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“I believe he wants us to stow all loose gear and prepare for a rough landing,” Bollux told Spray. The two turned and began working their way along the passageway together, frantically cramming loose items into storage lockers and securing their lids.

They had reached the escape pods when Spray thought of something important. “What about Captain Solo? How will he know what’s happened?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, sir,” Bollux confessed. “I see no way in which we can safely leave word for him without compromising ourselves to port officials.”

The skip-tracer accepted that. “By the way, I think there’s some welding equipment in that second pod there; you’d better bring it out so that we can secure it.”

Bollux obligingly leaned into the open pod. “I don’t see any—” He felt an abrupt push from behind. Spray had worked up just enough momentum, with a running start, so that shoving with all his might he toppled Bollux into the pod.

“Find Solo!” Spray yelled, and hit the release. Inner and outer hatches rolled down before the confused ’droid could get out another word. The pod was blown free by its separator charges.

And as the Falcon nosed up, driving for the high mountains of Ammuud, the dumpy escape pod began its fall toward the spaceport.

VIII

GENERAL Quarters or any call to stations can be disorderly in even a well-run military spacecraft. On a passenger liner like the Lady of Mindor, where runthroughs and practices were all but ignored, it was total confusion. Therefore, Han Solo paid scant attention to the garbled and frequently contradictory instructions blared by the public-address annunciators. With Fiolla in tow he plunged down the passageway as panicky passengers, frightened crew members, and indecisive officers immobilized one another with conflicting aims and actions.

“What are you going to do?” Fiolla asked as they side-stepped a mob of passengers hammering at the purser’s door.

“Get the rest of your cash from your stateroom, then find the nearest lifeboat bay.” He heard airtight doors booming shut and tried to remember the layout of these old M-class ships. It would be disastrous to be trapped by the automatic seal-up.

“Solo, tractor in!” Fiolla bawled, dragged her slippered feet, and finally halted him. Catching her breath, she continued. “I have my money with me. Unless you want to tip the robo-valet, we can get going.”

He was once again impressed. “Very good. We keep going aft; there should be a boat just forward of the power section.” He recalled that his macrobinoculars were back in his cabin, then wrote them off. Ahead of them an airtight door had just begun grinding shut. They made it in a sprint, though the hem of Fiolla’s shimmersilk caught in the hatchway and she had to tear a ragged edge off it to free herself.

“A month’s pay, this thing cost me,” she complained ruefully. “What’s it going to be now, fight or run?”

“A little of both. The fool captain of this can must’ve tripped every door in the ship. How does he think his crew’ll get to battle stations?” He started on.

“Maybe he doesn’t intend to fight,” she puffed, staying right at his heels. “I hardly think a liner’s crew could make a fight of it against a pirate, do you?”

“They’d better; pirates aren’t famous for their restraint with captives.” They came to a long, cylindrical lifeboat tucked into its bay. Han broke the seal on the release lever and threw it back, but the lifeboat’s hatch failed to roll open. He threw the lever forward and back again, condemning the liner’s maintenance officer for not looking after his safety equipment.

“Listen,” Fiolla stopped him.

The ship’s captain seemed to have reasserted a certain amount of self-control. “For the safety of all passengers,” his voice came from the PA, “and crew members alike, I’ve decided to accept terms of surrender offered by the vessel that disabled us. I have been assured that no one will be harmed so long as we put up no resistance and no attempt is made to launch lifeboats. With this in mind I have overridden boat and pod releases to keep them onboard. Though the ship