9

Lando Calrissian’s ship, the Lady Luck, received clearance from a bored-sounding traffic controller to land in the spaceport of Umgul. As the ship coasted through the misty atmosphere, Lando was amazed at the number of private ships, space yachts, and luxurious ground skimmers bustling around the landing center.

Lando cruised with the other traffic over flatlands surrounding a broad river on his way to Umgul City. Fleets of sail barges drifted over the sluggish river. Looking down, he could see flashing lights and gyrating bodies that spoke of wild parties on the barge decks.

A moist planet, but cool, Umgul was frequently blanketed by dense fog and low-hanging clouds; even now, in the middle of the day, wisps of mist drifted up from the river and spread across the lowlands. Though unremarkable in resources and strategic importance, Umgul had earned galactic fame as a sports center, home of the renowned Umgullian blob races.

The Lady Luck followed her designated vector to a spaceport carved into limestone bluffs rising above the river. Accompanied on either side by tiny two-person pleasure skimmers, Lando brought his ship through the cavern mouth. He barely managed to avoid hitting a blue zeppelin full of tourists. Inside, hairy attendants wearing bright-orange vests directed the Lady Luck into her parking stall by waving handheld laser beacons.

Lando turned to the two droids next to him in the pilot’s compartment. “Are you boys about ready to have fun?”

Artoo beeped something Lando could not understand, but Threepio straightened in indignation. “We are not here to have fun, General Calrissian. We are here to assist Master Luke!”

“I’m here as a private citizen going to the blob races.” Lando jabbed a finger at him. Being in close quarters with Threepio for only a day had already been enough for the prissy droid to get on his nerves. “You are my protocol droid, and you’d better play the part—or I’ll have you run a complete diagnostic of all the sewage-control systems on Umgul City.”

“I … understand clearly, sir.”

As the Lady Luck’s ramp tongued out, Lando stepped into the chaos of the Umgullian reception center. Voices blurred by background noise made perpetual announcements over the intercom systems. Roars from departing vehicles echoed in the grotto. Acrid smells of exhaust fumes and engine-fueling ports stung Lando’s nostrils.

Nonetheless, he held his head high and strode down the ramp, swirling his cape and beckoning the two droids to follow. “Threepio, can you understand any of those announcements? Figure out where we’re supposed to go.”

Threepio scanned the data walls that listed services offered by Umgul City. Text scrolled out in several languages.

Four stubby vendors rushed over to the new visitor, pushing trinkets and souvenirs at Lando. The scruffy-looking hucksters were Ugnaughts, the ugly little maintenance creatures that filled the lower levels of Cloud City. “Why not bring a baby blob home for the kids, sir?” The Ugnaught thrust out a greenish, oozing mass that looked like a fist-sized wad of phlegm.

“How about some blob candy, sir? Best in the city! My secondary mate makes it at home.” The gelatinous blob candy looked identical to the baby blob the first Ugnaught had offered.

“Good-luck charm?” said a third Ugnaught. “Works for all religions!”

Lando waved them away. “Threepio, where are we going?”

“Adjusting for local time, sir, I believe there is an important blob race beginning in less than one standard hour. The Umgullian mass-transit systems will take us directly to the blob arena. I believe the mass-transit access is—”

The four Ugnaught souvenir vendors began falling over each other offering to guide the fine gentleman to the arena.

“—immediately to our left.” Threepio gestured to a brightly painted tunnel entrance.

“Come on,” Lando said and, without looking back, walked over to the mass-transit entrance. The disappointed Ugnaughts hurried off to hunt for other customers.

The mass-transit trip was like a roller-coaster ride without wheels. A slim tubelike car shot through the tunnel up to the top of the bluff, splashing through high-rising fog and rushing over woodlands where trees crammed into notches in the weathered limestone. The ground was a crazy quilt of bright signs describing tourist attractions, eating establishments, pawnshops, and high-interest, no-questions-asked gambling loans.

At the great entry kiosks to the blob arena, streams of people and other creatures pushed in, paying their credits and obtaining seat assignments. Lando paid for himself but argued with the ticket-taking computer over whether his two droids were companions (and thus needed to buy tickets) or subservient information-processing attendants; Lando won the argument, though Threepio seemed insulted at being classed as little more than an appliance.

The blob-racing stadium was a vast sinkhole that had collapsed into the top of the bluff, a circular pit in the rocky ground. The Umgullian stadium management had carved thousands of seats, stalls, pits, and sockets out of the sloping rocky walls to accommodate all manner of bodily configurations.

Giant whirring fans had been mounted around the rim of the sinkhole, generating a hefty breeze to shove back the encroaching fog that pushed in from all sides, driving it into the open air, where it dissipated.

After pushing his way along the crowded halls, Lando found his seat, pleased to see that it had a good view of the entire “blobstacle course” below. The odds panel in front of his seat listed information about the fourteen blob challengers for the day’s first heat and also counted down the twenty minutes remaining before the next race would begin.

A grin spread across Lando’s face as he took in the smells of treats and condiments, saw whirring robotic drink dispensers drifting through the stands. He was enjoying this already. It brought back plenty of old memories.

As baron-administrator of Bespin’s Cloud City, Lando had spent much of his time in the high-class casinos, watching the tourists and high rollers. He had never seen blob racing before, but the excitement in the air made his heart beat faster.

Threepio fidgeted, looking at the crowd. A white ursine creature nearly knocked him over as it pushed its way to a seat farther down the mezzanine.

Lando couldn’t forget the primary reason why he was here, though. Mounted to Artoo’s body core was the power pack of the Imperial Jedi-detecting device, and Lando kept the sheet-crystal detector paddles secured to his own side.

“Okay, Artoo. Let’s see if we can find our friend Tymmo. Jack into the stadium computer and see if he’s bought a ticket or placed a bet. If so, let’s find out where he’s seated.”

The announcer’s voice echoed around the arena. “Sentient beings of all genders—welcome to the galaxy-renowned blob races of Umgul! Before we begin this afternoon’s first heat, we’d like to call your attention to next week’s special gala blob derby to be hosted in honor of a visiting dignitary, the Duchess Mistal from our sister planet Dargul. We hope you’ll all attend.”

The apathetic reaction from the crowd told Lando just how many visiting dignitaries Umgul must host throughout the year.

“For this afternoon’s event we’ll be running fourteen thoroughbred racing blobs through a twelve-point blobstacle course that has been thoroughly inspected and certified by the galactic racing commission. All data on the age, mass, and viscosity of our racing blobs is available at the terminal in front of your seat.”

Lando smiled grimly at that. Umgul City claimed to run clean blob races, and cheating was a capital offense. “What does he mean by ‘thoroughbred racing blobs’?” he asked.

Threepio heard him. “This species of blob has several variants that are used for different purposes throughout the system. Some upper-class people actually keep them as pets. Others have seen certain medicinal value in blob treatment, such as letting a blob ooze across one’s back for massage therapy or soaking one’s aching feet in the warm gelatinous mass.”

“But these are racers?”

“Yes, sir, bred for speed and fluidity.”

The announcer finished reading several standard disclaimers. “At this point we officially declare all betting substations to be closed. The odds computer will post final probability tables, which are now available at your terminals. We shall begin the race in just a moment. Please enjoy a refreshment compatible with your biochemistry while you wait!”

Hearing a ratcheting sound, Lando directed his attention to the rear of the playing field. Conveyor mechanisms raised the blob platforms to a high ramp, stopping in front of a gate that held the oozing blobs back from the launching slide. The fourteen separate chutes in the steep, lubricated ramp were designed to boost a blob’s momentum at the starting signal.

“On your mark!” the announcer said.

Lando could sense a blanketing hush through the stadium as the spectators craned forward, staring at the chutes and waiting for the blobs to emerge.

A loud electronic tone reverberated through the air, like a bullet hitting a brass bell, and suddenly the gates flew open. The ramps tilted forward, spilling the multicolored blobs down the lubricated chutes.

Fourteen syrupy masses tumbled and oozed pell-mell down the slides, striking the low walls and slithering as fast as they could to the bottom of the ramp. The blobs showed a range of colors, primarily grayish green but laced with bright hues. Variegated strands of vermillion stood out on one, turquoise on another, lime-green on a third. Each blob had a holographic number imprinted in its protoplasm; the number somehow stayed upright no matter which way the blob oriented itself.

With the chutes equally lubricated, all fourteen blobs struck the bottom of the ramp at about the same time. When the low walls no longer separated the tracks, the frantic blobs began to make their way helter-skelter around each other, gushing forward into the blobstacle course.

One contender, Blob 11—a dark-green specimen laced with a striking amethyst pattern—burst onto the flat of the track with pseudopods already extended, as if trying to scramble away the moment it hit the bottom of the ramp. It squirted forward, clenching itself together and oozing its body core ahead.

The amethyst blob had pulled a small lead by the time it hit the first obstacle, a tall metal screen with a wide mesh. Blob 11 hurled itself onto the mesh grid with its full body and began to push its entire self through, dribbling in a hundred tiny segments out the other side, where it flowed its gelatinous mass back together again. It managed to push itself halfway through before the next blob struck a different part of the screen. Lando decided to cheer for the amethyst blob, though he had no money riding on the race. He still liked to root for winners.

The second blob took a different tactic, concentrating its body into a narrow streamer that spouted through one of the mesh holes, pouring its mass to the other side.

The amethyst blob finished reassembling itself on the bottom of the grid, took no time to rest, and pushed onward.

By this time all the other blobs were struggling to get through the first obstacle. The amethyst blob frantically mushed ahead, increasing its lead as if fleeing in terror.

“Go!” Lando shouted.

The second major obstacle proved more formidable. A tall ratline made of chain links led up to another steep, lubricated slide that dropped into a sharp, banked curve.

Blob 11 reached the bottom of the ratline and extended a pseudopod up to the first loop of chain, wrapping the jellylike tendril onto the flexible rung and extending another pseudopod again and again until it flowed like a tentacled amoeba, desperately hauling its amorphous form upward faster than gravity could slurp it back down.

The amethyst blob slipped, and a large segment of its body mass drooled downward, barely connected to the main core by a thin stream of mucus. According to the official rules posted in front of Lando’s seat, the entire body mass of a blob had to get to the finishing circle; it could not leave portions of itself behind.

The second and third blobs reached the bottom of the ratline, also trying to scramble up.

The amethyst blob hovered on the ratline, sagging as it worked to siphon its precariously balanced appendage back into the main core. The chain links began to work through the soft organic material, but the blob moved faster, finally drawing itself up, and hooked over another loop of chain.

Behind it the next two blobs managed to ascend to the second level of chain loops.

Back at the first blobstacle, the last of the blobs squeezed through the mesh and began creeping at top speed toward the ratline.

Blob 11 reached the top of the ratlines and, coiling its mass, shot onto the steep, greased slide, rolling and spinning and tumbling. Its holographic number remained upright all the while. The blob reached the high banked curve at the bottom of the slide, rebounded, and gushed toward the next blobstacle.

The crowd was roaring and shouting now. Lando felt exhilaration burst through him. He decided he’d have to return to Umgul when he had more time to relax, to make a few real bets.

“Excuse me, sir, but are we expressing enthusiasm for Blob Eleven?”

“Yes, Threepio!”

“Thank you, sir. I just wanted to be certain.” The droid paused, then amplified his voice. “Go, number eleven!”

The second and third blobs reached the top of the ratlines simultaneously, and both leaped onto the lubricated slide, squirting down at an alarming rate. Many of the spectators jumped out of their seats and screamed with excitement.

The two blobs tumbled next to each other, grappling with pseudopods and rolling. The steep, banked curve rose up in front of them like a wall.

“Oh, I can’t watch!” Threepio said. “They’re going to crash!”

The two blobs both struck the corner at the same instant and splattered into each other, forming one giant ball. The crowd roared with absolute delight.

“Total fusion!” the announcer cried.

The spectators continued to cheer. The two blobs had combined into one much larger mass, and they seemed to be working at cross purposes, trying to lumber over to the side of the track and out of the way of other oncoming blobs. Meanwhile, the amethyst blob increased its lead.

“Those two are out of the race,” Lando muttered.

Artoo returned, bleeping with excitement. “Excuse me, sir,” Threepio said, “but Artoo has located our man Tymmo. He has indeed come to the races and placed a very large bet. We have his seating assignment. We can go see him now if you wish.”

Lando was startled to be interrupted during the race; then he jumped to his feet. “We found him already?”

“Yes, sir. And as I said, he has placed a very large bet, if you take my meaning, sir.”

“Let me guess,” Lando said. “On Blob Eleven, right?”

“Correct, sir.”

“Looks like he’s done it again,” Lando said. “Let’s go.”

They pushed past other spectators who had not bothered to take seats, then emerged into the flagstoned halls. Lando allowed Artoo to lead, puttering down near-empty interior corridors. Lando was reluctant, wanting to see the outcome of the competition. “Hurry up, Artoo.”

The little droid hummed downhill toward the lower levels of the sinkhole stadium. Through a graffiti-scrawled archway they passed into the section of least expensive seats filled with desperate-looking people, the ones who had staked everything on guessing the winner of just one race. Somehow Lando hadn’t expected a winner as lucky as Tymmo to be in the low-rent section. Maybe he was trying to keep a low profile.

Though support pillars and debris screens crowded the view this far down in the crater, Lando could see that Blob 11 had increased its lead substantially, a full obstacle ahead of the remaining nine blobs. Farther back on the track two blobs lay motionless and rubbery in a bed of desiccant, too slow to cross the deadly obstacle before they suffered terminal dehydration.

The surviving blobs worked at stringing themselves through a sequence of metal rings dangling on ropes, each swaying and trying to extend a pseudopod to the next ring before the pendulum motion stretched it to the breaking point.

The amethyst blob had already crossed the desiccant trap and the rings and was now oozing precariously over a long bed of sharp spikes that continually poked through its outer membrane. Tireless, Blob 11 threw itself forward with wild abandon, not heeding the spears jabbing through its body.

Artoo whistled, and Threepio pointed to a man three benches down. “General Calrissian, Artoo says this is the man we want.”

Lando squinted at Tymmo. Young and attractive, but with a fidgety, furtive look, he had a disreputable air. Though his blob was winning by a wide margin, he did not seem elated. The other people around him cheered or wailed, depending on where they had cast their bets, but Tymmo just sat and waited, as if he already knew the outcome.

Blob 11 dragged the last of itself off the bed of nails, tugging to remove a few clinging strands from the spike points. The nails had slowed it to a crawl just in front of the next obstacle—a slowly turning propeller blade with razor edges.

The amethyst blob poised itself but seemed too panicked to plan the best way through the spinning blades. It squirted forward, elongating to gain speed, then shoved its body into the gap between the whirring fan blades. About a quarter of the blob made it through before the sharp edges slashed through, bisecting it.

Mucus squirted but clung in one long, liquid thread on the propeller blade. One segment of the blob waited safely on the other side of the blobstacle. The remaining three quarters hunched, then lunged through the next gap in the blades. This time half of its mass passed successfully through, and the second segment oozed forward to rejoin the first small mass. The rest of Blob 11 made it through with only a nick in its posterior portion, but as the fan blades spun around again, droplets of slime on the edges congealed into a small lump and dropped off, rolling to safety, where all the portions conjoined once more.

The crowd cheered. Some of the losers in the lower levels began throwing drink containers against the guard mesh in front of them. Blue sparks flickered from the electrified wires. Tymmo hunched forward in his seat, keeping one hand in his pocket. Lando wondered if he carried some kind of weapon.

Tymmo looked around, blinking his eyes in alarm as if he suspected he was being watched. Lando winced, knowing that his fine clothes and rich cape made him appear painfully out of place in the lower levels. Tymmo noticed Lando and the two droids, tensed, then forced himself to watch the end of the race.

Blob 11 approached the final blobstacle, hauling pseudopods over the rungs of a ladder as it dripped down. It seemed burned to exhaustion, but still it pushed on as if demons were chasing it. Its bright amethyst tracings had faded to mere speckles.

Reaching the top of the ladder, the blob descended into an array of wide funnels that had exit holes of varying sizes, many of which were sealed shut. The amethyst blob thrust extensions of itself into various funnels, poking around until it found one with a large enough hole in the bottom.

Behind, the nearest other blob began negotiating the bed of nails in front of the whirling propeller.

Choosing an acceptable funnel, Blob 11 dumped itself into the cone and pushed. A pasty stream ribboned out the narrow end, rolling and piling on the ground as the blob re-collected itself. The thin strand of blob went on and on, coming out in spurts near the end until finally the tail plopped out of the funnel.

Blob 11’s entire body shimmered as it trembled with exhaustion. It charged toward the finishing circle and looked as if it intended to keep going.

The crowd continued to cheer, but the race was clearly over. Lando watched Tymmo. The other man adjusted something in his pocket.

Blob 11 came to a sudden halt in the finishing circle. Blob wranglers in coveralls rushed onto the track with wide shovels and a levitating barrow to scoop up the exhausted thing and return it to the blob pens for rehydration and a long rest. The audience then began to root for which blobs would place and show.

Tymmo slid out of his seat and flicked a quick glance from side to side, but Lando had already stepped behind a support pillar. Tymmo jostled the spectators still watching the rest of the race, making his way toward one of the cashiering stations where other winners had already queued up. Most of the winners jumped up and down, chattering with shared excitement; even the more reserved ones wore broad grins. Tymmo, though, showed only a metallic, unreadable expression. He seemed very nervous.

Lando and the two droids eased themselves into the line, butting through the crowd. Tymmo kept glancing back, but he did not see them again. Over the loudspeakers the announcer listed the order of winners in the blob race.

Lando pulled the cable jacks to the sheet-crystal Jedi detectors out of his sleeves and plugged them into the power pack on Artoo’s body. He slid the flat paddles into the palms of his hands, ready for a chance when he could scan Tymmo to confirm whether or not he had the bluish aura of a possible trainee for Luke’s academy.

Threepio seemed very excited. “Why don’t we just go up to him and tell him the good news, General Calrissian?”

“Because something’s fishy here,” he said, “and I want to make sure before we get ourselves in too deep.”

“Fishy?” Threepio asked, then looked around as if to locate any aquatic spectators at the blob races.

“His turn is next at the terminal. When he keys in his betting chit, it’ll take a minute to process and cash in his winnings. He’s effectively trapped until the transaction is done, unless he wants to throw away a lot of credits.”

Of course, Lando remembered, cheating was punishable by death on Umgul, and Tymmo might be happy enough just to get away with his life. What had he been hiding in his pocket?

As Tymmo stepped up to the terminal and inserted his chit, the announcer broke through the background noise to remind everyone once again of the next week’s races in honor of the visiting duchess from Dargul. Tymmo flinched visibly, but keyed in his ID code and inserted his account card to collect his winnings.

“Come on,” Lando said, stepping out of line and moving toward the cashiering station. He flicked the power switch on the scanning pack; its warm-up hum vanished in the background noise.

Tymmo looked intently at the display on the cashiering station, punching in his access code and transferring his winnings as quickly as he could. Lando stepped up beside him and swept either side of the man with the detector paddles before Tymmo realized what was happening.

Tymmo looked up, saw Lando holding something that might have been a weapon, saw the two droids that might have been armed mechanical bodyguards, and panicked just as the terminal ejected his account card and called for the next customer. Tymmo snatched his card and fled, scattering a pack of Ugnaughts as he ran into the crowded stands.

“Hey, Tymmo, stop!” yelled Lando. The man was swallowed up in the surge of spectators exiting the stands after the race.

“Sir, aren’t we going to follow him?” Threepio asked.

Other spectators had turned to stare. The next winner, grinning and oblivious, stepped up to the cashiering station.

“No.” Lando shook his head. “We’ve got a reading for now. Let’s check it out.”

In a shadowed corner, not caring if anyone saw what they were doing since nobody would understand it anyway, Lando watched the power pack of the Imperial detector reconstruct a holographic aura mapping of Tymmo.

As Lando had unfortunately expected, Tymmo’s reading showed a perfectly normal outline: no bluish haze of Jedi potential, nothing at all out of the ordinary. “He’s a fraud.”

Threepio seemed disappointed. “Can you be certain, sir? I should point out that many people were standing around, and they could have disturbed the readings. You also scanned him very quickly, and none too closely. Remember, too, that the detector itself is extremely old and may not be completely reliable.”

Lando gave the protocol droid a skeptical frown, but Threepio’s arguments did have some merit. He should take the trouble to be sure. Besides, Lando was enjoying himself on Umgul so far. “All right, we’ll check him out a little further.”

Relieved that the New Republic would pick up the tab, Lando relaxed in his spacious hotel accommodations. From the dispenser he ordered a cold punchlike drink popular on Umgul and went to the balcony to watch thick evening mists curl along the streets. He sipped the drink, unable to remove his perplexed frown or smooth his creased forehead.

“Could I get you anything else, sir, of shall I power down for the time being?” Threepio asked.

“Please do!” he said, realizing how nice it would be to keep the protocol droid quiet for a while. “But leave the circuit open in case Artoo tries to get back in touch.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Posing as a maintenance droid, Artoo had gone poking around the blob stables to see if he could uncover anything out of the ordinary. The little astromech droid had tuned his communication frequency to Lando’s comlink so he could send a message.

Now with Threepio quiet Lando could finally think. He went over to the room’s courtesy terminal and punched in a request for information. The screen automatically displayed a complete schedule for the next three weeks of blob racing, but Lando selected another menu.

The Umgullian Racing Commission was fanatical about being forthcoming with all information relating to the races and the blobs themselves. A sample of protoplasm was taken from each blob before and after any race, then subjected to rigorous analysis, the results of which were available to the public.

With help from the information assistant built into the terminal, Lando was able to collate the before-and-after tests for all of Tymmo’s high-stakes winners. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he suspected some drug used to urge the blobs to greater speed, some incentive that would affect only the winners.

“Run a correlation,” Lando said. “Is there anything unusual about these particular winners? Something found in these blobs, but not in the others?”

Tymmo bet only once in a while, and if his manipulation was subtle enough, Lando could imagine that the Umgullian racing commission might have missed a tiny modification. But Lando knew that one variable tied these particular winners together apart from the other blobs. Since hundreds of people bet and won on each race, the commission would have no reason to look at only those particular races where Tymmo had cashed in.

“One minor anomaly found in all cases,” the information assistant said.

“What is it?”

“Faint traces of carbon, silicon, and copper in the postrace chemical tests of each winner in this subset.”

“This wasn’t noticed before?” Lando asked.

“Dismissed as irrelevant. Probable explanation: minor environmental contaminants from the blobstacles themselves.”

“Hmmm, and these same traces show up on every one of the winners?”

“Yes.”

“Do they show up on any of the other blob tests, winners or losers, in any race?”

“Checking.” After a pause the terminal answered, “No, sir.”

Lando looked at the test results. The amounts of contaminant were absolutely trivial, nothing that should have had any effect. “Speculation on what might have caused this?”

“None,” the terminal answered.

“Thanks a lot,” Lando said.

“You’re welcome.”

Threepio sat bolt upright, startled out of his recharging state. “General Calrissian! Artoo has just contacted me.” Threepio bumped the comlink with his golden finger, and bleeping noises burst through the speaker. “Mr. Tymmo has appeared at the blob corrals, disguised as a blob wrangler. Artoo has verified his identification. What could he be doing there?”

“Let’s go,” Lando said. “I didn’t expect him to try again so soon, but now we’ve got him, whatever he’s doing.”

Lando grabbed his cape and slung it over his shoulders before he swept out of the room. Threepio raised his hands in alarm but shuffled off as fast as he could, his motivators whirring.

The two ran through the darkened, misty streets of Umgul City. Around them blockish limestone dwellings rose high, stacked upon each other like cracker boxes, lacquered to a high gloss with moisture sealants. Streetlights hung at the street intersections, shedding a pearly halo into the mist. Workers climbed on scaffolds, tearing down old banners that advertised the visit of one dignitary and putting up new ones welcoming the Duchess Mistal to Umgul City.

Lando sprinted up the cobblestoned streets with Threepio scurrying stiffly behind. Steep thoroughfares climbed the bluffs. Ahead and adjacent to the sinkhole arena, they could see a large lighted structure where the blobs were kept and monitored.

Lando ducked through a service entrance to the blob corrals, and Threepio followed. Strange smells, damp and musty, filled the air. Cleanup droids chugged through the halls, while others checked temperature controls for the blob pens. The lights had been dimmed for the evening, encouraging the blobs to rest.

“Threepio, do you know where we’re going?”

“I believe I can locate Artoo, sir,” Threepio said, and turned in slow circles before he pointed the way.

Down another level they reached a shadowy chamber cut into the limestone. The lights inside had been set to their lowest illumination, and moisture generators kept the room damp and clammy. “Artoo is in here, General Calrissian.”

“Okay, be quiet. Let’s see what’s going on.”

“Do you really think Mr. Tymmo could be cheating, sir? Even with the threat of capital punishment?”

Lando frowned at him. “No, I’m sure he has a perfectly legitimate reason to be wearing a blob wrangler’s uniform, slipping into the blob corral late at night, and skulking around in the darkness.”

“What a relief, sir. I’m glad to hear he may yet be a Jedi candidate.”

“Shut up, Threepio!”

They crept through the entrance into a room lined with blob pens. Banks of about twenty small enclosures blocked his line of sight in the shadowy room. Within each pen a gelatinous blob burbled and vibrated as it rested.

From the far side of the room came a rattling noise: a blob pen being eased open. Lando crept silently down the rows of blob enclosures, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness.

In the shadows of the far row of pens, Lando spotted a human form. He recognized Tymmo’s build, his furtive movements, his lanky dark hair. Tymmo hunched over a cage, reaching inside, doing something to the blob in front of him.

Lando leaned close to Threepio and breathed words in the faintest of whispers, knowing he would not be overheard in the general stirring of the blobs. “Enhance your optical sensors so you can make out what he’s doing, and record everything for later playback. We may need proof if we’re going to get this guy.”

Before the droid could answer, Lando clamped his hand over Threepio’s mouth to keep him silent. Threepio nodded and turned to stare at the man in the shadows.

With a whirring sound Artoo-Detoo puttered down the walkway between the pens. Tymmo looked up, startled, but Artoo carried a cleaning attachment and scrubbed the floor under the pens. He whirred right by Tymmo, ignoring the man just as a cleaning droid would do. Lando nodded in admiration for the little astromech.

Tymmo turned back to his work, shaken by Artoo’s appearance and apparently wanting to be out of there as soon as possible.

“Sir!” Threepio cried. “He just implanted a small object in the protoplasm of that blob!”

Tymmo whirled and grabbed at one of the pockets of his jumpsuit. Lando didn’t need greater illumination to recognize a blaster being drawn.

“Thanks a lot, Threepio!” he said as he tackled the droid. An instant later a blaster bolt sparked off the wall near where they had been standing a moment before. “Come on!”

He scrambled to his feet and ran over to where Tymmo had been hiding, ducking to take advantage of the cover the blob pens offered. Another blaster shot ricocheted through the dimness, missing them by a wide margin.

“Artoo!” Threepio wailed. “Sound the alarms! Call the guards! Alert the corral owner! Anybody!”

Tymmo shot at them again, and Threepio gasped as sparks erupted close to his head. “Oh, dear!”

Inside the corral the blobs awakened and stirred, rearing up against the bars of their pens.

He heard Tymmo crash into the corner of a cage. They reached the pen where Tymmo had been meddling. Lando kept his head low. “Threepio, see if you can tell what he planted in that blob.”

“Do you really think that’s wise right at the moment, sir?”

“Do it!” Lando had his own blaster drawn, scanning the shadows for Tymmo’s form.

Ratcheting alarms rang out. “Good work, Artoo,” Lando mumbled.

Seeing a hunched, moving form, Lando risked a shot on stun but missed. An indignant series of electronic noises told him he had almost deactivated Artoo. “Sorry about that.”

By firing his blaster Lando had given away his position. Tymmo shot back, but his energy bolt spanged off the wall. Lando fired again, and as the stun beam expanded outward, he saw several blobs in its path curl up and condense sideways.

“A shoot-out at the blob corral,” Lando said to himself. “Just the way I wanted to spend my vacation.”

Threepio stood next to the pen trying to determine exactly what Tymmo had been doing. The blob itself, riled by the disturbance, reared up against the bars, leaning into the cage door. Dim light glinted off Threepio’s polished body, offering a clear target; but this time when Tymmo fired, his blaster bolt incinerated the lock on the pen. With the pressing weight of the blob, the door flung open, and the entire gelatinous mass dumped onto Threepio’s head, oozing down his body. The droid’s muffled cries of panic came through the wet protoplasm.

Seeing Tymmo’s form move through the shadows, Lando sprinted after him. The other man made for the archway exit as fast as he could move in the murkiness. “Tymmo! Hold it right there!”

Tymmo turned to glance in Lando’s direction, then put on a burst of reckless speed. At that moment Artoo scuttled out of the shadows, placing himself directly in the running man’s path. Tymmo crashed into the droid, somersaulted into the air, and landed on his back.

Lando pounced, grabbing Tymmo’s blaster arm and yanking it behind his back until the weapon dropped free. “Good job, Artoo.”

Tymmo thrashed and struggled as the alarms continued to sound. “Get away from me! I won’t let you take me back to her!”

“Help me! Help!” Threepio cried. He waved his arms, frantically trying to wipe blob material from his outer shell.

Guard droids and human security officers scrambled into the grotto. Lights flared on as somebody upped the illumination. Tymmo fought more frantically.

“Over here!” Lando called.

The guard droids took possession of Tymmo, clamping their restraining arms around him. Another reached out to grasp Lando, and he suddenly realized he had no good reason to be in the blob corral either.

“What in the bleeping miasma is going on here!” a deep voice roared. A hirsute man who looked as if he had dressed hurriedly strode into the corral area. “And shut off those blasted alarms! They’re upsetting my blobs, and they’re giving me a headache.”

“Over here, Mr. Fondine,” one of the human guards answered.

The man came over to see Tymmo struggling in the guard droid’s straitjacket grasp. Lando caught his attention. “I’ve uncovered a possible sabotage of the races, sir. This man here has been tinkering with the blobs.”

The man gave Tymmo an acid glance, then turned back to Lando. “I’m Slish Fondine, owner of these stables. You’d better tell me who you are and why you’re here.”

Lando realized, with some surprise, that he had nothing to hide. “I’m General Calrissian, a representative of the New Republic. I have been investigating this man, Tymmo, as part of an entirely different mission, but I believe you will be very interested to study his track record of wins.”

Tymmo glared at Lando. “You’ll never take me back to her! I couldn’t stand that—you don’t know how she is. I’ll die first.”

Slish Fondine shushed him with a wave of his hand. “That can be arranged, if what the general says is true. On Umgul cheaters are executed.” The alarm sirens finally fell silent.

“Will somebody please help me!” Threepio cried.

Fondine saw the droid struggling with the dripping greenish mass and rushed over to assist him. Brushing the protoplasm back up into the main mass, Fondine shushed and cooed the blob. “Easy now.” He spoke to Threepio as well. “Stop struggling! The blob is as afraid of you as you are of it. Just be calm.” He lowered his voice. “They can sense fear, you know.”

Threepio tried to remain still as Fondine gently coerced the blob to reincorporate back toward its pen. Threepio suddenly grew excited again. “Sir! I’ve just found a near-microscopic electronic object inside this blob’s protoplasm. Magnifying … it appears to be a micro-motivator!”

Lando suddenly understood what Tymmo had been doing. A micro-motivator implanted in the blob could send out a powerful internal stimulus, provoke a frantic flight response in any creature. If tuned properly, the micro-motivator could give a blob the speed born of absolute terror. The gadget was so tiny that Tymmo could self-destruct it after the blob had successfully won a race, leaving only minuscule traces of a few component elements in the blob tissue. And no one would ever know.

Slish Fondine glared daggers at Tymmo. “That is vile blasphemy against the whole spirit of blob racing.”

Tymmo squirmed. “I had to have the money! I had to get off planet before she gets here.”

In exasperation Lando said, “Who are you talking about? Who is she?” He freed himself from the guard droid’s grip.

Tymmo’s eyes goggled at Lando’s question. “Didn’t she send you to get me? I saw you spying on me at the races. You tried to catch me, but I escaped. I’ll never go back to her.”

“Who?!” both Lando and Slish Fondine bellowed in unison.

“The Duchess Mistal, of course. She clings to me every second, she blows in my ear, she won’t let me out of her sight—and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get away.”

Lando and Fondine looked at each other without comprehension, but Artoo trundled up, chittering an explanation. Threepio, extricated from the blob mass, stepped forward to translate.

“Artoo has run a check. The Duchess Mistal of Dargul has posted a million-credit reward for the safe return of her lost consort—apparently, he ran away from her. The man’s official name is Dack, but his description precisely matches that of Mr. Tymmo here.”

Tymmo hung his head in misery. Fondine crossed his arms over his chest. “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Yes, I’m Dack.” He heaved a huge sigh. “The Duchess Mistal reached her age of marriage two years ago and decided to find the perfect consort. She advertised across the galaxy for likely candidates, and she received millions of applicants. I was one of them. Who wouldn’t want the job? She was rich and young and beautiful. All the consort would have to do is live in total opulence and be doted upon by the duchess.”

Tears sprang to Tymmo’s eyes. “My particular talent was electronic wizardry. I built those micro-motivators from scratch. When I applied for the consort position, I knew my odds were small. But I succeeded in hacking into the central computer in Palace Dargul, sabotaging the other applicants, planting an algorithm so that the computer would spit out my name as the perfect choice.”

Slish Fondine looked nauseated at the mere concept of cheating in such a heinous manner.

“The duchess and I were married, and everything seemed exactly as I had expected—at first. But the duchess was convinced I was her perfect match, fated to be with her forever. Every waking moment of the day she refused to let me move more than arm’s length away from her. She would wake me up at all hours of the night, find me during her meal breaks. She would trap me in the gardens, in the libraries.”

Tymmo’s eyes grew wild, shining with panic. “I thought she would get tired of me—or at least used to having me around—but it went on for more than a year! I couldn’t sleep, I jumped at shadows. I was a wreck, and that made her feel sorry for me … so she clung even tighter!

“And I couldn’t leave! On Dargul they mate for life. Life! She’ll never give up searching, and she’ll never take another mate as long as I live.” Tymmo looked as if a scream hovered on his lips. “I’ll never be free of her! I had to escape.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve finally found a way out,” Slish Fondine said in an angry voice. “As an admitted scam artist, you’ll be promptly executed under the laws of Umgul.”

To Lando’s surprise Tymmo didn’t even try to defend himself. He seemed resigned to his fate.

But Lando wasn’t so sure about the idea. “Let’s think about this a minute, Mr. Fondine. Did you say there’s a million-credit reward for his safe return to the duchess, Artoo?”

Artoo chirped an affirmative.

“Now, Mr. Fondine, think of what a wonderful gift of state this would be for the upcoming visit of the duchess, returning her consort in time to ease her loneliness.”

Tymmo groaned in misery.

“On the other hand, if you were to execute him, knowing he is her missing consort, things could get very unpleasant between Umgul and your sister planet. Might even be cause for war.”

Fondine’s face darkened with the possibilities, but his honor had been so offended that the choice was not clear to him.

He sighed. “We will leave it up to the prisoner himself. Tymmo, or Dack, or whatever your name is—do you wish to be executed or returned to the Duchess Mistal?”

Tymmo swallowed hard. “How long do I have to think about it?”

“It’s not a trick question!” Lando said.

Tymmo sighed. “Can I at least be allowed to rest until she gets here? I’m going to need all my strength.”

The Lady Luck cruised out of the huge grotto of Umgul’s spaceport, rising above the mists into the sky. Slish Fondine had insisted, out of fairness, that he would transfer half of the duchess’s reward into Lando’s account when she arrived.

No longer penniless, Lando would have seed money to invest in some new operation, some other scheme that could excite him. He had tried the molten metal mines on Nkllon, and the Tibanna gas mines on Bespin. He wondered what he might find next.

Though he had tried his best to track down a worthy candidate for Luke’s Jedi academy, he hated to return empty-handed to Coruscant. But he knew there would be others.

Threepio remained uncharacteristically silent as the Lady Luck burst into hyperspace, heading home.