Star Wars_ The Adventures of Lando Calrissia - L. Neil Smith [152]
But the Navy didn’t know that Vuffi Raa’s canister handiwork had included a radio relay and transducer—he had truly meant to stay in touch—through which Lehesu had shouted a cry for help across the parsecs. Lando, seeing in the creature’s problems a solution to problems of his own, had loaded his ship and come arunning. Now he was having second thoughts.
Less than a hundred kilometers away, point-blank range as distances in space are reckoned, a battle cruiser waited impatiently for an answer. The Falcon was fast, but not fast enough to evade the vessel’s tractor beams or destructive weaponry. As freighters go, she was well armed and heavily shielded against impecunious pirates and the usual run of free-lance riffraff one was likely to encounter in interstellar space. But her quadguns and other weaponry were no match for the armament sprouting from what seemed like every square meter of the warship that confronted them. And worse, at that range, the Falcon’s shields would buy her only seconds of extended life.
Lando considered running—not away from the nebula, but toward it—until he realized that a simple message from the picket vessel would have a hundred more just like it primed and ready by the time the Falcon got to the StarCave’s mouth. He evaluated very carefully a slim number of other alternatives, compared them with his original plan, and shook his head. No two ways about it: the idea had been lousy to begin with, was still lousy, but it was the only one he had.
“Vuffi Raa” he said at last, closing his eyes as if that could shut out the images of disaster forming in his mind, “shut down all weapons systems as we discussed. Also power down the shields and make sure they can see what we’ve done over there on their scopes, will you?” He flipped a fifty-credit coin and caught it in the air.
Beside him, the robot sounded dubious. “But Master, that will leave us completely helpless.” His tentacles fidgeted on the control panels.
Lando grinned. “A long time ago, a machine of my acquaintance pointed out that a person who believes that violence is the first or only alternative is morally bankrupt.” Up went the coin again, down into the gambler’s palm, and up again.
Vuffi Raa stood silent. He had been the machine, and the occasion Lando’s learning that the little droid was programmed against causing harm to any intelligent being.
“Right now, old can-opener,” the gambler continued, “our mechanical defenses are a liability, the appearance of helplessness an asset. Long before I became a starship captain, I was a grifter and a hornswoggler. I guess it’s time to see if I retain the skills.” Lando walked the coin across the backs of his knuckles, and put it away.
The sound of chromium-plated metal tapping on plastic was loud as Vuffi Raa began the process of rendering the ship harmless. Lando sat, deep in thought, weighing his next words carefully.
At last: “All right, raise that cruiser out there; get them on the line. And cheer up—I know what I’m doing. I think.”
The robot was incapable of facial expression, but his voice was ripe with worried skepticism. “What should I say, Master?”
Lando chuckled. “Don’t call me master. Tell them we received their earlier messages, and that it’s they who should be prepared to take on boarders!”
• V •
LANDO CALRISSIAN HAD never particularly liked spacesuits.
Not only were they bulky and uncomfortable, they lacked elegance. His was maintained in the best condition possible, but the color combinations were egregious, the line was execrable, and it clashed with every formal and semiformal shipsuit he owned. And wrinkled them, as well.
Nevertheless, he was suited up and waiting by the topside lock as the Falcon, under Vuffi Raa’s deft maneuvering, backed and filled to a designated place under the belly of the cruiser Respectable. Beside him on the deckplates was a large soft-sided carrying