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The turret swung to him again, the optical pickups betraying no emotion. “Steel-brother, we are the war-robots of Xim. No alternative is thinkable.”

“Humans are not infallible. If you follow these orders, they’ll lead to your destruction. Save yourselves!” He could not admit that it would be by his own hand.

The vocoder boomed. “Whether this is true or not, we carry out our orders. We are the war-robots of Xim.”

The Corps Commander faced front again. “The waiting time has elapsed. Stand aside; no further delay will be tolerated.” He emitted a squeal of signalry. The ranks of war-robots stepped off as one, arms swinging.

Bollux had to spring aside to keep from being trampled beneath them. His chest plastron swung open as he watched them go. “What do we do now?” Blue Max wanted to know. “Captain Solo and the others will be down there, too.”

There was a quiver of sorrow in Bollux’s voice modulation. “The war-robots have their built-in programming. And we, my friend, have ours.”

XIV

THEY had worked their way to a ridge overlooking the outer perimeter of the mining camp before Han discovered Bollux wasn’t with them. Han, incensed, slipped around a spire of rock for a look at the camp. “I told that low-gear factory reject we needed him to monitor for sensors. Well, we’re just going to have to be extra—”

Sirens began ululating through the camp. The travelers all hit the ground at once, but Han risked a peek around the spire. Now that they had been detected, information was more important than concealment.

The mining camp was swarming like an insect nest. Humans and other beings were running every which way to take up emergency stations. Those employees trusted by J’uoch were being issued arms and taking up defensive positions. Contact laborers were ordered by their overseers to retire across the bridge to the isolation and effective confinement of the plateau barracks area.

Han couldn’t spot the sensor net he had tripped, but it was apparent that it had him pinpointed. Several reinforced fire teams were dashing to bunkers fronting Han’s hiding place. Han saw that grounded near the Millennium Falcon and the gigantic mining lighter was another vessel, a small starship with the sleek lines of a scout.

Suddenly a response squad started up the hill to engage them, two human males with disruptor rifles, a horn-plated W’iiri scuttling on its six legs and bearing a grenade thrower, and an oily-skinned Drall, its red hide gleaming, lugging a gas projector.

Half-kneeling, half-crouching by the spire, Han dragged the old Kell Mark II around by its balance-point carrying handle. Knowing of the outdated weapon’s powerful recoil, he braced himself before thumbing the firing stud. Blue energy sprang from the Kell’s muzzle, tracing a broad line across the rock wall below. He was nearly knocked over backward by the Mark II’s kick, but Chewbacca braced him. The rock sizzled, smoked, and shot sparks, then cracked, fragments and shards falling downslope. The response squad sought cover with gratifying freneticism.

“That should keep them off our necks until we can talk,” Han judged. Cupping hand to mouth, he called out, “J’uoch! It’s Solo! We have to talk, right away!”

The woman’s voice, amplified by a loudhailer, rose from one of the bunkers. “Give me that log-recorder disk and throw down your guns, Solo; those are the only terms you’ll get from me!”

“But she saw that we didn’t have the disk,” Badure muttered. “Didn’t she guess that we couldn’t get it from the lockbox?”

Han shouted down, “We’ve got no time to debate this, J’uoch; you and your whole camp are about to come under attack!” He pulled back suddenly as a barrage of small-arms fire opened up. Huddling back from it, the travelers clutched their heads in protection while energy- and projectile-searching fire probed the hillside. Rocks bubbled and exploded; shrapnel and splinters flew while explosive concussion battered their ears.

“I don’t think she’s going to be reasonable about