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The little robot flew back the way he’d come, smashed into the wall, and was on the way back into combat again before Lando could so much as blink.

“Master!” the droid shouted, once again wrapping his limbs about those of the pilot. “Use your medikit!”

Fumbling at the belly of his suit, Lando grabbed the kit’s injector, a flat thick coin of an object with a red side and a green side laminated over silvery plating. As Vuffi Raa held the fighter pilot momentarily, Lando slapped the injector on his neck.

There was a hisssss, the pilot slumped, and Vuffi Raa released him.

The robot seemed to slink into a corner, his red eye growing dimmer, his tentacles spreading and curling until the little fellow was a simple metallic sphere. The light pulsed feebly once, and went out.

“Vuffi Raa!” the gambler exclaimed, shaken with surprise and grief. He hurried to the robot’s side, without the faintest idea what to do for his friend. A tiny hint of eye-glow still could be made out. Lando stood as anger began to fill him.

He walked over to the pilot. The sedation hadn’t rendered him unconscious. He lay, breathing deeply, his eyes swimming in and out of focus, in and out of burning lunatic hatred for the helpless droid across the room.

Lando turned him over roughly, tore the somewhat antiquated blaster from the man’s military holster, flipped him on his back again. Poking around in the small cramped chamber, he found some scraps, odds and ends from maintenance projjects, among them a two-meter length of heavy wire. Holding it against the shield-saturated upper hull, he burned it in half with the blaster on its lowest setting, and, without waiting for the fused ends to cool, returned to the recumbent pilot, twisting one piece around his suited wrists, the other around his ankles.

Then, uncaring about what physiological damage he might be doing the soldier, he twisted the knurled edge of the injector until a small arrow was opposite the engraved legend STIM, and clapped it firmly to the man’s face.

The device made its subtle noise. The fellow flushed, groaned, but his eyes grew clearer immediately. Lando pressed the still-warm muzzle of the blaster against the man’s left kneecap.

“All right, Ace: tell me your story and make it short. By all means don’t cooperate. I’d love an excuse to use you up, one joint at a time!” The knuckle of his index finger tightened on the trigger, and the pilot saw it.

“I’m Klyn Shanga,” the trussed-up figure said with a sigh. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, as long as you promise to use that blaster on me afterward. One clean, effective shot for an old soldier, what do you say?”

Taken aback, Lando let the muzzle drop to the floor. “I say I’ll let you know after I hear what you have to say. ‘Klyn Shanga’: what kind of name is that?” He squatted on the deck beside Shanga, one eye on Vuffi Raa. The robot didn’t stir.

Shanga shook his head and sighed again, trying to accept defeat. He’d had a good deal of practice. “It’s the name of a dead man, friend, the name of a dead man. Who in the Name are you, and what are you doing fighting men like yourself with that fiend over there?”

“I’m Captain Lando Calrissian of the Millennium Falcon,” Lando replied evenly, “and that ‘fiend’ is my pilot-droid and friend, friend. His name is Vuffi Raa and he never hurt the tiniest insectoid in his life. He’s programmed against it.”

The pilot blinked. “A droid? Is that what it told you? That explains the fancy chrome—I almost didn’t recognize it. But I did! You don’t forget the devil that destroys your civilization!”

Lando scratched his head. “Be sensible, man. How could one little droid … and anyway, what I’ve told you is true. He is a droid, I’ve seen him partially diassembled. Let me tell you, if he’s been permanently harmed—do you know why he’s curled up like that and deactivated? Well, it’s because he was forced to attack and restrain a sentient being, I’d guess, to defend himself and me.”

Shanga slumped back on the deck, laid his head down,