by Rae Carson
She swept up the curtain and ushered them inside.
The “conference room” was actually a small hold with a high ceiling, a freight lift, and a grease-stained floor studded with bolts for lashing down cargo. But instead of cargo, the hold was filled with cheap furniture—a few ratty couches, two armchairs, some scattered tables, all secured to the floor with cargo straps. Kaldana Syndicate thugs were everywhere, lounging with their boots up, sipping Corellian ale. One group off to the side was playing a version of sabacc that used a couple of dice.
Han almost liked this room. A fellow could relax in a place like this, put his feet up. But if he ever got a ship of his own, he’d keep it clean. In tip-top shape. No ale spills, no gear scattered in the corridors, and definitely no bulkheads replaced by curtains. Han would take care of his ship. Treat it with the respect it deserved.
A man rose from the couch. Like the rest, he wore all black except for the Kaldana triangle on his upper arm. His long black hair was pulled back into a queue, and gold studs shone from piercings in his ears and nostrils.
“Why’d you bring that on board my ship?” he said, glaring at Tsuulo. Everyone else in the hold was staring at them. A few hands twitched toward their holstered blasters.
Han instinctively shifted a little closer to his friend, noting that Qi’ra did the same.
“There’s a problem?” Qi’ra said.
“Aliens are always a problem,” the captain said. “Especially Rodians. Those little slimeballs are the scourge of the galaxy. Can’t do honest business anymore without ending up with a Rodian bounty hunter on your tail.”
Tsuulo muttered darkly, something about wishing poisoned bowels upon the Kaldana and all their spawn for a hundred generations.
“What?” the captain demanded. “What did it say?”
“He said we should get on with our business,” Qi’ra said.
Come to think of it, Han had yet to see a Kaldana thug who wasn’t human. That explained a lot. No wonder the Kaldana were going to such lengths to keep Jenra’s shield tech out of the hands of the Droid Gotra. They hated anything and anyone who wasn’t human.
“You have the cube?” the captain asked.
“You have the credit transfer ready?” Qi’ra asked.
“I do.”
“Then we do too.” She turned. “Tsuulo?”
He pulled the datacube from his pocket but had barely begun to offer it before the captain dashed forward and snatched it from his fingers.
The captain handed it off to one of his thugs, who plugged it into a datapad. Holographic lines and flowing text filled the air of the cargo hold, lighting faces and furniture. Even the sabacc players paused their game to look up.
“Seems legitimate,” said the thug. The captain nodded at him, and the thug pulled the cube from the datapad and stashed it, returning the hold to its previous gloom.
“Now the transfer,” Han prompted. He looked down at Qi’ra, who mouthed, Be ready.
The thug tapped out a code. He offered the datapad to the captain, who reviewed the screen and then pressed his thumbprint to the reader. Something flashed.
“There,” said the thug. “Six million and fifty thousand credits to Proxima, the rest to the Engineer.”
“Now we wait,” said the captain. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at them. Especially Tsuulo.
Han hated waiting, and he hated awkward silences. “Nice ship you got here,” he said.
“Shut up, kid,” the captain snapped.
Okay, screw it. “Actually, this ship is a piece of junk,” Han said. “Maybe the ugliest I’ve seen. I can’t believe she actually flies.”
Qi’ra elbowed him. “Han, what are you doing?” she whispered.
“At least I have a ship,” the captain said. “What’s a scrumrat like you know about flying?”
“Enough to know that putting your power converter outside your hull means you have environmental problems. Does your crew realize they could die any day?”
The captain grinned. The thug grinned. A woman rose from the sofa, hand on her blaster, and Han nearly stepped back, startled. It was the woman from the Foundry, the one who’d betrayed them all and attacked Tool. She was grinning too.
The captain yelled, “What kind of day is it, Kaldana?”
They slammed their heels together and lifted their right forefingers in salute. “A good day to die!” they yelled back in chorus, their voices thundering.
It was some kind of rallying cry, and Han had walked right into it. The sentiment proved one thing: once this transfer went through, the Kaldana were going to start shooting. He was sure of it.
“So,” the captain said. He put a foot up on one of the tables and rested his forearm on his knee. “Have you three had a chance to study the plans?”
Han hooked his thumbs at himself and opened his eyes wide. “Us? No, of course not.”
“Those are plans?” Qi’ra asked. “I thought they were pretty lines.”
“You mean the cube doesn’t store celestial music?” Tsuulo asked, and Han was glad no one but him could understand.
“It came through,” the thug said. “We have the encryption key.”
Han started to back toward the curtain that covered their exit, hoping his friends would follow.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the captain said, and Han froze. “Not until we’re sure this works.”
“Wow,” said Qi’ra. “I’m literally holding my breath in suspense.”
The captain gave her a strange look.
“She takes her deal exchanges very seriously,” Han said, preparing to hold his breath. He hoped Tsuulo had understood Qi’ra’s message too.
The thug threw up his hands in triumph. “It worked! We got it!”
A cheer rose from everyone gathered. Backs were slapped, bottles of ale were clinked, and one man collapsed against the sofa like the weight of the galaxy had just lifted from his shoulders.
Qi’ra cleared her throat. When all eyes were on her, she said, “We’d like an escort to our shuttle now.”
Her right hand was inside her jacket pocket.
Han began to breathe deeply through his nose, preparing his lungs for the torture to come.
“You seem like good kids,” the captain said. “I’m sorry we have to do this. But we can’t leave any loose ends. I’m sure you understand. You’ve seen our faces, our ship, those plans.”
Han’s hands went up in what he hoped was a gesture of surrender. “We saw nothing. We were never here.”
The captain shook his head. He seemed truly regretful. “Sewer rats like you sell information cheap. We can’t take the chance.”
He pulled his blaster from his holster and flicked a release, changing the setting from “stun” to “kill.”
Qi’ra yanked the gas bomb from her pocket.
Han held his breath.
The captain aimed for his head.
Qi’ra engaged the switch and tossed the metal sphere into the air.
“What the…”
A split-second distraction was all they needed. They turned and sprinted for the curtained doorway.
Blaster fire erupted around them, but it was messy and unfocused.
“Watch the gas!” someone yelled.
“Take cover!” yelled another.
Han reached the curtain first. He yanked it aside and ushered Tsuulo and Qi’ra through. A blaster bolt singed his hair as he ducked through after them.
Fleeing while holding one’s breath was even more torturous than he’d anticipated. His lungs burned. Spots danced in his vision. His heart pumped so hard and fast he thought it might tumble from his chest.
Qi’ra turned a corner and bent over gasping. Tsuulo and Han nearly collided with her back. They spent a precious moment sucking in air.
“You think that worked?” Qi’ra asked.
“I don’t hear blaster fire anymore,” Han said.
“That cargo hold was a lot bigger than the room we were in the last
time we set off one of those,” Tsuulo said. “The gas won’t be as concentrated, and it might not have affected everyone.”
Han translated for Qi’ra, who said, “And you can bet one or two of them were quick-thinking enough to hold their breath and get out of its range. Plus we don’t know how many of them are on the rest of this ship.”
“Let’s find an escape pod,” Han said.
“That’s the plan.” Qi’ra turned and sprinted down the corridor. “Follow me!”
“You know where we’re going?” Han said, still breathless.
“Yes!” she called over her shoulder. “A schematic of the ship was posted on the wall. Saw it earlier.”
That meant this ship had once been a fully compliant, regulation freighter, before someone had desecrated it. Well, that was lucky. But there was more to it than just luck—Qi’ra had known to look for the schematics and had the presence of mind to memorize what she saw.
A spark of hope blossomed inside him. They could do this.
Then a ship-wide alarm began wailing, and the corridor they traveled pulsed with red light.
Tsuulo swore.
“You were right, Qi’ra,” Han yelled. “Someone escaped that gas.”
“There’s the lift,” Qi’ra hollered. “Get in, quick.”
They tumbled inside. Footsteps pounded nearby. A half dozen Kaldana pirates turned a corner and bore down on them.
They raised their blasters.
The lift closed, and blaster fire dented the door.
Qi’ra punched deck three, and they lurched upward.
“Too close,” Tsuulo said.
“Deck three is mostly maintenance access,” Qi’ra said. “I’m hoping it won’t be fully occupied.”
“People could still be waiting for us, so be ready,” said Han.
The lift door slid open, revealing a dark corridor lit only by the red alarm light. Junk was piled everywhere—spare parts, old furniture, bits of armor, a tool cart. But no people.
They stepped outside. “Hold the door,” Qi’ra ordered Tsuulo. Then to Han: “Help me shove all this stuff inside the lift. Everything that can fit. Hurry!”
They complied. Han worked as fast as he could, lifting and heaving junk into the lift. When it could hold no more, they pushed the tool cart partway inside so it blocked the door.
“There,” Qi’ra said, looking smug. “Even if they get that lift working, there won’t be room for anyone to ride it.”
“Smart,” Han said. “Now let’s go! Quietly now.”
Her eyes brightened with the compliment, but she hurried down the corridor on light feet, the boys following after. They paused at every junction to peek around the corner, making sure no one was in sight before continuing on.
“There has to be another lift,” Tsuulo whispered.
“Yeah, this ship is too big for just one turbolift,” Han said.
“It’s on the port side,” Qi’ra whispered. “The Kaldana will get up here eventually, so stay alert.”
Qi’ra led them around a corner, and smack-dab into a sealed bulkhead.
“Blast,” she said.
Han tried the access panel, but nothing happened. “Now what?”
“Move over,” ordered Tsuulo. He whipped a cable from his pack and attached one end to his datapad, the other to the terminal beside the access panel. “You know what would be great right now?” Tsuulo said, even has he keyed into his datapad. “A scomp link. Or better yet, an astromech droid.”
“Hurry,” said Qi’ra. “I think someone’s coming.”
The access panel whirred with activity.
Running footsteps approached. From somewhere close by came the sound of clutter being kicked aside. “This way!” someone said.
“Tsuulo…” Han whispered.
“I just have to believe I can do it,” Tsuulo was muttering. “Almost got it. C’mon, Force, help me out….There!”
The bulkhead slid open.
Blaster fire erupted all around them. The air smelled of ozone and burned fabric.
Qi’ra raced through, and Tsuulo tried to follow but stumbled.
“On your feet!” Han yelled, yanking him up by his shirt and shoving him through the doorway. Together they tumbled to the floor. Qi’ra smashed her palm against the access panel, and the bulkhead slammed down behind them.
“There’s no lock,” she said. “We have to run for it.”
“Something’s wrong with Tsuulo,” Han said.
The Rodian wasn’t getting up. His legs were splayed across the floor, his head lolling. But his hand still gripped that datapad as if it were life itself.
“C’mon, pal, on your feet,” Han said, tugging at Tsuulo’s arm, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Tsuulo, we have to go!” Qi’ra said.
The Rodian reached slowly with his free hand, pulled back his jacket, and revealed a gaping, steaming wound in his side. A blaster had caught him from behind, taking a chunk of his back and stomach. Blood dripped on the floor around him.
“Oh,” said Qi’ra. “Oh, no.”
Han’s stomach clenched. The sight…the smell…He closed his mind to it and reached for his friend. “Fine, I’ll carry you. We’ll get you out of—”
“Stop,” Tsuulo whispered. He lifted his datapad toward Han. “Take it. You’ll need it. Access escape pod.”
“What? No! We need you to do that. If you let me carry—”
“Just believe you can do it,” Tsuulo said. His voice was growing weaker. He waved the datapad, the cable still dangling. “Take it!”
Han took it. “Tsuulo…”
“I was wrong, wasn’t I?” Tsuulo said. “About the Force. None of it was real. It was never with me.” His gaze had become unfocused, as though he was looking through Han instead of at him.
Something pounded against the bulkhead door.
“I dunno. I…” Han was torn between trying to comfort his friend and making a run for it. The Kaldana would come through that door any second.
Suddenly, Qi’ra was at Tsuulo’s side. She grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him to her so that their foreheads met. “The Force is real, Tsuulo. It’s been with you the whole time. It’s the only reason we made it this far.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thank you.”
He sighed. “Qi’ra. Tell Reezo…tell my brother I’m sorry…about the speeder….” Tsuulo’s head fell to his chest. His breathing stilled.
A giant hole was opening up where Han’s chest used to be. A huge black hole that was going to swallow him and this ship and the entire galaxy.
Something tugged on his hand. “Han, we have to go. Tsuulo’s dead.”
No, it wasn’t a hole at all; he’d been wrong about that. It was rage. White-hot blinding rage. Something exploded from his chest, a primal scream that echoed everywhere. Han rushed the bulkhead door and pounded it with his fists, his feet, his shoulder.
“Han! Please!”
He fell to his knees, vaguely aware that he’d hurt himself. His fingertips met blood, and he thought it was his, but no. Tsuulo’s blood. His friend was dead.
Something got through to him, Qi’ra’s pleading voice perhaps. He had another friend, someone who still needed his help.
Han jumped to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly.
Qi’ra loosed a breath of relief. “This way,” she said, tearing down the corridor. They passed some storage lockers, a small repair bay, and finally turned right into a short, low hallway that dead-ended at a small door.
“Escape hatch,” said Han.
They skidded to a halt. The door gave Han a slight start. Its shape and inset reminded him of the sewer openings beneath the streets of Corellia.
Qi’ra tried to palm it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
Han stared at Tsuulo’s datapad. There was a way past that door. There had to be.
A distant crash sounded. The Kaldana were coming through the bulkhead.
Qi’ra watched helplessly while Han fid
dled with the datapad and cable that Tsuulo had given him. If this didn’t work, they were dead. There was nowhere left to go.
Han crouched and managed to get the datapad connected to the access terminal, but he was moving too slowly. No, not slowly. He had frozen.
Blood spattered the face of the datapad. Han was staring at it, unable to type.
“Let me take care of that,” she said softly. She bunched up her sleeve in her hand, then she reached over and wiped the datapad clean. “There, it should be good now. But we’ve got to hurry.”
He swallowed hard. “Right.”
Han started typing quickly, but she had no idea if he knew what he was doing. Come on, Qi’ra, think. Maybe there was another way off this ship. The Kaldana had agreed they would transport Han and Qi’ra back to Corellia on a shuttle. That meant they had a shuttle.
She closed her eyes, recalling the map she’d seen on the wall. She’d always been good at committing things to visual memory, and she could clearly remember another cargo bay on level one. Maybe the shuttle was there.
Then again, it was entirely likely the Kaldana had been lying about the shuttle.
Running footsteps approached.
“Han!”
“I think I can figure this out,” he muttered, his fingers flying over the datapad.
“Maybe we should make a run for it. Try to find their shuttle.”
“No, I’ve almost…”
Someone yelled, “This alien thing is dead.”
“Good riddance,” said another.
Qi’ra had never actually wished someone dead before. Until now. Now she wanted to kill every single Kaldana pirate she’d ever seen. With her bare hands.
“I think they’re headed for the escape pod,” someone said.
“Han!”
“I just have to believe I can do it. I just have to…There!” The door to the escape pod slid open.
“You did it!” she said.
“I did it!” His hands were shaking, his knuckles bruised and bloody from beating the bulkhead door. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“Celebrate later. Inside, now!” She shoved him through the door.
Han hadn’t disconnected the cable yet. The datapad was still in his hand as he fell into the escape pod, and it disengaged, leaving the cable snaking on the ground.
