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“Okay, okay. I get your point.” Secretly, Lando congratulated himself on having been able to interrupt the sorcerer. He hated being intimidated by anyone and made a practice of disintimidating himself as quickly as he could. “I get a ship I don’t want, my life and liberty—which I already had before I stumbled into this rustic metropolis of yours. I don’t want to appear unappreciative of your boundless generosity, my dear fellow-beings, but let’s negotiate a bonus. A little something for the overhead?”

Mer leaned forward over his desk, not a particularly easy feat considering his treelike torso and the neck nature had seen fit not to endow him with. A threatening look darkened his face as he opened his mouth to speak, but he was stopped short by a hiss from Gepta.

“Incentives, my dear governor, incentives. Do not seal down the intakes of the droids who refine the fuel. We shall indeed offer our brave captain a little something as recompense. Captain Calrissian, would a full cargo of life-crystals from the orchards be acceptable?”

The sorcerer’s tone implied it had damn well better be. Mer looked sharply at Gepta. He might be afraid of the gray-robed figure, but it was his bread and butter they were negotiating away. He opened his mouth again, saw that Gepta was serious, and closed it to stifle a groan.

Lando grinned. “I imagine that it will take rather a deal of fancy paperwork to cover up the shortage.”

“Which is precisely, my dear Captain”—the sorcerer turned contemptuously toward Mer, and the governor shrank from his gaze—“what bureaucrats are for.”

“Okay, Gepta, so far, so good. But what’s to keep you two from seizing my ship and returning me to the tender mercies of the constabulary once I get the Mindharp for you? The most extravagant offer in the universe is a cheap price to pay if you don’t intend—”

“Peace!” A long pause for consideration, then: “We shall deliver the cargo to your possession before you begin your search for the Mindharp—silence, Governor! However, we shall also have our menials at the port of Teguta Lusat render your Millennium Falcon incapable of leaving the system—in case you decide to play us falsely yourself—while leaving it perfectly suitable for travel from planet to planet within the system. Once you have secured that which we all seek so ardently, your vessel will be repaired and you will be free to go. Is this agreeable?”

Lando thought. It still wasn’t much of a guarantee. In fact, it was the same lousy deal as before, with his ship—or at least its ultralight capacities—as bait instead of the life-crystals. Still, it was all, he was sure, they were going to offer him.

It was a great deal more than he’d expected after Mer’s thugs had worked him over.

“All right,” he said through a weary sigh that was at least half genuine. “It beats sitting around in jail.”

Or having one’s mind sucked away by the life-orchards, he thought grimly to himself.

• V •

“I HAVEN’T THE foggiest notion! Anyway, what possible business is it of yours?”

Lando stalked moodily along the narrow streetside toward a transit stop. His gaudy shipsuit had at least been restored to him, even his diminutive stingbeam. This last decorative touch, he reasoned bitterly, was yet another educational message from Rokur Gepta and Duttes Mer, underlining ironically what they imagined was his utter helplessness. Well, they’d learn better.

Trouble was, Lando couldn’t think of how to accomplish that at the moment.

Vuffi Raa clattered beside him, carrying the rest of his luggage, which had been somewhat battered during the assault on the hotel room.

“But Master, I mean, Captain—”

“Call me Lando!”

“Er, Lando, how am I to help you if you won’t tell me what’s required of us? I know nothing about what’s going on. I spent the entire night in the Confiscated Properties Room at Constabulary headquarters, sandwiched between bales of illicit smoking vegetables and wire baskets overflowing with vibroknives, murder hatchets, and the like.”

At the thought, the little droid suffered an involuntary mechanical