Choices of One (Hand of Judgement, 2) by Timothy Zahn

Author:Timothy Zahn [Zahn, Timothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Star Wars, Science Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345511256
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2011-07-19T07:00:00+00:00

THE HELM OFFICER PEERED AT HIS MONITOR, THEN LOOKED UP AT Pellaeon. “Course reading confirmed, Commander,” he said. “We have a positive tracking on the vector given us by Lord Odo.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Pellaeon said, nodding. “Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer turned back to his console, and Pellaeon continued his solitary walk along the command walkway. Ahead of him, the forward viewport was filled with the flowing hyperspace sky.

Normally, Pellaeon found the view rather soothing. Appealing, even, in an artistic sense. But not today. Today, that sky was ominous and threatening, with unknown dangers behind it.

They weren’t running some well-known route, where every sizable astronomical body had been carefully identified and mapped. They were in the Unknown Regions now. There could be anything lurking in their path—gas giant planets, brown dwarf stars, even full-fury supernovae. No one on the Chimaera would even know the danger was there until it was too late.

And even if they made it through, what then? Lord Odo had been suspiciously evasive on the topic of what they might face when they arrived at his destination and dropped out of hyperspace.

“Commander?” the comm officer called. “Lieutenant Commander Geronti requests your immediate attention in the main engine control room.”

Pellaeon turned, focusing on the engineering monitor station. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.

“Nothing indicated here, sir,” the engineering officer reported, running quickly through the paging sequence on his displays. “All systems appear to be functioning normally.”

“Sir?” the comm officer called again. “The lieutenant commander urgently requests your presence. He says you’ll need to see this for yourself.”

Pellaeon swallowed a curse. Geronti better have a really good reason for this. “Lieutenant Tomslin, you have the bridge,” he called to the second duty officer as he headed for the turbolift.

Two minutes later, the car came to a halt. The door opened to the sound of tinny, mechanical music, and Pellaeon stepped out into the vast control room that served as the nerve center for the Chimaera’s huge sublight ion drive engines.

And came to a sudden, startled halt.

Gliding across the control room floor were a dozen MSE-9 droids, their squat little boxy shapes weaving back and forth like some sort of strange mechanical ballet. They were also, he realized now, the source of the strange music cutting across the hums and muted rhythmic throbbings of the massive engine machinery a couple of bulkheads away.

The mastermind behind the bizarre display wasn’t hard to identify. Sorro was standing off to one side, waving his arms in slow, dreamy movements, as if conducting a genuine orchestra or chorus.

Like any good ballet, the performance also had an audience. All thirty crew on duty in the vast room were sitting or standing frozen at their posts, gazing in fascination at the droids crisscrossing one another’s paths.

Again, Pellaeon bit back a curse. Crewers on duty were supposed to be on duty, sitting at their stations, watching their monitors, and not being distracted by every eye-catching thing that happened by. The fact that the sublight engines were on standby while the Chimaera traveled through hyperspace was totally irrelevant.

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