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Han gripped the handle and headed back toward the Falcon, flying under wedge-shaped freighter edges, and beneath open cargo doors. The piles of boxes he soared past were impressive. Many were open and revealed stormtrooper helmets, Imperial-style blasters, and other equipment.

Smugglers were firing at him now, and many were shouting that he was crazy. The speeder was sputtering beneath him, but the controls still worked. He was able to dodge, but not for much longer.

The Glottalphibs still surrounded the Falcon, but they were all facing him now, both breathing fire at him and shooting blasters. He rose, then dropped, then moved sideways to avoid all the shots. He was shooting too, missing often because he was trying to evade, but occasionally connecting. Blasters reflected off Glottalphib hide; he had been lucky to hit that first ’Phib in the mouth. This would take precision shooting.

Then one Glottalphib fell forward, a bolt from Chewie’s bowcaster in its back. Another fell as well, another bolt in it. Davis snuck up behind the Glottalphib near the Falcon’s secured door, tapped the ’Phib on the shoulder, and blasted it in the mouth when it turned around.

A shot from behind spun the speeder bike. It looped around the edge of the Falcon. Han fought for control. If he didn’t get it, the speeder would slam into the Falcon. He dropped his blaster and gripped the controls with both hands. He righted the bike, and looked up as it was heading for the door into the caves.

He pulled up and the speeder coughed.

“Come on, you bucket of bolts,” he muttered, slamming the engine with the flat of his hand.

The speeder coughed again, and flew above the doors, narrowly missing the rock walls.

He whipped it around, and saw a fifth ’Phib dead at Davis’s feet.

Other smugglers were still shooting at him. Chewie was shouting, saying they should all board the Falcon. Han aimed the bike toward the Falcon when the engine coughed a third time. It sputtered once, and died.

He flew off the speeder, unable to stop his own momentum. He brought his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his head. If he hit wrong, he would die. Simple as that.

The metal ground loomed. He tucked as best he could, then landed, scraping his elbows, the backs of his upper arms, his knees, and his shins on the metal. He was shouting, Chewie was roaring, and blaster bolts zinged around him.

A hand grabbed his armpit and pulled him to his feet. He could hardly move.

“You okay, buddy?” Davis asked.

Han nodded.

The speeder hovered above him, almost laughing at him. Then a blaster bolt hit its engine and the speeder exploded. Flaming parts shot everywhere. Han and Davis ducked under the Falcon to prevent getting hit.

It hurt to move.

Chewie brought the ramp down. He stood on it and waved them in. Davis and Han ran up the ramp, blood flowing through the rips in Han’s pants.

“What about your ship?” Han asked Davis.

Davis grinned. “Technically it’s not my ship yet.”

“Great,” Han said. They ran inside. Chewie was already bringing the ramp up. Han bolted for the cockpit. Chewie was following.

“What about Seluss?” Han asked.

Chewie roared.

“I don’t care. We’ve got to find him before we go.”

“There isn’t time,” Davis said.

“I’m not leaving him here,” Han said.

“Being noble will get you killed.”

“It hasn’t yet,” Han said. “Look for him, Chewie.”

But Chewie wasn’t responding.

“Davis, find Chewie.”

Nothing. Han’s hands were on the controls, his scraped elbows burning, his skin on fire. Through the cockpit transparisteel, he could see smugglers heading toward his ship.

“I don’t like this, guys,” Han said. “Guys?”

He turned. No one was behind him. He left the Falcon powering up and went into the corridor. There, the gray-scaled Glottalphib held Chewie and Davis at blaster point. Chewie’s fur was smoking, and the edges were singed.

Beside them, on the floor, was Seluss. His tiny hands were bound together, and the rope then wound around