"Were you on a star freighter or was it—" metal gave way with a powerful crack, and the recoil sent Luke tumbling head over heels. Getting to his feet, he started to curse—then froze, motionless.
The front of the Artoo unit had begun to glow, exuding a three-dimensional image less than one-third of a meter square but precisely defined. The portrait formed within the box was so exquisite that in a couple of minutes Luke discovered he was out of breath—because he had forgotten to breath.
Despite a superficial sharpness, the image flickered and jiggled unsteadily, as if the recording had been made and installed with haste. Luke stared at the foreign colors being projected into the prosaic atmosphere of the garage and started to form a question. But it was never finished. The lips on the figure moved, and the girl spoke—or rather, seemed to speak. Luke knew the aural accompaniment was generated somewhere within Artoo Detoo’s squat torso.
"Obi-wan Kenobi," the voice implored huskily, "help me! You’re my only remaining hope." A burst of static dissolved the face momentarily. Then it coalesced again, and once more the voice repeated, "Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only remaining hope." With a raspy hum the hologram continued. Luke sat perfectly still for a long moment, considering what he was seeing, then he blinked and directed his words to the Artoo unit.
"What’s this all about, Artoo Detoo?" the stubby ’droid shifted slightly, the cubish portrait shifting with him, and beeped what sounded vaguely like a sheepish reply.
Threepio appeared as mystified as Luke. "What is that?" he inquired sharply, gesturing at the speaking portrait and then at Luke. "You were asked a question.
What and who is that, and how are you originating it—and why?" The Artoo unit generated a beep of surprise, for all the world as if just noticing the hologram. This was followed by a whistling stream of information.
Threepio digested the data, tried to frown, couldn’t, and strove to convey his own confusion via the tone of his voice. "He insist it’s nothing, sir. Merely a malfunction—old data. A tape that should have been erased but was missed. He insists we pay it no mind." That was like telling Luke to ignore a cache of Durindfires he might stumble over in the desert. "Who is she?" he demanded, staring enraptured at the hologram.
"She’s beautiful." "I really don’t know who she is," Threepio confessed honestly. "I think she might have been a passenger on our last voyage. From what I recall, she was a personage of some importance. This might have something to do with the fact that our Captain was attaché to—" Luke cut him off, savoring the way sensuous lips formed and reformed the sentence fragment. "Is there any more to this recording? It sounds like it’s incomplete." Getting to his feet, Luke reached out for the Artoo unit.
The robot moved backward and produced whistles of such frantic concern that Luke hesitated and held off reaching for the internal controls.
Threepio was shocked. "Behave yourself, Artoo," he finally chastised his companion. "You’re going to get us into trouble." He had vision of the both of them being packed up as uncooperative and shipped back to the jawas, which was enough to make him imitate a shudder.
"It’s all right—he’s our master now." Threepio indicated Luke. "You can trust him." I feel that he has our best interests in mind." Detoo appeared to hesitate, uncertain. Then he whistled and beeped a long complexity at his friend.
"Well?" Luke prompted impatiently.
Threepio paused before replying. "He says that he is the property of one Obi- wan Kenobi, a resident of this world. Of this very region, in fact. The sentence fragment we are hearing is part of a private message intended for this person." Threepio shook his head slowly. "Quite frankly, sir, I don’t know what he’s talking about. Our last master was Captain Colton. I never heard Artoo mention a prior master. I’ve certainly never heard of an Obi-wan Kenobi. But with all we’ve been through," he concluded apologetically, "I’m afraid his logic circuits have gotten a bit scrambled. He’s become decidedly eccentric at times." And while Luke considered this turn of events, Threepio took the opportunity to throw Artoo a furious look of warning.
"Obi-wan Kenobi," Luke recited thoughtfully. His expression suddenly brightened. "Say…I wonder if he could be referring to old Ben Kenobi." "Begging your pardon," Threepio gulped, astonished beyond measure, "but you actually know of such a person?" "Not exactly," he admitted in a more subdued voice. "I don’t know anyone named Obi-wan—but old Ben lives somewhere out on the fringe of the Western Dune Sea. He’s kind of a local character—a hermit. Uncle Owen and a few of the other farmers say he’s a sorcerer.
"He comes around once in a while to trade things. I hardly ever talk to him, though. My uncle usually runs him off." He paused and glanced across at the small robot again. "But I never heard that old Ben owned a ’droid of any kind. At least, none that I ever heard tell of." Luke’s gaze was drawn irresistibly back to the hologram. "I wonder who she is.
责任编辑：mman
