It had been four days since Patch had last been brought before the Keeper. Most of the time, she was kept in the isolation cell, but Cahil, the Zabrak, would bring her out twice daily. At these times her hands were always bound behind her back with polymer bonds. Patch realized that because she was small, she could slip her hands under her legs if she wanted to, and bring them in front of her. The Keeper's men had obviously not ever bound an adolescent before, and were not aware that the same bonds would not be effective. She had not tried to free herself with this advantage yet but was waiting for the right moment.

Cahil arrived at the appropriate time and tossed the bonds in for Patch to put on. Once she had obediently donned them, he opened the door and checked to make sure they were tight enough. He tightened them as was his usual pattern, then gruffly gripped her upper arm and wrenched her out of the room. One of the two black blades on his hip clanged against the door frame on the way out. However, instead of turning to the left, he turned the right toward the Keeper's study.

Patch reasoned that she was to have another meeting with the Keeper, and she tried to remember the courage she saw on the Twi'lek. She took a deep breath.

They arrived at the study double doors and waited for them to be opened from within. As the doors slipped open, IG-88 stood there, and two grey-skinned Neimoidians scurried through, their orange eyes glancing down at Patch. They appeared happy to have concluded business and even happier to be leaving. The wolf-like Defel followed behind to ensure that they found their way to the hangar.

Cahil and Patch then walked into the large circular room they had shown her before. The carbonite art was still hanging on the wall but had been rearranged to make two spaces next to the Jedi and the Twi'lek. No one else was in the room, which surprised Patch. They walked across the red carpet to another door on the far side that opened for them, unbidden. The Keeper's sputtering laughter could be heard from within, and the proud voice of another woman defying him.

Upon entering, Patch noticed that the Keeper was leaning in and speaking in low tones to a woman that was bound with her hands behind her back. She was a middle-aged woman, with blonde hair bound up tightly. Her face was stern and defiant.

Behind them, a large machine-driven claw angled down from the ceiling, with its hungry mandibles gaping open. Large tubes and ducts twisted around it, and the floor beneath the metal claw was a mechanical platform which could be lowered into the floor. A dull red light lit the room as if they were in a furnace, even though the room was uncomfortably cold. A control panel stood behind the Keeper, and multiple carts with carbon gas canisters were chained to the floor throughout the room. It was the carbonite freeze chamber.

The Keeper turned to the newcomers, his grotesque smile ornamenting his face. "I'm so glad you have arrived-hic," he said. Then turned to the bound woman kneeling on the smooth black floor. "Admiral Alana Dentin," he stated out loud as if introducing her. "The payment for a Lucrehulk-class Droid control ship. But-hic-don't think too highly of yourself, Admiral, the Neimoidians also paid out thirty million credits for it as well." He held out a small white data chip and then placed it in his chest pocket. Patch was sure to notice.

He turned to Cahil. "Bring the prime clone over here. We'll process the Admiral, then her-hic. No use turning on the carbon-freeze for just one when we can get more done today."

Patch blurted out, "More! But the two weeks ain't up!"
"Ah, yes," the Keeper hiccoughed. "But I have a better-hic-solution. You see, Fett is coming soon. And there is a potential for three carbonite trophies."

Patch's eyes widened at that hope that he would be coming for her but then bit her lip at the Keeper's implication.

"So," the Keeper continued. "I am excited to say, in one day, I will have a First Order admiral." He held his hand toward Admiral Dentin. "And the Millennium Falcon-hic." He walked over to Patch. "And two clone primes!"

"But what about your deal!" Patch demanded.

The Keeper waved his hands wiping away the comment as if it was that easy to dismiss his word, and turned to Cahil. "Move the admiral into position."

Admiral Dentin was manhandled and forced under the claw. Her manacles were then shackled to a fetter hold on the floor of the platform, and her feet were then bound to the platform as well. She was able to stand, but could not escape. Still, she looked with anger and pride at the Keeper.

"Any last words, Admiral," the Keeper asked.

She spit on the floor. "We all die someday. You better hope no one ever wakes me up."

The Keeper chuckled to himself, then hiccoughed. "Lower her." Cahil, behind the control station, moved a lever. Patch watched timorously as he did.

The platform lowered slowly and definitively into the pit, its gears creaking. As it descended, so too did the confidence of the admiral as she submerged deeper and more completely into her doom. Her proud look melted away as small vents of steam rose around her.

The Keeper, looking on with sublime satisfaction, crossed his arms and gave the order to start the carbon freeze. Cahil obeyed. A blast of white steam and gas erupted from around the admiral and engulfed her. The last thing seen on her face was a brief moment of fear as her eyes widened and she tried to break the bonds.

After five seconds, the gaseous cloud dissipated and the claw reached down to bring out the carbonite product. Admiral Dentin, no longer the face of pride, was frozen in the dark-brown carbonite; pain and fear permanently fixed on her. Her gritted teeth shown under her tensed lips and her eyes were clenched shut in impeccable torment.

Patch looked on with disgust as the Keeper gloated over the result. She took a deep breath again and detached herself from the scene as if she was watching a holograph.

The Keeper walked around the admiral and investigated each facet, commenting on the merits and flaws of the final product: the lovely tension lines of her face, and the geometric angles of her grasping fingers-the polymer bonds having dissolved in the carbonite. Then he looked at Patch with the same penetrating gaze. "Now we just need to wait for Boba Fett to arrive."