Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [46]
“Forget it,” Lando said, jetting toward the chamber’s forward portal, through which they’d entered a short time before. “What I’m going to do is find out what that noise is all about.”
But when he pressed his hand against the portal’s trigger, nothing happened. He repeated the motion, then turned toward Lobot. “Did you see a one-way sign?”
Tight-lipped, Lobot shook his head.
It was the same at the other end of the chamber. “We’re locked in,” Lando announced.
“What does that mean?” Threepio fretted. “You can use your blaster, can’t you?”
“Not without knowing if there’s atmosphere on the other side, I can’t,” said Lando.
“This is the limit,” Threepio declared. “Master Lando, I insist that you bring your yacht here immediately—”
Before the droid could complete his demand, before Lando could voice the rejection that was forming on his tongue, the chamber was filled with a near-deafening wail that was the malignant cousin of the sound they had heard earlier. But the source was much closer this time—no more than one or two bulkheads away.
“Hear the sizzle?” Lando shouted, drifting back from the portal. “That’s the sound a blaster bolt makes when it hits a body, burning the fat and making the water boil—but a million times worse than I ever heard before. Someone’s slicing this ship to pieces.”
By then, Lando had drawn close enough to the tumbling sled for Threepio to release his grip on it and lunge clumsily toward Lando’s nearest leg.
“What the—Threepio, what are you doing?” Lando demanded, twisting around to see what had struck him.
Then a new sound made Lando forget about Threepio. It was the muted roar of an explosive decompression—a big rupture, and close by, close enough to make the chamber walls around them ripple visibly in the beams from Artoo’s floodlamps.
“Sweet cold starlight—” Lando breathed, slowly shaking his head. “She’s in trouble now. We’re all in trouble.”
“There is no reason to be fearful,” Threepio said brightly. “We are safe now.”
“Shut up, Threepio. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Please don’t worry, Master Lando. No one needs to worry. I have taken care of everything,” Threepio declared proudly.
“What?” Looking down, Lando saw Threepio drifting away into the darkness with Lady Luck’s beckon call clutched tightly in the hand of his working arm. Lando grabbed at the pouch where the transmitter had been, as though unable to believe what the droid had done.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Lando said, his tone low and menacing.
“Why, of course. I have signaled Lady Luck to come and rescue us.”
“No,” Lando said, barely restraining his fury. “You’ve condemned us. There’s something out there big enough and powerful enough to take on the vagabond and survive. How long do you think Lady Luck will last after she shows up? You’ve called a crewless ship into a combat zone. She’s got no way to defend herself. How did you expect her to get past whatever’s out there tearing pieces out of the hull?”
“Oh,” said Threepio. “I see.”
“Lando—”
“Leave me alone, Lobot,” Lando said, his tone underlining the warning. “I’m going to take this pile of cheap cybernetic junk apart. I’m going to burn his arms and legs into little pieces so that I’ll have something to throw at the boarding party. Say, how would you like his backplate to use as a shield?”
“Lando, listen,” Lobot insisted. “The firing has stopped.”
Lando swung his head around. “So it has. But we’re not moving. I don’t think she’s gonna move again.” He looked back at Threepio. “Neither are you.”
“Artoo—Artoo, where are you? Master Lando has gone mad. You must protect me. I don’t deserve to die.”
“Almost nobody does,” Lando said, pulling out the cutting blaster. “But we die anyway. Be philosophical.”
“Lando, wait,” said Lobot. “We know this