Sonniod nodded thankfully. "But what about you and the Wookiee, Solo?" The starship trembled slightly as she hovered on her thrusters and swung away toward Sonniod's parked vessel. "I wouldn't come back for my profits if I were you."

"I suppose I'll have to head back for the Corporate Sector," Han sighed, "and see what kind of jobs there are floating around. At least the heat should be off; I doubt if anyone's looking for me or this freighter anymore."

Sonniod shook his head. "Try to find out what the job is before you get into it," he encouraged. "n.o.body seems to know what kind of run it is."

"I don't care; I'm in no position to be picky. I'll have to take it," Han said, resigned. They heard Chewbacca's dejected hooting drifting aft from the c.o.c.kpit. "He's right," he said. "We just weren't cut out for the honest life."

II.

THE Millennium Falcon seemed a ghost ship, a spectral s.p.a.cecraft like the long-lost, sometimes-sighted Permondiri Explorer, or the fabled Queen of Ranroon. Trailing sheets of crackling energy, with dancing lines of brilliant discharge playing back and forth over her, she might have flown directly out of one of those legends.

Around the starship seethed the turbulent atmosphere of Lur, a planet quite close, as interstellar distances go, to the Corporate Sector. Its ionization layer was interacting with the Falcon's screens to create eerie lightninglike displays. The shrieking of the planet's winds could be heard through the vessel's hull, and the fury of the storm had cut visibility virtually to zero. Han and Chewbacca paid scant attention to the uproar pounding at their canopy with rain, sleet, snow, and gale-force winds.

They lavished closest attention on their instrumentation, courting it for all the information it could provide, as if by concentration alone they could coax a clearer picture of their situation from sensors and other indicators. Chewbacca growled irritably, his clear blue eyes skipping all over his side of the console, leathery snout working and twitching.

Han was feeling just as cross. "How am I supposed to know how thick the ionization layer is? The instrumentation's jittery from the discharges, it doesn't show anything clearly. What do you want me to do, drop a plumb line?" He went back to closely monitoring his share of the console.

The Wookiee's rejoinder was another growl. Behind him, in the communications officer's seat that was usually left vacant, Bollux spoke up. "Captain Solo, one of the indicators just lit up. It appears to be a malfunction in some of the new control systems."

Without turning from his work, Han uncorked some of his choicer curses, then calmed down somewhat. "It's the miserable fluidics! What timing, what perfect timing! Chewie, I told you there'd be trouble, didn't I? Didn't I?"

The Wookiee flailed a huge, hairy paw in the air by way of dismissal, wishing to be left to his tasks, rumbling loudly.

"Where's the problem?" Han snapped back over his right shoulder.

Bollux's photoreceptors scanned the indicators that were located next to the commo board. "Ship's emergency systems, sir. The auto-firefighting apparatus, I believe."

"Go back and see what you can do, will you, Bollux? That's all we need, for the firefighting gear to cut in; we'd be up to our chins in foam and gas before you could ask the way to the exit." As Bollux staggered off, barely staying upright on the bucking deck, Han resolutely thrust the problem out of his mind.

Chewbacca yowlped. He had gotten a positive reading. Han dragged himself halfway out of his chair for a look as another spitting globe of ball-lightning drifted out and spun off the Falcon's bow mandibles. The ionization levels were dropping. Then he threw himself back into his seat and cut the ship's speed back even further. He had terrible visions of the ionization level extending down, somehow, to the surface of Lur, blinding them right up to the time of collision.

Of course, the party who had hired the Millennium Falcon for this run hadn't mentioned the ionization layer, hadn't mentioned anything very specific for that matter. Han had put the word abroad that he and his ship were available for hire and disinclined to ask questions, and the job had come, as Sonniod had predicted it would, from unseen sources in the form of a faceless audio tape and a small cash advance.

But with creditors hounding them and their other resources exhausted in the wake of the debacle in the Kamar Badlands, Han and his partner had seen no alternative but to ignore Sonniod's advice and accept the run.

Was I born this stupid, Han asked himself in disgust, or am I just blossoming late in life? But at that moment both the storm and the ionization layer parted. The Falcon lowered gently through a clear, calm region of Lur's atmosphere. Far below, features of the planet's surface could be seen, mountain peaks protruding through low-hanging, swirling clouds. Another light flashed on; the freighter's long-range sensors had just picked up a landing beacon.

Han switched on the Terrain Following Sensors and poised over the readouts. "They picked us a decent spot to land at least," he admitted. "A big, flat place slung between those two low peaks over there. Probably a glacial field." He flipped the microphone on his headset over to intercom mode. "Bollux, we're going in. Drop what you're doing and hang on."

Correcting his ship's att.i.tude of descent, he brought her in toward the landing point at very moderate speed. The TFS rig showed no obstacles or other dangers, but Han wished to take no chances with instrumentation on this stupid planet.

They settled into the clouds as precipitation was driven at the canopy, only to slide away when it met the Falcon's defensive screens. Sensors had begun functioning normally, giving precise information on alt.i.tude. Visibility, even in the storm, was sufficient for a cautious landing. Lur materialized below them as a plain where winds hurried along endlessly, aimlessly.

Han eased the vessel down warily; he had no desire to find himself buried in an ice chasm. But the ship's landing gear found solid support, and instrumentation showed that Han's guess had been correct; they had landed on a glacial ice field. Off to starboard some forty meters or so was the landing beacon.

Han removed his headset, stripped off the flying gloves he had been wearing, and unbuckled his seatbelt. He turned to his Wookiee copilot. "You stay here and keep a sharp watch. I'll go let the ramp down and see what the deal is." The unoccupied navigator's seat behind him held a bundle that he snagged and carried along as he left the c.o.c.kpit.

On his way aft to the ship's ramp he found Bollux. The 'droid was stooping down by an open inspection plate set in the bulkhead at deck level. Bollux's chest plastron was open, and Blue Max was a.s.sisting him in his examination of the problem at hand.

"What's the routine?" Han inquired. "Is it fixed?"

Bollux stood up. "I'm afraid not, Captain Solo. But Max and I caught it just before the last safety went. We shut down the entire system, but repair is beyond the capability of either of us."

"You don't need a tech for those fluidics, Captain," Max chirped. "You need a d.a.m.n plumber." His voice held a note of moral outrage at the inferior design.

"Tell me about it. And watch your language, Max. Just because I talk that way is no sign you should. All right, boys, just leave things the way they are. This trip should make us enough to have all those waterworks replaced with good old shielded circuitry. Bollux, I want you to close up your fruit stand; we've got cargo to pick up and I don't want you making the clients jumpy. Sorry, Max, but you do that to people sometimes."

"No problem, Captain," Blue Max replied as the halves of Bollux's chest swung shut to the hum of servomotors. Han reflected that, while he still didn't care much for automata, Bollux and Max weren't too bad. He decided, though, that he would never understand how the pseudo-personalities of an ancient labor 'droid and a precocious computer module could hit it off so well.

Han opened the bundle he had brought from the c.o.c.kpit-a bulky thermosuit-and began pulling it on over his ship's clothes. Before fitting his hands into the thermosuit's attached gloves, he adjusted his gun-belt, rebuckling it over the suit, then removing the weapon's trigger guard so that he'd be able to fire it with his thermoglove on. He wouldn't have dreamed of going out unarmed; he was always wary when the Millennium Falcon was grounded in unfamiliar surroundings, but especially so when he was doing business on the shady side of the street.

He donned protective headgear, a transparent facebowl with insulated ear cups. Touching a b.u.t.ton on the control unit set in his thermosuit's sleeve, he brought its heating unit to life.

"Stand by," he ordered Bollux, "in case I need a hand with the cargo."

"May I inquire what it is we're to carry, Captain?" Bollux asked as he drew aside the covers of the special compartments hidden under the deckplates.

"You may guess, Bollux; that's about all I can do right now myself." Han prodded at the hatch control with a gloved finger. "n.o.body mentioned what it's going to be, and I was in no position to ask. Couldn't be anything too ma.s.sive, I guess."

The hatch rolled up and a blast of frigid wind invaded the pa.s.sageway. Han shouted over the wail of the storm. "Doesn't look like it's going to be heat rash salve though, does it?"

He started down the ramp, leaning into the force of the gale. The cold in his lungs was sharp enough to make him think about going back for a respirator, but he judged that he wouldn't be outside long enough to need one. His facebowl polarized somewhat against the ice glare as snow hissed against it. Specific gravity here on Lur was slightly over Standard, but not enough to cause any inconvenience.

At the foot of the ramp he found that the wind was moving a light dusting of snow across the blue-white glacier. Miniature drifts were already acc.u.mulating against the Falcon's landing gear. He spied the beacon, a cl.u.s.ter of blinking caution lights atop a globular transponder package, anch.o.r.ed to glacial ice by a tripod. There was no one to be seen, but visibility was so low that Han couldn't have made out much beyond the landing marker.

He walked over to it, inspecting it and finding it to be nothing more than a standard model, designed for use in places lacking sophisticated navigational and tracking equipment.

Suddenly a m.u.f.fled voice behind him called out. "Solo?" He spun, right hand dropping automatically to the grip of his blaster. A man stepped out of the swirl of the storm. He, too, wore a thermosuit and a facebowl that had muted his voice, but the thermosuit was white and the facebowl reflective, making him nearly invisible there on the glacier.

He moved forward with hands empty and held high. Han, squinting past him, saw the vague outlines of other figures moving just at the edge of his range of vision.

"I'm him," Han responded, his own words m.u.f.fled somewhat by his facebowl. "You're, uh, Zlarb?"

The other nodded. Zlarb was a tall, broadly built man with extremely fair skin, white-blond beard and clear gray eyes with creases at their corners that gave him an intense, threatening look. But he showed his teeth in a wide smile. "That's right, Captain. And I'm ready to go, too. We can load up right away."

Han tried to peer through the curtain of snow behind Zlarb. "Are there enough of you to bring up the cargo? I brought along a repulsorlift handtruck in case you need it to haul your load. Want me to run it out for you?"

Zlarb gave him a look Han couldn't quite read, then smiled again. "No. I think we can get our shipment onboard without any problems."

Something about the man's behavior, the hint of a private joke or the sardonic tone to his reply, made Han suspicious. He had long since learned to listen to inner alarms. He looked back at the blurry outline of the Falcon and hoped Chewbacca was alert and that the Wookiee had the starship's main batteries primed and aimed. The two seldom encountered trouble from their pickup contacts. Usually at the other end, the drop-off and payment end of things, trouble tended to occur. But this just might be the exception.

Han backed away a step, eyes meeting Zlarb's. "All right then, I'll go get ready to raise ship." He had more questions to ask this man, but wanted to move the proceedings to a more auspicious spot, say, next to the freighter's belly turret. "You drag your shipment to the ramp head and we'll take it from there."

Zlarb's grin was wider now. "No, Solo. I think we'll both go onboard your ship. Right now."

Han was about to tell Zlarb that it was against his and Chewbacca's policy to let smuggling contacts...o...b..ard when he noticed that the man had turned his hand over. In it he held a tiny weapon, a short-range palmgun that, like a conjuror, he must have held hidden between gloved fingers. Han thought about going for his blaster but realized that at best he could probably manage no more than a tie, in which case both of them would die.

The blinking lights of the landing beacon, gleaming off Zlarb's facebowl, gave the man's smirk an even more sinister look. "Hand the blaster over b.u.t.t-first, Solo, and keep your back to the ship so your partner can't see. Carefully now; I've been warned about you and that speeddraw, and I'd rather shoot than take a chance."

He tucked Han's sidearm into his belt. "Now let's get aboard. Keep both hands at your sides and don't try to warn the Wookiee."

He turned for a moment and motioned to unseen companions, then indicated the Falcon with the palmgun. From a distance, Han thought, it probably looked like a polite you-first gesture.

As they walked Han tried to sort through the situation, his mind roiling. These people knew exactly what they were doing; the whole job had been a setup. Zlarb's frank willingness to use his weapon was proof that he and his accomplices were playing for very high stakes. The question of being cheated of payment or even of having his vessel hijacked suddenly bothered Han less than the thought of not surviving the encounter.

The bulk of the Millennium Falcon became more distinct as they approached her. "No bright stunts now, Solo," Zlarb warned. "Don't even twitch your nose at the Wookiee or you'll die for it."

Han had to admit that Zlarb thought in advance, but he hadn't covered everything. Han and Chewbacca had a signal system for pickups and dropoffs, whereby Han didn't need to communicate that something was wrong; all he had to do was approach the ship and fail to give the subtle all's-well.

Over the moan of the gale they heard the whine of servomotors. The quad-guns in the Falcon's belly turret traversed, elevated, and came to bear on them.

But Zlarb had already stepped behind Han, pulling the captured gun from his belt and holding its muzzle up close to Han's temple. They could see Chewbacca now, his hairy face pressed close to the canopy, gazing down apprehensively. The Wookiee's left arm was stretched behind him, down near the console. Han knew his friend's fingers would be only millimeters from the fire controls. He wanted to yell Get out! Raise ship! But Zlarb antic.i.p.ated that. "Not a word to him, Solo! Not a sound, or you're canceled." Han didn't doubt him a bit.

Zlarb had the Wookiee's attention and was motioning him to come down out of the ship, indicating with the blaster's muzzle just what would happen to Han if Chewbacca failed to obey. Han, familiar with his s.h.a.ggy first mate's expressions, read indecision then resignation, on his face. Then the Wookiee disappeared from the c.o.c.kpit.

Han muttered something, and Zlarb poked him with the blaster. "Save it; it's lucky for you he paid attention. Just play along and both of you will come through this alive."

Two of Zlarb's underlings had come up and stopped near their boss. One was a human, a squat, tough looking ugly who could have come from any of 100,000 worlds. The other was a humanoid, a giant, burly creature nearly Chewbacca's size, with tiny eyes beneath jutting, boney brows. The humanoid's skin was a glossy brown, like some exotic, polished wood, and vestigial horns curled at his forehead. He seemed to feel the need for neither thermosuit nor facebowl.

But it was what the other man, the squat one, had brought that surprised Han most. He had a control leash fastened to his wrist; at the end of the leash was a nashtah, one of the storied hunting beasts of Dra III. The nashtah's six powerful legs, each armed with long, curving, diamond-hard claws, shifted restlessly on the ice. It strained at its leash, tongue arcing, its steamy breath rasping between triple rows of jagged white teeth, its long barbed tail lashing. Its muscles, tensing and untensing, sent ripples along its green, sleek hide.

What in the name of the profit-motive system can they be doing with a nashtah? Han asked himself. The creatures were bloodthirsty, tireless and impossible to shake once they scented their prey, and were among the most vicious of all attack animals. That seemed to indicate poaching of some kind, but why would a gang of poachers go to all this trouble? Han disliked moving pelts or hides and, given a choice, would not have carried them. But that surely didn't call for this kind of extreme action on Zlarb's part; there were plenty of smugglers who would have taken the job.

Chewbacca appeared at the ramp head. The nashtah, sighting him, gave throat to a piercing scream and lunged, dragging its handler until he dug in his heels and pressed a stud on the control leash handle. The nashtah gave a yeowl of displeasure at the mild shock that stopped its advance for the moment. Chewbacca watched impa.s.sively, his bowcaster held ready, eyes sweeping the scene below.

Zlarb started Han off with a shove, staying close behind, and the two climbed the ramp. When they were near the top, Zlarb addressed Chewbacca. "Put down the weapon. Do it now and step back or your friend here gets fried." There was the nudge of the blaster between Han's shoulder blades.

Chewbacca debated the variables involved, then complied, seeing no other way to save his friend's life. Meanwhile, Han evaluated his chances for a fast move. He knew he might stand a chance of neutralizing Zlarb, but the other two gang members were backing their boss up and each had a handgun out now. And then there was the nashtah. Han elected to postpone his most desperate option for the time being.

When they reached the top of the ramp, Zlarb pushed Han hard, then stooped to take up Chewbacca's bowcaster. The Wookiee caught his friend as Han stumbled from the shove and kept him from falling. Han removed his facebowl and threw it aside. Taking a quick look around, he noticed Bollux still standing where Han had left him. The 'droid seemed to be rooted to the spot, immobile with surprise, his circuitry struggling to absorb the bewildering rush of events.

Zlarb's men had come in behind him along with the nashtah, whose claws sc.r.a.ped the deckplates. Again it had to be curbed from leaping at the Wookiee, and Han wondered for a moment what it was about Chewbacca that antagonized it so. Something about his first mate's scent, or perhaps a resemblance to one of the beast's natural enemies?

Zlarb turned to the hulking humanoid who had been eyeing Chewbacca with nearly as much hostility as the nashtah. "Go tell the others to start moving. We'll get things ready here." Then he turned to Han. "Open up your main hold; we're going to start loading." And finally, to the handler who still restrained the spitting nashtah, Zlarb indicated the Wookiee. "If he moves, burn him down."

They set off aft, Zlarb being careful to stay well back from Han, watchful for any surprise move the pilot might make. Following the curve of the pa.s.sageway, they came to the hatchway of the Falcon's main cargo hold. Han tapped the release, and the hatch slid back to reveal a compartment of modest size, ribbed by the ship's structural members, featureless except for air ducts, safety equipment, and the heating-refrigeration unit. A stack of panels and disa.s.sembled support posts lay there, to be erected as shelving or retaining bins if they were needed. Dunnage and padding were heaped in a pile to one side near coils of strapping and fastening tackle.

Zlarb, looking around, nodded in approval. "This'll do fine, Solo. Leave the hatch open and let's get back to the others."

Another of Zlarb's men had arrived and was standing at the top of the ramp, a disruptor rifle leveled at Chewbacca. The nashtah handler had dragged his beast back farther toward the c.o.c.kpit. The big humanoid had returned, too, carrying a small shoulder pack. Zlarb pointed to it. "You've got your equipment there, Wadda?"

Wadda inclined his head. Zlarb pointed to Bollux. "First I want you to stick a restraining bolt on the 'droid. We don't want him wandering around; he might give us trouble."

Bollux started to protest but weapons moved to cover him and Wadda closed in on him, looming over him and unlimbering the ominous pack from his shoulder. The labor 'droid's red photoreceptors went to Han in what seemed to be an entreaty. "Captain Solo, what shall I-"

"Keep still," Han instructed, not wanting to see Bollux destroyed and knowing Zlarb's people would do just that if the 'droid resisted them. "It'll only be for a while."

Bollux looked from Han to Chewbacca, then to Wadda and back to Han again. Wadda closed in on him, fitting a restraining bolt into a hand-held applicator. The big humanoid pressed the applicator against Bollux's chest and the 'droid gave a split-second bleep. There was a wisp of smoke as bolt fused to metal skin. Just as Bollux shuffled, resettling his changing feet as if some new posture would be of help to him, his photoreceptors went dark, the restraining bolt deactivating his control matrices.

Satisfied that the Falcon was his, Zlarb began issuing commands. "Let's get busy." Han was directed to Chewbacca's side. The nashtah handler and the man with the disruptor rifle continued to watch them while Wadda hurried down the ramp, making it tremble under his great weight.

"Zlarb," Han began, "don't you think its time you told us what's so flaming ..."

He was distracted by the ramp's vibrations and the sound of many light footfalls. A moment later he understood just what had happened to him and in how dangerous a situation he and Chewbacca had become involved.

A file of small figures trooped aboard, heads hung in fatigue and despair. These were obviously inhabitants of Lur. The tallest of them was scarcely waist-high to Han. They were erect bipeds, covered with fine white fur, their feet protected by thick pads of calluslike tissue. Their eyes were large, and ran toward green and blue; they stared around the Falcon's interior in dull amazement.

Each neck was encircled by a collar of metal, the collars joined together by a thin black cable. It was a slaver's line.

Chewbacca bellowed an enraged roar and ignored the answering scream from the nashtah. Han glared at Zlarb, who was directing the loading of slaves. One of his men held a director unit, its circuitry linked to the collars. The director, a banned device, had an unfinished, homemade look to it. Any defiance from the captives would earn them excruciating pain.

Han fixed Zlarb with his eye. "Not in my ship," he stated, emphasizing each word.

But Zlarb only laughed. "You're not in much of a position to object, are you, Solo?"

"Not in my ship," Han repeated stubbornly. "Not slaves. Never."

Zlarb aligned Han's own blaster at him, sighting down the barrel. "You just think again, pilot. If you give me any trouble, you'll end up locked in a necklace yourself. Now, you and the Wookiee go forward and get ready to lift."

A second line of slaves was being led aboard and ushered aft to the hold. Han scowled at Zlarb for a moment, then turned toward the c.o.c.kpit. Chewbacca hesitated, bared his fangs at the slavers once more, and followed his friend.

Han lowered himself unwillingly into the pilot's seat, and Chewbacca took the copilot's. Zlarb stood behind them watching their every move carefully. He mistrusted the two, of course, but knew that they could get more speed and better performance out of the Falcon than he or any of his men could. And that might well mean survival in the perilous business of slave-running.

"Solo, I want you and your partner to be smart about this. You take us to our point of delivery and you'll both be taken care of. But if we're halted and boarded, it's the death sentence for all of us, you included."

"Where are we going?" Han asked, tight-lipped.

"I'll tell you that when the time comes. For now, you just prepare to raise ship."

Han brought the Falcon's engines to full power, warming up her shields and preparing to lift. "What are they paying you? Even I can't think of enough money to get me mixed up in slaving."

Zlarb chuckled derisively. "They told me you were a hard case, Solo. I see they were wrong. Those little beauties back there are worth four, five, maybe even six thousand apiece on the Invisible Market. They're natural-born experts at genetic manipulation, and in great demand, my friend. Not everyone is happy with the rigid restrictions that were imposed after the Clone Wars. It seems these creatures like their own world too much, though, and wouldn't sign out on contract labor for anything. So my a.s.sociates and I rounded up a bunch. A few of them are sick or wounded, but we'll deliver at least fifty of them. I'll make enough off this run to keep me happy and lazy for a long time."

Contract labor. That sounded like the Corporate Sector Authority was involved. But though the Authority had been known to use contract hoaxes and deceptive recruitment, Han found it hard to believe that it would be so bold as to practice out-and-out slavery, particularly raiding a planet outside its own boundaries. That was something even the Empire couldn't afford to ignore.

"Your board looks good to me, Solo," Zlarb commented, studying the console. "Raise ship."

As Han, Chewbacca, and the slavers left the pa.s.sageway, Bollux still stood precisely where he had been deactivated near the ramp's head. The restraining bolt had interdicted all his control centers, immobilizing him.

But hidden within the labor 'droid's thorax, still functioning off his own independent power supply, Blue Max was a.s.sessing his situation. Though he realized that the emergency might mean disaster for the Falcon's entire complement, the undersized computer probe could see little he could do to change the situation. He had no motor capability of his own and contained no communications equipment except his vocoder and various computer-tap adaptors. Moreover, Max's own power source was minuscule in comparison to Bollux's, and he couldn't possibly move the labor 'droid's body far enough or fast enough to do any good before exhausting himself.