Star Wars_ The Adventures of Lando Calrissia - L. Neil Smith [55]
“I’ve always rather fancied an earring,” Lando told the surprised robot. “D’you think you could manage it without tearing off my earlobe?” That would make communications a bit easier, and there would be little chance of Vuffi Raa’s getting injured or dropped, since Lando would be inclined to be careful about injuring his own head.
“Captain,” Mohs asked, once that had been settled, “there is supposed to be a way out of this chamber, somewhere near the center. Can you see it?”
For the relatively short time they’d been there, Lando’s attention had been directed outward, through the transparent walls. Then it had all gone to Mohs and the pitiable condition of his eyes, and finally to Vuffi Raa. Now he took a good hard look around. It wasn’t easy: the floor was glossy, as if it were transparent glass over some darker base. He guided the old Singer toward the center of the room, approximately fifty meters away, the little droid clinging with all five tentacles to his ear.
Before them lay a downward-slanting ramp set neatly into the floor, flush, without guardrails or other embellishment. Lando thought they hadn’t noticed it before because of this, and the fact they’d been looking straight across its foreshortened length to the reflective surface on the other side.
It was strangely dim in the middle of the room, beneath the pyramid’s peak. The brightly shining sun outside lent an eerie contrast, which got on Lando’s nerves.
“Well, friends, shall we?” Lando asked no one in particular.
No one replied.
He shrugged, took a step—remembering, once it was too late, that this sort of thing was what had gotten him into … well, this sort of thing in the first place. As soon as it rested on the gently downward-slanting surface, his foot began to slide forward of its own accord. He gave a hop, his other foot joined the first, and he found himself moving without walking—just as Mohs’ prophetic Song had had it—on a sort of glassy, featureless elevator.
He looked behind him. Mohs was in the rear, expression a bit unsettled—apparently not very happy to realize his Songs had come true.
Well, Lando thought, are any of us ever, really?
The place that they had entered was broad, perhaps ten meters wide, and as they settled down through the floor and the tunnel seemed to level off, they saw that the roof overhead was about the same distance—ten meters—from the moving floor. The walls went straight up, tipped over into an arch overhead.
At first the walls were featureless, the same impression as above of transparency over darkness. The floor showed no signs of mechanical moving parts; an object placed upon it simply flowed along at the same rate Lando, Mohs, and Vuffi Raa were traveling. Whether the floor itself traveled with them, they were unable to determine.
“EEEIIIUUU OOOGGGAAAIII, EEEVVVUUUHHHVVVIII EEERRRAAAHHH?”
Vuffi Raa clung to Lando’s ear, watching, measuring, trying to do his part—since someone else was carrying his miniscule weight. Yet most of his mind was on the matter of his size. Assuming it was he who had diminished—never mind how or that the disparity was supposed to violate several laws of physics—he certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of his life that way. Droids live a long, long time.
On the other tentacle, suppose Lando and their native companion had somehow grown, violating different laws. Vuffi Raa didn’t think he’d have to ask them how they’d feel about that.
His contemplations were interrupted by the part of him that was watching. He gave an internal, mechanical sigh as he prepared himself for another of the tedious attempts at communication:
“Master, the corridor’s beginning to curve.”
“Not so loud, Vuffi Raa! Curve?” Lando glanced around. He couldn’t see it; it must be very gradual. A thought