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  Qi’ra almost felt sorry for Han. Proxima never fetched someone after shift unless something was wrong. Well, at least he’d be no competition for her job.

  “And Qi’ra,” Moloch said as he reached their table. “Lady Proxima wishes to speak to you both.”

  Qi’ra’s heart dropped into her belly as she and Han shared a terrified glance.

  Reluctantly, she rose from the table. A few bites of sludge remained in her bowl. Tsuulo reached for it, giving her a tentative look. She nodded permission; her appetite had fled anyway.

  Han pushed his bowl over too. “Here you go, pal.” The Rodian’s snout turned up into what was, for him, a huge grin.

  Han stood. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Rebolt scooted his chair back and rose as if to accompany them, but Moloch shoved him back down. “Just Han and Qi’ra,” he growled.

  Rebolt tensed, as though ready to fight back, but Moloch was bigger than Rebolt to the same degree that Rebolt was bigger than all the other human kids, and Rebolt never picked a fight he might lose. “What? Why just them?”

  “None of your business, scrumrat.”

  “Whatever they can do for her, I can do better! I’m loyal, punctual, and—”

  Moloch cuffed the back of his head. “Your hounds are hungry.”

  “W-what?”

  “Go feed your hounds,” Moloch ordered. “Or I’ll feed you to them.”

  Rebolt froze, then nodded assent. Qi’ra would trade places with him in a nanosecond if she could. He clearly thought this strange daytime meeting conferred some kind of privilege. Qi’ra knew it meant trouble. Based on the grave look on Han’s face, he knew it too.

  “With me. Now,” Moloch said to Han and Qi’ra. Then he turned and walked away without a backward glance, fully expecting to be obeyed.

  Tsuulo ignored them all, happily shoving the extra sludge into his mouth, but she felt Rebolt seething at their backs as she and Han followed Moloch to the audience chamber.

  Two White Worm guards stood outside the massive door hatch. A bulkhead door, no less, tarnish staining the edges. These tunnels and underground chambers were old; rumor was the gang’s lair used to be a massive manufacturing site. A few rooms still housed defunct machinery—hulking steel stamp presses, a few lathes, and even an industrial-sized holding tank that was empty of everything but rust.

  Some of the dim overhead lighting still worked because Tsuulo—the den’s resident genius—had illegally tapped into the power grid of a nearby factory. In addition, three sump pumps kept groundwater at bay. But only three. The lair actually contained five sump pumps, but the White Worms purposely kept two turned off. As a result, the audience hall, known to the kids as the Sinkhole, was meters deep in slimy, rusty water.

  Beyond the door hatch was a round tunnel leading to Lady Proxima’s underground pond.

  Qi’ra and Han stepped forward to enter, but Moloch put a huge hand on Han’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Qi’ra enters alone,” he said to Han. “You’ll go in after.”

  She and Han shared another startled look. Moloch prodded her forward, and she stepped into the wet air of the tunnel. Alone.

  She strode forward confidently—one thing she knew was, the more nervous you felt, the more confident you needed to seem—until the tunnel ended at the edge of the pond. The walls of the Sinkhole rose around her, giving the impression of a long-lost ventilation shaft stretching for the surface and fresh air. Morning light filtered through a few narrow windows at the top of the shaft, like a promise of something better, but the windows were mostly painted over in black so that only a few motes of brightness reached the bottom.

  Qi’ra focused all her attention on the only thing that mattered. Lady Proxima had emerged from the middle of the cistern, like a Grindalid castle surrounded by a greasy moat. She wore an outfit that was half body armor, half jewelry, all of it made from pieces of machinery scavenged from the factories of Corellia. As if, even though she was forced to live underground, she was determined to turn the industry of this planet into her own source of strength and fortune.

  Qi’ra admired that. She saw a role model before her.

  Lady Proxima stared down at Qi’ra, flexing the claws of her dominant arms. The bone-white beak of her face looked like an ax, ready to fall on the nearest target. When she smiled, the wet line of her mouth gleamed like the edge of a sawtoothed blade. No doubt Lady Proxima intended the gesture to be reassuring.

  “So nice to see you, Qi’ra, my darling,” she hissed.

  “Good morning, Lady,” Qi’ra replied with perfect poise, though her heart was a drum in her chest.

  Lady Proxima glanced around the room at her loyal soldiers. Qi’ra couldn’t tell if she was going to dismiss them or order them to attack.

  The hatch door slammed shut behind her.

  Han did not care for this situation one bit. He stared at the hatch, hoping Qi’ra was all right.

  Not that he cared much for the girl; she was stuck-up, hard to read, and way too smart. She tried to keep a low profile, but Han knew Qi’ra was his toughest competition for the position of Head. It would make his life a lot easier if something unlucky happened to her.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to wish misfortune on her. Qi’ra might be snobbish and inscrutable, but she had never been unkind to him. Unlike Rebolt and Moloch. Besides, she wasn’t hard to look at. Also unlike Rebolt and Moloch.

  The moments ticked by interminably. At his back were the sounds of bowls being cleared away, chairs scooting, White Worms chattering. The noises gradually faded as everyone finished breakfast and made their way to the bunk room or tunnels to catch some sleep before the Corellian day turned to night and everyone would be sent out to work again.

  Soon Han was all alone in the mess hall, with the exception of Moloch and the two silent White Worms guarding the door to the Sinkhole.

  A ratcatcher droid scooted past his boots. The tiny little tank had been a janitor droid at one point, but Tsuulo had repurposed it to catch vermin. The lair had a tiny fleet of ratcatcher droids now, and they could be counted on to snag several screerats and vervikks per day, which the White Worms used to add some much-needed protein to their breakfast sludge.

  Han sighed. He really needed that Head position, if only so he could eat something besides rat porridge.

  “So,” Han said to the guards, just to fill the silence. His voice seemed too loud to his own ears in the empty, echoing mess hall. “Long night?”

  Moloch made a clicking sound that could have been a threat or possibly just something stuck in his teeth, but otherwise didn’t respond. The other Worms said nothing, just stared straight ahead as if he wasn’t there.

  “Any idea what Lady Proxima wants with Qi’ra and me?” he tried again.

  One of the Worms looked down at him with disdain, but said nothing.

  Han tried one last time, because talking was way better than this horrible waiting. “So, hey, a few of us have a sabacc game going in the bunk room. We play every night before shift. You should join us sometime.”

  Still nothing.

  “I’m just starting to learn. Do you know how to play sabacc?”

  He might as well have been talking to a wall. Or three walls even. Han shrugged. You couldn’t blame a guy for trying.

  The door flew open, and a rush of wet, warm air almost made him sneeze. Qi’ra barreled out, her eyes as unknowable as always, but her shoulders were tense, her mouth stubbornly set. She was a petite brunette, almost a whole head shorter than Han, but somehow her presence could fill a whole room. Something about that made him uneasy.

  “Qi’ra? You okay?”

  She ignored him, rushing past without looking right or left, and headed for the tunnel leading into the sewers.

  “Nice talking to you too!” he called after her.

  “Get inside, scrumrat,” Moloch said, shoving Han with the butt of his horrible shockstaff.

  Han put his hands up. “All right
, all right, I’m going.” He stepped into the tunnel, and the door slammed shut behind him.

  Lady Proxima rose from the middle of the Sinkhole, water lapping at the pond’s edges. She wore nothing but chains and metal plates, which seemed impractical to Han. She must get very cold, and all that ironwork seemed like it would rust in the damp air and chafe her skin. Definitely not for him. He’d much rather have boots that kept his feet dry and a thick jacket for warmth. But to each their own. He wasn’t about to judge.

  The water rippled with movement, and Han was reminded that hidden in the murky pond beneath the giant Grindalid was Proxima’s latest brood. He had no idea how many she hatched at a time—maybe hundreds of tiny worms, all clamoring for food and space. He was glad they were mostly restful now, that he couldn’t see them.

  The rest of the room was empty. Not even Proxima’s top lieutenants were in attendance. It made the back of Han’s neck itch, because the Sinkhole was always filled with Worms. Some even slept here. For some reason, Proxima had sent them away.

  “Han, my dear boy,” she began. “I have a special assignment for you.”

  “Of course, Lady,” he said quickly. “Whatever you need.” But his heart was sinking. Whatever the assignment was, she didn’t want anyone to know about it. Which meant it was dangerous and she considered him expendable. He was nothing more than a human scrumrat to her. So much for that promotion.

  Not to mention the lost sleep. Proxima kept him busy every night, running him around Coronet to collect payments, gather information, or fetch small shipments. After that, of course, he had a bit of his own business to attend to, which almost always resulted in an all-out sprint to get back to the lair before curfew. Sometimes he could barely stay awake through breakfast. It was a relief to fall into his damp, filthy bunk every morning.

  But there would be no sleep for him today.

  “I want you to go to the Foundry,” she said.

  “Sure. No problem.” He’d been to the Foundry plenty of times. He even had a friend there.

  “Take the tunnels and enter through the basement. The access hatch will be unlocked for you.”

  “Access hatch. Got it.”

  She leaned forward on her pedestal and made a sharp clicking sound. It was the noise Grindalids made when they were hungry. “Han, my boy, you must not be seen entering or leaving. No matter what. Do you understand?”

  He blinked. “Sure. I can do that.” The Foundry employed thousands of Corellians, churning out basic starship components for the Empire and other interests on its massive assembly lines. Even the basement might be occupied. He swallowed hard. “No problem. Do you want me to fetch something? Or is there a message you want me—”

  She hissed, cutting him off, then said, “No questions, boy. Not this time.”

  Han pressed his lips together and waited.

  “In the basement,” she continued, “you’ll meet a contact. He will ask what you’ve been up to. You’re to say that you’ve been dusting crops, the easiest job in the galaxy. Now say it back to me.”

  “I’ve been dusting crops, the easiest job in the galaxy.”

  “Good boy. If you don’t say those exact words…Well, I will miss you tremendously.”

  “I…see.” It was as he feared. She was sending him on this errand because she considered him expendable.

  “After you’ve given the code phrase,” Lady Proxima said, “you’ll receive further instructions, which you will follow exactly. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Honored Lady.” A thin film of sweat was collecting at his hairline.

  “I’m sending you because I need someone I trust to be discreet. You must tell no one about this errand, and you must stay alert at all times. There could be…complications.”

  He opened his mouth to ask what kind of complications, but slammed it closed when he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be asking questions.

  “You know how much I care for all my children,” Lady Proxima said. “And it pains me to send my darling human boy on such a dangerous mission. But if all goes well and you do exactly as told and return to me…” She paused a moment, letting him wonder. “I am prepared to name you Head of the White Worms.”

  He almost gasped aloud, not believing his luck. Suddenly, the most dangerous assignment he’d ever received had become the greatest opportunity of his life. He could do this. He had to. Sleep could wait.

  “Don’t disappoint me, darling,” she said, using her best approximation of a mother’s loving gaze. Han knew better than to trust that gaze. Whenever she looked at him that way, he felt like a juicy spider about to get pounced on by a monkey lizard.

  He said, “Have I ever let you down, Honored Lady?”

  She smiled again and the corners of her eyes wrinkled. Lady Proxima pretended to be above the opinions of everyone, especially her White Worm children, but she liked to be flattered. Then she waved a pale, segmented hand at him and said, “Now get out of my sight. I need my rest.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  The hatch opened for him, and he backed out of the Sinkhole, bowing as he went.

  When it shut, he leaned against it and took a deep breath. He hated bowing. He hated telling Lady Proxima everything she wanted to hear. He hated being such a toady. Sure, it was a calculated decision, essential to his survival as a Corellian scrumrat. But it felt wrong. Totally against his nature.

  If he got that position of Head, he’d finally have some authority. Some freedom. Not to mention better food and sleep. Maybe a new pair of boots. And he could finally tell that jerk Rebolt to—

  “Move it, Han,” Moloch said. He lifted his shockstaff to point the way. A simple gesture, not intended as a threat. “You have work to do.”

  Han took off at a jog toward the exact same tunnel Qi’ra had entered just minutes before. What had Proxima said to her? Qi’ra almost never showed discomposure. So by the look on her face, it must have been something awful. He hoped the girl was okay.

  He ducked into the sewer and headed for the Foundry.

  Qi’ra located the stash right where Lady Proxima had said it would be, at the sewer exit near the Green. It was a nondescript pack made of waterproof leather. Inside was the outfit Proxima had promised—a sturdy knee-length skirt over black leggings, a beautiful bright red top that made Qi’ra gasp with pleasure, and a beige flight jacket that would hit her waist perfectly. She lifted the clothes to her nose and sniffed. They had been sprayed with some kind of floral perfume to cover up the rotten smell of the sewers. It was going to be the nicest thing she’d ever worn. Maybe, when this was all over, she’d get to keep it.

  Qi’ra changed quickly, paused a moment to admire the color of the top—such a gorgeous, saturated red!—then swung the gate open and stepped into the sunshine.

  Well, “sunshine” was overstating it. It was a typical, gloomy Corellian day, full of clouds and haze. Decades of industry had given the sky a reddish-brown cast, and Qi’ra sometimes felt as though the whole world was going to rust.

  But compared with the sewers at night, it felt brighter than a sun.

  The sewer itself drained into a small artificial creek running through a grassy park. It was one of the few areas of green space left in Coronet City, located on the outskirts of the capital, far from the scents of fish and exhaust steam and sewage. The green space existed only because the posh hotels surrounding it—which catered to Imperial dignitaries and other influential business entities—felt it was important for their guests to have something beautiful to look at.

  More important, the surrounding thick foliage made it the perfect egress for White Worms who needed to reach the edge of town without being seen.

  Today, though, Qi’ra was supposed to be seen.

  It was the strangest thing, she mused, as she peeked around the bushes and waited for a good opportunity to blend into the crowd of pedestrians. Lady Proxima had never before asked her to be noticeable. “I need someone attractive for this assignment,” she’d said. “Someon
e poised. You need to be seen entering and leaving the hotel.”

  Qi’ra found the idea strangely thrilling, not having to hide. And the message she was supposed to give…It was the oddest, most exhilarating thing. She couldn’t wait for the words to come out of her mouth.

  The most amazing thing of all, though, was Lady Proxima’s promise. If all went well, Qi’ra would be promoted to the position of Head. She could hardly believe her luck. It was an incredible opportunity, and her entire focus for the next few hours would be on making it happen.

  The foot traffic had thinned. Qi’ra threw back her shoulders, raised her head high, and stepped from the trees onto the cobbled path as though she had every right to be there.

  One person—a human woman with blond hair—gave her an odd look, but no one else seemed to notice that she’d come from the direction of the creek. She strode forward with purpose, pretending to be oblivious to everyone else. She couldn’t help observing, though, that while her bright red shirt was the nicest thing she’d ever owned—not that she owned it yet—she was still underdressed. Only Corellia’s richest residents lived in this district.

  Qi’ra followed the path toward her destination—the Buckell Center, a massive hotel and business complex. It was one of the largest buildings on the planet, a sprawling edifice with multiple wings that hugged one of the city’s few hills like a giant, shining spider. Supposedly, it was the only building on Corellia that rivaled the luxury and beauty of those on Coruscant.

  Or so Tsuulo had told them all. He’d been born on Coruscant, so he would know. Or maybe that had been a tall tale to impress everyone.

  The tree-lined path ended abruptly, and Qi’ra found herself confronting the main thoroughfare. Landspeeders whizzed by, many of them sleek and beautiful and not at all like the ones she was used to seeing around town. A holoboard ahead flashed an advertisement for a home air filter, guaranteed to protect children from Corellian pollution. In the distance, the sky buzzed with ships taking off and landing at the spaceport.

  A well-lit pedestrian tunnel allowed her to cross the thoroughfare. She strode through it as though she belonged and emerged at a wide colonnade leading to the Buckell Center. The sight gave her a start.