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“One minor anomaly found in all cases,” the information assistant said.

“What is it?”

“Faint traces of carbon, silicon, and copper in the postrace chemical tests of each winner in this subset.”

“This wasn’t noticed before?” Lando asked.

“Dismissed as irrelevant. Probable explanation: minor environmental contaminants from the blobstacles themselves.”

“Hmmm, and these same traces show up on every one of the winners?”

“Yes.”

“Do they show up on any of the other blob tests, winners or losers, in any race?”

“Checking.” After a pause the terminal answered, “No, sir.”

Lando looked at the test results. The amounts of contaminant were absolutely trivial, nothing that should have had any effect. “Speculation on what might have caused this?”

“None,” the terminal answered.

“Thanks a lot,” Lando said.

“You’re welcome.”

Threepio sat bolt upright, startled out of his recharging state. “General Calrissian! Artoo has just contacted me.” Threepio bumped the comlink with his golden finger, and bleeping noises burst through the speaker. “Mr. Tymmo has appeared at the blob corrals, disguised as a blob wrangler. Artoo has verified his identification. What could he be doing there?”

“Let’s go,” Lando said. “I didn’t expect him to try again so soon, but now we’ve got him, whatever he’s doing.”

Lando grabbed his cape and slung it over his shoulders before he swept out of the room. Threepio raised his hands in alarm but shuffled off as fast as he could, his motivators whirring.

The two ran through the darkened, misty streets of Umgul City. Around them blockish limestone dwellings rose high, stacked upon each other like cracker boxes, lacquered to a high gloss with moisture sealants. Streetlights hung at the street intersections, shedding a pearly halo into the mist. Workers climbed on scaffolds, tearing down old banners that advertised the visit of one dignitary and putting up new ones welcoming the Duchess Mistal to Umgul City.

Lando sprinted up the cobblestoned streets with Threepio scurrying stiffly behind. Steep thoroughfares climbed the bluffs. Ahead and adjacent to the sinkhole arena, they could see a large lighted structure where the blobs were kept and monitored.

Lando ducked through a service entrance to the blob corrals, and Threepio followed. Strange smells, damp and musty, filled the air. Cleanup droids chugged through the halls, while others checked temperature controls for the blob pens. The lights had been dimmed for the evening, encouraging the blobs to rest.

“Threepio, do you know where we’re going?”

“I believe I can locate Artoo, sir,” Threepio said, and turned in slow circles before he pointed the way.

Down another level they reached a shadowy chamber cut into the limestone. The lights inside had been set to their lowest illumination, and moisture generators kept the room damp and clammy. “Artoo is in here, General Calrissian.”

“Okay, be quiet. Let’s see what’s going on.”

“Do you really think Mr. Tymmo could be cheating, sir? Even with the threat of capital punishment?”

Lando frowned at him. “No, I’m sure he has a perfectly legitimate reason to be wearing a blob wrangler’s uniform, slipping into the blob corral late at night, and skulking around in the darkness.”

“What a relief, sir. I’m glad to hear he may yet be a Jedi candidate.”

“Shut up, Threepio!”

They crept through the entrance into a room lined with blob pens. Banks of about twenty small enclosures blocked his line of sight in the shadowy room. Within each pen a gelatinous blob burbled and vibrated as it rested.

From the far side of the room came a rattling noise: a blob pen being eased open. Lando crept silently down the rows of blob enclosures, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness.

In the shadows of the far row of pens, Lando spotted a human form. He recognized Tymmo’s build, his furtive movements, his lanky dark hair. Tymmo hunched over a cage, reaching inside, doing something to the blob in front of him.

Lando leaned close to Threepio and breathed words in the faintest of whispers, knowing he would not be overheard in the general