Most Wanted

by Rae Carson

  “Qi’ra!” said a familiar voice. “It’s me. C’mon, we have to get out of here.”

  Hands reached for her again.

  “Han?”

  “People are after me. You can’t stay here.”

  “After you?” Qi’ra threw off his hands and scrambled to her feet on her own.

  “Come on!” He tried to pull her back, away from the entrance to the chute.

  “Han, what are you doing?” Why did he keep grabbing her? The guards would be on them at any moment. “The chute is right there! We could be back at Proxima’s in less than—”

  “We’re not going back there.” Her heels made furrows in sewer mud as he dragged her away.

  “But I have a plan—”

  Another stun charge lit up the tunnel, turning Qi’ra’s sight into fire, her hearing into clanging cymbals. “Blast,” she said through it all. “They cut me off.”

  There was no reaching the chute now. It was too late. Han had ruined everything, and now they were probably going to die.

  “Please, Qi’ra,” Han said. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

  She had no choice but to follow him. It was the only way left not blocked by guards and stun charges.

  Together, they plunged into the dark, footsteps close at their heels.

  They reached an intersection.

  “Go left,” Qi’ra said.

  Han grabbed her arm and pulled her into the corridor on the right.

  “What are you doing? I said to go left!”

  “Trust me.”

  Their breath was coming in gasps as they ran, making it hard to talk.

  “You have a plan?”

  “No.”

  “Then why—”

  “Call it a gut feeling.”

  Qi’ra was so angry she could hardly see straight. At her earliest opportunity, she was going to ditch this loser and get back to the White Worm lair on her own. Leave Han to the guards. Or better yet, force him to come with her so she could smack him in the face herself.

  She had been almost safe, almost home, and he had ruined everything.

  “At least tell me where we’re going.”

  “How should I know?”

  Unbelievable. “You mean you dragged me away from safety, and you didn’t even know where you were going?”

  “Safety? You’re kidding me, right? You head back to the White Worms now and you’re dead inside a minute.”

  “Not a chance. We’re valuable to Lady Proxima. We’re her top finalists for the position of Head!”

  “We’re expendable. What do you think happened to the last Head?”

  She had no answer for that. No one knew for sure, but they’d all heard the murmurings. The last one, a Grindalid male named Jabbat, had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, in the territory of a fellow everyone called Old Man Powlo. Rumor was that Proxima had dumped his body there on purpose, served him right up to Powlo as part of a deal.

  “Proxima doesn’t care about you,” Han went on relentlessly. “Or me. Or anyone but herself. You know it as well as I do.”

  Qi’ra was sucking in breath, and her legs burned. She and Han were both slowing down. They couldn’t run forever. The weight of exhaustion dragged at her. And maybe the weight of truth. Han was right. Gut feeling or no, he was actually making sense.

  “You’re right,” she admitted.

  “I am?”

  “About Lady Proxima, anyway.”

  They were silent for a moment as they concentrated on running. They made a couple of turns that took them south of the White Worm den.

  “Look,” he said, “if you really want to go back there, I won’t get in your way. And I’m sorry I…forced things back there. It’s just…I didn’t want…Eh, never mind.”

  That was Han for you. Not so good at expressing himself when it mattered. His reports to Lady Proxima, for instance, were notoriously inept.

  “We have to find a place to lay low,” she said.

  “Agreed.”

  Well, that was a start. “I have a…” Qi’ra stopped herself. Exhaustion and hunger must have been getting to her, because she’d almost confessed her deepest secret. “I know the White Worms keep a few safe houses throughout the city,” she said instead.

  “I’m not sure a White Worm safe house is a good idea,” Han said.

  “Why not?”

  “Doesn’t feel right.”

  Qi’ra reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Give me facts, Han. Reasons.”

  The look he gave her could peel the segments from a Grindalid. “Facts just get in the way.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Yeah, actually. I know a place.” He seemed a little stunned, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

  “Then lead the way. Fast. I’ve got Buckell Center guards and CorSec after me.”

  Han took off at a jog, and Qi’ra followed. “And I’ve got Kaldana Syndicate killers after me,” he said.

  “What? Kaldana? I just met with one—”

  “Less talking, more running,” he said over his shoulder.

  Their intimate knowledge of the sewers had helped put distance between them and their pursuers, but it wasn’t enough. So Qi’ra concentrated on running without tripping over sewer refuse. They’d talk it all out later, when they were safe.

  Han led them through Old Town, and Qi’ra was surprised to recognize some tunnels bordering White Worm territory. They were very close to the lair.

  She knew she shouldn’t talk—White Worm lookouts could be anywhere in this area—but she couldn’t help saying: “I thought you said we shouldn’t go back to Proxima’s territory!”

  “We’re not. We’re going near it. A place they’ll never look.”

  Something caught Qi’ra’s attention: the barest hint of sound.

  She grabbed Han and yanked him into a branching tunnel.

  “What—” he started to say, but she shushed him.

  The sound came again: a harsh, hollow wind. Air moving through a filter.

  It was a breather; Qi’ra was sure of it. A White Worm was nearby, wearing an envirosuit.

  Thankfully, Han heard it too. She felt him go perfectly still in the space beside her.

  Moments later, a Grindalid slunk by, shoulders hunched, completely masked by the suit. Qi’ra didn’t dare breathe.

  Even after the Grindalid had passed, they waited a few moments before stepping back into the corridor and continuing on their way.

  “That was close,” Han whispered.

  “If Lady Proxima has patrols out, that means she’s already looking for us,” Qi’ra pointed out.

  “Then we go fast and quiet. We’re almost there.”

  Han removed a grate from the wall while Qi’ra looked on, surprised. She hadn’t realized that grate was removable.

  They stepped inside the new tunnel—lower and darker than the rest—and Han replaced the grate behind them. After a couple of turns, a glow lit the corridor ahead. Han headed right for it, and they reached a crack in the wall.

  Qi’ra peered inside and gasped. Someone lived here. It was a cave of sorts, with a fire pit in the center, a pallet along the wall that someone was using for a bed. A wind chime made of tiny rat skulls hung from the ceiling. Bones and food tins lay scattered everywhere.

  “Han, what is this place?” she whispered.

  “A friend of mine lives here,” he said, slipping through the crack. “Looks like he’s not home right now, but he won’t mind us being here. I’m pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  “Almost totally sure.”

  She turned sideways and squeezed through. The place was warm, at least, and there was room to stand up straight. “So, we just lay low here for a while?”

  “I guess.” Han kicked some empty tins out of the way and sat on the floor.

  “I don’t think CorSec is going to give up looking for me.”

  He rested a hand on his pocket. “There’s
no way the Kaldana are going to stop looking for me.”

  Qi’ra cleared a space on the floor and sat beside him. By the light of the fire, she could clearly see how disgusting her shirt was. Her skirt was even more of a disaster. She didn’t know anything about fabrics or laundering, but maybe there was a way to salvage the top. The skirt was a total loss; it would never show the deep, clean black of newness again, never mind the rip.

  “How long do you think we can hide here?” she asked. She was already thinking about logistics. How would they get food? Maybe they could find a ratcatcher droid. They’d have to sleep in shifts….

  “Just long enough for you to make a plan,” Han said.

  “Oh, so now you want me to make a plan?”

  He seemed confused. “Of course. You’re good at that.”

  “Then why—”

  “I was improvising, okay? Plans backfire. When that happens, I’m improvise guy.” He was grinning at her, and Qi’ra couldn’t decide if she wanted to grin back or punch his teeth out.

  She looked away so she wouldn’t do something she regretted, and said, “I met with a Kaldana rep today. You say they’re after you?”

  “Yeah. It was the weirdest thing.” And without any hesitation at all, Han told her everything that had happened to him—the meeting in the bunker, the auction results, his friend Tool throwing a datacube to him while taking blaster fire, his flight through the sewers until he ran right into Qi’ra.

  Qi’ra stared at him the whole time, and when he was done, she realized that her mouth was slightly agape. More than anything, she wanted to see the datacube. What was in it that Lady Proxima was willing to spend a small fortune—before today, she would have considered it a large fortune—and risk their lives for? Qi’ra was finally putting the pieces together. “We were on the same mission,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder. “Two different parts of it, but the same mission.”

  “I figured our assignments were related,” he said.

  Qi’ra hesitated to say more. Some tiny part of

  her hoped that the position of Head was still within her grasp. Maybe she should keep some information to herself. Maybe she shouldn’t trust Han. He was likely to stab her in the back at the earliest opportunity, just like everyone else in her life.

  Then she sighed. She had no choice. Teaming up with Han was her only chance at getting out of this alive. When he betrayed her…well, she’d deal with that when it happened.

  “I was the one who presented the bid,” Qi’ra said. “At the Buckell Center.” She told him everything, leaving nothing out—how the White Worm bid had been dangerously, embarrassingly low; how angry the Kaldana woman had been when the Droid Gotra had won; how she’d barely escaped the room and the complex with her life.

  Han studied her closely as she spoke, so closely that it made her feel funny. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  When she was done, he rubbed his chin, considering. “That was quick thinking,” he said, “learning the employee access code.”

  She shrugged it off, even though she was pleased at the compliment. “I have a good memory for stuff like that.”

  “So what do you think we should do now?”

  “You still have that datacube?” Maybe he had hidden it somewhere. Or would say he had, just to keep it from her.

  Han reached into a pocket and pulled it out.

  Qi’ra stared at it. So much trouble for something so tiny. It was barely larger than the pad of her thumb.

  “This is why the Kaldana Syndicate is after me now,” Han said, brandishing it. “This tiny thing.”

  “Us,” Qi’ra corrected. “They know I’m part of this.”

  “I knew the Kaldana Syndicate was a big deal,” Han said. “But they’re more powerful and better equipped than I realized.”

  Qi’ra nodded. “Their bid was six hundred and seventy-five million credits. So if they want us dead, they’ve got the resources to get the job done.”

  “And the Droid Gogo bid even more! A billion, you said.”

  “Gotra. Droid Gotra. And yeah. We White Worms weren’t even in the running.”

  “Do you have an idea what the Gorpa is?”

  The word Gotra died on her lips. How was Han even in competition with her for the job with Lady Proxima? She sighed. “Nope.”

  “Or any idea what’s on this blasted cube?”

  “Not the slightest idea.”

  Han said, “I think we have to find out.”

  “Maybe Lady Proxima—”

  “No!” he interrupted. “Enough with this Lady Proxima mumbo jumbo. Just because you want a thing to be true doesn’t mean it is. She doesn’t care about you, Qi’ra. Like you said, that auction was an embarrassment. Now all of Corellia knows what a small-time player she is. She won’t let something like that go. She’ll have us both killed. Blame us publicly for everything to save face. She could even say that you messed up the bid and it was supposed to be much larger.”

  Qi’ra’s face flushed warm because she hated being wrong. And yes, she kept going back to the idea of Lady Proxima helping them because she wanted it to be true. Was that so terrible?

  “She made me a promise, you know,” Han went on relentlessly. “Said if everything went well, she would name me Head. But now I realize she sent me on this assignment because I’m expendable. Just like anyone else.”

  Qi’ra felt as if the walls of the cave were closing in around her. “She promised you the promotion?” she said in a weak voice.

  “Yep. No chance of that now, though.”

  “But she…she…”

  “She promised it to you too?” he finished.

  “How did you know?”

  The right side of his mouth turned up into something that was not quite a smile.

  “Let me guess,” she said glumly. “A gut feeling.”

  “See what I mean? Lady Proxima doesn’t care about us.”

  Qi’ra’s stomach was in knots. She’d allowed herself to believe. To hope. Stupid, stupid girl. But she was smart enough to know sense when she heard it, so she said, “Fine. Not Lady Proxima. What do you suggest? How do we find out what’s on that cube?”

  Han poked a finger at the ground and started making circles in the dirt. “I dunno. We need someone with a datapad. Someone who can—”

  “Tsuulo,” she said. “He’s our man. He got himself educated, remember? Before his family left Coruscant.”

  Han brightened. “You think he’d help?”

  “Well, if we approach him, he’ll either help or he’ll go straight to Proxima. I guess it’s a fifty-fifty chance.”

  Han frowned thoughtfully. “Sometimes it’s better not to know the odds,” he mumbled.

  Qi’ra’s urge to smack him began to fade. A little.

  Han had no idea how they were going to contact Tsuulo without getting caught. Every entrance to the den was sure to be guarded. In fact, Moloch had probably assigned double sentry shifts, and the tunnels surrounding the lair would be tightly patrolled. Tsuulo himself was likely in the bunk room getting some shut-eye. There was no way he or Qi’ra could sneak in and wake the Rodian.

  They were still mulling it over in Old Man Powlo’s cave when Qi’ra jumped up and dashed through the opening. Han was on his feet, ready to flee—he was certain she’d decided to go back to Proxima after all and rat him out—but she returned almost as quickly as she’d gone, and she was holding a whirring ratcatcher droid in her arms.

  “Saw this fellow rolling by,” she said, and suddenly she grinned the biggest, brightest, most amazing grin Han had ever seen in his life.

  Had Qi’ra ever smiled before? He couldn’t remember. And that smile was memorable. I would have remembered that smile.

  “Uh…wow…That was…a good idea,” he said.

  “Well, maybe. It’s not like we have anything to write with.” She sat down, the droid cradled in her lap, and opened the trap compartment. “Hey, there’s a dead rat inside,” she said, reaching in for it.

  “Don�
��t throw it out,” Han said. “We’ll need it.”

  Qi’ra grimaced. “You’re probably right.”

  “No, I mean for my friend. He likes gifts.”

  She froze for a split second, a suspicious look coming over her face, before pulling the limp rat out by its tail. “Okay, fine. A dead rat for your friend.” Qi’ra tossed it to the ground near the fire pit. It was small, barely a meal, but it was something. “So how do we get a message to Tsuulo without having anything to write with?”

  “You can read and write?” he said.

  “Yes. You?”

  He nodded. “I’m okay with Basic. A little Huttese. That’s it though.”

  She said, “I guess I could use blood. Rip off a piece of this skirt and write on it.”

  He stared at her. Qi’ra was a strange, strange girl. “Um, no, not necessary. I have a dog biscuit.”

  “Like what Rebolt feeds his hounds?”

  “Exactly.” He pulled the remaining half biscuit from his pocket and was glad to discover it hadn’t suffered too badly during his headlong flight through the sewer. “Tsuulo gave this to me. So if we send it to him, he’ll know it’s from me.”

  Han rooted around near Powlo’s sleeping pallet until he found a hard, sharp stick, and began to etch into the flat side of the biscuit.

  Qi’ra moved to peer over his shoulder. She smelled awful, like laundry cleaner mixed with rotting vegetables. “What are you writing?” she asked.

  “I think I’m saying ‘help’ in Huttese,” Han told her. “That or ‘urinate.’ They’re almost the same word.”

  “Well, at least no one else will be able to read it, if it’s in Huttese.”

  “Exactly.” Han thought for a moment, then scratched something else below it, in smaller, messier letters. “And this says ‘more biscuits.’ Well, I hope that’s what it says.” He put the biscuit back into the trap compartment, then pressed the communicator button. “Find Tsuulo,” Han said. “Bring him here.”

  He set the droid down. It gave one indignant bleep, then raced away, through the crack in the wall and hopefully straight to Tsuulo himself. The ratcatchers were barely self-aware, not like his friend Tool, who could evaluate and make decisions. Sacrifice himself. But Han was pretty sure the ratcatcher could find Tsuulo and bring him back.