by Rae Carson
“Welcome aboard the Red Nimbus,” she said in a low, breathy voice.
“Uh, thanks,” Han said. Uh, thanks? That’s all he had? What happened to Improvise Guy?
“Are you the Engineer?” Qi’ra asked.
“I am.”
“In that case, thank you for the extraction,” Qi’ra said. “And for bringing us aboard your ship. The Red Nimbus is beautiful.”
The Engineer waved a dismissive hand. “It was the least I could do for the young scoundrels who kept my datacube out of enemy hands. Not to mention returned my Wookiee to me. I’m very glad to reacquire him; he’s my most valuable asset.”
Reacquire. Asset. The words didn’t sit right in Han’s gut.
Tsuulo jumped in with, “What should we call you?”
Han almost translated, but Qi’ra beat him to it. “I’m Qi’ra. These are my friends Han and Tsuulo. Tsuulo just inquired about your name.”
Qi’ra was better at Huttese than she’d realized.
“I’m afraid I have to keep that to myself. For now, call me Jenra. It’s a title from my homeworld, and I suppose it will serve as a name.”
Qi’ra gave her a smile as careful and choreographed as Jenra’s own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Engineer Jenra.”
Jenra studied Qi’ra for a moment, her head cocked as if evaluating the girl. Then she took a sip of wine and stepped toward them, her silver gown swishing at her ankles. “Do you have my cube?” she asked, extending her hand.
Han looked to Qi’ra and Tsuulo, who both nodded at him. So he reached into the pocket of his vest, fished it out, and placed it in her warm palm.
She looked close, her eyes plainly assessing it, then her fingers closed around it as her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, forgive my bluntness, but you all look terrible. Like you’ve been running for days without sleep.”
“I’m sure we smell even worse,” Han grumbled.
Again, that careful smile. “I wasn’t going to say. In any case, I invite you to enjoy the hospitality of my yacht. I can offer comfortable sleeping quarters, food, and drink.” Her nostril slits flared. “Also, bathing. And my staff can launder your clothing.”
Qi’ra sighed, probably louder than she meant to. “That sounds incredible.”
“I’m going to assess the cube for damage,” Jenra said. Han’s alarm must have shown on his face, because she held up a placating hand. “You did your best, I know, but the cube has been through a lot, and I need to make sure the data is intact before we make a plan. In the meantime, my assistant will escort you to the head, where you can bathe and change, and then to your sleeping quarters. After you’ve had some rest, and if you’re interested, he’ll give you a tour of the yacht.”
“Oh, I’m interested!” Han blurted before he could stop himself. “I’d really love…” Everyone was staring at him, so he brought it down a notch and said more carefully: “I’d like to see the cockpit, please.”
“That can be arranged,” Jenra said, and this time her smile was indulgent. “Eat, rest, and tour. And then we’ll talk.”
Qi’ra was so tired she was barely aware of shucking off her clothing and stepping into the shower. Cleaning jets hit her skin at just the right temperature and pressure. The heat penetrated her muscles, relaxing her shoulders, making her legs feel like jelly. Too soon the jets turned off, replaced by dryers that whisked moisture away. Then a light mist of nutrient-rich oil covered her skin and hair; she was delighted to discover that she didn’t feel sticky at all, just soft. Refreshed.
She stepped from the shower and found that her sewer-stained clothing and even her boots were gone, replaced by a simple white tunic, which she pulled over her head. It fell mid-shin, leaving her feet and ankles exposed. Qi’ra palmed the sliding door open and stepped out of the bathing cubicle.
Engineer Jenra’s personal assistant was waiting outside, along with Han and Tsuulo, who were freshly clean and wearing white tunics of their own. She’d never seen Rodian feet before. Tsuulo’s toes were a lot like his fingers—long, green, tipped by suction cups. She forced herself not to stare.
Han was grimacing, looking stiff and uncomfortable in his tunic. “We smell like roses,” he said, as if it were the worst thing in the galaxy.
“Better than sewage,” Qi’ra said.
Jenra’s assistant guided them to a tiny bunk room with four beds—two against each wall.
Tsuulo immediately claimed a top bunk. Han fell into the one below his, and Qi’ra grabbed the bottom bunk across from him. The white linens were smooth, almost silky, and the pillow was as soft as a cloud. As she sunk into the mattress, it contoured itself around her, buzzing lightly with a relaxation frequency and the perfect amount of gentle warmth.
She tried to keep her eyes open. She had to think. They weren’t safe yet, not really. Maybe she could convince the Engineer to…
Sleep stole her thoughts.
She woke to a hand shaking her shoulder. Qi’ra peeled her eyes open and discovered Han bending over her, the bright red of his burned face very near. Tsuulo was right behind him, peering over his shoulder.
“Qi’ra,” Han said. “Jenra’s chefs made food for us. Do you want to come? Or would you rather sleep?”
Food might be the only thing that could get her out of bed right now. Just the mere thought made her feel like there was a hole of aching emptiness where her belly ought to be.
“How long did we sleep?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.
“Not sure.”
Tsuulo opened up the chrono on his datapad and twittered something.
“He says we slept ten hours,” Han translated.
“I guess we needed it.” Qi’ra got to her feet, noticing that both Han and Tsuulo were back in their old clothes—still threadbare and dingy, but clean and fragrant.
“Uh, we’ll step outside and give you some privacy,” Han said. “Your clothes are folded there.” He indicated the foot of her bed.
A moment later, she was alone in the bunk room. She tore off the white tunic and donned her leggings and skirt, her red top and beige jacket. The skirt’s color was ruined. It was still sturdy, still functional, but the deep, pure black of its youth was gone, replaced by streaks of white and gray and a badly bleached hem. Someone had even sewn up the spot she had torn, although it didn’t look quite right. Everything else was in decent shape. The top had turned out especially nice; whoever had laundered it managed to remove almost all the stains without fading the color. Maybe they’d injected a little dye. Whatever the case, Qi’ra was grateful.
The others were waiting outside. “Took you long enough,” Han snapped.
Qi’ra stared at him. Han was impulsive and insensitive, but he was never purposely rude to her.
He seemed to realize it, because he suddenly appeared sheepish. “Sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just I’m so hungry I could eat a raw screerat.”
“Ew,” Qi’ra said, though she could sympathize.
She expected to be led to the galley. Instead Jenra’s assistant escorted them back to the viewing lounge. The Engineer herself was stretched across the divan, ankles elegantly crossed as she sipped a glass of wine, but Qi’ra hardly noticed because the air was thick with the scents of butter pastries and meat pies, steamed vegetables and fruit cider, and a dozen things she couldn’t identify because she had never, ever in her short life smelled so many types of food.
Her mouth filled with saliva, and she looked around, maybe a little too desperately. There. The bar. Platters were laid out along the metal counter.
“Help yourself,” Jenra said, waving them toward it all.
As one, they raced forward. Han grabbed an entire meat pie in his hands and bit off a huge chunk. “Ow!” he said around a mouthful. “Sthill thoo hoth!” He kept chewing anyway.
Tsuulo grabbed a delicate fork and speared a long tube-shaped object. It was covered in some kind of gravy, and it wobbled on his fork
. He slurped it down, then chattered happily at them.
“Gross,” Han said. “Tsuulo says they’re called dreebees. A kind of slug. It’s a Rodian delicacy.”
In any other circumstance, Qi’ra would have found that disgusting, but she was busy slapping butter on to a fluffy warm biscuit. She shoved it in her mouth, letting the flavor coat her tongue. She could almost weep.
After gulping down the biscuit, she tipped the pitcher of ice-cold fruit cider to her lips and downed fully half of it without taking a breath.
“You know,” the Engineer said in an amused voice, “I had the staff set out some fine dinnerware and utensils for you, but I guess that works too.”
The three of them stopped mid-gulp to stare at each other. We look like desperate sewer kids who’ve never had a decent meal in their lives, Qi’ra thought. But then she shrugged it off and grabbed a poached egg dripping in cream sauce.
A few bites later, Qi’ra began to feel sick. She wasn’t used to rich food. Or any food, really.
She set down the piece of cake she was eating and started to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she thought better of it, grabbed a cloth napkin instead, and dabbed daintily.
Qi’ra folded the napkin and set it down. When she looked up, she discovered the Engineer staring at her. “If you’re finished eating,” she said, “come and join me.” She patted the lounge chair beside her.
Qi’ra obeyed. Han and Tsuulo paused eating long enough to watch her walk toward Jenra and settle herself in the chair.
“I think I might be sick,” Han announced to no one in particular.
Tsuulo nodded enthusiastically, then noisily slurped down another dreebee slug.
Ugh. Qi’ra had definitely eaten too much, too fast. She wasn’t feeling so good herself.
“So,” she said, turning all her attention to the Engineer so as not to be reminded of food, especially dreebees. “Did the datacube check out?”
Jenra took a sip of wine and said, “There was a small amount of degradation, but I was able to recover it. We found a strange residue inside; during the course of your adventures, did the cube by chance become submerged in liquid?”
No sense denying it. “We swam through an underground cistern while being chased by White Worms.”
“My technician suggested that the liquids were more like digestive enzymes….”
Qi’ra smiled and tried very hard not to look at Tsuulo or Han, even when Tsuulo loudly slurped down another slug. “The water underground has a lot of contaminates,” she offered.
“It sounds like you’ve had an interesting few days.”
“If by interesting you mean terrifying.”
“Tell me all about it.”
Qi’ra pressed her mouth shut. She was so used to keeping secrets. Telling the Engineer what they’d been through went against years of habit. But she couldn’t think of a good reason to keep anything from her. Qi’ra glanced over at Han and Tsuulo, still nibbling at the bar. Han shrugged as if to say, Sure, tell her.
So Qi’ra started at the beginning with the assignment from Lady Proxima, the Kaldana representative becoming violent when the Droid Gotra won the bid, the flight through the sewers with Han, and then with Han and Tsuulo.
Han wiped his mouth on his sleeve and jumped in to fill in details from his perspective: the meeting in the Foundry, the attack by the Kaldana, his own escape. Qi’ra picked up the story again with their brief respite at her safe house—although she was careful not to describe it in too much detail. Tsuulo explained the part about stealing his brother Reezo’s speeder, with Han translating, and then Qi’ra finished up with the fake race through the streets of Corellia and their conversation with a badly damaged droid named Tool.
“Then we had to escape from the Foundry,” Qi’ra said.
“That’s where this happened,” Han said, pointing to his burned face.
Qi’ra said, “And where your pet stormtroopers gave us your holoprojector.”
Tsuulo finished eating slugs and joined them, taking up the seat opposite Qi’ra.
“You’re the boy with the datapad,” Jenra said. “The one I gave coordinates to.”
Tsuulo nodded.
“We wouldn’t have made it here without Tsuulo,” Qi’ra said.
“I think they wouldn’t have made it here without you,” Jenra said, leaning forward, gazing at Qi’ra intently.
The attention made her uncomfortable. “I guess.”
“Tell me how you retrieved my Wookiee.”
“That was easy,” Qi’ra said. “We had resources, thanks to you.”
“Still, you walked right in and out with him. How?”
Han said, “We brazened it out. Well, mostly Qi’ra. She’s good at that.”
The Engineer leaned back on her divan and tapped a finger to her lip, considering them. She wore a sparkling red gown this time, with sculpted shoulder pads that rose into vicious points above her head. Her shoes seemed made of glass, with a wedge heel that added a hand’s span of height. Qi’ra couldn’t imagine dressing that way. You never knew when you had to run for your life, much less get through a doorway.
“You’ve all proven remarkably resourceful,” she said. “Especially you, Qi’ra.”
Qi’ra narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. Han had saved them more than once with his intuition. Tsuulo had come through for them with his mechanical skills. She wasn’t deserving of praise any more than they were. “I had good people with me,” Qi’ra said. “We made a great team.” And she meant every word.
“I suppose you’re right,” Jenra said.
“What about you?” Han asked. “How did you get away from the Empire?”
“Well, it took years of careful planning,” she said. “Of cultivating assets. Keeping my head down and my ears open. I spent two decades sending money to an untraceable account on an Outer Rim planet. Small amounts, so I wouldn’t attract attention.”
Tsuulo blurted a question.
“He wants to know how old you are,” Han said.
Jenra smiled. “Old enough to be your grandmother. My species is long-lived compared to humans. I was already an old woman by your accounting by the time I acquired my Wookiee and my ship.”
Han looked away, frowning. Something about that last sentence had bothered him, though Qi’ra didn’t know what.
She asked, “How did you end up with this incredible yacht? I guess the Empire pays well.”
“The Empire does pay fairly well…but not that well.”
“Then…” Qi’ra stopped herself. She’d once heard that rich people considered it gauche to discuss money. Which was totally impractical. It was the thing everyone needed most; why wouldn’t you discuss it?
“I had to get creative,” Jenra said.
Qi’ra had no idea what that meant, but Han said, “You mean by selling Imperial secrets, for instance?”
She smiled. “For instance.”
So she’d been doing this sort of thing for a while.
“But there’s no going back this time,” Qi’ra observed. “This time, you’re leaving the Empire, making a run for it.”
“Yes.”
Han’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. “You can go anywhere,” he breathed. “With a ship like this”—he gazed out at the myriad stars—“the whole galaxy is at your fingertips.”
Jenra sipped her wine. “Would you like to have your own ship someday?”
Han gave her a disgusted look. “How’s somebody like me going to get his own ship?”
She shrugged. “You never know.”
“Well, I have a speeder,” Han said, almost defiantly. “I’ve been tinkering. It’s not a starship, but…it’s going to be great.”
Jenra nodded, as though she were agreeing with him. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with small ambitions.”
Qi’ra couldn’t stop herself from jumping to Han’s defense. “Han is an incredible pilot. A decent mechanic too. He learns fast. And he already knows several la
nguages. I can easily see him flying around the galaxy with his own ship someday.”
Han stared at her. She stared back. There was a question in his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what he was asking.
It made Qi’ra uncomfortable, so she blurted, “Jenra, I bet you’ve been from one end of the galaxy to the other. I bet you’ve seen everything.”
Jenra swung her long legs over the edge of the divan and sat up straight. She put her empty wine glass on the side table and placed her hands in her lap. Her fingernails were short, her fingertips thick with callouses, her bare forearms corded with muscle. Jenra was certainly elegant and rich, but she also worked hard. She’d probably been working hard for decades.
“I’ve seen a lot, yes. My employment with the Empire took me all over, to all sorts of worlds, investigating technology, trying to find applications for it. That’s my title, by the way. Senior applications engineer. So, for instance, when we discovered a toxic mushroom on Drashima III, my staff figured out how to distill it into an anesthetic gas, and then I designed a delivery vehicle, weaponizing it.”
“Those gas bomb thingies you gave us,” Qi’ra said.
“Yes. My very own design.”
“Have you been to Coruscant?” Han asked eagerly. “Tsuulo was born there.”
“Lots of times.”
Tsuulo sat forward in his seat, and his black eyes widened as he asked Jenra a question.
“He wants to know if you’ve met any Jet-eye,” Han said. Then to Tsuulo, “What’s a Jet-eye?”
“Jedi,” Jenra corrected. “I’ve met a few. But they’re all dead now.”
Tsuulo sat back, slumping in his seat.
“Huh,” said Han, eyeing the Rodian. “Whoever they are, I hope they put up a good fight.”
“Not really,” said Jenra.
There was only one thing Qi’ra wanted to know. Softly, tentatively, she asked, “What’s it going to take?”
