MedStar_ Jedi Healer Part 14

"You are our agent; it seemed only fair to warn you. The theft will cause investigation-best you are not caught unprepared."

Lens smiled. "My official persona here is quite blaster-proof. What's the real reason?"

The human disguise was quite good-the smile it produced looked genuine. "Eventually, as all wars must, this one will end. Business will continue. You have been a valuable a.s.set to us and could be one again after this conflict is resolved. We hate to waste talent."

That made more sense, but it wasn't all of it, Lens figured. "Still not quite right, is it?"

The disguise's vox unit gave a realistic offering of a human laugh. "It is so refreshing to not have to deal with the dull and ignorant," Kaird said. He leaned forward. "Very well: in your official capacity here, you have access to certain data."

"True-but security codes for vacuum-worthy ships, especially those with hyperdrive units, are not among such data," Lens said.

"I didn't think they were. But you can get medical records."

"Anybody in the Rimsoo with standard clearance can view those files. I fail to see how that will help you steal a ship."

"Ever see a child's tumble-slabs? You can set them up in long and convoluted rows and whorls, the one at the end being a hundred or a thousand away from the one at the beginning. If you line them up right, however, tipping the'first one over will eventually result in the last one falling."

Lens nodded again. "Yes. I see what you mean."

"I am going to do some very basic research," Kaird said, "and after I have learned some things, I will ask you for specific files that I believe will be useful. Nothing that should be secured above your ability to scan."

"Not a problem," Lens said. "I will obtain what you need."

"Excellent." There was a pause. "Now I'm going to do you a favor, Lens. I realize you have other loyalties besides those to Black Sun, but those interests-and ours-here are about to cease to matter."

Lens frowned. "How so?"

"The reason we are all here is singular. That reason is already dwindling in importance, and, in a short time, will stop completely."

"I'm afraid you've lost me. You're talking about the bota?"

"Yes. The plant, it seems, is undergoing a new mutation, one that will radically alter its prized adaptogenic properties. By its next generation, bota will be no more valuable than any other weed growing on this hot rock-it will be chemically changed so far as to be useless as a drug. Since Drongar itself is of no use, strategic or otherwise, both the Republic and the Separatist forces will have no reason to remain here." The hands spread themselves, palms-up, in a gesture of freedom. "We can all go home."

"How do you know this?"

"That doesn't matter. I know it for a fact. I tell you this because, after I'm gone, you might be able to use the data to help your friends under Count Dooku's command. It might be worth a final, all-out battle to secure what's left of the bota fields-since once those are gone, there won't be any more to be had. Not around here, at least."

Lens, startled by this revelation, said nothing. There would be no reason for Kaird to lie about this. The theft of a goodly amount of bota would, at least indirectly harm the Republic, and so Lens wished him success as far as that went. But if what he said was true, it would definitely be in the Separatists' interest to grab up as much of the crop as they could, even at the risk of destroying the rest of it. Better half a loaf than none.

Somehow, this information had to be verified.

"This is valuable knowledge," Lens said. "And yet you offer it freely."

The jowled head nodded ponderously. "As I said, the war will eventually be settled. Win or lose, it's all the same to us. If we do you a favor, someday you might be in a position to do one for us. Black Sun has a long memory, for enemies and for friends. We have plenty of both, but it never hurts to have more friends."

Lens nodded and smiled. The Nediji's statement made sense, although it came with a fairly high dosage of irony, since Black Sun had in the past played such deals from so many angles that it took a nine-dimensional slice of s.p.a.ce-time just to contain them all.

The human suit stood, its rolls of foamcast fat quivering. "I'll contact you in a day or two," Kaird said. "May frost never dim your vision." Kaird left, and Lens considered what the Black Sun enforcer had said. If this revelation about the bota checked out, it would be a major bit of intelligence to pa.s.s along. The course of the war here would almost certainly be altered quickly. Very quickly.

Jos plodded toward his kiosk. He no longer shared it with Tolk, nor with Uli. She'd moved back into her own three days ago, saying she needed s.p.a.ce to think. Uli was still in the single unit that he'd moved to soon after Tolk moved in. These days, Jos spent most of his time either in the cantina or in the OT. He only went back to his quarters when he needed sleep-and he desperately needed it now.

The drone of medlifters began. They quickly built into such a cacophony that he couldn't even guess how many there were. He shook his head. That was going to be bad for whoever was on-His comlink cheeped.

He answered, knowing it was bad news. "What?"

Uli said, "There's been an explosion and big fire at the AIA hydrogen plant, Jos. A hundred people seriously hurt. We've got nine lifters worth headed our way, thirty-some wounded, most of them bad burns and-"

"1 just finished my shift. I can barely lift my hands, much less use them to operate."

"I know. But one of the droid surgeons just blew a gy-rostabilizer, and it'll take hours to repair it. We're short-handed in the OT. Colonel Vaetes said to call."

Jos sighed. "Kark," he said. But there was no heat in the word, only a great weariness.

Would this never end?

In the OT, the first patients from the fire started arriving as Jos gloved up. He saw Tolk, and this time she nodded at him. A small gesture, but it made him feel a little better. At least they had that much.

He moved to a table as a pair of droids slid a patient onto it from the gurney. A clone, and scorched pretty badly. "What do we have here?"

'"Third-degree burns over twenty-six percent of his body," one of the droids, a surgical diagnostic unit, intoned. "Second-degree over an additional twenty-one percent.

First-degree over seventeen percent. In addition, he has a lacerated small intestine from what seems to be a splinter from a shattered hydrogen tank, left lower quadrant, transversely; puncture wounds in his left lung, which is collapsed; and a fragment embedded in his left eye,"

"Separatist droids attacked the plant?"

"No, sir," the SDU droid said. "It was an industrial accident."

'Wonderful.

"Isn't bad enough the Seppies're killing people-now we're blowing ourselves up. Crack open a burn kit," Jos told Threndy. "Somebody hit him with enkephalin, a hundred milligrams.

And get the ultrasonic scrubber-he's going to need at least half his skin replaced . .."

Jos somehow managed to keep it together for another five patients, saving them all.

Then he killed the next one.

He was halfway through the first stage of a pneu-monectomy, on a nonclone human patient, working on the left lung with a laser scalpel, when he nicked the man's aorta. Blood spewed from the clamped vessel in a geyser that shot nearly all the way to the ceiling.

"Get a pressor on that!"

Tolk and Threndy had been pulled away to help Uli and Vaetes, who were doing a heart transplant, but the surgical a.s.sistant droid quickly focused the pressor field on the cut artery with mechanical precision, a perfect placement. Unfortunately, the field strength was not quite sufficient, and the wound continued to ooze.

"Kick it up," Jos ordered. "What's the field strength?"

"Six-point-four," the droid said.

"Go to seven."

"But doctor, that will exceed tissue parameters-'

"Override. Seven, I said."

Even as the droid complied, Jos realized his mistake. The man lying before him was not a Fett-clone, one whose circulatory system's wall strengths had been augmented to help keep wounds from bleeding as much. This was an ordinary human, which meant-The aorta exploded, shredding as if a small bomb had gone off inside it.

"I need some help here!"

All of the surgical heart-lung bypa.s.s toilers were in use, and an extra pair of hands wouldn't be enough. The field couldn't stop the blood, and even as he tried to tie off the blown artery, he knew it was too late. Ma.s.sive shock took the man, and he flatlined before they could implement cerebrostasis. Jos tried to revive him, once he had a flexy-stat on the torn vessel and oxygenated expander flowing to replace the lost blood. Ten minutes he tried, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't restart the heart.

He had four more patients lined up. He knew what he had to do.

Jos p.r.o.nounced the man and had a droid haul him away. There was no other choice. If he kept working on this one, the patients waiting would almost certainly die.

Or maybe you'll kill them, too, the malicious little voice within whispered, as the next patient was placed before him.

He had never felt more tired in his life. Blast this war.

25.

Den sat listening to the Ugnaught med-mechano specialist, Rorand Zuzz, feeling as if he had just been handed the key to Coruscant on a platinum platter. Zuzz hail supplied him with useful information in the past, but nothing like this.

"You're sure?"

"Y'kin take it t'the IGB 'n' swap it fcreds, Dhur. Oh, yar."

"How did you come by this information?'

Zuzz grinned. "Femnaught in Rimsoo Twelve, over'n Xen.o.by, she l.u.s.tin' f'me. She runs alia d'test on d'local crop."

"Have another drink," Den said. This was big, Huge, Monstrous. So important, in fact, that. . .

"Why haven't I heard about this?"

The stubby little alien shrugged. "Dunno. Rachott, d'fem, say she runnin' d'tests, pa.s.sin'

'em 'long, 'n' no feke, the stuffs gettin' weaker 'n' weaker. Somebody sit-tin' on d'results. Who knows why?"

The server arrived with a fresh drink, and Zuzz grabbed it as if it were the last drop of liquid on the day side of a nonrotating planet.

Den continued to think about this. If the bota was in deed losing its potency, that was major news. The stuff was worth its weight in first-grade firestones, if not more, and if it died out, the price of any that still had full strength and full spectrum would rise right out of the galaxy. Once word got around, everybody and his ugly little sibling would be out there in the fields trying to grab up as much as they could. A being could retire on what he could hide in his pockets . . .

Yeah, this was a story, all right. A ticket-to-anywhere, the kind of piece that came along once in a Falleen's lifetime. Spin it right-and he knew he could-it might even be a Poracsa Prize winner, and that would set him up for life.

Den had to confirm it, and fast. He had to break it before somebody else leaked it. This would put him on the map. They'd name journalism colleges for him . . .

He paid for another three drinks for his Ugnaught source, got up, and left the cantina. He had to find at least two more confirmations. Maybe even just one. Once it had been confirmed, he would get the story out, somehow. Even if his comm unit was on the crackle at the moment, there had to be a way. He'd tattoo it on a soldier mustering out, if he had to. Something.

As he started to cross the hot and fetid compound, he saw Eyar heading toward the chow hall. He moved to intercept her.

No doubt about it-she was one gorgeous fem.

She smiled, and they exchanged ritual greetings.

"You look excited about something," she said.

"How could I be anything else but excited in your presence, Sweetflaps?"

She laughed. "I love a Sull.u.s.tan who makes me laugh. But I ken something else in your att.i.tude."

"A story," he admitted. "A big one, if it checks out."

"Good for you!" Her voice was warm, generous, sincere.

Den looked at her, and for a moment, he felt a pang of regret for the wives and families he had never had time to build. It had always been the work, first, last, and in the middle. The lane not taken included watching the younglings venture out of the caves for the first time, hearing the sounds of childish laughter, feeling the warmth of a spouse or spouses in a bed under a cooling sheet. Things he had planned to do, someday, when he had time. Only, it had never worked out that way. "Your brow furrows in thought," she said. He sighed. "A few regrets in my old age." She grinned. "Not that old."

"I thought I reminded you of your grandfather."

"You do-but our family started young. He's still fit and active, my grandfather. Six wives, fourteen children, twenty-six grandchildren, and he took a new spouse just two seasons past. She's already with child,"

"Impressive,"

"Do you ever think about returning to the home-world?"

He nodded. "I have. More and more, lately. Chasing after wars does get old. I've considered quitting the field, getting a local news beat back on Sull.u.s.t, and trying to find a few ancient ferns desperate enough to consider me as a husband."

"They wouldn't have to be desperate," she said, looking down at the tops of her feet. "Or ancient."

Den stopped walking and looked at her. "Uh ... perhaps my ear dampeners are malfunctioning. What are you saying, Eyar-ia?" Eyar glided to a halt as well, and turned to face him directly.

"After this war ends, and my tour breaks up, I plan on returning home and finding a cohabitation cave."

"What? And leave show business?"

She laughed again-it sounded like a cascade of tone-crystals-then continued. "The prospects I know are young, but serious mascs. Don't get me wrong; they'd be good fathers, and I hope to collect one or two more like them, hut they're maybe lacking a bit in the sense-of-humor department. There would always be room for a Sull.u.s.tan of your cut, Den-la."

Den was astonished. He grinned at Eyar. "That's the best offer I've had in a boukk's age."

"Then consider it formal," she said. "Younglings need fit and strong fathers, but they also need older and wiser ones. You would honor my cave if you chose to live in it."

Den blinked against the sudden welling in his eyes. Impossible that they could be tears-not for a crusty old cynic like him. Marriage? A family? A cave full of in-laws and younglings? He had thought all that was too far in his past, out of reach. Not for him. A hard-bitten reporter, decades away from the homeworld, he had always figured he'd die on a battlefield, or drunk in some pesthole hive of sc.u.m and villainy.

But now, to be offered an alternative, especially by one so young and sweet. . .