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I prefer elegant, simple weapons, don’t you?

And what would Wedge do if he had a simple, elegant weapon waiting in the wings?

An all-out assault to distract the incoming force.

“Change plans,” he said, whirling away from the console. “I want the entire fleet to go in.”

“Sir?” Sela said. She clearly thought he had gone mad.

“That’s all the hardware he’s got. He’s counting on his big, nasty weapon to take care of us. These are decoys. Let General Ceousa know that his squad needs to avoid the fighting. Have him round Almania, approach from the side or from above. Kueller doesn’t have the power to fight a flanking maneuver. I want the rest of the ships to engage in an all-out assault on his forces.”

“If this is just a hint of his firepower, sir, this will be suicide.”

Wedge shrugged. The mission already had a hint of suicide. Political suicide. He might as well make it the real thing.

The droids headed toward Cole. Threepio watched. The droids were assassin droids, upgraded with laser cannons in the chest. Nothing would remain of Cole after those droids finished with him. But Threepio could do nothing. He was too far away.

And in trouble himself.

The tunnel he was in claimed to lead to a circuit department. Any unmarked droids found in this area, one sign warned, would be disassembled.

“Look, a protocol droid.” The nasal voice belonged to a gladiator droid. “An old protocol droid.”

“You shouldn’t disparage me,” Threepio said as he looked toward the voice. Then he stopped speaking. This droid was new. It was a bright, shiny red, as if it were made from a thousand red coins. Its eyes flared black in its narrow face.

“And why not, you out-of-date hunk of tin?”

“I—ah—” Threepio turned his head. “I—I am fluent in more than six million forms of communication.”

“And I bet none of them would convince me to leave you in one piece.” The gladiator droid sounded almost gleeful.

“Ah, excuse me,” Threepio said. “You are a gladiator droid, aren’t you?”

“Does it matter? I can still tear your limbs off in record time.”

“I do not doubt it,” Threepio said. “Although I would wonder why you would want to. I’m just a protocol droid. I really am of no interest to you.”

“You’re of plenty of interest,” the gladiator droid said. “You came in here unauthorized. I get to destroy unauthorized droids.”

“Oh, dear,” Threepio said. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Why would you want to learn six million forms of communication?”

“Well, if you’re a gladiator droid,” Threepio said, swiveling his head as he searched for an exit, “then you must gladiate. Right?”

“Sorry, oh ancient one. I may have started life as a gladiator droid, but I’m not one anymore. I belong to the elite guard here on Telti. They call us the Red Terror.”

“They?” Threepio’s voice squeaked.

“The other droids. The finished ones. They know if they misbehave, they’ll meet the Red Terror. We’ll tear them from limb to limb, and then we’ll wipe their memories. And we’ll scatter the parts all over the moon so that they can’t be reassembled.”

There was a door at the end of the corridor, but it was closed. Above it, in several droid languages, was the word Exit. Two more red droids joined the first one.

“How many of you comprise the Red Terror?” Threepio asked.

“There’s five hundred of us scattered over the moon,” the first droid said. “But it’s your lucky day. Only fifty of us are near this building. I sent out a call.”

“All for me?” Threepio’s hands fluttered. “Surely one protocol droid wouldn’t require so much attention.”

“Maybe not. If you’re working alone. But if you’ve got some friends around, then we might need the whole force. You don’t have friends here, do you?”

“Certainly not!” Threepio said. “I have no friends. Here. I am here for myself. On my own. To revisit my place of origin as it were. Didn’t you know that protocol droids must do this every hundred years?”

Three more red droids joined the first one.

“I’ve never heard of it,” the first droid said.

“Me, neither,” said one of the newcomers.