Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [85]
Artoo, who was being quiet, thbb’d a little softer.
“There’s something different on top of this one.” At a human-inaudible whine, a series of electronic bursts followed the Ssi-ruuvi birdsong. His automatic scanners compared the code with millions of others. Before the recording ended, “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Artoo, run that one again.”
Artoo chirped wryly.
“Of course I can reach it better than you can. Don’t blame me for your shortcomings.” Threepio turned his upper body, pressed a repeat key, then held the awkward position. Automatic programming preset his left auditory sensor to follow the Ssi-ruuvi language, his right auditory sensor to record the electronic code, and a central processing unit to compare the two. It noted a decisecond delay, repeated tonal patterns, and inhuman labial/guttural modifiers.
The recording ended. Threepio ran it again. Another circuit, programmed to deduce logical variables out of context, supplied alternate readings and compared them with similar statements he had recorded during the years since his last memory wipe—a long, long time ago.
“Excellent!” Threepio exclaimed. “Now, Artoo. We must begin at the beginning and listen through all the recordings. They’ll provide Princess Leia with all kinds of useful information.”
Artoo whistled.
“Yes, Prime Minister Captison too. Don’t get impatient.” Threepio tapped Artoo’s dome. “I realize this isn’t your specialty. Think of the hours I spent shipboard, functionless.”
Artoo tweaked his memory.
“That’s not funny.” Threepio pressed the play key. “Be quiet and listen. I’ll translate for you.”
The recordings began again, all seven hours at high speed. Threepio listened, and Artoo listened to Threepio. Most of what was said was inconsequential: Realign your ship with the squadron and suchlike.
But abruptly Threepio exclaimed, “Oh, no. Artoo, you must call Master Luke at once. This is dreadful—”
Artoo was already rolling toward a communications interlock.
Leia slid out of the rented aircar into a cool, gusty breeze and stared around the Bakur complex’s roof port, mentally counting stormtroopers. Eighteen, with weapons drawn. This was no friendly welcome committee. Now she wished she’d been able to bring Chewie—even though she wouldn’t have, to please the Bakurans. Belden bumped her and mumbled, “Be sure you give Commander Skywalker that message, Your Highness.”
“Get ready to move,” she mumbled back. She reached up one sleeve for her little blaster. She could probably take three or four before they stunned her. Flinging herself onto the permacrete rooftop, she started shooting.
Five stormtroopers toppled before someone seized her right elbow from behind. She wriggled violently and almost won free before a white gauntlet pried her blaster from her hand.
Half the battle is knowing when you’re beaten. Where had she heard that? Alderaan, she guessed, slowly getting to her feet with both hands clasped over her head. She wasn’t beaten yet. But it was important that they think so.
Governor Wilek Nereus strode out of the lift shaft, followed by four naval troopers in black helmets. “Prime Minister Captison,” he said smoothly, “Senator Belden. Going for a little drive?” He pointed at the aircar, and two stormtroopers climbed aboard.
The trooper who’d confiscated her blaster took something away from Prime Minister Captison. Another seized his arms and locked on a pair of wristbinders. “You have just run out of good sense,” Belden wheezed, red-faced and already cuffed. “This is a preposterous maneuver.”
“Why so much effort to escape observation, if you’re doing nothing wrong?”
Leia stepped in. “There is such a thing as a right to privacy, Governor.”
“Not when it endangers an Imperial world