Enemy Lines II_ Rebel Stand - Aaron Allston [61]
The escape pod hatch slid closed.
In the hour before dawn, R2-D2 finally opened the pod door and glided out again. The Millennium Falcon was quiet; sheltered from weather by the bay walls, she did not even creak under pressure from wind gusts. “How very ominous,” C-3PO said.
Tweetle.
“No, I will not be quiet.”
Tweetle.
“Well, yes, for the sake of safety, I will lower my volume, but I will not cease speaking.”
C-3PO followed the astromech up into the cockpit. R2-D2’s hemispherical head turned around, a complete sweep, as he evaluated the situation outside the cockpit viewports.
There were no guards to be seen, but his musical trill alerted C-3PO to the holocams placed so that they could observe the port and starboard hatches and ramp, the upper hatch.
“Yes, Artoo, it appears that we are to remain here.”
The astromech trilled at him again, insistently.
“Well, no, they would not have placed a holocam to monitor the secret hatch out of the false escape pod.”
Tweetle.
“Are you mad? I can’t go out there alone! I’ll be captured and scavenged for parts.”
R2-D2’s response was decidedly unmusical. It sounded like air being forced through a Hutt’s blubbery lips.
“There’s no call for that. I recognize the danger Master Han and Mistress Leia face. I just have no wish to be terminated.”
Tweetle.
“Yes. Perhaps they face termination, too.”
C-3PO struggled with the notion the astromech had handed him. His duty was clear; though he had no skills pertinent to this task, he did have to rescue Han and Leia.
But rescue meant exposing himself to physical danger. This was something he’d done many times over the decades, usually under protest dictated by his self-preservation programming, but now that programming had become something more.
It had become an actual dread. The notion that he could be assaulted so vigorously that his mental process might be suspended forever filled him with an eerie programming static that made it hard for him to move.
On the other hand, the notion that Han and Leia might experience a similar amount of damage was even worse, and allowed him to regain use of his limbs. “What do I have to do?”
Tweetle.
“Oh, no.”
The concealed hatch in the Falcon’s lower hull slid open. Shiny droid legs lowered through it, waving futilely as they sought the bay floor meters below. “Much farther, Artoo?”
The astromech whistled at him.
C-3PO’s torso, then head emerged as he was lowered at a steady rate through the hatch. He held on to a gray cord that looked more like a power cable than climbing gear. In fact, the knob under his hand was a dataport plug. C-3PO looked around and then down at the duracrete beneath him. “Oh, I can’t look. Please make it fast.”
Moments later, his feet touched down. The cable continued lowering, piling up in irregular coils on the bay floor.
R2 tweetled, impatient.
“Yes, yes, I’m going.” C-3PO walked with exaggerated care, like a sneak thief in a holocomedy, to the wall nearest the Falcon’s stern. Then he turned and crept along the wall to the corner, turned again, and crept toward the bay doors providing access to the street beyond. He kept his photoreceptors alert for other holocams, but saw none beyond those R2 had mentioned.
He plugged the cable into the dataport at the door. Now, in theory, R2-D2 would be able to work his magic on the computer handling access into and out of this bay.
The astromech offered a musical trill, a noise of victory.
“Excellent, Artoo! And—what? I have to what?”
“What we must know,” said the man on the other side of the table, “is why you are here and what you are doing.” He was of average height, with a dark little beard, a dark little mustache.
Dark little beady eyes, Han decided.
The man wore the uniform of Aphran’s military security forces, but his accent was not of this world. He spoke Basic with the tones of someone from one of the Corporate Sector worlds.
“We’re here testing