A landspeeder came to a gradual stop within the temple, whose first level was the uppermost of the ship-filled hangars. Its engine died obediently as the vehicle settled to the ground. A noisy cluster of humans waiting nearby ceased their conversation and rushed toward the craft.
Fortunately Leia Organa quickly emerged from the speeder, or the man who reached it first might have pulled her bodily from it, so great was his delight at the sight of her. He settled for giving her a smothering hug as his companion called their own greetings.
"You’re safe! We’d feared you’d been killed." Abruptly he composed himself, stepped away from her, and executed a formal bow. "When we heard about Alderaan, we were afraid that you were…lost along with the rest of the population." "All that is past history, Commander Willard," she said. "We have a future to live for. Alderaan and its people are gone." Her voice turned bitter cold, frightening in so delicate-looking a person. "We must see that such does not happen again.
"We don’t have time for our sorrows, Commander," she continued briskly.
"The battle station has surely tracked us here." Solo started to protest, but she shut him up with logic and a stern look.
"That’s the only explanation for the ease of our escape. They sent only four Tie fighters after us. They could as easily have launched a hundred." Solo had no reply for that, but continued to fume silently. Then Leia gestured at Artoo Detoo.
"You must use the information locked in this R-2 ’droid to form a plan of attack.
It’s our only hope. The station itself is more powerful than anyone suspected." Her voice dropped. "If the data does not yield a weakness, there will be no stopping them." Luke was then treated to a sight unique in his experience, unique in most men’s.
Several rebel technicians walked up to Artoo Detoo, positioned themselves around him, and gently hoisted him in their arms. This was the first, and probably the last time he would ever see a robot being carried respectfully by men.
Theoretically, no weapon could penetrate the exceptionally dense stone of the ancient temple, but Luke had seen the shattered remains of Alderaan and knew that for those in the incredible battle station the entire moon would present simply another abstract problem in mass-energy conversion.
Little Artoo Detoo rested comfortably in a place of honor, his body radiating computer and data-bank hookups like a metal hairdo. On an array of screens and readouts nearby the technical information stored on the submicroscopic record tape within the robot’s brain was being played out. Hours of it—diagrams, charts, statistics.
First the rush of materials was slowed and digested by more sophisticated computer minds. Then the most critical information was turned over to human analysts for detailed evaluation.
All the while See Threepio stood close to Artoo, marveling at how so much complex data could be stored in the mind of so simple a ’droid.
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