[Black Fleet Crisis] - 02(9)

“Have you made any new pen pals since we started cutting?”

“There has been no response whatever from the masters of this vessel since I began trying to hail them,” said Threepio. “I suggest you proceed with whatever you are planning.”

Lando changed the selector to medium drill and activated the blaster.

“Artoo, come in close—I want that sensor wand through the hole as quickly as possible. But don’t let yourself get caught when it closes.

And Lobot, Artoo, between the two of you, I want to know exactly how large a hole I make and exactly how long it takes it to close. Is everyone ready? Let’s do it, then.”

The medium setting allowed Lando to open a hole that was nearly large enough to admit a man’s clenched fist. Switching off the blaster, Lando pushed off from the wall and did a backward somersault, floating out of Artoo’s way. The droid moved smoothly and surely into position, extending the wand through the very center of the opening and snatching it back at the last moment as the hole disappeared again.

“Show us, Artoo. Holoprojector,” Lando ordered.

The droid chirped an acknowledgment and offered up a fish-eye perspective of a round-walled passage that seemed to bend around or through the ship in both directions.

There was no sign of life or machinery, nor any response to the cutting of the hole and the invasion of Artoo’s scan probe.

“Looks promising,” said Lando. “Whatever it is, it could give us access to at least part of the ship. Artoo, Lobot, what’s the verdict?

How big a hole do I need to cut to get us all through?”

“I am afraid there is a problem, Lando,” Lobot said.

“Artoo’s measurements show that the larger hole closed faster, per unit of area, than the smaller one.”

“It looked that way to me, too,” Lando agreed.

“Bigger holes probably get higher priority from the ship’s systems.

What, don’t you think we can get through?”

“The short dimension of the common wall between that passage and this chamber is approximately one-point-seven meters,” Lobot said, pointing.

“My estimate is that a hole that size will take only six or seven seconds to close down to the point where it will be impassable for any of us. That is not enough time to move the sled and the four of us into the other chamber.”

“It might be enough time. Jump troops go out the drop chute of an assault boat at a rate of one per secN and.”

“Jump troops have the benefit of training and gravity.

I have modeled it with Artoo’s nav processor. At best, one of us would not make it through.”

“Well—that is a problem,” said Lando. “Because I have a sneaking suspicion that when we cut a hole that size, this ship’s going to get fed up with us and try to spit us out again. I don’t think we’ll get a chance to do it twice.” He thought hard for a moment, then waved the blaster in the air. “Everything off the sled. I need to make some modifications.”

The equipment sled was an uncomplicated device.

Its thick rectangular frame contained the gyros, fuel cells, and thrust stabilizer system, and also provided cutout handholds at regular intervals. The standard diamond-pattern metal grid that filled the frame provided a wealth of lockdowns for gear kits and tools. Both sides of the grid on the team’s sled were heavily loaded.

“Modifications?”

“Yeah,” said Lando. “I think we need a frame for our door.”

Clinging to the sled with one hand and wielding the cutting blaster with the other, Lando slashed away where the grid joined the sled frame. When he was finished, the sled was in two pieces. Lando pushed the wobbly, heavily loaded grid toward Artoo. “You tow that through to the other side.”

The droid’s grappling clamps appeared and latched onto the grid securely.

“Give me a hand here, Lobot?”

Lobot eased forward and grabbed a handhold at the opposite end of the gutted sled frame. “I am remembering something I accessed earlier,” he said. “The chief designer of the Ma’aood funerary temples directed his draftsmen that all obvious passages should be booby-trapped, and all traps should be made as inviting as possible.”

“Thank you for that uplifting thought,” said Lando.

“If we get out of this, you should think about a new career as a morale officer. Everyone ready?”

“Master Lando, what should I do?”

Lando checked his combat blaster in its holster, then slid the selector on the cutting blaster to WiDE. “Add this to our apology,” he said, and pointed it at the bulkhead.

“Hang on.”

The brilliant flare of the cutting beam momentarily dazzled