Carlist Rieekan. "May I assume that you all received your copies of
the report?" He waited a moment, then, hearing no dissent, went on.
"Discussion, please."
Senator Krall Praget of Edatha, chairman of the CSI, leaned back in his
chair and combed his fingers back through his skulldown. "What is
there to decide?
The mission was a failure. Close the books."
"Lando Calrissian and his team are still aboard the vagabond," Rieekan
reminded him gently.
"What reason do you have to think they're still alive?" Praget
asked.
"Why would any captain capable of acting as surely and decisively as
the captain of the vagabond did in escaping make the mistake of not
repelling boarders with equal vigor?"
"It is possible that they were taken prisoner," said Rieekan. "It is
even possible that they escaped capture."
Praget pulled his datapad toward him. "How do you account for the
contact suit gauntlet found by the recovery teams? It's Ca lrissian's,
I believe."
"I don't have an explanation," Rieekan admitted.
"General Rieekan," said Senator Cair Tok Noimm.
"Do I understand correctly that the gauntlet is undamaged and there is
no blood on it?"
"That's correct."
She nodded. "In that case, this gauntlet does not seem to me to be
reason enough to abandon these people to their fate."
"It's not clear to me what we can do for them," said Senator Amamanam,
who represented the Bdas on Coruscant.
"Unless Senator Noimm would like to lead us in prayer to the Star
Mother--" The laughter around the table was cold, but Noimm's eyes were
colder. "There are two lives at stake here--the lives of two valuable
friends of the New Republic.
And please remember that the droids are of no small value, either--they
had their own role in making it possible for there to be a New
Republic. I doubt there are any droids anywhere who are better known
than these two--or better loved, for that matter."
"If they are so important to the New Republic, they should be in the
museum, along with all the other beloved icons," said Praget curtly.
"Along with Luke Skywalker, to whom they belong?" asked Senator
Lillald. "I must agree with Cair Tok. I would not want to face the
questions that would come if these four were to disappear in our
service and we were to make no effort to recover them."
"In our service? Have you read the account of how they came to be on
that ship? They can hardly be said to be in our service," said Senator
Amamanam. "General, could you kindly explain to us how it is that the
Baron Calrissian and the others came to be involved in the first
place?
I don't recall there being any mention of them in the expedition plan
you brought to us."
"General Calrissian was representing the Fleet on this mission, at the
request of the Fleet Office," Rieekan said deliberately. "The others
comprise his support staff, pparently assembled specifically for this
mission."
"This is all so absurd," Praget fumed. "If it were Hammax and his men
on board the vagabond, as it should have been, we would not be having
this discussion.
Either they would have disabled the ship, or we'd be sending our
regrets to the families of the missing in action."
"Senator--" "But Pakkpekatt allowed these meddlers, these outsiders,
these amateurs, to intervene, and suddenly it becomes impossible to
write off our losses in a professional manner."
Rieekan tried again. "Senator, have the reports from Colonel
Pakkpekatt led you to reevaluate the potential gain if we succeed in
recovering the Qella vessel?"
"No, General," said Praget, with a touch of impatience at being
handled. "I'm still quite convinced that this artifact is worthy of
our interest. But I don't see that the circumstances justify sending a
Force Two armada wandering through a thousand cubic light-years on what
is very likely to be a futile effort."
"With all the uncertainty in Farlax, we could surely find better uses
for those ships than chasing a phantom," said Senator Amamanam. "The
vagabond will turn up again."
"Will you be personally handling the apologies to Luke Skywalker,
then?" Senator Noimm asked cuttingly.
"Will the chairman make himself available to the news-grids to explain
exactly under what circumstances these notables disappeared?"
"If I might make a suggestion--" Rieekan began.
"By all means," said Praget.
"A contact suit isn't designed for long endurance.
Its recycling systems are simple and relatively inefficient.
Its consumables, if managed wisely, might last the wearer perhaps two
hundred hours--certainly no more than two hundred and twenty," said the
intelligence director.
"So we simply wait a few days to declare them dead, is that your
point?"
"Not quite," Rieekan said. "If they are still alive, the general and
his team will be highly motivated to act expeditiously. Anything they
can do to impede the flight of the Qella vessel, they will do in the
next several days.
So it seems only prudent to me to allow Pakkpekatt to continue the
search for, say, another fifteen days."
"If nothing else," said Senator Amamanam, "doing so would cut the heart
out of the charge that we abandoned the Baron to his fate." He glanced
expectantly down the table toward Senator Noimm.
"If you'd truly like to protect yourself, I suggest you go one step
further and propose that we send Pakkpekatt the additional vessels he
requested," said Noimm. "Otherwise the search might be seen as the
token gesture it is."
"No, no, no," said Praget. "Pakkpekatt gets no more ships. That
incompetent Hortek spook what he ought to get is a review board and a
dishonorable separation.
But I suppose I'll have to settle for the general's finding a deep,
dark hole to drop him in once this is over."
"I wouldn't support sending additional ships," said Rieekan, ignoring
Praget's other comments. "The way I see it, we now have assets aboard
the target vessel. That changes the tactical equation. We're not
going to be trying to run it into an interdiction net, or firing on
it.
We just need to find it and be on hand to pick up our people."
"I see Pakkpekatt only has four vessels actively committed to the
search at this point."
"That's right," said Rieekan. "So I think we can reasonably talk about
downsizing our commitment to this project. If everyone will look at
page fifteen in the mission outline, the ship assignment list--"
CChapter 2
"Have you ever used a cutting blaster before, Lando?" Lobot asked with
concern.
"Lots of times," said Lando, bracing himself between the inner bulkhead
and the equipment sled.
"But don't ask me for a list. The statute of limitations hasn't run
out on all of 'em. Artoo, can I have a little more light in here,
right in front of me?"
The dome-topped droid drifted up
and forward on tiny puffs of thruster
gas, changing the angle of the light slightly.
"That's good, Artoo--hold right there."
"Be careful not to cut too deeply," Lobot said.
"There may be mechanisms behind the wall--" "If Artoo's right, there's
nothing behind this part of the wall. The sonogram showed a thin
bulkhead and another compartment beyond, five meters in diameter."
"I know. But a ship this size could have waste ports five meters in
diameter. Or fuel conduits."
"You know, Lobot, when you're cut off from your databases, you're
almost as much of an old lady as Threepio here," Lando said, but not
without affection.
"Threepio, any change?"
"No, Master Lando. There has been no response to my first nine hundred
sixty-one thousand, eight--" "Save it for the log," Lando said.
"Lobot, Threepio, I know how much you want to watch over my shoulder
while I do this. But if I were you, I'd move around to where my
contact suit is between you and the blaster.
That way, if I make a mistake, you might still be around to learn from
it."
"If Artoo would give me a link to his video processor-" Lobot said.
"Do it, Artoo." Lando held the cutting blaster up before his face with
his right hand, and with his left set the selector for hairline and
depth for shallow. "Maybe we'll finally get a response to this
message," he said, and activated the cutter.
Under Lando's steady hand, the blue-white energy blade drew a straight
line down the face of the bulkhead.
But when Lando pulled the blaster away to inspect his work, he found
that the blaster had left no mark--the bulkhead was intact.
"Guess I was a little too careful," Lando said, frowning. "Move the
sled in just a little for me, Lobot."
When he had finished adjusting his position, Lando reached forward and
drew the blaster blade slowly down the face of the bulkhead once
more.
"What the--" "What is happening?" Threepio asked worriedly.
He rose from behind Lando to peer over his shoulder at the wall.
"A lot of nothing," said Lando in disgust. "I can't even scorch it."
"I think you are mistaken, Lando," said Lobot.
"Please try again, and this time move the cutter more quickly."
Lando slashed the cutter downward across the face of the bulkhead. The
brilliant glare of the blade left a thin black line in its wake--a
clean, straight cut that closed up and vanished a fraction of a second
later.
"Self-sealing bulkheads?"
"It would appear so," said Lobot.
"Well, that's just dandy," Lando said, shutting off the cutting
blaster. "I can't cut us a door, because it hasn't the manners to stay
cut."
Lobot tapped Lando on the helmet, then gestured at the blaster. "May I
try something?"
"Be my guest." Lando surrendered the blaster and moved aside, pulling
himself hand over hand toward the aft end of the equipment sled.
Lobot studied the selectors on the blaster for a few moments, then
opted for the medium drill setting. The blade appeared this time as a
pointed cone, which Lobot pressed against the wall until half its
length had disappeared.
When he withdrew it, there was a hole a few centimeters across in the
bulkhead.
The hole began to close at once, but it took noticeably longer to
vanish than the cut had long enough for Lobot to pull himself down to
eye level and catch a quick glimpse through the breach.
"Very clever, Lobot. Very interesting. Between one and two seconds, I
think," Lando said.
"I was hoping for this result," said Lobot, turning toward Lando.
"Whatever mechanisms are involved, substantially more material must be
transported or replaced to fill a hole than to seal a cut."
"Did you see anything?"
"Nothing useful. An open space of some kind, dimly lit. Everything
had a yellowish cast."
"Let's try a bigger hole," Lando said. "Artoo, do you have some sort
of remote sensor you can stick through this time?"
"The limpet," Lobot suggested. "We could reach through and attach the
limpet on t he other side of the bulkhead. Both Artoo and I are capable
of receiving its sensor data."
"I don't want to make quite that big a hole," Lando said. "Not this
time. Every time we cut into that bulk head, we're reminding this ship
we're here. I don't know how many times we can bite before we get
swatted.
Artoo, what about it?"
Artoo tootled pridefully as a small equipment panel on his body popped
open and a slender wand topped by a small silver ball unfolded from
within.
"You needn't be snippy about it," Threepio chided.
The response from Artoo sounded like an electronic raspberry.
"Well, I'm sure it's not his business to keep track of those details,"
Threepio said, bristling. "I've been in your company for longer than I
care to remember, and I certainly don't keep track of every gadget in
that ugly little chassis--" Lando whistled sharply. "Whoa, you
two--save it for later. Threepio, was there any part of that I need to
know?"
"Master Lando, Artoo says that astromech droids must frequently inspect
systems which are located in confined spaces," Threepio said curtly.
"He apparently believes that R2 units are important enough that this
should be common knowledge. He has quite the little ego, you know."
"Yes, well, I've often thought it's a shame he doesn't have your
modesty, Threepio," Lando said, flying himself back to the middle of
the equipment sled and reclaiming the cutting blaster from Lobot.
"Have you made any new pen pals since we started cutting?"
"There has been no response whatever from the masters of this vessel
since I began trying to hail them," said Threepio. "I suggest you
proceed with whatever you are planning."
Lando changed the selector to medium drill and activated the blaster.
"Artoo, come in close--I want that sensor wand through the hole as
quickly as possible. But don't let yourself get caught when it
closes.
And Lobot, Artoo, between the two of you, I want to know exactly how
large a hole I make and exactly how long it takes it to close. Is
everyone ready? Let's do it, then."
The medium setting allowed Lando to open a hole that was nearly large
enough to admit a man's clenched fist. Switching off the blaster,
Lando pushed off from the wall and did a backward somersault, floating
out of Artoo's way. The droid moved smoothly and surely into position,
extending the wand through the very center of the opening and snatching
it back at the last moment as the hole disappeared again.
"Show us, Artoo. Holoprojector," Lando ordered.
The droid chirped an acknowledgment and offered up a fish-eye
perspective of a round-walled passage that seemed to bend around or
through the ship in both directions.
There was no sign of life or machinery, nor any response to the cutting
of the hole and the invasion of Artoo's scan probe.
"Looks promising," said Lando. "Whatever it is, it cou
ld give us
access to at least part of the ship. Artoo, Lobot, what's the
verdict?
How big a hole do I need to cut to get us all through?"
"I am afraid there is a problem, Lando," Lobot said.
"Artoo's measurements show that the larger hole closed faster, per unit
of area, than the smaller one."
"It looked that way to me, too," Lando agreed.
"Bigger holes probably get higher priority from the ship's systems.
What, don't you think we can get through?"
"The short dimension of the common wall between that passage and this
chamber is approximately one-point-seven meters," Lobot said,
pointing.
"My estimate is that a hole that size will take only six or seven
seconds to close down to the point where it will be impassable for any
of us. That is not enough time to move the sled and the four of us
into the other chamber."
"It might be enough time. Jump troops go out the drop chute of an
Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis - Shield Of Lies Page 3
