Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [141]
“Just came out of hyperspace,” Vil observed. “Wherever we were going, we’re probably there.”
“The Yavin system,” Riten said. “Three planets, the only one of which concerns us being Yavin Prime. A gas giant with a number of habitable moons.”
“And why is this important?” Ratua asked.
“Remember the Rebel freighter that ‘escaped’? The one with the doc’s girlfriend on it?” Nova asked.
Uli shook his head. “Not my girlfriend, alas. Although she made Atour’s point about not being part of the problem well enough to convince me to join this raggedy crew.”
“Yeah, well, the scut in the guard shack is that the ship was bugged and let go so we could follow it. Tarkin thinks there’s a Rebel base here somewhere.”
“Bad for them if it’s so,” Rodo said.
“But perhaps not for us,” Riten said. “If the navy is busy fighting off Rebel attack ships, it might make it easier for us to escape.”
Nova said, “Nothing the Rebels have can get close enough to scratch the finish on the Death Star—anything bigger than a fighter’ll get blown apart a thousand klicks out.”
“Still, during a battle, ambulance ships sometimes get dispatched without causing undue concern.”
Rodo shook his head. “I hope you and your droid got all this right,” he said to the archivist. “Otherwise even an ambulance won’t do us much good.”
Teela said, “So what do we do now?”
“Go on back to your routine, keep your heads down, and don’t cause any fuss. Set your personal comlink to the library’s data channel—that’s five-five-seven-point-nine. As soon as everything is in place, I’ll call, and with any luck, that call will be very soon.
“You’ll have thirty minutes to make it to the transport. If everything goes well, we’ll be in deep space a couple of minutes after that—and free.”
“If everything goes well,” Vil said. His voice was dry.
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES, DEATH STAR
Two black-clad security guards were waiting, flanking P-RC3, when Atour arrived.
Atour felt his insides freeze. “What’s going on here?”
“Is this droid assigned to you, sir?”
Stay calm. “Yes.”
“Apparently it is malfunctioning, Commander. Our computer security monitor detected it attempting to access restricted data.”
“This must be a mistake. This droid has been performing in an exemplary manner. I couldn’t be happier with—”
“That may be, sir, but our orders are to take the droid into custody and arrange for a memory scan.”
Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Persee.
He tried, knowing that it was fruitless. “That may disrupt its ability to function. And it is a most valuable assistant.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we have our orders,” the guard said. “Come along,” he added to the droid.
P-RC3 said, “I’m sure it’s a simple mistake, Commander Riten, and a scan will straighten it all out. Oh, by the way, I did finish those filing chores you asked me to do. I hope they will be of assistance to you.”
“Good luck, Persee.”
“And to you, sir.”
The guards led the droid away.
Atour sighed in regret. Pretty soon P-RC3 was going to have a mental meltdown. Atour felt bad about it. Yes, the droid could be reprogrammed, but it wouldn’t be the same. Sad. He had liked P-RC3, more than he did most people.
But there was a bigger problem to consider. If P-RC3 wasn’t here to take the call to verify the medical transport’s right to leave the station, it wouldn’t be going anywhere. And P-RC3 was gone.
It seemed that somebody else would have to be here to take that call.
SUPERLASER FIRE CONTROL, DEATH STAR
“Ready to crank it up, Chief?”
Tenn Graneet looked steadily at his CO. “Absolutely, sir,” he said.
It was a lie, of course. He was not ready. Not after Alderaan. The destruction of the prison planet had been gut wrenching enough, even though he’d known the place had been home to killers and spice dealers and other scum of the galaxy. He reminded himself of that often, trying to find comfort in it, trying not to think about the thousands of guards and other personnel stationed on Despayre, some of whom had been his friends, not to mention the considerable number who had been wrongfully convicted and exiled there, all of whom