And there’s an FRT trooper standing directly in my path. For an instant he’s frozen there in the lights looking like he’s facing down an Angel of the Lord, then he’s flinging himself aside. I think I tag his boot-heel as we go by. I flip him the finger, even knowing he won’t see it. (Probably won’t see anything but afterimage for the next couple of minutes.) A hard left, and we’re heading down the centerline of the building. The big up-and-over door’s right ahead—closed, of course—so I push the pedal to the metal again and brace for impact. I hear Paco yelp as he sees what’s coming, and I second the emotion. The door looms up, reflecting entirely too much of our own light back into my face.