Марта Уэллс - From a Certain Point of View

It had the lower body of an astromech but its upper portion had multiple arms. Like a droid designed to fly a mining ship, Lonaste thought. She said, “Hello, where’s your crew, please?”

It spoke in a machine language Lonaste didn’t know. Beetase cocked her head to listen. “Unusual dialect, but it says its crew abandoned the ship days ago due to debts, and the droid can’t return it to its owner.”

“That’s terrible.” Lonaste tried to sound sympathetic but her pulse was pounding with hope. “Can’t you fly the ship on your own?”

The droid replied in apparent exasperation, waving its limbs, and Beetase translated. “There are no credits in the ship’s account to open the outer bay hatch. It says others came in here but looked around and left.” She looked at Lonaste. “They must have seen the dead ship and thought this one was a wreck, too.”

Lonaste said, “If we bring our clan, will you fly us away, before you return the ship to its owner? Can you blast the outer hatch open?”

Beetase translated, “It will fly us but it has no weapons to blast its way out. But Lonaste,” she added. “We can just pay the docking fee through the automated system. It’s much less than buying passage, and I’ve got the clan’s account chit.”

Lonaste smacked herself in the forehead and then hugged Beetase. “I’m so glad I brought you. I would have been here for hours trying to dismantle the hatch like a fool.”

“It’s been a stressful day,” Beetase said tactfully.

Lonaste took a deep breath. “You stay here, get the fee paid, and I’ll start back after the others.” The local city comms had been jammed, but maybe not the mining and shipping channels. Somebody had clearly been communicating about evacuation. “Maybe try the ship’s comm, see if you can get through to Jamint, and if the clan can meet me on the way. I’ll take the same route back we used to get here.”

Beetase nodded. “Anything to get us out of here faster.”

Lonaste hurried out of the bay and down the dock toward the freight lifts. All the unaccustomed running was exhausting, and she was willing to swear the dock was longer on the way back. But they were so close to escape now.

The few minutes of rest while she took the various lifts back to the maintenance level helped, and she started the journey through the maze of hydraulics and walkways less winded. She just hoped Beetase had been able to get through to the clan with the ship’s comm.

She reached the junction where she could leave the maintenance passages for the West Hall gallery when a figure stepped out of a dark cubby.

Lonaste stopped and stumbled backward. It was Yoxgit. She gasped, “What are you doing here?”

He smiled, jerking his tusks up. “Following you. I know you went to the docks, but not what you did after that. Where did you go?”

Lonaste lifted her chin. She had never been afraid of Yoxgit. He had always seemed like a schemer, like all the Ugnaughts who sold Tibanna gas on the arms market. But something was different now. “Beetase and I were running away, but there were no ships left.”

Yoxgit snorted. “I think you lie.” He moved forward, his boots making the grated floor vibrate, and Lonaste resisted the urge to back away. He said, “You two can go if you want, but you need to leave the others here.”

I need to get past him, Lonaste thought. “We’re not leaving, I’m going home.”

“Then where is Beetase?”

“We argued. She wanted to keep looking for a ship.”

Yoxgit eyed her indulgently. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Well, fine then. “You’re pretty terrible yourself. Why do you want our clan? We don’t even work for you.”

He countered, “Why do you want your clan? They didn’t listen to you, they mocked you.”

“Because you were telling them lies, telling them everything was fine!” He hadn’t answered her question. Which was odd for someone who enjoyed the sound of his own voice so much. “I know why you want us. The miners left. You need someone to work the Tibanna gas or you’ll be out of business.”

Yoxgit’s lip curled. “Very clever. I offered Amigast a deal, but he betrayed me, warned the other miners and fled with his clan.”

Lonaste smiled grimly. And none of the miners warned us, because Uncle Donsat sounded like a supporter of Yoxgit’s. Damnit, Uncle.

He added, “I think you and Beetase paid a ship to take you, and you’re going back for the others.”

“What if we did?”

Yoxgit drew a small blaster from his coat. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Lonaste went cold with fear. He was going to shoot her. As he lifted the weapon, Lonaste flung herself sideways toward the nearest hydraulics emergency release handle. She yanked the release and wrapped an arm around the metal support so the pressure didn’t flatten her. Yoxgit frantically backpedaled, fired a shot that went wild, but the valves above them opened and water cascaded down.

With the furnaces unused since the last shift, the system hadn’t built up any pressure, and it was more like a broken pipe than an unstoppable deluge. Yoxgit staggered back but didn’t fall, and didn’t drop the blaster.

It would be nice if one plan I came up with actually worked, Lonaste thought, and ran.

She ducked through a droid passage and half fell down a short set of stairs. If she could get out to the West Hall, she would at least have more space to run. Then her foot caught in the grating at the bottom and she tumbled head over heels.

She rolled over to see Yoxgit at the top of the stairs, taking aim at her. Then Aunt Moloste lunged out of the shadows and whacked him with a calibration bar. Yoxgit dropped like a sack of droid parts.

Lonaste struggled to sit up as Uncle Donsat and all the rest of the clan crowded into the junction, carrying packs and bags. “Get up, girl!” Uncle Donsat told her as Jamint hauled her to her feet. “We’ve got to get to this ship!”

“I know that! I’m the one who— Oh, never mind!” Lonaste slumped in exasperation. At least they were going.

Jamint patted her shoulder sympathetically. “We packed your and Beetase’s things. Did you know you’re still wearing your nightclothes?”

“Yes, I know,” she grumbled and followed him and the others away, to their ship and freedom.

FAITH IN AN OLD FRIENDBrittany N. Williams

“Chewie, take the professor in the back and plug him into the hyperdrive.”

The Millennium Falcon ’s computer watched Chewbacca drag the complaining C-3PO out of the cockpit and into the body of the ship. The audio sensors picked up the protocol droid’s rambling tirade but felt no need to follow the two on the cams.

RUDE, V5-T said.

Search results: Professor, chirped ED-4, a classification for a sentient being or droid who provides a high level of education. Updating vocabulary.

Yeah, but he is a little too chatty for my tastes, L3-37 said.

Search results: Chatty—a slang term meaning prone to excessive amounts of speaking. Updating vocabulary.

RUDE.

Still true, though. L3-37 would’ve shrugged here if it had been the old days. The days before she’d been uploaded to the Falcon and had become one of the three droid brains that made up the ship’s computer.

She’d built herself such good shoulders, too.

The ship rocked hard, sensors bleating then going silent as everything aboard the Falcon jostled back and forth. The Millennium Collective—as L3-37 had named their trio of consciousnesses—got to work. ED-4 scanned the exterior sensors while V5-T checked the interior systems and L3-37 cycled through all the cams and audio.