Марта Уэллс - From a Certain Point of View

—

Lonaste stepped out of the shelter of the habitation corridor and flinched. Shouting, the pounding of running footsteps, echoed down from the galleries above. It sounded like a riot. Many of the other inhabitants of Cloud City must be just as certain as she was that escape was the only option.

As they passed the high white halls of the junction, other sentients ran past, mostly humans. No one seemed to notice them, probably because they weren’t looking down to see two smallish Ugnaughts hurry along. Normally Lonaste found all the looming of larger species annoying, but for once it was coming in handy.

Then blasterfire erupted in the corridor ahead. Lonaste grabbed Beetase’s arm and hustled her down toward the next side passage.

“All these people trying to get away,” Beetase said. “Our ship didn’t wait, did it.”

“It did,” Lonaste said firmly, ignoring her own fear. “The comm was down. And if it didn’t wait, we’ll steal a ship.”

“Do you know how to steal a ship?” Beetase objected. “Because I don’t.”

Lonaste didn’t have an answer for that. She was a scrap worker and a tech, not a pirate. If the ship wasn’t there, she had no idea what to do.

They crossed onto the upper walkway above the big open space of the West Hall. Lonaste glanced down to see stormtroopers running past, and— She slid to an abrupt halt, Beetase thumping into her back.

“What?” Beetase whispered.

“I thought I saw Yoxgit.” Lonaste tried to see through the curved balusters, angling her head to squint down. She was right, it was him. He stood near the inward entrance to the hall, talking to a stormtrooper.

Beetase squeezed in beside her to see, breathing heavily in Lonaste’s ear.

Yoxgit and the stormtrooper spoke, then Yoxgit stepped back and the stormtrooper moved off down the hall. Yoxgit glanced around and ducked away down another corridor. Lonaste pulled back from the railing and looked at Beetase. “That’s not good.”

“No,” Beetase agreed soberly. “You know, I think he knew that Imperial lord was coming here, long before he arrived. Mirsame said her aunt said the gas merchants knew all about it.”

“Yoxgit must have made some deal with the Imperials.” Like Calrissian’s deal to keep the Imperials out of the city, it would probably come to nothing. Lonaste turned away from the railing. “Lots of people selling one another in this city suddenly. As if the Imperials aren’t going to take us all in the end.”

“Bespin’s changed. I’m not going to miss it,” Beetase said, and they hurried on.

From the echo of blasterfire, Lonaste decided it was better to avoid the city’s central core. She took the next hatch into the outer ring’s maintenance passages. It was a confusing maze, added on to as the city’s industries grew, and would be hard for outsiders to navigate.

There were no bright white halls in the maintenance sections. The light was dim and the corridors dingy, the grated floors wet from the dripping city hydraulics overhead. Lonaste was used to it, but the eerie quiet was new; workers used these passages to access every part of the city’s infrastructure, and they were never this empty. But from the scattered debris—discarded tools, a spilled bag stuffed with travel ration packets, and the occasional shoe—a lot of people had moved through here with the speed of desperation, very recently.

The mining clan, Lonaste thought. And probably others, too. She and Beetase moved quickly through the section, despite the ladders and stairs designed for longer-limbed sentients. Their size meant they could take the low-ceilinged shortcuts intended for droids. As they reached the first freight turbolift access, another distant, muffled burst of blasterfire made them both flinch. Beetase whispered, “Still far away.”

Lonaste forced her hackles down and stepped into the tube.

They worked their way down from tube to tube, and finally stumbled out at the large-load docking level, in the broad corridor that opened onto the cargo bays and landing pads. Lonaste hastily glanced around, wary of stormtroopers, but it was empty and quiet here, too. Up and down the high, curving corridor, the big hatchways into the bays were open, letting in a fresh outside wind that swept dust and some torn flimsies down the dock. The emptiness gave Lonaste a terrible feeling; she had expected it to be full of people, loading the ships for escape.

“I thought it would be frantic here. Where is everybody?” Beetase echoed her thought as Lonaste hurried to the dock supervisor’s station in the open control pod. The station was meant for a much taller sentient; Beetase had to give her a boost so she could reach the control board.

The blinking red status numbers made Lonaste’s heart sink. The vid views of the docks showed empty bays and pads, blasted hatches, or a last few drive flares as the stragglers lifted off to safety. The Duros ship she had made the tentative agreement with was gone, the hatch of its bay open to the bright daylight outside. “All the ships are gone,” Lonaste said, a lump forming in her throat. “The red means they didn’t pay their fees and broke the locks to get out.”

Beetase gasped in dismay, swaying as she supported Lonaste. “How can they all be gone already?” she protested.

Lonaste forced herself to think past rising panic. “Some people, like Amigast’s clan, must have had an earlier warning, or knew enough to start running as soon as Calrissian said to go.”

Beetase snorted in dismay. “Nobody warned us!”

Lonaste thought about Yoxgit, talking to the stormtrooper. She bared her teeth. “Maybe there was a warning and our union never got it.” If the Imperials wanted to take over Bespin’s mining operations, and not just blast the city to pieces, they would want the Ugnaught clans to keep working. “The Imperials will need forced labor here.”

Beetase growled agreement. “But what are we going to do?”

Lonaste pushed aside her anger and concentrated on the problem, stretching to look for bays without red tabs. According to the status display, there were still ships in the more expensive upper city dock, but that was where all the Imperials would be, too. “Oh, here!” She stopped, hope blossoming. Toward the west end of this dock level was a large bay for the cheaper dreg-freighters that picked up extra loads of gas or scrap that the contracted freighter lines couldn’t or wouldn’t carry. There wasn’t a vid view, but the status showed the bay was still occupied. “We can try there!”

They ran down the dock as fast as they could, and Lonaste was winded by the time they reached the bay. The big loading hatch slid open when she tapped the entrance panel. The bay’s outer hatch was still closed and the lights were dim, making the large space shadowy. Two ships, both long, blocky cargo carriers, stood on the battered and stained deck plates.

Lonaste started forward hopefully but saw immediately why the first ship was still here: It was a wreck, with holes blasted in the engine housing and lower hull. Despairing, Beetase said, “An unstable load probably blew up after the ship was under way, and they towed it back here for repair.”

“Right.” Lonaste was already moving toward the other one, bracing herself for disappointment. She had done a lot of walking already, and her joints were sore. If this ship was derelict, too, they would have to brave the fighting and try the upper docks.

But as she drew closer, the second ship’s hatch slid open. She stopped, startled, unable to see anything in the dark interior. A chill crept up her back as every horror story about abandoned ships and Imperial traps ran through her head. “Who’s there? I can’t see you.”

Something beeped and the ship’s interior lights blinked on. Lonaste huffed in relief, and felt Beetase relax beside her. It was a droid.