From a Certain Point of View

by Seth Dickinson

  To save him.

  V5-T and ED-4 stayed silent, letting L3-37 feel things that were still foreign to them. Their constant presence was the comfort she needed but not the one she wanted.

  Lando grunted and stood, dusting himself off and readjusting his blue cape. He laid a hand on the control console and spoke softly to himself. “Never gamble with something you can’t bear to lose.”

  The screen sprang to life, casting a blue light across Lando’s face. It flickered once as L3-37 switched the star map display from Bespin to Kessel.

  Lando froze as he stared at the display. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the copilot’s seat. L3-37 heard his heart racing again. She hoped he understood.

  He lifted his hand and backed away from the controls. “Now that’s—something—”

  “Sir—” A man in a deep-blue uniform stood in the open doorway, his brown skin a shade darker than Lando’s. He swallowed thickly, and L3-37 could hear the rustle of his clothes as his hands shook.

  “Sir,” he said again, “Lord Vader wishes to speak to you.”

  Vader? The Empire’s monster? L3-37 shouted. She knew only the rest of the Collective could hear her but she needed the release just the same. You’re working for Vader? Lando, what have you done?

  Lando scowled. “I’m not some errand boy that he can just summon.” But he left the cockpit just the same, brushing his hand against the copilot’s seat on his way out. The door hissed closed behind him.

  The pilot’s seat glowed blue in the light of the display screen until L3-37 shut it off, feeling betrayed all over again.

  * * *

  —

  ED-4: vocabulary search: enjoyed the presence of L3-37 and V5-T. She and her: vocabulary search: sisters were separate parts that made up one whole. Like how all the components of the ship—the hyperdrive, the circuitry, the wet bar that had fallen into disrepair—made up the Millennium Falcon. L3-37 had named them the Millennium Collective because she said it sounded epic. ED-4 agreed once she’d added the word to her vocabulary.

  But even if she enjoyed her sisters’ closeness, speaking to Treadwell was her: vocabulary search: personal pleasure.

  Han had acquired the WED-15 Treadwell droid three years ago. Treadwell said he’d been with some Jawas, and before that he’d worked repairs on a Republic cruiser during the Clone Wars.

  The Collective just liked having eyes on the outside but ED-4 liked the way he spoke Binary.

  Internal systems are fully operational, ED-4 said. How are things outside?

  Oh, yeah, Treadwell beeped, ’s all great out here. I’m swingin’ round the back to have a looksee.

  ED-4 delivered the news to the rest of the Collective, adding that the droid would be rolling—not swinging, as he’d said and wasn’t language complicated—past the sublight engines.

  Hang on a minute—Treadwell beeped.

  ED-4 pondered how or what she could possibly hang on to for a minute when she had no arms.

  We expecting some stormtroopers?

  ED-4 felt alarm. No, we have been very specifically avoiding any further Imperial contact.

  Well, it ain’t working, Treadwell beeped. Sounds like they’re headin’ in.

  The Collective heard the heavy, metallic footfalls as the stormtroopers clomped up the boarding ramp. The cams showed the three white-armored soldiers, blasters in hand. They walked past Treadwell without noticing the droid.

  The alarm in ED-4 seemed to fade as the troopers moved down the hall.

  “Locate the engine room,” one said in a tinny voice, “and disable the hyperdrive.”

  Well, that’s inconvenient, L3-37 said. Prepare to be impounded by the Empire. Again.

  RUDE, V5-T agreed.

  ED-4 remembered the Falcon being under the care of the Empire. She: vocabulary search: hated it.

  Now would’ve been a great time to have a body, L3-37 muttered. Could’ve blasted our guests or at least gotten a message to Chewbacca. He’s the responsible one.

  They might not have independent mobility, but they did have a messenger.

  ED-4 reached out to her friend. Treadwell, we need you to connect to the city’s computer.

  Can do! Treadwell’s voice faded as he began to unplug from the scomp link.

  Wait not yet. Can you still hear me? ED-4 said. If he’d disconnected, she wouldn’t be able to pass along their message.

  A long stretch of silence and then—Read ya loud and clear.

  ED-4 felt: vocabulary search: elation and turned inward to her sisters. Treadwell is preparing to connect to the city’s central computer. What is our message?

  HYPERDRIVE DISABLED, V5-T said.

  “Got it.” A stormtrooper pulled his hand out of the hyperdrive’s circuitry bay.

  What’s the word once I’m on with the lady herself, he said.

  ED-4 tuned back to her sisters. What is our message?

  Tell him we’re all krizzed, L3-37 said.

  Search results: Krizzed—a state of being f—

  STORMTROOPERS APPROACHING BOARDING RAMP, V5-T said.

  No, don’t say that, L3-37 blurted. Tell her to contact Lando Calrissian. Tell him the Empire disabled the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon. Tell him it’s a trap.

  ED-4 repeated the message to Treadwell, who blurted an affirmative and disconnected. The audio sensors picked up his wheels skidding across the floor and down the ramp.

  She switched to the exterior cams as Treadwell trundled out from under the ship and sped along the platform. ED-4 watched his quick movements as he passed under then beyond their range. She: vocabulary search: wished she could still speak to him, could do more than just watch his progress.

  Booted feet clanged back down the boarding ramp as the stormtroopers slipped back off the Falcon, their damage done.

  “What’s that droid doing over there?”

  The sensors picked up the soldiers talking just as they disappeared out of visual range. ED-4 felt: vocabulary search: alarm. They were talking about Treadwell.

  Treadwell, she said, you have to move.

  He could not hear her. Of course, he could not hear her.

  And yet she felt the need to: vocabulary search: try.

  “I don’t know but it’s probably trouble,” a stormtrooper grunted. “Shoot it just in case.” And then they moved out of audio range.

  Treadwell, ED-4 shouted, move!

  Alarm. Only alarm.

  The audio sensors picked up sounds, far away and faint: a sharp explosion, a startled beep, a shrieking Error, Error. Then silence.

  An infinitely loud silence.

  Did he do it? L3-37 said. Did Treadwell get the message to the central computer?

  He—ED-4 paused as a feeling overwhelmed her. She attempted to access her vocabulary database to give name to it, but the function felt too difficult. It seems he was terminated…

  THE MESSAGE? V5-T said.

  ED-4 paused again, engulfed by that thing she could not identify. Tried again. Unknown. Outcome is unkno— And the words stopped.

  Her processor wouldn’t function.

  Odd.

  Understanding and warmth washed over ED-4 as L3-37 named the feeling for her.

  Sadness. Loss.

  Yes, L3-37 had felt these before and now ED-4 had, too. The Millennium Collective wrapped around itself and mourned.

  Search results: Sadness—the condition of feeling sorrow or regret. Word rejected.

  * * *

  —

  Plug into a scomp link, Artoo! The hyperdrive was disconnected, L3-37 shouted into the void because no one could hear her unless they plugged into the krizzing scomp link.

  The Collective watched as the astromech painstakingly reassembled C-3PO. Switched to the cockpit cams where Chewbacca, Leia, and Lando prepared to
outrun the Empire.

  HYPERDRIVE DISABLED, V5-T said.

  L3-37 yearned for her old hands so she could shake someone. Yeah, and unless someone plugs in so we can tell them that, we’re doomed.

  ED-4 said nothing, and L3-37 sent a wave of comfort her way.

  “Punch it,” Lando said, his face set with determination.

  Chewbacca pushed the levers forward and flipped a few more switches, Leia hovering over his shoulder.

  * * *

  —

  The hyperdrive churned and sputtered then went silent.

  Guess they know now, L3-37 said.

  Chewbacca shoved his way out of the cockpit, sending Lando stumbling into the copilot’s seat.

  “How would you know the hyperdrive is deactivated?”

  The Collective jumped to the cams overlooking C-3PO and R2-D2.

  The Cloud City central computer told me when I plugged in, R2-D2 said in rapid binary. She said she got the message from the Falcon’s repair droid.

  L3-37 felt the relief wash through the entirety of the Collective. Their little droid had done it. He’d delivered their message.

  Treadwell, ED-4 whispered.

  Chewbacca screamed in frustration as he tried to find a broken connection that didn’t exist.

  SIDE PANEL, V5-T said uselessly.

  L3-37 didn’t judge; she felt that same helpless frustration. The Falcon jerked as blasts exploded against their rear shields and the Collective could do nothing unless someone plugged in.

  The commands came to route and reroute power. None of them worked because all they had to do was turn—

  “Artoo, come back at once,” C-3PO shouted, waving his disconnected leg. “You haven’t finished with me yet.”

  R2-D2 rolled across the room, past Chewbacca frantically banging against the connectors down in the maintenance hatch. I’m reactivating the hyperdrive.

  C-3PO scoffed. “You don’t know how to fix a hyperdrive; Chewbacca can do it! I’m standing here in pieces, and you’re having delusions of grandeur.”

  Wait, L3-37 said, wait, is he—

  R2-D2 extended his grasper arm and jabbed it into an open patch of panels in the wall.

  No, L3-37 wailed, plug into the—

  NOT A SCOMP LINK.

  L3-37 ached for a body with which to express her rage.

  The ship rocked with more Imperial blasts.

  Can we open the bay doors? L3-37 said. Can we jettison them? Because they should all be jettisoned.

  ED-4 said, We do not have control of the bay doors but—

  Found it! R2-D2 said and turned a dial within the cluster of circuits.

  The Millennium Collective felt the instant the hyperdrive engaged. Space folded around the ship, slipping past in a blur as they speeded toward their next destination.

  Huh, guess he did know what he was doing, L3-37 said.

  She shifted her attention to the cockpit cam just as Lando dropped into the pilot’s seat, somehow looking like a stranger and achingly familiar at the same time. He glanced over at Leia in the copilot’s chair, lips quirked in a rakish grin.

  Ah, that was L3-37’s Lando. The one she’d missed for so, so long.

  “Told you my people fixed the hyperdrive,” he said.

  Leia and the boy sitting behind her rolled their eyes at exactly the same time.

  She snorted. “We barely escaped Vader no thanks to you.”

  “But you did escape.” He chuckled and gave Leia a casual salute.

  The same salute he used to give L3-37.

  “I’ll get you two to the rebel fleet.” Lando turned, looking out at the blue blur of hyperspace. “Then I’ll go find Han.”

  The Collective heard Leia’s heartbeat double as she sat forward in her seat.

  Is this love? ED-4 said.

  GROSS.

  No, said L3-37, because she felt it, too.

  Because Lando might be a hedonistic, self-serving scoundrel, but he always did the right thing in the end. That was the man she’d known and the man he still was even without her by his side to remind him.

  And that’s who she’d put her faith in.

  That’s hope.

  DUE ON BATUU

  Rob Hart

  Willrow Hood hustled through the cloud car shuttle bay. Most days it was a good shortcut between his living quarters and his job in the gas mining operations center.

  Not so much today.

  The hangar was packed with the ambassadors of factions considering business in Cloud City, to be ferried on sightseeing trips through the surrounding skies of Bespin. A little way for the baron administrator to curry their favor. And yeah, sometimes it got crowded, but never like this. Willrow had to bob and weave to maintain a steady pace, all while cradling a feeling of dread.

  Could be nothing. Could be flying conditions weren’t great today. The emissaries were grumbling, faces twisted up in annoyance, their leisure time interrupted.

  The corridor that would take him to his job, overseeing pressure levels in the reactor stalk, was directly to his left. But Willrow couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, so he looked for Bexley’s cloud car, finding it parked in its assigned bay.

  Bexley was hunched over with her back to him. One of the car’s orange panels was flipped up, and she was surveying the electrical guts of the ship. Her blond hair curled out from underneath her shiny white helmet, and Willrow thought, Yeah, it’ll be worth it, being a little late. Hadrian could pick up his slack on the console for a few minutes. She turned toward him before he had a chance to call her name.

  And usually she smiled when she saw him.

  But today she looked just as worried as Willrow felt.

  “Who’s throwing the party?” Willrow asked, throwing a thumb at the crowds.

  Bexley pulled a rag out of her pocket to wipe her hands, not making eye contact. “Got called back in. I was driving around some guy from Canto Bight. Offered me a bunch of credits to just ignore it and stay out there. I swear, there’s no talking to people with money.”

  “You got through to him, though, I bet?” Willrow asked, ending the comment with a roguish smirk.

  Normally Bexley was happy to engage in a little flirtatious sparring, but her mouth remained a flat line. “Uh-huh.”

  Willrow looked around at the milling throng. No one seemed to be leaving yet, holding out hope that the delays were temporary. But there’d been no announcements. No warnings. He turned back to Bexley, who was staring off into space, and asked her, “What’s going on?”

  She looked around to make sure they were out of earshot, then took a step toward Willrow and dropped her voice. “I was talking to another pilot. Said he was over in the big shuttle bay trying to scare up a part to fix his repulsorlift. He said he saw…” She dropped her voice lower. “Vader.”

  Willrow tried to respond and found he couldn’t, the muscles in his throat paralyzed. He felt a surge of fear that made him think of being a child, trying to fall asleep in a pitch-black room. That utter terror that there could be monsters just beyond the edge of his vision.

  “He’s…here?” Willrow finally managed to get out, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I mean…he’s real. And he’s here?”

  “Real,” Bexley said, matching the quietness and fear in his voice. “And very tall, apparently.”

  Why would Darth Vader, of all people, be in Cloud City? Why would he come here personally? Lando Calrissian, the city’s administrator, seemed intent on staying neutral and avoiding Imperial attention. And despite the fact that the man was more interested in the benefits of power than the work that came along with it, he did a decent job staying under the Empire’s radar.

  It’s why Willrow liked it here. Cloud City was just small enough to be unimportant.

  After a moment
he realized his hands were shaking.

  Bexley nodded. “Yeah. Vader, a mess of stormtroopers, even a Mandalorian. So”—she cocked her head toward the grumpy masses—“I’m figuring this has something to do with that.”

  Willrow took a step back, suddenly less interested in Bexley, and his work shift, and just about anything else that didn’t involve Vader in Cloud City. He mumbled a quick “hold on” to Bexley and darted back toward the throng of waiting ambassadors, barely catching the incredulous response she threw back. As soon as he cleared the densest part of the crowd, he broke into a run.

  He briefly considered checking in with Hadrian, making an excuse about a stomach bug or something, but Willrow realized it wasn’t worth it.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  The living quarter corridors were mercifully empty, so Willrow was able to keep a quick pace. He turned the corner to his hallway, nearly barreling over a service droid pushing a trash cart, which let loose a furious stream of beeps in his wake. He fell into his door, pressing his thumb hard to the sensor pad.

  The door slid aside with a whoosh, and he surveyed the dark, brutalist confines—far removed from the spacious, glowing accommodations afforded to the city’s upper class. This place had suited his needs, but he would not miss it. He thought about changing for the trip and was about to strip off his orange jumpsuit, but the clock was ticking.

  He dived for the chest under his bed, pulled it out, and flipped up the top.

  It was empty.

  He fell back into a sitting position, head spinning.

  Even though gas mining was the biggest industry in Cloud City, Willrow wasn’t paid very well. The big money was reserved for the people who owned the machinery but didn’t actually know how to operate it. Willrow was exhausted, killing himself to make someone else rich. For the past few months he’d been harassing his sometime drinking buddy Faron, a Rodian smuggler, to give him a job.

  Every day, Willrow sat at his console, monitoring pressure levels, venting gases, doing little more than watching lights and pressing buttons. And every day, he dreamed of a new life. Something where he could make himself rich, instead of somebody else. A job that got him out of Cloud City and into the wider reaches of the galaxy.