[Black Fleet Crisis] - 02(40)
trailheads,
and
resort destinations in the Rift Territory. Monitor this channel for further landing instructions.
This is Teyr Flight Control, end transmission.”
Luke and Akanah exchanged bemused looks.
“They wouldn’t have dared give Luke Skywalker number thirty-nine,” she said.
“Too bad he couldn’t join us for this trip,” Luke said, allowing his disguise to dissolve.
“I wonder how many times a shift they have to recite that,” Akanah said.
“I don’t think they care,” said Luke, then explained, “It was a droid.
I couldn’t touch it.” He nodded past Akanah. “Are any of the stuffed koba left? I think we might have time to eat before the skids get dirty.”
As Luke had suspected, there was more than enough time. Following directions from Flight Control, Mud Sloth joined a long queue of yachts and liners in a high orbit over Teyr. Six full revolutions later, they were still there, though most of the ships in front of them—and several behind them as well—had already made their descent and been replaced by newer arrivals.
“Nice view,” Akanah said. “Do you think they’ll ever let us any closer?”
“No,” said Luke. “I knew we should have told them we had eighty-two paying customers aboard, all eager to start shopping.”
“Eighty-two?” she said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“Ewoks,” Luke said, shrugging. “You should see the way they live.
It’s nothing like in the holos. Twenty-four to a room, stacked in layers, boy, girl, boy, girl—” “You’ve been in space too long,” she said, with a disapproving frown. “Maybe we didn’t hear our call.”
“—Queue number alpha-eight-one, proceed to approach-” “Eighty-one!”
Akanah exclaimed indignantly.
“Why is everyone going before us?”
“Because whatever kind of priority list they’re using, they put people who own Verpine Adventurers at the bottom of it,” Luke said.
“Will you please stop making jokes?”
“Sometimes there’s no other recourse,” said Luke.
“What happened to your implacable calm?”
“This is making me crazy,” Akanah said.
“I can tell.”
“Can’t we just disguise ourselves as some other ship and take its landing instructions?”
“There’s a little problem about two objects occupying the same space at the same time.”
“Luke—” The tone of her voice made him look toward her.
He saw anguish on her face, anxiety in her pleading eyes.
“Do you think they might be holding us up here until they can get everything ready to grab us, or follow us?” Please do something! her expression cried.
“No,” Luke said, and reached across to touch her hand. “Teyr runs the shuttles themselves, and the spacelines have contracts with Teyr for priority landing access.
They get to go first—we get to wait for an opening. It’s all right— they’re treating us the way we want them to.
No special treatment, no special notice. They’ll get around to us soon. They want our money, too.”
“—Queue number alpha-three-nine, proceed to approach corridor for landing at Prye Folas—” “There—see?” He squeezed her hand reassuringly, then moved his own hands back to the flight controls.
Relief was evident on her face. “Prye Folas—that’s good. It’s a long way from the Rift, but that doesn’t matter to us—it’s only one stop east of Turos Noth.”
“I’m glad someone studied their geography,” Luke said. “Snug up those straps, Lady Anna. Did you know that most crashes take place within sixty seconds of liftoff or touchdown?”
She frowned crossly at him. “Did you need to tell me?”
“I think I did,” Luke said, firing the braking thrusters to drop the skiff out of her parking orbit. “You seem to need something to worry about—I thought it might as well be something real.” He looked sideways at her and grinned. “One way or another, we’ll be on the ground in ten minutes.”
“You think this is helping, don’t you?”
“It’s just my way of saying, relax—” “I can’t,” she said with a nervous sigh. “I’ve been waiting too long. I have too much at stake.”
Luke nodded understandingly. “In that case, I promise to try for the soft landing.”
For just a moment, he thought Akanah was going to punch him.
Luke’s landing at Prye Folas was better than soft. It was flawlessly smooth, the kind pilots call a first kiss.