Artoo-Detoo stood just outside the entrance to the secret Rebel ice hangar, dusted

with a layer of snow that had settled over his plug-shaped body. His inner timing

mechanisms knew he had waited here a long time and his optical sensor told him that

the sky was dark.

But the R2 unit was concerned only with his built-in probe-sensors that were still

sending signals across the ice fields. His long and earnest sensor-search for the

missing Luke Skywalker and Han Solo had not turned up a thing.

The stout droid began beeping nervously when Threepio approached him,

plodding stiffly through the snow.

"Artoo," the gold-colored robot inclined the upper half of his form at the hip

joints, "there's nothing more you can do. You must come inside." Threepio

straightened to his full height again, simulating a human shiver as the night winds

howled past his gleaming hull. "Artoo, my joints are freezing up. Will you

hurry...please?..." But before he could finish his own sentence, Threepio was

hurrying back toward the hangar entrance.

Hoth's sky was then entirely black with night, and Princess Leia Organa stood

inside the Rebel base entrance, maintaining a worried vigil. She shivered in the

night wind as she tried to see into the Hoth darkness. Waiting near a deeply

concerned Major Derlin, her mind was somewhere out on the ice fields.

The giant Wookiee sat nearby, his maned head lifting quickly from his hairy

hands as the two droids Threepio and Artoo reentered the hangar.

Threepio was humanly distraught. "Artoo has not been able to pick up any

signals," he reported, fretting, "although he feels his range is probably too limited to

cause us to give up hope." Still, very little confidence could be detected in

Threepio's artificial voice.

Leia gave the taller droid a nod of acknowledgment, but did not speak. Her

thoughts were occupied with the pair of missing heroes. Most disturbing to her was

that she found her mind focused on one of the two: a dark-haired Corellian whose

words were not always to be taken literally.

As the princess kept watch, Major Derlin turned to acknowledge a Rebel

lieutenant reporting in. "All patrols are now in except Solo and Skywalker, sir."

The major looked over at Princess Leia. "Your Highness," he said, his voice

weighty with regret, "nothing more can be done tonight. The temperature is

dropping fast. The shield doors must be closed. I'm sorry." Derlin waited a

moment, then addressed the lieutenant. "Close the doors."

The Rebel officer turned to carry out Derlin's order and immediately the

chamber of ice seemed to drop even more in temperature as the mournful Wookiee

howled his grief.

"The speeders should be ready in the morning," the major said to Leia.

"They'll make the search easier."

Not really expecting an affirmative reply, Leia asked, "Is there any chance of

their surviving until the morning?"

"Slim," Major Derlin answered with grim honesty. "But yes, there's a chance."

In response to the major's words, Artoo began to operate the miniature

computers inside his barrel-like metal body, taking only moments to juggle numerous

sets of mathematical computations, and climaxing his figurings with a series of

triumphant beeps.

"Ma'am," Threepio interpreted, "Artoo says the chances against survival are

seven hundred twenty-five to one." Then, tilting toward the shorter robot, the

protocol droid grumbled, "Actually, I don't think we needed to know that."

No one responded to Threepio's translation. For several prolonged moments

there was a solemn silence, broken only by the echoing clang of metal slamming

against metal: the huge doors of the Rebel base were closed for the night. It was as

if some heartless deity had officially severed the assembled group from the two men

out on the ice plains and had, with a metallic bang, announced their deaths.

Chewbacca led out another suffering howl.

And a silent prayer, often spoken on an erstwhile world called Alderaan, crept

into Leia's thoughts.
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