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“Oh yeah, boss—by the liter,” Leia retorted. “You want it done fast or do you want it done without overspray? I don’t do both.”

“All right, don’t get snappy,” Taryn replied. “I’ll call the supply van.”

It was the ready signal. Taryn activated her comlink and ordered Turi Altamik to bring the “supply van” around. As she spoke, Han and the rest of the rescue team were tearing off their goggles and respirators and removing weapons and equipment vests from the hoverscaf tool bins. By the time the Turi arrived, Han was outfitted with his blaster belt, a vestful of assorted grenades, a handsfree comlink, and a T-21 repeating blaster set to STUN. Zekk and the rest of the Jedi were traveling a little lighter, with only their lightsabers, a couple of grenades apiece, handsfree comlinks, blaster pistols—also set to STUN—and the standard assortment of Jedi equipment that always seemed useless until the instant it was needed.

Taryn waved the “supply van” alongside Han’s hoverscaf. Actually a Cygnus-7 armored transport vehicle, it had been disguised by overlaying a set of artificial body panels bearing the colors and logo of Runkil exterminators. The panels, of course, could be jettisoned at the push of a button, and the power train had been augmented with enough quad-feeds and thrust-boosters to give an Aratech BeamStreak a good race.

A side panel swished open to reveal C-3PO and R2-D2 standing in the doorway. “Oh, there you are, Cap—”

R2-D2 interrupted with a sharp tweet.

“Who are you calling a crossed circuit?” C-3PO retorted. “Of course I know we’re undercover.”

R2-D2 whistled an angry reply.

“Come on, you two.” Holding the repeating blaster in one hand, Han lifted the access gate in the rear safety rail. A narrow boarding ramp shot out from the Cygnus-7, bridging the half-meter distance between its side door and the hoverscaf. “We don’t have all day!”

R2-D2 rolled onto the ramp and was across in a second, but C-3PO took one look at the traffic-choked chasm below and activated his self-preservation routines.

“Are you quite sure that my presence is required?” he asked. “My gyroservers have been sticking—”

“Quit stalling,” Han ordered. He pointed at the foam-covered cam bubble, then held a finger to his lips. “You’ve got vibration detectors to calibrate.”

“Very well.” C-3PO put a tentative foot onto the ramp, wobbled, and raised both arms for balance. “But if I should happen to slip, please tell Princess—”

“No one’s slipping.”

Han leaned over the safety rail and grabbed the droid’s arm, guiding him forward—until the simultaneous crackle of two thermal detonators roared behind him. C-3PO raised his arms to shield his photoreceptors from the flash and nearly pulled Han halfway over the rail. Han raised a knee and managed to catch the rail between his thigh and waist, leaving them both hanging over a kilometer and a half of whirring nothingness. C-3PO’s arms began to wag wildly, threatening to rip free of Han’s grasp or break his hold on the safety rail and send them both plummeting down into the skylane.

“Threepio, stop that!” Han ordered. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“Of course not, sir,” C-3PO replied. He lowered his arms at exactly the wrong moment, and Han found himself struggling to keep the droid from falling toward him. “Droids can’t be killed—only destroyed.”

Han dropped the blaster onto the hoverscaf and grabbed for the safety rail, but he was already starting to fall backward.

“Oh, dear!” C-3PO cried, now leaning away. “You seem to be pulling me off the rraaaggh!”

A fierce pang of agony shot up Han’s arm as the droid’s weight banged it down on the safety rail. The joint started to hyperextend, then Han felt himself rising and starting to flip over the rail after C-3PO.

“Hold on!” Zekk yelled.

“Hold on?” Han cried, trying not to think about all the things that were going to tear as soon as the droid’s weight snapped his elbow straight. “Are you crazy?”

But Han’s arm never reached full extension. Instead he felt himself sinking