It was a vast, shining globe and it cast a light of lambent topaz into space-but it was

not a sun. Thus, the planet had fooled men for a long time. Not until entering close

orbit around it did its discoverers realize that this was a world in a binary system and

not a third sun itself.

At first it seemed certain nothing could exist on such a planet, least of all humans.

Yet both massive G1 and G2 stars orbited a common center with peculiar to permit

the development of a rather stable, if exquisitely hot, climate. Mostly this was a dry

desert of a world, whose unusual star-like yellow glow was the result of double

sunlight striking sodium-rich sands and flats. That same sunlight suddenly shone on

the thin skin of a metallic shape falling crazily toward the atmosphere.

The erratic course the galactic cruiser" title="n.巡洋舰">cruiser was traveling was intentional, not the

product of injury but of a desperate desire to avoid it. Long streaks of intense energy

slid close past its hull, a multihued storm of destruction like a school of rainbow

remoras fighting to attach themselves to a larger, unwilling host.

One of those probing, questing beams succeeded in touching the fleeing ship,

striking its principal solar fin. Gemlike fragments of mental and plastic erupted into

space as the end of the fin disintegrated. The vessel seemed to shudder.

The source of those multiple energy beams suddenly hove into view-a

lumbering Imperial cruise, its massive outline bristling cactuslike with dozens of

heavy weapons emplacements. Light ceased arching from those spines now as the

cruiser" title="n.巡洋舰">cruiser moved in close. Intermittent explosions and flashes of light could be seen in

those portion of the smaller ship which had taken hits. In the absolute cold of space

the cruiser" title="n.巡洋舰">cruiser snuggled up alongside its wounded prey.

Another distant explosions shook the ship-but it certainly didn't feel distant to

Artoo Detoo or See Threepio. The concussion bounced them around the narrow

corridor like bearings in an old motor.

To look at these two, one would have supposed that the tall, human-like machine,

Threepio was the master and the stubby, tripodal robot, Artoo Detoo, an inferior.

But while Threepio might have sniffed disdainfully at the suggestion, they were in

fact equal in everything save loquacity. Here Threepio was clearly -and

necessarily -the superior.

Still another explosion rattled the corridor, throwing Threepio off balance. His

shorter companion had the better of it during such moments with his squat, cylindrical

body's low center of gravity well balanced on thick, clawed legs.

Artoo glanced up at Threepio, who was steadying himself against a corridor wall.

Lights blinked enigmatically around a single mechanical eye as the smaller robot

studied the battered casing of his friend. A patina of metal and fibrous dust coated

the usually gleaming bronze finish, and there were some visible dents -all the result

of the pounding the rebel ship they were on had been taking.

Accompanying the last attack was a persistent deep hum, which even the loudest

explosion had not been able to drown out. Then for no apparent reason, the basso

thrumming abruptly ceased, and the only sounds in the otherwise deserted corridor

came from the eerie dry-twig crackle of shorting relays or the pops of dying circuitry.

Explosions began to echo through the ship once more, but they were far away from

the corridor.

Threepio turned his smooth, humanlike head to one side. Metallic ears listened

intently. The imitation of a human pose was hardly necessary-Threepio's auditory

sensors were fully omnidirectional-but the slim robot had been programmed to

blend perfectly among human company. This programming extended even to

mimicry of human gestures.

"Did you hear that?" he inquired rhetorically of his patient companion, referring

to the throbbing sound. "They've shut down the main reactor and the drive." His

voice was as full of disbelief and concern as that of any human. One metallic palm

rubbed dolefully at a patch of dull gray on his side, where a broken hull brace had

fallen and scored the bronze finish. Threepio was a fastidious machine, and such

things troubled him.

"Madness, this is madness." He shook his head slowly. "This time we'll be

destroyed for sure."

Artoo did not comment immediately. Barrel torso tilted backward, powerful

legs gripping the deck; the meter-high robot was engrossed in studying the roof

overhead. Though he did not have a head to cock in a listening posture like his

friend, Artoo still somehow managed to convey that impression. A series of short

beeps and chirps issued from his speaker. To even a sensitive human ear they would

have been just so much static, but to Threepio they formed words as clear and pure as

direct current.

"Yes, I suppose they did have to shut the drive down," Threepio admitted, "but

what are we going to do now? We can't enter atmosphere with our main stablizer fin

destroyed. I can't believe we're simply going to surrender."

A small band of armed humans suddenly appeared, rifles held at the ready.

Their expressions were as worry-wrinkled as their uniforms, and they carried about

them the aura of men prepared to die.

Threepio watched silently until they had vanished around a far bend in the

passageway, then looked back at Artoo. The smaller robot hadn't shifted from his

position of listening. Threepio's gaze turned upward also though he knew Artoo's

senses were slightly sharper than his own.

"What is it, Artoo?" A short burst of beeping came in response. Another

moment, and there was no need for highly attuned sensors. For a minute or two

more, the corridor remained deathly silent. Then a faint scrape, scrape could be

heard, like a cat at a door, from somewhere on the ship's hull.

When several muffled explosions sounded, Threepio murmured, "They've

broken in somewhere above us. There's no escape for the Captain this time."

Turing he peered down at Artoo. I think we'd better-"

The shriek of overstressed metal filled the air before he could finish, and the far

end of the passageway was lit by a blinding actinic flash. Somewhere down there

the little cluster of armed crew who had passed by minutes before had encountered the

ship's attackers.

Threepio turned his face and delicate photoreceptors away -just in time to avoid

the fragments of metal that flew down the corridor. At the far end a gaping hole

appeared in the roof, and reflective forms like big metal beads began dropping to the

corridor floor. Both robots knew that no machine could match the fluidity with

which those shapes moved and instantly assumed fighting postures. The new

arrivals were humans in armor, not mechanicals.

One of them looked straight at Threepio-no, not at him, the panicked robot

through frantically, but past him. The figure shifted its big rifle around in armored

hands -too late. A beam of intense light struck the head, sending pieces of armor,

bone, and flesh flying in all directions.

Half the invading Imperial troops turned and began returning fire up the

corridor-aiming past the two robots.

"Quick-this way!" Threepio ordered, intending to retreat from the Imperials.

Artoo turned with him. They had taken only a couple of steps when they saw the

rebel crewmen in position ahead, firing down the corridor. In seconds the

passageway was filled with smoke and crisscrossing beams of energy.

Red, green and blue bolts ricocheted off polished sections of wall and floor or

ripped long gashes in metal surfaces. Screams of injured and dying humans -a

peculiarly unrobotic sound, Threepio thought-echoed piercingly above the inorganic

destruction.

One beam struck near the robot's feet at the same time as a second one burst the

wall directly behind him, exposing sparking circuitry and rows of conduits. The

force of the twin blast tumbled Threepio into the shredded cables, where a dozen

different currents turned him into a jerking, twisting display.

Strange sensations coursed through his metal nerve-ends. They caused no pain,

only confusion. Every time he moved and tried to free himself there was another

violent crackling as a fresh cluster of componentry broke. The noise and man-made

lightning remained constant around him as the battle continued to rage.

Smoke began to fill the corridor. Artoo Detoo bustled about trying to help free

his friend. The little robot evidenced a phlegmatic indifference to the ravening

energies filling the passageway. He was built so low that most of the beams passed

over him anyhow.

"Help!" Threepio yelled, suddenly frightened at a new message from an

internal sensor. "I think something is melting. Free my left leg-the trouble's near

the pelvic servomotor." Typically, his tone turned abruptly from pleading to berating.

"This is all your fault!" he shouted angrily. "I should have known better than to

trust the logic of a half-sized thermocapsulary dehousing assister. I don't know why

you insisted we leave our assigned stations to come down this stupid accesscorridor.

Not that it matters now. The whole ship must be-" Artoo Detoo cut him off in

midspeech with some angry beepings and hoots of his own, though he continued to

cut and pull with precision at the tangled high-voltage cables.

"Is that so?" Threepio sneered in reply. "The same to you, you little...!"

And exceptionally violent explosion shook the passage, drowning him out. A

lung-searing miasma of carbonized component filled the air, obscuring everything.

Two meters tall. Bipedal. Flowing black robes trailing from the figure and a

face forever masked by a functional if bizarre black metal breath screen -a Dark Lord

of the Sith was an awesome, threatening shape as it strode through the corridors of the

rebel ship.
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