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One of the creatures, its thick white fur ruffled and tufted from its struggle, was studying the collar-box. It made a decisive stab at a switch and all the collars along that particular cable sprang open. The creature tossed the director unit aside contemptuously, and one of its companions passed it a captured disruptor. The sidearm looked big and clumsy in its small, nimble hands.

Han holstered his blaster slowly, holding empty palms up for them all to see. “I didn’t want this either,” he told them in an even tone, though he doubted that they spoke a shared language. “I had no more to do with it than you.”

The disruptor was moving slowly. Han argued with himself the wisdom of reaching for his pistol but doubted his own ability to shoot the creature down. It had no fault in this matter either. He decided to reason on, but the skin on his neck was trying to crawl up into his scalp.

“Listen: you’re free to go. I’m not going to stop—”

He sprang sideways as the disruptor swung up at him. It took an iron, conscious effort to keep from drawing. He heard the disrupter’s blaring report. And unexpectedly, he heard a small clatter and a gasp from behind him.

Framed in the hatchway, looking down without comprehension at the broad wound in his chest, was Zlarb. At his feet lay the little palmgun. He sank against the hatchway and slid slowly to the deck. The creature had lowered its disruptor once more. Han went and knelt by Zlarb.

The slaver was breathing very unevenly between clenched teeth, his eyes screwed shut. He opened them then, focusing on Han, who had been about to tell him to save his strength, but saw that it made no difference. Perhaps, in a full-facility medicenter, the slaver could have been saved, but with the limited resources of the Falcon’s medi-packs Zlarb was as good as gone.

He didn’t avoid the slaver’s gaze. “They weren’t quite as meek as you thought, were they Zlarb?” he asked quietly. “Just real, real patient,”

Zlarb’s eyes began to flutter shut again. He only managed “Solo …” He put more hatred into the name than Han would have thought possible.

“And how did Zlarb get past you? He almost scored me, you big slug!”

Chewbacca gobbled angrily in response to Han’s indignant question and pointed to where the burly humanoid slaver, the one with whom the Wookiee had collided, lay battered and bound by the main ramp.

“So what?’ Han demanded with elaborate sarcasm, enjoying himself. He was kneeling by Bollux’s side, setting the cap of an extractor over the restraining bolt. “You used to handle three of his kind before breakfast. What I don’t need is a first mate who’s turning into a geriatric case.”

Chewbacca barked so loudly that Han ducked involuntarily. A Wookiee’s lifespan is longer than a human’s—age was a standing joke between the two.

“That’s what you say.” Han thumbed the extractor’s switch. There was a pop and a tiny burst of blue discharge around the bolt’s base.

Bollux’s red photoreceptors came on. “Why, Captain Solo! Thank you, sir. Does this mean the crisis has passed?”

“All but the housework. I got the firefighting outlets shut down, but the ship looks like an explosion in a dessert shop. You can skate from here to the cockpit if you want. That was a good move you and Maxie—”

“Blue Max!” Bollux interrupted, a rarity for him. “Sir, he’s not in linkage; I think he’s been damaged.”

“We know. His adaptor arm was bent and he took some burnout creepage. Chewie says he can fix him up, though, with components we have onboard. Just leave Max be for now. Can you get up?”

The labor ’droid answered by rising and swinging his chest panel shut over the computer module protectively. “Blue Max is remarkably resourceful, wouldn’t you say, Captain?”

“Bet your anodes. If he had fingers we’d have to start locking up the tableware. You can tell him that for me later, but for now just take it easy.” Han stood and beckoned Chewbacca and the two went aft to the hold again.

The former captives had laid out the bodies of their several dead, those who hadn’t survived the terrible ordeal