THE BLACK FLEET CRISIS #3 - TYRANTS_TEST

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

spaceship. We're five hundred meters under the surface and just

  floating with the current.

  They won't know we're there until we bump up alongside."

  The scientist received Luke's reassurances with a dubious expression.

  "You've done this before, I trust?"

  "No, never," Luke said.

  "Oh, my--" "But I saw it done, not too long ago."

  Eckels swallowed. "I trust that you've been practicing since then, at

  least."

  Eyes still closed, Luke smiled. "All the way here.

  Relax, Doctor. I learned this trick from people who were at the top of

  their class in the business of hiding."

  He paused. "But even so, you might want to let me concentrate."

  Pressing his lips together in a line, Eckels slumped against the back

  of his seat and stared at the vagabond, which now filled half the sky

  ahead.

  "Lando."

  At the sound of his name, Lando stirred and reached slowly for his

  comlink.

  "What is it, Lobot?"

  "Someone is here."

  "Where here?" Lando said, suddenly shaking off his sleepy lassitude.

  "Outside, near the bow." Lobot paused. "We are

  puzzled. There is a touch, and yet we cannot find the source."

  "They're knocking on the door," Lando said impatiently.

  "Open it up and see what comes in."

  There was a long silence. "The visitors are in the interspace," Lobot

  said at last.

  "So who or what are they?"

  "We do not recognize them."

  "I'll check it out," Lando said gruffly. Fatigue and hunger had left

  him in a state of permanent annoyance.

  "Artoo, let's go--power up. Artoo--" The droid remained inert like

  Threepio days before, its power supply was finally exhausted.

  "Sure," he grumbled. "Make me be the one to check out the noise in the

  dark. It'd serve you both right if I never came back."

  "Ahoy the ship," a new voice crackled over the comlink. "Anyone

  home?"

  Lando blinked, trying to force his mind to recognize what it was

  hearing. "Luke? Luke, is that you?

  What are you doing here?"

  "I could leave, if it's not a good time--" "You leave without me, and

  I'll hunt you down and kill you one cell at a time," Lando warned, with

  no trace of humor in his voice. "Stay where you are. I'm coming

  out."

  "We're already in," Luke said. "The vagabond's hull opened up and

  swallowed us whole."

  "Nooo" "It's all right. We're in some sort of zero-g hangar area

  between the outer and inner hulls--we even seem to be tethered. I'm

  suiting up to come to you," said Luke. "Stay put and talk us in."

  Grabbing a liter of water from Dr. Eckels, Lando drained it so fast

  that his stomach balked and threatened to reject it.

  "Luke," Lando said, flipping the container away.

  "Can you believe it? This whole monstrosity is nothing but a museum--"

  He stopped to swallow the bitterness climbing his throat, and started

  coughing when the taste reached his mouth.

  "Go easy, Lando---" Lando waved off the concern. "A museum! And

  when--when have you ever known me to go near a museum?" He laughed

  hoarsely. "And you don't even know the funny part--none of the

  treasures is real. It's all just modeling clay--nothing of any

  value."

  "Do you know what he's talking about, Dr. Eckels?"

  "Possibly," Eckels said, digging in the supply pouch for a FirstMeal

  food pack.

  Lando continued to babble, his tone turning sorrowful, almost

  maudlin.

  "Can only look--can't take anything with you. No souvenirs. What a

  waste of time, Lukewhat a miserable waste of time. Like picking

  flowers. Pretty today, dead tomorrow--" He suddenly noticed the food

  pack and snatched it away, turning his back on them as though

  protecting it against poaching.

  "Lando, where's Lobot?"

  The answer came after a long draw on the food pack's straw. "He has

  new friends." Lando shrugged.

  "He hardly talks to me anymore." He chortled abruptly. "He's lost his

  mind. You'll see."

  "Take us to him," Luke said firmly. "We need to take care of him,

  too."

  Somersaulting slowly, Lando waved a hand absently toward the

  interior.

  "In there. Left, left, right, right, center, right, center. Something

  like that." The food pack expired with a sucking sound. "You can't

  miss him. He's the one with legs."

  Luke and Dr. Eckels found Lobot curled up in a side tubule, floating,

  his eyes closed, his hands cupped against the side of his head. The

  transparent leads of his split interface tethered him to the rounded

  mass at the far end of the tubule.

  "Do you have any idea what we're looking at here, Doctor?"

  Eckels peered into an adjacent tubule for an unobstructed view. "These

  are the size and geometry of the Qella remains we recovered from the

  ice," he said in hushed awe.

  "These don't feel like remains to me," Luke said, entering the tubule

  where Lobot was floating. "Lobot--it's Luke. Wake up, fella--your

  relief's here."

  "Are you saying that they're alive?" Eckels demanded. "I had

  discounted those reports as unreliable."

  "Why?"

  "Why, it's unprecedented--unthinkable--" "This whole ship feels alive

  to me, Doctor," Luke said "Though with a different quality than I'm

  used to."

  "Different how?"

  "Usually this much power is matched with much greater awareness. It's

  almost like--sleeping. Just like Lobot here seems to be sleeping."

  Frowning, Luke reached out and dug his fingernails into Lobot's

  elbow.

  "Hey--talk to me."

  "But these bodies have no limbs," Eckels protested.

  "The creatures on the surface were quadrupeds."

  "I'm not trying to tell you what they are, Doctor.

  I'm just telling you that what Lobot reported is true--these things are

  alive, and this ship is alive I'll let you tell me the relationship

  between them."

  Lobot was stirring by then. "Waiting," he murmured in a trancelike

  monotone.

  "Waiting for what?" Luke asked. "What question is that an answer

  to?"

  Behind him, Eckels was frowning. "Physically, the relationship mirrors

  one that exists inside the Qella, between the Eicroth bodies and--" His

  eyes widened in surprise. "Luke, I must see the rest of this vessel at

  once.

  I must see these exhibits Lando spoke of."

  "Lobot, talk to me," Luke was saying. "What do you need from me?"

  "We wait," Lobot said dreamily.

  "What are' 'we'?" Luke asked.

  "Answers," said Lobot.

  "Yes, I need answers," Luke said. "What are you waiting for? What do

  you need?"

  The words came haltingly. "We wait... for . . the thaw."

  Luke looked questioningly back at Eckels.

  "I must see the ship," he insisted. "I will not make wild guesses When

  there is evidence at hand."

  Nodding agreement, Luke said, "I think we need to break up Lobot's new

  friendship, anyway--I can hardly find a boundary between his mind and

  everything else.

  Know anything a
bout neural interfaces, Doctor, or should I just pull

  the plug?"

  Eckels grimaced. "Do what you think best. I'll wait outside."

  It was nearly an hour before either Lando or Lobot was fit for their

  final duties as host and guide. For Eckels, it was an hour of

  maddening impatience. For Luke, it was an opportunity to bring the

  droids back online and begin repairs to Threepio's damaged arm.

  "I'm very glad to see you, Master Luke," the droid said. "You won't

  believe the stories I have to tell you. I don't know why i was sent on

  this mission in the first place. Why, I was nearly vaporized by the

  vagabond, and then we were attacked by an entire fleet of warships.

  Master Calrissian abandoned me to be captured by intruders--" Luke

  grinned. "It's good to see you, too, Threepio.

  And I promise to let you tell me all the stories, later.

  Twice, even, if you need to."

  "That's very kind of you, sir."

  When the droids had been moved to the skiff, Luke went off to explore

  with Lando, while Lobot led Eckels on a separate tour. But before long

  Lando decided the familiar comforts of a starship, however humble, had

  greater appeal than Luke's company, and excused himself from

  sight-seeing.

  By then Luke understood the geometry and instrumentality of the

  vagabond well enough to manage on his own. The "museum" rooms and the

  interspace gallery were equally astonishing, but Luke found himself

  drawn back to the interior, to the maze of tubules and the clusters of

  what Luke had begun calling Eckels bodies.

  They were the center of the vagabond's limited consciousness, the focus

  of the flow of energy through the ship. Four hours vanished in an

  eyeblink before Luke even thought of rejoining the others. Another

  hour and a half passed before he actually did.

  They were all there--Lando asleep in the bunk, Lobot stretched out on

  the floor of the systems compartment, Threepio strapped into the

  right-hand seat, and Artoo contentedly plugged into both the data port

  and the power port at the interface board.

  Eckels was in the pilot's seat, bending forward over the ship's small

  data displays with a frown while keying the datapad on his lap fluidly

  by touch alone.

  "I believe I have an answer for you now," Eckels said without looking

  away from his work. "Shall we wake the others?"

  "No," said Luke. "They've done their part let them rest. Let's

  compare notes first. If we find we have questions for them, we can

  take care of that later."

  "I was able to get the benefit of Lobot's thoughts while he showed me

  around," said Eckels. "He has an admirably disciplined mind."

  "People have been underestimating him for as long as I've known him,"

  Luke said. "So what do you have?"

  Eckels sat back in his seat and pointed to the data display. "Lobot

  was right," he said. "The moons are the key."

  "The moons they saw in the orrery."

  "Yes," said Eckels. "With the assistance of Colonel Pakkpekatt, we've

  analyzed the recordings Artoo-Detoo made the first time the expedition

  reached the auditorium and viewed the diorama. The orbits depicted for

  the moons turn out to be unstable."

  "Check me if I've missed something, Doctor, but Maltha Obex has no

  moons."

  Eckels nodded. "But Qella did. Unremarkable moonsmnothing to inspire

  a grand mythology. At least not until one of them fell from the

  sky."

  "The ice age is the result of a moonstrike," Luke said, his expression

  gravely thoughtful.

  "Yes, it would appear so," said Eckels. "The smaller moon was a

  capture moon, with an irregular orbit. Working backward from Artoo's

  recordings, we found that the gravity of the larger moon disturbed the

  capture moon into a decaying orbit--a hundred years, in round numbers,

  before the fall."

  "And the Qella saw it happening. They knew what lay ahead for them,"

  Luke said. "And they used the warning, and the time they had left, to

  build this vessel."

  "The ultimate and supreme achievement of their species," said Eckels.

  "Judging from what I saw, they did not have the means to destroy or

  repulse a moonm even the small moon of Maltha Obex dwarfed this vessel

  and its power. Nor did they have the means to evacuate a populous

  planet--the culture depicted in these serographs numbered hundreds of

  millions, if not more."

  "It would have taken thousands of vessels this size," Luke said. "An

  impossible task in the time they had."

  "But they could build one, and send it away before the end came,"

  Eckels said. "When the expedition looked at the orrery, they saw this

  system as it was when the vagabond had last seen it--before the

  moonsrike, the destruction of the Qella, and the death of their planet

  under a blanket of ice."

  Eckels gazed out the front of the cockpit at the faces of the

  gallery.

  "Your friend Lando was wrong," he went on. "What's here is very

  real.

  This ship isn't a collection of objects--it's a collection of ideas.

  We may never know why, but the Qella valued these ideas more than their

  lives. And that which we value is that which

  gives meaning to our lives. What a grand gift they have given us what

  a gloriously defiant futility."

  "Futility?" Luke asked. "What about those things in the interior?

  Lobot keeps wanting to call them Qella. You said that they looked like

  the Qella. And now the ship has brought them home."

  Frowning, Eckels looked down at his datapad.

  "But there are only a few thousand of them, on a vessel that could have

  held many more." Eckels shook his head. "No, it cannot be. This is

  not an ark, or even a lifeboat. Those bodies are the controllers and

  protectors of this vessel, not its treasure. The real treasure of this

  vessel is in ideas and memories--a thousand years of history, a

  thousand years of art, this splendid bio-mechanical science. No, this

  is no museum. This is a monument, Luke."

  "No," Luke said stubbornly. "There's something more here." Turning

  away, he dropped gracefully through the open entry hatch. Catching a

  handhold on the hull, he catapulted himself forward, away from the

  skiff and into the silence and darkness of the interspace.

  There, drifting slowly in front of the Qella gallery, Luke extended his

  senses to the planet below. He found only a great stillness. There

  was no halo of life energy, no reservoir of the Force. The ice-encased

  surface had the same profound quiescence as the mass of rock below

  it.

  "What are you looking for?"

  "A reason to wait for the thaw," Luke said.

  "So it can finish its journey," Eckels said. "It meant nothing more

  than that."

  "Shhh," Luke said. He had drifted close to the outer skin of the

  vagabond, and he reached out and drew himself to it. He listened to

  the complex rhythms of the ship and allowed them to resolve into the

  deep, fundamental pulse of its being. He listened only to that pulse

  until he had absorbed it. completely, knew it utterly.

  Then
he extended himself toward the planet once more, this time

  quieting his own urgency and desire, seeking that most profound state

  of egoless connection in which everything could be heard without

  distraction or distortion.

  And suddenly there they were, like millions of grains of sand falling

  slowly to the surface--a collective heartbeat so faint and so languid

  that the slightest whisper of impatience would obscure it. With an

  exultant cry, Luke pushed himself away from the wall in a backward

  somersault.

  "What? What is it?" Eckels exclaimed. He jetted across the open

  space to intercept Luke, catching him just before he reached the

  gallery.

  But Luke twisted away from Eckels's grasp, turning to trace the lines

  of a Qella face with both hands. "The bodies you found--the Qella Who

  roamed the iced those weren't the survivors," Luke said. "They were