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“A couple of the components are fried,” Han called up to them. His voice sounded tinny through the compartment. “But I’ve got spares—or at least close enough that I can get the ship running again. We’ve got three fused circuits. One we can get by without; two I can bypass.”

“We’ll give you half an hour,” Mara said, pulling the helmet on and sealing it over her neck.

Han repositioned himself in the coffin-sized maintenance bay to stick his head above the deck plates. Grease and leaked coolant stained his cheeks. “I’ll be ready.”

“You better be, if we trigger those timers,” Lando said, and secured his own helmet. It seemed as large as a shuttlecraft on his head.

“Come on, Calrissian,” Mara said. “We’ve got some wrecking to do.”

From his comfortable chair Tol Sivron squinted out at the panorama of the Maw’s center, assessing the situation but making no decisions—like a good manager.

“It’s the Star Destroyer Gorgon, sir,” the stormtrooper captain said. “Shall I hail it?”

Sivron scowled. “About time Admiral Daala came back to do her duty,” he said. It still rankled him that she had abandoned her primary mission of protecting the Maw scientists. Now that the Rebels had already taken over the Installation, it was too late for her to make amends.

“Why did she come back with only one Star Destroyer?” Sivron said. “She had four. No, wait—one was destroyed, wasn’t it? Well, three, anyway. Does she simply want to flaunt her weaponry?” He sniffed. “Well, this time we’ve got our own Death Star, and we’re not afraid to use it.”

“Excuse me, Director,” the captain said, “but the Gorgon appears to be severely damaged. The Rebel forces are attacking her. I believe it’s our duty to come to her aid.”

Tol Sivron looked at the captain incredulously. “You want us to rescue Admiral Daala after she deserted us? You have an odd sense of obligation, Captain.”

“But,” the stormtrooper said, “aren’t we all fighting the same battle?”

Sivron frowned. “In a sense, perhaps. But we must have different priorities—as Daala herself evidenced by leaving us behind.”

He saw the Rebel ships opening fire on the lone Star Destroyer, saw the attack increasing as starfighters met TIE fighters in a flurry of pinpoint laser strikes. The colorful battle had a hypnotic effect—and he thought of the blazing heat storms on the Twi’lek homeworld of Ryloth.

He felt a lump of comet ice form in his stomachs. His career had been long and successful, but he was about to end it by destroying the facility he had so successfully administered for years and years.

In the pilot chair of the Death Star prototype, Sivron said in a cold voice, “All right, let us show Admiral Daala we scientists can hold our own.”

Suddenly an alarm ratcheted through the chamber. Sivron sighed. “Now what?”

Yemm and Doxin both flipped through their manuals, searching for an explanation.

“We’ve detected intruders,” the stormtrooper captain answered. “On the power core itself. It seems we picked up one of those smuggler ships near Kessel.”

“Well, what do they think they’re doing?” Sivron asked.

“According to our sensor cameras, two people have emerged from their ship and—as far as we can tell—are attempting some sort of sabotage.”

Sivron sat up in alarm. “Well, stop them!” He snatched the manual out of Doxin’s hands and flipped through the pages. “Use emergency procedure number—” He continued to skim over the pages, squinting down at the bulleted lists, flipped a few more pages before tossing the book aside in disgust. “Well, just use the correct procedure, Captain. Do something!”

“We have only a few men and not much time,” the captain said. “I’ll order two spacetroopers to suit up and take care of the intruders personally.”

“Yes, yes,” Sivron said, waving his clawed hand, “don’t bother me with details. Just get the job done.”

Lando tilted the face shield of his enormous helmet back and forth, the better to see with, but the Wookiee-sized suit folded around him in strange and uncomfortable