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“She’s got to be,” Han snapped, thinking of what would happen to his starship if the robots overran the camp.

The firing slowed for a moment, then, at some command they didn’t hear, resumed even more heavily. “Face it, Solo,” Hasti called to him over the din, “they want our hides and nothing less. The only way we’ll get to the Falcon is if we can get to her while the robots are hitting the camp.”

“When they’re mixing it up with J’uoch’s people? We wouldn’t get two meters.” At that moment the firing stopped again and a voice called his name from below.

Hasti was gazing at him alarmed. “Solo, what’s wrong? You just went pale as perma-frost.”

He paid her no attention but saw by Chewbacca’s expression that the Wookiee, too, recognized the voice of Gallandro the gunman.

“Solo! Come down and negotiate like a reasonable fellow. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I.” The voice was calm, amused.

Han realized that sweat was beginning to bead his brow despite the cold. A sudden suspicion hit him, and he threw himself up into the clear for an instant, just enough to ease the Mark II’s barrel over the crest. The response squad was on the move and another was rushing to link up with it.

Han thumbed the trigger and hosed the barrel back and forth randomly. The heavy-assault rifle was a product of Dra III, made for the heavier, stronger inhabitants of that world, with its Standard-plus gravity. The Mark II’s recoil forced him back a second time, but not before the play of its extremely powerful beam drove the advancing squads to cover once more.

“Spread out along the ridge or they’ll outflank us!” Han ordered. His companions hurried to comply as Gallandro’s voice came again.

“I knew you wouldn’t have died in something as foolish as that uneven ship-to-ship action back at the city, Solo. And I knew the Millennium Falcon would draw you here in time, no matter what.”

“You know just about everything, don’t you?” Han riposted.

“Except where that log-recorder is. Come, Solo; I’ve struck a bargain with the delightful J’uoch here. Do the same, don’t make things difficult. And don’t make me come up there after you.”

“C’mon, what’s stopping you, Gallandro? There’ll be nothing left of you but those little mustache beads!” Chewbacca and the others had taken up sniping at the response squads, pinning them down for now, but Han was worried about the armed aircraft in the mining camp.

The thought had no sooner formed than, scanning the sky, he saw a quick, dangerous shape swooping down at them. “Everybody down!”

The spaceboat, twin to the one that had been destroyed in the city by the lighter, made a quick preliminary pass at the ridge, its chin pods spitting. Anti-personnel rounds threw out clouds of flechettes; Han could feel the craft’s afterblast as it darted by. He raised his head to see what damage it had done.

By some fortune the first pass, being hasty, had resulted in no one’s being hit. But they were badly exposed there on the ridge; the next pass might well finish them all. Han pulled the heavy-assault rifle to him with a grunt of effort, pushed himself upright, and rushed out into the open on the back side of the ridge.

At the camp below, Gallandro conferred with J’uoch. “Madame, recall your boat; I’ll trouble you to remember our deal.” He spoke with a hint of impatience, as close to emotion as he ever let himself come. “Solo is mine, not to be killed by air attack.”

Peering out of the bunker, she dismissed the objection with a wave of her hand. “What does it matter, as long as he’s eliminated? My brother’s using anti-personnel rounds; the log-recorder won’t be damaged.”

The gunman smiled, reserving his retaliation for a more convenient moment. He touched up his mustachios with a knuckle. “Solo is well armed, my dear J’uoch. You may be surprised at his resourcefulness, as may your brother.”

Han raced over the open ground, keeping one eye out for available cover. Though hindered by the weight of the Mark II, he adjusted it for maximum range and power level as he ran. He had thought about handing