Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [88]
Yeah. Threepio. Assuming they got past the door guards, there was one thing Han really could use: a master coder, to override palmprint, retinal, and voice-ID security circuits. They were as illegal as Lowickan Firegems, and impossible to make on most worlds, because most worlds’ master circuits were encoded against droids. “You’re absolutely right,” he told Threepio. He hustled to the nearest repulsor couch, dug into its control circuit, and levered out its master chip. “Here,” he said. “Wipe that, then imprint it with an Imperial override code off the mainframe.”
“Sir!” Threepio screeched like a horrified soprano. “They’ll melt us all down if I counterfeit …”
“Do it,” Han growled. “This place doesn’t have droids, so they won’t have antidroid security. Should be a piece of cake.”
Still, he stood tapping one foot until Threepio handed over the reimprinted chip. He fingered it. That smooth, six-centimeter strip of plastic and metal would get him into almost anything—including very deep soup, if they caught him with it. He slid it into his shirt pocket.
“General Solo, shouldn’t we warn the populace about the imminent attack?”
“You say Senator Captison brought you back here?”
“Yes, but—”
“You told her, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then she’ll take care of it. Trust me.” Han set his blaster for “stun” (only out of respect for Leia’s wishes, he told himself). “Come on. Here’s the next step.”
Less than a minute later, he sent the glide door open and stood back. Threepio fled into the lobby, screeching gibberish, waving both arms and swaying violently back and forth. Mentally Han counted to three, giving the stormtroopers time to wonder if they ought to shoot him down or hit him with their Owner. Then, he crouched low and crept to the door. He could only see one trooper, but that Imperial’s attention was riveted to the droid. Threepio spun in circles, babbling in yet another language. Han aimed carefully for a weak spot in the body armor, fired, then sprang to the other side of his doorway. The other trooper fired back at a sensible chest level, but the bolt zipped over Han’s head. He dropped the other trooper.
“Okay, Threepio. Help, and hustle it.” Han seized one guard by the boots and dragged him into the apartment. Threepio grabbed both troopers’ blast rifles while Han maneuvered the second one just inside the door. “Hurry up.” He relieved one trooper of a utility cable and tied the pair together. “It’s a cinch we’re not coming back here,” he muttered. Bakurans or no Bakurans, he pried off Threepio’s restraining bolt. “There. It’s time to split up. I’ll get Leia. You make sure Luke got that message.”
“But, sir—how will I get there? Even on Alliance worlds, droids aren’t allowed to pilot speeders unaccompanied.”
Han thought that over. Should he drop Threepio at the Falcon? Ask Chewie to abandon ship and come get him? Too much time. Too dangerous.
Hah. “Okay, Sunshine, you’re about to play hero.” He untied one still-stunned trooper and yanked off his helmet. “Help me with the rest of this stuff.”
Threepio shuffled closer. “Now, what—Oh, no. Sir, please don’t order me to—”
“They won’t shoot at you wearing this. I want you back at the Falcon.”
Soon Threepio stood arrayed in full stormtrooper gear, and his bewildered voice filtered through a lumpy white helmet. “But, sir, where am I to find a speeder?”
“Follow me. And set that blast rifle just under ‘stun.’ You’re gonna be shooting at me.”
“One more thing?” Threepio pleaded. “Please let me have your comlink. I must contact Master Luke.”
Han tossed it. Threepio caught it. Then Han nodded. “Go,” he commanded.
He dashed up the hall toward the nearest lift shaft. A backward glance showed Threepio struggling to keep up, firing stun bursts as he came. Han gave the droid time to close up, then sprang into the lift shaft.
After he emerged on the rooftop, things moved faster. Smoke roiled up over one edge. The Bakurans were really riled about those arrests. Several harried-looking people, walking toward the nearest drop shaft,