Luke reluctantly turns toward the exit. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I have business more important to attend to.”
“What business is more important that the liberty?” demands the yellow-furred biped, grabbing Luke’s shoulder with a dull-clawed paw. Although Luke wants to explain that he is an Alliance pilot, he knows better. Such admissions have killed more than one Rebel, and he sees no necessity to reveal his true identity to these prospectors.
Gideon gently removes the yellow pay from Luke’s shoulder. “Sidney, if you want Erling Tredway rescued so bad, you do it. The first thing you ought to learn about liberty is that you got to fight for it yourself.”
Sidney studies Gideon with a mixed expression of puzzlement and anger. After a long pause, he says, “The Pada cannot fight – it is wrong.”
Gideon shakes his head impatiently. “What’s the difference whether he fights or you fight? Fightin’s fighting.”
Sidney’s huge round ears flop forward, betraying his disappointment. “Yes, fighting’s fighting. Of course.” He addresses Luke, “Please forgive me – I had no right to ask that of you.”
Luke smiles and nods. “It’s already forgotten. Good luck, whatever you decide to do.”
“Same to you son,” Gideon replies.
Luke follows a winding flexi-corridor to the airlock. After donning his vacsuit, he pauses at the airlock portal to study the asteroid upon which the hospice sits.
The hospice itself is a collection of white plasfoam bubbles connected by long, twisting flexi-corridors. Sturdy metal cables anchor each bubble and flexi-corridor to a bedrock outcropping protruding through the dusty, crater-riddled surface. The cables are needed because the tiny planetoid’s gravitational attraction is so weak a child can throw a rock into space. Asteroid hoppers and prospecting scows rest in a disarrayed radius around the hospice, tethered to the plasfoam bubbles, handy rocks, or each other.
Formally known as 400,324 Henryson, the planetoid is little more than a kilometer in length, and half that in width and thickness. The designation number preceding the name indicates Henryson was the 400,324th planetoid in Sil’Lume Belt catalogued as a sentient being’s property. The name refers to the original owner. Artoo has reported that the catalogue numbers run as high as 895,256, but nobody knows how many asteroids have never been claimed.
Henryson rotates so quickly that Luke grows dizzy when he looks away from the ground. The stars fly across the horizon like meteors. To make matters worse, the sun never sets on the asteroid. Its grape-sized disc flashes across the sky as if shot out of an ancient rifle. As the most prominent reference point in the heavens, it serves as a constant reminder that Luke stands on nothing more than a giant merry-go-round.
When he is certain no unwanted observers lurk outside, Luke opens the airlock and trudges through knee-deep dust to his hidden X-wing. Artoo opens the fighter’s canopy and transmits an urgent message over Luke’s comlink as soon as he begins descending the crater wall. Although most beings cannot understand the beep and whistle language of R2 units, Luke needs no translation to know something has alarmed the little Droid.
He quickly climbs into the cockpit and activates a translator. Artoo displays a message on the vidscreen.
Luke smiles. “I know, Artoo. I saw the general and his stormtroopers.”
Artoo whistles a query.
“They arrested a local resistance leader and took him to the sector prison.”
The Droid remains quiet for a moment, then issues a short series of beeps.
“Rescue him?” Luke snorts. “That’s a prison planet – a whole planet! What do you think I am, a magician?”
The little droid does not answer.
“Besides, we have our mission to consider,” Luke adds defensively. “I don’t think General Dodonna would appreciate it if we just decided to rescue some stranger instead of searching for a new base.”
Luke activates the X-wing’s repulsor drives. A moment later the fighter lifts into space.