Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [89]
“That could be a self-repair function at work,” said Hammax. “Mechanical One does do some microscopic damage to the attach point. As for the translucent hull—General, you may have discovered why the ship has so few surface features. We’re not seeing the true hull, just an outer membrane, probably differentially transparent to radiation. All the sensors are concealed underneath.”
By the time Hammax finished his speculations, Artoo appeared at the portal. He chirped at Lando, then entered when Lando waved him in. The lack of handholds in the chamber was not the problem for the droid that it was for the general. Thanks to the array of small gas thrusters built into all astromech droids, Artoo’s motions were far more controlled than Lando’s—who found he kept drifting into one bulkhead or another, slowly twisting from side to side and turning end over end.
“You getting a better image now?” Lando called.
“Much clearer,” said Lobot. “Are you ready for the rest of us?”
“There’s nothing else to see,” said Lando, switching his suit’s floodlamps back on. “The bulkheads are completely bare.”
“Does it appear to be the same material as the outer hull?” asked Hammax. “If so, there could be any kind or number of sensors or weapons concealed underneath it. They could use that material the way we use one-way mirrors. For all we know, they could be as close to you as the nearest bulkhead, watching and listening.”
“Thank you for that thought,” said Lando. “But if this is a Qella ship, it’s a dead ship. It’s been in space too long. And, Colonel, this is starting to look like a dead end. We may have to make our own entrance.”
“Lando, remember what we talked about yesterday,” said Lobot. “Any obvious path, any unlocked passageway, may be a trap. If there was a big red switch in the middle of one of those walls, I wouldn’t want you to touch it. Access must require more than observation—it requires knowledge. The perfect lock is invisible to you and self-evident to the Qella.”
“Maybe there’s something about the mottling on these walls,” said Lando, craning his head. “It’s the only thing in here I can see that could carry information. Lobot, Threepio, why don’t you come on over and see what you can make of it. Bring the equipment sled with you, too. Artoo’s making out like a fish in water, but the rest of us can use something to hang on to.”
Lando sighed and touched a suit control to blow a jet of cool air across his face. “I haven’t a clue,” he said finally. “Colonel? Anything there?”
It was Bijo Hammax who replied, “No. We’re stumped here, Lando.”
“Being stumped was my best strategy,” Lando said forlornly. “I was hoping that if we showed ourselves to be slow learners again, they’d give us another hint.”
Bijo laughed.
“Maybe if we touch the right pattern of spots,” Lobot suggested.
“I touched about thirty spots already before you got here, with my head, my elbows, my bottom, my knees—”
“I said the right pattern, not a random pattern.”
“So tell me what the right pattern is,” Lando said sharply. “Light or dark? Fast or slow? Left to right or top to bottom?”
“I don’t know,” Lobot said. “I’m sorry.”
“Aw—it’s not your fault. What we need right now is a Qella brain, and we’re fresh out of them. I knew I’d forget to pack something.”
“Lando—”
“What?”
“Have you ever seen Donadi stain-painting?”
“What? Lobot, you’ve picked a strange time to start practicing idle conversation.”
“Answer my question,” Lobot said shortly.
“All right—no, I haven’t. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“To human perception, stain-painting consists of huge canvases covered with random splotches of color. The Donadi sit and stare at a painting for ten minutes or more at a time. If they stare long enough, and practice what they call ‘looking past,’ something happens in their brain that turns the splotches into a three-dimensional image.”
“I’ve seen it,” said Hammax. “Strangest thing. The Donadi go into this meditation thing and end up in a state of high rapture over something that might as well be a hallucination.”
“But it isn