The Wookiee agreed. They withdrew with care and told the others what they had seen. Sunrise was near.

"Skynx and Hasti, take lookout on the rise," Han directed. "Bollux and Badure, guard the raft. Chewie and I will move in; you all know the signal system. If you have to get out, at least you've got a boat now." None of them made any objections, though Hasti looked as if she wanted to.

The Millennium Falcon's captain and first mate split off to the right and left of the rise, moving stealthily through the tall, amber gra.s.s, each of them keeping careful count in his mind. They had worked together so often that they automatically orchestrated their moves, without benefit of chrono or signal.

Han swept left, approaching the anomaly in the terrain that had attracted his attention. As he had thought, the lumps at the base of the foothills were a cl.u.s.ter of camouflage covers, a little too sudden and consolidated to be a part of the landscape. He saw no sentries or patrols, no surveillance of any kind, and so changed course to his right.

He heard something in the gra.s.s that might have been a small insect's buzz; the sound scarcely traveled a few meters. Han a.s.sumed his partner's signal had been sounding for a while.

He homed to it, parted a tuft of gra.s.s, and met his copilot with a grin. They talked in quick hand-motions; Chewbacca's recon had yielded the same results as Han's-with one addition; there was a guard, evidently a Survivor, walking a slow post. They made their plan and moved forward again. Han's first inclination was to use the stun-gun carried by Badure, but there was too much chance that someone would hear the discharge or see the blue light of the shot.

The sentry was dressed in common Dellaltian mode rather than in Survivor garb. He strolled along his circuit carelessly, armed with a Kell Mark II Heavy a.s.sault Rifle. He carried the Kell at a sloppy shoulder arms. Like sentries in most of the places Han had ever seen, the man was convinced that nothing would happen and that he was walking guard for no good reason. He sauntered past, thinking thoughts of no great consequence-which was just as well. Those idle thoughts were dispelled a moment later when a hulking shape rose out of the gra.s.s behind him and expertly tapped him behind the ear with a bowcaster b.u.t.t. The guard fell face-first into the gra.s.s.

Han retrieved the heavy-a.s.sault rifle, and the two partners made a hasty scout of the area. There were no more guards, but the thing that had attracted Han's attention through the blaster scope proved most interesting. All manner of ground-effect surface vehicles, all of them cargo models, were gathered there under camouflage covers, secured. A quick series of random checks revealed no cargo aboard any of them.

"What'd they need twenty flatbeds for?" Han wondered aloud as he waved his companions forward. "Plus two or three back at the mountain base?"

The others came up behind them. Badure explained that they had secured the stolen hover-raft with its own camouflage cover, behind the rise. They helped Han and Chewbacca in a precautionary smashing of the fleet's communication equipment. None of them could come up with a plausible reason for the strange gathering of craft either.

"There's a gully leading up into the foothills," Han said, jerking his thumb. "How far are we from J'uoch's mining camp?"

"Straight up that way," Hasti told him, indicating the gully. "We can work our way along a few ridge lines and we'll be there. Or, we could go along the valley floors and washes."

Han hefted the Kell rifle. "Let's move out now; we'll all go. I don't want to leave anybody behind in case we get a break and get the Falcon back; we can raise ship right away."

They started into the foothills, eyes darting nervously for any sign of ambush. Bollux, monitoring, picked up no evidence of sensors. The gully's floor had been sluiced by rains down to hard stone, scored and chewed as if heavy equipment had pa.s.sed over it. They had seen no track or tread marks on the plain, but the resilient gra.s.s probably wouldn't have held them.

Bollux reported that the automata-command signals were much stronger now. "They're repet.i.tive," the 'droid informed them, "as if someone is running the same test sequence over and over."

The gully cut through the first two ridges and gave out on the next, the highest they had reached. The ground here was all rock, still showing signs of the pa.s.sage of what Han a.s.sumed to be machinery. That the Survivors had some special interest in J'uoch's camp was obvious; it remained to be seen if it had to do with the treasure. But uppermost in Han's mind was recovery of the Millennium Falcon.

They topped the ridge, advancing at a low crawl, to look down into the valley below. Hasti gasped, as did Skynx with a sound like a subdued hiccup. Bollux gazed without comment, less surprised than the others. Han's and Chewbacca's mouths hung open, and Badure whispered, "By the Maker!"

Now the fleet of cargo craft, the marks on the stone gully floor, the gist of the Survivors' ceremony-even the huge chamber in which they had been imprisoned-all made sense. Those monolithic stone slabs set deep in the mountain warren weren't tables, runways, or part.i.tions.

They were benches.

And below were gathered the occupants that sat on those benches, at least a thousand of the bulky war-robots built at the command of Xim the Despot. They stood immobile, broad and impa.s.sive, mightily armored-man-shaped battle machines half again Han's height. They gleamed with a mirror-bright finish designed to reflect laser weaponry. Survivors moved among them with testing equipment, running the checks Bollux had detected.

"These are the ones!" Skynx whispered gleefully. "The thousand guardians Xim set onboard the Queen of Ranroon to look after his treasure. I wonder how many trips it took to ferry them all out here? And what are they here for?"

"The only possible reason's over there," replied Hasti, gesturing with her chin, raising up on her elbows. From their vantage point they could see J'uoch's mining camp, which straddled two sides of a great creva.s.se. The barracks, shops, and storage buildings were on one side, the kilometers-wide mining-operations site on the other, the two connected by a ma.s.sive trestle bridge left from old Dellaltian mining efforts. The camp seemed to be operating as usual, its heavy equipment tearing away at the ground.

And on the side of the site, Han saw something that nearly made him whoop out loud. He pounded the Wookiee's shoulder, pointing. There, the Millennium Falcon sat on her triangle of landing gear. The starship seemed intact and operational.

But she won't be, Han caught himself up short, if those groundpounders of Xim's get at her.

At that moment there was a flurry of activity among the Survivors below. Their testing sequences were done. They scurried out from among the irregularly placed robots and gathered at a gleaming golden podium that had been set up on one side of the valley. A transmission horn projected from the podium, which was adorned with Xim's death's-head emblem. The Survivor on the podium touched a control.

Every war-robot on the valley floor straightened to alertness, squaring shoulders, coming to stiff, straddle-legged attention. Cranial turrets swung; optical pickups came to bear on the podium. The Survivor on the podium spoke.

"He's calling the Corps Commander forward," Skynx explained in a muted voice.

"I know that man on the podium," Hasti whispered slowly. Then more quickly, "I recognize the white blaze in his hair. He's the a.s.sistant to the steward of the treasure vaults!"

From the ma.s.sed robots stepped their leader, identical to the others in his corps but for a golden insignia glittering on his breastplate. His rigid, weighty tread shook the ground, the epitome of military precision, his movements revealing immense power. He halted before the podium. From his aged vocoder came a deep, resonant question. Skynx translated in whispers.

"What do you require of the Guardian Corps?" the machine intoned.

"That with which you were entrusted is now in jeopardy," answered the Survivor on the podium, the steward's a.s.sistant.

"What do you require of the Guardian Corps?" repeated the robot, uninterested in details.

The Survivor pointed. "Follow the gully trail as we've marked it for you. It will bring you to your enemies. Destroy all that you find there. Kill everyone you encounter."

The armored head regarded him for a moment, as if in doubt, then replied: "You occupy the control platform; the Guardian Corps will obey. We will pa.s.s in review, as programmed, then go forth." The Corps Commander's cranial turrets rotated as he issued the squeals of his signalry.

The war-robots began moving, forming an irregular line, moving just as their commander had. Without cadence or formation, they grouped to one side of the podium. But as they pa.s.sed it, the transmission horn's command circuitry automatically directed them to a.s.sume their review mode. From a ma.s.sed group, they separated into ranks and files as they pa.s.sed the podium, ten abreast, heavy feet rising and falling in step. With their Corps Commander at their head, the thousand war-robots marched, completing a circuit of the little valley.

Even the Survivors were hypnotized by it; the sight of their ancient charges walking again was nothing less than magical to them. Metal feet beat the canyon floor; arms as thick as a man's waist swung in unison. Han wondered if J'uoch's people wouldn't be able to hear their approach even over the sound of mining operations.

At some unseen signal from their Corps Commander, the robots stopped. The commander came around to face the podium with a rocking motion. From his vocoder boomed the words: "We are ready."

The Survivor on the podium instructed the robots to stand fast for a time. "We go now to a vantage point, from which we will observe your attack. When we are in place you may proceed against the enemy." He and the other Survivors hurried off to watch the carnage. Presently the air was still, the war-robots waiting patiently, the only sound the distant buzz of the mining camp.

"We've got to get to the camp first," Han declared as they drew back from the ridge and got to their feet.

"Are you completely vacuum-happy?" Hasti wanted to know. "We'll get there just in time to go through the meat-grinder!"

"Not if we hurry. Those windup soldiers down there will have to go the long way around; we can run the ridge line if we're careful and get there first. The Falcon's our only way off this mud-ball; if we can't get to her, we're going to have to tip J'uoch that the robots are on their way, or they'll rip my ship apart."

He wished he could figure out why the Survivors were intent on destroying the mining camp and slaughtering its personnel. "Everyone keep up. I'll go first, then Hasti, Skynx, Badure, Bollux, and Chewie on rearguard."

Han put the heavy-a.s.sault rifle across his shoulders and set off, the others falling into their a.s.signed places. But when Chewbacca beckoned Bollux, the labor 'droid hesitated. "I'm afraid I'm not functioning up to specifications, First Mate Chewbacca. I'll have to come along as best I can."

The Wookiee was torn by indecision for a moment, then trotted off after the rest, making it clear with hand motions and growls that Bollux was to come along as quickly as he could. The 'droid watched Chewbacca disappear from view, then opened his chest plastron so that he and Blue Max could speak in vocal-normal mode, as they preferred.

"Now, my friend," he drawled to the little computer module, "perhaps you'll explain why you wanted us to stay behind. I practically had to lie to First Mate Chewbacca to do it; we may very well be left behind."

Max, who had taken in the situation via direct linkage with Bollux, answered simply. "I know how to stop them. The war-robots, I mean; but we'd have to destroy them all to do it. We needed time to talk it over, Bollux."

And Blue Max related the plan he had conceived. The labor 'droid responded even more slowly than usual. "Why didn't you mention this before, when Captain Solo was here?"

"Because I didn't want him to decide! Those robots are doing what they were built to do, just like we are. Is that any reason to obliterate them? I wasn't even sure I should tell you; I didn't want you to blow your primary stacks in a decisional malfunction. Wait; what're you doing?"

The labor 'droid's chest plastron was swinging shut as he toed the edge of the ridge. "Seeking alternatives," he explained, stepping off.

Bollux slid and stumbled and plowed his way down the slope to the valley floor, working with heavy-duty suspension of arms and legs to keep from being damaged. At last he came to an awkward stop at the bottom amid a minor avalanche. Standing erect, he approached the war-robots, who waited in their gleaming, exact formation.

The Corps Commander's cranial turret rotated at Bollux's advance. A great arm swung up, weapons-apertures opening. "Halt. Identify or be destroyed."

Bollux replied with the recognition codes and authentication signals he had learned from Skynx's ancient tapes and technical records. The Corps Commander studied him for a moment, debating whether this strange machine ought to be obliterated, recognition codes or no. But the war-robots' deliberative circuitry was limited. The weapon-arm lowered again. "Accepted. State your purpose."

Bollux, with no formal diplomatic programming to draw upon and only his experience to guide him, began hesitantly. "You mustn't attack. You must disregard your orders; they were improperly given."

"They were issued through command signalry of the podium.

We must accept. We are programmed; we respond." The cranial turret rotated to face front again, indicating that the subject bore no further discussion.

Bollux went on doggedly. "Xim is dead! These orders of yours are wrong; they do not come from him; you cannot obey them!"

The turret swung to him again, the optical pickups betraying no emotion. "Steel-brother, we are the war-robots of Xim. No alternative is thinkable."

"Humans are not infallible. If you follow these orders, they'll lead to your destruction. Save yourselves!" He could not admit that it would be by his own hand.

The vocoder boomed. "Whether this is true or not, we carry out our orders. We are the war-robots of Xim."

The Corps Commander faced front again. "The waiting time has elapsed. Stand aside; no further delay will be tolerated." He emitted a squeal of signalry. The ranks of war-robots stepped off as one, arms swinging.

Bollux had to spring aside to keep from being trampled beneath them. His chest plastron swung open as he watched them go. "What do we do now?" Blue Max wanted to know. "Captain Solo and the others will be down there, too."

There was a quiver of sorrow in Bollux's voice modulation. "The war-robots have their built-in programming. And we, my friend, have ours."

XIV.

THEY had worked their way to a ridge overlooking the outer perimeter of the mining camp before Han discovered Bollux wasn't with them. Han, incensed, slipped around a spire of rock for a look at the camp. "I told that low-gear factory reject we needed him to monitor for sensors. Well, we're just going to have to be extra-"

Sirens began ululating through the camp. The travelers all hit the ground at once, but Han risked a peek around the spire. Now that they had been detected, information was more important than concealment.

The mining camp was swarming like an insect nest. Humans and other beings were running every which way to take up emergency stations. Those employees trusted by J'uoch were being issued arms and taking up defensive positions. Contact laborers were ordered by their overseers to retire across the bridge to the isolation and effective confinement of the plateau barracks area.

Han couldn't spot the sensor net he had tripped, but it was apparent that it had him pinpointed. Several reinforced fire teams were dashing to bunkers fronting Han's hiding place. Han saw that grounded near the Millennium Falcon and the gigantic mining lighter was another vessel, a small starship with the sleek lines of a scout.

Suddenly a response squad started up the hill to engage them, two human males with disruptor rifles, a horn-plated W'iiri scuttling on its six legs and bearing a grenade thrower, and an oily-skinned Drall, its red hide gleaming, lugging a gas projector.

Half-kneeling, half-crouching by the spire, Han dragged the old Kell Mark II around by its balance-point carrying handle. Knowing of the outdated weapon's powerful recoil, he braced himself before thumbing the firing stud. Blue energy sprang from the Kell's muzzle, tracing a broad line across the rock wall below. He was nearly knocked over backward by the Mark II's kick, but Chewbacca braced him. The rock sizzled, smoked, and shot sparks, then cracked, fragments and shards falling downslope. The response squad sought cover with gratifying freneticism.

"That should keep them off our necks until we can talk," Han judged. Cupping hand to mouth, he called out, "J'uoch! It's Solo! We have to talk, right away!"

The woman's voice, amplified by a loudhailer, rose from one of the bunkers. "Give me that log-recorder disk and throw down your guns, Solo; those are the only terms you'll get from me!"

"But she saw that we didn't have the disk," Badure muttered. "Didn't she guess that we couldn't get it from the lockbox?"

Han shouted down, "We've got no time to debate this, J'uoch; you and your whole camp are about to come under attack!" He pulled back suddenly as a barrage of small-arms fire opened up. Huddling back from it, the travelers clutched their heads in protection while energy- and projectile-searching fire probed the hillside. Rocks bubbled and exploded; shrapnel and splinters flew while explosive concussion battered their ears.

"I don't think she's going to be reasonable about this," predicted Badure.

"She's got to be," Han snapped, thinking of what would happen to his starship if the robots overran the camp.

The firing slowed for a moment, then, at some command they didn't hear, resumed even more heavily. "Face it, Solo," Hasti called to him over the din, "they want our hides and nothing less. The only way we'll get to the Falcon is if we can get to her while the robots are hitting the camp."

"When they're mixing it up with J'uoch's people? We wouldn't get two meters." At that moment the firing stopped again and a voice called his name from below.

Hasti was gazing at him alarmed. "Solo, what's wrong? You just went pale as perma-frost."

He paid her no attention but saw by Chewbacca's expression that the Wookiee, too, recognized the voice of Gallandro the gunman.

"Solo! Come down and negotiate like a reasonable fellow. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I." The voice was calm, amused.

Han realized that sweat was beginning to bead his brow despite the cold. A sudden suspicion hit him, and he threw himself up into the clear for an instant, just enough to ease the Mark II's barrel over the crest. The response squad was on the move and another was rushing to link up with it.

Han thumbed the trigger and hosed the barrel back and forth randomly. The heavy-a.s.sault rifle was a product of Dra III, made for the heavier, stronger inhabitants of that world, with its Standard-plus gravity. The Mark II's recoil forced him back a second time, but not before the play of its extremely powerful beam drove the advancing squads to cover once more.

"Spread out along the ridge or they'll outflank us!" Han ordered. His companions hurried to comply as Gallandro's voice came again.

"I knew you wouldn't have died in something as foolish as that uneven ship-to-ship action back at the city, Solo. And I knew the Millennium Falcon would draw you here in time, no matter what."

"You know just about everything, don't you?" Han riposted.

"Except where that log-recorder is. Come, Solo; I've struck a bargain with the delightful J'uoch here. Do the same, don't make things difficult. And don't make me come up there after you."

"C'mon, what's stopping you, Gallandro? There'll be nothing left of you but those little mustache beads!" Chewbacca and the others had taken up sniping at the response squads, pinning them down for now, but Han was worried about the armed aircraft in the mining camp.

The thought had no sooner formed than, scanning the sky, he saw a quick, dangerous shape swooping down at them. "Everybody down!"

The s.p.a.ceboat, twin to the one that had been destroyed in the city by the lighter, made a quick preliminary pa.s.s at the ridge, its chin pods spitting. Anti-personnel rounds threw out clouds of flechettes; Han could feel the craft's afterblast as it darted by. He raised his head to see what damage it had done.

By some fortune the first pa.s.s, being hasty, had resulted in no one's being hit. But they were badly exposed there on the ridge; the next pa.s.s might well finish them all. Han pulled the heavy-a.s.sault rifle to him with a grunt of effort, pushed himself upright, and rushed out into the open on the back side of the ridge.

At the camp below, Gallandro conferred with J'uoch. "Madame, recall your boat; I'll trouble you to remember our deal." He spoke with a hint of impatience, as close to emotion as he ever let himself come. "Solo is mine, not to be killed by air attack."

Peering out of the bunker, she dismissed the objection with a wave of her hand. "What does it matter, as long as he's eliminated? My brother's using anti-personnel rounds; the log-recorder won't be damaged."

The gunman smiled, reserving his retaliation for a more convenient moment. He touched up his mustachios with a knuckle. "Solo is well armed, my dear J'uoch. You may be surprised at his resourcefulness, as may your brother."

Han raced over the open ground, keeping one eye out for available cover. Though hindered by the weight of the Mark II, he adjusted it for maximum range and power level as he ran. He had thought about handing the weapon over to the Wookiee to let him shoot at the boat, but the Falcon's first mate had little liking or affinity for energy weapons, preferring his bowcaster.

Han heard the boat begin its second pa.s.s. J'uoch's brother, R'all, dove at the exposed, fleeing man. Han threw himself into a troughlike depression in the rock, the Mark II clattering down next to him. The boat flashed past, so close that Han was in the dead area between the guns' fields of fire. Flechettes burst in long lines to either side of him. R'all flashed off, adjusting his weapons for a final pa.s.s.

Han got up, braced the Mark II's b.u.t.tplate against the rock, and fired. Still the heavy-a.s.sault rifle's recoil made it jump and turn; the boat was out of range before he had come anywhere near it, and now was banking for a pa.s.s that was sure to find its target.