Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [84]
“Lobot, where are you?” Lando said quietly.
“Molo nag aikan nag molo kron aikan sket …”
The dreamy, disassociated voice came from a side passage another few meters away. Lando pulled himself along one-handed until he reached it, then pointed the beam of his hand torch inside without warning.
Lobot was floating inside, his feet toward Lando, his head at the object filling the passage. When the intense light reached Lobot’s face, he raised a hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head away. That was when Lando glimpsed a shocking sight. The right side of Lobot’s head was bare—there was only an outline of white skin and a pattern of socket holes where the interface band had been.
“Lobot, what’s happened?”
“—eida kron molo sket aikan sket tupa vol …”
Drawing himself closer, Lando grabbed Lobot by the foot and shook him. “Hey, come back to me, pal.”
Lobot flinched from the touch, jerking his foot away, but ended his recitation.
“Talk to me, or I’m going to have to pull you out of there,” Lando said. “Maybe I’d better do that anyway—”
“No!” The vehemence with which the word was launched was part passion and part fear. At the same time, Lobot’s hands slammed outward against the sides of the passage, his fingers digging deep as the substance there yielded to provide him with secure handholds.
Only then, with Lobot’s arms no longer obscuring his view, did Lando realize what was happening. Half of the interface band was still in place on Lobot’s left side. The other half was attached to the curve of the object beyond. A network of fine wires, no longer than the span of Lando’s hand, connected the two as a tether.
“Starfire—you found a way to talk to the vagabond.”
A smile crept onto Lobot’s face. “Yes.”
“To the vagabond, or to these things?” Lando gestured with the light.
“There is no distinction.”
“Is it conscious?”
“It is aware.” Lobot opened his eyes and looked at Lando for the first time. “I will need to remember to discuss this with Threepio. I may have better answers for him now.”
Lando wedged himself sideways in the opening of the side passage. “What kind of conversation are you having?”
“It is willing to give me information. It will not give me control.”
“Ask it where we’re going this time.”
“It is hurting,” Lobot said. “I think it is going home.”
Lando contemplated that information for a moment, then gestured with the beam of light. “What are these—eggs?”
“No. These are Qella,” said Lobot. “The ship is the egg.”
Chapter 7
Bathed in the brilliant fire of the cluster’s many suns, three New Republic warships made their entry into star system ILC-905 in the formation known as triangle-high-forward.
On the point, a hundred kilometers ahead of the others, was the picket Folna, with all its sensitive antennae passively scanning in all directions to the limit of their range. Trailing in the flank position was another vessel of the same size, the gunship Vanguard. In the anchor position, flying parallel to Vanguard, was the command vessel for the patrol group—the cruiser Indomitable, under Commodore Brand.
Though Folna’s sensing officer was reporting all displays clear, both the cruiser’s and the gunship’s primary and secondary armaments were at combat readiness, with their accumulators half charged, their aiming coils warm, and their crews on two-hour rotations. In addition, three of Indomitable’s five squadrons, including Red Flight’s K-wing bombers, were fully armed and lined up for deployment, with their pilots standing by.
It would take just twelve seconds to bring the gun batteries to full power. Thirty-five seconds after the klaxon sounded in the bays, the first E-wings would clear Indomitable’s flight deck.
Or if Brand didn’t like the odds, a word from him—and ninety seconds to spin up the hyperdrives—would have all three ships wheeling about and jumping out to safety.
Despite those precautions, the tension aboard all three ships was palpable. On the bridge