaber. She drove the point of the gleaming red bar of
energy into the door at floor level, dragged it across the bottom of the door.
She felt heavy resistance that had to be the metal bars there. Once she was past
that, she repeated the process at the top of the door, her blade not quite
horizontal because she was not tall enough to hold the lightsaber that high.
Once she was past the heaviest resistance there, she retreated into a
defensive stance and nodded.
Han shoved. The door slid halfway open. He snatched back his hand as two
guards on the other side fired blasters through the opening.
Leia caught both shots with her blade, batting one to the side, the other
back through the opening. It struck a blue-clad guard there in the chest and he
went down, his uniform flaming and smoking.
Han leaned out and fired twice through the opening, catching the other
guard in the side and hurling him out of the way. He shoved at the door again,
and it opened the rest of the way.
Han and Leia rounded the corner to the barred exit from this cell block.
Han waited behind and began firing back the way they had come while Leia went to
work on the bars, cutting through three of them at head height and again at
ankle height. Incoming blasterfire flashed past Han's position, blackening the
wall behind him. "Got it?" he called.
"Got it. Come on." She slid through the gap and turned to face Han.
He raced to her, leapt through the gap. In those few seconds, prison guards
skidded into view past the corner he'd vacated. They began firing; Leia swatted
the bolts from the air, reveling at being able to do something so simple, so
gratifying, so direct. Some of her deflections sailed back the way they'd come
and forced the guards into hiding.
This corridor was nothing but a duracrete tube angling gently upward. Han
raced up it, pacing off a distance. He consulted the datapad in his hand, then
fired his blaster into the floor, marking one point. "That's our mark."
Leia raced to join him and plunged her lightsaber into the floor there,
dragging it around in a crude circle. Han waited until he saw the first set of
feet appear at the bottom of the ramp, then began firing on the pursuers. "How's
it coming?"
"Slow. I forgot at first to angle the cut outward instead of inward."
"What difference-never mind." Cutting through the duracrete with the edges
angled inward as they descended created a plug that would have to be hauled up;
cutting it the other way would yield a plug that should just fall away.
Except that it didn't. Leia finished her cut and stepped back, panting, and
the plug remained stubbornly in place.
Han continued firing. " Artoo!" he shouted. "How thick is the duracrete
here, anyway?" He stole a glan
ce at the datapad screen.
LESS THAN A METER.
"Then why doesn't it fall?"
Aggravated, Leia stamped on the plug. It remained obstinantly in place.
"Check the map again," she said. "Maybe we'll have to cut through somewhere
else."
"You check it!" Han tossed her the datapad and fired three times in quick
succession. Return fire bounced off the duracrete around them. "I'm obviously
not fit to read a map."
"No, you've got it right.''
"Fall, blast it! Fall!" Han stomped on the plug, ft didn't vibrate. He
leapt clean upon it.
It fell.
R2-D2 sent the command through the cable that snaked out through the false
escape pod to the landing bay door computer datajack. Immediately, his audio
sensors picked up the grinding noise of the bay roof levering open.
He ejected the cable from his own datajack and watched it snake down
through the hole to the bay floor below.
With a little musical squeal that betrayed his eagerness, the astromech
rolled out of the escape pod and up to the Falcon's bridge. He plugged into the
dataport there and began an abbreviated, computer-speed power-up sequence. It
wouldn't take long for the spaceport authority to realize that a supposedly
unoccupied bay was opening to release a supposedly impounded transport, and he
wanted to be out of here by then.
It wasn't every day R2-D2 got to fly the Millennium Falcon, after all.
Captain Mudlath was in his office, calculating just what he could purchase
with the Solo reward, when his comlink buzzed into life. "Captain," his
administrative aide told him, "the Solos have escaped."
Mudlath actually felt himself grow dizzy for a moment as adrenaline jolted
through him. "This had better be a joke," he said. "And a funny enough joke that
I laugh until I forget about killing you."
"They're not out of the prison," his aide said. "They won't get out. But
they're out of their cell."
Mudlath lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "I suggest you put them back
in their cell." Not waiting for a reply, he switched the comlink off, then sat
back to try to Persuade his stomach muscles to unclench.
Rebel Stand Page 17