The Emperor's Plague

20

Using his powerful fingers as tools, in addition to Em Teedee’s cables and diagnostics for leads and crossovers, Lowie managed to hot-wire the inner door. The sealed pressure barrier hissed open, finally allowing him to run back toward the central plague chamber. At least he didn’t have to worry about Corrsk anymore, and the gravity here was normal again. Farther along, he encountered another barricade, more sealed doors. Lowie groaned, disconcerted. His fingers still ached from prying open the previous control panel, and now he had to work his way through a second one. He had no idea how many other pressure doors had automatically closed behind him after the explosion.

“Now then, Master Lowbacca,” Em Teedee said, “we mustn’t lose patience. We must be cautious and persevere. We have a mission to complete. I will offer whatever assistance I can.”

Lowie fully understood the implications. Nolaa Tarkona might even now be making her way off the asteroid with the deadly plague samples, and he knew he had to stop her. The companions each had their separate missions, but he cared too much for his friends not to worry about them, all the same. First, though, he had to get past this door. Lowie dug his hard claws into the screw bolts holding the cover plate on the access controls. He twisted with his fingers, and one of his claws cracked, but the screw finally turned, and he pried it away. After loosening another, the plate came away sufficiently that he could just bend it aside, ignoring the other two screws. Impatient, he studied the wires, circuit boards, and cyberfuses.

This control setup was more complex, governing four different automatic doors in the adjoining passages. He dug his fingers into the nest of electronics and jammed wire leads through Em Teedee, connecting one circuit to another. He took the final cable and without double-checking, jabbed it into position, just as Em Teedee squealed,

“No, Master Lowbacca, not—” Sparks flew as two incompatible linkages short-circuited. The control panel blazed, as a small fire erupted. Black smoke spewed up, stinking of insulation, burned plastic, and melted wires. Lowie yanked the wires away, but it was too late.

“Oh, my!” Em Teedee wailed. His voice warbled up and down, quickened then slowed. “I think all my circuits are scrambled. What day is it today?” Then he made strange bleeping noises as he ran a diagnostic and bypassed his damaged circuits. “Ah, there! Much better. Please don’t do that again, Master Lowbacca. You must be more cautious.”

Lowie gave a long sigh as he looked at the blackened panel. He would never be able to operate the door controls now. He had ruined them. He stepped back. At the very least, he could use his lightsaber to hack his way through. Lowie gripped the weapon in his right paw, finding the power stud with his thumb. But before he could activate the energy blade, a loud booming sound came from one of the other sealed bulkheads.

“Oh, dear,” Em Teedee wailed. “Perhaps it’s the Diversity Alliance firing upon us. What if they break through and take us prisoner? What if it’s that horrible Nolaa Tarkona?”

The Wookiee ignited his lightsaber, this time ready to fight. The crash came again. It sounded like something immensely heavy, metal against metal, like a relentless battering ram. The bulkhead buckled outward, and convex mounds appeared in the center of the heavy door, as if someone were punching fists into a thin sheet of dough. After another slamming crash, the hinges groaned.

Lowie stood with his feet planted apart, his lightsaber raised in a fighting stance. After enduring three more heavy strikes, the blockading door broke free of its supports and toppled into the corridor with a crash like an explosion. Out of the sparks from tearing metal, and the shadows of smashed and flickering glowpanels in the ceiling, a giant angular shape lumbered into the intersection. Lowie froze as he recognized the blinking red lights on the conical metal head, the broad durasteel shoulders, the arms, torso, and legs made of impenetrable metal tubing. The framework created a body somewhat resembling a human’s, but it was clearly a droid—an assassin droid.

“My, how very unexpected!” Em Teedee said. “IG-88! What are you doing here?” The assassin droid clomped forward, raising its scarred durasteel fists and arming grenade launcher and built-in blaster rifles.

“What is he doing?” Em Teedee said testily. “IG-88, don’t you recognize us? I wonder if he’s been this sluggish ever since Jaina reprogrammed him back on Mechis III.”

The assassin droid did not seem the least bit impressed by Lowie’s lightsaber. Instead, IG-88 paused, swiveling sensor eyes toward them, and then lowered his own weapons.

“Ah, very good. You do know who we are,” Em Teedee said.

The towering droid’s lights flashed, and Lowie wondered if Em Teedee could understand them as some sort of communication.

“I know why he’s here, Master Lowbacca,” Em Teedee said. “Mistress Jaina reprogrammed IG-88 to search for Bornan Thul. His assignment was to find Raynar’s father and stay as his bodyguard, following his wishes, or at the very least protect him from harm.”

Lowie slowly lowered his lightsaber when the assassin droid made no threatening move. The Wookiee and IG-88 stood motionless, regarding each other.

“We’ve tried to keep our own mission quiet, but with the numerous ships involved, some comm traffic must have gotten’ through. IG-88 could well have picked up the evidence that Bornan Thul was here, and he came to complete his mission! We’re saved, if he’ll protect all of us.”

Lowie grumbled skeptically.

“Come along with us, IG-88. You can help,” Em Teedee said to the big droid. “We’re supposed to meet Bornan Thul near the chamber where the plague cylinders are stored. But these doors have gotten in our way. Could you assist us in removing them?”

Lowie still held his deactivated lightsaber, ready to cut away the door if necessary. But IG-88 clomped forward to the partially opened but frozen barricade that blocked them from the central chamber. He planted his metallic feet on the floor, adjusted his stance for traction, and then grabbed the blast door.

Servomotors whined; straining gears and metal joints squealed. IG-88’s durasteel arms and torso flexed ever so slightly, bending with the immense strain—and then the pressure door groaned and snapped. Through metal fatigue the hinges simply broke away, and IG-88 shoved the wreckage aside.

“Very good,” Em Teedee said. “Now do let us hurry. We can assist you in finding Bornan Thul.”

IG-88 plunged ahead into the corridor, fearing no Diversity Alliance soldiers or any other obstacle that might slow him down. Lowie followed, knowing that at least they wouldn’t have any further trouble with bothersome doors.