Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 01_ Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [91]
“There,” said Lando. “In that corner. There’s your big red switch.”
“I don’t see anything,” Threepio declared. “Artoo, you must be making a mistake.”
“You’re not supposed to see it,” said Lando. “Not unless you have the right eyes. But it’s there.” Pushing off from the equipment sled, he floated toward the corner.
“General Calrissian? Hammax here. Suggest you have your R2 unit make the initial contact with its claw arm.”
“Where’s the colonel?”
“Colonel Pakkpekatt is monitoring.”
“Tell him I wish he was here,” said Lando. “Okay, Artoo. You have the spot zeroed in?”
Artoo chittered enthusiastically.
“Okay—let’s ring the bell.”
Artoo rose from the equipment sled where he had been clinging and jetted across the open space. The droid’s left equipment door snapped open, and the telescoping claw arm extended toward a spot along the curved corner where the two bulkheads merged.
The claw yawned open to its fullest and a moment later touched the bulkhead.
Nothing happened.
“More pressure, Artoo,” said Lando.
The droid’s thrusters spat plumes of vapor into the chamber, until its silver body was visibly vibrating.
“That’s enough, Artoo,” Lando said. “Let me in there.”
“What are you thinking, General?” asked Hammax.
“That maybe this ship knows it wasn’t built by droids,” said Lando, extending his gloved hand to touch the same spot Artoo had tried.
Again there was no response, even when Lando’s suit thrusters exerted themselves.
“We must have misread the instructions,” said Threepio. “Artoo, could you possibly have turned everything upside down?”
The little droid’s response was indignantly terse.
“I can’t get any real pressure on it,” Lando fumed. “Maybe these Qella were stronger than we are, at least under these conditions.”
“Strength hasn’t opened any Qella doors yet,” said Lobot.
Lando twisted around to look at Lobot. “No, it hasn’t, has it?” Grasping his right wrist joint, Lando squeezed the release and twisted.
“What are you doing?” Hammax protested.
“A spacesuit and a droid probably register about the same, wouldn’t you say?” With a sharp yank, Lando tugged the glove off his right hand.
The air in the chamber was bitterly cold, and his hand begun to ache almost at once. Tucking the glove under his left elbow, Lando spun back to face the corner and reached out to touch the bulkhead.
It retreated under his touch, the surface folding back on all sides until there was a hole in the corner almost as large as a bubble helmet and deep enough that Lando was uncertain whether he could reach the farthest recesses.
“He did it!” Threepio exulted.
“There’s some sort of handle back here,” Lando said, peering into the opening. “At least, that’s what it looks like to me. Artoo, get over here and get a picture for the folks at home.”
“General, suggest you reglove,” Hammax said while Artoo attended to that duty. “The handle might be keyed to Qellan biology.”
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Lando said. “That’s enough, Artoo. Anyone want to retreat back into Lady Luck before I knock on the door? Counting one, two, three—”
“We’re ready here, Lando,” said Lobot.
“Okay, then.” Drawing a deep breath, Lando reached with his bare hand for the handle deep inside the hole. His shoulder was pressed against the opening before his fingertips brushed it. He had to slip his shoulder inside the hole and press his helmet against the bulkhead to close his fingers around the handle.
“Got it,” he said. “What do you think, Lobot? Push, pull, twist, lift—”
But Lobot never had a chance to answer. There was a flash of brilliant blue light outside the portal, and when it was gone, so was the tunnel to Lady Luck’s airlock. In the next instant the atmosphere in the chamber began boiling out into space, sweeping everything and everyone toward the open portal.
Lando clung desperately to the handle inside the hole, though he lost his grip on the