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Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 01_ Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [32]

By Root 420 0
of objects that only a rich man or a well-traveled smuggler could amass.

“I like what you’ve done to the place,” Lando said to the cyborg that sat behind what had once been Lando’s desk. “I guess I never did get around to sending for my things, eh?”

“I don’t mind,” said Lobot. The activity lights on the interface band he wore from ear to ear were flickering busily. “You have better judgment in subjective matters than I do. The calculus of room decoration still eludes me.”

“Well—at least you have the good taste to recognize my good taste,” Lando said with a grin. “Still, a man can get tired of the same surroundings day after day, no matter how splendid they are. When’s the last time you got yourself out of here for a while?”

“I go out on inspection walks twice a day,” Lobot said. “It takes ninety-seven days to complete an inspection schedule.”

“Let me put it another way. How long has it been since you broke your connection to Cloud City?”

A puzzled expression flashed briefly across the cyborg’s face. “I have never broken my connection to the administrative interface.”

“Just as I suspected,” Lando said. “And exactly why I’m here. Lobot, you work too hard. You’re long overdue for a change of scenery—a vacation.”

“How can I leave Cloud City without an administrator?”

“Lobot, I have a secret to tell you—the people who work for you will enjoy the novelty.”

Lobot frowned. “But systems will randomize without monitoring and supervision.”

“Then think about how much fun you’ll have putting them right when you get back,” Lando said. “And the trip will do you good, too. Frankly, you could use a little practice in conversation. Am I still the only one around here who knows you can talk?”

“Direct input is more efficient.”

“Efficiency is overrated, my friend,” Lando said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs, ankle over knee. “Come on, what do you say? Knowing how much you like to work, I cooked up a vacation where there’ll be plenty of work for you to do.”

“What sort of work?”

“I can’t tell you unless you say yes,” Lando said, tapping the insignia on his uniform. “I’ve got a temporary commission in my pocket, and the security clearance to go with it. All I can promise you is problems a lot more interesting than the ones you’re working on now. And I really could use your help. It’ll be like old times.”

Lobot stood, looking slowly about the room. “I’ll trade you my help for your ‘things,’ ” he said finally. “I want them to stay, for old times.”

“Why, you old horse trader, you. Who’s been teaching you the art of the finagle?”

“You did,” Lobot said. He closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. The lights on his interface bar all flashed green, then all flashed red, then went dark. Raising his head, he opened his eyes and looked at Lando. “It’s too quiet.”

“Go ahead and leave a few channels open, then,” Lando said, standing. “Bring with you whatever you need to be comfortable.”

A few scattered lights on Lobot’s interface sprang back into activity. “Better,” he said. “Let’s go. What is my rank? What problems need solutions?”

“I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

The Teljkon task force, seven vessels in all, had gathered in orbit around the sixth planet of the Coruscant system, where it would not so readily attract attention. Lady Luck was the last to join them and the smallest ship among them, save for a pilotless Intelligence ferret. Lando’s yacht was dwarfed by Pakkpekatt’s command ship, the cruiser Glorious.

“I don’t like the looks of that heavy artillery,” Lando said, sizing up the situation from Lady Luck’s cockpit. “I thought we were being sent to outsmart our quarry, not outgun it.”

“The fact that the vagabond disabled a frigate with apparent ease may have dictated the choice of a cruiser,” Lobot said.

“I’m sure it did,” Lando agreed. “I just don’t like the way things are shaping up.” He reached for the comm unit. “This is General Lando Calrissian aboard the Lady Luck, hailing the Glorious. Request permission to come aboard.”

“General Calrissian, sir,” said a young-sounding voice. “This

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