Star Wars_ Children of the Jedi - Barbara Hambly [45]
At least there was plenty of that.
More worrying was the fact that most of the antibiotics and all the synthflesh on the ship had completely decomposed with age.
In a locker in one of the labs next door he found a regular trooper’s gray coverall whose baggy shape would fit over the taped and splinted dressing on his leg. Changing into it, Luke filled the pockets with all the comaren and perigen he could locate, and wired half a dozen glowrods to the end of his staff.
“Okay, Threepio,” he said, as he belted his lightsaber once more around his waist and carefully used his staff to lever himself up from the self-conforming chair where he’d sat to change. “Let’s see about finding Cray in this place.”
In the dark corridors around sick bay, Talz—as Threepio identified them—fled from them like enormous white powder puffs; from the pitch-black maws of holds and wards, little quadrangles of eyes glittered out at him in the bobbing reflection of the glowrods. Luke halted two or three times, and had Threepio translate for him, “I am your friend. I will not harm you, nor lead anyone here to harm you.” But none of the great, soft aliens returned a sound.
“The Empire used them for work in the mines on Alzoc Three,” said Luke, as he and Threepio headed toward the lighted areas visible far down the corridor. “Alzoc wasn’t even entered in the galactic registry. The Senate found a mention of it a couple of years ago in secret corporate files. Nobody knew what was going on there. They were lied to, betrayed … no wonder they learned to distrust anything humanoid. I wonder what happened to the stormtroopers who waited on their planet to be picked up?”
Beside the lift he surprised a group of Talz in the process of feeding a band of ten or twelve tripods, setting down big mess-hall basins on the floor, one of water, one of a horrible mixture of porridge, milk, and fish stew, which the tripods knelt to devour eagerly. The Talz themselves took one look at Luke and Threepio and fled. Within minutes a dozen MSEs and two SP-80s appeared, determined to clean up what they obviously considered mess. The tripods moved back in confusion, watching helplessly as the MSEs slurped up what was left of both water and food—cutting in to do so behind Luke’s back when he tried to shoo them away—and the SP-80s made valiant but futile attempts to bend down far enough to pick up the basins themselves.
“I have nothing but respect for the entire Single-Purpose series, Master Luke,” said Threepio, reaching down to hand the basin to the older and blockier droid. “Truly the core of droid operations. But they are so limited.”
Threepio could provide no identification or linguistic information on the tripods, and even his translational analog function couldn’t arrive at a complete understanding of their speech. Luke could only gather that they were People and they came from the World and they were looking for a way to go back there.
“You and me both, pal,” sighed Luke, as the spindly forms wove away down the corridor, still hunting for the right door to go through that would open onto home.
At least the lift still worked, though with the Jawas at large it was anybody’s guess how long that would last. The dirty little creatures were born scroungers and thieves, especially of metal, wire, and technology. Only four lighted buttons glowed beside the lift door: 10, 11, 12, 13. Up on Deck 12 again the lights were still on, the air clean and circulating. An occasional plate or coffee cup