THE BLACK FLEET CRISIS #3 - TYRANTS_TEST

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  companionway and sent Pleck tumbling against the flight deck's rear

  bulkhead.

  "I suggest you both find a flight couch and strap in. We may need to

  discover not only how fast General Calrissian's yacht is, but how agile

  she is as well."

  Pleck picked himself up and squeezed past Hammax, heading aft. Hammax

  came forward and reached for the weapons controller.

  "You may store that," said Pakkpekatt. "I have retracted the laser

  cannon. This is a race, not a fight. I will jump us out before I let

  us be caught--but I am willing to take some risks in order to receive

  the complete dispatch."

  "What's in it that's so important?" Hammax asked.

  "The code that allowed this ship to pass through the vagabond's shields

  at Gmar Askilon" "But we have that."

  "--and the code that would have allowed D-89 to follow it in,"

  Pakkpekatt continued. "The next ime the vagabond asks us a question,

  we should know the answer."

  "If we ever see her again," Hammax said with a lopsided frown.

  "We will."

  "Tobay is hailing us," said Taisden.

  "I have nothing to say to the Prakith," said Pakkpekatt.

  "You might be able to get them to give away some information--like

  whether the vagabond was here."

  "We do not need confirmation of that," said Pakkpekatt. "And I will

  not take the risk of giving some information away to them." He glanced

  down at the display. "General Calrissian has a very fast ship. Range

  to fighters?"

  "One hundred thousand meters and opening quickly," Taisden said.

  "Someone on the Tobay forgot that TIEs have solar-electric ion boost

  engines. Not much out here for them to eat. They won't catch us.

  Someone else has figured that out, too---Tobay is accelerating now."

  "Too late," Hammax said. "Their captain made the wrong choice."

  "Yes," said Pakkpekatt, his pride teeth gleaming.

  "He did."

  "Three more minutes," said Taisden. "I'll set up the jumps if you'll

  tell me where we're going next. Back to Carconth and Anomaly

  Ten-thirty-three?"

  "No. I have been thinking about what happened to us, being brought

  here by an automated system override," said Pakkpekatt. "I find myself

  asking what the

  Qella would have done if, once having launched this vessel, they found

  reason to recall her."

  "Sounds like a card you'd want to keep in your hand," said Hammax.

  "What do you have in mind, Colonel?"

  "I have in mind for us to go to Maltha Obex, the vagabond's point of

  origin," said Pakkpekatt. "We will set up a hyperspace beacon there

  and transmit the sequences we just received."

  "You mean to call her home," said Hammax.

  Taisden's face was lit with sudden optimism. "We can use the entire

  communications grid of the New Republic as a repeater to send out the

  signal in realspace, on the frequency the vagabond used to interrogate

  our ships at Gmar Askilon."

  Pakkpekatt nodded, human fashion. "And then we will wait for her. Who

  knows? If this yacht is as well named as she is outfitted, perhaps the

  vagabond will hear our call and come to us. The odds of that can be no

  longer than the odds of our stumbling on her in the dark--and I am

  weary of chasing shadows and echoes across the light-years."

  Lando Calrissian cursed under his breath as he dragged himself through

  the narrow inner passage toward where Artoo indicated Lobot could be

  found.

  The cyborg had stubbornly refused to return to where the droids were

  waiting, forcing Lando to shed his contact suit and come in after

  him.

  But the passages were twisty and claustrophobic, and it was difficult

  to find enough elbow room and enough purchase on the surface for

  fingertips and toes to keep him moving. The maze would have been

  impassable in gravity, at least for a human.

  "Lobot!" he called ahead. "How about a little help?"

  "You sound close by," was the faraway-sounding answer. "Just keep

  coming."

  "What are you doing in here? Are you stuck and too embarrassed to

  admit it?"

  "I am occupied."

  "Occupied with what?" When he was answered with what seemed a pointed

  silence, Lando changed the subject. "You know we jumped out."

  "You didn't by any chance have anything to do with that?"

  "NO."

  One more toe-push brought Lando to a point where two passages merged

  into one. "The jump didn't sound good," he said, pausing there. "Lot

  of shaking and rattling we haven't heard before."

  "There was much damage."

  Lando started again in the direction of the voice.

  "Yeah, I saw some of it. Are you feeling all right, pal?"

  "Fine."

  "Really? I gotta tell you, you sound a little flat."

  "I am occupied."

  "That again," said Lando. "Well, if everything's all right, it would

  have been nice if you'd answered the messages Artoo sent to you for

  me.

  You could have saved me what's turning into a long and annoying

  climb."

  "Impossible."

  "What's impossible?"

  There was a long silence.

  "Lobot?"

  "Impossible to reply. The channel was in use."

  Lobot's voice was at last starting to promise that Lando might see him

  around one more twisting turn. "If there's some reason why I shouldn't

  come up there, maybe you could tell me now."

  "No reason. Come ahead. You are close now."

  "You said that once before."

  "I was not listening with my ears."

  "Of course," said Lando. "I make that mistake all the time." Pausing,

  he pulled the cutting blaster from

  the slash pocket of his flight suit and slipped the stay loop over his

  wrist.

  "You will not need that," said Lobot.

  Lando's head jerked up. There was still no sign of Lobot in the

  passage ahead. "You spying on me, buddy?"

  Again, Lobot did not answer right away. "We are aware of you."

  Drawing a deep breath, Lando reached out and pressed his palms against

  the inside of the passage, resuming his awkward floating crawl with new

  determination.

  "You'll have to pardon me for intruding--I thought you were alone in

  here," he called as he scrambled along. "I hope I can count on you to

  make the introductions."

  "Yes. A little farther, Lando."

  Ahead, the passage turned sharply, hiding what lay beyond. Lando let

  the blaster come into his hand before going around the bend. Then he

  wedged himself into the passage, using one foot to press his back

  against the wall, as he deciphered what he was seeing.

  The next section of passage had a gentle curve that limited his view to

  twenty meters or so. But in those twenty meters, no fewer than fifty

  smaller side passages joined it. The openings were puckered in

  appearance, and the side passages were dark--the pale light

  illuminating the main passage seemed to stop where they joined to it.

  Pulling himself forward cautiously, Lando directed the beam of his hand

  torch down the first of the side passages. Barely two meters in, the

  br
anch was completely blocked by what appeared to be a rounded plug,

  lighter in color than the enclosing walls. The configuration put Lando

  in mind of concussion missiles in their launchers, or assault pods in

  their drop tubes.

  Spinning in midair, Lando aimed his light into another side passage,

  and the next, and the next. They were all blocked--no, not blocked, he

  thought, filled-- in just the same manner by ellipsoidal objects poten

  tially large enough to enclose and imprison a human being.

  "Lobot, where are you?" Lando said quietly. "Molo nag aikan nag molo

  kron aikan sket . . ." The dreamy, disassociated voice came from a

  side passage another few meters away. Lando pulled himself along

  one-handed until he reached it, then pointed the beam of his hand torch

  inside without warning.

  Lobot was floating inside, his feet toward Lando, his head at the

  object filling the passage. When the intense light reached Lobot's

  face, he raised a hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head

  away. That was when Lando glimpsed a shocking sight. The right side

  of Lobot's head was bare--there was only an outline of white skin and a

  pattern of socket holes where the interface band had been.

  "Lobot, what's happened?"

  "--eida kron molo sket aikan sket tupa vol . . ."

  Drawing himself Closer, Lando grabbed Lobot by the foot and shook

  him.

  "Hey, come back to me, pal."

  Lobot flinched from the touch, jerking his foot away, but ended his

  recitation.

  "Talk to me, or I'm going to have to pull you out of there," Lando

  said. "Maybe I'd better do that anyway--" "No!" The vehemence with

  which the word was launched was part passion and part fear. At the

  same time, Lobot's hands slammed outward against the sides of the

  passage, his fingers digging deep as the substance there yielded to

  provide him with secure handholds.

  Only then, with Lobot's arms no longer obscuring his view, did Lando

  realize what was happening. Half of the interface band was still in

  place on Lobot's left side.

  The other half was attached to the curve of the object beyond. A

  network of fine wires, no longer than the span of Lando's hand,

  connected the two as a tether.

  "Starfire--you found a way to talk to the vagabond."

  A smile crept onto Lobot's face. "Yes."

  "To the vagabond, or to these things?" Lando gestured with the

  light.

  "There is no distinction."

  "Is it conscious?"

  "It is aware." Lobot opened his eyes and looked at Lando for the first

  time. "I will need to remember to discuss this with Threepio. I may

  have better answers for him now."

  Lando wedged himself sideways in the opening of the side passage.

  "What kind of conversation are you having?"

  "It is willing to give me information. It will not give me control."

  "Ask it where we're going this time."

  "It is hurting," Lobot said. "I think it is going home."

  Lando contemplated that information for a moment, then gestured with

  the beam of light. "What are these--eggs?"

  "No. These are Qella," said Lobot. "The Ship is the egg."

  (Chapter 7

  Bathed in the brilliant fire of the cluster's many suns, three New

  Republic warships made their entry into star system ILC-905 in the

  formation known as triangle-high-forward.

  On the point, a hundred kilometers ahead of the others, was the picket

  Folna, with all its sensitive antennae passively scanning in all

  directions to the limit of their range. Trailing in the flank position

  was another vessel of the same size, the gunship Vanguard. In the

  anchor position, flying parallel to Vanguard, was the command vessel

  for the patrol group--the cruiser Indomitable, under Commodore Brand.

  Though Folna's sensing officer was reporting all displays clear, both

  the cruiser's and the gunship's primary and secondary armaments were at

  combat readiness, with their accumulators half charged, their aiming

  coils warm, and their crews on two-hour rotations. In addition, three

  of Indomitable's five squadrons, including Red Flight's K-wing bombers,

  were fully armed and lined up for deployment, with their pilots

  standing by.

  It would take just twelve seconds to bring the gun batteries to full

  power. Thirty-five seconds after the klaxon sounded in the bays, the

  first E-wings would clear Indomitable's flight deck.

  Or if Brand didn't like the odds, a word from him--and ninety seconds

  to spin up the hyperdrives--would have all three ships wheeling about

  and jumping out to safety.

  Despite those precautions, the tension aboard all three ships was

  palpable. On the bridge of Indomitable, it was excruciating. The

  patrol group was hunting for the enemy in the enemy's own territory,

  and it would be just their bad luck, thought Brand, if they should find

  them.

  Or, worse still, be found.

  In any space patrol, there was an irreducible risk of being seen by an

  enemy they could not see. That risk was multiplied many times over by

  the richness of Koor-nacht Cluster's starfields.

  Even with the best available instruments, an Imperial-class Star

  Destroyer was undetectable against the background of a first-magnitude

  star at a range of only six thousand kilometers. A ship the size of

  Vanguard could creep within three hundred klicks without being

  spotted.

  Any inattention, any errors of assessment, any deficiencies in the

  systems, and those margins would narrow still further.

  Active sensing--a laser pulse, a radar ping--could remove that

  vulnerability, separating a nearby ship from a distant star. But

  active sensing created a vulnerability of its own, announcing their

  presence like a shout in the night.

  As they had been for the last nine system entries, the active sensors

  of the patrol group were silent. Brand was counting on the skill of

  the seven officers seated at the passive-sensing stations in Folna's

  darkened elint compartment--the bug box, in ship slang.

  Sharp eyes and clear minds, Brand thought as he restlessly paced

  Indomitable's bridge. The debacle at Doornik 319 had been

  embarrassment enough to his command. No more surprises. No more

  mistakes.

  "Look after your station, Lieutenant," he barked, stopping behind a

  Hrasskis officer and leaning in to jab a finger toward the console.

  "You've got a yellow on your check board."

  "I'm on it, sir."

  "Twelfth planet entering our scan radius in one minute," called out one

  of the cruiser's own elint specialists.

  Brand straightened and turned toward the forward viewpanes. "Helmsman,

  how is our velocity?"

  'Beginning to pick up some measurable stellar gravity assist now,

  Commodore. Base velocity is one-third formation standard."

  "Let her roll," Brand said--altering, on a sudden impulse, the

  procedure they had used in the past. "I don't care what the engineers

  at Technical saymI don't believe that the braking thrusters don't light

  us up," he added. "Let's just be a rock this time."

&
nbsp; "Infalling in formation, sir?"

  "Loose formation--we'll let 'em drift. It won't amount to much at this

  point. Signal the patrol."

  "Yes, sir."

  By the time the patrol group was closing on the sixth planet, the

  gravity of the star ILC-905--with some minor assistance from the

  system's outer planets had boosted the group's velocity to 41 percent

  of formation standard.

  An angry and puzzled Colonel Foag had long since registered his

  displeasure, signaling Brand from Folna's bug box by means of

  ship-to-ship laser. "You're shrinking our safety radius," he

  complained. "The faster we go, the more pressure there is on my

  people---with the analysis lag and their reaction time, we lose a

  thousand, two thousand kilometers at least. Why the impatience?"

  "It's not impatience, Colonel Foag. I'm just adjusting the tradeoffs

  slightly," said Brand. "I'm well aware that if elint ran the show,