• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“They weren’t ever supposed to lose us,” Lando said. “Hammax’s foray team had orders to go in hard and fast—disable the vagabond before it could clear or break down the interdiction field.”

“I see. But you persuaded Colonel Pakkpekatt to let us try to go in gently and slowly.”

Lando shrugged. “Something like that.”

Lobot raised an eyebrow at the evasion.

“But was no thought given to contingency plans, in the event that the outcome was not as desired?” Threepio persisted. “Surely the possibility of the vagabond escaping came up in your strategy sessions with Colonel Pakkpekatt.”

“Of course it did,” Lando said. “But a rescue beacon might attract the attention of outsiders. They’re designed that way, after all—all frequencies, all receivers. Remember, this was a New Republic Intelligence operation. Getting control of the vagabond was only part of the goal—doing it quietly was the rest. Even Hammax’s team didn’t have a beacon—just short-range comm units.”

“I see—you were forbidden to add a beacon to our equipment.”

“No,” said Lando. “That was my decision. I figured if we had one, we might use it. I elected to remove the temptation.”

“I’m certain I don’t understand, Master Lando.”

“Well—you don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle,” Lando said. “Let’s just say that my orders and Pakkpekatt’s orders don’t quite coincide. We didn’t have his permission to board this ship, and I didn’t intend to hand her over to him—at least not right away.”

“Why not?”

“Because she would have disappeared into a black hangar somewhere and never been seen again whole,” said Lando. “The NRI has hundreds of people who do nothing but take apart captured alien weapons looking for ideas to steal. The man who sent me out here—call him the Admiral—had a notion that this ship might be something more than that, might be something other than a weapon—and might deserve a better fate. And, as he usually is, he seems to have been right.”

“I see,” said Threepio. Artoo chirped briefly, prompting Threepio to add, “But there seems to have been some deficiencies in his plan.”

Lando shook his head. “The only thing that’s gone wrong with the plan is that I promised him we’d be able to get control of this ship, and we haven’t succeeded in doing that yet.”

“Master Lando, Artoo would like to know if we have any way of signaling the armada.”

“Not at light-year distances, no. But remember, I don’t exactly want to be rescued by Pakkpekatt.”

“Then how do you intend to signal the man who sent you out here?”

Lando pursed his lips. “There’s a blind-band hypercomm transmitter on Lady Luck, very black stuff—I have no idea how it works. But the Admiral can use it to track the ship’s movements, locate her anywhere within the transmitter’s range—which is a secret, but I was told it was a very large number.”

“But Lady Luck is no longer attached to the vagabond,” Threepio said. “We saw it cut away from the airlock. Lady Luck may even have been destroyed. What use is the transmitter to us? No one has any hint of a clue of an idea where we are. Lobot was right—we’re doomed, doomed to oblivion—”

“Would you plug that leak, now?” Lando demanded, his tone dripping annoyance. “I swear before an honest dealer, you must be the most tiresome droid ever built.”

“Oh! How very rude—”

“There you go again,” Lando said. Digging a bare hand into one of the pouch-pockets of his contact suit, he pulled out a silver cylinder as thick as his thumb and as long as his palm. “Look,” he said. Lando flipped the cylinder end over end in midair, then snatched it up cleanly and tucked it safely away. “They’ll be able to find us when they need to.”

“Why? What are you talking about? What’s that thing you’re throwing around?”

“The beckon call for Lady Luck,” Lobot said.

“Did you know about this?”

“Of course.”

Threepio cocked his head. “Is that a transmitter? Can we call for help?”

“It transmits the signal that activates the yacht’s slave circuits—across hyperspace, too, now, thanks to the