Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [82]
“All right, then. Henceforth, you will answer to the name ‘Persee.’ Unless you have some objection?”
“No objection, sir.” Was the droid’s tone slightly icier? Well, if so, that was just too bad.
“Good,” Atour said. “Now come here and make yourself useful. There is a bottleneck in this access system, here—” He pointed at the holoscreen. “—and I want it eliminated. Find a way.”
“Very good, sir. Will that be all for now?”
“That’s enough, I imagine. How long do you estimate it will take?”
The droid stepped forward and touched several controls on the holoconsole, then watched as a crawl of words and numbers scrolled up so fast that no human could possibly read them. After a few seconds it touched a second control. The alphanumerics stopped, and the droid stood there silently.
Atour counted slowly to five. “You were going to give me an estimate of the time necessary to clear the bottleneck.”
“Unnecessary, sir. The problem has been cleared.”
Atour blinked. “Really?”
“Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?”
Atour smiled. A competent assistant! How wonderful! Better a single droid that knew what it was doing than any number of fumbling organic beings. “No, I think that will do for now. Thank you, Persee. I appreciate it.”
“It is my function, sir. Would you care for some tea while you determine my next chore? I have checked the kitchen stores, and can offer you a choice of Manellan Jasper, Kosh, Bluefruit Kintle …”
Now Atour Riten laughed aloud. Perhaps this post wouldn’t be so onerous after all.
38
DOCKING BAY 35, IMPERIAL-CLASS STAR DESTROYER UNDAUNTABLE
Admiral Motti was pleased that Admiral Helaw had done such a good job with the Undauntable. She was an old ship, on the line for a decade before any other in this quadrant, and despite that, she gleamed like a shiny new credit coin. All systems were in order, and Helaw, who was going to retire as soon as this project was finished, was old school, a man who had earned his flag rank on the front lines of a dozen major battles. When the guns started working, you wanted a man like him watching your back—he’d take the beam in his own chest before he allowed it to hit you from behind.
As the two men walked down the corridor to the docking bay where Motti’s lighter waited, their talk was easy and informal. They went way back—Helaw had been a captain on the Ion Storm when Motti had gotten his promotion to first lieutenant. That Motti had eventually done a desk tour on Imperial Center and made contacts that allowed him to rise past his old commander spoke to his ambition and intelligence in such matters. Helaw had never enjoyed politics, even though Motti had tried to interest him. The older man just didn’t care—all he wanted to do was take his ship out and smoke the enemy, and he was as good at it as any man in the navy. Assigning him a desk would have been a waste, Motti knew, even though he would have been a formidable Moff, had he wanted to go down that road. Better by far than Tarkin, whose political skills were superior to Motti’s own, but whose grasp of working strategy and tactics was much inferior to Helaw’s.
“So you think this big tank of a station Wilhuff is building is coming along all right?”
“It is. And now that I’m aboard, it will do so even faster.”
Helaw laughed. “Never a lack of self-confidence in you. Zi.”
Motti smiled in return. “You know what they say: Sometimes wrong, but never in doubt.”
“I still think it’s putting too many spawns in one bin.”
“Come on, Jaim, you’ve seen the specs,