Star Wars - Han Solo and the Lost Legacy (21 page)

“That with which you were entrusted is now in jeopardy,” answered the Survivor on the podium, the steward’s assistant.

“What do you require of the Guardian Corps?” repeated the robot, uninterested in details.

The Survivor pointed. “Follow the gully trail as we’ve marked it for you. It will bring you to your enemies. Destroy all that you find there. Kill everyone you encounter.”

The armored head regarded him for a moment, as if in doubt, then replied: “You occupy the control platform; the Guardian Corps will obey. We will pass in review, as programmed, then go forth.” The Corps Commander’s cranial turrets rotated as he issued the squeals of his signalry.

The war-robots began moving, forming an irregular line, moving just as their commander had. Without cadence or formation, they grouped to one side of the podium. But as they passed it, the transmission horn’s command circuitry automatically directed them to assume their review mode. From a massed group, they separated into ranks and files as they passed the podium, ten abreast, heavy feet rising and falling in step. With their Corps Commander at their head, the thousand war-robots marched, completing a circuit of the little valley.

Even the Survivors were hypnotized by it; the sight of their ancient charges walking again was nothing less than magical to them. Metal feet beat the canyon floor; arms as thick as a man’s waist swung in unison. Han wondered if J’uoch’s people wouldn’t be able to hear their approach even over the sound of mining operations.

At some unseen signal from their Corps Commander, the robots stopped. The commander came around to face the podium with a rocking motion. From his vocoder boomed the words: “We are ready.”

The Survivor on the podium instructed the robots to stand fast for a time. “We go now to a vantage point, from which we will observe your attack. When we are in place you may proceed against the enemy.” He and the other Survivors hurried off to watch the carnage. Presently the air was still, the war-robots waiting patiently, the only sound the distant buzz of the mining camp.

“We’ve got to get to the camp first,” Han declared as they drew back from the ridge and got to their feet.

“Are you completely vacuum-happy?” Hasti wanted to know. “We’ll get there just in time to go through the meat-grinder!”

“Not if we hurry. Those windup soldiers down there will have to go the long way around; we can run the ridge line if we’re careful and get there first. The
Falcon
’s our only way off this mud-ball; if we can’t get to her, we’re going to have to tip J’uoch that the robots are on their way, or they’ll rip my ship apart.”

He wished he could figure out why the Survivors were intent on destroying the mining camp and slaughtering its personnel. “Everyone keep up. I’ll go first, then Hasti, Skynx, Badure, Bollux, and Chewie on rearguard.”

Han put the heavy-assault rifle across his shoulders and set off, the others falling into their assigned places. But when Chewbacca beckoned Bollux, the labor ’droid hesitated. “I’m afraid I’m not functioning up to specifications, First Mate Chewbacca. I’ll have to come along as best I can.”

The Wookiee was torn by indecision for a moment, then trotted off after the rest, making it clear with hand motions and growls that Bollux was to come along as quickly as he could. The ’droid watched Chewbacca disappear from view, then opened his chest plastron so that he and Blue Max could speak in vocal-normal mode, as they preferred.

“Now, my friend,” he drawled to the little computer module, “perhaps you’ll explain why you wanted us to stay behind. I practically had to lie to First Mate Chewbacca to do it; we may very well be left behind.”

Max, who had taken in the situation via direct linkage with Bollux, answered simply. “I know how to stop them. The war-robots, I mean; but we’d have to destroy them all to do it. We needed time to talk it over, Bollux.”

And Blue Max related the plan he had conceived. The labor ’droid responded even more slowly than usual. “Why didn’t you mention this before, when Captain Solo was here?”

“Because I didn’t want him to decide! Those robots are doing what they were built to do, just like we are. Is that any reason to obliterate them? I wasn’t even sure I should tell you; I didn’t want you to blow your primary stacks in a decisional malfunction. Wait; what’re you doing?”

The labor ’droid’s chest plastron was swinging shut as he toed the edge of the ridge. “Seeking alternatives,” he explained, stepping off.

Bollux slid and stumbled and plowed his way down the slope to the valley floor, working with heavy-duty suspension of arms and legs to keep from being damaged. At last he came to an awkward stop at the bottom amid a minor avalanche. Standing erect, he approached the war-robots, who waited in their gleaming, exact formation.

The Corps Commander’s cranial turret rotated at Bollux’s advance. A great arm swung up, weapons-apertures opening. “Halt. Identify or be destroyed.”

Bollux replied with the recognition codes and authentication signals he had learned from Skynx’s ancient tapes and technical records. The Corps Commander studied him for a moment, debating whether this strange machine ought to be obliterated, recognition codes or no. But the war-robots’ deliberative circuitry was limited. The weapon-arm lowered again. “Accepted. State your purpose.”

Bollux, with no formal diplomatic programming to draw upon and only his experience to guide him, began hesitantly. “You mustn’t attack. You must disregard your orders; they were improperly given.”

“They were issued through command signalry of the podium.

We must accept. We are programmed; we respond.” The cranial turret rotated to face front again, indicating that the subject bore no further discussion.

Bollux went on doggedly. “Xim is dead! These orders of yours are wrong; they do not come from him; you cannot obey them!”

The turret swung to him again, the optical pickups betraying no emotion. “Steel-brother, we are the war-robots of Xim. No alternative is thinkable.”

“Humans are not infallible. If you follow these orders, they’ll lead to your destruction. Save yourselves!” He could not admit that it would be by his own hand.

The vocoder boomed. “Whether this is true or not, we carry out our orders. We are the war-robots of Xim.”

The Corps Commander faced front again. “The waiting time has elapsed. Stand aside; no further delay will be tolerated.” He emitted a squeal of signalry. The ranks of war-robots stepped off as one, arms swinging.

Bollux had to spring aside to keep from being trampled beneath them. His chest plastron swung open as he watched them go. “What do we do now?” Blue Max wanted to know. “Captain Solo and the others will be down there, too.”

There was a quiver of sorrow in Bollux’s voice modulation. “The war-robots have their built-in programming. And we, my friend, have ours.”

XIV

THEY had worked their way to a ridge overlooking the outer perimeter of the mining camp before Han discovered Bollux wasn’t with them. Han, incensed, slipped around a spire of rock for a look at the camp. “I
told
that low-gear factory reject we needed him to monitor for sensors. Well, we’re just going to have to be extra—”

Sirens began ululating through the camp. The travelers all hit the ground at once, but Han risked a peek around the spire. Now that they had been detected, information was more important than concealment.

The mining camp was swarming like an insect nest. Humans and other beings were running every which way to take up emergency stations. Those employees trusted by J’uoch were being issued arms and taking up defensive positions. Contact laborers were ordered by their overseers to retire across the bridge to the isolation and effective confinement of the plateau barracks area.

Han couldn’t spot the sensor net he had tripped, but it was apparent that it had him pinpointed. Several reinforced fire teams were dashing to bunkers fronting Han’s hiding place. Han saw that grounded near the
Millennium Falcon
and the gigantic mining lighter was another vessel, a small starship with the sleek lines of a scout.

Suddenly a response squad started up the hill to engage them, two human males with disruptor rifles, a horn-plated
W’iiri
scuttling on its six legs and bearing a grenade thrower,
and an oily-skinned
Drall
, its red hide gleaming, lugging a gas projector.

Half-kneeling, half-crouching by the spire, Han dragged the old Kell Mark II around by its balance-point carrying handle. Knowing of the outdated weapon’s powerful recoil, he braced himself before thumbing the firing stud. Blue energy sprang from the Kell’s muzzle, tracing a broad line across the rock wall below. He was nearly knocked over backward by the Mark II’s kick, but Chewbacca braced him. The rock sizzled, smoked, and shot sparks, then cracked, fragments and shards falling downslope. The response squad sought cover with gratifying freneticism.

“That should keep them off our necks until we can talk,” Han judged. Cupping hand to mouth, he called out, “J’uoch! It’s Solo! We have to talk, right away!”

The woman’s voice, amplified by a loudhailer, rose from one of the bunkers. “Give me that log-recorder disk and throw down your guns, Solo; those are the only terms you’ll get from me!”

“But she saw that we didn’t have the disk,” Badure muttered. “Didn’t she guess that we couldn’t get it from the lockbox?”

Han shouted down, “We’ve got no time to debate this, J’uoch; you and your whole camp are about to come under attack!” He pulled back suddenly as a barrage of small-arms fire opened up. Huddling back from it, the travelers clutched their heads in protection while energy- and projectile-searching fire probed the hillside. Rocks bubbled and exploded; shrapnel and splinters flew while explosive concussion battered their ears.

“I don’t think she’s going to be reasonable about this,” predicted Badure.

“She’s got to be,” Han snapped, thinking of what would happen to his starship if the robots overran the camp.

The firing slowed for a moment, then, at some command they didn’t hear, resumed even more heavily. “Face it, Solo,” Hasti called to him over the din, “they want our hides
and nothing less. The only way we’ll get to the
Falcon
is if we can get to her while the robots are hitting the camp.”

“When they’re mixing it up with J’uoch’s people? We wouldn’t get two meters.” At that moment the firing stopped again and a voice called his name from below.

Hasti was gazing at him alarmed. “Solo, what’s wrong? You just went pale as perma-frost.”

He paid her no attention but saw by Chewbacca’s expression that the Wookiee, too, recognized the voice of Gallandro the gunman.

“Solo! Come down and negotiate like a reasonable fellow. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I.” The voice was calm, amused.

Han realized that sweat was beginning to bead his brow despite the cold. A sudden suspicion hit him, and he threw himself up into the clear for an instant, just enough to ease the Mark II’s barrel over the crest. The response squad was on the move and another was rushing to link up with it.

Han thumbed the trigger and hosed the barrel back and forth randomly. The heavy-assault rifle was a product of Dra III, made for the heavier, stronger inhabitants of that world, with its Standard-plus gravity. The Mark II’s recoil forced him back a second time, but not before the play of its extremely powerful beam drove the advancing squads to cover once more.

“Spread out along the ridge or they’ll outflank us!” Han ordered. His companions hurried to comply as Gallandro’s voice came again.

“I knew you wouldn’t have died in something as foolish as that uneven ship-to-ship action back at the city, Solo. And I knew the
Millennium Falcon
would draw you here in time, no matter what.”

“You know just about everything, don’t you?” Han riposted.

“Except where that log-recorder is. Come, Solo; I’ve struck a bargain with the delightful J’uoch here. Do the same,
don’t make things difficult. And don’t make me come up there after you.”

“C’mon, what’s stopping you, Gallandro? There’ll be nothing left of you but those little mustache beads!” Chewbacca and the others had taken up sniping at the response squads, pinning them down for now, but Han was worried about the armed aircraft in the mining camp.

The thought had no sooner formed than, scanning the sky, he saw a quick, dangerous shape swooping down at them. “Everybody down!”

The spaceboat, twin to the one that had been destroyed in the city by the lighter, made a quick preliminary pass at the ridge, its chin pods spitting. Anti-personnel rounds threw out clouds of flechettes; Han could feel the craft’s afterblast as it darted by. He raised his head to see what damage it had done.

By some fortune the first pass, being hasty, had resulted in no one’s being hit. But they were badly exposed there on the ridge; the next pass might well finish them all. Han pulled the heavy-assault rifle to him with a grunt of effort, pushed himself upright, and rushed out into the open on the back side of the ridge.

At the camp below, Gallandro conferred with J’uoch. “Madame, recall your boat; I’ll trouble you to remember our deal.” He spoke with a hint of impatience, as close to emotion as he ever let himself come. “Solo is mine, not to be killed by air attack.”