Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [148]
The messages would help. Cole really didn’t want to be doing this on his own.
As the ship entered orbit over Telti, Cole requested an immediate landing.
He received no response.
“Perhaps, sir, they use only mechanized equipment,” Threepio said. He sat in the second seat, the one behind the pilot, designed for passengers. The problem was that Threepio’s voice spoke directly in Cole’s ear. “It wouldn’t be unusual. Why, the factory on Tala 9 allowed no sentients at all. They discouraged sentient participation by using only droid languages for landing codes. Of course, they discontinued that practice when two ships collided mid-orbit because their systems weren’t designed to handle …”
Cole tuned out the chatter. He sent his message again.
“… Then on Casfield 6, they discovered that the use of droid languages in landing codes caused shipboard computers to malfunction when six ships, all built by …”
And again.
“… exploded on the launching pad. Quite a blow to the Offens, as I understand it. They were new to space travel …”
And again.
“… when their queen, a six-thousand-year-old woman kept alive by …”
“State your business, freighter.” The voice that came across the speaker was mechanized. It lacked the vocal range of Threepio’s.
“It’s a new-model navigator droid, sir. I recognize the pitch.”
It took Cole a moment to absorb what Threepio had told him, since Cole had worked so hard at ignoring him.
“Freighter. State your business.”
“I—ah—I’m Cole Fardreamer. I have business with your manager.”
“Personal or sales?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is your business personal or would you like to meet with a sales representative?”
The last question was not one that Cole expected. “It’s personal,” Cole said.
The mechanized voice gave him landing coordinates. Cole made certain that the computer entered them properly, then felt the freighter bump as it veered onto a new course.
“How very interesting,” Threepio said. “They must handle their own sales here. Some droids are good at business, you know, but most lack the finesse needed for what sentients call ‘The deal.’ ”
Cole scanned the surface. “The deal?”
“Well, yes,” Threepio said. “Droids are not adept at lying, you know, and we have no interest in profit. There are no droid smugglers, at least none that I’ve ever heard of.”
The entire moon was covered in buildings. The buildings went deep underground. The landing coordinates that the voice had given him were near another, smaller landing strip. They had to have him coming in on an official path.
“When I was Irving on Tatooine,” Cole said, not really interested in the conversation, but wanting to keep Threepio occupied, “I had heard that Jabba the Hutt had droids helping him.”
“Helping him is an entirely different thing. A droid must serve his master. That is his primary function. Why, I even worked for Jabba the Hutt for a very short time. I served as its translator. Quite discouraging work, let me tell you. The things the Hutt said …”
Cole headed toward the landing strip. The buildings were massive, as he had thought, and there were droids all over the surface.
“… my counterpart Artoo-Detoo serving drinks. It was quite humiliating. I’m not sure he ever got over it.…”
The freighter landed on the coordinates the voice had given Cole. A dome rose overhead and closed on the ship. All around him, signs flared in several languages.
PERSONAL DROIDS MUST REMAIN ON SHIPS.
THIS IS A WORKING PLANT. DO NOT STRAY FROM THE MARKED SIDEWALKS.
WAIT NEAR YOUR VEHICLE. A REPRESENTATIVE WILL APPROACH YOU.
SHIPS WILL BE SCANNED BEFORE LIFTOFF.