head. His mind no longer recognized a boundary between biology and
technology; his integrated consciousness bridged both.
Even so, this time, his fingers were exploring the interface as an
object apart--and he was wondering what it would be like not to find it
there, either with his hands or with his thoughts.
Outside chamber 228, as elsewhere, the inner face of the vagabond's
interspace--the open area between what Lando thought of as the ship
proper and the outer hull--was covered with hexagonal cells containing
sculpted Qella faces. It seemed to Lando that the entire ship must be
tiled with them.
As he jetted past the unbroken and unending bas-relief, Lando wondered
how many faces there were, and whether each was unique. When he
contemplated the numbers, it became almost unthinkable that it was a
portrait gallery, that each represented an actual individual-long dead,
in all likelihood, and perhaps remembered nowhere else but here.
There must be hundreds of thousands--perhaps millions. I'll have to
ask Lobot or Artoo to calculate it, Lando thought. Who could have made
them all? Just gathering and organizing them into this collage would
have been a monumental task. How were they made?
Are they like the rest of this ship, almost alive?
The Qella watched with impassive eyes as he
passed, more sanguine about Lando's presence than he-was about
theirs.
And why are they here? All that work, and who would see them? The
discovery of access portals to the interspace did not alter Lando's
impression of the interspace as a private place. They gaze outward as
if the outer hull weren't there, as if they're held in trance by
something they see lying beyond, as if they all share the same
thought.
Was it infinity? Eternity? Mortality?
Soon after entering the interspace, Lando discovered that the inner
hull and outer hull were connected by slender stringers. Crisscrossing
and arrayed in a continuous row, they stitched the two hulls together
with an open pattern of diamonds and triangles, like a series of X's.
The smallest openings were large enough for Lando to pass through
easily. Lando suspected that the stringers encircled the entire inner
hull, like the spokes of a velocipede wheel--a single structure serving
as strut, spacer, and shock mount.
As he continued forward, Lando encountered a second ring of stringers
and learned they had another function.
For this row was a solid barrier, with membranes closing the spaces
between the strands, sealing off the next section of interspace. The
obstacle drove Lando back inside the ship at chamber 207.
Forward from that point, the portals leading to the interspace were
still illuminated by glow-rings but sealed tight. Although none of
them would open to Lando's touch, the center of those he tried to open
transformed into a hexagon of the same transparent material they had
seen in the auditorium. In chamber after chamber, the viewports
allowed him to glimpse the reason the portals would not open--a gaping
slash in the outer hull that started at chamber 202 and continued
forward nearly to the bow.
When Lando peered out into the interspace, he saw stars.
Even though the giant transparency was opaque, the best view of the
damage was from the auditorium.
Looking through a previously unknown portal, Lando could see that the
attacker had come close to shearing the bow off the vagabond. The burn
patterns were familiar and distinctive--the damage was the result of
the pulsed output produced by a capital ship's batteries.
This is what we heard, Lando thought, keying the suit's comlink.
"Lobot, are you there?"
"Listening."
"I'm in the auditorium," Lando said. "There's a big hole along the
starboard side, and everything forward of here is a wreck. The last
few pulses punched all the way through her, opening up a smaller hole
to the damage without cutting my own door, which I don't need or want
to do."
"Is there any indication that the breach is being repaired?"
"It's hard to tell," Lando said. "There's so much hull missing, and I
can't get enough light on the closest edges. I'll probably have to
wait here a while to know."
"Is there any sign anyone has come aboard?"
"No sign I can see. It's pretty clear they were going after the weapon
nodes," Lando said. "Which means they must have seen her fight before,
most likely at Prakith."
"Can you see anything of the vessel or vessels that attacked us?"
"Not a hint. From the angle of incidence, I'd say they were well aft
of us when this started. Lobot--the orrery is gone."
"No!" Lobot protested. "Gone or inactive?"
"Gone. Destroyed. The whole shadow-box chamber would have been filled
with bolt scatter after the initial burn-through. Everything that
wasn't swept out in the decompression's been vaporized."
"Perhaps it will regenerate."
"From what? There's nothing out there. No, it looks as if you and I
are going to be the last to have seen it."
"That is dismaying," said Lobot.
"No telling from where I am, but I'd guess there are
a few thousand fewer portraits in the gallery, too. Probably came
close to losing this chamber."
"How long do you plan to stay and observe?"
Lando glanced at his chronometer. "I'll give it twenty minutes. If I
can't see some activity by then, I'll start back. How are you doing?
Any sign of trouble there? Where are you now--still in
two-twenty-eight?"
"I am fine," said Lobot. "But I do not know how to tell you where I
am. I would already be lost if not for Artoo's holomap."
"You've gone into the inner passages?"
"Maybe I should come back now," said Lando.
"I've seen most of what I need to. Did you blaze your route?"
"I would rather you did not," Lobot said. "The silence is surprisingly
agreeable. I am hearing much more clearly now. That is why I did not
blaze my route.
That is why I am now going to turn off my comlink."
Lando began an angry protest. "Lobot, what's going on--" "You said
that I should do what I like. That is what I have decided to do."
"Fine, but don't turn off your comlink. What if--" "I will signal you
if I want you," Lobot said. "Until then, I will wish you good
judgment, and you can wish us good luck."
That was the end of the conversation. Lando was unable to raise Lobot
on any comm channel, not even with an emergency signal.
He's sided with the droids against me, Lando thought, smashing his fist
against the face of the chamber in frustration. Which is just more
proof that this ship is making all of us nuts. By the time we get out
of here--if we ever do--we're all going to need a mindwipe.
Turning back toward the portal, Lando pressed the facescreen of his
helmet against the transparency and peered into the darkness. The
contours of the holes appeared to have changed slightly, as thou
gh the
holes might be beginning to knit. How far it would go, though, he
could not tell. Left untreated, the edges of a cavity wound will heal
without regenerating what was destroyed.
Switching off his suit lamps, Lando looked out through the blast hole
at the star patterns beyond, seeking a familiar pattern, a recognizable
star or distinctive spiral nebula. The odds did not favor him. Even
after a lifetime roaming the spacelanes, there was far more unknown
than known in a galaxy of a hundred billion stars.
But if there was any way he could, he needed to touch the familiar, and
remind himself what it was he was fighting to live long enough to see
again.
Lady Luck dropped back into realspace just shy of a light-second from
Anomaly 1033 and just more than a light-year from Carconth.
At those distances, the anomaly was invisible except to sensors, but
the red supergiant star was still a spectacular sight. Five hundred
times as large and a hundred thousand times as bright as the sun
Coruscant orbited, Carconth commanded the sky like few other stars. At
the peak of its fluctuations, it was the second largest and seventh
brightest of the known stars. The Astrographic Survey Institute and
its predecessors had been maintaining a supernova watch at Carconth for
more than six hundred years.
The chances were that Anomaly 1033 was something left behind by an
alien expedition to Carconth.
There had been many such, most unrecorded in Old or New Republic
records. But Colonel Pakkpekatt and his volunteers would have no
chance to find out, and little opportunity to gawk at the galactic
spectacle visible off the yacht's port beam.
Within moments of their arrival, Lady Luck's controls went dead under
Pakkpekatt's hands. Accelerating as it turned, the yacht veered
sharply some sixty degrees to starboard and twenty degrees toward
galactic north,
pointing its bow in the general direction of Kaa. The displays churned as the autonavigator ran through its calculus and sent
the results to the hyperspace motivator.
"What's wrong, Colonel?" Bijo Hammax asked.
"Something has activated a slave circuit," said Pakkpekatt, lifting his
hands from the panel and sitting back in the pilot's flight couch.
"The yacht is no longer under my control."
"But you're not trying to get control back." The whistle of the
yacht's hyperdrive winding up to a jump was now clearly audible to both
officers.
"That is correct."
At that moment, Pleck and Taisden joined them on the flight deck.
"Colonel--" Pleck began.
Hammax turned his couch toward Pakkpekatt.
"Colonel, I don't understand why you're letting us be hijacked."
"It is very difficult to defeat a well-designed slave circuit without
doing extensive damage to the vessel," said Pakkpekatt. "They would be
of little use if they could be easily overridden."
"But that doesn't explain--" Taisden shouldered forward past Pleck.
"Colonel, I can have the hyperdrive offline in thirty seconds."
"I doubt very much if you can, Agent Taisden. I also doubt very much
if you have thirty seconds."
"Let me try."
"No," Pakkpekatt said.
"You think she's going to take us to them," Hammax concluded.
"The most likely person to have installed the slave circuits is also
the most likely person to have activated them," said Pakkpekatt. "We
will know in"--he glanced down at the nav display--"six hours if that
person was General Calrissian."
Seconds later, Lady Luck vaulted forward through a tunnel of stars.
"Where are they?, Captain Gegak screamed at the bridge crew of the
destroyer Tobay. "Where is the target?
Where is Gorath?"
"There is no sign of either ship, Captain," the sensor master
ventured.
"I do not detect Gorath's tran-sponder."
"Idiot! Do you think I cannot read a tracking screen?" Gegak
bellowed, balling both hands into fists.
His rage was indiscriminate and comprehensive, leaving no one on the
bridge feeling safe enough to move or speak. "I am betrayed! One of
you is in league with Captain Dokrett. Someone has conspired to steal
our share of the prize."
Gegak stalked behind the officers at their stations.
"Who is the thief? Who is the traitor? Is it you, Frega?"
He seized the hair tuft of the navigation master and used it to roughly
yank his head backward.
"Captain, I depend on the sensor master. Not five seconds passed from
his call before we left hyperspace-" Sensor Master Nillik rose from his
station before Gegak reached it, and retreated before him with hands
raised. "I have not betrayed you, Captain. The instruments have
betrayed me--" With a snarl, Gegak lunged forward and closed the gap
between them to little more than an arm's length.
"And who is responsible for the maintenance of your instruments?"
"I am, Lord Captain--but, I beg you, hear me--" "I hear only the
whining of a traitor."
"This ship is old, twice the age of Gorath, and we have had neither the
prize money nor the blessings of Foga Brill with which to maintain
it.
You cannot expect-" Gegak produced a neural whip from inside a fold of
his bright tunic and brandished it in front of him. "I can expect that
my officers will not repay the favor I do them with excuses."
"Captain--please!" Nillik now found himself backed against a
bulkhead.
"To track a ship through
hyperspace is difficult even with the most sensitive installations.
I was given no time to cool and retune the soliton antennawI could not
hear the target at all. I was barely able to hear Gorath above our own
compression wave."
"You are only making excuses for your inattentiveness."
"No, Captain--it was not my attentiveness that wavered. The signature
was so faint that I lost and reacquired it half a dozen times before
the final loss of signal.
That was the only reason for my delay. I do not know for certain if
those ships left hyperspace behind us or continue on somewhere ahead of
us."
Gegak growled and stabbed the neural whip into Nillik's abdomen. The
sensor master screamed and collapsed writhing to the floor.
"I should have been informed of your difficulties," the captain said,
returning the whip to its pocket. His voice was suddenly tranquil.
"You have forgotten the first rule of survival in an autocracy--speak
truth to power. I hope the pain will help you learn from your
mistake."
Then the captain turned his back on the gasping sensor master. "Point
the bow toward Prakith. Make flank speed. Call the second master to
the sensing station.
We will search back to the point where Gorath disappeared from our
instruments. And I will hear no more excuses for failure. I have
expended all my tolerance on Nillik."
Chapter 5
Luke found it difficult not to step off the slidewalk to pursue Akanah
and prolong the argument. The thinly veiled threat she had offered as
her parting words, suggesting that she might continue on to J't'p'tan
without him, might withdraw her promise to lead him to his mother's
people, was not without power.
But that threat was also nakedly manipulative, and his reflexive
resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to
resist it.
It was not that he gave no credence to the threat.
Akanah's conduct on Atzerri had made clear that She was perfectly
capable of striking out on her own when her interests so dictated. But
he had no compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar
demon of Duty had reentered his consciousness during the conversation
with the shipwright, and he could do nothing else until he either
answered to his conscience or silenced it.
There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke
knew his own mind--until he knew if he could allow himself to continue
the journey.