The golden sheen of the droid’s metal skin made a brilliant contrast to the tangle of broad green leaves and dangling vines through which he was noisily making his way.
“Impossible! Such arrogance!” the droid said aloud as he struggled with the thick growth, though he did not yet know there was an audience for his thoughts. “For all he listens to me, you would think that he is the protocol droid and I the astromech.”
Flailing his arms at a snarl of branches blocking his way, the golden droid stopped and looked back the way he had come. “I hope the stonebats rip out your circuits and nest in your equipment bays,” he called into the jungle. “I hope a kitehawk drags you off to the temples and feeds you to her kits. It would just serve you right.”
But when he turned back to consider his own plight, the droid found his way blocked not only by the flora of Yavin 4, but by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a military flight suit.
“Oh!” See-Threepio exclaimed, and fell back a step. “General Calrissian! You startled me, sir. Where did you come from?”
Lando grinned. “With all the noise you were making, a platoon of stormtroopers could have snuck up and startled you. Don’t tell me you’re still fighting with Artoo after all this time. You two are worse than brothers.”
“That stubborn, contrary pile of tin is no brother to me,” Threepio said with stiff pride. “If I had been as carelessly constructed as he was, I would return myself to my maker to be scrapped. In all my years, I have never met another R unit as erratic and egotistical as Artoo-Detoo. A simple rebuild of the secondary power grid, and Artoo turns it into a major project. I could give you a list of his operational anomalies as long as—”
“That will have to wait,” said Lando. “Right now you need to pack your polish and power couplings. You’re coming with me on a little trip.”
“Sir, I would be most delighted to accompany you. For all I care, Artoo can fall in a mud bog and rust away,” Threepio said, extracting himself from the snarl of vines and circling a tree to join Lando. “But Master Luke brought me here to manage the administrative needs of the Academy, and he did not change those instructions before he left.”
“What did he say when he left?”
“Not a word to either of us, General Calrissian. He simply vanished in the night. I have not heard from him or of him in nineteen local days. Do you have news of Master Luke, sir? Is he well? Do you bring new instructions from him?”
Lando pursed his lips and considered. “Yes, I do, Threepio, new instructions for the both of you. Luke’s fine, but he’s gone off on some sort of retreat, and he’s assigned you to the Fleet Office until he returns. And the Fleet Office has assigned you to me.”
If I could have found Luke to ask him, I’m sure the end result would have been the same, Lando told himself.
“I am glad to hear that Master Luke is well, General Calrissian. No one has been able to tell me anything. And I will not miss Yavin Four. It is so humid here that my circuits are always corroding. Look at me—I can’t go into the jungle without getting filthy. But must we take Artoo with us?”
“I’m afraid so, old man,” Lando said, patting the droid’s metallic shoulder. “But look at it this way—you only have to deal with Artoo. I have to deal with the both of you. If I can cope, so can you.”
Threepio tipped his head back, and his eyes flashed. “Sir, I don’t understand—”
“I’ll explain later,” Lando said, glancing at his chrono. “Call Artoo in. We’ve got a deadline to beat, and this isn’t our last stop.”
“I will have to inform Master Streen of our departure.”
“Already taken care of,” Lando said, thinking of a different set of lies he had just told to Streen. Still can’t get used to being trusted—it’s better camouflage than I thought. “Come on, tin man, Lady Luck’s waiting for us.”
Coppery clouds rich in oxides of Tibanna gas churned outside the viewpanes of what had once been Lando Calrissian’s office in Bespin’s Cloud City. Inside as outside, nothing had changed since the last time he had seen it. The walls and shelves were heavily laden with the eclectic collection of objects that only a rich man or a well-traveled smuggler could amass.
“I like what you’ve done to the place,” Lando said to the cyborg that sat behind what had once been Lando’s desk. “I guess I never did get around to sending for my things, eh?”
“I don’t mind,” said Lobot. The activity lights on the interface band he wore from ear to ear were flickering busily. “You have better judgment in subjective matters than I do. The calculus of room decoration still eludes me.”
“Well—at least you have the good taste to recognize my good taste,” Lando said with a grin. “Still, a man can get tired of the same surroundings day after day, no matter how splendid they are. When’s the last time you got yourself out of here for a while?”
“I go out on inspection walks twice a day,” Lobot said. “It takes ninety-seven days to complete an inspection schedule.”
“Let me put it another way. How long has it been since you broke your connection to Cloud City?”
A puzzled expression flashed briefly across the cyborg’s face. “I have never broken my connection to the administrative interface.”
“Just as I suspected,” Lando said. “And exactly why I’m here. Lobot, you work too hard. You’re long overdue for a change of scenery—a vacation.”
“How can I leave Cloud City without an administrator?”
“Lobot, I have a secret to tell you—the people who work for you will enjoy the novelty.”
Lobot frowned. “But systems will randomize without monitoring and supervision.”
“Then think about how much fun you’ll have putting them right when you get back,” Lando said. “And the trip will do you good, too. Frankly, you could use a little practice in conversation. Am I still the only one around here who knows you can talk?”
“Direct input is more efficient.”
“Efficiency is overrated, my friend,” Lando said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs, ankle over knee. “Come on, what do you say? Knowing how much you like to work, I cooked up a vacation where there’ll be plenty of work for you to do.”
“What sort of work?”
“I can’t tell you unless you say yes,” Lando said, tapping the insignia on his uniform. “I’ve got a temporary commission in my pocket, and the security clearance to go with it. All I can promise you is problems a lot more interesting than the ones you’re working on now. And I really could use your help. It’ll be like old times.”
Lobot stood, looking slowly about the room. “I’ll trade you my help for your ‘things,’” he said finally. “I want them to stay, for old times.”
“Why, you old horse trader, you. Who’s been teaching you the art of the finagle?”
“You did,” Lobot said. He closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. The lights on his interface bar all flashed green, then all flashed red, then went dark. Raising his head, he opened his eyes and looked at Lando. “It’s too quiet.”
“Go ahead and leave a few channels open, then,” Lando said, standing. “Bring with you whatever you need to be comfortable.”
A few scattered lights on Lobot’s interface sprang back into activity. “Better,” he said. “Let’s go. What is my rank? What problems need solutions?”
“I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
The Teljkon task force, seven vessels in all, had gathered in orbit around the sixth planet of the Coruscant system, where it would not so readily attract attention. Lady Luck was the last to join them and the smallest ship among them, save for a pilotless Intelligence ferret. Lando’s yacht was dwarfed by Pakkpekatt’s command ship, the cruiser Glorious.
“I don’t like the looks of that heavy artillery,” Lando said, sizing up the situation from Lady Luck’s cockpit. “I thought we were being sent to outsmart our quarry, not outgun it.”
“The fact that the vagabond disabled a fri
gate with apparent ease may have dictated the choice of a cruiser,” Lobot said.
“I’m sure it did,” Lando agreed. “I just don’t like the way things are shaping up.” He reached for the comm unit. “This is General Lando Calrissian aboard the Lady Luck, hailing the Glorious. Request permission to come aboard.”
“General Calrissian, sir,” said a young-sounding voice. “This is Lieutenant Harona, officer of the day. We’ve been expecting you, sir. Would you like us to send out the captain’s boat?”
“I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding, Lieutenant. I’m not looking for a ride in. I’m looking for parking space on your flight deck.”
There was a static-filled pause, which ended when Harona cleared his throat. “General Calrissian, I’m afraid you’re right, there has been some confusion. Our flight decks are filled with mission gear and our own baby birds. There’s no room for Lady Luck inboard.”
“Then make room, Lieutenant. Unless you were planning for our best speed to be your convoy speed.” Lando thumbed the mute switch and added to Lobot, “Now we’ll find out if they know how fast my little ship really is.”
The second pause was longer. “Sir, Colonel Pakkpekatt suggests that you come aboard Glorious and let a relief crew ferry your yacht back to Coruscant.”
“Aha,” said Lando. “That tells me that they’ve got it in their minds that I’m an observer.” He released the mute switch. “Lieutenant Harona, we have our own mission gear aboard. Do I understand you to say Colonel Pakkpekatt is willing to hold here for another day or two while you set up secure holdings for file and equipment transfer? If so, put your quartermaster on, and we’ll start telling him what we’ll need—”
“Uh, no, sir, that would not be the colonel’s first choice.”
Lando winked at Lobot. Now I’ve got ’em, he thought. “Lieutenant, maybe I should just talk to Colonel Pakkpekatt directly.”
They could almost hear the OD squirming. “Sir, the colonel is very busy at the moment with predeparture matters—”
“I’m sure he is. Tell you what, Lieutenant. I can solve your little problem for you without disturbing the colonel. I see that your Number Five external dock is open. You pull that cap and we’ll hook on there.”
“General Calrissian, I’m very sorry, but I can’t authorize that—”
“Then why are you wasting my time, Lieutenant?” Lando said sharply. “Go get your senior officer and put him on the line. I want to talk to someone who can make a decision. And when we’re finished with our business—which should take about two minutes—I’m going to ask him to conduct a review of his bridge procedures and staff. I want him to find out why a flag officer and the Fleet Operations delegation to this mission were kept waiting while the officer of the day thumbed through the manual for a regulation to follow.”
The subsequent silence was the longest yet. “Lady Luck, Number Five External Hard Dock will be ready momentarily. Prepare for autodocking.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Lando. “Lady Luck out.”
“Well done, sir,” Threepio gushed. “That seems like an excellent compromise.”
“Compromise, nothing. I got what I really wanted,” Lando said, starting the autodocking sequence and climbing out of the pilot’s seat. “I wasn’t about to give up my ship, and I didn’t want it locked up inside where I’d need their permission to use it.”
“Then you achieved all your objectives,” Lobot said.
“Oh, no. We’re just beginning. Now we have to reeducate them about our role on this mission,” Lando said. “Get ready to disembark. I’m going to need all of you on this.”
“Colonel Pakkpekatt, sir, General Calrissian to see you.” The ensign’s voice was a bit shrill with nervousness. Lando guessed that he had never been on the combat bridge before, or had reason to speak to the mission commander—if he had seen him at all.
The ensign had been the first member of the crew Lando saw after ducking through the inner airlock of Number 5 Dock, and he had commandeered the young technician to escort them to Colonel Pakkpekatt. Lando was familiar with the layout of the Belarus-class star cruiser, and could have hazarded a guess as to where Pakkpekatt could be found. But being escorted, with his entourage following at his heels, allowed him to make an entrance.
Several heads swiveled at the ensign’s announcement, but most turned immediately back to their duties after taking in the new arrivals with a glance.
The exception was a two-meter-tall Hortek, whose bony armor plates were a ruddy brown in the bridge’s combat lighting. His long neck twisted toward the group standing by the bridge’s aft blast door, and the intense gaze from his unblinking eyes was nearly hypnotizing.
Curse you, Drayson—you could have told me he was a Hortek, Lando thought reflexively. But after that he guarded his thoughts as best he could. Besides being one of the few predator species in the New Republic, the Hortek had the reputation of being telepathic not only with their own kind, but, to an unknown degree, with a number of other species as well. It was an intimidating combination.
“General,” Pakkpekatt said, curtly acknowledging Lando. His gaze flicked to Lobot and the droids. “Who are these—people?”
C-3P0 stepped forward smartly. “Sir, I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over six million—”
“Shut up,” Pakkpekatt said sharply.
“Yes, sir,” Threepio said, retreating behind Lobot.
Lando stepped forward. “Colonel Pakkpekatt, this is my staff. I’d be happy to make introductions, but I have some late updates for you which perhaps ought to have our attention first. Is your ready room available?”
Pakkpekatt held his head high, studying Lando.
Reaching into my mind? You and I need to talk, and no one else here needs to hear what we say.
Pakkpekatt lifted a hand in the direction of the ready room door. “Captain, continue with preparations for departure,” he said.
The moment the door wrapped privacy around them, Pakkpekatt drew threateningly close to Lando. “So,” he said, “you’re the man who browbeat my officer of the day. Don’t expect to do the same to me.”
Lando smiled and opened up the distance between them again by slipping into a chair. “I wouldn’t even try, Colonel,” he said, adopting a relaxed posture. “Nor would I expect to need to. We’re here with the same goal, working for the same people—Princess Leia, the Senate, the Republic.”
Pakkpekatt made a sharp barking sound, the Hortek equivalent of a grunt. “I was told to wait for an observer from Fleet Command. Nothing was said about staff.”
“Why should anything need to be said? Do you go anywhere without your aides?” asked Lando, gesturing with both hands. “My staff has technical expertise which very well may be the difference between success and failure for this mission.”
“We have five protocol droids on board, all E series or newer,” Pakkpekatt said. “Yours are superfluous.”
“On the contrary, I consider my staff indispensable,” Lando said. “And I expect them to be extended every consideration due me as the Fleet Office’s field operative for this mission.”
Pakkpekatt moved closer, looming over Lando. “Operative—now, that’s a curious word, General. Were you led to believe that you’d have an active part in the conduct of the mission?”
“Were you led to believe otherwise?”
“I have been assigned to recover the Teljkon vagabond,” Pakkpekatt said. “I have no instructions about sharing my command or that responsibility with you.”
“I don’t want to share your command, Colonel. All I want is mutual cooperation. After all, the Fleet Office’s interests in this matter are at least equal to the Intelligence Service’s interests,” Lando said. “We were the ones who nearly lost a frigate to the vagabond.”
“Then you should understand that this is an extremely sensitive matter. We have no idea what we may find out there.”
“Colonel, if we find anything of value out
there, it’s not going to belong to either one of us,” Lando said, flashing his best conciliatory smile. “Unless you simply don’t trust the Fleet Office, there’s no reason we can’t work together toward a common goal.”
Pakkpekatt loosed an eerie chittering sound, which caused a chill to run down Lando’s back. “What are you asking?”
“No more than you would. Run of the ship. Full and timely access to tactical data. Consultation on strategy. And if and when we board her, include us in.”
“Only that?”
“That’s it. All other command prerogatives remain yours.”
“I see,” Pakkpekatt said. “All we need do to keep you happy is take you along on the most sensitive part of the mission, and one for which you’re completely unprepared.”
“Now, Colonel—”
“Do you take me for wounded prey?” the Hortek demanded, showing his teeth. “We are prepared to assemble an assault team tailored to whatever challenges the vagabond presents. I am not prepared to assemble one based on who thinks it would be fun to go along.”
“Do you have a lockpick?”
“What?”
“You said you’re ready for anything,” Lando said. “But it’s been my experience that when someone in uniform says that, he really means ‘We have little guns, we have big guns, we have bombs of all sizes.’ There are other ways to get past a locked door. Are you as ready to pick a lock as you are to blow one up? As ready to wheedle as you are to demand? As ready to coax as to capture? If not, you’d better think again about how ready you really are.”
“My tactical team has over fifty years’ intelligence experience—”
“Listen, Colonel,” Lando said, coming to his feet and thrusting his face close to the Hortek. “I’m sure you have good, solid veteran players on your team. But I’ve got some ringers on mine. I’ve got a human with a machine interface, a droid with a universal linguistic interface, and a droid with a universal machine interface—”
“There is nothing special about your staff’s abilities.”
Before the Storm Page 8
