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
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."
&n
bsp; 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
punch-like 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, or 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.