this vessel now."
"That's it," Lando said, snapping his fingers.
"That's the reason there's no ray shielding outside.
There are no droids, no computers, no electronic devices of any kind on
the hull--just organic machines, with organic sensors, and organic
repair mechanisms.
Different rules. We didn't know because that's the first time we've
actually seen the vagabond under fire. Boldheart only fired across her
bow. Pakkpekatt's task force never fired on her at all. What do You
think, Lobot?"
"The issues for biological systems exposed to radiation are rate of
damage versus the efficiency of repair, and heat absorption per unit of
area versus heat dispersal per unit of area," Lobot said in a flat
voice. "The i ntegumentary system of some organisms can provide
effective protection for internal structures against charged-particle
radiation, and significant protection against the J and C ranges of
photonic radiation."
Lando was staring with open concern. "Lobot, what is wrong with
you?"
"Was there an error in my summation?"
"I'm not talking about your summation--I'm talking about you," Lando
said. "Don't take this wrong, old pal, but your conversational style's
regressed back to Early Mechanical. You've started nattering like an
overeager knowhot. But I can't find you anymore--just a wall of
data."
Lobot plucked a drifting glove out of midair, avoiding Lando's eyes.
"It is possible that I am retreating to the certain and the familiar as
a means of reassurance, or in an attempt to enhance my sense of control
over my circumstances."
"What kind of answer is that? You sound like a droid running a
self-diagnostic," Lando said. "I get the feeling that if your links
were up, you wouldn't be talking at all. Come on, partner--what's
cracking your glue?"
After a few moments, Lobot stopped fussing with his suit. "I confess I
am having difficulty maintaining a positive outlook," he said, his eyes
still downcast. "Perhaps you could share with me some of the reasons
for your apparent optimism."
"Didn't you feel her wheel around before we jumped into hyperspace? We
escaped from the Prakith, and we're headed back to where we do have
friends.
And we now have all the air we need to hang on until they find us,"
Lando said. "What's more, we're moving through the ship more or less
at will, and we've figured out how to operate Qella mechanisms. On top
of all that, we're being treated like visitors, not hunted like
intruders. Things could be a lot worse."
"Things are worse. We're headed for an unknown point within an
enormous volume of space in a ship that routinely manages to escape
detection for years at a time," said Lobot. "We have no food and
limited water, and the droids and the suits are both running low on
power. None of the mechanisms we can operate allow us to either
control the ship or communicate with it.
We're being guided through public spaces and kept out of private
spaces--if we're going to get control of the ship, we need to be
treated like the owners, not visitors."
"I admit we haven't yet found the doors marked RESTRICTEDAUTHORIZED
PERSONNEL ONLY," said Lando.
"But we can't be more than two or three compartments away from the bow,
according to the map Artoo's been keeping. I say we gather up the gear
and keep looking for the control center."
"There is no reason to believe that the control nexus is located in the
bow," said Lobot.
Lando peered at Lobot questioningly. "I thought it was you who pointed
us in this direction."
"On general probabilities derived from known designs," said Lobot.
"But this vessel was not derived from known designs. It was not
engineered by starship-wrights working within an established design
paradigm.
It is unique. And we will never unravel all its secrets, because we
are Unable to think as the Qella thought," "One secret at a time will
be enough to keep me happy," said Lando. "Why are you so sure the
bridge isn't forward?"
"Look at the map. The-compartments we've entered over the last few
days have gradually been defining a space in the center of the ship to
which we have no access."
"Then we have to keep going, don't we?" Lando said. "The link between
the two zones--the hatch that says Staff OR STaFF ONLY, the key to the
executive refresher, the turbolift to the penthouse--could be in the
next compartment, or the one after that."
"Or it could be so well hidden that we will never find it. There may
not even be a link between the two."
"If we have to, we can make one," Lando said, flashing a quick grin.
"But right now, it looks like we have a bet to settle. What do you
have that's worth anything?"
"Pardon me?"
"If I'm right and you're wrong, I want something out of it," said
Lando. "Nothing like a little wager to keep things interesting when
the life-or-death stuff gets old. So what are you willing to risk on
your opinion that says we die here like trapped rats?"
Lobot stared blankly at Lando. Then his normally expressionless face
began to shudder and twitch. His mouth worked, his eyes blinked.
Finally he unleashed a stiff, unpracticed bleat that quickly melted
down to a stuttering titter. "You're crazy, Lando," he said. "I've
been meaning to tell you that for years."
"A first time for everything," Lando said, still startled by a sound he
had never before heard--Lobot's laughter. "But you didn't answer my
question. Are you in or out?"
Lobot grabbed a drifting boot and threw it across to Lando. "I know
you too well to take a wager against you," he said. "Let's go find
that control nexus."
"Pardon me, Master Lando--" Lando was exploring the inner face of a new
compartment with his hands while Lobot did the same on the outer
face.
"What is it, Threepio?"
"There is something that is puzzling me," Threepio said. "Artoo
insists that if this ship has no ray shields, there would be no
interference with a realspace tracking signal."
"That's right."
"Artoo also insists that even if there were ray shields, they would not
interfere with a hypercomm tracking signal."
"That's also right."
"Then can you explain why we have not been sending out a tracking
signal each time the ship returns to realspace?"
"Sure. Because we don't have a rescue beacon," Lando said.
"I see," said Threepio. "If it isn't too much trouble,
Master Lando, could you explain how exactly the armada is to locate us?"
"They weren't ever supposed to lose us," Lando said. "Hammax's foray
team had orders to go in hard and fast---disable the vagabond before it
could clear or break down the interdiction field."
"I see. But you persuaded Colonel Pakkpekatt to let us try to go in
gently and slowly."
Lando shrugged. "Something like that."
Lobot raised an eyebrow at the evasion.
&n
bsp; "But was no thought given to contingency plans, in the event that the
outcome was not as desired?"
Threepio persisted. "Surely the possibility of the vagabond escaping
came up in your strategy sessions with Colonel Pakkpekatt."
"Of course it did," Lando said. "But a rescue beacon might attract the
attention of outsiders. They're designed that way, after all--all
frequencies, all receivers.
Remember, this was a New Republic Intelligence operation.
Getting control of the vagabond was only part of the goal--doing it
quietly was the rest. Even Hammax's team didn't have a beacon--just
short-range comm units."
"I see--you were forbidden to add a beacon to our equipment."
"No," said Lando. "That was my decision. I figured if we had one, we
might use it. I elected to remove the temptation."
"I'm certain I don't understand, Master Lando."
"Well--you don't have all the pieces of the puzzle," Lando said.
"Let's just say that my orders and Pakkpekatt's orders don't quite
coincide. We didn't have his permission to board this ship, and I
didn't intend to hand her over to him--at least not right away."
"Why not?"
"Because she would have disappeared into a black hangar somewhere and
never been seen again whole," said Lando. "The NRI has hundreds of
people who do nothing but take apart captured alien weapons looking for
ideas to steal. The man who sent me out here--call him the
Admiral--had a notion that this ship might be something more than that,
might be something other than a weapon--and might deserve a better
fate. And, as he usually is, he seems to have been right."
"I see," said Threepio. Artoo chirped briefly, prompting Threepio to
add, "But there seems to have been some deficiencies in his plan."
Lando shook his head. "The only thing that's gone wrong with the plan
is that I promised him we'd be able to get control of this ship, and we
haven't succeeded in doing that yet."
"Master Lando, Artoo would like to know if we have any way of signaling
the armada."
"Not at light-year distances, no. But remember, I don't exactly want
to be rescued by Pakkpekatt."
"Then how do you intend to signal the man who sent you out here?"
Lando pursed his lips. "There's a blind-band hypercomm transmitter on
Lady Luck, very black stuff I have no idea how it works. But the
Admiral can use it to track the ship's movements, locate her anywhere
within the transmitter's range--which is a secret, but I was told it
was a very large number."
"But Lady Luck is no longer attached to the vagabond," Threepio said.
"We saw it cut away from the airlock. Lady Luck may even have been
destroyed.
What use is the transmitter to us? No one has any hint of a clue of an
idea where we are. Lobot was right--we're doomed, doomed to
oblivion--" "Would you plug that leak, now?" Lando demanded, his tone
dripping annoyance. "I swear before an honest dealer, you must be the
most tiresome droid ever built."
"Oh! How very rude " "There you go again," Lando said. Digging a bare
hand into one of the pouch-pockets of his contact suit, he pulled out a
silver cylinder as thick as his thumb and as long as his palm. "Look,"
he said. Lando flipped the cylinder end over end in midair, then
snatched it up
cleanly and tucked it safely away. "They'll be able to find us when
they need to."
"Why? What are you talking about? What's that thing you're throwing
around?"
"The beckon call for Lady Luck," Lobot said.
"Did you know about this?"
"Of course."
Threepio cocked his head. "Is that a transmitter?
Can we call for help?"
"It transmits the signal that activates the yacht's slave
circuits--across hyperspace, too, now, thanks to the Admiral," said
Lando. "The slave circuits then bring the ship to me."
"Pardon me, Master Lando, but have you had that device in your
possession all this time?"
"That's a stupid question, Threepio--even for a protocol droid."
"I see no reason to respond to simple interrogatives with abuse--" "Let
me save you the trouble of asking any more 'simple interrogatives,'"
Lando said. "Yes, I've had it all along, and I haven't used it. The
reason I haven't used it is that we don't have control of the
vagabond.
If I call Lady Luck to wherever we stop next, one of two things will
happen, neither of which helps us. Either the yacht'll spook the
vagabond into running, or the yacht'll provoke the vagabond into
firing. And if Lady Luck is put out of commission, we're going to be
in real trouble. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Master Lando."
"Good," said Lando. "Then I'm going to get back to what I was doing,
and you're going to avoid distracting me. Because we can't go home
until We do what we came out here to do, and I'm too tired and hungry
to have any patience with a fussy droid. I'd rather blast you into
components than listen to you for one more minute. Is that clear?"
"As clear as the morning air on Kolos Moon."
Threepio tapped Artoo on the dome with his good hand. "Come, Artoo. I
believe we're in the way here."
The bow compartment of the vagabond was at least five times more
voluminous than any other that Lando's party had previously
discovered.
The chamber took the shape of a fat disc standing on edge, with the
inner face convex, the outer face five meters away and concave.
Counting the one they had entered through, there were eight portals
evenly spaced around the rim of the disc. Each of the new portals
seemed to be the gateway to another long series of compartments.
"All star routes lead to Imperial City," Lando said.
"I don't know if this is the control nexus, but it's something
different, that's for sure. And it's pretty clear the Qella didn't
want you to miss coming here."
While the droids hovered near the center of the compartment, Lando and
Lobot began the now familiar drill of searching its surfaces by hand
for contact triggers.
But for all the surface area of the compartment, it was unusually
unreactive. Lobot found no triggers on the outer face, and Lando only
a single trigger on the inner.
That contact brought a pattern of curving, evenly spaced projections
curling out from the entire inner face of the chamber. Each
blunt-ended L-shaped hook was as thick as Threepio's wrist and as long
as Lando's forearm, and the pattern invited the eye to see trapezoids,
pinched rectangles, and overlapping wavy-sided triangles.
"What do you think, Lobot? A bridge control panel, Qella-style? They
sure say 'grab here' to me," Lando said, hovering near the droids.
Lobot, drifting just over the inner face, reached out and seized hold
of one of the projections. There was no response within the chamber
and no detectable response from the ship.
"If these are controllers, perhaps they only operate in combination.
It would be useful if we knew what the body plan and limb span of the
/> Qella species was," said Lobot, turning toward Lando. "Of course, the
size of
this chamber would readily allow for more than one operator."
Lando jetted forward. "Isn't this what kids do when you let them sit
in the cockpit for the first time---start pushing buttons at random?"
He reached for the nearest projection with his left hand, then drew it
back.
"Artoo, can you spot any writing anywhere on this wall--like what you
saw in the airlock when we boarded?"
The droid's silver dome swiveled back and forth for a few seconds.
Then Artoo emitted a short squeak that needed no translation.
"Just our luck," said Lando. "We're dealing with a species that never
invented the sign."
By then, Lobot was moving across the chamber face by using the
projections as handholds. "I don't think these are control devices,
Lando," he said. "Or if they are, the controls are locked out. I've
touched fourteen different pairs now, and nothing is happening.
THE BLACK FLEET CRISIS #3 - TYRANTS_TEST Page 6