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The harvester, moving much more quickly now, circled back at the Espos. They fired on it, but the giant machine, an uncomplicated device, was difficult to stop with small-arms fire. Unimportant pieces of plating and cutter blade were shot away, but the harvester ground on. Several Espos, failing to move quickly enough in the thick grain, vanished into its cavernous mouth.

Max had finally seen Chewbacca’s predicament and moved in to give the Wookiee an opportunity to jump back aboard. But Chewbacca, his arms and legs dangling limply, was now being rushed away by a squad of Espos. Max couldn’t go after them for fear of injuring Chewbacca with the clumsy harvester. Moreover, the Espos’ fire was becoming more concentrated. Blue Max wished desperately that Bollux were there to tell him what to do; the computer didn’t feel that he’d been operative long enough to make decisions like this one. But with no other apparent option, Max recognized that he must go join the others. He headed the ponderous harvester around, cut out its speed governor, and gunned it for all it was worth.

Han only dimly felt Rekkon hoist him up on one shoulder; he could hardly focus his eyes. But as Max came past, Rekkon took a pair of wide steps, propelled himself into the air, and caught a foothold at the harvester’s side. He pulled himself up a short ladder and deposited Han on a narrow catwalk. Somehow, Han managed to lift his head. He could make out, through the machine’s rough ride and the distance, the knot of Espos bearing his friend away, a prisoner.

Han clawed at the metal under him, to throw himself off the machine, to go back. Rekkon was on him instantly, pinning his arms with a strength and an intensity that were frightening. “He’s my friend!” Han grimaced, writhing.

Rekkon shook him once more, with more emphasis than violence. “Then help your friend!” urged the rich basso voice. “Face hard fact: you must save yourself to save him, and not throw both lives away!”

The giant, imprisoning strength retreated and Han was left enervated, knowing Rekkon was right. Holding the catwalk railing, he stopped staring at the indistinguishable specks of Chewbacca and the Espos.

“Ahh.” He lowered his eyes disconsolately. “Chewie …”

VII

AS he overtook each of the escapees in turn, Max slowed the harvester just enough for them to board. First was Bollux, who had fallen behind the others despite his best efforts; he made a last bound with a deep sproing from his suspension, found a servo-grip hold, and drew himself aboard. Then came Torm, who, pacing the harvester, made an athletically skillful mount. Lastly, Atuarre and Pakka came aboard, the cub clinging to his mother’s tail. Blue Max accelerated for the spaceport perimeter.

Rekkon still held Han to the catwalk, but now it was to make sure he wouldn’t fall. “Captain, you must accept that there’s no more you can do here. Your chances of getting to Chewbacca here on Orron III are vanishing small. And, more to the point, it’s doubtful he’ll be here for long. Surely he’ll be taken for interrogation, just like the others. Our mission is yours now; it’s nearly certain the Wookiee will be put in with the rest of the Authority’s special enemies.”

Han wiped blood from his forehead, pulled himself upright, and began climbing a maintenance ladder.

“Where are you going?” Rekkon demanded.

“Someone has to tell Max where he’s going,” Han answered.

The spaceport was guarded by a security fence of fine mesh, ten meters high, carrying a lethal charge maintained by transmitting posts along its length. An unprotected man, or even an armored one, would stand no chance of making it through, but the harvester offered, a special form of protection.

“Everybody get to a catwalk,” Rekkon called. “Stand on the insulated strips!” His various companions, Han included, rushed for positions, bracing their feet on the thick runners of insulation on the mechanic’s catwalks.

The harvester hit the field area as Max threw his cutter blades into motion