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  “This is a smart young woman you have here,” Tool said to Han.

  Han said, “I know.”

  Qi’ra bristled. “Nobody has me.”

  “I know that too,” Han said.

  Still glaring at him, she said, “But where did the cube come from? And why is some of it still encrypted? Who…” Frustration was causing her voice to rise, which was the last thing they needed. She glanced nervously at the door they’d come through, hoping it was fairly soundproof. Qi’ra took a deep breath and said in little more than a whisper: “Who is the Engineer?”

  “I don’t know her name,” Tool said. “No one does. Just that she is an Imperial defector. She was involved in a huge secret project for the Empire. The Engineer designed the shield deflector for them, but when she was done, she realized the value of her creation and fled, plans in hand. Her intent is to sell them to the highest bidder and retire anonymously and with great wealth to one of the Outer Rim planets. Naturally, she came here to the center of the galaxy’s shipbuilding industry, looking for buyers.”

  Qi’ra was silent a moment, considering. She noticed Han staring at her.

  “What?”

  He looked away quickly. “Nothing. It’s just…I like that.”

  “You like what?”

  “When your face”—he made a vague gesture with his hand—“does that thing. It gets thinky.”

  What in holy moons did that mean?

  Tsuulo asked Tool a question, but Qi’ra only caught the word for “power.”

  “Yes, I am ready,” Tool replied.

  There was a slight hum, a few beeps. Tool’s carapace jerked as if coming to life.

  Tsuulo twittered something else, and Han shot forward out of the chair. “I want to watch!” he said. “The servomotor cable looked like it was in pretty bad shape to me. If you can rig it to work, I want to see how.” For a guy who didn’t want an education, Han sure seemed eager to learn.

  While the boys knocked heads peering into Tool’s access compartment, Qi’ra said, “Tool, tell me about the auction. Why did it go so wrong?”

  “It’s clear the Kaldana Syndicate had decided they were going to attain the merchandise no matter what,” Tool said. “They are hateful, mechanophobic bigots who would rather start a galactic incident than let droids acquire advantageous tech. So when the Droid Gotra won the bid, they started firing, hoping to take the cube by force, or at least keep me from handing it over to my superiors.”

  “But you threw it to Han instead.”

  “He is a good kid,” Tool said. “And he knows the sewers like the back of his hand. That is a ridiculous metaphor, by the way. I’ve never observed humans studying the backs of their hands.”

  “The Kaldana went after him hard,” Qi’ra said. “We still might die because of this.”

  “You are angry I put Han at risk,” Tool said.

  “Yes,” Qi’ra said.

  Han grinned. “She cares about me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m angry on behalf of all of us,” Qi’ra clarified.

  “It was an easy choice,” Tool said. “If the Kaldana got their hands on that tech, it would put a stranglehold on Corellia’s already sputtering economy. So it’s better for the whole system, and it’s better for the cause of droid equality, to keep it away from them. Of course I’m willing to sacrifice a few organics for all that.”

  Han was giving Tool a funny look, like he felt betrayed. Qi’ra didn’t know what Han had expected. Of course Tool considered him expendable. Just like Lady Proxima. Everyone always stabbed everyone else in the back, when the circumstances were right.

  Tsuulo bleated out something. Han said, “He wants to know about the encryption.”

  “Oh, right,” Qi’ra said. “Tool, those plans are encrypted. Getting a hold of the datacube isn’t going to help anyone.”

  “You are correct,” the droid said. “The Engineer had agreed to contact the winning bidder and give them the encryption key. But as you know, the deal went bad. I’m sure the Kaldana believe they can crack the encryption with time and resources, and maybe they can.”

  Qi’ra reviewed what she knew. “So the Kaldana want to steal the cube. The Droid Gotra want it back so they can complete the transaction and get the encryption key. And Lady Proxima wants it so she can mark it up and resell it. And all of them want us dead.”

  “You forgot the Empire,” Tool said. “They want it back too. I’m not certain they know about you three yet, but based on the chatter I’m hearing over the holonet, they’ve managed to track their prodigal engineer here to Corellia.”

  Tsuulo swore.

  Han said, “Yeah, we noticed there were a lot more stormtroopers hanging around these days.”

  Qi’ra was developing a strong opinion about what to do next.

  “Please give the cube to me,” Tool said.

  But it was not that.

  “The Droid Gotra won the bid,” he added. “Let us complete the deal as agreed.”

  “No way,” Qi’ra said. “The White Worms and the Kaldana would never forgive us. We’d have bounties on our heads for the rest of our short lives.”

  Tsuulo disengaged his datapad from the droid and closed Tool’s access compartment. The Rodian boy stood and began chattering at them, waving his datapad in the air.

  “Tsuulo votes for returning the date cube to the Engineer,” Han said. “Starting over. That way, we’re not stealing it from anyone; we’re actually salvaging the deal.”

  That was exactly what Qi’ra had been thinking.

  “But I’m not so sure,” Han added. “I really don’t like the idea of that cube getting into Kaldana hands. Or the hands of any of the syndicates. If the deal starts all over, who knows which players would come to the table? The Droid Gotra might be the best option. I mean, it’s for a good cause, right?”

  Qi’ra stared at him. He’d said “Gotra” correctly for the first time, which meant he was deadly serious.

  Tsuulo argued back, clearly disagreeing.

  “Well, I don’t know about the other droids,” Han said, “but Tool is my friend, and he’s no terrorist. I don’t think he’d even be part of a group like that.”

  “If we salvage this deal,” Qi’ra said, “the Gotra has a chance to come back and bid again. They might still end up with the cube. Since we’re White Worms, Lady Proxima gets credit for making things right—that would take some heat off, yes? The Engineer ends up owing us a favor. I don’t know about the Kaldana, but salvaging the deal gets at least a couple of groups off our backs.”

  Han rubbed at his jaw. He was exhausted; Qi’ra could see it in his eyes. “Our odds of survival would go way up,” he said.

  “I thought you didn’t want to know the odds,” Qi’ra said.

  “Only after I’ve decided to do something,” he said.

  “If you agree,” Tool said, “that you will not deliver the cube to the Kaldana or the White Worms, I will get word out through my contacts in the Gotra that you’re interested in talking to the Engineer.”

  Qi’ra looked to Han, who nodded, then to Tsuulo, who said, “Something idea somethingsomething agree.”

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  “There,” Tool said. “Already done.” He had regained some mobility, so he leaned over and used a pincer extension to grab his dismembered welder from the floor.

  “If we get out of this alive,” Han said, “I can come back and reattach that for you.”

  “No need,” Tool said. “My friends in the Gotra will handle it. They’ll hook up the holo-flames enhancement too. We take good care of each other in the Gotra. We don’t need organics at all anymore.”

  Something about that didn’t sit right with Qi’ra, but there was no time to dwell on it because Tool said, “I just got an alert back. Imperial troops are approaching this facility.”

  Han and Qi’ra jumped to their feet as Tsuulo loosed a string of expletives.

  “What do we do?” Qi’ra said. �
��My plan for getting out of here didn’t include stormtroopers.”

  “Screw the plan,” said Han. “We run like hell.”

  “No, wait. Tool said the Empire might not know about us. Tool, why are they here?”

  The droid lumbered to his feet. He was even taller than Qi’ra expected. No wonder they’d had such trouble heaving him onto his side. He listed to the left a little; it was clear that Tsuulo’s patch to Tool’s servomotor cable was merely that: a patch.

  “I don’t know for certain why they’re here,” Tool said, “but one possibility is they tracked the cube to this location, where the exchange went down.”

  Tsuulo threw his datapad into his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Han and Qi’ra pulled their goggles back on and flipped their hoods over their heads.

  “Moloch and Rebolt are prowling the sewers,” Han said. “They’ll recognize us no matter what we’re wearing. We can’t go that way.”

  “On the other hand, if we go up top,” Qi’ra added, “there’s a chance everyone will think we’re just normal factory workers.”

  “Turn right out of the lift,” Tool said. “Follow the corridor to building three and exit out the south entrance. Building three houses the smelter; it’s the most poorly guarded building in the Foundry complex. Organics and droids both hate being in that place.”

  “Thanks, Tool,” Han said, already heading for the door, Qi’ra and Tsuulo close behind.

  “Hurry,” Tool called to their backs. “And you should know, the Engineer is not actually on Corellia.”

  Qi’ra spun back around. “What?”

  “She has eyes on the ground—another ridiculous metaphor, the eyes would get stepped on and smashed if they were on the floor—but she would never risk landing. She’s somewhere above the planet, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. So if you want to meet with her, you’ll have to go offworld.”

  Han gasped.

  Qi’ra had no idea how to get offworld. Or how they would make contact with the Engineer in the first place. One thing at a time.

  “C’mon!” She grabbed Han’s sleeve and yanked him through the door.

  The skin of Han’s face started to burn with heat even before they’d entered building three, with its resident smelter. Or maybe his cheeks were just warm from hearing those precious, golden words: You’ll have to go offworld.

  Han wasn’t sure why the thought made his heart race, but it did.

  Qi’ra reached the door first. It slid open, and hot air poured out, so hot it pushed her hair back. They stepped cautiously inside.

  Tool was right; this building was not heavily guarded. Probably because no one came here if they could help it.

  In the center of the room was a giant silo at least four stories high. Cartloads of scrap traveled on a conveyer toward the silo and up a steep ramp to the lip, where they were automatically tipped, emptied, then swiped to the side to make room for the next carts. Pipes along the ceiling fed the smelter with oxidation materials. From a round portal at the base of the silo poured glowing, molten ore in two streams—a wider one for good ore, a smaller one for slag.

  The aqueducts bisected the building floor, traveling away from the smelter and under the wall, into another building. Han knew the liquid ore was cooled into sheets, which could be stamped and pressed and molded into all sorts of starship components.

  He could guess where the slag aqueduct led: probably to the river and eventually the ocean. Dumping into the water was supposedly illegal on Corellia, but all the factories did it.

  Workers stood on a catwalk above the molten rivers, using long prods to check for impurities. They wore shiny protective helmets and the thickest gloves Han had ever seen. They moved slowly and methodically, working in total silence, as though their hearts and minds were elsewhere. And they probably were. Factory workers used to make a decent living, but now that the Empire had nationalized shipbuilding, everyone was barely scraping by. Han guessed that most in this very room were involved in smuggling and black market trading, just to make ends meet.

  Smuggling had become the only way for honest people to make a decent living around here. That meant Corellian lives were going to get even worse if the Kaldana pirates got ahold of that shield tech. Maybe giving it to the droids really was the right thing to do.

  A droid with repulsorlift technology and multiple dangling appendages floated around the side of the silo, checking gauges and making adjustments. Han wondered if it was part of the Gotra too. How far did their influence reach, exactly? How many members of the Droid Gotra were on Corellia now?

  “Over there,” Qi’ra said, pointing. “That’s the door Tool mentioned.”

  It was all the way across the room. There were two ways to get there. One was to cross via the catwalk, which was occupied by workers who would most definitely sound the alarm if outsiders ran past. The other way to get there was by double-jumping over the aqueducts.

  “It’s not a bad jump,” Tsuulo said, as if reading Han’s thoughts. “Big leap, careful landing, small leap. Easy.”

  “Yeah,” Han said. “Easy.” Though, of course, if any of them misjudged it, they’d sink into liquid metal and burn alive. They wouldn’t even have time to drown.

  “I don’t see any sentries,” Qi’ra said. “But that droid up there might be a problem.”

  “We’ll approach slow, then jump over the outtakes and sprint for the door,” Han said.

  “I say we take our chances with the smelter workers.” Without waiting to see if he agreed, she began walking toward the catwalk stairs.

  Han caught up to her, grabbed the sleeve of her cloak and whipped her around. “Qi’ra, if one of them panics—”

  The door behind them flew open. Han barely had time to register a sea of shiny white armor and heavy blasters before he was rushing headlong toward the molten streams. The footsteps of his friends followed close at his heels.

  “Halt!” someone said, the voice filtered and mechanical. “You’re wanted for questioning—”

  Han leaped over the first aqueduct; his skin felt like it was on fire as he flew through the air. He landed hard, falling to his knees on purpose rather than allow his momentum to carry him right into the second aqueduct.

  A body slammed into his back—Tsuulo!—pushing him forward. Han grappled at the edge of the second aqueduct to keep from toppling in. Heat seared his driving gloves, scalding his skin. Molten metal flowed and bubbled and spurted less than a meter from his face.

  Hands yanked him back, saving him. “On your feet,” Qi’ra ordered. She pulled at his arms until he got his legs under him.

  Han expected to feel blaster fire in his back any second. Still, he paused to help Tsuulo gather his pack, which had slipped from the Rodian’s shoulder. “Let’s go!” he said, and the three of them leaped over the slag aqueduct and sprinted for the south exit.

  A laser bolt exploded into the door ahead of them, leaving a huge blackened dent. They stopped in their tracks.

  “I said halt,” came the voice again. “Put your hands up.”

  Still facing their exit—and freedom—they did as asked, putting their hands in the air.

  Qi’ra whispered, “What now, Improvise Guy?”

  “Uh, I could use a good idea, Plan Everything Girl,” he whispered back.

  To their right, the workers on the catwalk had fallen to their knees, where they cowered, hands over their heads. The maintenance droid continued to whirl around the silo, oblivious to everything.

  “Turn around, slowly,” said the stormtrooper.

  “Don’t,” Qi’ra said.

  “Maybe we should cooperate—” Han started to say.

  “If they were going to shoot us, they would have done it by now,” she whispered back, low and fast. “They missed on purpose. They do not want us to go out that door, but they do want us alive and conscious.”

  The stormtrooper yelled, “I said turn around! Now!”

  “Think we should make a run for it?” Han asked.
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br />   “Definitely.”

  Tsuulo said, “I’m not sure that door will open! It got hit hard.”

  “What did he say?” Qi’ra asked Han.

  “He said run!”

  As one, they burst forward, legs pumping as fast as they could go. Blaster fire erupted all around them. Han desperately hoped Qi’ra was right, that the stormtroopers were missing on purpose.

  Tsuulo tried to palm the door open. It didn’t budge.

  He tried again. Another blast crashed into the wall near their heads. One of the workers screamed.

  Han leaped forward and kicked the door as hard as he could. It groaned open, with a metal-scraping-metal sound Han felt deep in his throat.

  The three of them exploded through the door and into the darkness of night and its open, icy air.

  And right into the arms of five stormtroopers.

  “Let me go!” Qi’ra yelled, clawing with hands and feet, while Tsuulo and Han tried to shake their own captors.

  The barrel of a blaster pressed firm and cold into Han’s temple. He went utterly still.

  Blasters were similarly pointing at the others. Han watched as Qi’ra stopped fighting, took a quick, composing breath, and then stared straight ahead, hands folded in front of her. “Please don’t shoot us,” she said with preternatural calm. “We’ll cooperate.”

  “Yes! What she said!” Han agreed. “We’ll cooperate!”

  One of the stormtroopers circled around to close the door they’d just exited through, then took up a guard position. Leftward, toward building two, was a swath of paver lit by a flood light. The stormtroopers were not moving them into the light.

  Something about all that was strange, but the blaster at Han’s head made it hard to think.

  Another stormtrooper stepped forward. He looked exactly the same as the others except for an orange pauldron on one shoulder.

  “I have something for you,” the stormtrooper said. And he held out an object to Qi’ra.

  “What is it?” she asked, not moving to take it. The item was small, fitting easily in the palm of his gloved hand.

  “A message, courtesy of the Engineer.”