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He imagined unknown terrors. Perhaps a huge subterranean waterfall drained the lake, a cataract which would send them inexorably to a lonely death on rocks that had never seen the light of day. As they traveled steadily on, such imaginary terrors lost some of their immediacy. The waterfall, for example. In the excellent acoustics of the cavern they’d heard no distant thunderous roaring.

After an hour of slow, painful paddling he discovered he no longer cared what they found at the far side of the lake, just so long as they found the far side of the lake.

His upper shoulders began aching relentlessly. He knew it must be as painful if not more so for the Princess. Yet she hadn’t complained once, hadn’t said a word in protest as they continued the agonizingly slow process of pushing themselves through the water. While admiring her fortitude, he wondered if the experiences they’d gone through so far on Mimban had had a mellowing effect on her. He was unable to tell, but was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Why don’t you rest, Princess,” he counseled her finally. “I’ll row for a while.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, gentle but firm yet without much enthusiasm. “It would be silly for you to reach back and forth across this thing. I’m not that confident of its buoyancy as it is. And if you stay in one place you’ll just paddle us in circles. Stay where you are and save your strength.”

Luke acceded to common sense, which might be less attractive than gallantry but more practical. They rested periodically. Half the day vanished monotonously without sight of the far shore. In the currentless black water they stopped for a midday meal of colored cubes.

Far, far above, Luke saw that the cavern ceiling was dominated by clusters of stalactites that dwarfed any formations they’d seen thus far. Several of them must have weighed many tons. There were also long, thin ones, dozens of meters long and no thicker than a man’s thumb. All were liberally coated with the luminescent lichen-fungi which filled the enormous chamber with a comforting yellow-blue glow.

As he thought back to Halla’s comment on water, he grinned. She’d been right about that! It was somehow magical to dip one’s cup into the blackness and watch it fill, for the lake’s color was so rich and pure and solid that the blackness had to be part of the water itself.

The water was purer, fresher than any Luke had ever swallowed. As they ate and drank in silence, he reflected on how much he missed the tiny stream that had guided them this far. Its steady bubbling and gurgling had been a great comfort. Now they had to settle for the intermittent and less lively pings of drops falling from the stalactites overhead.

Lunch concluded, they continued on. Several hours later an uncertain Luke put a warning hand on the Princess’ shoulder and motioned her to cease paddling.

“What is it?” she whispered, questioning.

Luke stared at the absolutely flat, unbroken lake surface.

“Listen.”

Leia did so, studying the water nervously in the dim light. A faint pop-plop sounded.

“That’s just drip-water from the ceiling,” she husked.

“No,” he insisted. “It’s too erratic. Drip-water falls steadily.”

The noise ceased. “I don’t hear it anymore, Luke. It must have been drip-water.”

Luke looked worriedly at the black mirror they floated on. “I can’t hear it now, either.” Taking up his selenite paddle, he dipped it into the water and began stroking again. Occasionally he would pause for a quick look over one shoulder or the other. So far, however, nothing lay behind them except his own fears.

His nervousness communicated itself to the Princess. She was beginning to relax again, when he held up a hand.

“Stop.”

She raised her paddle clear of the water, a trifle annoyed this time.

“There it is again,” he announced tensely. “Don’t you hear it, Leia?” She didn’t reply. “Leia?” Turning, he saw that she was gazing fixedly at something in the water. Her mouth hung open, but she couldn’t speak.

She could point, though. Luke reached for his lightsaber instinctively, even before