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“Vice-President in charge of Corporate Security, it says.”

Han nodded grimly. “Keep digging; we’re in the right place. That’s no clinic up there, it’s an interrogation center, probably Hirken’s idea of a rec room. What’s on the next floor down?”

“Nothing for humans. The next level is three floors high, Captain. Just heavy machinery; there’s an industrial-capacity power hookup there, and an air lock. See, here’s the floor plan and a power-routing schematic.”

Max showed it. Han leaned closer to the screen, studying the myriad lines. One, marked in a different color and located near the elevators, attracted his attention, He asked the computer what it was.

“It’s a security viewer, Captain. There’s a surveillance system in parts of the tower. I’ll patch in.”

The screen flickered, then resolved into the brightness of a visual image. Han stared. He’d found the lost ones.

The room was filled, stack upon stack, with stasis booths. Inside each, a prisoner was frozen in time, stopped between one instant and the next by the booth’s level-entropy field. That explained why there were no prisoner facilities, no arrangements for handling crowds of captive entities, and only a minimal guard complement on duty. Hirken had all his victims suspended in time; they’d require little in the way of formal accommodations. The Security Viceprex need take prisoners out only when he chose to question them, then pop them back into stasis when he was done. So he robbed his prisoners of their very lives, taking away every part of their existence except interrogation.

“There must be thousands of them,” Han breathed. “Hirken can move them in and out of that air lock like freight. Power consumption up there must be terrific. Max, where’s their plant?”

“We’re sitting on it,” Max answered, though that anthropomorphism couldn’t really apply to him. He filled the screen with a basic diagram of the tower. Han whistled softly. Beneath Stars’ End was a power-generating plant large enough to service a battle fortress, or a capital-class warship.

“And here are the primary defense designs,” Max added. There were force fields on all sides of the tower, and one overhead, ready to spring into existence instantly. Stars’ End itself was, as Han had already noticed, made of enhanced-bonding armor plate. According to specs, it was equipped with an anticoncussion field as well, so that no amount of high explosives could damage its occupants. The Authority had spared no expense to make its security arrangements complete.

But that helped only if the enemy were outside, and Han was as inside as he could get. “Is there a prisoner roster?”

“Got it! They had it filed: Transient Persons.”

Han swore under his breath at bureaucratic euphemisms. “Okay, is Chewie’s name on it?”

There was the briefest of pauses. “No, Captain. But I found Atuarre’s mate! And Jessa’s father!” He flashed two more images on the screen, arrest mugshots. Atuarre’s mate’s coloring was redder than hers, it turned out, and Doc’s grizzled features hadn’t changed. “And here’s Rekkon’s nephew,” Max added. The mug was of a young black face with broad, strong lines that promised a resemblance to the boy’s uncle.

“Jackpot!” Max squealed a moment later, a very uncomputerish exclamation. Chewbacca’s big hairy face flashed on the readout. He hadn’t been in a very good mood for the mugshot; he was disheveled, but his snarl promised death to the photographer. The Wookiee’s eyes looked glassy, and Han assumed that the Espos had tranquilized him as soon as they’d taken him.

“Is he okay?” Han demanded. Max put up the arrest record. No, Chewbacca hadn’t been badly injured, but three officers had been killed in apprehending him, the forms said. He hadn’t given a name, which explained why it had been difficult for Max to locate him. The list of charges nearly ran off the screen, with a final, ominous, handwritten notation at the bottom listing time of scheduled interrogation. Han glanced at a wall clock; it was no more