by Rae Carson
“I’ve been wanting to hit someone all day,” she said.
“Anyone in particular?”
She glared at him.
“Forget I asked.”
That was some hook. Han had been on the streets a long time, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen someone get knocked out with a single hit from a human. Maybe Qi’ra had an aptitude for fighting. She seemed to have an aptitude for a lot of things.
“We can’t leave him in the middle of the garage,” Qi’ra said, looking around to see if they’d been noticed. The garage was nearly empty now, with all the speeders outside getting ready to race. “We have to stash him somewhere.”
“There’s a tool closet over there,” Tsuulo suggested.
“Everyone uses that closet,” Han said. He looked back and forth between Tsuulo and Qi’ra. He knew exactly where they should stash Reezo, but saying as much would reveal his most closely guarded secret.
Or maybe not. Maybe he could manage to only sort of reveal it.
“Over there,” Han said, indicating a direction with his head. “That gray speeder. Hurry.”
Qi’ra and Tsuulo each grabbed a leg. Reezo swinging between them, they moved toward the very heart of everything Han had been working toward for the past two years.
“Huh,” said Qi’ra as they approached. “I don’t know much about speeders, but isn’t this one missing its…engine?”
“Yeah,” he said, already regretting this. “That’s why we can stash Reezo here. The whole engine compartment is empty.”
“And check out that windshield!” she went on relentlessly. “It looks like it was salvaged from an old Flash speeder. Holy moons, what a piece of junk.”
“It’s not junk!” he snapped before he could think better of it.
Her eyebrows went up, and then she burst out laughing. “This is your speeder! This is why you’re almost always late getting back to the lair.”
Han opened the access hood. “I think you mean ‘always almost late,’” he grumbled. Tsuulo and Qi’ra helped him lift and shove Reezo until the older Rodian fell into the empty compartment, all in a heap. Han slammed the compartment closed. “This speeder doesn’t look like much,” he felt compelled to explain, “but I don’t care about that. It’s going to be the fastest speeder the Corellian streets have ever seen. I’m building the repulsorlift from scratch, see. Then I’m going to add stabilizers for extra maneuverability, maybe paint it blue.”
Qi’ra shrugged. “If you say so—”
“What are you doing?” came a distinctly feminine voice. The three whirled.
“Beejay,” Han said, putting his hands up. “I can explain.”
A mechanical repair droid stood before them, hands fisted at her waist. She had a single round eye in the middle of her gunmetal-gray head and a grill for a mouth. A brown tool belt was slung over one shoulder.
“You know each other?” Qi’ra asked, but her eyes were darting everywhere, evaluating. That girl never stopped thinking.
“Beejay-Sixty-Four’s a friend,” Han assured her. “She’s been helping me figure some things out. You trust me, don’t you, Bee? You know I wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
BJ-64 whipped a hex wrench from her tool belt and brandished it, advancing on Han.
“Without a good reason,” he amended hastily. “You know I wouldn’t do anything wrong without a good reason.”
“Reezo rents space in this garage just like you,” BJ-64 said. “That means he’s guaranteed safety, for him and his speeder. I saw what you did. I’m afraid I have to comm the garage owner.”
A horn sounded somewhere outside, followed by cheering. “The first race is off,” Tsuulo said. “We can still make the second if we hurry.”
BJ-64 said, “No racing for any of you tonight.”
“Look,” Han said. “We’re not going to hurt Reezo. I mean, any more than we already did. We just need to use his speeder for a while.”
“That thing?” she exclaimed. “That abomination? The only good use for Reezo’s speeder is molten scrap.” She continued to advance, hex wrench held high.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Bee. You let us go, don’t comm anyone, and I’ll strip Reezo’s speeder.”
The hex wrench faltered in the air. “Oh?”
“We’ll remove the holo-flames attachment, strip the extra fuel pump and the bounce package—”
“The under-lighting too?” she said. “The battery compartment creates a drag, you know, and when he puts it on the flash setting, it causes a hitch in the idle.”
She was listening. This was going to work. “Absolutely. The under-lighting goes too.”
“I guess the antennae should stay. They’re part of his ‘cultural heritage’ as he puts it.”
“Sure, Bee, whatever you say.”
She lowered the hex wrench. “Fine. Take that thing out of my garage. Can I free Reezo from your engine compartment after the races?”
“We’d appreciate it if you did.”
“How are you going to pilot it?” she asked. “His controls are encrypted.”
“Leave that to me,” said Tsuulo. “Come on, we have to hurry.”
Han waved jauntily to his friend. “Thanks, Bee! See you soon!” He hoped. If he didn’t get himself killed tonight.
“What was that about?” Qi’ra asked as they ran for the emerald green hover-brick. “How did you know what to say to that droid?”
“I’ll explain later.” They reached Reezo’s speeder, which was still idling loudly, ready to go. “You sure you can do this, Tsuulo?”
“Completely sure!” Tsuulo closed his eyes, breathed through his snout for a moment, and then said calmly, “The Force will be with me.”
“Whatever you say, pal.” Tsuulo wasn’t the only religious person Han had known. And it seemed that the poorer people got on Corellia, the more its centers for religious worship overflowed. He’d heard that the Temple of the True Vine now offered three services per day to accommodate. Han didn’t buy any of it, not one word. He didn’t believe in any god—not a Maker or a Force, neither a sun nor a moon. But if someone took comfort and inspiration from religion, who was he to argue? As long as they didn’t argue with him.
The speeder dashboard was a jumble of gauges and wires; Han had no idea how Tsuulo was going to figure it out. But after composing himself, the Rodian reached right in. He plucked a wire here, reattached it there, changed a setting, then plugged his datapad into a port and keyed in a few things with his long suction-cup fingers.
The speeder lowered itself to the ground for easy access, and the door slid open.
Han couldn’t believe it. “How did you do that?”
Tsuulo shrugged. “I never ask how I’m going to do something. I just believe I can do it.”
“Huh.” Han started to climb in.
“Into the back seat,” Qi’ra ordered. “I’m piloting.”
Han wanted to drive this speeder so badly it was like a pain in his chest. “You know how to pilot a speeder?” he asked.
“I had to learn for one of Lady Proxima’s assignments. I’ve had a few lessons.”
Well, Han could drive a little too, but he’d never had lessons. Reluctantly, he climbed into the back seat. Tsuulo followed, they slid the door shut, and Qi’ra gently guided the speeder from the garage bay and into the Corellian night.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Qi’ra said. “I can’t believe this is working.”
“It’s not working yet,” Han pointed out. Rumbling speeders were lined up two wide and several deep. The only race position remaining was the back left. It was the absolute worst position to pull in a street race. Luckily, they didn’t have to win. They just needed to make a good show of it while getting across town.
The speeder lurched forward as Qi’ra guided it into position. “Sorry about that!” she called. “This accelerator is touchy.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he called back. The pale blue h
olographic flames shimmied and danced around them.
“Just punch the accelerator when it’s time to go and don’t crash, right?”
Han had a bad feeling.
“It’s good we ended up in the rear position,” Qi’ra said over her shoulder. “There’s no one behind to keep an eye on us, see our amateur driving. And we can just drift away once we’re across town.”
She had barely finished her sentence when another speeder pulled in right behind them. “Blast,” Qi’ra said as Tsuulo swore, using a string of words that Han was pretty sure described a Gamorrean in an anatomically improbable position.
The speeder behind them was deepest black, and it rumbled heavily. Han couldn’t see the pilot; the speeder’s headlamps were too bright, and they fluttered, giving him a slight headache. Han figured it was a purposeful modification, meant to confuse other racers. “Don’t look at the light,” Han warned Qi’ra. “It’s meant to throw you off.”
He saw her hands tighten on the controls.
“You can do this,” he added. Qi’ra was good at everything, he told himself. And she’d had lessons. She’d be fine.
The street ahead was dark, dangerously so. When it came to illegal street racing, no one bothered to light the routes or follow standard safety protocols. The speeders themselves lit the street, and a soft glow came from either side as onlookers keyed in to datapads, making last-second bets. A nimbus of light far ahead marked central Coronet and its resident nightlife. The race would take them right past it, into the darker, more dangerous part of the city.
A Pa’lowick woman strode between the speeders toward the front, sashaying as she went. She held aloft a large white flag in her skinny arms, grimed with dirt and rust. The fabric rippled in the night breeze.
The crowd went silent. It seemed that the thunder of idling speeders was the only sound in the world. It surrounded Han, filled him up, buoyed him. He found himself clutching his right hand, as if he could prep the accelerator by the force of his will.
The Pa’lowick woman waved the flag. Around and around it went until, suddenly, she swished it down and out of sight. The speeders ahead of them burst forward.
Qi’ra hit the accelerator, and their green brick lurched forward, swung crazily to the left, and almost tipped over.
“Qi’ra!” Han yelled.
“Sorry!” she yelled back. But she got the speeder righted and zoomed to catch up with the others. Holo-flames streamed behind them, making the speeder seem as if it were on fire.
Wind slicked Han’s hair back, and his eyes stung, streaming with tears. He should have thought to snag racing goggles for all of them. No matter; this was going to work. Qi’ra was doing just fine.
They approached their first turn. They were several lengths behind the pack, except for the black speeder with flickering lights, which seemed content to draft on them for a while. No worries. In fact, it was better to not be in a hurry. Still, Han couldn’t help yearning for a little more speed, a little more excitement. He wanted to see those others speeders up close and in action, listen to their purring repulsorlift engines, breathe deep of their exhaust. Was there any better smell than speeder exhaust? He couldn’t think of one.
His breath hitched when he realized something important: Qi’ra was not braking or banking for the turn.
Tsuulo started hollering that she was going too fast.
“Yes!” Qi’ra yelled. “I heard these racers take turns hard! Best way to corner efficiently!”
Experienced racers, sure. Not someone who’d only piloted a speeder a handful of times.
Qi’ra slammed into the turn. The rear end of the speeder skittered out from under them, careening into the base of a streetlamp. Han’s neck jerked with the impact, and he grabbed at the roll bar, expecting to flip. Qi’ra hit the accelerator, powering them out of a potential crash, but Han could hear the whine of compromised metal. He looked behind them just in time to see the streetlamp crash to the ground, showering sparks.
The black speeder was still behind them, but it was choosing to remain at a safe distance. Smart.
“I think we almost died back there,” Han called out.
“This is harder than it looks!” Qi’ra admitted.
Tsuulo started muttering.
“What was that?” Han asked.
“I’m praying to the Force,” Tsuulo said.
Han didn’t know much about religion, but he was pretty sure the Force wasn’t something one prayed to. Now was not the time to argue, because they were approaching another turn.
He caught a whiff of exhaust, and taillights flashed ahead. Qi’ra had managed to gain on the others.
“This is a much tighter turn!” Tsuulo yelled.
“What?” Qi’ra yelled back.
“It’s a switchback,” Han explained. “The turn doubles back on itself, so you’ll have to be ready.”
“Should I go faster?” she said.
“No!” he and Tsuulo said in unison.
“Are you sure we should turn?” she said. “That’s the wrong direction for us.”
“You’re overthinking,” Han said. “The race route will get us there; just trust the road, and trust the speeder.”
“That makes no sense! Hold on, I’m going to speed up, then swing around the corner, pivot us on the speeder’s fulcrum.”
“No!” they both said again.
“Han, help,” pleaded Tsuulo, then, to himself: “Force be with us, Force be with us, Force be with us.”
The air lit up around them, flickering like a nightmare. The black speeder was making its move.
“I can’t see!” Qi’ra cried.
Though light-blind, Han thought he could detect a shape ahead and to the left. A regular landspeeder. Someone hadn’t gotten the message that this road was supposed to remain vacant for the night. It was parked between them and their switchback turn, and Qi’ra was aiming right for it.
Tsuulo swore.
Han jumped over the seat into the front. “Get in the back,” he ordered, grabbing for the controls.
“I can do it! I’ve been doing—”
“Now!” he barked.
Clinging for her life to the roll bar, Qi’ra clambered over the seat into the back while Han slid into the spot she’d just vacated. He spent a precious moment orienting himself to the controls—accelerator, right reverse thruster, left reverse thruster, power gauge, and…a hover adjustment lever? Oh, right; this abomination had a bounce package.
The black speeder pulled up beside them, and the pilot shouted obscenities. Tsuulo made a rude gesture right back.
It sped past, much to Han’s relief, and he prepared to take them into the turn. Easy on the accelerator, gentle tap on the left reverse thruster followed by harder tap right to pivot just so…The regular landspeeder came into view; it was way closer than he’d realized.
“Han, look out!” Qi’ra called.
Han punched the hover adjustment lever. A whoosh took his breath away as Han’s rear pressed into the seat and their racing speeder jetted upward about four meters. It soared over the parked speeder. Han let out a yell of triumph.
Then his heart leaped into his throat as they crashed back down. The speeder’s belly skimmed the road, leaving a trail of sparks, before the repulsorlift kicked back in and their ride smoothed out.
Han steered into the turn with ease. The road became a bridge as they crossed over one of Coronet’s many waterways.
“Well, that takes care of the under-lighting,” Tsuulo yelled over the sounds of engine and wind. “Pretty sure we left it back at that intersection.”
“Think you can catch up to the others?” Qi’ra said. “We should at least make it look like we’re trying.”
They faced another hairpin turn, and Han took it gently. Before them stretched a vast straightaway that would take them exactly where they wanted to go. In the distance, the taillights from the other racing speeders glowed like beacons against the night. Han grinned and hit the accelerator.
> He doubted Reezo’s speeder was up to the task of catching up. The Rodian seemed more interested in useless accoutrements than speed and power. It wasn’t a philosophy Han shared.
So he was pleasantly surprised to notice the lights ahead getting gradually closer and closer. Maybe the Rodian knew a little something about custom building after all.
Water continued to stream from his eyes, and wind plastered his hair back. His damp clothes were icy against his skin, and he could hardly feel his fingers. This far back, away from the pack, they had the empty street all to themselves. He swept side to side, just to get a feel for the controls, and the speeder responded with gratifying agility. It was like skimming air. No, like flying.
The roots of Han’s teeth began to ache; he realized he hadn’t stopped grinning into the cold wind since he’d taken over the pilot’s seat.
Qi’ra tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re getting close,” she said in his ear. “I recognize this part of town.”
He gave the accelerator another light boost—too much fuel would clog the lines, slow them down—and he was delighted when the speeder shot forward. Along the road, steam rose from sewer vents as the night temperature continued to drop. They crossed another bridge, and streetlamps cast shards of rusty orange onto the lapping black water. Ahead of them, the other racing speeders banked right; the route would loop around central Coronet, then back to Narro Sienar Boulevard and the garage.
“Keep going straight,” Qi’ra ordered.
They left the boulevard and dipped downward, away from the city lights, into the district known as the Bottoms.
Rebolt had once told them that the Bottoms used to be an old swamp, before shipbuilders had drained the land to put up more factories. No sewers led here; the land was too low, the water table too high. After decades of industry, pollution and water seepage had rendered the area all but unusable. It was a land of storage lots and junkyards, and sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between them. Only the poorest and most desperate lived and worked in the Bottoms. Han found it strange that Qi’ra would keep a safe house here.