MedStar_ Battle Surgeons Part 17

"Ah," he said.

"Indeed," Kaird said.

As it turned out, Kaird was a surprise on more than one level. Apparently, Black Sun did not want to change its former arrangement regarding the bota. It took Bleyd but a moment to realize that Mathal, the agent whom he had dispatched to the Realm Beyond, had been up to some "business" of his own. Kaird's purpose was to investigate Mathal's death, which he had done to his satisfaction while disguised as one of The Silent, and to a.s.sure that the flow of bota stayed constant. Supply and demand kept the value very high, and moving a small amount of material for a large profit was better than moving large amounts at a lesser rate, which was what Bleyd had figured all along. So Mathal's real in-tention had been to grab as much bota as he could, then flee before his superiors in the criminal organization found out. How interesting.

Had Black Sun known what its late agent had been up to, they would likely have taken care of him themselves, Bleyd realized. He'd done them a favor. But he wasn't about to volunteer how Mathal had met his end-that would be suicide.

Despite his resolve to avoid such daring ventures, Bleyd was immediately beset with the idea of testing himself against the new agent. The Nediji was much faster than he was, and tricky as well. No doubt he was well trained in many combat arts. Avian predators would have a different way of viewing prey than those who were ground-bred. Here was a foe worthy of Bleyd's mettle.

But-no. If he were to die with his family honor tar-nished, he would have failed in his life goal. Not to mention losing that palace on Coruscant. No matter how tempting such a confrontation was, he had to re-sist. He could give the Nediji no more thought in this regard.

Still, it would be a glorious fight...

"I will remain in the camp for a few days," Kaird said, "pretending to be of The Silent, observing the doc-tors and patients, so as not to arouse suspicion by leav-ing too soon.

This business with the Hutt-your doing?"

Bleyd considered his reply for a moment. He did not need a Black Sun operative poking around in his busi-ness any more than was absolutely necessary. If the Nediji believed he had poisoned Filba, he would give it no more thought. "Yes. He was becoming greedy. I thought it best to remove him before he caused prob-lems."

"Wise. We like prudent beings in our partnerships." The bird-being turned toward the door.

"We will be in touch, Admiral. Until then, keep following the original plan agreed upon by you and my superiors."

"Understood."

Once Kaird had gone, Bleyd felt a sense of relief. The loss of Black Sun's hot breath on his back was one less worry with which he had to deal.

Now, if he could just find the spy, all would be well once again.

28.

The spy was not surprised to see one of The Silent standing in the hard shade next to the medical ward. There hadn't been any a.s.signed to the Rimsoo in the last few months, but where there were doctors and suf-fering, the presence of The Silent was always a possibil-ity. They lived only to serve their vision of helping the sick or injured, simply by being there. There would seem on the face of it no scientific basis for their belief, but it was well known that when one of The Silent took up residence at a medical facility, mortality figures dropped more often than not, and length of hospital stays somehow shortened. Some said it was merely placebo effect, but there were cases in which ill patients did not know one of The Silent was about, and they still tended to get better faster. A strange phenomenon, no question about it. Perhaps it had something to do with the Force; perhaps it was something entirely different. But it had been doc.u.mented too often to be dismissed.

While seeing The Silent there was not a surprise, hearing the whisper from the cowled figure: "We need to talk, Lens," was startling. Almost startling enough to draw a visible reaction.

The spy was too well trained to give anything away, and there was no one else around, in any event. The code name Lens provided all the information necessary to know what, if not who, the being disguised as a Silent was. The disguise was unexpected and clever.

The spy had two code names on this world-one for the Separatists, and the second for the underworld or-ganization Black Sun. To the latter, the spy was known as "Lens."

Anybody who spoke that name aloud could only have gotten it from Black Sun, and they didn't give such in-formation to anybody but their own.

"My quarters, ten minutes," Lens said, lips unmoving.

When the agent from Black Sun arrived, precisely ten minutes later, in the cubicle, Lens was there and ready to deal with him. That an agent had been sent here was also not a surprise. Lens had information he or she wanted.

The cowl lowered. Lens saw that the face belonged to a Nediji, and that brought a smile.

Another good choice for Black Sun. Few knew of the outfar avian species, and fewer still all that they were capable of. They were fast, ruthless, and clever, and there were only a relative handful of them outside their own system, so their tal-ents were unlikely to be well known. Lens knew, of course. A kind of kinship, albeit not one of blood or ge-netics, existed between the two species.

"I am Kaird."

Lens nodded. To the Nediji's credit, he did not seem worried that his being here might be a problem. He as-sumed that Lens would not have invited him to private quarters if that was the case. But Lens volunteered it, just to be sure they were on the same trail: "Unlikely that anyone will ask you anything, but if they ask me, I have decided to write a monograph on the effect of The Silent upon patients in a war zone."

The Nediji nodded, eyes bright and sharp. He said, "I understand there was a death in the family here re-cently."

Lens nodded. "The Hutt was more useful to us dead than alive." As Black Sun's operative on this world, Lens had been given information pertaining to their op-eration here. That included knowing about Filba, the deal he'd had with the admiral, and the recent loss of the courier sent here to check on the bota. Kaird c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "Your doing?" Lens nodded. "Of course. Who else? You are aware that I have... other duties, and that these do not con-flict with my responsibilities to Black Sun. Filba was becoming greedy and erratic. His death was only a mat-ter of time, and by hastening it, a certain measure of protection for my position here was provided."

"Interesting," Kaird said. " You disapprove?"

"Not at all. You are here because our organization has trust in your abilities. As long as things get done, how you manage it is not our concern. It's just that I had a chance to speak with our partner here a short while ago, and it is the admiral's claim that he had the Hutt rendered inert."

Lens frowned. "Why would he say that?"

"An excellent question. One I feel I should find the answer to before I leave this world."

Lens nodded again. "And what of my mission?"

"The same as before. How goes the charting?"

"Slow, but steady. I have locations for all the major bota fields in this quadrant, many of them in the adja-cent quadrants, and several wild patches on the oppo-site side of the planet that so far have not been officially logged. Nor will they be, unless by accident.

I have caused the records to show those locations scanned and found empty of the plant."

"Excellent. When the Separatists or the Republic finally triumph, we are prepared to deal with either one regarding the bota. If there are unknown sources, so much the better. The more information we have, the stronger our position."

Lens smiled. "You don't care who wins, do you?"

The Nediji smiled also, a thin-lipped, wicked expres-sion. "This bothers you because you have chosen a side."

Lens said nothing.

Kaird continued, "There will always be vices that need to be fed. Wars come, wars go, but business continues. Political systems change; people don't. Ten thousand years ago, people drank or inhaled or ate intoxicants, gambled, and dealt in matters of the black market.

Ten thousand years from now, they will still do these things, no matter who rules. Even if Black Sun founders, there will always be somebody who will arise to fulfill these desires."

"And to make a fat profit."

"Of course. You know the works of the philosopher Burdock?"

Lens did not and said so.

"Burdock said, 'Face it-if crime did not pay, there would be very few criminals.'"

"Most criminals wind up in prison," Lens said. "Be-cause most are not very bright."

"True. Which makes the smart ones all the richer. Black Sun does not suffer the stupid."

Kaird smiled again. "You have the new information encoded? "

"Yes. It's on an implant chip." Lens removed a dome-shaped nub the size of a man's fingernail from a drawer and held it up. Inside the clear plastoid nub, the chip was the size of a small, sharp-tipped eyelash. "Put the flat end against your skin and twist the other end for a subcutaneous injection. Remember where, because it is undetectable by anything short of a doppraymagno scanner."

"Always a pleasure doing business with a profes-sional," Kaird said. He stood. "We won't speak again while I am here. Perhaps someday we will meet in an-other time and place, Lens. Until then, live well."

Lens nodded. "Fly free, fly straight, Brother of the Air."

That surprised the Nediji, as Lens knew it would. He raised a feathery eyebrow. "You know the Nest Bless-ing. I'm impressed."

Lens gave him a slow, military nod, a small bow. "Knowledge is power."

"Indeed it is."

After he was gone, Lens sat for a moment, thinking. Why Bleyd had claimed Filba's death as his doing was, as Kaird had said, interesting, but the Nediji would sort that out, and Lens need not worry over it. The admiral's fate was of no real concern. Lens had much bigger quarry to bring down. What, after all, did a single ad-miral matter when you were after the entire Republic?

29.

As Barriss entered the main medical facility to make her rounds, she noticed that the droid on duty was the same one that had aided her during triage-the same droid that had been in the sabacc game a few nights ago. I- Five. The droid with which Jos had discussed the essentials of being human.

She watched him for a moment. He was changing the bacta fluid in a tank. He moved with the economical precision of a droid, and yet, something was subtly dif-ferent. She'd noticed the same thing about his face-it seemed almost capable of expression at times. Curious, she reached out to him with the Force. Ethereal tendrils, unseen and insubstantial, but no less effective for that, enveloped the droid's form, seeking knowledge and re-laying it back to her. There was no sensory a.n.a.log to describe how she received and processed the Force's data-those who were not sensitive to it could no more comprehend it than one blind from birth could compre-hend sight. But to Barriss it spoke loud and clear.

Initially there seemed to be nothing unusual about I-Five. She could sense the almost undetectable susurrus of countless quarks and bosuns shifting spin and polar-ity, providing the synaptic grid with nearly unlimited potential connections. She could feel the hum of circuitry, the smooth pulse of hydraulic fluid, and the restrained power of the servos. The droid was well made, even though some of his parts were old.

But there did seem to be something else... some-thing too subtle even to be called an aura. The merest hint that somehow, in a way unexplainable by scientific methods, the sum of I-Five was greater than his parts.

"May I be of a.s.sistance, Padawan Offee?"

He had asked the question without turning around. He had sensed her somehow; the most probable way was with his olfactory sensor, which was many times more sensitive than most organics'. He had smelled her.

"Merely here to make my rounds," she said, stepping forward. "Some patients whom I have been able to help."

I-Five turned to face her. "With the Force."

"Yes."

"I knew a Padawan, a female human approximately your age, on Coruscant. Her name was Darsha As-sant." He seemed disturbed by this recounting.

Barriss nodded. "I've heard of her. Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi says she died bravely, battling an unknown foe."

I-Five was silent for a moment. "Bravery," he said at last. "Yes. She was very brave. You humans are known for your courage throughout the galaxy. Even the most warlike of species respect it. Did you know that?"

"I hadn't really given it that much thought. There are a great many species who are as brave or braver than humans, I should imagine."

"Yes. But there is a crucial difference between your kind and a Sakiyan, say, or a Trandoshan, or a Nikto. They are fearless, but not necessarily brave. Fearless-ness is encoded in their genes. There are two ways that life ensures survival of the fittest-by producing warrior types fierce enough to conquer all in their path, or by creating life-forms that have the sense to run away. Those capable of both are rare. You humans have a choice-fight or flight. Yet so many times you choose to fight-and so often for the strangest reasons." I-Five raised both hands, palms up, in a very human shrug. "It's fascinating, at times baffling, and often infuriating. Humans never cease to amaze me."

As they spoke, Barriss took her lightpad from the rack and started walking down the rows of beds, check-ing the overhead monitor stats against the glowing fig-ures appearing on the pad as she entered each bed's information field. The droid walked alongside her.

"You and Jos were talking about what it is to be hu-man during the game," she said. "Do you consider yourself brave, I-Five?"

"Somehow I doubt that anyone who is really brave considers himself brave. I don't believe Padawan a.s.sant did."

They walked down the narrow aisle between the two rows of beds. Nearly all of them were occupied by clone troopers; the same face multiplied over and over. Only the injuries were different.

I-Five said, "I've been told that the troops have also been genetically modified to feel little or no fear on the battlefield. One can't help but wonder-does eliding the 'fear gene' make them less human?"

Barriss did not answer; she was suddenly occupied with watching the last piece of a puzzle fall into place. She knew that Jos had been wrestling with some sort of existential conundrum for the past few days, and, with the surety of those connected to the Force, she suddenly knew that this was it. Jos, like most people-even some Jedi-had compartmentalized those around him into comfortable slots-comfortable for him, anyway. For him, clones had been dumped into the same category as droids-the only difference being that they were made of flesh and bone instead of durasteel and electronics. It had been convenient to view them with such detach-ment; it made it easier to accept it when he was unable to save one on the table, though he still took it pretty hard. He was not the sort to be callous or indifferent to any life, even that of someone most considered an or-ganic automaton.

But then, along comes I-Five, a fully cognizant ma-chine, or at least extremely close, and suddenly life isn't so easily dealt with. If Jos couldn't mentally segregate a droid into something less than human, then he certainly couldn't fit clones into that category.

No wonder he'd seemed shaken up lately. His view of life had been wrenched.

A hand with a vibroscalpel needed to be steady. She should speak to him. Or at least make sure he spoke to the minder.

And yet-what words of wisdom could she offer to quiet his turmoil? Was she so certain of life in all its manifestations that she could offer a real solution to his problem? Wiser heads than hers had failed to come up with a sustainable philosophy of everything that made the galaxy a neatly packaged place. Who are we? Where do we come from? What does it all mean? She had the Force, a constant upon which she had been able to rely since she could remember, and her knowledge of it had grown stronger over the years. Like the microwave hum of the universe, the Force was always with her. She had a certainty. Those who were unable to feel the comfort of the Force-what did they have?

What could she say to a man who had questions for which there were no simple answers? And even if he could feel the Force, what did it say about the life of a droid or a clone, or, for that matter, anyone else? The Force was not an instrument of any but the most basic of ethics and morality. There was the light side and the dark side, and those were the choices the Force offered. Education as to the true nature of sentient life? That must come from elsewhere.

Still... she was a healer. She could, at times, ease the fury of mental storms. At the very least, a calm mind was a better tool for dealing with such issues. She couldn't answer Jos's questions, but perhaps she could help him find a quiet place in which he could find his own answers. That much she was willing-and happy - to do.

30.

The spy was known by two aliases-Lens to Black Sun and Column to the Separatists. It was the latter ident.i.ty that sat and frowned at the odd-looking squiggle on the computer's holoproj. To the uninitiated, the little mark might seem nothing more than a flaw in the projector's image resolver. To those in the know, the glitch meant something else entirely.

The spymaster on Drongar had sent yet another of a series of all-too-frequent communications. It was irri-tating. Of the dozens of coded messages that had been sent, none had yet offered anything of substance. The messages were trivial intelligence, along the lines of "Keep an eye on the bota"... useless in general, and a particular waste of time to a field agent in Column's circ.u.mstance. It took hours to decode the blasted things, which were Feraleechi onetime loops. In a dull, repet.i.tive, manual process a cipher was partially de-coded, using a keyword in the early-morning holonews. This gave a series of numbers that were then keyed to a particular textbook available on the library 'cast, al-ways something so boring that reading it aloud could stop a full-scale cantina riot dead-Aridian Procedures for Development of Agricultural Fertilizer on Lythos Nine or some such mindless twaddle. Then it had to be translated from Basic into Symbian, a language dead, but unfortunately not buried, for thirty thousand years, and every sixth word transposed. The end of all this la-bor was usually a message along the lines of, "How's it going?"

The spymaster must not have much to do, and must be paranoid in the extreme to boot.

Which, Column thought, teetered on the edge of silly. Even if somebody managed to intercept one of the mes-sages-unlikely-and even if they were the best slicer in the galaxy and somehow broke the cipher-unlikelier still-learning the number of cases of Phibian beer de-livered to the military canteen at Prime Base last month would hardly be worth the effort.

Column sighed. It was how the Separatists chose to do things, and no there was no help for it. It would have to be done, but not right now. Later.

Much later...