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As sole bearer of the secret intelligence contained in the holowafer, he had to give it his best try. Tightening his grip, he banked for the sanctuary of the matte-black ship.

Crouched at the top of the extended ramp, Han peered down at the rushing water not twenty meters below. Wind and salt spray howled through the opening, blowing his hair every which way and making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open.

“Captain Solo,” C-3PO said from the ring corridor. “Princess Leia wishes you to know that the swoop is approaching. Apparently the pilot feels confident that he can complete the transfer to Millennium Falcon without suffering too much internal damage or … perishing in the attempt.”

Han threw the droid a wide-eyed look. “Perishing?”

“Certainly the odds are against him. If he were piloting a speeder bike, perhaps. But swoops are notorious for going out of control at the slightest provocation!”

Han nodded grimly. A former swoop racer, he knew that C-3PO was right. Taking in the situation now, he wondered if even he could make the jump.

“I’m going to the bottom!” he shouted.

C-3PO canted his golden head. “Sir?”

Han made a downward motion. “The bottom of the ramp.” “Sir, I have a bad feeling …”

The wind drowned out the rest of the droid’s words. Han crabbed down to the base of the ramp, where he could hear the Falcon’s belly turret slicing through the agitated peaks of the waves. A distinctive throbbing sound captured his attention. The swoop was beginning to angle for the ramp. The pilot—a Jenet, of all species—took his right hand off the handgrips just long enough to signal Han with a wave. Considering that even that slight movement sent the swoop into a wobble, there was simply no way the Jenet would be able to let go completely—especially not with the Falcon adding to the turbulence of the sea itself.

Han reconsidered, then swung around to C-3PO.

“Threepio, tell Leia we’re going with Plan B!”

The droid raised his hands to his head in distress. “Captain Solo, just the sound of that makes me worry!”

Han raised his forefinger. “Just tell Leia, Threepio. She’ll understand.”

“Plan B?”

“That was precisely my reaction,” C-3PO said in an agitated voice. “But does anyone ever listen to my concerns?”

“Don’t worry, Threepio, I’m sure Han knows what he’s doing.”

“That is hardly a comforting thought, Princess.”

Leia swung back to the console and allowed her eyes to roam over the instruments. Plan B, she mused. What can Han have in mind? She placed him squarely in her thoughts, then smiled in sudden revelation.

Of course …

Her hands slid switches while she studied the displays. Then she sat away from the console in contemplation. Yes, she decided at last, she supposed it could be done—though it would mean relying largely on the attitude and braking thrusters, and hoping that they didn’t stall or fail.

She looked over her shoulder at C-3PO, who had evidently followed her every move and manipulation.

“Tell Han I’ve got everything worked out.”

“Oh, dear,” the droid said, turning and exiting the cockpit. “Oh, dear.”

The four coralskippers were closing fast, lobbing plasma missiles into the blustery stretch of water between the swoop and the freighter. Thorsh dipped his head instinctively as one fireball plunged into the waves not ten meters away. The ferocity of the impact geysered superheated water high into the air, and sent the swoop into a sustained wobble.

The freighter held to its course regardless, its top gunner keeping the coralskippers at bay with bursts of laserfire. A human male was crouched at the base of the landing ramp, his left arm wrapped around one of the telescoping hydraulic struts, and the fingers of his right hand making a gesture that on some worlds implied craziness on the part of its recipient. Just now, the twirling gesture meant something else entirely—though craziness was still a large part of it.

Thorsh swallowed hard, just thinking about what the pilots were about to attempt.

The human waved and scurried back