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“This is a Scout Collector!”

“A what collector?” Droma asked, distressed even in ignorance.

“A biological specimen collector. We’re going to be flash-frozen!”

They got to their feet and began to leap up and down, pounding their hands ineffectually on the underside of the compartment doors. Giving up on the effort, Droma dropped down on his haunches, breathing hard, and eventually Han joined him.

“The hand of fate,” Droma said nastily. “But you still owe me one life.”

Han turned to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I saved you aboard the Queen of Empire when Reck made you jump into the drop shaft, then I freed you from the Falcon’s escape pod when Elan was trying to kill you.”

“Yeah, so who just yanked you out of the drainage ditch?”

“That’s the one I’m counting,” Droma said.

“What about my getting you out of district headquarters in one piece?”

“That was a rescue, not a life-save. We don’t know that my life was endangered, so the best we could say is that you rescued me from imprisonment.”

Han shook his head and laughed. “All right, I still owe you one.”

“Then pay up now—get us out of here.”

Han clapped Droma on the back, then grew serious. “Listen, in case we don’t get out of this, it’s been good flying with you.”

“I know,” Droma said flatly, then added, “You mean that—about flying together?”

“I did mean it. Now I’m not so sure.”

Han heard the Scout Collector’s repulsorlifts cut in, and he stood up. “We’re landing. If they open the hatches before our frost bath, we go for them, agreed?”

Droma extended his hand and Han shook it.

The Collector settled down to the ground. Noises could be heard from outside, then the hatches began to open. Han and Droma prepared themselves.

“Thank goodness you’re alive,” a droid voice said.

Han stared, waiting for his eyes to adjust to bright, overhead lights. “Baffle?”

A ladder was lowered into the interior, and Han and Droma clambered out. The Collector had put down in a spacious indoor facility. Overhead rumbles told Han that they were underground. Dozens of droids were about, articulating greetings in their own fashion.

“These must be the friends you mentioned,” Droma surmised, shaking water off himself like a howlrunner.

“How the heck did you find us?” Han asked.

“We have been monitoring all developments,” Baffle said. “Security scanners, security team exchanges, satellite-supplied real-time opticals, even the irrigation and sluice-gate control systems. When we ascertained that you were being carried to the river, we quickly arranged for the net and Scout Collector—a vehicle that has been in storage for some time.”

“Where are we?” Droma asked, once beyond his astonishment.

“Beneath the spaceport.” Baffle indicated a nearby tunnel. “This leads directly to the bay where your freighter is docked.”

Han looked at Droma and grinned smugly.

“Thank you for all you have accomplished,” Baffle said, speaking for all the droids.

Han nodded in dismissal, then narrowed his eyes. “Listen, if you were monitoring us, then so was Salliche. They probably have satcam recordings of exactly what happened at the river. All of you had better clear out of here—fast.”

“Our capture won’t matter. Our goal has been accomplished. Already we are in the process of removing the remote restrainers from many of the droids you freed, and our protest demonstration is moving from the planning stage to actuality.”

“Protest demonstration?” Droma asked.

“I’ll explain later.” Han turned to Baffle. “After what you’ve done, I almost hate to ask, but were you able to gather any data on the Trevee?”

“Yes. Our original supposition that the ship was headed for a destination Rimward of Abregado-rae was correct. That destination, however, is neither Thyferra nor Yag’Dhul, but the very place of my activation: Fondor.”

The name practically screamed to Han. An industrial planet in the system of the same name, Fondor was famous for its huge, orbital construction facilities. During the Rebellion, Fondor’s shipyards had turned out several