Star Wars_ Planet of Twilight - Barbara Hambly [114]
Chewbacca rumbled a reply and put up the readout.
Han stared at it, aghast. “That’s gotta be wrong.”
Lando came striding down the corridor. He’d taken off his e-suit and was combing his crisply curling black hair. He’d been badly shaken by the bodies on the destroyed cruiser and more so by the evidence that it, too, had been destroyed by the tiny, knifelike missiles that had cut up the Corbantis and almost demolished the Falcon. “I’ve had a look at those barometric readings, old partner, and if we want to get off this planet before the next atmostide we’d better …”
His voice trailed off. He stood staring at the screenful of data the Wookiee had transferred to the main viewer.
“What the hell is that?”
“What’s it look like?” demanded Han, shaken. “It’s an invading fleet, coming out of hyperspace and heading right this way.”
“Artoo-Detoo, what in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?” Threepio toddled after his counterpart as the astromech wheeled into life again the moment the doors of the impound bay were shut, heading over to the access panel by the door. “Honestly, ever since poor Captain Bortrek installed those extra interface circuits you have been behaving in a most extraordinary fashion! You know as well as I do that with these restraining bolts we’re not going to be able to leave the room!”
Artoo merely tweeped a request.
“Why?”
Artoo explained.
“I don’t see that,” protested Threepio. “I don’t see at all how removing that panel, even if I could do it, would save poor Master Yarbolk from being put out the airlock. If we’re discovered, as we surely will be, we could get into terrible trouble!”
Artoo pointed out that as troubles went, being dissected for one’s microprocessors and later paid for at a ninety-five percent discount to one’s owners was as terrible as it got.
“I’m really not programmed for this kind of thing at all! Oh, why will not anyone believe me!” Threepio pressed one forefinger against the center of the access plate above the door panel and thrust, with all the strength of his hydraulic arm joint. Never, in any circumstances, would he have exerted his strength against living flesh of any variety, but metal was metal, and not being up to military standard, this metal buckled along the edge sufficiently for him to get his fingers under the plate and pull it free. Artoo proceeded to deliver a string of instructions.
“Honestly, I think those additional circuits disrupted your logic modifiers! Green wires connected to coaxial links—you don’t possess coaxial links! Oh.” Threepio flipped open one of the silvery gray add-ons screwed to his counterpart’s side. “Well, I’m sure that they aren’t good for you.”
Nevertheless, he hooked the links into the green wires, and listened to the flow of bleeps, twitters, and chirps that Artoo-Detoo poured into the quarantine ship’s internal relay system.
“Artoo-Detoo, that is a patent untruth!” declared Threepio indignantly. “First you disable the opening mechanism on the doors of airlock three, then you cause the system to believe that those doors have been opened … and even should you help Master Yarbolk escape from that airlock, that doesn’t do us any good, you know. We’re still unable to leave this hold while we have the restraining bolts on, and he is still unable to get off this vessel.”
The golden protocol droid turned away, arms folded in the human-form expression of indignation and uninvolvement. “I won’t have anything further to do with this.”
Artoo made a sad little noise, but no request to be unhooked from the access hatch. Indeed, he produced small blips and whirrs every now and then, which indicated