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“Over here!” Lando called.

The guard droids took possession of Tymmo, clamping their restraining arms around him. Another reached out to grasp Lando, and he suddenly realized he had no good reason to be in the blob corral either.

“What in the bleeping miasma is going on here!” a deep voice roared. A hirsute man who looked as if he had dressed hurriedly strode into the corral area. “And shut off those blasted alarms! They’re upsetting my blobs, and they’re giving me a headache.”

“Over here, Mr. Fondine,” one of the human guards answered.

The man came over to see Tymmo struggling in the guard droid’s straitjacket grasp. Lando caught his attention. “I’ve uncovered a possible sabotage of the races, sir. This man here has been tinkering with the blobs.”

The man gave Tymmo an acid glance, then turned back to Lando. “I’m Slish Fondine, owner of these stables. You’d better tell me who you are and why you’re here.”

Lando realized, with some surprise, that he had nothing to hide. “I’m General Calrissian, a representative of the New Republic. I have been investigating this man, Tymmo, as part of an entirely different mission, but I believe you will be very interested to study his track record of wins.”

Tymmo glared at Lando. “You’ll never take me back to her! I couldn’t stand that—you don’t know how she is. I’ll die first.”

Slish Fondine shushed him with a wave of his hand. “That can be arranged, if what the general says is true. On Umgul cheaters are executed.” The alarm sirens finally fell silent.

“Will somebody please help me!” Threepio cried.

Fondine saw the droid struggling with the dripping greenish mass and rushed over to assist him. Brushing the protoplasm back up into the main mass, Fondine shushed and cooed the blob. “Easy now.” He spoke to Threepio as well. “Stop struggling! The blob is as afraid of you as you are of it. Just be calm.” He lowered his voice. “They can sense fear, you know.”

Threepio tried to remain still as Fondine gently coerced the blob to reincorporate back toward its pen. Threepio suddenly grew excited again. “Sir! I’ve just found a near-microscopic electronic object inside this blob’s protoplasm. Magnifying … it appears to be a micro-motivator!”

Lando suddenly understood what Tymmo had been doing. A micro-motivator implanted in the blob could send out a powerful internal stimulus, provoke a frantic flight response in any creature. If tuned properly, the micro-motivator could give a blob the speed born of absolute terror. The gadget was so tiny that Tymmo could self-destruct it after the blob had successfully won a race, leaving only minuscule traces of a few component elements in the blob tissue. And no one would ever know.

Slish Fondine glared daggers at Tymmo. “That is vile blasphemy against the whole spirit of blob racing.”

Tymmo squirmed. “I had to have the money! I had to get off planet before she gets here.”

In exasperation Lando said, “Who are you talking about? Who is she?” He freed himself from the guard droid’s grip.

Tymmo’s eyes goggled at Lando’s question. “Didn’t she send you to get me? I saw you spying on me at the races. You tried to catch me, but I escaped. I’ll never go back to her.”

“Who?!” both Lando and Slish Fondine bellowed in unison.

“The Duchess Mistal, of course. She clings to me every second, she blows in my ear, she won’t let me out of her sight—and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get away.”

Lando and Fondine looked at each other without comprehension, but Artoo trundled up, chittering an explanation. Threepio, extricated from the blob mass, stepped forward to translate.

“Artoo has run a check. The Duchess Mistal of Dargul has posted a million-credit reward for the safe return of her lost consort—apparently, he ran away from her. The man’s official name is Dack, but his description precisely matches that of Mr. Tymmo here.”

Tymmo hung his head in misery. Fondine crossed his arms over his chest. “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Yes, I’m Dack.” He heaved a huge sigh. “The Duchess Mistal reached her age