II – Captive of the Empire

"What diction!"
"Very elocutionary"
"And he does not spit when he talks."
"If I had to do something to him I'd cry like a baby."1
(Cole Porter: Kiss Me Kate (1948)

If Threepio had been less fearful, he would have been indignant at his careless treatment. What felt like a couple of troopers had pulled him out of the landing craft, and proceeded to drag him down a half-lighted corridor. Happily, the soldiers had faced him backwards, so he had risked a couple of peeks at his surroundings. The austere gloominess was not encouraging. Finally, the pair stopped. Threepio heard a panel in the wall slide open, and the pair brought him into the chamber. A few steps, and he was dropped, his face to the ceiling. He thought he heard a light switch deactivate as they left the room. The door slid closed behind them.

"Now what!" he thought. Well, at least they hadn't left him on a dismantling rack. As for the others at Kong, thank the Maker, they had escaped safely. He had overheard no talk of other captives, or of any space battles. Maybe a way out would yet present itself. In the silence of the chamber, he could hear occasional footsteps in the hallway, and the distant rumble of the ship's reactors. Judging from the sound, the cruiser was now under weigh.

This will be difficult.

Something seemed odd about the room where he had been left. It felt small for a maintenance bay. He could detect no familiar aroma of lubricants and solder, either. Where could they have left him? A storage compartment, perhaps? He doubted he would be able to perceive much in the darkness, but decided to take a look. He raised himself to his elbows and…

Oh, my!

The room was not a storage compartment, and it was not dark. To his horror, Threepio realized the sound he had heard was the lights being switched on. He fell back to the floor as several armored figures stepped away from the wall, and towered over him.

One said, "I told you it was functional."

Another bent over him. "Where are they, droid?"

Threepio stared at him stupidly, unable to speak.

"Where are they, droid?" the figure repeated, this time adding a kick.
The poor droid finally managed to falter, "I don't know." The troopers looked at each other, in obvious disbelief. "Really, I don't!"

"Don't give me that. Where did they go?"

"I don't know!"

A second trooper looked down at him. "I was hoping we could do this the easy way…'

"Oh, no! Please! I really don't know where they went! I was in the repair bay when the alarm sounded, and never learned the rendezvous point! Really, if I could…" Threepio stopped abruptly.

"What was that?'

"Nothing." Merciful power! Would I really have said what I very nearly did?

"This kind of questioning isn't getting us anywhere," observed another soldier. "What do you say we try some powerful persuasion?" The others muttered approvingly. One produced an evil-looking device, from which various probes and clamps swung. He plugged it into some sort of outlet in the wall, as the other two each grabbed one of the droid's arms.

Threepio made a futile attempt to slip from their grasp. "Gentlemen, please; I have no information that would be of any use to you. My position was little better than that of a mascot! Really, I . . oh, please not that!" His voice grew more shrill as he was pushed toward the enterprising trooper, who now held a clamp in one hand. His other hand toyed with a probe.

"Hold him up a little higher. Once he's clamped, stand back." Threepio groaned audibly, and tried to break free. "Once he's stunned, we can really work him ov…"

"PUT THAT DOWN!" A voice thundered with such force that Threepio could feel the vibrations on his casing. The sound was so startling that the troopers dropped him in surprise. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"We were interrogating the droid . ."

The speaker stepped closer. "Not with that thing." Threepio could now see the speaker. An enormous woman in an officer's uniform was scowling at his tormentors. She went on. "You'd only manage to fry out his memory, and then blow out this electrical circuit when his power cell backwashes. If you had been paying attention in the training session, you'd remember that. I'm disappointed in you." She bent over the droid, and said, in a gentler voice, "Can you read Hykogi text?"

"Ye-yes, ma'am,' Threepio managed to stammer.

"Great! Have I got plans for you!" The woman rose to her feet.

"I have Major Rora's authority to requisition this unit for library service. Help him up, please," she ordered crisply. The soldiers looked at each other, and the two nearest the droid pulled him to his feet. "Come this way, please."

"I beg your pardon, er, Lieutenant," Threepio interjected, quickly counting the stripes on the woman's cuff. "But at the moment, I can't walk." The officer turned, and gazed at him inquiringly. "The intermotor activating couplers for the knee joints have been removed."

The woman looked at his legs. "The what? Oh, the pins! I'm sorry, I should have noticed.' She shot a glare at the troopers. One explained, "Don't look at us. He came that way.'

"Take him to the maintenance bay," she directed. "And if I don't come for you," she added to Threepio, "Al can give you directions to the library. See you soon."

"Thank you, ma'am." As the armored men dragged him from the room, Threepio overheard the remaining trooper mutter something about legs, to which the woman answered, "Well, what did you think I was going to do? Whistle?' The soldier's response was too muffled to make out, but the lieutenant's comment was plain enough: "Next time, leave it to the professionals …" A hatch in the passageway closed, cutting off his eavesdropping.

That lieutenant did have a piercing voice. And what did whistling have to do with the present circumstances. Threepio was still trying to decide whether this apparent reprieve should inspire relief or dread, as his bearers dragged him along. Several other soldiers, uniformed personnel, and what appeared to be humanoid drones glanced curiously at them. Presently, the group rounded a corner, where a placard identified the area as "Maintenance Bay." A technician in a lubricant-smeared coverall was soldering something in a small personal-assistant unit. Without looking up, he pointed toward an empty worktable. Threepio was deposited on it with more gentleness than he had experienced so far.

That still wasn't saying much.

The repair was simple enough. The missing couplers were of a standard size, and, in spite of all the dragging about he had endured, his joints had not become misaligned. The technician – evidently, the Al the lieutenant had mentioned – was a stocky man whose skeptical smile did not concealed his kind expression. He had dug about in the bin of odd parts maintenance bays invariably seem to have, and almost before Threepio knew it, had screwed the missing couplers into place. Remarkably, he had been able to line up the threading on the first try. Plainly, a skillful technician, with obvious experience. Threepio had complimented him on his ability, but the man seemed uncomfortable conversing with a mechanical. His attitude surprised the droid, but it also served to remind him of where he was.

He would have to be cautious.

The corridor was empty when he stepped out of the maintenance bay. The lieutenant had not yet arrived. Al instructed him to follow the hallway as far as it would go, to turn left, pass two intersections, turn left at the third, and he would find the library. Threepio carefully thanked him and set out on his journey.

Considering his position, extra courtesy would not be out of place. As he made his way, he tried to observe his surroundings. The corridors of one cruiser, however, looked the same as they did on every other one, so he found his thoughts drifting to what the lieutenant might want with him. So far, his treatment had not been as dreadful as he had expected. But what of the future?

Several troopers were loitering by an entryway. Judging from the markings on their armor, they were not the same ones who had attempted to interrogate him, but, nonetheless, he gave them a wide clearance as he passed. One nudged his companions, and they appeared to share in some joke that Threepio suspected was at his expense. He pretended not to notice. But what could they have found so funny? What did they know that he ought to know?

One thing they knew, he reasoned, was that lieutenant. What was she like? Might their amusement have anything to do with her? Or what she had in mind for him? " What did she have in mind? The possibilities multiplied as he walked. What was that she had said about whistling? And what was that about plans? "'Have I got plans for you!'" He reached the end of the corridor and turned to the left.

The enthusiasm with which she had said it seemed out of place. What could she have meant by that? He passed the first hallway. And she was so big. The troopers had seemed a little afraid of her. What could she…Oh my! Threepio stopped abruptly.

She couldn't possibly be expecting…! Threepio noticed his reflection in one of the polished door panels lining the passage. Maybe it was vain of him to think so, but his casing and overall comportment was far from unpleasant. A lonely human, and a long cruise … Every mechanical that had served in the intersystem labor pool had heard whispered stories of liberties taken with a droid.

Is that why those troopers laughed? Oh, my! Whatever am I getting into? He looked around the hallway, but no alternative presented itself. He continued to walk, though slower now.

Maybe that isn't her plan after all. After all, she had asked something about being able to read some type of text. But why should that ability excite her so? And why did those troopers laugh? He turned down the third hallway.

The corridor was gloomy, but a light from a room at its center illuminated the path. With mounting dread, the droid peeked around the threshold into the room.

It did appear to be a library, albeit a cramped one. Tall, closely-spaced shelves, displaying a motley collection of bound volumes, lined the walls of the narrow room from floor to ceiling. What appeared to be document storage boxes lay on their sides on the topmost shelves, out of easy reach A moveable stepladder was attached to a track that ran around the room. Several small tables, and upholstered chairs that had seen better days, had been placed in the open space near the entry. They were empty, except for a figure bent over a workstation. As Threepio stepped in, the figure straightened, and turned to look at him.

"Hello! That was fast work." It was the enormous lieutenant. "Come on in." She looked around the room. "Let's see; where would be a good place to get started." Her gaze settled on a large table near the workstation. "This one ought to be big enough.'

Oh, dear! Threepio shrank in dismay from what was beginning to sound like a fate worse than death. The woman did not notice.

"Say, could you close the door? We don't want to be disturbed. The switch is over there on your right– I mean left." The woman pointed to a panel by the threshold. He glanced wildly around the room, but could spot no escape. He pressed the panel, and the door hissed into place.

"Madam, if I may ask…" but she cut him off. "I don't know why I bothered with the door. Nobody seems to come here unless I coax them." She took off her hat. "People just aren't as curious as they used to be. Well, this'll be fun."

Oh, no! She removed her tunic, and laid it over a chair. Beneath it was a long-sleeved blouse. Its lace trim left no doubt in Threepio's mind what her intentions were. Maybe I was better off with the troopers! He began to back toward the door as she unbuttoned her collar and cuffs.

"Madam, I'm not…" She continued to roll up her sleeves.

"Come on over here." The droid had no alternative but to obey. He stood before her as she kicked off her shoes. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this…"

"Madam, please," Threepio finally exclaimed. "I'm neither designed nor equipped for this kind of entertainment!" The woman had been looking at the ladder. She turned around and stared at him, puzzled. At that moment, he realized that he was looking down at her. The lieutenant was not large at all, but of an average height with a comfortable figure.

"Entertainment?" She frowned thoughtfully at the floor. Suddenly, she gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She looked at Threepio with indignant amazement.

And she blushed.

Then she began to smile. And chuckle. And then she began to laugh. A great, rolling flood of mirth, that washed through the room like a waterfall. She leaned against a chair to keep from falling, finally collapsing into it.

"So ho, pretty one, in my power at last, eh? 2"Just as the laughter began to ebb, she would look at Threepio and start all over again. "Have some Madeira, m'dear!3 But fear not, comely wrench –" she managed to gasp, "– I shall not harm thee!" Another fit of laughter overcame her. Finally she regained her composure; though it appeared to Threepio that she was merely too winded to go on. Instead of being unnerved by the outburst, he was encouraged enough to ask:

"So you weren't planning to …"

"No!" She stated emphatically. "Certainly not'" She grimaced pleasantly at him. "I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered! Well, I think I'll be flattered, for now." She laughed again. "I got you down here to translate half a year's worth of standards and directives." She pointed at several stack of binders on an upper shelf. "For some reason, we keep getting them in Hycrondrian, and some part of 'We can't read these' isn't clear to the Ministry of Justice."

"I see. But why did you take off your uniform blouse?"

"The binders are dusty. It always amazes me how much dust can collect in a sealed environment. This blouse," she added, pulling the lace around its yoke, "is easier to clean than that one.'

"The buttons?"

"Freedom of movement."

"Oh." A lingering doubt crossed his mind. "But what about the shoes?'

She picked one up and pointed it at him. It was a thin-soled, patent-leather affair, with a low, narrow heel. "Have you ever tried to climb a steel mesh ladder in pumps?'

The conscious absurdity of the question was strangely reassuring. "I can honestly say I have not."

"The last time I tried it, my heel got caught and I nearly broke my neck." She dropped it on the floor again. "I'd just as soon keep it whole for the time being." She smiled wryly at him. "And that's the story, such as it is."

"You have no idea what a relief that story is."

"I'm delighted to have disappointed you. But now," she said as she scampered up the ladder, and pulled loose a large binder, "Let's see if you'll disappoint me." She picked her way backwards down the ladder, and laid the book on the table before him. "Let's see what you can do with these directives." She brushed past him, and sat down at the workstation keyboard. "You read, and I'll type. And do sit down, if you'd prefer," she added , as he bent over the volumes.

"I – er – thank you, Lieutenant." As he seated himself at the table, it occurred to the droid that his actions might be construed as helping the enemy. Somehow, though, an act of overt defiance seemed likely to lead to more disagreeable consequences than cautious compliance would. "Besides," he though, "Maybe I could do a little sabotage during the translation process."

But he was wrong. The directives were inconsequential changes to records maintenance standards; details unlikely to do any harm to the Empire. At one point, when he did try bending the meaning of one of the kanji, the woman's head popped up from behind the monitor.

"That doesn't sound right." She jumped up from her chair to see for herself. "Doesn't that one mean. ." she asked, pointing to the figure he had tried to mistranslate. He had to acknowledge his mistake. She smiled, and said, "I should have warned you: I don't not read Hykogi text; I just don't do it well enough to be sure I've understood it right." She nodded toward the workstation. "I've been checking your translation against mine."

"How are you doing?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.
She looked pleased. "A lot better than I expected. Thank you for asking."

She had a an agreeable, open face.

She also had an enthusiastic, accommodating manner: not at all what he would have expected from an Imperial officer. When she realized his hands were not suited for turning pages, she came over and turned them for him. She asked regularly if he needed a break. She eventually found an eraser he could hang onto, that allowed him to assume the page-turning duties for himself.

It was hardly the sort of treatment he would ave expected at the hands of the Empire.

Finally, it seemed that she had had enough. She rubbed her eyes as she said, "What do you say we knock off for today/"

"As you wish, Lieutenant." But now what would become of him? Might he be turned over to those troopers again? He watched uneasily as the woman stretched her back.

"I have some students stopping by tomorrow morning, but after that, we should be able to pick up where we left off. Will that suit you?"

"Yes, ma'am. But," he said hesitantly, "What will you do with me in the interim?"
She looked surprised. "I hadn't thought of that. I can't very well send you down to the drone pool. Would you mind waiting here? The overhead lighting goes off at Lights Out, but the desk lamps should still work. If you like to read, there should be plenty of things here to entertain you," she laughed, motioning toward the shelves surrounding them. "Most of this is training guides and lesson plans, but the stuff worth reading is in that corner over there. They should be easy to find," she sniffed. " They're the dusty ones."

"Yes, ma'am. And thank you."

By now, she had resumed her cover, tunic and shoes. "Well, good night . .uh…" She stopped abruptly.

"Why, this is terrible! We've gone this far and I haven't even asked who you are." She leaned against the workstation, eyeing him with interest. "Who are you?"

Threepio drew himself up proudly. "I am See-Threepio, human cyborg relations."

"Well!" She said, impressed. "You really are talented! I should have guessed. Those dreary old directives have never been so gracefully phrased." She crossed her arms and cocked her head. "What do they call you?"
For a moment,the droid was not sure how to respond to the question he had already answered. "See-Threepio!"

She stared at him, clearly perplexed. He added, "Or sometimes just "Threepio.'"

She frowned, "That's not a name, that's a function! That's like calling a dog, "Bark.'" she said, making a face. She glared at him abstractedly. "Who are you when you can't do that any more?"

For a fleeting moment, Threepio wondered if the ship might not in fact, be some sort of mental institution.

Suddenly, she exclaimed, "Call him "Ferguson!'" and burst out laughing.

"I … I beg your pardon?" he asked in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry – I'm just getting giddy," she said, regaining her composure. "It was terribly rude of me. The situation reminded me of an incident in an ancient comedy." She explained, "Several fellows on a tour of their world didn't like the name of their guide."

"Oh, yes. They had hoped for a guide with a name that suggested adventure, but mistakenly hired a guide with an unacceptably prosaic one. "Ferguson' became his nickname, due to its practicality."
The woman leaned forward eagerly. "Yes! You're familiar with Innocents Abroad4? You really are good!"

"As an interpreter, it's my business to be familiar with the artistic works that cultures consider worth remembering," he replied with airy modesty.

"Nevertheless. I'm impressed!" She smiled. "Everybody on the ship thinks I'm a nut, because they don't know what I'm talking about. This is going to be a rare pleasure!

."Thank you for saying so, Lieutenant."

"My, that sound funny. Nobody ever calls me that.' She smiled broadly. "I kind of like it, though.'

"Oh, well, then – is there another form of address would you prefer?

"Well, my name is Laurie Marton. . Come to think of it, though, 'Lieutenant Marton' does sound rather awkward. Why don't you call me 'Laurie'?"

"A droid isn't normally so familiar with persons in authority," Threepio said doubtfully.

"Then why don't you call me by my nickname."
"Why, that would be worse than using your given name. I couldn't do that!"

"I bet you could if you tried."

"But a droid simply doesn't…"

The woman cut him off. "My nickname is Miss Laurie."

Threepio was momentarily taken aback. "Miss Laurie?"

"That's right." He looked at her uncertainly as she walked toward the door. "It makes me sound like a fussy old maid, doesn't it?" she said.

"Well, er . ."

"The worst part is, it fits.' She shrugged with wry indifference. "I am a fussy old maid!"

The droid was certain of one thing: he had no idea what to make of this startling woman. "Does, er, this distress you?"

"Not especially," she shrugged again. "After all, I'd rather be 'Miss Laurie' than 'Miss Taken.'"

Miss Taken? Mis… The sense of her words dawned on him.

"That was a joke, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "A very feeble one."
"Oh.' He paused, then asked, "Do you drop such bon mots often"

"All the time."

"Oh dear," He sighed.

Miss Laurie's laughter overflowed into the hallway.

"The report says he doesn't know where the rebels went."

"Maybe he doesn't," the woman shrugged.

The man in uniform chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "Now wait a minute," she went on. "Suppose I were captured by the Rebellion, and they asked me about the ship's destinations." The man gave a derisive snort. "Exactly! He may have been to that base what I am to this ship."

"So you don't think he knows anything."

"I think he knows plenty, but I don't think he knows that what he does know might be important."

The man looked at the woman intently. "Do you think you can get him to talk?"

She toyed thoughtfully with her pen. "I don't know, but I'd like to try." Her superior officer leaned back in his chair. "But before you get too comfortable, remember that, if I can get him to talk, I want something big…."

Notes

1Kiss Me Kate

2W.S. Gilbert. Ruddigore, Act II

3Michael Flanders. "Madeira, m'dear" from At the Drop of a Hat.

4Mark Twain. The Innocents Abroad (1869) ]