Part 3 (2/2)

”Yes, Luke sir.”

The youth shook his head irritably. ”Never mind the ”sir”-it's just Luke. And this world is called Tatooine.”

Threepio nodded slightly. ”Thank you, Luke s-Luke. I am See Threepio, human-droid relations specialist.” He jerked a casual metal thumb back toward the recharge unit. ”That is my companion, Artoo Detoo.”

”Pleased to meet you, Threepio,” Luke said easily. ”You too, Artoo.” Walking across the garage, he checked a gauge on the smaller machine's front panel, then gave a grunt of satisfaction. As he began unplugging the charge cord he saw something which made him frown and lean close.

”Something wrong, Luke?” Threepio inquired.

Luke went to a nearby tool wall and selected a small many-armed device. ”I don't know yet, Threepio.”

Returning to the recharger, Luke bent over Artoo and began sc.r.a.ping at several b.u.mps in the small droid's top with a chromed pick. Occasionally he jerked back sharply as bits of corrosion were flicked into the air by the tiny tool.

Threepio watched, interested, as Luke worked. ”There's a lot of strange carbon scoring here of a type I'm not familiar with. Looks like you've both seen a lot of action out of the ordinary.”

”Indeed, sir,” Threepio admitted, forgetting to drop the honorific. This time Luke was too absorbed elsewhere to correct him. ”Sometimes I'm amazed we're in as good shape as we are.” He added as an afterthought, while still shying away from the thrust of Luke's question. ”What with the rebellion and all.”

Despite his caution, it seemed to Threepio that he must have given something away, for an almost jawa-like blaze appeared in Luke's eyes. ”You know about the rebellion against the Empire?” he demanded.

”In a way.” Threepio confessed reluctantly. ”The rebellion was responsible for our coming into your service. We are refugees, you see.” He did not add from where.

Not that Luke appeared to care. ”Refugees! Then I did see a s.p.a.ce battle!” He rambled on rapidly, excited. ”Tell me where you've been-in how many encounters. How is the rebellion going? Does the Empire take it seriously? Have you seen many s.h.i.+ps destroyed?”

”A bit slower, please, sir,” Threepio pleaded. ”You misinterpret our status. We were innocent bystanders. Our involvement with the rebellion was of the most marginal nature.

”As to battles, we were in several, I think. It is difficult to tell when one is not directly in contact with the actual battle machinery.” He shrugged neatly. ”Beyond that, there is not much to say. Remember, sir, I am little more than a cosmeticized interpreter and not very good at telling stories or relating histories, and even less proficient at embellis.h.i.+ng them. I am a very literal machine.”

Luke turned away, disappointed, and returned to his cleaning of Artoo Detoo. Additional sc.r.a.ping turned up something puzzling enough to demand his full attention. A small metal fragment was tightly lodged between two bar conduits that would normally form a linkage. Setting down the delicate pick, Luke switched to a larger instrument.

”Well, my little friend,” he murmured, ”you've got something jammed in here real good.” As he pushed and pried Luke directed half his attention to Threepio. ”Were you on a star freighter or was it-”

Metal gave way with a powerful crack, and the recoil sent Luke tumbling head over heels. Getting to his feet, he started to curse-then froze, motionless.

The front of the Artoo unit had begun to glow, exuding a three-dimensional image less than one-third of a meter square but precisely defined. The portrait formed within the box was so exquisite that in a couple of minutes Luke discovered he was out of breath-because he had forgotten to breathe.

Despite a superficial sharpness, the image flickered and jiggled unsteadily, as if the recording had been made and installed with haste. Luke stared at the atmosphere of the garage and started to form a question. But it was never finished. The lips on the figure moved, and the girl spoke-or rather, seemed to speak. Luke knew the aural accompaniment was generated somewhere within Artoo Detoo's squat torso.

”Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi,” the voice implored huskily, ”help me! You're my only remaining hope.” A burst of static dissolved the face momentarily. Then it coalesced again, and once more the voice repeated, ”Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi, you're my only remaining hope.”

With a raspy hum the hologram continued. Luke sat perfectly still for a long moment, considering what he was seeing, then he blinked and directed his words to the Artoo unit.

”What's this all about, Artoo Detoo?”

The stubby droid s.h.i.+fted slightly, the cubish portrait s.h.i.+fting with him, and beeped what sounded vaguely like a sheepish reply.

Threepio appeared as mystified as Luke. ”What is that?” he inquired sharply, gesturing at the speaking portrait and then at Luke. ”You were asked a question. What and who is that, and how are you originating it-and why?”

The Artoo unit generated a beep of surprise, for all the world as if just noticing the hologram. This was followed by a whistling stream of information.

Threepio digested the data, tried to frown, couldn't, and strove to convey his own confusion via the tone of his voice. ”He insists it's nothing, sir. Merely a malfunction-old data. A tape that should have been erased but was missed. He insists we pay it no mind.”

That was like telling Luke to ignore a cache of Durindfires he might stumble over in the desert. ”Who is she?” he demanded, staring enraptured at the hologram. ”She's beautiful.”

”I really don't know who she is,” Threepio confessed honestly. ”I think she might have been a pa.s.senger on our last voyage. From what I recall, she was a personage of some importance. This might have something to do with the fact that our Captain was attach to-”

Luke cut him off, savoring the way sensuous lips formed and reformed the sentence fragment. ”Is there any more to this recording? It sounds like it's incomplete.” Getting to his feet, Luke reached out for the Artoo unit.

The robot moved backward and produced whistles of such frantic concern that Luke hesitated and held off reaching for the internal controls.

Threepio was shocked. ”Behave yourself, Artoo,” he finally chastised his companion. ”You're going to get us into trouble.” He had visions of the both of them being packed up as uncooperative and s.h.i.+pped back to the jawas, which was enough to make him imitate a shudder.

”It's all right-he's our master now.” Threepio indicated Luke. ”You can trust him. I feel that he has our best interests in mind.”

Detoo appeared to hesitate, uncertain. Then he whistled and beeped a long complexity at his friend.

”Well?” Luke prompted impatiently.

Threepio paused before replying. ”He says that he is the property of one Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi, a resident of this world. Of this very region, in fact. The sentence fragment we are hearing is part of a private message intended for this person.”

Threepio shook his head slowly. ”Quite frankly, sir, I don't know what he's talking about. Our last master was Captain Colton. I never heard Artoo mention a prior master. I've certainly never heard of an Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi. But with all we've been through,” he concluded apologetically, ”I'm afraid his logic circuits have gotten a bit scrambled. He's become decidedly eccentric at times.” And while Luke considered this turn of events, Threepio took the opportunity to throw Artoo a furious look of warning.

”Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi,” Luke recited thoughtfully. His expression suddenly brightened. ”Say... I wonder if he could be referring to old Ben Ken.o.bi.”

”Begging your pardon,” Threepio gulped, astonished beyond measure, ”but you actually know of such a person?”

”Not exactly,” he admitted in a more subdued voice. ”I don't know anyone named Obi-Wan-but old Ben lives somewhere out on the fringe of the Western Dune Sea. He's kind of a local character-a hermit. Uncle Owen and a few of the other farmers say he's a sorcerer.

”He comes around once in a while to trade things. I hardly ever talk to him, though. My uncle usually runs him off.” He paused and glanced across at the small robot again. ”But I never heard that old Ben owned a droid of any kind. At least, none that I ever heard tell of.”

Luke's gaze was drawn irresistibly back to the hologram. ”I wonder who she is. She must be important-especially if what you told me just now is true, Threepio. She sounds and looks as if she's in some kind of trouble. Maybe the message is important. We ought to hear the rest of it.”

He reached again for the Artoo's internal controls, and the robot scurried backward again, squeaking a blue streak.

”He says there's a restraining separator bolt that's circuiting out his self-motivation components.” Threepio translated. ”He suggests that if you move the bolt he might be able to repeat the entire message,” Threepio finished uncertainly. When Luke continued to stare at the portrait, Threepio added, more loudly, ”Sir!”

Luke shook himself. ”What... Oh, yes.” He considered the request. Then he moved and peered into the open panel. This time Artoo didn't retreat.

”I see it, I think. Well, I guess you're too small to run away from me if I take this off. I wonder what someone would be sending a message to old Ben for.”

Selecting the proper tool, Luke reached down into the exposed circuitry and popped the restraining bolt free. The first noticeable result of this action was that the portrait disappeared.

Luke stood back. ”There, now.” There was an uncomfortable pause during which the hologram showed no sign of returning. ”Where did she go?” Luke finally prompted. ”Make her come back. Play the entire message, Artoo Detoo.”

An innocent-sounding beep came from the robot. Threepio appeared embarra.s.sed and nervous as he translated. ”He said, 'What message?' ”

Threepio's attention turned half angrily to his companion. ”What message? You know what message! The one you just played a fragment of for us. The one you're hauling around inside your recalcitrant, rust-ridden innards, you stubborn hunk of junk!”

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