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“Hail, Lord Key-Bearer”—he turned to Vuffi Raa—“and Emissary. It is, indeed, as it has been told. Long have we awaited thee. Vouchsafe now unto thy servants what it is that shall next come to pass.”

“We shall climb aboard yon Millennium Falcon” Lando pointed to the crablike vessel sitting on the asphalt a hundred meters away, and yawned. “Tuck ourselves into our little beddy-byes, and get some—yipe!”

He stopped short. Across the tarmac, half a dozen repulsor-trucks, overhead lights blazing like novas, surrounded the small starship. Along with what appeared to be at least two squads of heavily armed constabulary.

“Good grief,” the gambler said to the robot. “Your ethical virtue will remain unscathed tonight, at least. Everybody seems to have beaten us to the spaceport. So much for the wonders of public transportation. What do you suppose we’ve done now?”

“ ‘We,’ Master?”

“Very funny, my loyal and trusty droid. Your support underwhelms me.”

Approaching the lowered boarding ramp, Lando, the robot, and the Toka Singer—who had detached himself from his departing congregation—were met by armored, dark-visored cops, blasters drawn and at the ready.

“Okay, officer, I’ll pay the two credits.” Lando was tired and angry. He didn’t even want to know how they’d gotten in past the locking-up he’d done the previous night. But he kept his tone goodnatured. With those fellows, it paid to.

“Good evening, Captain,” came an equally good-humored reply from beneath a helmet with two decorative bars across its highly reflective forehead. “We’re here to guard your cargo while it’s being loaded.”

“Really?” Lando marveled. He was always suspicious of favors from policemen. The trooper pointed an armored finger toward the trucks, from which a steady stream of packages ran up automated conveyors into the Falcon’s open cargo hatches.

“That’s right,” the guardsman answered, then added in a more subdued and, Lando thought, somehow civilian tone, “I sure hope your bruises are healing up okay. We were pretty careful. Nothing personal, you understand, sir. A guy has orders to follow.”

And plenty of morally evasive clichés to fall back on, Lando thought as he peered into the anonymous helmet visor. He gave it up. “Think nothing of it, my dear fellow, I understand completely. I’ll try and do as much for you, someday.”

The cop chuckled, snapped to attention, clicked booted heels, and brought his heavy handweapon to port arms. Lando suppressed an unmilitary snigger of his own at the display, and climbed aboard the Falcon with Vuffi Raa and Mohs behind him.

The interior of the Millennium Falcon, Lando thought for the hundredth time, was more like the innards of some great living beast than the inanimate human construction that it was. Starliners and other vessels he was familiar with were as rectilinear and orderly as the hotel where he’d spent an uncomfortable night in Teguta Lusat. But aboard his ship were no separate compartmentalized cabins of any sort, nor any clear demarcation between cargo and living space, simply lots of un-specialized volume, currently being rapidly and compactly filled with cartons and crates of highly valuable life-crystals.

Lando watched the port’s longshorebots work. It appeared Gepta was more than keeping his part of the bargain—Lando made a note to have the crystals assayed as soon as possible. There was nothing about the sorcerer, or his governmental flunky, that inspired trust, even had Lando been the trusting type.

Parking Mohs at a convenient bulkhead frame, Lando and Vuffi Raa stopped off beside the ultralightspeed section of the ship’s drive area. There had been some changes made. And not for the better, Lando thought.

“Oh, Master!” the dismayed Class Two robot wailed. “Just see what they have done to her!” He rushed to the faster-than-light drive panels and stood, wringing his metallic tentacles and making the kind of high-pitched squeal humans call tinnitis and see physicians about.

All along the wall, access panels had been left rudely hanging open. Frayed