I. By the Span of a hand

Even people who have read books on manners are sometimes a pain in the neck.
Carl Sandburg1

Threepio lay face down on the floor, too astonished to move. He knew Captain Solo disliked him, but enough to try to blast him?

The din of the klaxons and the flashing emergency lights disoriented him. He tried to sit up, but the missing pins in his knee joints prevented him from raising himself. Finally, he gave up. He lay on the floor of the maintenance bay, and tried to sort out the events of the past few minutes.

The last thing Captain Solo had said was, "Sorry, Goldenrod," and then he shot at him. Happily, he must have been distracted, because the bolt had missed him; though only by the span of a hand. Threepio felt certain that sudden intense burst of heat had scorched his casing. "And how much buffing will it take to get that out!" he thought. The middle of an evacuation drill was an odd time to behave so spitefully!

And why should he be spiteful at all? "After all, he had made those remarks about Princess Leia in a public setting. And was it my fault she asked about the affair? All I did was repeat what I had heard." He shook his head. The Princess could be a bit of a caution when she was displeased. He had just been glad he wasn't the one with whom she was angry.

After the fracas, Captain Solo hadn't said much. He had just glared at him, and finally said quietly, "Some day, Goldenrod, that big mouth is going to get you into trouble." Threepio wondered if perhaps he should have been expecting some sort of reprisal.

It came, about a month later, and about four hours ago. At least, he concluded, that was what it must have been. The entire base at Kong had been preparing for the evacuation drill. When the transportation assignments were made, Threepio was dismayed to see he had been assigned to the Millennium Falcon. Captain Solo had been avoiding him – and, admittedly, he had been avoiding Captain Solo – but the ship was the only one on site that he could board unaided. Well, there was no help for it. After all, it was only a system test. No lift-offs would be involved.

After the drill came the assessments. The evacuation had not gone as smoothly as had been hoped. To Threepio, the changes that needed to be made had been plain enough, but, typically, the officers who had developed the plan were in no mood for any advice. In frustration, he had gone so far as to turn to Captain Solo, and had attempted to point out some changes that would simplify his responsibilities. Instead of being grateful, Captain Solo had turned toward him with some hostility, and had appeared about to make an aggressive gesture. Threepio retreated a step, and…

He really should have been more careful when standing so close to the loading port. He missed the ramp, and landed, feet first, on the hangar floor. When the uproar subsided, he found he couldn't walk. The impact had so bent the intermotor activating couplers in his knee joints that they were unable to flex. After several fruitless attempts at movement, Chewbacca finally volunteered to carry him to the maintenance bay; a humiliating operation Threepio would certainly not care to repeat. He decided he would have to speak to the Wookiee about the careless way he had dumped him on the work table. After great effort, lubrication, and pounding, however, the technician had managed to remove the couplers. He had just turned away to check the parts on hand for replacements, when the lights began to flash, alarms sounded, and another evacuation drill began. The technician had grabbed his repair manual reader, and fled the room, Threepio recalled indignantly, leaving him lying there virtually helpless.
He had waited a few minutes, expecting someone to return and finish the repair, but no help appeared. He decided to sit up, and was in the process of swinging himself around, when Captain Solo ran into the room. Threepio was about to speak to him, when the man looked desperately around the room, unholstered his blaster, and said, "Sorry, Goldenrod." By that time, Threepio had begun to slide off the table, and, as he fired, had slid off completely, into a heap on the floor. He heard the man's running footsteps echo down the corridor, until they wee lost among the blaring alarms.

The emergency lights were beginning to dim, and the klaxons grew silent. The stillness was oppressive, unnatural. The base was never this quiet, especially during the various security drills. Officers would be calling orders to their squads, equipment would grind against the floor as it was moved onto and off of the transports, followed by much nervous laughter at the mistakes that were made. Threepio detected no sound of movement or activity, as there should have been if the alarm had been a drill.

If it had been a drill!

The possibility was unthinkable, but the conclusion was obvious. This time, a genuine evacuation had taken place! No one would be coming back. Threepio struggled again to right himself. "No! This couldn't happen! They couldn't leave me behind!' he thought wildly. "I've got to get out of here! Or hide!" Surely a scouting party would return, after the storm troopers had left, to assess extent of the damage. If only he could keep out of sight until then. He tried to pull himself along the ground, but was unable to find sufficient traction. He lay still, and tried to formulate a plan. But none would take shape.

The floor began to vibrate slightly, then with greater intensity. Spaceships were landing in the docking bay. For a moment, Threepio hoped they belonged to returning Alliance transports, but the unfamiliar pitch of the engines dismissed that possibility. He struggled to raise his head, and scanned the bay for a likely spot for concealment. He could already hear the clatter of armored boots on boarding ramps.

Oh dear! He lay very still, and cut power to his photosensors. If it were a reconnaissance party, maybe they wouldn't pay any mind to an evidently deactivated droid sprawled on the floor. As an afterthought, he positioned his arms carelessly above his head, in an attempt to look as discarded as possible. Faint voices muttered at the end of the corridor.

"… I don't know how we're going to load it all," he heard one of the troopers remark.
"Maybe they'll send some more landers."

"Can't spare the fuel. The captain will be spitting nails if we don't come back with a full load, and only what's on the seizure list. What's over that way?"

"Looks like a maintenance bay. Were there any tools on the list?"

"I'll check."

So it wasn't a reconnaissance squad. It was a raiding party! Threepio tried to concentrate on remaining motionless, hoping against hope that "droid" was not one of the items the soldiers planned to scavenge.

"No, mostly office supplies, fabric, and MREs."

"Maybe we'll get some decent chow for a change. Say, what's that? Over there on the floor."

Threepio nearly flinched. He could feel the two troopers leaning over him.

"Naw, it's not on the list. Besides, it doesn't look like it works."

"All right." Threepio could hear their steps turning toward the entry, and risked a peek. Two pair of white boots gleamed in the dim room. They paused for a moment.

"Aren't some of the drones falling apart?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah, I guess they are. Maybe we should take it along for parts?"

"That's just what I was thinking. You take one arm, I'll take the other."

Oh, no! He hung as loosely as possible as the soldiers dragged him across the floor. And it certainly isn't doing my casing any good, either! He had hoped his dead weight might motivate them to simply drop him as a waste of energy, but the men were determined. Even when he tried to maneuver his unresponsive feet to catch on uneven spots along the base of the wall, they merely jerked him free, leaving Threepio to rue the resulting dent. The corridor opened into the base's hangar. The two dropped the inert droid in a heap near a pile of crates.

"What's that?" A man inquired harshly. Threepio didn't dare look, but the thin-soled tap of his boots identified him as an officer. "That's not on the list! Why don't you guys…"

"We thought it might be useful on the ship, sir. For parts, maybe?

"Parts!" The officer exclaimed. "We don't need any … Oh, yes. Parts! Good thinking, men. Go see if you can find any other parts, and report back on the double when I signal."

"Yes, sir."

Threepio listened to this exchange with dismay. There was no chance of his creeping away without attracting attention. He could hear the officer pacing nearby, and other scavenging parties reporting their loot. Worse, he could sense their curiosity about his presence with the other confiscated items. How will I ever get out of this mess! He considered the dismal prospect of being cannibalized to maintain, of all things, a collection of drones: robots devoid of independent thought or action, who all shared the same elemental programming, broadcast from a central computer. A degrading end, at which any droid would shudder.

But he didn't dare shudder. He lay still and listened for anything that might offer the remotest opportunity for escape.

A warbling alarm sounded. He started, then hoped no one had noticed. The tarmac vibrated slightly at the footfalls of the returning troopers. The officer in charge began to call out loading directions for their plunder. Threepio groaned inwardly, as the bins and bundles that had surrounded him were placed on the shuttles. Finally, armored gloves grabbed his arms, and carelessly dragged him up the ramp.

"Where do you want this?" One of them inquired Threepio heard some papers rustle, as if held by a clipboard, and an man's unmuffled voice replied, "See if you can fit it under some of the seats. Just make sure it doesn't get stuck, or that nobody trips over it'

"Yes, sir." A moment later, Threepio felt himself dropped abruptly and shoved beneath what felt like a bench. He heard the two troopers wander forward, muttering about getting belted in for takeoff. He decided to risk another peek at his surroundings. Judging from the distance he had been hauled into the ship, he thought it might be possible to creep out again unobserved, The seats hid him as he raised himself on his elbows and looked for an escape.

The hatch remained temptingly open. Several troopers appeared to be inspecting the hangar, but Threepio realized they were laying explosive charges. The Alliance will never return to this base. He dropped to the floor as the soldiers jumped aboard. They brushed past the droid as the hatch began to close. He gazed at the familiar scene of the hangar as it disappeared. Suddenly, memories of those who had so recently occupied the base swept over him. Master Luke. Princess Leia. Captain Solo. Chewbacca. And Artoo.

He turned his face away. "Merciful power!" he thought. "Will I ever see them again!"

"You killed Threepio?!" Luke exclaimed. He stared at Han in blank disbelief. Leia turned pale, then began to flush with anger. Chewbacca remained in the background, looking uncomfortable.

"I didn't kill him; I shot him. I had to." Han himself looked pale, but the accusing pair failed to notice.

"You MURDERED THREEPIO!" Luke snarled, as Leia screeched, "What do you mean you HAD to!"

"I couldn't move him alone, and there wasn't time to get help. There wasn't anything else to do…"

Leia stood, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Chewbacca could have carried him! What was…

"Chewbacca was powering up the ship. There wasn't time to get him. We nearly crashed into that cruiser as it was.

Luke lunged at him. "You've always hated him! This was just an excuse…" Han caught the younger man, and wrestled him against the wall.

"Luke, listen to me. If you want to hit me afterward, go ahead; but listen first." Luke glowered at him, but stopped struggling. "I didn't hate him, and I'm truly sorry I had to do it. But I did have to do it. He knew too much for the Empire to get their hands on him."

"He would never have betrayed the Alliance!"

"Not on purpose. But think about it. Picture Threepio getting worked over by an Imperial goon squad. If they didn't just tear him apart for fun, what do you think would happen? Would you want that to happen? Or how about an Imperial interrogator? Do you think he would recognize their tricks in time?" Luke face slowly grew thoughtful. "He may have been a guileless big mouth, but he wasn't stupid. It wouldn't take him long to figure out what he had done. How would he feel once he realized it? How do you think he'd feel? What do you think they'd do to him then/" Han relaxed his grip. "Would you want to put him through that?"

Leia looked solemn. "All they would have to do is deactivate him and analyze his ROM. There's enough there to destroy the Alliance.' Her head bowed, and she bit her lip.

Luke sagged in Han's grasp. He looked sadly toward the doorway as a blue-banded astromech droid rolled into the chamber, chirping in cheerful ignorance. As he looked around the room, his whistles fell silent.

"They were all that was left of the only family I've ever known." Luke said softly.

"And of a home I'll never see again." Leia wiped her eyes. "Poor Threepio."

A signal bell rang. The three looked at each other, and the younger pair walked toward the small droid. "Come on, Artoo. We've something to tell you."

Han hung back, staring at the floor. Chewbacca stepped beside him, and quietly growled a question. Han answered him.

"Yeah. He was in the repair bay. I hit him all right."

Chewbacca hesitated, then growled again.

"I shot and he dropped like a rock! Of course I'm sure…"

But to himself, he added, "…I hope!"

Notes:

1Sandburg, Carl. The People, Yes (various publishers: 1936).