The Broken Pitcher

The Broken Pitcher
The Jewel Casket
The Kitchen Maid
The Lady of Shalott
Threepio glanced down and saw only scarred deck. As he looked around, hisvoice was full of concern. "Artoo Detoo—where are you?" the smoke seemed topart just a bit more. Threepio found himself staring up the passageway. Artoo Detoo, it seemed, was there. But he wasn't looking in Threepio'sdirection. Instead, the little robot appeared frozen in an attitude of attention.Leaning over him was—it was difficult for even Threepio's electronic photoreceptorsto penetrate the clinging, acidic smoke—a human figure. It was young, slim, and byabstruse human standards of aesthetics, Threepio mused, of a calm beauty. Onesmall hand seemed to be moving over the front of Artoo's torso. Threepio started toward them as the haze thickened once more. But when hereached the end of the corridor, only Artoo stood there, waiting. Threepio peeredpast him, uncertain. Robots were occasionally subject to electronic hallucinations—but why should he hallucinate a human? He shrugged…Then again, why not, especially when one considered theconfusing circumstances of the past hour and the dose of raw current he had recentlyabsorbed. He shouldn't be surprised at anything his concatenated internal circuitconjured up.