Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 01_ Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [31]
“Impossible! Such arrogance!” the droid said aloud as he struggled with the thick growth, though he did not yet know there was an audience for his thoughts. “For all he listens to me, you would think that he is the protocol droid and I the astromech.”
Flailing his arms at a snarl of branches blocking his way, the golden droid stopped and looked back the way he had come. “I hope the stonebats rip out your circuits and nest in your equipment bays,” he called into the jungle. “I hope a kitehawk drags you off to the temples and feeds you to her kits. It would just serve you right.”
But when he turned back to consider his own plight, the droid found his way blocked not only by the flora of Yavin 4, but by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a military flight suit.
“Oh!” See-Threepio exclaimed, and fell back a step. “General Calrissian! You startled me, sir. Where did you come from?”
Lando grinned. “With all the noise you were making, a platoon of stormtroopers could have snuck up and startled you. Don’t tell me you’re still fighting with Artoo after all this time. You two are worse than brothers.”
“That stubborn, contrary pile of tin is no brother to me,” Threepio said with stiff pride. “If I had been as carelessly constructed as he was, I would return myself to my maker to be scrapped. In all my years, I have never met another R unit as erratic and egotistical as Artoo-Detoo. A simple rebuild of the secondary power grid, and Artoo turns it into a major project. I could give you a list of his operational anomalies as long as—”
“That will have to wait,” said Lando. “Right now you need to pack your polish and power couplings. You’re coming with me on a little trip.”
“Sir, I would be most delighted to accompany you. For all I care, Artoo can fall in a mud bog and rust away,” Threepio said, extracting himself from the snarl of vines and circling a tree to join Lando. “But Master Luke brought me here to manage the administrative needs of the Academy, and he did not change those instructions before he left.”
“What did he say when he left?”
“Not a word to either of us, General Calrissian. He simply vanished in the night. I have not heard from him or of him in nineteen local days. Do you have news of Master Luke, sir? Is he well? Do you bring new instructions from him?”
Lando pursed his lips and considered. “Yes, I do, Threepio, new instructions for the both of you. Luke’s fine, but he’s gone off on some sort of retreat, and he’s assigned you to the Fleet Office until he returns. And the Fleet Office has assigned you to me.”
If I could have found Luke to ask him, I’m sure the end result would have been the same, Lando told himself.
“I am glad to hear that Master Luke is well, General Calrissian. No one has been able to tell me anything. And I will not miss Yavin Four. It is so humid here that my circuits are always corroding. Look at me—I can’t go into the jungle without getting filthy. But must we take Artoo with us?”
“I’m afraid so, old man,” Lando said, patting the droid’s metallic shoulder. “But look at it this way—you only have to deal with Artoo. I have to deal with the both of you. If I can cope, so can you.”
Threepio tipped his head back, and his eyes flashed. “Sir, I don’t understand—”
“I’ll explain later,” Lando said, glancing at his chrono. “Call Artoo in. We’ve got a deadline to beat, and this isn’t our last stop.”
“I will have to inform Master Streen of our departure.”
“Already taken care of,” Lando said, thinking of a different set of lies he had just told to Streen. Still can’t get used to being trusted—it’s better camouflage than I thought. “Come on, tin man, Lady Luck’s waiting for us.”
Coppery clouds rich in oxides of Tibanna gas churned outside the viewpanes of what had once been Lando Calrissian’s office in Bespin’s Cloud City. Inside as outside, nothing had changed since the last time he had seen it. The walls and shelves were heavily laden with the eclectic collection