The Black Fleet Crisis_ Tyrant's Test Part 5

Finally he unleashed a stiff, unpracticed bleat that quickly melted down to a stuttering t.i.tter. "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 s.h.i.+p has no ray s.h.i.+elds, there would be no interference with a reals.p.a.ce tracking signal."

"That's right."

"Artoo also insists that even if there were ray s.h.i.+elds, 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 s.h.i.+p returns to reals.p.a.ce?"

"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.

"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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p'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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 c.o.c.ked his head. "Is that a transmitter?

Can we call for help?"

"It transmits the signal that activates the yacht's slave circuits- - across hypers.p.a.ce, too, now, thanks to the Admiral," said Lando. "The slave circuits then bring the s.h.i.+p 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 s.p.a.ced 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 s.p.a.ced 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 s.h.i.+p.

"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 c.o.c.kpit for the first time---start pus.h.i.+ng b.u.t.tons 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.

Even if something was going on elsewhere in the s.h.i.+p, there should be some confirmation here."

"Maybe we're all wrong about this chamber."

"I am more and more convinced by the moment," said Lobot. "I can barely reach from one grip to the next---even if the Qella are larger than we are, it seems inconvenient to scatter controls over such a large area."

"Maybe this is where they hung prisoners, or maidens, or honored sacrifices, like figureheads on the bow."

"I think that unlikely."

With a grin and the faintest puff of thruster gas, Lando began a slow rotation, until he was floating upside down in relation to the others.

"You know, Lobot, they look even more like handholds this way--hand-holds and footrests. I wonder--" He craned his neck back until he could see the outer face of the chamber.

"Artoo, how many of the rectangular patterns are there?"

A moment later, Threepio relayed the answer.

"Artoo informs me that there are twenty-seven."

"Are there any extra projections that aren't part of those twenty-seven?"

Threepio consulted with Artoo, then reported, "There are none, Master Lando."

"What are you thinking, Lando?" asked Lobot.

Grabbing a projection with his left hand, Lando used that leverage to turn himself so his back was to the inner face, allowing him to reach out and grasp the next projection with his right. His legs were twenty centimeters too short for him to reach the bottom corners of the rectangle. "I'm thinking 'seating capacity, twenty-seven."

Though Wookiees and Elomin would be more comfortable than I am."

"A theater?" Lobot asked, turning himself around as Lando had.

"Maybe. And maybe the show won't begin until the audience is seated.

Artoo, Threepio--get on over here and find a place to grab on."

Artoo towed Threepio to the inner face and waited until the protocol droid had grasped a projection with his working hand. Then the little astromech droid took up position beside his counterpart, using a grappling claw to seize hold.

Moments afterward, the chamber was plunged into absolute darkness.

"Lights, Artoo," Lobot said quickly.

"No," said Lando. "Wait. It's their show."