Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [186]
The astromech droid who heard this news bleebled in astromech glee and had passed the word to the other droids. This parade of astromech droids assumed the Red Terror were destroying one another.
A ripple of blerps ran through the astromech droids, rather like a wave carried on the Mon Calamari sea. Something concerned them. When Threepio reached the spot, he understood. Large signs in more than thirty languages, warning all unauthorized droids to stay away on pain of memory wipe.
A large spotlight shone on the corridor and the lighting got considerably brighter beyond that spot. One-way mirrors lined the wall.
Artoo ignored the sign, dodged the spot, and continued into the light. His chrome glistened. He had never looked so determined, with his wheels forward, and his blue-and-silver body tilted at a jaunty angle.
The astromech droids followed, splitting up around the spot, flowing around it like water around a stone. Warning sirens started to go off, and Threepio glanced behind him. He was bringing up the rear. If the Red Terror hadn’t defeated itself, it would be here shortly, and he would be the first target.
He shoved his way through the sea of short droids. “Excuse me,” he said, pushing them aside. “Pardon me. Excuse me. Pardon me.”
They parted a little to let him pass. He made it halfway through the grouping, but still hadn’t reached Artoo. Ahead, he could see Artoo, his jack extended as he worked the opening on a locked door.
“Oh, dear,” Threepio said, and shoved forward harder. Threepio wormed his way around the spotlight, and continued shoving past the damaged astromech droids, following Artoo like an injured army following a demented leader.
Just as Threepio reached the front of the group, the door opened and Artoo slid inside with a triumphant bleeble. Threepio slipped in beside him.
And stopped.
Droid parts hung from the ceiling. These were not preassembled parts, but used pieces. The remains of droids who had come this way before and died. Several golden heads swung from the rafters, and so did more than one cylindrical headplate from an astromech droid.
“Artoo,” Threepio said, his voice warbling, “perhaps we should reconsider. I’m sure we’ll find Master Cole and he’ll have a legitimate plan of action. You can’t do this on your own.”
“You certainly can’t.” A man stood in front of the one-way mirrors. Threepio hadn’t seen him in the room’s semidarkness.
Several astromech droids piled in the door behind Threepio. Artoo continued forward, heading toward a large computer array.
“Stay back, Artoo,” the man said. The man was Brakiss, and Master Cole was not with him.
“Oh, dear,” Threepio said. “Artoo, do as he says.”
Artoo bleeped.
Several other astromech droids beeped in response, warning him not to continue.
Brakiss had a scrambler. “Stop, Artoo. I would love to leave your circuits intact—I’m sure you can give me a lot of interesting information—but I won’t hesitate to use this.”
“Artoo, do as he says!” Threepio shouted.
Artoo bleebled.
“I always thought you were a stubborn droid,” Brakiss said. He aimed the scrambler at Artoo. Then, the instant before he fired, he swiveled his body.
An astromech droid shimmered in silver light, bleeped fifteen times with fifteen different tones, and then stopped, going completely dead. Threepio had seen that before. No amount of resetting would bring it back. Its microprocessors would have to be cleansed. Any personality the astromech droid had was gone.
Artoo had stopped moving. His head swiveled.
Brakiss finally had Artoo’s attention.
Brakiss smiled. He leveled the scrambler at Threepio. “Give me any more trouble, and your golden friend will be wiped.”
Threepio held himself up as best he could. Begging would do no good now. Threepio was on his own.
Artoo bleeped softly, sadly.
Threepio wrapped his arms around his head, and awaited a fate worse than death.
Kueller reached inside his robe and brought