星球大战第八章(6)
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Gauges began to whine in protest, and by ones and twos every instrument on the control console sequentially went berserk. Try as he might, Solo couldn’t keep the surface of the gargantuan station from looming steadily larger, larger—until it became the heavens. Luke stared wildly at secondary installations as big as mountains, dish antennae larger than all of Mos Eisley. "Why are we still moving toward it?" "Too late," Kenobi whispered softly. A glance at Solo confirmed his concern. "We’re caught in a tractor beam—strongest on I ever saw. It’s dragging us in," the pilot muttered. "You mean, there’s nothing you can do?" Luke asked, feeling unbelievably helpless. Solo studied the overloaded sensor readouts and shook his head. "Not against this kind of power. I’m on full power myself, kid, and it’s not shifting out of course a fraction of a degree. It’s no use. I’m going to have to shut down or we’ll melt our engines. But they’re not going to suck me up like so much dust without a fight!" He started to vacate the pilot’s chair, but was restrained by an aged yet powerful hand on his shoulder. An expression of concern was on the old man’s face—and yet, a suggestion of something somewhat less funereal. "If it’s a fight you cannot win—well, my boy, there are always alternatives to fighting…" The true size of the battle station became apparent as the freighter was pulled closer and closer. Running around the station’s equator was an artificial cluster of metal mountains, docking ports stretching beckoning fingers nearly two kilometers above the surface. |
