"We should," the Kloperian said. "It's an obvious lie."

"Hey!" one of the other guards yelled. "What's that droid doing?" Cole didn't even have a chance to answer. The Kloperian turned all three blasters on R2 and fired at once. The blasts. .h.i.t him full-force. R2 screamed as bright red light surrounded him. The computer panel flared, scorched, and popped as the interior overheated. R2's jack shot out and the little droid rocked. Then, when the light faded, he listed to the right side. Tendrils of smoke floated from his head.

"R2!" Cole said. "R2!" The droid didn't answer.

He looked at the guards, feeling both an absurd sense of loss, and fear that Skywalker would never trust him again.

"That was the biggest mistake you could have made," Cole said. "You just destroyed Luke Skywalker's favorite droid."

The Jawas gave them three blasters and one badly used speeder bike in trade for a handful of credits. They weren't going to bargain at all until Davis spoke up. Then the Jawas launched into a heated discussion.

Clearly, they were used to dealing with Davis.

Han wasn't. He still didn't feel as if he could trust the guy. But he had no choice.

For now.

The speeder bike hovered well, but it was sluggish on low. It barely fit into the corridor leading back to the Falcon. Chewie kept one paw on the speeder's underside, guiding it through the corridor. None of them planned to mount it until they reached the tiny room where Han had first seen Davis.

Then Han would use the speeder as a diversion so that Chewie could blast his way to the Falcon. Han doubted Davis would help them once they reached the loading bay.

So he gave Davis the blaster that looked the most damaged. They had two blasters each, and Chewie had a blaster and his bow-caster. That would give them more firepower than the Glottalphibs, and the speeder would give them surprise.

Han hoped.

Han led the way up the corridor. The corridor had scorch marks from the Glottalphibs, and dried scales littered the floor. Han was glad for his boots; the scales dug into the soles like thorns. He couldn't imagine what would happen if they dug into his foot.

Fortunately, Chewie's fur and the tough pads on the bottoms of his feet prevented any serious injury.

The corridor was too hot and smelled of sulfur and dead fish. Han expected a Glottalphib to emerge at any moment, shoot them, and be done with it. Chewie clearly felt the same. His blaster was ready.

So far, Han had seen no sign of Seluss. The Sull.u.s.tan must have found a way around the Glottalphibs.

"They've probably left," Davis whispered.

"I doubt it," Han said. Glottalphibs were known for their tenacity. They were also known for their love of glitter. They hadn't been after material in the sand below.

They had been after Han.

And he wanted to know why.

Finally they reached the main corridor. It was dark. The door to the bay was closed.

The dead-fish smell was stronger here.

Chewie moaned.

Han noted his friend's complaint about the smell, and this time had no response. It was a valid concern. A Glottalphib could hide here, and they wouldn't see it. They couldn't surprise it, not with all the noise they had made coming up the corridor.

Suddenly a light flared. Davis held a small glow rod and it filled the room like a fire. The walls were badly scorched, the stone desk shattered, but the three of them were alone.

The Glottalphibs had to be waiting outside the closed door.

Han glanced at Chewie. He was thinking the same thing.

Chewie brought the speeder into the corridor. Han mounted it. The engine rattled beneath the seat. The controls were loose in his hands. Jawas could fix equipment all right, but they weren't great at fine-tuning. He sure hoped this thing went fast. If it didn't, they'd all be dead in a matter of moments.

"Give me a moment to scatter them, Chewie. Then go out firing." Chewie nodded. Davis said nothing. Chewie put a paw on the door. Han gripped the speeder bike's handles and revved it to low.

"Now, Chewie!" he said.

Chewie pulled the door open and Han turned the speeder bike on high. The engine rumbled between his thighs. Then the bike shot through the door, twice as fast as he had expected.

Immediately he had to dodge a binary load lifter. He pulled upward, and narrowly missed the wing of an outmoded cargo ship. A large wall loomed in front of him, and he realized it was Davis's freighter. He pulled up again and circled as high as the speeder bike would let him.

Over the roar of the engine, he heard voices, shouting, and screaming.

The Glottalphibs surrounded the Falcon. He dove the speeder down toward them, blaster in one hand, controls in the other, firing as he went.

One Glottalphib shot a mouthful of fire at him, and Han twirled the bike.

Ground, ship, sky, ground, ship, sky, and suddenly he was heading toward the Glottalphib again. The Thib had to leap out of his way. Another Thib fired a blaster, and Han fired back, hitting the Thib in the mouth. It fell backward against the Falcon, and then Han couldn't see it anymore.

The bike was still moving forward. He weaved between cargo ships, and rode under robotic arms. The front of the bike whapped a box, and the box burst open as he drove under it, showering him in Imperial blaster bolts.

By the time he got the bike turned, he was halfway across the bay and no use to Chewie at all. He couldn't even see Chewie or the Falcon.

Han gripped the handle and headed back toward the Falcon, flying under wedge-shaped freighter edges, and beneath open cargo doors. The piles of boxes he soared past were impressive. Many were open and revealed stormtrooper helmets, Imperial-style blasters, and other equipment.

Smugglers were firing at him now, and many were shouting that he was crazy. The speeder was sputtering beneath him, but the controls still worked. He was able to dodge, but not for much longer.

The Glottalphibs still surrounded the Falcon, but they were all facing him now, both breathing fire at him and shooting blasters. He rose, then dropped, then moved sideways to avoid all the shots. He was shooting too, missing often because he was trying to evade, but occasionally connecting. Blasters reflected off Glottalphib hide; he had been lucky to hit that first Thib in the mouth. This would take precision shooting.

Then one Glottalphib fell forward, a bolt from Chewie's bow-caster in its back. Another fell as well, another bolt in it. Davis snuck up behind the Glottalphib near the Falcon's secured door, tapped the Thib on the shoulder, and blasted it in the mouth when it turned around.

A shot from behind spun the speeder bike. It looped around the edge of the Falcon. Han fought for control. If he didn't get it, the speeder would slam into the Falcon. He dropped his blaster and gripped the controls with both hands. He righted the bike, and looked up as it was heading for the door into the caves.

He pulled up and the speeder coughed.

"Come on, you bucket of bolts," he muttered, slamming the engine with the flat of his hand.

The speeder coughed again, and flew above the doors, narrowly missing the rock walls.

He whipped it around, and saw a fifth Thib dead at Davis's feet.

Other smugglers were still shooting at him. Chewie was shouting, saying they should all board the Falcon. Han aimed the bike toward the Falcon when the engine coughed a third time. It sputtered once, and died.

He flew off the speeder, unable to stop his own momentum. He brought his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his head. If he hit wrong, he would die. Simple as that.

The metal ground loomed. He tucked as best he could, then landed, sc.r.a.ping his elbows, the backs of his upper arms, his knees, and his shins on the metal. He was shouting, Chewie was roaring, and blaster bolts zinged around him.

A hand grabbed his armpit and pulled him to his feet. He could hardly move.

"You okay, buddy?" Davis asked.

Han nodded.

The speeder hovered above him, almost laughing at him. Then a blaster bolt hit its engine and the speeder exploded. Flaming parts shot everywhere. Han and Davis ducked under the Falcon to prevent getting hit.

It hurt to move.

Chewie brought the ramp down. He stood on it and waved them in. Davis and Han ran up the ramp, blood flowing through the rips in Han's pants.

"What about your ship?" Han asked Davis.

Davis grinned. "Technically it's not my ship yet."

"Great," Han said. They ran inside. Chewie was already bringing the ramp up. Han bolted for the c.o.c.kpit. Chewie was following.

"What about Seluss?" Han asked.

Chewie roared.

"I don't care. We've got to find him before we go."

"There isn't time," Davis said.

"I'm not leaving him here," Han said.

"Being n.o.ble will get you killed."

"It hasn't yet," Han said. "Look for him, Chewie." But Chewie wasn't responding.

"Davis, find Chewie." Nothing. Han's hands were on the controls, his sc.r.a.ped elbows burning, his skin on fire. Through the c.o.c.kpit transparisteel, he could see smugglers heading toward his ship.

"I don't like this, guys," Han said. "Guys?" He turned. No one was behind him. He left the Falcon powering up and went into the corridor. There, the gray-scaled Glottalphib held Chewie and Davis at blaster point.

Chewie's fur was smoking, and the edges were singed.

Beside them, on the floor, was Seluss. His tiny hands were bound together, and the rope then wound around him and bound his feet. Tape was inexpertly applied to his muzzle. Beneath it, he chit-tered. His words were m.u.f.fled, but audible.

He had said the Sull.u.s.tan equivalent of "It's not my fault."

TWENTY-TWO.

Leia hurried down the hall to the ballroom. She had hastily combed her hair back and changed into a formal pantsuit. She had been practicing with her lightsaber and a remote when the call came in: an urgent meeting of the Inner Council to be held immediately. She had changed and run down the hall at top speed.

Even then she would be late. And Leia Organa Solo was never late.

Meido had called the meeting. He had been elected to the Inner Council a few short days ago by an overwhelming majority of senators. Two other former Imperials had also been elected to fill the vacancies left by the bombing.

Meido was within his rights; any Inner Council member could call a meeting. But junior members never took such authority upon themselves. It was just Not Done. Tradition would have to give way now to the new order, unless Leia got tradition written into the procedures of the Inner Council.

Yet another thing to do. Another thing she didn't have time for.

She skated around a corner and arrived at the ballroom. The doors were closed. She was late. She made herself take a deep breath. Meido had notified her last, and made it impossible for her to be on time. That had thrown her off-balance, as it was intended to do. So had his calling the meeting. But she wouldn't let him see any of her emotions. He wouldn't win on petty political maneuvering.

Leia smoothed her hair back and adjusted her tunic. Then she waited until her breathing was regular. She shoved open the double doors and stepped into the ballroom.

The room was too large for an Inner Council meeting, although it would do well for the full Senate. The Council met on the platform usually reserved for the live musicians. A table had been set up, again without her orders.

Meido sat in her chair at the head of the table. Formal seats had not been a.s.signed here; he never would have been able to do that in the old Chamber. But here he could plead simple misundertanding. And if she sat in a different chair, she acknowledged his rise in power. She would not do that. Much as she hated these games, she would have to play.

The conversation stopped when she entered. Gno was in his usual position beside her chair. So was C-Gosf. Both looked uneasy. Leia nodded at them, then let her gaze meet Meido's. His eyes sparkled in his crimson face.

The white lines on his skin seemed brighter than they ever had before.

"I am aware, Senator Meido," Leia said, "that your people's political customs differ from mine. But we run the Senate, the Inner Council, and the government of the New Republic on the precepts of the Old Republic.

It would do you good to learn those precepts."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, President." His voice was smooth, his features guileless.

Leia climbed the stairs leading to the chairs and table. She put one hand on the back of his chair and smiled down at him. "I thought perhaps it was your ignorance that caused this. The Chief of State is always informed first of any meeting. In fact, the custom is that meetings are suggested to her, and she calls them. I'm sure our colleagues are here because they know you do not yet understand tradition."

"I was merely following the bylaws," Meido said. Leia nodded. "I understand. Now you know for future meetings." She turned to the rest of the Inner Council. "Forgive my tardiness, my friends. I only learned of this meeting a few moments ago." She waited, her hand on the chair. Gno leaned over to Meido.

"Senator, it is easier to run the meeting from the head of the table."

Meido's white lines grew even whiter. He slipped out of the chair and moved to a different spot at the table. Wwebyls and R'yet Coome, the other new Council members, watched him, frowns on their faces.

Leia took her chair regally, nodding once to thank Gno for making a difficult moment easier. "Now that you have called this meeting, Senator, I think we can dispense with the preliminaries, and find out what it is that you consider so urgent." He clasped his two-fingered hands and put them on the table. He looked so contrite, so humbled, that Leia's stomach did a flip. He was still playing games. "The initial results of our independent investigation are in," he said.

"So soon?" C-Gosf asked. "Our people are still sorting the rubble. They say this is a ma.s.sive investigation and are unwilling to make any judgments until they have all the facts."

"Their caution is wise," Meido said. "But they lack one piece of information." He leaned forward, his narrow gaze on Leia. "President, where is your husband?" The discomfort in her stomach grew. Her hands were cold. "He and Chewbacca are following a lead on the bombing."

"But where are they, President?" She wouldn't be able to dodge this, much as she wanted to. "They went to Smuggler's Run."

"Smuggler's Run?" The edges of Meido's mouth curved upward. Slightly.

Ever so slightly. "Your husband used to do business on Smuggler's Run, didn't he?"