Star Wars: The New Rebellion (39 page)

The Kloperian grunted, and swept the rubble off Threepio. Threepio sat up. “It’s about time—”

He stopped when he saw the Kloperian.

“What’re you doing here?” the Kloperian asked. “This is a restricted area.”

“I—ah—I was trapped,” Threepio said.

“Yeah. I noticed. But before that. How’d you get in here?”

“I followed him.”

Artoo blatted at him.

“He seemed intent on something inside. When I queried him, he said he had seen something or someone, so I thought we’d better investigate. Surely we did nothing wrong.”

The Kloperian crossed four tentacles over its gray chest. It frowned, making a hundred extra wrinkles on its already wrinkly face. “This place is restricted because it’s dangerous. I’m not even supposed to be inside. It could kill a living being. But since you’re a droid, I suppose there’s no harm. Unless I get killed. Just get out.”

“Gladly, sir,” Threepio said. “Gladly.”

He climbed out of the remaining rubble and toddled down the corridor. “Come along, Artoo.”

Artoo whistled.

“Whatever it is, it will have to wait,” Threepio said. “The good Kloperian has told us to leave, and leave we shall. No more of this heroic nonsense. Leave that to Master Luke and Mistress Leia.”

Artoo beeped extensively.

“Yes, yes, I agree, droids can be heroes too, but not when they’re disobeying Kloperians.”

Artoo chirruped, then blatted.

“I suggest you save that language for the next time we’re alone,” Threepio whispered. “Do you remember our last run-in with a Kloperian?”

“Is everything all right?” the Kloperian asked. He started to follow them.

“Fine, sir, fine. I’m just trying to get this astromech unit to follow me. He’s quite insistent about trouble inside.”

“The trouble is that this building will collapse soon,” the Kloperian said, “at least this section. I keep telling them that, when all those investigators come in here, but they don’t listen to me.”

“Investigators?” Threepio asked. “Were they looking into the bombing?”

“Is there anything else?” the Kloperian asked. “But they work inside the Hall itself where it’s all unstable. There’s even openings in the roof. I keep expecting to come on to my shift at night and find a bunch of them dead because the roof collapsed.”

“You mean, they never investigated the hallway?”

“At the pace they’re going, they’ll never get outside the door. At least not in my lifetime. Maybe in yours.” Then the Kloperian laughed, a squishy, rather sickening sound.

It had followed them all the way out. Once they were outside, it closed what remained of the door. “You better get back to your masters before I report you missing. That’s standard, you know, for wandering droids.”

“Maybe on Kloper,” Threepio said, “but not on Coruscant.”

“No one’s updated your files lately, have they, protocol droid? There’s a curfew for everyone at night, and that includes droids. This place has been different since the bombing, I tell you. You could trust folks once, at least the ones not associated with the Empire. But not anymore. To attack the government like that. I’m just
glad it happened during the day. If it’d happened on my shift—”

“No one would have gotten killed,” Threepio said.

Artoo made his little chuckling beeps.

The Kloperian blinked its fishy eyes at him, and then uncrossed two of its tentacles. “You got a point, don’t you, droid? I never thought of it that way. Guess that’s why you have logic circuits and I don’t. I’ve been thinking of myself again. The wives always accuse me of doing that too.”

“I’m sure they do,” Threepio said. “Ah, thank you for rescuing me. My counterpart hadn’t even noticed I was in trouble.”

“He was too busy scavenging parts,” the Kloperian said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. I may not have any logic circuits, but I know when a droid works for smugglers. Next time I won’t go so easy on you two, if you catch my meaning.”

“We don’t really work for smugglers,” Threepio started, but Artoo interrupted him with a bleep. Threepio shot him a glare. Artoo bleeped again. “Really, Artoo—”

“I don’t care who you work for,” the Kloperian said. “I was just telling you. Don’t come back here, at least not on my shift.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Threepio said. “We won’t. Come along, Artoo.” He put his hand on Artoo’s round head and pushed him forward. They crossed the restricted line into the street. The Kloperian watched from the doorway. “I hadn’t heard of the curfew, had you, Artoo?”

Artoo bleeped, then chirruped, and ended with a blatt.

“I’m not fond of it either,” Threepio said, “but I do think we should return home.”

Artoo swiveled his head, his own small version of no.
He extended his service arm, and in it, he held four more detonators.

“Artoo!” Threepio yelped. Then he forced himself to lower his voice. “If we’re caught with those, you and Master Cole will be charged with sabotage for certain.”

Artoo bleeped.

“I don’t care if they are smaller. They’re still evidence, aren’t they?”

Artoo cheebled.

“I think that’s the best suggestion you’ve had all day,” Threepio said. “Do let’s find Mistress Leia. She’ll be able to help us. And in the future, do not interrupt me when I’m about to give her name. Had we done that the first time we met with the Kloperians, we wouldn’t have gotten into that fix.”

Artoo gave him a raspberry.

“And don’t use language like that with me. You’ve gotten quite persnickety in your old age. I daresay you’re even more peculiar than you were on Tatooine.”

Artoo bleebled indignantly.

“Yes, I know you were on a mission. But you’re not on one now, are you? You’re trying to give yourself an importance because you’re insecure now that Master Luke no longer needs you to navigate his X-wing.”

Artoo beeped.

“There’s no guarantee that the detonator is in all the X-wings,” Threepio said. “I’m sure Master Luke will upgrade when he returns. They say the new X-wings are much better.”

Artoo whined.

Threepio stopped walking. “What do you mean, if he returns?”

Artoo beeped an explanation.

“Oh,” Threepio said. “I see. I hadn’t thought of that. But you don’t think Master Luke would take an X-wing with a detonator, do you? He would know, wouldn’t he?”

Artoo moaned.

“Good heavens,” Threepio said. “This is a much bigger mess than I thought.”

By his best guess, he had been treading water for most of a day. But he had no real way to tell time. He could only judge by how often Nandreeson ate. And Nandreeson ate a lot. A sweet fly here, a mouthful of gnats there, a garbage snipe as a snack. Lando had never seen so much disgusting food. He was using it as a barometer, a way of keeping himself occupied.

He had to. Treading water was strenuous, but it didn’t occupy the mind.

Although his mind had turned to survival a while back. He could tell because his concentration would move from his limbs to his stomach to his desperate need for sleep. He didn’t float much because he was afraid he would doze. Yet he needed to rest. When he floated on his back, he counted the watumba bats on the ceiling. They were gray, constantly shifting, and provided quite a challenge. He believed there were 350 of them, but the insect population in the room belied that. Watumba bats ate algae and rock dust. They acted as host for several flying parasitic bugs, including the parfue gnats that swarmed near the ceiling. If there were 350 watumba bats, the cavern would be black with parfue gnats.

Perhaps Nandreeson had eaten them all.

Lando’s arms felt as if they had grown in size. His legs ached, and his lungs burned. He was hungry, too. At least the water, disgusting as it was, was fresh enough to drink. No salt, which would poison him, and no other trace minerals that would make him even thirstier. The water would sustain him until he came up with a plan.

It had something to do with the watumba bats. Something
about watumba bats, Glottalphibs, and sweet flies. Something he couldn’t quite remember.

But it would come to him.

Two Glottalphibs guarded the pool, as they had since the Reks had thrown him in. Nandreeson spent much of his time there, but he would leave on occasion to conduct his business. Lando saw that as a good sign. If Nandreeson truly believed that Lando was going to die, he would conduct business in front of him. But Nandreeson had enough doubt to go to a different cavern. And Nandreeson’s doubt gave Lando confidence.

Lando dipped his head underwater. The pool’s heat also lulled him, so he dunked himself on occasion to keep himself awake. Surfacing always cooled him a bit. He floated on his back, the Glottalphibs watching his every move.

If Nandreeson had doubts, that meant the plan wasn’t foolproof. There was a way out of the pool besides the steps carved near Nandreeson’s couch. Or perhaps Nandreeson just believed that Lando would find a way to overwhelm his guards and escape. Maybe Nandreeson had, over the years, remembered Lando as mightier than he truly was.

Lando hated to disappoint. He would have to prove that he was worthy of Nandreeson’s fear, worthy of Nandreeson’s hatred over all the years.

If only he could think of a plan.

He was dozing. He could feel his body sink into sleep. He rolled, dousing himself in the smelly liquid. It no longer shocked him. The exhaustion was taking its toll.

Lando was a healthy man in good physical condition. But Nandreeson was right about one thing: Human beings were not meant to spend a long time in water, especially with no food and no sleep.

Eventually Lando would lose consciousness, sink beneath the water, and drown. Not a very glamorous way to
go. Not even very exciting. But satisfying for Nandreeson.

Lando rolled off his stomach and onto his back. The watumba bats were swarming across each other. He had to concentrate.

He had to find a solution soon.

Or he would die.

L
eia paced in her chamber. Still no response from Han. She checked her messages every few moments, but she knew nothing would come. Han still had to be on Smuggler’s Run. He wouldn’t ignore her message unless he hadn’t received it.

Auyemesh was too far away for him to have been on it when Kueller took everyone’s life.

At least she hoped so.

Han would have contacted her when he left the Run.

She had meant what she said to him just before he left. Sometimes she wished they were a normal couple with normal concerns. Then sitting down to dinner at night with her children would be routine, not the unusual. Sleeping beside her husband would happen every night instead of a few nights every other month.

But she was as loath to give up their life as he was.

Except at moments like these.

The chamber computer bonged. “Mistress Leia,” it said with Threepio’s inflections and Han’s voice. She hadn’t bothered to repair Anakin’s tampering. Somehow the absurd prank he had pulled made her feel closer to her son. “Mon Mothma is here to see you.”

“Let her in,” Leia said.

She took one more glance at her messages. Only updates from Admiral Ackbar. All communication with Auyemesh had ceased. No one could raise anything from Pydyr, either, although on Pydyr, the communication system was not blocked. Attempts to contact Kueller on Almania were met with a reproduction of his death’s-head mask, and silence.

“Leia?” Mon Mothma stood at the door. She looked older; the pain she had suffered when Ambassador Furgan poisoned her still showed in her face. “I came as soon as I could.”

Leia nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Of all of her friends on Coruscant, only Mon Mothma would understand the dilemma Leia faced. And not even Mon Mothma, for all her savvy, could know how deeply the destruction of Auyemesh affected Leia. It brought all the feelings about Alderaan back. Feelings that then, as now, Leia had no time to deal with.

“Child, what can I do?”

Leia swallowed, then made herself smile. “That’s what I want to talk with you about,” she said. “I need your help.”

“We’ll catch this madman before he attacks your family,” Mon Mothma said.

Leia’s hands were clammy. She wiped them on her fatigue pants. “Hear me out,” she said.