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The Wookiee growled in anger, glaring around with hard, dark eyes. He did not recognize Han, nor did he know Qwi Xux. Chewbacca glared at them, resenting another assignment.

“A little more cooperation!” the keeper yelled, then struck out with his energy lash, burning a smoking welt across Chewbacca’s shoulder blades.

The Wookiee howled and snarled but somehow restrained himself as the other stormtroopers hauled out their blasters, ready to stun him if he went wild. Han tensed, clenching his fists as much as the armored gloves would allow. More than anything he wanted to shove the generating handle of the energy-lash down the keeper’s throat and switch it on full power.

But instead Han stood at attention, doing nothing, saying nothing. Like a good stormtrooper.

The four of them marched out of the hangar bay. The keeper ignored them as he strode to the other captive Wookiees and began to strike left and right with his energy-lash, venting his anger. Han felt his stomach knotting.

Chewbacca kept looking from side to side, as if searching for his chance to escape. Han just hoped they could get someplace private before the big Wookiee decided to tear them all apart.

The doors closed, leaving them in a harshly lit white corridor. “Chewie!” Han said, pulling off his stormtrooper helmet. After breathing through the sour nose filters, even the musky scent of a Wookiee smelled sweet to him.

Chewbacca bleated in delighted surprise and grabbed Han in a huge hug, wrapping hairy arms around him and lifting him off the floor. Han gasped for breath, grateful for the protection of the armor. “Put me down!” he said, trying to stop himself from chuckling. “If somebody sees you, they’ll think you’re killing me! Wouldn’t that be a stupid reason to get blasted?”

Chewbacca agreed and lowered him back to the floor.

“Now what?” Han asked Qwi.

“If you can pilot us out of here, we can escape,” Qwi said.

Han grinned. “If that’s our only problem, we’re home free. I can pilot any ship—just give me the chance.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” she said. “Time is running out.”

• • •

When they boarded the shuttle back down to Maw Installation, Han could ask no further questions. Surrounded by other stormtroopers rigidly minding their own business, neither he nor Kyp could speak with Qwi. Casual conversation seemed forbidden.

Qwi fidgeted, looking at the shuttle walls, the narrow windows showing the deadly barrier of the Maw itself with its secret pathways—if they could escape.

Han desperately wanted to see Leia and the twins again. They filled his thoughts more and more, preoccupying him at times when he should have fixed every iota of attention on the peril around him. He ached to hold Leia again—but thinking of her while he wore a stormtrooper uniform seemed to taint the emotion.

Beside him sat Kyp, unreadable behind a stormtrooper mask. But the eyeholes of the helmet continued to turn toward Han, as if seeking reassurance. Han wished he had more to offer—but he did not know Qwi’s plan.

Why were they returning to Maw Installation, rather than just stealing a ship and racing off into space? It would be a breakneck run, no matter when they started—and Admiral Daala’s attack preparations grew more complete with each hour.

Han had to warn the New Republic of the disaster about to befall it. First, he had been concerned about the concentration of space power around Kessel—but the fleet of four Star Destroyers and the Maw Installation’s secret weapons looked infinitely worse than whatever Moruth Doole had pieced together from the scrap heap.

Chewbacca wore mechanic’s overalls, looking like a worker assigned to perform maintenance on some piece of equipment down in one of the laboratories. He made grunting sounds to himself, content to be reunited with his friends but anxious for action.

Qwi remained uncommunicative, keeping her thin bluish hands folded in her lap. Han wondered if he had gone too far in his accusations of her naïveté and the evil nature of her