Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [19]
“Things are worse. We’re headed for an unknown point within an enormous volume of space in a ship that routinely manages to escape detection for years at a time,” said Lobot. “We have no food and limited water, and the droids and the suits are both running low on power. None of the mechanisms we can operate allow us to either control the ship or communicate with it. We’re being guided through public spaces and kept out of private spaces—if we’re going to get control of the ship, we need to be treated like the owners, not visitors.”
“I admit we haven’t yet found the doors marked RESTRICTED—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY,” Said Lando. “But we can’t be more than two or three compartments away from the bow, according to the map Artoo’s been keeping. I say we gather up the gear and keep looking for the control center.”
“There is no reason to believe that the control nexus is located in the bow,” said Lobot.
Lando peered at Lobot questioningly. “I thought it was you who pointed us in this direction.”
“On general probabilities derived from known designs,” said Lobot. “But this vessel was not derived from known designs. It was not engineered by starship-wrights working within an established design paradigm. It is unique. And we will never unravel all its secrets, because we are unable to think as the Qella thought.”
“One secret at a time will be enough to keep me happy,” said Lando. “Why are you so sure the bridge isn’t forward?”
“Look at the map. The compartments we’ve entered over the last few days have gradually been defining a space in the center of the ship to which we have no access.”
“Then we have to keep going, don’t we?” Lando said. “The link between the two zones—the hatch that says SENIOR STAFF ONLY, the key to the executive refresher, the turbolift to the penthouse—could be in the next compartment, or the one after that.”
“Or it could be so well hidden that we will never find it. There may not even be a link between the two.”
“If we have to, we can make one,” Lando said, flashing a quick grin. “But right now, it looks like we have a bet to settle. What do you have that’s worth anything?”
“Pardon me?”
“If I’m right and you’re wrong, I want something out of it,” said Lando. “Nothing like a little wager to keep things interesting when the life-or-death stuff gets old. So what are you willing to risk on your opinion that says we die here like trapped rats?”
Lobot stared blankly at Lando. Then his normally expressionless face began to shudder and twitch. His mouth worked, his eyes blinked. Finally he unleashed a stiff, unpracticed bleat that quickly melted down to a stuttering titter. “You’re crazy, Lando,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that for years.”
“A first time for everything,” Lando said, still startled by a sound he had never before heard—Lobot’s laughter. “But you didn’t answer my question. Are you in or out?”
Lobot grabbed a drifting boot and threw it across to Lando. “I know you too well to take a wager against you,” he said. “Let’s go find that control nexus.”
“Pardon me, Master Lando—”
Lando was exploring the inner face of a new compartment with his hands while Lobot did the same on the outer face. “What is it, Threepio?”
“There is something that is puzzling me,” Threepio said. “Artoo insists that if this ship has no ray shields, there would be no interference with a realspace tracking signal.”
“That’s right.”
“Artoo also insists that even if there were ray shields, they would not interfere with a hypercomm tracking signal.”
“That’s also right.”
“Then can you explain why we have not been sending out a tracking signal each time the ship returns to realspace?”
“Sure. Because we don’t have a rescue beacon,” Lando said.
“I see,” said Threepio.