Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [116]
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,