Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [28]
The computer lock on the door’s knob clicked and beeped. As the door opened, the closet flooded with light. A different Kloperian from the one that captured them stood outside, work orders clutched in one tentacle, a special key code in another.
“Oh, thank the maker,” Threepio said. “I am See-Threepio and this is my counterpart, Artoo-Detoo. We belong to President Leia Organa Solo, the Chief of State, and to her brother, the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker. We have been falsely imprisoned—”
“You were trespassing,” the Kloperian said.
“On the contrary,” Threepio said. “We—”
“I don’t care,” the Kloperian said. “If it were up to me, I’d put you in recycling with all the other out-of-date droids. But we ran your serial numbers and you are who you say you are. Next time you come down here, your owners need to give us official notice. We can’t have just any old droids down here. This is a dangerous area, and some of my assistants are overly enthusiastic. They might think you’re scrap and use you for parts.”
“Parts!” Threepio said. “I assure you, sir, we are anything but parts. Why, my counterpart and I might even be considered—”
“You are a protocol droid at least three models behind, and an astromech droid sixteen models out of date. If you were part of our team here, we’d definitely recycle you.”
Artoo blatted.
“As it stands, we’ll let you see the X-wing. Then you have to leave.” The Kloperian crossed two tentacles. “Follow me.”
Threepio hurried out of the closet, Artoo at his side. The Kloperian slithered forward at a fast clip. Threepio dropped back a few paces, just out of the Kloperian’s hearing range.
“You see, Artoo. I told you that they wouldn’t hold us once they knew who we were.”
Artoo bleeped.
“Well, it doesn’t seem odd to me,” Threepio said.
Artoo blurbled.
“All right,” Threepio said. “I admit they could have checked our serial numbers quicker. But the point is, Artoo, that they did. Although I do admit, things could have gone badly. Recycling! And I thought the scrap heap for out-of-date droids was just a legend.”
Artoo’s head swiveled as they walked, and the tiny holocam in his unit flickered. He was filming.
“I don’t believe you have permission—”
Artoo bleebled so loudly that the Kloperian turned.
“Is there a problem?” it asked.
Threepio glanced at Artoo. “There is no problem,” Threepio said. “No problem at all.” And he put his hand heavily on Artoo’s head for good measure. The clang of metal against metal echoed in the hangar.
They passed dozens of X-wings in various states of disrepair. Through open hangar doors were Y-wings and A-wings that had been disassembled. And in a final hangar, new craft glistened, cleaning droids polishing the luminescent metal.
Finally they stopped. The Kloperian pointed to a battered and scarred X-wing in pieces on the hangar floor.
Artoo moaned.
Threepio approached the pieces. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Master Luke relies on this craft.”
“We’ll have it reassembled for him in two days,” the Kloperian said.
Artoo whistled and beeped.
“My counterpart wants to know why it had to be dismantled in the first place.”
“Orders,” the Kloperian said. “These old X-wings have too many problems to fly across the galaxy without an occasional overhaul.”
Artoo cheebled.
“My counterpart says the ship was in perfect condition.”
“Well, he’s wrong,” the Kloperian said. “Amateur upkeep is no substitute for a major revamp.”
Artoo shrilled.
“Artoo!” Threepio said. “I’m so sorry, sir. He was close to the X-wing. He’s afraid you’ve damaged it permanently.”
“I haven’t touched it,” the Kloperian said. “And now that you’ve seen it, you can report on its condition to your master. The exit is through that door.”
Threepio nodded. “Come along, Artoo. We must talk with Master Luke.”
Artoo gave a warbling sigh. He stopped beside the X-wing and leaned precariously over it.
“Artoo!” Threepio said. “We’ve seen enough.”
“You might want to tell your master to purge that astromech unit’s memory. The R2 unit is seriously dated as it is, and with the new changes