Hauling himself up out of his cubbyhole, the young pilot made his waythrough the cramped passageways until he reached the bridge. Theastromech droid was still there, its lights flashing away as it"thought" its own thoughts. It was a relatively new R2 unit, stillshiny-bright silver and green, with a clear dome atop its head. Insidethe dome Han could see lights blinking as it worked. It was hookedinto the ship's robot controls by means of a cable.
The R2 droid must have been equipped with a motion sensor, because itswiveled its domed "head" toward Han as he clumped boldly onto thebridge in his spacesuit.
The lights flashed frantically as it "talked," but of course the soundwaves didn't travel in vacuum. Han turned on his suit's communicationsunit, and suddenly his helmet was filled with distressed bleeps,blurps, and wheeps.
"Whee... bleewheeeep.., wheep-whirr-wheep!" the R2 astromech announcedin evident surprise. Han looked around for its counterpart droid anddidn't see one. He sighed. His suit's communicator would transmitwhat he said to the droid, but how was he supposed to actually talk tothe consarned R2 without an interpreter? How did whoever hadprogrammed the droid talk to it?
He activated his suit communicator. "Hey, you!"
"Blurpp... wheeep, bleep-whirrr!" the unit replied helpfully.
Han scowled and cursed at the unit in Rodian, trader argot, and,finally, Basic. "What am I going to do now?" he snarled. "If onlyyou had a Basic-speech module."
"But I do, sir," announced the droid in a matter-of-fact voice. Itswords were flat, mechanical, but perfectly understandable.
Han gaped at the machine for a moment, then grinned. "Hey! This is afirst! How come you can talk?"
"Because there was not room aboard this vessel for both an astromechunit and a counterpart unit, my masters programmed me with aBasic-speech transmissions module so I could communicate more easily,"the droid replied.
"All right!" Han cried, feeling a surge of relief. He didn't likedroids much, but at least he'd have someone to talk to, and it mightactually prove necessary for the two of them to communicate. Spacetravel was usually routine, and safe . . . but there wereexceptions.
"I regret, sir," the R2 added, "that you are guilty of unauthorizedentry, sir. You are not supposed to be here."
"I know that," Han said. "I hitched a ride on this ship."
"I-beg-your-pardon, this unit does not understand the term used,sir."
Han called the R2 unit an uncomplimentary name. "I-beg-your-pardon,this unit does not understand--" "Shut up!" Han bellowed. The R2 unitwas silent.
Han took a very deep breath. "Okay, R2," he said. "I am a stowaway.
Is that word in your memory banks?"
"Yes it is, sir."
"Good. I stowed away aboard this ship because I needed a ride toYlesia.
I'm going to take a job piloting for the Ylesian priests,understand?"
"Yes, sir. However, I must inform you that in my capacity as awatchdroid assigned to safeguard this vessel and its contents, I mustseal all the exits when we reach Ylesia, then inform my masters thatyou are aboard, thus expediting your capture by their securitystaff."
"Hey, little pal," Han said generously, "when we reach Ylesia, you justgo right ahead and do that. When the priests see that I fit all theirrequirements, they won't give a vrelt's ass how I arrived there."
"I-beg-your-pardon, sir, but this unit does not--" "Shut up."
Han glanced down at his air pak readout, then said, "Okay, R2, I'd liketo check on our flight path, speed, and ETA to Ylesia. Please displaythat information."
"I regret, sir, that I am not authorized to give you thatinformation."
Han was coming to a slow boil; he barely restrained himself fromkicking the recalcitrant droid with his heavy space boot. "I need tocheck our flight path, speed, and ETA because I've got to compute howmy air is holding out, R2," he explained with exaggerated patience.
"I-beg-your-pardon, sir, but this unit--" "SHUT UP!"
Han was starting to sweat now, and the suit's refrigeration unit rebbedup a little faster. He struggled to keep his tones calm. "Listencarefully, R2," he said. "Don't you have some kind of operatingsystems program that orders you to attempt to preserve the lives ofintelligent beings whenever you can?"
"Yes, sir, that programming is included with all astromech droids. Fora droid to deliberately harm or fail to prevent harm to a sentientbeing, its operating system module must be altered."
"Good," Han said. That fit in with what he knew about astromechprogramming. "Listen to me, R2. If you don't show me our flight path,speed, and ETA, you may be responsible for my death, from lack ofair.
Do you understand me now?"
"Please elaborate, sir."
Han explained, with exaggerated patience, his situation. When hefinished, the droid was silent for a moment, evidently cogitating.
Finally, it whirred once, then said, "I will comply with your request,sir, and will display the information requested on the diagnosticinterface screen."
Han breathed a long sigh of relief. Since the ship was basically agiant robot drone, it had no controls visible on its control boards,just assorted blinking lights. But, in order to service the ship,there was a screen built into the control board. Han stepped carefullyaround the R2 unit and stared down at the screen.
Information scrolled across it, so rapidly no human could have readit.
Han turned to the R2 unit. "Put that data back up, and this time,leave it there until I can read it! Get it?"
"Yes, sir." The droid's artificial voice sounded almost meek.
Han studied the figures and diagram that appeared on the screen forseveral minutes, feeling his uneasiness grow into real fear. He hadnothing to write with, and no way to access the navicomputer, but hehad a bad feeling about what he was seeing. Biting his lip, he forcedhimself to concentrate as he ran the figures in his head, over andover.
Ylesian Dream's flight path had been set to take it in a circuitousroute to the planet, in order to avoid the worst of the pirate-infestedareas of Hutt space. And the little freighter's speed was set farlower than the
ship was capable of, slower than even Trader's Luck normally traveledthrough hyperspace.
Not good. Not good at all. If their speed and course weren't altered,Han realized, he'd run out of air about five hours before the Dream setdown on Ylesian soil. The ship would land with a corpse aboard . ..
his.
He turned back to the R2 unit. "Listen, R2, you've got to help me. IfI don't alter our course and speed, I won't have sufficient air to makethe trip. I'll die, and it will be your fault."
The R2 unit's lights flashed as the machine contemplated thisrevelation.
Finally, it said "But I did not know you were on board, sir. I cannotbe held responsible for your death."
"Oh, no." Han shook his head inside his helmet. "It doesn't work thatway, R2. If you know about this situation and do nothing, then youwill be causing the death of a sentient being. Is that what youwant?"
"No," the droid said. Even its artificial tones sounded faintlystrained, and its lights flickered rapidly and erratically.
"Then it follows," Han continued inexorably, "that you must do whateveryou can to prevent my death. Right?"
"I . . . I . . ." The droid was quivering now in agitation. "Sir, Iam constrained from assisting you. My programming is in conflict withmy hardware."
"What do you mean?" Han was worried now. If the little droidoverloaded and went dead, he'd never be able to access the manual"diagnostic'' controls that he knew had to be in these panelssomewhere. They'd be tiny, something for the techs to use to test therobot drone's autopilot. "My p rogramming is constraining me frominforming you . . ."
Han took one huge stride over to the little droid and knelt in front ofit. "Blast you!" He pounded his fist on top of the droid's cleardome.
"I'll die! Tell me!"
The droid rocked agitatedly, and Han wondered if it would simply fallapart with the strain. But then it said, "I have been fitted with are
straining bolt, sir! It prevents me from complying with yourrequest!"
A restraining bolt?" Han seized on this bit of information withalacrity.
Let's see, where is it?
After a moment he spotted it, low down on the droid's metal carapace.
He reached down, grasped it, and tugged.
Nothing. The bolt didn't move.
Han gripped harder, tried twisting. He grunted with effort, reallysweating now, imagining he could feel those molecules of oxygen runningout in a steady stream. He'd heard that hypoxia wasn't an especiallybad
way to die---compared to explosive decompression or being shot, forexample--but he had no desire to find out firsthand.
The bolt didn't move. Han tried harder, jerking at it, swearing inhalf a dozen alien tongues, but the stubborn thing didn't budge.
Got to find something I can hit it with, Han thought, glancing wildlyaround the control cabin. But there was nothing--not a hydrospanner, awrench--nothing!
Suddenly he remembered the blaster. He'd left it on the floor in hislittle cubicle. "Wait right here," Han instructed the R2 unit, andthen he was squeezing back through the narrow corridors.
Shooting a blaster inside a spaceship--even an unpressurizedspace-ship--wasn't a good idea, but he was desperate.
Han returned with the weapon, and examined the settings. Lowestsetting, he thought. Narrowest beam. Clumsy in his spacesuit gloves,he had trouble adjusting the power setting and beam width.
The R2's lights had been flashing frenetically ever since he'dreturned, and now it wheeped plaintively. "Sir? Sir, may I ask whatyou're doing?"
"I'm getting rid of that restraining bolt," Han told it grimly. Aimingand narrowing his eyes, he squeezed delicately.
A flash of energy erupted, and the little droid WHEEEEPPPPED. soshrilly it sounded like a scream. The restraining bolt fell to thedeck, leaving behind a black burn scar on the otherwise shining metalof the R2 unit.
"Gotcha," Han said with satisfaction. "Now, R2, be good enough topoint me toward the manual interfaces and controls in your shiphere."
The droid obediently extruded a mobile wheeled "leg" and rolled over tothe control banks, its interface cable trailing behind it. Han wentover and crouched before the instrument panel, awkward in his suit.
Following the droid's instructions, he wrenched off the top of onefeatureless control panel and studied the tiny bank of controls.
Cursing at the awkwardness of trying to manipulate the controls whilewearing spacesuit gloves, Han began using the manual interface mode todisengage the hyperdrive. Altering course and speed could only be donein realspace.
Once they were back in realspace, Han painstakingly computed a newcourse, using the R2 unit to perform the more esoteric calculations forthe jump that would send them back into hyperspace.
It took the young Corellian a while to lay in their new course andspeed, but finally Han triggered the HYPERDRIVE ENGAGE switch again. Asecond later he felt the lurch as the drive kicked in. Han clunggrimly to
the instrument panel as the ship hurtled into hyperspace on its newcourse, at a greatly increased rate of speed.
As the ship steadied around him, Han drew a long, long breath and letit out very slowly. He slumped to the deck and sat there, his legsstuck out before him. "Whew!"
"You realize, sir," said the R2 unit, "that you will now have to landthis craft manually. Altering our course and speed has invalidated theexisting landing protocols programmed into the ship."
"Yeah, I know," Han said, leaning wearily back against the console. Hetook another sip of water and then ate two tablets. "But there's noother way. I just hope I can work the controls fast enough to landus." He glanced around him at the nearly featureless control room. "Iwish this bucket of bolts came with a viewscreen."
"An autopilot cannot see, sir, so visual data is useless to it," the R2unit pointed out helpfully.
"No!" Han said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought droidscould see just like we can!"
"No, sir, we cannot," R2 told him. "We recognize our surroundings byvisual relays that translate into electronic data within our--" "Shutup," Han said, too tired even to enjoy baiting the droid. Leaning backagainst the console, he closed his eyes. He'd done all that he couldto save his life, by bringing the ship to Ylesia on a much more directroute, at a faster speed.
Han drifted into sleep and dreamed of Dewlanna, as she had been longago, when they'd first known each other . . .
Han was halfway through the window when he heard the shout behindhim.
"We've been robbed!"
Clutching his small sack of loot, he kicked, wriggling, trying tosqueeze through the narrow enclosure. In the dark outside laysafety.
A feminine cry of dismay "My jewelry!"
Han grunted with effort, realizing he was stuck. He fought backpanic.
He had to get away! This was a rich house, and when someone summonedthe authorities, they were certain to come immediately.
Silently he cursed the new vogue in Corellian architecture that hadcaused this luxurious home to be built with floor-to-ceiling narrowwindows. The windows were advertised as being able to thwartburglars.
Well, there might be some truth to that, he decided grimly. He'dsneaked in earlier through one of the doors that led to the gardens,then hidden out until he'd felt safe in believing that all theinhabitants were asleep. Then he'd ventured out to pick and chooseamong their treasures. He'd been confident that he
could wiggle his skinny, nine-year-old self through those windows andmake good his escape.
Han grunted with effort again, kicking frantically. It was possible hewas wrong about that...
A voice behind him. The woman. "There he is! Get him!"
Han turned a little more sideways, wriggled violently, and thensuddenly he was through the window and falling. He didn't let go ofhis sack, though, as he crashed down onto the manicured bed offlowering dorva vines. Breath whooshed out of his lungs, and for amoment he just lay there, gasping, like a drel out of water. HIS leghurt, and so did his head.
"Call the security patrol!" The masculine shout came from inside. Hanknew he had only seconds to make good his escape. Forcing his leg tobear his weight, he rolled over and staggered to his feet.
Trees ahead in the moons-light . . . big ones. He could lose himselfin them, easy.
Han half limped, half ran to the shelter of the trees. He resolved notto let Eight-Gee-Enn know what had happened. The droid might accusehim of slowing down now that he was going on ten.
Han grimaced as he ran. He wasn't slowing down, he just hadn't beenfeeling well today. He'd had a dull headache ever since he'd awakened,and had been tempted to turn himself in on sick call.
Since Han was almost never ill, he'd probably have been believed, buthe didn't like showing weakness in front of other denizens of Trader'sLuck.
Especially Captain Shrike. The man never missed an opportunity to ridehim.
He was in the shelter of the trees, now. What next? He could hear thesound of running footsteps, so he didn't have much time to decide. Hismuscles made that decision for him. Suddenly the sack was clenched inhis teeth, there was bark against his palms, and the soles of hisbeat-up boots were braced against branches. Han climbed, listened,then climbed again.
Only when he was high in the tree, above the range of a casual glanceby pursuers, did he slow down. Han settled back on a limb, against thetree trunk, panting, his head whirling. He felt dizzy, nauseated, andfor a moment he was afraid he'd be sick and give himself away. But hebit his lip and forced himself to stay still, and presently he felt alittle better.
Judging from the star patterns, it was only a few hours until dawn.
Han realized that he was going to have trouble making the rendezvouswith the Luck's shuttle. Would Shrike just abandon him, or would hewait?
Far below him, people were searching the wooded area. Lights strobedthe night, and he huddled close to the tree trunk, eyes closed,clinging desperately despite his dizziness. I
f only his head didn'tthrob so . . .
Han wondered whether they'd bring in bioscanners, and shivered. Hisskin felt hot and tight, even though the night was cool and breezy.
Dark waned on toward dawn. Han wondered what Dewlanna was doing,whether she'd miss him if the Luck left orbit without him. Finally,the lights went out, and the footsteps faded away. Han waited anothertwenty minutes to make sure his pursuers were truly gone, then, holdingthe sack gripped in his teeth, he carefully climbed down, moving withexaggerated care because his head hurt so much. Every jar, evenwalking, made his head swim, and he had to grit his teeth against thepain. He walked . . . and walked. Several times he realized he'dbeen dozing while he walked, and a couple of times he fell down and wastempted to just stay there. But something kept him moving, as dawnbrightened the streets and houses around him. Corellian dawns werebeautiful, Han noticed dazedly. He'd never before noticed how prettythe colors were in the sky. If only the light didn't hurt his eyes so. . . Dawn turned to day. Cool gave way to warmth, then heat. He wassweating, and his vision was blurred. But finally, there it was. Thespaceport. By this time Han was moving like an automaton, one foot infront of the other, wishing he could just lie down and sleep in theroad.
Star Wars - Han Solo Trilogy - The Paradise Snare Page 4
