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This corridor was cleaner than the others. There were no other droids. A single scrambled announcement overhead warned about some kind of Terror.

Artoo moaned softly.

The computer panels were lower in this corridor, and the protect circuits less sophisticated. The floor no longer had ruts for treadwell droids, but was smooth, designed for human or imitation human feet.

He was close.

He sped up. As he did, the walls all around him suddenly showed holos. Moving holos of a scene below. Artoo kept going, but the information was instantly stored in his systems. He saw a freighter, and beside it, Master Fardreamer talking with Brakiss, a former student of Master Luke’s.

Artoo’s highly sensitive electronic sensors picked up a whir behind him. Then he heard another, and another. They were nearly eight meters off, but closing quickly.

He rolled into a closet off the corridor. As the closet door closed, though, the interior dropped like an express fighter for several floors. Artoo’s delicate balance systems were thrown off and he tipped on two wheels, catching the top of his head against the wall. He was trapped.

Then the closet hit the bottom of its shaft so hard that he tilted in the exact opposite direction. He brought down his third wheel and managed to balance himself even though his head was spinning. Literally.

His sensors registered dark wall, dark wall, dark wall, door. Dark wall, dark wall, dark wall, door. Dark wall, dark wall, dark wall, door. Gradually he got control of his head, and found it facing the door when the door slid open.

And revealed a room filled with R2’s, R5’s, and all the other astromech series, from R1’s to R7’s. They were leaning on each other. Some heads swiveled as Artoo appeared. Others’ electronic eyes flashed. A few moaned, and in the back, one cylinder popped.

The floor catapulted Artoo out the door, and he screamed as he flew toward the back of the room. He flew over hundreds—no, thousands—of astromech droids before he crashed on a pile of R5’s.

He beeped an apology, but they didn’t respond. They were still activated, but listless.

He swiveled his head, and whistled in impressed surprise.

The room extended for at least a kilometer and every centimeter was filled with astromech droids.

The junk heap for unwanted droids that Threepio had always warned him about really did exist. And now he was stuck in the middle of it.

Maybe forever.

Forty-five

Han’s palms were wet. He had never been so uncomfortable flying the Falcon before. He had to pilot carefully. Most of his injured and dying passengers were not strapped in. Any unusual maneuver he made could hurt them further.

Chewie seemed just as uncomfortable and the cockpit smelled of nervous Wookiee. The cockpit door was open, and through it, Han could hear the moans of the injured. One Run medical droid accompanied them, despite the protests, and one Run medical officer. Two experts for nearly a hundred passengers. The Falcon was only built to carry eight people comfortably, but Han had quickly converted the cargo areas, the escape pods, and the secret compartments to accommodate the injured. Loading had taken forever, and when he looked out the door of the Falcon it seemed as if he hadn’t made a dent.

It would take days, maybe weeks, just to get through the rubble on Skip 1. That didn’t count what would happen on the other Skips.

Chewbacca growled at him.

“I see it,” Han said, and dodged a group of rocks the size of landspeeders.

Since he had left the Run, he’d been navigating through the garbage surrounding the asteroid belt. Normally, he flew the Falcon sideways and upside down to get through this area. But this time he had to fly like a Glottalphib ship half-filled with water. Every time someone screamed in the back, Han jumped as if he had been blaster-shot.

They were nearly out. And once they were out, Han had to do two things: He had to find a planet that would take all these wounded, and he had to find out about Leia.

Chewbacca