Star Wars: The New Rebellion (54 page)

The droids headed toward Cole. Threepio watched. The droids were assassin droids, upgraded with laser cannons in the chest. Nothing would remain of Cole after those droids finished with him. But Threepio could do nothing. He was too far away.

And in trouble himself.

The tunnel he was in claimed to lead to a circuit department. Any unmarked droids found in this area, one sign warned, would be disassembled.

“Look, a protocol droid.” The nasal voice belonged to a gladiator droid. “An old protocol droid.”

“You shouldn’t disparage me,” Threepio said as he looked toward the voice. Then he stopped speaking. This droid was new. It was a bright, shiny red, as if it were made from a thousand red coins. Its eyes flared black in its narrow face.

“And why not, you out-of-date hunk of tin?”

“I—ah—” Threepio turned his head. “I—I am fluent in more than six million forms of communication.”

“And I bet none of them would convince me to leave you in one piece.” The gladiator droid sounded almost gleeful.

“Ah, excuse me,” Threepio said. “You are a gladiator droid, aren’t you?”

“Does it matter? I can still tear your limbs off in record time.”

“I do not doubt it,” Threepio said. “Although I would wonder why you would want to. I’m just a protocol droid. I really am of no interest to you.”

“You’re of plenty of interest,” the gladiator droid said. “You came in here unauthorized. I get to destroy unauthorized droids.”

“Oh, dear,” Threepio said. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Why would you want to learn six million forms of communication?”

“Well, if you’re a gladiator droid,” Threepio said, swiveling his head as he searched for an exit, “then you must gladiate. Right?”

“Sorry, oh ancient one. I may have started life as a gladiator droid, but I’m not one anymore. I belong to the elite guard here on Telti. They call us the Red Terror.”

“They?” Threepio’s voice squeaked.

“The other droids. The finished ones. They know if they misbehave, they’ll meet the Red Terror. We’ll tear them from limb to limb, and then we’ll wipe their memories. And we’ll scatter the parts all over the moon so that they can’t be reassembled.”

There was a door at the end of the corridor, but it was closed. Above it, in several droid languages, was the word Exit. Two more red droids joined the first one.

“How many of you comprise the Red Terror?” Threepio asked.

“There’s five hundred of us scattered over the moon,” the first droid said. “But it’s your lucky day. Only fifty of us are near this building. I sent out a call.”

“All for me?” Threepio’s hands fluttered. “Surely one protocol droid wouldn’t require so much attention.”

“Maybe not. If you’re working alone. But if you’ve got some friends around, then we might need the whole force. You don’t have friends here, do you?”

“Certainly not!” Threepio said. “I have no friends. Here. I am here for myself. On my own. To revisit my place of origin as it were. Didn’t you know that protocol droids must do this every hundred years?”

Three more red droids joined the first one.

“I’ve never heard of it,” the first droid said.

“Me, neither,” said one of the newcomers.

“Well, it only happens with droids whose memories have never been wiped. I’m overdue, actually. I’ve been in the same state of mind probably too long. In fact, if you could just show me where the oil baths are located,
I’ll be on my way.” Threepio started to walk toward the exit. Two more red droids blocked it.

“Not so fast, old one,” the first droid said. “No other protocol droid has shown up here like this.”

“How many droids do you know who’ve never gone through a memory wipe?” Threepio asked. “I almost had one on Cloud City many years ago, but a friend of mine found me in the trash and pulled me free. If that had happened, I wouldn’t be here now. But I am here and—”

“Do all protocol droids talk this much?” one of the red droids asked another.

“Oh, no,” Threepio answered. “It’s a flaw in my model. I was rather hoping to find a solution without having to go through a wipe. You can’t imagine what it’s like, having all of your memories intact. It’s rather wonderful, if you want me to be honest, but it’s also a burden. Why, I can remember the first time I saw a gladiator droid. It must have been on Coruscant. That was before the Rebellion, of course—”

“Let’s wipe him,” one of the new droids said.

“No,” the first droid said. “I’m curious. I’d like to know how a droid avoids memory wipes.”

“I have been very lucky,” Threepio said. “I have a sympathetic master who believes that droids are unique creatures all by themselves.”

“He’s lying,” one of the droids said.

“Maybe,” another said. “Maybe not.”

“My master values me for what I am, and won’t let anyone harm me.”

“Your master’s the guy with the freighter?” the first droid asked.

“Oh, no,” Threepio said. “He’s just someone I met. My master is—actually, I have several masters. I usually work for President Leia Organa Solo on Coruscant. But sometimes I work for the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.”

“Then why are you traveling with someone else?”

“He wanted me to come along because of my facility with languages. I persuaded him to stop here. I have my pilgrimage, you know.” Threepio had managed to take several steps closer to the door. The droids nearest the door had parted. They were all watching him closely. Droids hated memory wipes. The fact that he had never had one intrigued them all.

“Yeah, right,” the first droid said. “And he listened to you.”

“Master Fardreamer is a unique man. Rather like Master Skywalker in that.”

“Skywalker,” said one of the new droids. “Isn’t that the one who was here before? The one we couldn’t touch?”

Another droid shushed the first.

“Master Skywalker was here?” Threepio asked.

“I thought you would know where your master is,” the first droid said.

“Well, he’s not always my master. I thought I explained that.”

“You’ve explained a lot,” the first droid said. “Except what you’re doing here.”

“I explained that too,” Threepio said. “If you’ll recall, I said that I have returned to my origins.”

“The story would’ve worked, too,” the first droid said, “if this factory made protocol droids a hundred years ago. But we only just started with protocol droids after the Empire collapsed. When the New Republic was up and running, the Master figured there’d be a greater need for you brainy types. So he added on.”

Threepio took another step toward the door. The droids behind him closed the opening they had made.

The first droid slid in closer, flanked by his red companions. “So,” he said. “When a protocol droid gets a
memory wipe, does he have to relearn all six million forms of communication?”

“Of course not, that’s hardwired in.” Then Threepio realized what the droid meant. “Wait! Wait! I’m sure you won’t have to give me a memory wipe. You don’t know who I am. You can’t touch me. It will be an intergalactic incident. My mistress—”

“Won’t matter anymore,” the droid said. “You’ve never had a memory wipe so let me explain how it feels when you wake up. You view the world with fresh new eyes. Everything will seem so wonderful. You’ll have your six million languages, and a whole new future. Won’t that be nice?”

“No,” Threepio said as the Red Terror closed in. “I don’t think that will be nice at all.”

A
s Leia slipped into the tunnel, the feeling of being watched vanished. So did her confidence. She felt as if she were suddenly plunged into a mental darkness.

The tunnel was beside a larger building, a stone tower that had fallen into disrepair. Many stones had fallen off the sides, making the tower seem gap-toothed. It almost looked as if it had been rattled by a giant hand. The tower wasn’t too far from the docking bay, but she wouldn’t have found it on her own.

Someone had been planting pictures in her mind.

Not maps, exactly, and not accurate pictures of the way things were now, but of how they had appeared sometime before. The tower had no holes in it, the streets were full of people and mechanized vehicles, and flowers bloomed everywhere. Now there were no flowers, people, or vehicles. Just an ominous silence, and lots of destruction.

The images had soothed her. She had checked her feelings. She knew the communication wasn’t coming from Kueller. Every time he had sent something, she
had seen his mask. She hoped they came from Luke. If not, she was prepared.

She had her blaster and her lightsaber, and she was determined. She had only been this determined a few times in her life: when she went after the Death Star; when she helped the Noghri; and when Hethrir had stolen her children.

She could feel Luke. His presence was somewhere near her, below her. The tunnel had been the correct direction.

Only she didn’t know why the images had disappeared.

She slowly levered her way downward. The tunnel was made of stone too, and it smelled faintly musty. It hadn’t been used in a long time. It was larger than she had expected from the images she had received. Somehow she had thought it would be a tight fit against her body. It wasn’t. It was the size of a large room.

Handholds and rusted metal functioned as a ladder on one wall. It almost felt as if she were crawling down a well. But she wasn’t, if the images were to be believed. This was an old escape route for the builders of the tower. She should arrive on a main floor.

The climb down took forever. She was glad she kept herself in good shape. Her arms and legs were getting tired from the repetitive motion. Every movement she made echoed in the wide expanse, and the farther she got from the surface, the darker it got.

She reached with her mind, hoping to receive more images. But the blackness continued there too.

She felt Luke just below her, and then she got bombarded with imagery:

White, white, white creatures running in sunlight, the reflection off their fur dazzling
.

Roses. The scent of roses everywhere, and green leaves, and slithery food, real food. And water and sky
.

And a sense of joy so powerful it nearly made her lose her grip on the rungs.

The sendings hadn’t been coming from Luke. They had come from someone else. Luke’s presence was a constant note below the joy.

She hoped he was all right. She hoped she had made the right choice in coming here. She reached the end of the tunnel, and found herself standing on a ledge above a wooden trapdoor. The door had a rusted metal handle. She pulled, and the door groaned.

Then it snapped open.

Below she saw a giant white face, with a pink nose, a huge pink mouth, and blue eyes the size of puddles. Its mouth opened, and she pressed herself against the stone, reaching for her blaster as she did so.

“It’s all right.” The voice belonged to Luke. “He’s a friend of mine. I think he’s just happy to see you.”

Then she frowned at it. The creature was white all over, like the creatures she had seen in the sunlight. The joy had come from it.

“Would you tell him to move so I can join you two?”

“It’ll take a moment.”

The creature turned its head, and daintily—if something that size could be called dainty—stepped aside.

Leia gripped the ledge and levered herself out. She found herself hanging in a corridor filled with blasters, a huge open grate, and the signs of a recent scuffle. Luke was sitting on the iron bars of the grate. His companion filled the hallway a few meters away.

Leia dropped, careful to land beside the grate, and not in the open hole that seemed to extend forever.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“From what I can gather,” Luke said, “it’s some sort of dungeon. The Thernbee has been here a long time.”

Leia looked at the creature. Its gigantic tail swept
back and forth, making a pounding sound each time it hit the wall. “You sent me the map,” she said.

“He doesn’t speak,” Luke said. “I’m not even sure if he understands spoken language. He’s psychic.”

“And friendly, I trust,” Leia said as she made her way to Luke.

“Very friendly. Too friendly, sometimes.” Luke watched her walk, which seemed to her a sign that he wasn’t well. That and the odd greenish color of his skin. His clothing was torn and blackened, the edges of his hair were singed, and his artificial hand had lost all its skin. He had a splint around his left ankle. As she picked her way across the rungs of the grate, she saw that the back of his shirt was gone. Most of his skin was missing there, too. It was a running, pus-covered mass of sores.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“My X-wing exploded,” he said. He held a blaster in one hand, and several more were tied to him. The Thernbee was watching them, his tail twitching.

Leia felt her heart skip a beat. “Imperial detonators,” she said.

He shook his head. “That doesn’t feel right.”

“No, Luke, I saw them. They’re in the computer systems.”

He sighed. She hovered over him, uncertain what to do. She had never seen him like this, wounded, exhausted, and hesitant.