by Rae Carson
“There!” Han said. “A cargo crate.”
They opened it. True to the Engineer’s word, the crate contained three neatly folded uniforms, counterfeit identichips, and a handful of credits.
“I don’t see the one thing I was really looking for,” Han said.
“What’s that?” Qi’ra asked.
“A portable shower!”
She wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “There’s a spot back that way with fresh water.”
Han regarded her skeptically.
“Well, fresh-er water at any rate. We can clean up there a bit.”
Tsuulo pulled two small round items from the crate. Qi’ra didn’t recognize them. He held one up and twittered a question. It fit in the palm of his hand like a children’s toy ball, but its metal casing glittered in the light of the speeder’s headlamps.
“I don’t know,” Han said. “There’s a button right there; what does it do?”
Tsuulo was about to press it but Qi’ra yelled, “No!”
He froze.
“The Engineer said she was leaving a surprise for us,” she explained. “What if it’s a weapon of some kind?”
Han moved closer and peered at the thing in Tsuulo’s hand. “Maybe it’s a thermal detonator. I’ve heard about those.”
Tsuulo handed it to Han, who turned it over, studying it from all angles. Meanwhile, Tsuulo retrieved his datapad and began sifting through information.
He made a noise of discovery and held up the pad for Han and Qi’ra to see. It displayed an image of something similar—small, round, and metal with a button on one side. It was labeled “stun grenade.”
“This will come in handy,” Han said with a grin. Then his grin slowly disappeared, as though he were realizing something unpleasant. “She probably gave us two in case we stunned ourselves by pressing the button on the first one.”
“I think the Engineer designed these herself,” Qi’ra said. “It’s probably not your everyday stun grenade.”
“There’s an everyday kind?” Han said, and Qi’ra shrugged.
Tsuulo pulled a uniform from the crate and flipped it out. It was made of stiff, light gray material, with a high collar and a matching small-brimmed hat. Then Tsuulo swore, loudly and at length.
“Uh, Qi’ra? We have a problem,” Han said. “These uniforms say ‘Sienar Advanced Projects Laboratory.’”
“Blast,” Qi’ra said, immediately beginning to revise all the plans she’d been considering. She’d heard the name Sienar plenty of times. But “Advanced Projects Laboratory” was new. “I’m not sure that company exists on Corellia,” she said.
“Some kind of engineering corporation, right?” Han said.
“Maybe?” The three of them could never pass as scientists. They were way too young.
Tsuulo waved his datapad at them, chittering in Huttese.
“Oh, hell,” Han said.
“What? What is it?” Qi’ra demanded.
“Tsuulo just plugged in our destination coordinates from the Engineer. Her crew member isn’t sitting in a drunk tank or any regular lockup,” Han said. “He’s in an Imperial holding cell.”
Qi’ra’s breath caught. “You were right, Han, this ‘favor’ for the Engineer definitely has a catch.”
“Some catch.”
“Then we’ll have to get creative, won’t we?” she said. “Wait…what’s that?”
Tsuulo had pulled three metallic items from the bottom of the crate. They were tube-shaped, with two protrusions along one side and a tiny grate along the other. They were small enough to stash in a pocket.
“Those are breathers,” Han said. “I’m sure of it.”
Qi’ra stared. “Why would we need…Oh.” She looked from the breathers to the stun grenades and back again. “Those aren’t stun grenades,” she said, smiling. A plan was definitely forming. “They’re something better.”
Han’s face hurt like blazes. More than anything, he just wanted to let clean, cold water run over it. The pain from the burn was more serious than he’d let on, and it likely looked even worse. He’d be sure to attract attention. Then again, he’d seen a few aliens with red skin; maybe people would believe he was not quite human.
He was eager to change into the stolen uniform. His current clothes were filthy, damp, and cold. They’d scrubbed up at the place Qi’ra recommended, but there was only so much they could do without dumping their old clothes.
Despite that, Qi’ra was resolute about not putting on the uniforms until they were near the holding facility. “We shouldn’t be seen wearing fancy lab uniforms while riding in this…thing,” she said, indicating the speeder. “It would look suspicious.”
She was right, so Han concentrated on piloting while Tsuulo and Qi’ra pored over a map of the holding area on his datapad. Qi’ra had sketched out a plan for them, and Han thought it just might work. It seemed simple and elegant to Han. All they had to do was lie really, really well. Easy, right?
The typical gloomy Corellian sky was back in force, but morning light cracked the horizon, painting the polluted clouds fuchsia and sapphire. Bilious exhaust rose from smokestacks in black silhouette against the sunshine. Lights from rusty boats glinted off the waterways as fishmongers brought their early morning hauls to the fish markets.
They crossed a bridge into central Coronet, and Qi’ra directed Han to an underground public parking facility, which would cost them a few of the precious credits the Engineer had given them. They stowed the speeder and changed into their uniforms under cover of darkness, each giving the others privacy.
Qi’ra patted her uniform down, adjusted the collar, and said, “So, do I look like someone who does business with Imperials?”
“Well, you certainly look imperious,” Han said, and she rolled her eyes at him. The truth was she looked amazing. Sophisticated and strong. Like she was meant to wear such things.
Han looked away before his thoughts could betray him. “Do we walk from here?”
Tsuulo pointed toward one of the exits. “The address is One CorSec Plaza. It’s not far. According to my map, a pedestrian walkway will take us from the parking structure to Peace and Security Headquarters.”
“All we have to do is figure out which part of the building houses the Imperial holding block,” Qi’ra said. “Then we walk right in.”
She sounded like she didn’t have a worry in the world, but Han knew her a little better now. When Qi’ra threw her head back like that, lifted her chin, and looked down on everyone else, it meant she was nervous.
With luck, no one else here would know her as well as he did.
Despite his own jitters, no one paid them any mind as they exited the parking structure and walked along the pedestrian path. Police speeders passed them, returning to headquarters after a long shift. A few stormtroopers flew by on speeder bikes, cutting in and out of traffic as though they owned the thoroughfare.
They reached an imposing white building fronted by vast marble steps. Thick columns rose on either side of the entrance, some kind of architectural homage to a distant history. Even though it was early morning, the area was heavy with foot traffic, mostly humans but a few other species as well.
As they mounted the steps, Han reminded himself that the entry and lobby area of Peace and Security Headquarters was public property. Anyone could go inside. All they had to do was blend in with everyone else, keep from being recognized.
A swaggering Sullustan pilot bumped into Han as he passed. Fighting his first instinct to turn and, well, fight, Han looked away quickly and pulled the brim of his hat lower to cover his face.
“I’m not sure wearing your hat so low is regulation,” Qi’ra whispered.
“Regulations are stupid…” Han began.
But the words died on his lips, and Qi’ra and Tsuulo hastily ducked their heads and pulled down the brims of their own hats to cover their faces.
Because standing just outside the lobby was a Grindalid in an envirosuit. Han couldn’t tell if he was one o
f Lady Proxima’s soldiers or not, but he was clearly waiting there, watching for somebody.
Luckily, a uniform worked like a stealth cloak. The Grindalid glanced at them, and then his gaze slipped away like water. Han breathed a sigh of relief.
But he was on even higher alert now. The White Worms were still after them. The Kaldana Syndicate wouldn’t let them die quickly. And if the Imperial stormtroopers saw through their disguises…Hadn’t he heard somewhere that using false identichips was punishable by death?
They entered through doors that were large enough to allow a commuter shuttle to pass. Han tried not to gawk at the atrium inside. The slick floors shimmered with marble or quartz or some material Han wasn’t familiar with. The ceiling was lofty, at least four stories high, and hung with sleek, minimalist chandeliers that lit the space in bright white.
Ahead was a help desk, manned by one human and two droids. Beside it was a waiting area with several benches, many of them already occupied. To their left was a bank of turbolifts.
Qi’ra was looking around, calculating. She studied the benches, the desk, the walls, even the potted plants. Her gaze lingered on the two sentry droids standing guard near the lifts, then drifted to the security personnel patrolling the lobby perimeter.
“Your plan is going to work,” Han assured her.
He really hoped her plan was going to work.
“Yeah, once we find the right cellblock. I’m looking for a posted map of the building. Government facilities are supposed to post floor plans, right? It’s regulation. To show emergency exits. I thought it might tell us which part of the building was occupied by Imperials.”
He and Tsuulo took up the search, scanning walls, looking for kiosks. All Han saw was an abstract painting that might have been a Corellian freighter zooming through space, and a larger-than-life portrait of Emperor Palpatine. “I got nothing,” Han said. “Just some creepy guy in a painting who seems to be looking at me no matter where I stand.”
“I don’t see anything either,” said Tsuulo. “The great philosopher Flayshil Crena once said, ‘That which you seek hardest to find remains hidden the longest.’”
“What does that even mean?” Han said.
Tsuulo shrugged. “Actually, I have no idea.”
“This is no problem,” Qi’ra said firmly, as if to herself. “No problem at all. We’ll head toward the lifts. Maybe it’s posted there.”
“I think the lifts are for official personnel only,” Han pointed out.
“We are official personnel, remember?” she said. “Besides, do you have a better idea?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Han said. “Watch and learn.” And with that, he strode forward to the help desk, Qi’ra and Tsuulo at his heels.
A woman was ahead of him in line. She pleaded with the droid clerk that her identichip had been confiscated by CorSec in error, that she couldn’t afford to pay the speeder ticket fines, much less have her citizenship reinstated. A moment later, she fled in frustration, tears streaming down her face.
“May I help you?” asked a bored, mechanical voice.
“I certainly hope so,” Han said, giving his best approximation of Qi’ra’s imperiousness. “My”—he almost said friends—“colleagues and I are fresh off the shuttle from…er…Selonia, and we’re late for an Imperial meeting. Please direct us to the right floor?”
“I didn’t know Sienar APL scientists had interests on Selonia,” the droid observed.
Han shrugged. “The Advanced Projects Laboratory has interests everywhere. And I don’t question my orders. I just go where they tell me.”
“That is wise,” said the droid. “Please insert your identichip into the reader there.” He indicated a slot mechanism that jutted from the table. “Once it checks out, I can clear you the whole way.”
Han fumbled with the identichip inside his breast pocket, almost dropping it as he pulled it out. He shoved it into the reader, thinking Please work, please work, please work.
The reader whirred for a moment, then the indicator light turned soft blue.
“Everything checks out,” the droid said. “The turbolifts are that way. Imperial offices are on the fifth floor.”
“And the holding cells?” Han prompted.
“Why do you need to go there?”
“I’m afraid that’s above your pay grade,” Han replied.
“Fine. The holding cells are on the sixth floor. Have a nice day. If you are contacted with a survey, please indicate that I was helpful to you and that you left satisfied with CorSec’s service.”
Wordlessly, Qi’ra and Tsuulo inserted their identichips and were cleared to follow Han. The three of them headed for the lifts.
Qi’ra whispered, “Han, that was very well done.”
He smiled so wide it made the burn on his face sting.
They entered the lift and punched the sixth floor. They had the capsule to themselves, so Qi’ra said, “Remember, don’t detonate the ball thingies until I say. Getting in will be easy; we need them for getting out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Han said with a mock salute.
The door of the lift slid open, and they stepped into a low-ceilinged vestibule filled with stormtroopers, even a handful of gray-uniformed officers. Han had to remind himself to breathe.
Okay, maybe not filled, exactly. Han counted five stormtroopers and two officers. If things went badly, it was seven against two. Seven blasters against two ball thingies, that is. Not the worst odds he’d faced.
“Tsuulo, pull out that datapad,” Qi’ra whispered. “Try to look official.”
Beyond the stormtroopers, a glittering shield blocked off a long hallway lined with cell doors on either side. The Engineer’s crew member was somewhere inside.
“Delightful,” said one of the officers. “More lab grunts.” He sat at a desk looking irritated. Han prepared for trouble. There was no one in the galaxy touchier than an Imperial officer stuck at a desk job.
“Lab grunts?” Qi’ra said, one eyebrow raised in a look of utter contempt.
This was the part Qi’ra had all planned out, so Han kept quiet, letting her take over.
The officer shrugged. “It’s just what we call them,” he said. He turned toward his console. “Looks like we’re not expecting anyone. How can I help you?”
“We’re here for Prisoner Two-Four-Eight-C,” Qi’ra said. “He’ll be coming with us.”
“Is he being transferred?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why—”
“He’s needed for scientific inquiry.” Word on the street was that the Empire had a business arrangement with certain favored corporate entities to provide subjects for weapons and environment testing. Sentient beings disappeared from the Imperial holding block all the time, especially nonhumans. Qi’ra was certain that was why the Engineer had provided these specific uniforms. Han hoped she was right.
The officer frowned. “You lab grunts with your aliens. It’s disturbing, I don’t mind saying. Go ahead and scan your identichips, and I’ll lower the shield.”
They did as asked, and once again the reader indicator turned soft blue. The identichips were perfect counterfeits. Something remarkable had been encoded on them. Something that identified them as scientists with enough clout that even Imperial officers let them pass.
Of course, if Han had learned one thing from working for Lady Proxima, half of getting away with anything was acting like you belonged exactly where you were. When in doubt, brazen it out.
The officer hit a switch on his console, and the soft buzz of the shield went silent. He waved them through. “Go along now. The prisoner you’re looking for is in cell nineteen. Do you want some help? He’s a big fellow.”
Qi’ra smiled serenely. “We came prepared. We’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”
“Sure. If you change your mind, just holler.”
The stormtroopers moved out of their way, and the three of them stepped into the hallway of the cellblock.
&n
bsp; “We have to hurry,” Qi’ra whispered, quickening her pace. “Let’s get this done before he thinks to comm his superiors about an unexpected visit.”
They didn’t have far to go to reach cell nineteen. In fact, Han would have felt better if it had been farther down the hall, away from the vestibule and the stormtroopers.
Han stretched on his tiptoes and peered through the tiny window in the door. The cell was dirty, with a single crooked cot holding an empty meal tray. Something long and hairy lay on the floor against the wall, its back to the door. Han could see why it was on the floor; it was way too big for the cot.
“Han?” Qi’ra prodded. “Anything?”
“Something is in there,” Han said. “Not sure what. I think it’s asleep.”
Tsuulo said, “Let’s just get this over with.” He reached forward and palmed the door open.
It slid wide with a whoosh of fetid air; the cell hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long. The creature against the wall stirred, turned over—it was a Wookiee, Han could see now. As soon as the Wookiee saw them, he leaped to his feet with a roar.
“We’re here on behalf of your boss!” Qi’ra said, talking fast and low. “The Engineer. She sent us to rescue you.”
The Wookiee stopped mid-leap, landed easily, and cocked his head at her. He was a giant, at least two heads taller than Han, and his brown fur was streaked with white. Blue beads were woven into the hair flowing from his face, and his nose twitched incessantly, as though he was sniffing them.
Han knew a little about Wookiees; he’d encountered some while running errands for Lady Proxima, had even picked up a few words of Shyriiwook. But not enough to be useful. If this fellow didn’t understand Basic, they were screwed.
“I have a plan to get you out of here,” Qi’ra continued.
The Wookiee tossed his head, making a noise that was something between a groan and a yawn.
Han recognized one word. “He said ‘food’!” Han told them. “Maybe he’s hungry. Sorry, pal, I don’t have any food, but we can take you to get some.”
