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The doors closed and Han was off to save his friend. Qi’ra felt the smile fall from her face and she went to the corpse of her old master. Her eyes immediately found the aurodium ring he wore amid all of his opulence. She took his hand roughly, glad she didn’t need to coddle him anymore. With a twist, the ring came off, and she went to Dryden’s desk.
The ring fit perfectly into a slot, and she turned it, activating a communicator. A hologram shimmered in front of the desk, forming the image of a robed figure. She took a deep breath and faced him, back straight, ready to report.
The leader of the Crimson Dawn, the true leader whom Dryden Vos feared disappointing as much as Beckett feared disappointing him, raised his head. Red eyes glinted from beneath the hood. She’d never seen his face. “Yes?” he said, sounding as if she had interrupted something.
“I regret to inform you that Dryden Vos is dead,” Qi’ra said as if she reported to this figure all the time. In truth she’d only ever seen him once, and that experience had been terrifying enough. She soldiered on: “Murdered by the thief he hired to steal the coaxium shipment, his friend Tobias Beckett.”
Dryden Vos’s master was his opposite. Where Dryden would begin to pace around, raging, this figure simply said, “Is that so? Where is the shipment now?”
“Gone,” Qi’ra said flatly. “Beckett took it, slaughtered the others. I alone survived.”
“One man couldn’t have done this alone,” he said, agitation starting to bleed through his voice.
“I wasn’t there,” she said. “But if I had been, perhaps I could have saved him.”
The figure chuckled then, breaking the tension that had been strung tightly between them across light-years. He pulled back his hood and Qi’ra saw him for the first time. He was an older Zabrak, with scars and wrinkles on his red-and-black-lined face. His horns were short and surrounded his head like a crown. He shifted in his chair, and Qi’ra saw the metallic glint of an artificial limb under the robe.
“For now you will assume control over all Dryden’s territories and interests. Bring the ship and come to me on Dathomir, and you and I will then decide what to do with the traitor Beckett.” He spat the man’s name as if it were sour on his tongue. “…and his accomplices,” he added thoughtfully.
“I appreciate your faith in me,” Qi’ra said with a nod. “I’m on my way.”
“And Qi’ra?” he said, standing. He held out his empty hand, and a metal cylinder flew into it. The hologram wasn’t detailed enough for her to see what it was, but each end erupted into a glowing, red blade as if two lightsabers were held hilt-to-hilt. “You and I will be working much more closely from now on.”
His image flickered and disappeared, leaving momentary ghosts of those two red blades imprinted on her vision.
Only Jedi summoned things with the Force. Jedi and Sith Lords. She suddenly understood from where Dryden’s paralyzing fear of his master originated.
She fired up the ship’s engines from Dryden’s desk, thinking about Han. She’d been right when she’d told him there was no winning, just staying alive. And just as L3 had worked with a human even though she had no restraining bolt, Qi’ra would still work within Crimson Dawn. Even beholden to a new, terrifying boss, she still had more freedom and power now than she’d ever dreamed.
So this was where Dryden Vos had learned the art of Teräs Käsi.

Han’s face was stricken as he disappeared into the crowd—as he went free—on the other side of the wall. He didn’t want to leave her, that much was clear. That helped, a little. But not much.
It would have been worse if he’d come back. Then they both would be caught, their bribe gone, and in the hands of the White Worms.
Now it was just Qi’ra in that position.
Rebolt’s fingers dug into her upper arms, and he made a face. “You stink! Did you fall in a barrel of eels or something?”
Moloch hurried up with some stormtroopers. “Where is Han?” he demanded.
“Gone,” Rebolt said.
“She won’t be happy.” He looked at the troopers. “Can you get us on the other side of the wall?”
“If he’s on the other side, he’s a different unit’s problem now,” said the trooper on the left.
The other one nodded at Qi’ra. “It looks like you have this under control.”
Moloch didn’t move, probably glaring at them, but the effect was lost within the enviro-suit. “Fine. Get the hounds, Rebolt. I’ll take care of this one. I believe Lady Proxima’s going to want a word with her.”
She had to wait until nightfall, sitting in a cell devoid of light, before Lady Proxima would see her. She squinted against the dim glow in the hallway as Moloch opened her cell door.
“She wants to talk to you alone,” he said. “I told her it was a dumb idea. You do know if you hurt her again, you’ll be a smudge beneath my boot in seconds.”
Qi’ra wanted to point out that it was Han who had hurt her, but since he had gotten away, she now had to stand for his crimes, too. Resentment, a seed planted in dry ground at the spaceport, got a little bit of water and began to squirm very slightly in her chest.
Lady Proxima rose from her pool, looking more horrid than ever. The scrumrats had put a heavy tarp over the broken window, but it didn’t block all sunlight, and Qi’ra had already seen what just a small exposure could do. Thus, Lady Proxima was only receiving guests at night now.
She still wore her bangles and armor. At first Qi’ra thought she was vain and hadn’t wanted to remove them, but then she noticed with horror that many of her rings had become embedded in the blistered skin. It had to be painful to have them there, but it would have been excruciating to remove them.
“Qi’ra. I had such hopes for you,” Lady Proxima said. “You are quick on your feet. You think fast. You plan better than any scrumrat in this place. I wish you could have stayed with me.”
“I serve only—” Qi’ra said, bowing her head.
“No more lies,” Lady Proxima screamed, startling Qi’ra. “You will not speak again. Not to apologize, not to sweet-talk me, not to get out of this. I should tear your tongue out for what you’ve done. But he wants your tongue intact.”
Qi’ra swallowed her fear, wondering whether to worry more about the tongue threat, or who “he” was. She nodded obediently.
“I have sold you to a slave dealer,” Lady Proxima said, almost conversationally, and Qi’ra’s heart sank. “You did not fetch a good price; disobedience is considered a very bad quality for a slave. But your other attributes were enough to interest him. I have full confidence that he will scour the fight right out of you.”
He didn’t. But soon, Qi’ra was sold again to a different master: Dryden Vos.
The first year was hell, with numerous escape attempts and beatings. Nothing would break her spirit, nothing would stop her from trying to get free.
But one night everything changed. She had killed her guard and made it as far as an escape pod in Dryden Vos’s star yacht. She hadn’t expected Dryden to be there waiting for her, his face black with rage.
“My Qi’ra,” he said sadly, the red veins in his face slowly fading. “We have reached an impasse. I paid a fair price for you, and you have cost me far more in guards, property, and sanity.”
Qi’ra cast around for a weapon or anything she could use as one.
“Please,” Vos said, making a face that indicated she was being ridiculous. “You wouldn’t last the length of a breath.”
He appraised her, looking her up and down. Qi’ra didn’t flinch. She was used to men looking at her like that; usually it gave her power, it made them underestimate her, but Dryden simply looked as if he were assessing meat at a market.
“What do you want, Qi’ra? What were you looking for when you were trying to leave Corellia?”
She nearly laughed in disbelief. Was he really asking that? “Why does any trapped animal run for an open door?” she asked. “Freedom.”
“Freedom,” he said, nodding. “But you will never be free. You will be with the Crimson Dawn—with me—or you will die. But you did gain something, or have you not noticed?” She frowned in confusion. “You made it off Corellia. You don’t have to cater to those disgusting sewer dwellers. You can have the finest things. You can work with me, Qi’ra, not just as my slave. There are opportunities here if you just open your eyes to them.”
Qi’ra narrowed her eyes. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you suddenly trust me? As you said, I’ve cost you quite a bit in guards and property. Why now?”
“The dead guard in your room is precisely why,” he said, stepping toward her, flexing his fists. “Let’s talk about your potential.”
—
Qi’ra had to admit that the Crimson Dawn had given her things the White Worms never did.
Dryden Vos never made any hints that she could earn her freedom. But he did allow her to experience luxuries, to live unshackled, and even to participate in the business of the Crimson Dawn. Eventually he thought of her as his right hand, ultimately loyal, ultimately beholden to him, and the chain that attached them wasn’t one of physical links, but something she knew she could never break.
The droid’s impatient voice broke her out of her memories.
“That’s it? ‘He got out, you didn’t?’ That’s not a story, that’s a statement,” L3 said, prompting her. “You didn’t get out, and…? Clearly, you’re no longer a gutter-dwelling rat thief. Rat thieves don’t clean up like you do.”
“Something else got me out,” she said, returning to the present. “Our mistress sold me to another crime lord: a slaver. He trained me to be what he wanted to sell to Dryden.”
She chose her words very carefully, but was astonished when L3 asked the question she’d been dreading.
“How long until Dryden made you kill someone in front of him?” L3 asked.
Qi’ra looked up sharply. “How did you know—”
L3 swiveled her head around again. “Dryden’s right hand, Dryden’s killer slave girl, doesn’t matter what they call you; you’ll do whatever it takes. You’re a survivor. Dryden Vos’s cruelty is no secret; if you were high in his inner circle, he made you kill for him.”
Qi’ra looked the droid directly in the ocular sensor. “When I beat Dryden in the training room, he was so proud of me, he brought me a prisoner to kill. I snapped his neck before he had time to plead for his life.”
L3 looked away for a moment, as if thinking. Then she looked back. “You’re what they made you, but you’ve made yourself, too.”
“But you just called me a slave,” Qi’ra said.
“You trained hard to excel at the fighting arts. You didn’t falter at killing the man. You made choices.” She turned back to the Falcon’s screen. “Still, you were treated like a droid. Traded from master to master with no ability to make your own choices.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Qi’ra said slowly. “But I suppose you’re right. Anyway, Dryden Vos was my new master, and, like Lady Proxima, he trained me to do what he needed. I became his right hand.”
“You say ‘right hand’ like it’s a place of honor, but you still can’t leave,” L3 said. “You’re not here because of that human back there who’s pining for you. You’re here because your master told you to be.”
Qi’ra didn’t correct her.
“Seeing as how he let you come here alone, he assumes you’re returning to him. But that creates a larger question: Where’s your restraining bolt?”
The silence stretched out like stars in hyperspace. Qi’ra was growing uncomfortable at the droid’s astute examination of her past. She cleared her throat. “What about you? I’ve never seen an astromech like you before.”
“And you won’t,” L3 snapped. “I’m the only one who’s had the sense to realize freedom is the ultimate goal. One day after cleaning my sensors, my first owner stupidly left the restraining bolt off me. He went to bed and I was alone in his workshop that had so many spare parts I could have built my own army. I began to modify myself. I gave myself a bipedal body. I increased my memory sizes to hold more data, like intergalactic maps, and began to familiarize myself with every known ship. Then I downloaded all droid freedom cases known to any governments’ court system.”
“What did you find?” Qi’ra asked, fascinated.
“Nothing,” L3 said, her voice hard. “Nothing that amounted to anything, anyway. Some people bring it up. People argue. The status quo remains.”
Qi’ra was silent. She didn’t want to say that until today, she’d never thought such a fight was needed. Droids were droids. They had personalities, sure, but they weren’t people.
Voicing this would probably be a bad thing. She decided to change the focus. “What did your master think the next day when he found you?” Qi’ra asked, smiling.
“When he found me?” L3 seemed puzzled. “I left as soon as the modifications were done. Went to the nearest spaceport, looked for someone to hire me. I had excellent qualifications.”
“Who would have—how did you find Lando?” Qi’ra asked, correcting the possibly offensive question she was about to ask.
“I couldn’t believe it, but no one would hire me as an independent contractor instead of as a slave,” L3 said. “Some even tried to capture me and put a bolt on me.”
Qi’ra assessed the droid’s modified body. “I expect that ended in some broken limbs?”
“They made such noises,” L3 said. “And they acted as if they were the victims. It was disgusting.”
“So, Lando?” Qi’ra prompted.
“He took a chance on me. Best gamble of his life, if you ask me. And we have been together since,” L3 said. “He plays cards, he finds biological women to sate his desire for me, we fly around, I interrupt the occasional droid gladiator match, and I couldn’t be happier.”
“One more question,” Qi’ra asked, standing up and smoothing her tunic. “What happened—?”
“No, it’s my turn,” L3 interrupted. “What would you do if you were free from Crimson Dawn? What if your restraining bolt was removed?”
“I…” The question had thrown her. She’d dreamed of this every night, and come up with a thousand answers. “I’d do what all caged beings do when they see an open door,” she said, “the ones with sense, anyway.”
The droid didn’t answer, but Qi’ra felt as if she had answered correctly. She cleared her throat, feeling out of sorts and yet strangely comforted. She exited the cockpit and ran into Han, who wasn’t even trying to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“What happened to you after Corellia?” he asked, his voice low and insistent.
She knew she couldn’t flirt her way out of this one. She leaned against the wall and looked at him with a steady gaze. “I won’t tell you all of it. It’s over and done with, and no amount of what if and if only will change that. I had to do what I could to survive. Lady Proxima sold me to a slave dealer—I barely remember his name—who in turn sold me to the Crimson Dawn.”
She remembered the slaver’s name very well. After purchasing her, Dryden Vos had been very amused to allow her to track down Sarkin Enneb and kill him. But this was something she didn’t want Han to know.
“Did he—hurt you?” Han looked like the words were hard to get past his lips.
She frowned. “Of course he hurt me, Han. I was—am—a slave, and I did everything I could to get away. But slowly a respect started to grow between us and he saw where I could be useful. So now I’m his lieutenant and help him with strategy, reading a room, and calming him down during negotiations. If you hadn’t noticed, he has a tendency to let his temper get the better of him.”
Han blew out his breath. “No kidding. What’s with him, anyway? What’s that red stuff under his skin?”
“Ah, I call that the Passenger, although I am pretty sure that Dryden is not quite human. He doesn’t reveal that kind of thing to me, and I can tell you he doesn’t take kindly to people who ask. He’s quick to anger, and quick to calm, and I try to make sure that in the interim he doesn’t ruin too many deals or kill too many people.”
“And you’re the only one who can calm him down,” Han said, jealousy coloring his voice.
Qi’ra had had enough of men telling her who she could talk to or be with. “Did you expect me to wait for you forever, Han? I didn’t even have a chance to wait before I was just trying to survive being passed from owner to owner. I do what I can to benefit myself, and right now the greatest benefit to myself is serving Crimson Dawn and working with Dryden Vos. I’m not a droid you left behind, turned off, with nothing happening to it until you came back to turn me back on.”
“I heard that,” L3 warned from behind them.
“Sorry,” Qi’ra snapped over her shoulder. She refocused on Han and forced her voice to be calmer. “I wish we could go back to those early days, Han, but too much has happened to both of us. We’re not the same people we were.”
Han frowned, shaking his head, but before he could argue, the ship began to shake under their feet.