"Splinter Of The Minds Eye (Alan Dean Foster)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

while I still have some real control. Surely, in a system as populous as this
one, any world with a breathable atmosphere's going to be equipped with
facilities for emergency repair. Your data must be old or else you're searching
the wrong tapes." A pause, then, "You can prove it by shifting your communicator
monitor to frequency oh-four-six-one."

Luke adjusted the requisite controls. Instantly a steady whine filled the small
cabin.

"Sound familiar?" she asked him.

"That's a directional landing beacon, all right," he replied, confused. Several
further queries, however, revealed no records of a station on Mimban. "But
there's still nothing in the listings on either Imperial or Alliance tapes. If
we?" He broke off as a puff of gas glowed brightly from the Princess' Y-wing,
expanded brightly and vanished. "Leia! Princess Leia!"

Her small ship was already curving away from him. "Lost lateral controls
completely now, Luke! I've got to go down!"

Luke rushed to match her glide path. "I don't deny the presence of the beacon.
Maybe we'll be lucky! Try to shift power to your port controls!"

"I'm doing the best I can." A brief silence, followed by, "Stop moving around,
Threepio, and watch your ventral manipulators!"

A contrite, metallic, "Sorry, Princess Leia," sounded from her cabin companion,
the bronzed human-cyborg relations 'droid See Threepio. "But what if Master Luke
is correct and there is no station below? We could find ourselves marooned
forever on this empty world, without companionship, without knowledge tapes,
without? without lubricants!"

"You heard the beacon, didn't you?" Luke saw a small explosion whereupon the Y-wing
dove surface-ward at an abruptly sharper angle. For a few moments only static
answered his frantic calls. Then the interference cleared. "Close, Luke. I lost
my starboard dorsal engine completely. I cut port dorsal ninety percent to
balance guidance systems."

"I know. I've cut power to slow with you."

In the Y-wing's tiny cabin Threepio sighed, gripped the walls around him more
firmly. "Try to set us down gently, please, Princess. Rough landings do terrible
things to my internal gyros."

"They're not so good on my insides either," the Princess shot back, lips
clenched tightly as she fought the sluggish controls. "Besides, you've nothing
to worry about. 'Droids can't get spacesick."

Threepio could have argued otherwise, but remained silent as the Y-wing
commenced a stomach-turning roll downward. Luke had to react rapidly to follow.