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“… need specific … only a general authorization.”

“No … good enough!”

The voices rose, but Kyp couldn’t make out more of the words. He tried to decipher three voices talking all at once.

Kyp made ready to lash out the moment the door slid open. He knew he would be cut down by blaster fire in no time—but at least it would be over, and he would be shot on his own terms, not the Empire’s.

“… check with … first. Wait—”

Suddenly Kyp heard a thump and a muffled blast. A heavy object smashed against the doorway. Kyp flinched back as the door whisked open.

The dead stormtrooper guard sprawled backward into his cell with a clatter of white armor. A smoking hole oozed steam from the waist joint in the brittle uniform.

Another stormtrooper stepped inside holding the stillwarm blaster pistol. Beside him stood a willowy alien woman, looking delicate but outraged at the same time.

“I hope that was sufficient authorization,” the stormtrooper said, then pulled off his helmet.

“Han!” Kyp cried.

“I really hate red tape,” Han said, nudging the dead guard with his foot. “Think you can fit into that uniform, kid?”

“No, I don’t want one of the slow old ones!” Qwi snapped at the keeper of the Wookiee work detail. Through the narrowed field of view in his stormtrooper helmet, Han watched the delicate woman play the part of a tough, impatient researcher.

The rotund man glanced at his hairy charges, unintimidated as if he were accustomed to being shouted at by prima donna scientists. The keeper’s face looked like pale, wet clay.

Han fidgeted, sweating in the cramped uniform. The helmet had nose filters, but the suit still smelled of body odor from its former owner. The stormtroopers at Maw Installation lived in their uniforms and likely disinfected the interiors much less often than they polished the exteriors.

The keeper shrugged, as if Qwi’s impatience did not concern him. “These Wookiees have been worked hard for over a decade. What do you expect from them? They’re all slow and worthless.”

Han could see that most of the other Wookiees wandering around the hangar bay had patchy fur and stooped shoulders, bringing them almost to the height of a human. These slaves looked as if their will had been crushed over years of harsh servitude.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Qwi said. She tossed her head, making the feathery pearls of her hair shimmer. “We’ve been ordered to get a lot of work done before the fleet departs, and I need a Wookiee with some energy. Give me that new prisoner you have. He’ll do the work.”

“Not a good idea,” the keeper said, wrinkling his pasty forehead. “He’s unruly, and you’d have to double-check his work. Can’t trust him not to try sabotage.”

“I don’t care how unruly he can get!” Qwi snapped. “At least he won’t fall asleep on the job.”

On the far side of the bay a tall Wookiee stepped out of a gamma-class assault shuttle. He straightened from the cramped quarters and looked around the bay. Han had to force himself not to yank off his helmet and call out Chewbacca’s name. The Wookiee seemed ready to strike, barely restraining himself from flying into a suicidal rage. With his bare hands Chewbacca could dismantle five or six TIE fighters before the stormtroopers took him down. The keeper glanced at Chewbacca, as if considering.

“I have authorization from Admiral Daala herself,” Qwi said, holding out a curled hardcopy bearing Daala’s seal. Han glanced at the other stormtroopers standing guard in the engine pool. He could not invoke the same violent “authorization” he had used to spring Kyp Durron from his cell.

Beside Qwi Xux, Kyp—wearing the smaller of the two stolen stormtrooper uniforms—stood stock-still. Han knew the kid must be terrified, but Kyp had snapped to attention and done everything Han suggested. Han felt a rush of warmth inside, and he hoped Kyp could get out of here to the normal life he deserved.

“All right, but you take him at your own risk,” the keeper finally said. “I won’t be responsible if he ruins whatever you have him working