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As Droma eased into its shadow behind him, Han observed, “They must not be knocking out everything technical until they can bring in their own power source—”

“Whatever that is.” Droma nodded.

From this point, they had a clear view toward the research and construction area. A crowd milled in the open street. Han spotted humans, Ryn, Vors, a few Sullustans, and a family of horned Gotals. Several black-armored aliens came into view, dragging a brick-loading machine. Han gaped at their strength. As they drew even with the milling crowd, their leader slipped out of position and got behind it, pushing with the others. Abruptly it vanished. Two seconds later, there was another loud crash.

“Not everything,” he muttered, “but they’re getting a good start.”

He turned back toward the gate. Three humans lay sprawled on the ground, looking to Han as if they’d been shot from behind, trying to reach the gate.

Had the Vong posted a sniper, or were these bodies left from the enemy’s arrival?

“May they dance the stars in joy,” Droma murmured.

Dance the stars? That was a new one. Han knew Droma’s people were a bunch of romantics—

Then he saw the creatures. Coiled around Gateway’s construction shed was something like a gigantic snake, darting its head from side to side, feeding. A second creature clung to its top coil with powerful rear pincers. Like a stretched-out Hutt with armored white segments, it reared up, flailing stubby front legs against the construction shed, and then it lowered its huge head to crash against the duracrete shed. Debris tumbled down on both of them. Out of the upright creature’s mouth lashed dozens of tentacles. It looked for all the thousand worlds like an everted Sarlacc as it gobbled up the shattered duracrete.

“Sithspawn!” Droma whispered.

If Han had been even remotely tempted to go in that direction, he wasn’t now. Turning back toward the northwest gate, he picked up a stone and chucked it out into the open area.

Nothing happened.

“I think,” Droma said, “we’re better off to run for it.”

Han clasped Droma’s forearm, wordlessly closing his hand on the bristles. Then he sprinted for the arched tunnel where gray dome met sandy ground, pausing only to scoop up the environment hood that one fallen human clutched in a stiffening hand. He flung it on as he ran.

He’d nearly reached the gate when something whizzed past his ear. Panting, Droma plunged into the cramped airlock alongside him. He too wore a hood. Han slapped the cycling control, seating his air mask.

A palm-sized creature zoomed past his ear, sprang off the lock’s rear wall, ricocheted off the front, then whizzed toward him again. It grazed his hood as he swung his blaster like a club.

Got it! It fell to the floor, hissing and sizzling as it spun. Its edges looked like sharpened steel. He patted his head and came away with a hank of hair, cut through with the hood and helmet. If he hadn’t dug out this ridiculous helmet, he’d be bleeding like a stuck gornt.

He stomped the creature as the gate’s outer door slid aside and Duro’s ugly gray fog swirled in.

Droma gingerly picked up the biggest remaining piece. “Might need a knife. This’ll do.”

Then they were running for the bluff’s edge. From behind came weird, watery-sounding cries.

Han turned, aimed, fired. He caught the lead warrior guard square in the face, at the very center of a star-shaped thing that looked like a growth on its face. The alien jerked and tumbled backwards.

Another weak spot! His luck was holding. Encouraged, he sighted on the next one in line, fired, dropped that one, too.

At that point, he expected the rest to turn tail and run. Instead, they rushed him.

Hey, this isn’t fair! Han shot the breath creatures one at a time. If these people wanted to die, he didn’t mind obliging them. He just didn’t intend to let them return the favor.

He followed Droma down the bluff, bearing east over tumbled rocks. He hadn’t seen Leia’s big marshes before. From this slightly elevated vantage, they looked like a double line of square and triangular