“You shut up,” Han said to the blond man.
Chewie crouched, but his knees banged the crevice wall.
“Okay,” Han said. “I got it. Slide one leg out either side, crouch, and lever yourself out.”
Chewie muttered some select Wookiee curses, the graphic ones that Han always pretended to misunderstand, and then did as Han told him. His bowcaster hit the wall, and the sound of ripping fur filled the crevice. But he crouched and slid toward Han, and was suddenly free.
A mat of Wookiee hair stuck to the sunstone crevice walls. Chewie moaned again. A patch of fur was missing from his back.
“Your friend sure whines a lot,” the man said. He hadn’t moved from his post farther in the crevice.
Chewie growled.
“He’s a Wookiee, pal,” Han said, “and I wouldn’t make him mad.”
“I can handle Wookiees.”
Han grinned. “Anyone who’s said that has never met a Wookiee.”
“You want my help or not?” the man said.
“I don’t know,” Han said. “What do you get out of helping me?”
“Satisfaction, General. Now come on.” He slipped through another narrow opening and then ran down a wider hall before Han had a chance to answer. The man knew who Han was.
Had known it all along.
That made Han decidedly uneasy.
Han peered through the crevice. The hall looked nature-made, just like the crevice did. The sunstone was bright.
And hot.
“Think you can make it, Chewie?”
Chewbacca nodded.
“Think we should trust him?”
Chewie shook his head, then moaned.
“You’re right. It might take forever for those covers to cool. Then we’re here, in the heat. Nothing can be worse than that, right?”
Chewie shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe Han had said that. Han couldn’t believe it either.
“You go first, turbali. That way I can shove you if you get stuck.”
And fight off anyone who tried to enter from the coolant side. Han didn’t know why Nandreeson was after him, but he wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
Chewie maneuvered his way through the second crevice without leaving much fur behind. Han followed. The hall that the man had run down was wide and tall. Chewie could stand upright.
The heat had lessened in the wider space. Han wiped off his face. He was a mess. The man was gone, but his footsteps led down the hall.
As if they had a choice. There were no other openings.
They followed the footsteps, weapons out. Cool air was flowing in from another passage. The man was waiting for them. He was sitting on a pile of unused coolant covers, his blaster on his knee.
“Thought you weren’t going to make it,” he said.
“Sometimes the enemy we know is less dangerous than the one we don’t,” Han said.
“So you think you know me.” The man smiled.
Han shook his head. “We almost stayed back there to wait until the coolant cover cooled.”
“You’d face Nandreeson’s boys over me?”
“I don’t know what you want,” Han said. “Or who you are.”
The man held out his hand. “My name’s Davis.”
“Names mean nothing,” Han said. “I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you either, General. Not really. But I know of you.”
“That gives you a distinct advantage.”
“You don’t trust people, do you? I’m trying to help you.”
“That remains to be seen. Where’re we going?”
“These passages will take us to a side entrance on the landing pad where your ship is.”
“And where Nandreeson’s men wait,” Han said. “They know I’ll be back for the Falcon.”
“You propose to leave it?”
“I just don’t plan on being predictable.” Han let his blaster drop to his side. “Tell me what the Jawas are doing here.”
“Now?” Davis asked.
“Now,” Han said.
The blond man sighed. Then he holstered his blaster as well. “A bunch of the smugglers brought the Jawas in to clean and repair equipment.”
“For free?”
The blond man shook his head. “Jawas never work free. But they do work cheap. It’s a lot easier for the smugglers to do it this way than to do the work themselves. Or to hire it out.”
“So they leave their equipment in the sand and let the Jawas pick it up, fix it, and sell it back to them?”
“It works,” Davis said.
“Depends on your definition of what works,” Han said. “Jawas never repair things very well.”
“But they do sort the working equipment from the useless stuff, and even that is valuable to the folks around here.”
“So who’s buying this junk?” Han asked.
“Don’t know,” Davis said. “And it doesn’t pay to ask.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I really don’t think we should stay here much longer. They’ve probably killed your Sullustan friend by now, and are searching the corridors for you.”
“Seluss can take care of himself,” Han said. “And I thought they’d be waiting by my ship.”
“There were a lot of them. They might be spreading out.”
“How’d you know how many there were?”
“I watched them go in, Solo. I knew they were after something.”
“They didn’t come down the corridor.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Then they know the tunnels.”
“There are other ways to the sand, Solo, beside one corridor and a warren of tunnels.”
Chewie growled agreement.
Han took a deep breath. He hated Skip 5. The heat was unbearable, even in the tunnels. “There’s only six of them,” he said. “And three of us. I think we can get past them and onto the Falcon.”
Davis shook his head. “They’re Nandreeson’s boys. You start firing on them in the loading area, and most of the smugglers nearby are going to shoot you.”
Chewie yarled.
“You have a better idea, fuzzball?”
Chewie growled and gestured for a moment.
“Might work,” Han said. “It might work.”
“What?” Davis asked. He clearly didn’t understand Wookiee. For some reason, that relieved Han.
“These tunnels open onto the sand, don’t they?”
Davis nodded. He was frowning.
Han smiled. “Great,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done business with a Jawa.”
Twenty
At first, Luke didn’t see the droid approaching him. The droid’s golden form blended into all the gold in the room. The hands reaching down, the unattached fingers, the bent arms scattered everywhere. He heard the droid before he saw it, its feet clanging on the metal floor.
Then it appeared, its eyes glowing in its pointed face. It looked like a droid god emerging from the golden sea, striding with all the power of a leader when actually, all it had was its normality. It was assembled, the others were just parts.
“Jedi Skywalker?” it said as if it already knew the answer. Its voice was modulated on the same frequency as Threepio’s, but it lacked the slightly frantic, slightly nervous edge that Threepio always seemed to have. It wasn’t the same model as Threepio, either. Luke could see that right away. Its face was narrower, its chin pointed, and its nose more pronounced.
“I am Luke Skywalker,” he said.
“You are to come with me.”
Luke nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back and followed the droid. The movement felt good. For a moment there, he had felt another presence, one both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Almost as if a friend had become someone else. Traces of the friend remained, but the person was different. If Luke were on Yavin 4, he would have taken the time to sift through his feelings, to find the threads of the person he had known. But he hadn’t the time, or the peaceful
setting. He would have to let his subconscious work on it. His conscious was busy.
Brakiss was nearby.
And Brakiss was frightened.
The droid led Luke past the stalled conveyor belts. It seemed unconcerned about the unattached limbs lying all around it.
“What is this place?” Luke asked.
“This is the protocol hand-and-arm-testing facility. We’re working on new hands that will give the fingertips sensitivity and the knuckles greater flexibility. We have made startling innovations in droid technology in the last year, innovations that will serve any function for which a droid can be used.” The droid’s speech sounded like a spiel, as if it were designed to sell droids to a buyer.
“Do you normally handle sales?” Luke asked.
“Oh, no, I’m just a protocol unit, Jedi Skywalker. I do escort guests through the facility from time to time and have been programmed to answer questions.”
“How long has Brakiss been here?”
The droid swiveled its golden head toward Luke. “I don’t know, sir. My memory has been wiped many times.”
Luke suppressed a shudder. Memory wipes had always seemed a barbaric custom to him. He would lose two good friends if he allowed Artoo and Threepio to be wiped. This droid might have had more of a personality, once.
At least it confirmed that Brakiss was here.
The droid led Luke through a door, and into a room filled with golden legs. None of the feet had been attached. They were sitting on the floor like unused shoes, small poles sticking up for attachment to the ankles. The legs were hanging from the ceiling, much as the arms had, and they had a frighteningly mobile quality to them. It felt as though the legs would go marching off on their own if someone attached the feet.
“This is the leg-and-foot-testing facility for protocol droids,” the droid said.
“I can see that,” Luke said. “You don’t have to give me the regulation speech. Just answer a few questions as we go.”
“As you wish, Jedi Skywalker.”
Luke ducked beneath a set of low-hanging legs. “How big is this facility?”
“The protocol unit occupies this building, Jedi Skywalker.”
“No,” he said. He tapped a leg with his finger. It felt cold and hard and lifeless. “The droid-manufacturing plant.”
“The plant encompasses the entire moon, Jedi Skywalker. We make each and every type of droid. Is there one you would like to see in particular?”
Luke shook his head. “This part of the factory seems empty.”
“We have just received a large order for MD-10’s. Most of the units are occupied in the medical-droid centers.”
“Tens?” Luke asked. “I’ve only seen MD5’s.”
“The fives are an older, less efficient model. MD-6’s were used briefly by the Empire. MD-7’s through 9’s were prototype droids, used only in small sectors. When the MD-10’s came about, they revolutionized the medical-droid areas. We manufacture 10’s exclusively now.”
Again part of the speech. The droid led him through another door. This opened into a room full of heads. Golden heads with dark eyes. The heads were stacked one on top of the other, like rubble. Their mouths were partly open, as if they were trying to speak.
Or to scream.
A number of the heads were hollow, the backs removed. Chips, droid brains, and on-off switches hung in packs from the ceiling.
“Doesn’t this place give you the creeps?”
The droid swiveled its head toward Luke. “Jedi Skywalker, we have made innovations in droids, but none that would give a droid human emotion. You know as well as I that human emotion in a droid would ruin its usefulness.”
Luke remembered the arc of Artoo’s very expressive scream and Threepio’s nervous chatter. He found them extremely useful.
“Besides,” the droid continued, “we must all accept where we come from.”
That much was true. His own struggle in accepting Darth Vader as his father was a case in point.
He didn’t like the subject matter. Or how far he was getting from his X-wing. “Where are you taking me?”
“We are going to the assembly room. It is quite an honor for you to see the room. Most of our guests never do.”
Luke wasn’t sure if he felt honored or not. He could still sense Brakiss, though. Brakiss was closer, and he was getting his fear under control. Luke couldn’t quite tell if the fear was of him, or someone else. Brakiss had never been afraid of him in the past.
“How far is the assembly room?”
“Not far, Jedi Skywalker, but we shall be leaving the public areas. You must not touch anything as you pass it from now on.”
Luke nodded. That wouldn’t be hard. He almost felt as if he were walking in a droid graveyard, seeing the skeletal remains of friends long gone.
The droid avoided a main door, and opened a door beside it. Luke hadn’t even noticed that door until the droid touched it. The door had blended in with the metallic walls, and some heads were stacked near enough to it to hide the door’s knob.
They stepped inside. The lighting was thinner here. The air smelled of hydraulic fluid. The walls were unfinished. Shelves rose from floor to ceiling, holding smaller droid parts, all painted golden for the protocol droids. Fingertips, knuckle joints, chips were all filed according to number and type. As Luke passed a shelf of eyes, they all flickered on. The corridor was suddenly filled with golden light.
“Those are for the newest model protocol droids. They are motion detectors as well, and sensitive to the body heat of sentient life.” Despite its memory wipe, the droid seemed to have retained its sense of pride.
“What about life forms with no body heat, like Glottalphibs or Verpine?”
“They will find such a droid useful in detecting outsiders,” the droid said.
Luke peered at a shelf of eyes. They appeared to be looking back at him. Their shape was no longer round, but oval. “The eyes are made here?” he asked.
The backs of the eyes moved as he spoke. A small filament flickered with each word. They weren’t just motion detectors. They were bugged as well. What an odd property, and one he didn’t entirely understand. Why would eyes need to hear? Protocol droids had hearing devices.
“Of course,” the droid said. “All parts are made here.” It noticed Luke looking at the eyes. “Come along, Jedi Skywalker. We must not be late.”
He hadn’t known until that moment that they were on any kind of time schedule.
Since the eyes were sensitive to both motion and sound, he couldn’t sweep one into his pocket. He would simply have to put it into his memory, and think about it later.
As he and the droid moved beyond the eyes, the glaring lights shut off, leaving only the dim overhangs. The shelves’ contents became more and more mysterious as he moved by. Chips with numbers, wires that were color-coded, tiny pieces of metal wire. Nothing as interesting or as unnerving as the eyes.
Eventually, the shelved walls widened. The corridor became a long, narrow room. The shelves rose above a bank of computers. No chairs stood in front of the computers, and the touchpads were well above waist-high. They were designed for someone to operate while standing. Designed for droids.
So far, Luke had not seen a living being in this place, and the only one he felt was Brakiss.
Brakiss was closer now. He had regained control of himself.
The droid walked in tiny, mincing steps. It was easy for Luke to keep up. He asked no more questions, and the droid volunteered no more information. When they reached the end of the room, the droid opened the door.
“I am not allowed to go into the assembly room. Only specialized droids may be near that equipment. Master Brakiss awaits you. I will be here to escort you to your ship when you are finished.”
Luke thanked him, which made the protocol droid bob in astonishment. Then Luke stepped through the door.
The assembly room had a three-story opaque dome. Glow panels ran along the dome’s supports and reflected
off the opaque covering, making the room as bright as daylight. Stacked conveyor belts emerged from the wall, angled in from every direction, and met at a tube in the middle. The tube was clear and large enough to fit a probe droid. Only oversized droids, like a binary load lifter, would not fit inside that tube.
The tube disappeared into the depths of the building. The floor was clear, and Luke could see the droids below, most shut off, all completely assembled, probably awaiting final checks before being sent to fulfill whatever orders were made.
The conveyors were off. The room was silent. Except for Luke’s breathing.
And for Brakiss’s.
Brakiss stood between two conveyor belts. The size of the room made him look small. He wore a silver uniform and matching silver boots. A silver lightsaber hung from his waist.
Luke had forgotten how stunning Brakiss was. Brakiss’s blue eyes pierced anything they looked at. His nose was straight, his skin flawless, and his lips thin. Leia had once called him one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.
She was right.
“Master Skywalker.” Brakiss’s tone held no respect. He stood his ground. If Luke wanted to bridge the distance between them, he would have to do it himself.
“Brakiss.” Luke let the calmness of the Force flow through him. “You never completed your training.”
“You didn’t come all this way to discuss that,” Brakiss said.
“Indeed?” Luke clasped his hands behind his back. His lightsaber was a reassuring weight against his hip. “Then what did I come here for?”
“Don’t play master-student games with me, Skywalker,” Brakiss said. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Your mother told me that you were expecting me,” Luke said.
“You didn’t hurt her, did you?” There was a swift protectiveness in Brakiss that startled Luke. It had not been there before.
“Of course not,” Luke said. “Your mother is a good woman, Brakiss. She is concerned for you.”
“She’s never been concerned for me,” Brakiss said, and Luke felt the pain, the ancient pain that had prevented Brakiss from facing himself on Yavin 4. Brakiss blamed his mother for the Empire’s use of him as a child. Not the Empire. His mother, who had been unable to prevent his loss.
Star Wars: The New Rebellion Page 18