Most Wanted Read online

  Framing the entry were two massive turrets, each the size of a small freighter. They hummed and hissed, pivoting on their bases. Qi’ra kept her head high, her stride purposeful, as she walked between them.

  One turned toward her, and her breath hitched. Lights flashed, and the gun barrel crackled with electricity. After a moment, it turned away, choosing to evaluate another pedestrian.

  Qi’ra kept going as if nothing had happened, but her mind was reeling. Defensive smart turrets at the Buckell Center! What did it mean? Nothing good, that was for sure.

  She dodged a few luxury speeders that were dropping off guests, and she was almost to the entrance when darkness descended all around, like a blanket had been thrown over the sun.

  Several people gasped. Even the protocol droid at the valet booth looked up. Qi’ra followed his gaze.

  An Imperial Star Destroyer had pulled in overhead and hovered in the sky. Tsuulo had told them that to hover safely, a Star Destroyer had to remain in the planet’s mesosphere. Yet even at that distance, it was large enough to turn day into night.

  It was not the first Destroyer she’d seen. They were becoming an all-too-common sight in the Corellian skies as more and more of the planet’s factories began to manufacture components specifically for Imperial projects. But it still made her shudder, because it seemed like an omen. Between that and the turrets, Qi’ra was on high alert when she finally strode through the glass doors and entered the complex.

  Her stride faltered. Never had she seen such luxury. Golden highlights sparkled on every surface and framed every painting and mirror. The potted fruit trees could double their breakfast rations back in the lair. The couches scattered in groups around the lobby looked more comfortable than any bed she had ever slept in. Maybe she could acquire a couple of throw pillows on her way out….

  But that wasn’t why she was here, and she forced herself to remember that she was supposed to be seen. The lobby milled with guests of every species, sentry droids, even a few stormtroopers, a few of whom glanced her way. So far, so good.

  She approached the wide concierge desk. A bored human woman with premature lines around her eyes forced a smile and said, “How may I help you?”

  “I’m here for a meeting,” Qi’ra said, chin held high. “Can you direct me to the Obsidian Room?”

  The concierge pointed. “Take the glass tram to the penthouse concourse,” she directed. “It’s at the very top of the hill, the tram’s final stop. The Obsidian Room will be down the corridor, beyond the personal residences.”

  That sounded easy enough. “Thank you,” Qi’ra said.

  Even though she had only a few minutes left to make the appointment on time, she spent a precious moment to take stock.

  Qi’ra always had a backup plan. Always. It had saved her life more than once. So she noted a glass office behind the reception lobby. The desks might provide good cover, if she could get past the sentry droids. To her left was a security booth; everyone milling around had decent armor and well-used blasters, but the uniforms were private sector, not Imperial. Still, she’d have to keep an eye out for them if anything went down. A hallway stretched right, leading to a ballroom, also guarded by sentry droids. Near the back, a sign promised another tram with direct access to the spaceport. Finally, she spotted what she was looking for: a nondescript door with an access panel, partly hidden by a potted plant. A gray-haired woman in a housekeeping uniform approached it and punched in a code. Qi’ra angled herself to watch, memorizing the code.

  That was the door she’d use if she needed to make a quick exit. An employee-only corridor was her best chance at finding sewer access without going out the front door and facing those turrets.

  Knowledge always made her feel better. Buoyed, Qi’ra turned toward the glass tram the concierge had indicated. Several beings were already inside—two humans, a droid, and a short, hairy alien whose species she’d never encountered before. They all parted to make room, and she pushed the button indicating her destination as the penthouse concourse.

  The doors slid closed, and her feet were nearly jerked out from under her as the tram capsule zoomed along the concourse. Qi’ra was supposed to be poised, serene, implacable. But she couldn’t help turning to gawk at the sights like an offworld tourist.

  The tram skimmed along the outskirts of the Buckell Center, gradually working its way up the hillside, thus offering an unmatched view of the city of Coronet, with its grimy markets and buzzing thoroughfares in the center, the churning factories and shipyards at the edges, and beyond it all the massive spaceport with one of the highest traffic capacities in the galaxy. Qi’ra felt as though she was flying, nothing between her and the Corellian sky but pure air and speed. The city blurred below her—with pollution, with distance, with gloom—but as the tram continued to climb the hill, everything crystalized. The man standing beside her gasped.

  They had ascended above the smog line, and the sky was the most glorious cerulean she had ever seen. The smog stretched below them, brownish red and as thick as a blanket. But along the horizon were mountains, actual mountains, tinged green with life and blazing with morning sunshine.

  The planet of her birth was beautiful. More beautiful than she’d ever imagined.

  The tram made several stops, and passengers trickled in and out. Finally, it glided gently to a halt at the penthouse concourse, and Qi’ra stepped out reluctantly, her eyes still feeling a little glazed. She blinked, took a deep breath, and continued on her way.

  The corridor she traveled had regular doorways on either side, just like the tunnel with their bunk cells. But this hallway felt so much longer, the ceiling so much higher, promising a large, comfortable airy space behind each door instead of another dark hole. Every detail, from the lights on the walls to the decorative room numbers, seemed to indicate an impossible excess of wealth.

  She was staring at the wall decorations—here, in a hallway, where anyone could just take them!—when a janitor droid scooted past and startled her. She almost squealed, but then she smiled, delighted. She’d always wondered what janitor droids looked like, before they were reengineered to catch rats. It was still a boxy little thing, but sleeker, with cleaning brushes instead of pincers, moving efficiently down the corridor, cleaning up dirt too small for her to notice.

  When Qi’ra looked up again, she had reached her destination: the Obsidian Room, a high-security luxury suite for Corellia’s finest class of visitor. She raised her hand to the access panel, and the doorway slid open, keyed to her palm. How Lady Proxima had managed to key a distant hotel room to her palm print was too terrifying to contemplate.

  She straightened her shoulders and stepped inside.

  The living area of the penthouse suite had been cleared of furniture, and her footsteps echoed on marble tile. A vast window looked out on that incredible sky, and it was with some effort that Qi’ra ignored it to size up her situation.

  Three others were already in attendance: a small human male with a pointed, ratlike face and a furtive demeanor, a taller middle-aged woman with hulking shoulders and a severe gray bun, and a silver protocol droid with a dented right arm. They all stared as she approached, and she realized, with a sinking heart, that she was the only one who was unarmed.

  Come to think of it, she’d never seen a protocol droid carrying weapons before. Strange.

  “So nice of you to join us,” said the rat-faced man to Qi’ra. “What have you been up to?”

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

  The rat-faced man nodded. “Then we shall get started right away. We’ll begin with the representative of the White Worms. What is your bid, young miss?”

  This was the moment she’d been waiting for. Qi’ra raised her head high and said proudly, “The White Worm bid is four hundred and fifty thousand credits.” She couldn’t even imagine such a sum. So much money! But she kept her expression cool, as if it were just another day in her life.

 
The tall woman chuckled. Even the droid gave Qi’ra an odd look. The rat-faced man’s hand shifted toward his blaster.

  And all of Qi’ra’s enthusiasm for this assignment came crashing down. Somehow, her message had been poorly received. She was not a person who was prone to mistakes, but maybe she had forgotten something? Said the wrong thing?

  The rat-faced man turned toward the tall woman. “Your turn.”

  She said, “The Kaldana Syndicate bid is six hundred and seventy-five million credits.”

  Qi’ra had trouble keeping the shock from her face. She had no idea what they were bidding for, but whatever it was, Lady Proxima’s bid had been so low as to be insulting.

  “And you?” the rat-faced man said, turning to the droid.

  “It is my honor and pleasure to inform you that the Droid Gotra bids one billion credits.”

  The gray-haired woman’s dismay was clearly visible. Her fingers twitched near the blaster at her hip.

  “Excellent,” said the rat-faced man. “One moment as I check with my superiors.”

  He pulled out a comlink and began speaking in a language Qi’ra couldn’t identify. While he spoke, she rehearsed what she’d heard in her head. The Kaldana Syndicate. The Droid Gotra. Her bid had been too low, but at least she could return to Lady Proxima with information. Maybe the position of Head was still within reach.

  The rat-faced man’s eyes grew wide, and he argued back fiercely about something. His hand rested on his blaster. The woman and the droid looked as though they were ready for anything.

  At last he stashed his comlink in a pocket. “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” he said, and he raised his blaster and pointed it at Qi’ra.

  “Wait, wait! I can fix this!” Her hands came up in protest as her mind traveled a thousand meters per second. She knew she couldn’t outrun a blaster. So she had to stall, figure a way out of this room.

  The rat-faced man did not pull the trigger. He raised an eyebrow, waiting to see what she’d say next.

  “Just kill her,” the woman said. “She obviously didn’t take this seriously. To me that says she’s a mole. Maybe CorSec.”

  “It’s clear our bid was insulting,” Qi’ra conceded. “But I represent one of Corellia’s biggest players. I’m sure I can put in a good word with the White Worms and get a revised bid. I came in good faith, unarmed, see? Would CorSec have come unarmed?” She hardly had any idea what she was saying; she just knew she had to say something, anything, until she could figure out a plan. There was no furniture in the room. Nothing to hide behind except the droid, and then he might start shooting at her too. No way to get out the door without waiting for the palm scanner to operate. She was stuck in the worst way.

  The only other out was that huge window. It was undoubtedly built to withstand extraordinary pressure and winds, even the occasional lightning strike. But maybe a direct hit from a blaster at full power would do the trick. A broken window would create chaos, maybe give her a chance to escape. She had to get someone to shoot at the glass.

  The rat-faced man said, “Are you authorized to offer a higher bid?” He raised an eyebrow. “That much higher?”

  “Yes, of course,” Qi’ra said without hesitation. Which was a lie. She had no comlink, no resources, no real power. Still, despite everything, it was a rush to be taken seriously. As if she were an actual player. Someone who could make things happen. Her head felt a little dizzy with it all.

  “One moment while I contact my superiors again,” he said, and pulled out his comlink.

  While the rat-faced man spoke over the comlink, the gray-haired woman glared at Qi’ra and the droid muttered, “Oh, dear. This is not going the way I expected at all. Revised bids! It’s all very untoward.”

  “We should all get to revise our bids,” the gray-haired woman said. “It’s only fair.”

  The rat-faced man looked up. “My superiors have decided not to accept any revised bids. They are very pleased with the offer presented by the Droid Gotra.”

  “No!” the gray-haired woman said. “You’d give it to droids over humans?”

  Qi’ra logged that bit of information too. The Kaldana Syndicate had also underbid, counting on the seller to show favoritism toward humans.

  The rat-faced man ignored her. To the protocol droid, he said, “You may now acquire the merchandise in the agreed upon manner.”

  It was on the tip of Qi’ra’s tongue to inquire if this meant she wasn’t going to get shot after all, but the gray-haired woman pulled out her own comlink and angrily informed someone that they had lost the bid.

  Qi’ra began backing toward the door.

  “Everyone?” the gray haired woman said into the comlink. “Fine, I understand.” And she drew her blaster.

  “Watch out!” Qi’ra cried. “The droid is about to shoot!”

  The droid was about to do no such thing, but he was standing in front of the window. The gray-haired woman reacted with dizzying speed, firing her blaster and nicking his shiny silver shoulder. The majority of the blast crashed into the window glass, causing cracks to spiderweb out from the point of impact.

  Qi’ra continued moving toward the doorway while the glass crackled and popped, fissures spreading. Everyone was in motion now. The rat-faced man and the droid fired back at the woman; one of the blasts came so close to Qi’ra’s face that she felt heat against her cheek.

  She didn’t know anything about blasters and fighting, but she’d heard somewhere that moving targets were harder to hit. So she abandoned all subtlety and somersaulted over her left shoulder, barreling toward the door. The window cracks gave, and icy air rushed in hard and fast, lifting her hair, causing her eyes to stream with tears.

  Qi’ra palmed the door lock. Another blast ripped into the wall, missing her scalp by millimeters. The door slid open, and she rushed outside, slamming her palm against the lock even as another bolt chased her into the hallway and shattered a mirror hanging on the wall.

  The door slid closed. Qi’ra grabbed a potted fern; it was so huge she strained to lift it. She slammed the planter base into the door panel, crushing it to pieces. Then she dropped the plant—it barely missed her foot—and fled down the corridor toward the tram.

  Taking the tram was a risk; she knew it even as she entered. The walls of the entire complex were probably alarmed with sensors. Security personnel already knew there had been a breach. A tram capsule coming from the penthouses would surely attract attention. They might even be waiting for her.

  But a complex this size had multiple trams and corridors. Security couldn’t possibly cover them all, not even with all the security droids she’d seen. She’d get her best odds of survival by taking the fastest way back.

  Just in case, though, she punched the dining concourse as her destination rather than the lobby; it wouldn’t do to exit right in front of that security booth. She’d depend on the tram to get her most of the way and figure it out from there.

  She was the only passenger this time—a small bit of luck. But her minor celebration was short-lived when the tram stopped at concourse three to pick up another passenger, and again at concourse two, where a whole family of tentacle-faced Quarren stepped inside. Just as well. Maybe it would be easier to blend into a crowd.

  Finally, the elevator reached the dining court. She breathed relief when the door slid open and no one was there to greet her with blasters. Qi’ra and the Quarren family stepped out. She strode forward with purpose, as though she knew exactly where she was going, but all the while she was taking in tiny details, anything that might help.

  This area contained several restaurants, a designer jewelry shop, a high-end salon, and access to a massive indoor bathing pool. She headed toward one of the restaurants, for no other reason than it seemed the busiest—a dark candlelit place filled with stone columns and lush plants that promised authentic Alderaanian cuisine.

  Qi’ra stopped just outside and pretended to peruse the posted menu, but her mind was whirring with possibilities. A gr
and staircase to her left curved downward. Maybe she could wait for a large group of people to descend and try to blend in with them. If only Lady Proxima had thought to give her a little money. The Buckell Center boasted several taxi stands; it would have been the easiest thing in the world to hire a speeder cab.

  She could steal some money. Qi’ra had stolen a few times for Lady Proxima; it wasn’t so hard. And if she felt bad for the people she stole from, she didn’t let it get to her. Anything was worth survival.

  Qi’ra scanned the crowd for a likely mark. She preferred coins to credit chips, as the former were completely untraceable, but she knew her chances of finding any were low. With the Imperial presence so strong here, any currency besides Imperial credits was strongly discouraged.

  A siren wailed. Everyone in the Alderaanian restaurant paused what they were doing and glanced around, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Qi’ra knew exactly what was going on, and her window of time for sneaking away clean was getting smaller and smaller. At some point soon, she might have to abandon strategic moves in favor of running for her life.

  A man in long robes strode past. A bulge at his waist indicated some sort of pouch tucked under his utility belt. Qi’ra moved to follow.

  She stayed several steps behind as he plunged down the corridor. The robed man turned right into a long hallway and nearly collided with a group of guards—four of them running in formation, blasters held at the ready. Qi’ra almost turned and fled, but they ran right past her.

  Which meant they weren’t specifically looking for her. At least not yet.

  Qi’ra continued to follow the robed man, hoping an opportunity would present itself soon. She just needed to get him alone. Her pickpocketing skills were serviceable, but she was no Jagleo. That White Worm girl could shave a Wookiee bald without being caught.

  The man slowed as he neared a hotel room door, pulling out a key card. Qi’ra began to reach for his pouch.