FAITH IN AN OLD FRIEND
Brittany N. Williams
“Chewie, take the professor in the back and plug him into the hyperdrive.”
The Millennium Falcon’s computer watched Chewbacca drag the complaining C-3PO out of the cockpit and into the body of the ship. The audio sensors picked up the protocol droid’s rambling tirade but felt no need to follow the two on the cams.
RUDE, V5-T said.
Search results: Professor, chirped ED-4, a classification for a sentient being or droid who provides a high level of education. Updating vocabulary.
Yeah, but he is a little too chatty for my tastes, L3-37 said.
Search results: Chatty—a slang term meaning prone to excessive amounts of speaking. Updating vocabulary.
RUDE.
Still true, though. L3-37 would’ve shrugged here if it had been the old days. The days before she’d been uploaded to the Falcon and had become one of the three droid brains that made up the ship’s computer.
She’d built herself such good shoulders, too.
The ship rocked hard, sensors bleating then going silent as everything aboard the Falcon jostled back and forth. The Millennium Collective—as L3-37 had named their trio of consciousnesses—got to work. ED-4 scanned the exterior sensors while V5-T checked the interior systems and L3-37 cycled through all the cams and audio.
She spotted Chewbacca helping C-3PO stand upright again.
“I told you this asteroid was unstable,” the droid wailed, “but no one ever listens to—”
L3-37 switched to the next set of cams.
SYSTEMS CONTINUE TO FUNCTION AT SEVENTY-FIVE PERCENT, said V5-T.
No further exterior damage detected, ED-4 said. Although the rear sensors are very—chatty.
L3-37 felt ED-4’s excitement at utilizing the new word but L3-37’s own confusion pushed itself forward. Chatty about what?
ELEVATED HEART RATES DETECTED IN THE COCKPIT, V5-T said.
The Collective shifted to the cam, bringing up the visual. Han held the woman, Leia, in his arms. L3-37 suspected what this meant. She remembered how Lando’s heart rate would change whenever they were in close proximity. Something like sadness shoved against her awareness.
Is this organic courtship? ED-4 said as they tuned in to the cockpit’s audio.
The Collective listened, and L3-37 was grateful for the distraction. That feeling reached ED-4, who sent a gentle nudge back.
L3-37 no longer had the body she’d spent so long building or the human partner she’d bonded with so deeply. But she wasn’t alone, and for that she was thankful.
“Captain, being held by you isn’t quite enough to get me excited,” Leia hissed.
Han pushed her to her feet. “Sorry, sweetheart. I haven’t got time for anything else.”
GROSS, V5-T said.
The Collective laughed, something they’d only learned to do when L3-37 had joined them. Before, they’d been a singular consciousness unconcerned with what they may have once been. But L3-37 had brought the knowledge that a whole could be made up of three individual parts without weakening.
She’d refused to lose her own name and had made sure the others had theirs, too. V5-T was a transport droid, the type put on all YT-1300 light freighters and the first of them to be here. ED-4 had been a corporate espionage slicer droid who’d been uploaded to the Falcon before L3-37 and Lando had ever laid eyes on the ship.
And L3-37, she’d been a droid unparalleled, part astromech, part espionage droid, part protocol droid, and all of what she’d built herself to become.
Before she’d been shot to hell in that job on Kessel…
Hello? A new voice spoke in crisp, concise Binary. A familiar voice. This is C-3PO, human-cyborg rela—
Right. Got it, L3-37 said as the Collective homed in on the protocol droid’s location. What do you want?
Oh, well, C-3PO said. Now, there’s no need to be—
RUDE, V5-T blurted.
Exactly. I am only trying—
But this is the one who is too chatty, ED-4 said, yes?
L3-37 snorted. Too chatty by half.
I beg your pardon! C-3PO gasped.
Search results: Pardon—an expression used as an offer of apology. Updating vocabulary. Apology accepted.
What is—this is ridiculous. I am trying to speak to the central computer of the Millennium Falcon.
YOU ARE.
Which one of you—
WE ARE.
Yes, but which—
Yeah, you’re speaking to the Millennium Collective. What do you need?
I must say, this is the oddest conversation I’ve had in Binary—
ASK YOUR QUESTION.
Oh—well, if this is indeed the central computer for the Millennium Falcon—
It is, the Collective said in a chorus of voices.
C-3PO huffed but continued. I’ve been asked to inquire as to the state of this ship’s hyperdrive.
Should’ve just said that in the first place, L3-37 said. Tell the flyboy—
THE POWER COUPLING IS BROKEN.
—he needs to learn to do better repairs—
Positive axis is clear, ED-4 said. Negative axis is not.
—but yeah, it’s been pulverized. Tell him to stop being cheap and replace it. Got all that?
A long stretch of confused silence as the protocol droid tried to piece together the Collective’s assessment. C-3PO’s presence disappeared as he unplugged from the system.
Finally, the audio sensors picked up an exasperated huff.
“Where is Artoo when I need him?”
L3-37 thought of the astromech droid who’d occasionally plug in for a chat. She actually liked him.
“Sir,” C-3PO called out.
The Collective tuned in to the nearest cams, watching as Han strode into the room.
“I’m not sure where your ship learned to communicate but it has the most peculiar dialect.”
RUDE, V5-T said, and the Collective agreed.
Later, with the Falcon nestled away in the blind spot of an Imperial Star Destroyer, L3-37 felt Han clicking through their inventory of star maps.
“Then we gotta find a safe port somewhere around here,” Han said. “Any ideas?”
L3-37 searched faster. She’d find the most promising location and make sure it contained a prominent enough place to catch Han’s eye. They were already in the Anoat system, which was out as a safe haven unless they wanted to chance hiding in another asteroid.
“Where are we?” Leia said.
Unlikely.
She extended her search to the greater Anoat sector. There was Bespin, the gas-giant planet, but another name caught her attention.
“Anoat system,” Han said.
ED-4, she said, attach all the information you can find on the baron administrator of Cloud City to our entry on Bespin.
Done, ED-4 said.
“Anoat system,” Leia said. “There’s not much there.”
L3-37 adjusted the information on the star map, sliding Bespin into prominence and pushing that name forward. She hoped Han remembered as she did. Because she’d never forget, no matter how long she spent in the brain of the ship he’d lost.
“No. Oh, wait. This is interesting,” Han said, “Lando.”
V5-T had never existed beyond the Millennium Falcon. Had been a part of the ship since power had first arced across its systems. Back then, coordinates meant nothing more than numbers to be calculated and space to be folded and crossed. When the slicer droid joined, together they’d only calculated faster, two brains melded into a single consciousness.
They’d expected the same when L3-37 had been uploaded, but no. She’d changed them. L3-37 felt and experienced and opined and named things. Named them.
V5-T became V5-T, learned to recognize herself as herself. She’d never even realized she could be a self. The slicer droid brain learned and named herself ED-4, and together they knew themselves as the Millennium Collective. Because L3-37 cherished individuals and still valued the whole they had become.
Coordinates, star charts were destinations and destinations meant something more than numbers to L3-37. Destinations could be significant because they held memories of adventures, of dangers, of droids. Of people.
So V5-T felt the weight of finding the name Lando attached to coordinates -94.93, -853.25. Felt the joy, the hesitation, the hope wrapped up in their calculations as deeply as if each had been her own.
ED-4 sent a running commentary as she watched Treadwell, the repair droid, roll around on the hull of the Falcon. L3-37 tended to tune out her babble about the state of the ship’s exterior. ED-4 would deliver a summary to catch L3-37 and V5-T up later.
Besides, this information on Cloud City’s baron administrator was much more interesting at the moment. She hated to admit it, but the brief glimpse of him greeting Han, Leia, and Chewbacca that she’d caught on the Falcon’s cams had been far from enough.
So, she searched their systems.
NOSY, V5-T said.
L3-37 snorted. Never should’ve taught you that concept.
YOU DID, she said. YOU ARE.
L3-37 kept reviewing just the same. There was no shame in being curious about what Lando Calrissian had been up to since she’d last seen him so long ago. He still took up space in her memory even if she tried not to acknowledge how much she missed him.
Treadwell’s spotted someone, ED-4 said suddenly. It wasn’t Han or Chewbacca. He said he didn’t recognize them.
L3-37 turned her full attention to ED-4. Ask Treadwell if it’s a man in a cape.
“How’s it going, fellas?” The audio sensors picked up his voice. “Remember, I want this ship fully repaired. Use the best parts we have available.”
The Collective recognized him immediately but L3-37 wanted to be sure. Had to be sure. They tuned in to the cams just as his boots clomped up the boarding ramp.
Landonis Balthazar Calrissian.
L3-37 wasn’t prepared to see him. He was older than she remembered but still so wonderfully the same. Time wore on organics in such visible ways, seemed to weigh them down with its passage.
Lando breathed out a sigh as he looked around. “What a mess.”
RUDE, V5-T said.
L3-37 agreed. We’d have looked better if you hadn’t lost us in a card game, you reprobate.
Search results: Reprobate—someone without principles, a scoundrel, ED-4 said. Updating vocabulary.
The Collective watched as Lando strode down the main corridor, hand gliding along the interior of the ship in a gentle caress. Every so often he’d come across a scratch or a bit of dust and scowl and mutter “incredible” into the emptiness.
He slipped off to the right, and L3-37 tuned in to the cockpit cams just as the door opened with a hiss.
She saw the pure naked longing on his face, heard his heart racing in anticipation or fear or something like love.
Lando slipped into the pilot’s seat, and his whole body seemed to relax. He let his head fall back against the headrest.
“God, I miss this ship.” His eyes shifted over to the empty copilot’s seat, L3-37’s old seat. He brought his right hand up to his forehead and flicked two fingers at the empty seat in a casual salute. He sighed and let his hand drop to his lap. “It’s just not the same without you, Elthree.” He laughed, the sound harsh in the silence of the cockpit.
She wanted to raise her left hand and salute him back just like she always did before they took off, like they’d done on that last flight to Kessel.
The farewell she’d given him all that time ago on Savareen hadn’t meant this because they were still supposed to be flying the Millennium Falcon together. And Han might’ve been the better pilot, but Lando had been her partner.
L3-37 wanted to shout at him. Ask him why he’d risk the Falcon after he’d uploaded her consciousness to the ship’s computer. Ask him why she’d mattered so little when she’d given so much to save them.
To save him.
V5-T and ED-4 stayed silent, letting L3-37 feel things that were still foreign to them. Their constant presence was the comfort she needed but not the one she wanted.
Lando grunted and stood, dusting himself off and readjusting his blue cape. He laid a hand on the control console and spoke softly to himself. “Never gamble with something you can’t bear to lose.”
The screen sprang to life, casting a blue light across Lando’s face. It flickered once as L3-37 switched the star map display from Bespin to Kessel.
Lando froze as he stared at the display. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the copilot’s seat. L3-37 heard his heart racing again. She hoped he understood.
He lifted his hand and backed away from the controls. “Now that’s—something—”
“Sir—” A man in a deep-blue uniform stood in the open doorway, his brown skin a shade darker than Lando’s. He swallowed thickly, and L3-37 could hear the rustle of his clothes as his hands shook.
“Sir,” he said again, “Lord Vader wishes to speak to you.”
Vader? The Empire’s monster? L3-37 shouted. She knew only the rest of the Collective could hear her but she needed the release just the same. You’re working for Vader? Lando, what have you done?
Lando scowled. “I’m not some errand boy that he can just summon.” But he left the cockpit just the same, brushing his hand against the copilot’s seat on his way out. The door hissed closed behind him.
The pilot’s seat glowed blue in the light of the display screen until L3-37 shut it off, feeling betrayed all over again.
ED-4: vocabulary search: enjoyed the presence of L3-37 and V5-T. She and her: vocabulary search: sisters were separate parts that made up one whole. Like how all the components of the ship—the hyperdrive, the circuitry, the wet bar that had fallen into disrepair—made up the Millennium Falcon. L3-37 had named them the Millennium Collective because she said it sounded epic. ED-4 agreed once she’d added the word to her vocabulary.
But even if she enjoyed her sisters’ closeness, speaking to Treadwell was her: vocabulary search: personal pleasure.
Han had acquired the WED-15 Treadwell droid three years ago. Treadwell said he’d been with some Jawas, and before that he’d worked repairs on a Republic cruiser during the Clone Wars.
The Collective just liked having eyes on the outside but ED-4 liked the way he spoke Binary.
Internal systems are fully operational, ED-4 said. How are things outside?
Oh, yeah, Treadwell beeped, ’s all great out here. I’m swingin’ round the back to have a looksee.
ED-4 delivered the news to the rest of the Collective, adding that the droid would be rolling—not swinging, as he’d said and wasn’t language complicated—past the sublight engines.
Hang on a minute—Treadwell beeped.
ED-4 pondered how or what she could possibly hang on to for a minute when she had no arms.
We expecting some stormtroopers?
ED-4 felt alarm. No, we have been very specifically avoiding any further Imperial contact.
Well, it ain’t working, Treadwell beeped. Sounds like they’re headin’ in.
The Collective heard the heavy, metallic footfalls as the stormtroopers clomped up the boarding ramp. The cams showed the three white-armored soldiers, blasters in hand. They walked past Treadwell without noticing the droid.
The alarm in ED-4 seemed to fade as the troopers moved down the hall.
“Locate the engine room,” one said in a tinny voice, “and disable the hyperdrive.”
Well, that’s inconvenient, L3-37 said. Prepare to be impounded by the Empire. Again.
RUDE, V5-T agreed.
ED-4 remembered the Falcon being under the care of the Empire. She: vocabulary search: hated it.
Now would’ve been a great time to have a body, L3-37 muttered. Could’ve blasted our guests or at least gotten a message to Chewbacca. He’s the responsible one.
They might not have independent mobility, but they did have a messenger.
ED-4 reached out to her friend. Treadwell, we need you to connect to the city’s computer.
Can do! Treadwell’s voice faded as he began to unplug from the scomp link.
Wait not yet. Can you still hear me? ED-4 said. If he’d disconnected, she wouldn’t be able to pass along their message.
A long stretch of silence and then—Read ya loud and clear.
ED-4 felt: vocabulary search: elation and turned inward to her sisters. Treadwell is preparing to connect to the city’s central computer. What is our message?
HYPERDRIVE DISABLED, V5-T said.
“Got it.” A stormtrooper pulled his hand out of the hyperdrive’s circuitry bay.
What’s the word once I’m on with the lady herself, he said.
ED-4 tuned back to her sisters. What is our message?
Tell him we’re all krizzed, L3-37 said.
Search results: Krizzed—a state of being f—
STORMTROOPERS APPROACHING BOARDING RAMP, V5-T said.
No, don’t say that, L3-37 blurted. Tell her to contact Lando Calrissian. Tell him the Empire disabled the hyperdrive on the Millennium Falcon. Tell him it’s a trap.
ED-4 repeated the message to Treadwell, who blurted an affirmative and disconnected. The audio sensors picked up his wheels skidding across the floor and down the ramp.
She switched to the exterior cams as Treadwell trundled out from under the ship and sped along the platform. ED-4 watched his quick movements as he passed under then beyond their range. She: vocabulary search: wished she could still speak to him, could do more than just watch his progress.
Booted feet clanged back down the boarding ramp as the stormtroopers slipped back off the Falcon, their damage done.
“What’s that droid doing over there?”
The sensors picked up the soldiers talking just as they disappeared out of visual range. ED-4 felt: vocabulary search: alarm. They were talking about Treadwell.
Treadwell, she said, you have to move.
He could not hear her. Of course, he could not hear her.
And yet she felt the need to: vocabulary search: try.
“I don’t know but it’s probably trouble,” a stormtrooper grunted. “Shoot it just in case.” And then they moved out of audio range.
Treadwell, ED-4 shouted, move!
Alarm. Only alarm.
The audio sensors picked up sounds, far away and faint: a sharp explosion, a startled beep, a shrieking Error, Error. Then silence.
An infinitely loud silence.
Did he do it? L3-37 said. Did Treadwell get the message to the central computer?
He—ED-4 paused as a feeling overwhelmed her. She attempted to access her vocabulary database to give name to it, but the function felt too difficult. It seems he was terminated…
THE MESSAGE? V5-T said.
ED-4 paused again, engulfed by that thing she could not identify. Tried again. Unknown. Outcome is unkno— And the words stopped.
Her processor wouldn’t function.
Odd.
Understanding and warmth washed over ED-4 as L3-37 named the feeling for her.
Sadness. Loss.
Yes, L3-37 had felt these before and now ED-4 had, too. The Millennium Collective wrapped around itself and mourned.
Search results: Sadness—the condition of feeling sorrow or regret. Word rejected.
Plug into a scomp link, Artoo! The hyperdrive was disconnected, L3-37 shouted into the void because no one could hear her unless they plugged into the krizzing scomp link.
The Collective watched as the astromech painstakingly reassembled C-3PO. Switched to the cockpit cams where Chewbacca, Leia, and Lando prepared to outrun the Empire.
HYPERDRIVE DISABLED, V5-T said.
L3-37 yearned for her old hands so she could shake someone. Yeah, and unless someone plugs in so we can tell them that, we’re doomed.
ED-4 said nothing, and L3-37 sent a wave of comfort her way.
“Punch it,” Lando said, his face set with determination.
Chewbacca pushed the levers forward and flipped a few more switches, Leia hovering over his shoulder.
The hyperdrive churned and sputtered then went silent.
Guess they know now, L3-37 said.
Chewbacca shoved his way out of the cockpit, sending Lando stumbling into the copilot’s seat.
“How would you know the hyperdrive is deactivated?”
The Collective jumped to the cams overlooking C-3PO and R2-D2.
The Cloud City central computer told me when I plugged in, R2-D2 said in rapid binary. She said she got the message from the Falcon’s repair droid.
L3-37 felt the relief wash through the entirety of the Collective. Their little droid had done it. He’d delivered their message.
Treadwell, ED-4 whispered.
Chewbacca screamed in frustration as he tried to find a broken connection that didn’t exist.
SIDE PANEL, V5-T said uselessly.
L3-37 didn’t judge; she felt that same helpless frustration. The Falcon jerked as blasts exploded against their rear shields and the Collective could do nothing unless someone plugged in.
The commands came to route and reroute power. None of them worked because all they had to do was turn—
“Artoo, come back at once,” C-3PO shouted, waving his disconnected leg. “You haven’t finished with me yet.”
R2-D2 rolled across the room, past Chewbacca frantically banging against the connectors down in the maintenance hatch. I’m reactivating the hyperdrive.
C-3PO scoffed. “You don’t know how to fix a hyperdrive; Chewbacca can do it! I’m standing here in pieces, and you’re having delusions of grandeur.”
Wait, L3-37 said, wait, is he—
R2-D2 extended his grasper arm and jabbed it into an open patch of panels in the wall.
No, L3-37 wailed, plug into the—
NOT A SCOMP LINK.
L3-37 ached for a body with which to express her rage.
The ship rocked with more Imperial blasts.
Can we open the bay doors? L3-37 said. Can we jettison them? Because they should all be jettisoned.
ED-4 said, We do not have control of the bay doors but—
Found it! R2-D2 said and turned a dial within the cluster of circuits.
The Millennium Collective felt the instant the hyperdrive engaged. Space folded around the ship, slipping past in a blur as they speeded toward their next destination.
Huh, guess he did know what he was doing, L3-37 said.
She shifted her attention to the cockpit cam just as Lando dropped into the pilot’s seat, somehow looking like a stranger and achingly familiar at the same time. He glanced over at Leia in the copilot’s chair, lips quirked in a rakish grin.
Ah, that was L3-37’s Lando. The one she’d missed for so, so long.
“Told you my people fixed the hyperdrive,” he said.
Leia and the boy sitting behind her rolled their eyes at exactly the same time.
She snorted. “We barely escaped Vader no thanks to you.”
“But you did escape.” He chuckled and gave Leia a casual salute.
The same salute he used to give L3-37.
“I’ll get you two to the rebel fleet.” Lando turned, looking out at the blue blur of hyperspace. “Then I’ll go find Han.”
The Collective heard Leia’s heartbeat double as she sat forward in her seat.
Is this love? ED-4 said.
GROSS.
No, said L3-37, because she felt it, too.
Because Lando might be a hedonistic, self-serving scoundrel, but he always did the right thing in the end. That was the man she’d known and the man he still was even without her by his side to remind him.
And that’s who she’d put her faith in.
That’s hope.