DIRECTOR ORSON KRENNIC strode through the halls of the Imperial Star Destroyer Executrix, his cape flowing behind him, his elite squadron of death troopers hot on his heels. This should have been a moment of triumph for him, but instead he had to deal with traitors and bureaucrats, people who meant to trip him up at every chance and take him down.

The rebels were one challenge. But that day he had to handle someone who meant to do something even worse to him: steal the glory for his accomplishments.

Wilhuff Tarkin—the Imperial governor of the Outer Rim and now a grand moff—had summoned Krennic to the bridge of his Star Destroyer. Despite the fact that the firing array was being fitted into the Death Star at that very moment, Krennic had been compelled to obey.

Once Krennic arrived on the bridge, Tarkin set into him without ceremony. This was meant to signal how much trouble Krennic was already in.

“Most unfortunate about the security breach on Jedha, Director Krennic. After so many setbacks and delays—and now this.”

Krennic opened his mouth to protest, but Tarkin wouldn’t let him get in a word.

“Apparently you’ve lost a rather talkative cargo pilot. If the Senate gets wind of our project, countless systems will flock to the Rebellion.”

Krennic suppressed the urge to snarl at the Grand Moff. The man had the Emperor’s ear, and a word from him could be a huge blow to Krennic’s career.

“When the battle station is finished, Grand Moff Tarkin, the Senate will be of little concern.”

After all, who would stand up to a weapon able to destroy an entire planet in a matter of moments? The Senate would fall apart almost instantly. That was the whole point of building the Death Star in the first place.

If Krennic’s words impressed Tarkin, the man refused to show it. “When has become now, Director Krennic. The Emperor will tolerate no further delay. You have made time an ally of the Rebellion.”

Krennic’s blood rose at the accusation and all it implied. He wanted to turn the Death Star on Tarkin’s Star Destroyer and see how much of a failure the Emperor might consider him then.

Tarkin shot down that idea with a condescending smirk, almost as if he could read Krennic’s mind. “I suggest we solve both problems simultaneously with an immediate test of the weapon. Failure will find you explaining why to a far less patient audience.”

Krennic steeled himself. “I will not fail,” he told the Grand Moff.

He knew he had more on the line with this test than merely his career. He was also betting his life on it. With all the problems the project had suffered so far, he could only hope he was right.