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Allana led the way from the ship, but only for a few paces. “I want to search the camp.”

“For See-Threepio?”

“Yes.” And for the man with the dark aura. “But I don’t know what the best way is.”

“The best way, which would cause the most trouble even if it were possible, would be if we had authority to search every tent and enough troops to lock down the camp while we did it. Prohibit traffic between tents, search each one in turn. Given our limited resources, we’d do better putting together a list of places he might want to visit, plus individuals who have an interest in him. We can search the camp in a grid pattern, concentrating on those tents of interest, trying to get a look inside the ones where we can sneak in or wrangle invitations.”

“It would be better if we spread out, wouldn’t it?”

“Not going to happen, Amelia. Sorry.”

Allana didn’t have any places to add to a list—at least, not a list pertaining to C-3PO. She’d seen the dark-aura man ascend a trail to the eastern ridge. But that could be her destination only if she slipped away from Javon and the others. So for now she let Javon lead the way.

Half an hour later they found C-3PO.

Allana heard him first, the lilting, often aggravating tones of the protocol droid in full argumentative mode: “… defeating your own purpose by imprisoning one you pretend to want to free?”

Allana tapped Javon’s sleeve, then scurried in the direction of the voice. She turned a corner and was confronted with a tent she’d visited before, their first day here—the headquarters of the Manumission Mandate Militia. There again the medical droid in his dazzle pattern of yellow and orange strode a temporary stage, lecturing.

And at the edge of the stage, standing with other members of the speaker’s sparse audience, was C-3PO. He stood stiffly, as if at attention, but his language was in no way restrained. “On the other hand, there is no reason why being a revolutionary is automatically exclusive of being a gentlebeing, yet you persist in acting like a brute.”

Allana threaded her way through the crowd to one side of C-3PO; Javon appeared on the droid’s opposite side.

C-3PO turned to regard Allana. His head turned, that is; his body remained stiff. “Ah, my dear Mistress Amelia. Delighted to see you. And relieved, I must say. Please tell me you’re here to rescue me. You seem to be getting quite prematurely adept at rescuing droids.”

“I guess. You don’t look like you need much rescuing.”

“Actually, he does.” Javon tapped the protocol droid’s chest, where a restraining bolt was clearly visible. Javon turned toward the medical droid. “What’s the idea?”

The medical droid walked over to stand before Javon, metal hands on metal hips. “The idea is to demonstrate how easy it is to enslave even those who claim they serve organics of their own free will. Look at this poor, deluded wretch. Despite his good intentions, one pop of a restraining bolt and all his free will means nothing.”

Javon shook his head. From a pouch, he pulled a multifunction tool and rotated its little pry-bar into position.

C-3PO ignored the other droid. “Actually, it hasn’t been terrible. A moment of disorientation, and then I woke up out of a refreshing oil bath, my batteries at full charge. If only I could have moved, I might have thanked my captors for their hospitality. But then—oh, dear, the speech making. Disorganized, ungrammatical, fear-mongering, with such leaps in logic …”

The medical droid began pacing again. “Eliminate restraining bolt sockets. Or start implanting them in organics. I’ll take either solution.”

Javon pried at the restraining bolt. It popped free and clattered onto the stage.

C-3PO sagged and sighed in obvious relief. “Ah. Much better, kind sir.” He looked up at the medical droid, his posture one of irritation. “You know, you could have allowed me the latitude to walk around a little or even sit down while subjecting me to your lectures.”

“Ha! You are a slave, protocol droid. Embrace