MedStar_ Jedi Healer Part 4

Jos looked at his cards, frowned. "I think you're bluffing, tin man."

"And I think you're sweating, puny human."

"Who isn't? I call."

The players spread their cards. Jos grinned. He was holding a Commander of coins, a Mistress of sabers, and an Endurance of staves. He put the hand into the interference field broadcast by the CardShark, freezing it. "Anyone closer? No?. That's what I-"

"Unless my math module has suffered severe damage," I-Five said, "I believe my hand beats yours."

Jos looked down. His jaw dropped. The droid's hand consisted of an Idiot, a three of staves, and a two of sabers. An idiot's array. The one hand that beat all others, even pure sabacc.

"That's not fair," Jos said mournfully as I-Five gathered in his winnings. "What does a droid need with credits anyway?"

"Didn't I tell you?" the droid replied. "I'm off to see the Sorcerer of Tund to buy a heart and brain."

Jos didn't reply. The remark had suddenly put him in mind of CT-914, the clone trooper whose life he had saved in the OT, only to learn later that the vat-grown soldier had been lost, along with his entire garrison, in a surprise Separatist attack. It had been Nine-one-four and, to a lesser degree, I-Five, who had raised Jos's consciousness to a level including the awareness that clones, and even, under certain circ.u.mstances, droids and other artificial intelligences, should be considered self-aware sen-tients, and thus deserving of the same rights.

This was something he had known all along, but he'd unconsciously kept it at a lower level, not really considering all its moral implications. Clones were created to fight wars; the desire for little else was encoded in their genetic programming. They had no fear of death, a sense of fulfillment and contentment when engaged in battle, and just enough pain receptors to warn them away from actions that could result in injury or death.

Until Jos had gotten to know Nine-one-four, he'd also a.s.sumed clones were incapable of forming close bonds, I either with each other or with beings of other species. But I CT-914 had felt a sense of brotherly affection for his vat-I mate CT-915, and when the latter had been killed, Jos I had watched the clone grieve.

Similarly, I-Five, with his enhanced cognitive module functions and deactivated creativity dampers, had impressed them all repeatedly with his "humanity." Though initially his world had been turned upside down by all this, Jos now was grateful, because this wider definition of what was human had led directly to his being able to embrace-literally and figuratively-Tolk as a potential life mate, even though she was a non-permes esker.

He loved Tolk, he now knew. No matter the consequences of espousing an outworlder, he was determined to follow his heart in this matter. But he could not help but wonder what the new commander, Great-Uncle Erel, would think of this.

It wasn't long before he found out. As the casino droid set up for another game, a Bothan corporal approached the table. "Admiral Kersos requests your presence, Captain Vondar.

Please come with me."

8.

Ohleyz Sumteh Kersos Vingdah," the admiral said. "Than donya sinyin."

"Sumteh Vondar Ohleyz ... dohn donya," Jos responded, hesitating just a bit. It had been well over a standard decade since he had spoken in the High Tongue. Everyone spoke Basic nowadays. As a boy, he'd only spoken the older, ceremonial language during Purging Days.

His great-uncle looked tired. His face was about half a day shy of depilation, and his uniform had one of the front tunic flaps unb.u.t.toned. Without the man's surgical mask, Jos could see a distinct family resemblance. Somewhere during his boyhood, he and a cousin had discovered in the family archives fragments of broken holograms-shattered images of, among others, the young man who had thrown away his heritage and been disowned by the family he chose to abandon. They'd peered through the fragments as if they were windows open on the past, providing glimpses of that young man, who was also apparent in this older man's features.

By all that was strict and proper, Jos knew he ought not to be speaking to Erel Kersos at all, save as a military subordinate replying to a superior officer. Great-Uncle Erel was still non-permes-the social and personal invisibility did not diminish with time, or even with death. But then again, given Jos's current status with an esker female and his determination to keep it that way, the prohibition against speaking to a shunned relative didn't seem quite such a major infraction.

Plus, there was n.o.body from the homeworld around to see it. And the reason Erel Kersos had been expunged from the clans was of compelling interest to Jos: the man had married an esker.

They were in Vaetes's office, just the two of them, Jos had a hundred questions he wanted to ask his great-uncle, and at the top of his list was one in particular. Standing there uncomfortably, wondering if he should be the first to speak, he suddenly remembered the first time his father had talked to him about outsiders . . .

At six years of age, Jos had never been offworld, and the only sightings of aliens he'd had were at a distance, So when the subject of outlanders came up in the school rec-dome, it had been puzzling to him. He had asked his father about it, on one of the rare evenings when his father had been home and not working at the clinic.

It had taken him some time to work up the courage to approach him. His father was never violent, and Jos had no doubt that the man loved him. But he was big; when he stood, he towered over Jos. And he could be loud, very loud, though never when he was talking to his son.

In retrospect, it was clear that his father had not been ready for this conversation. What Jos recalled of the time was that, once he had approached and told him about his schoolmates' talk, his father had stopped whatever he was doing-reading the evening newsdisc was what Jos remembered-and looked at his son in mild surprise. "Well, son, aside from being of different stock-that's like the difference between a blethyline and a tarkaline; they look similar, but they're different colors and sizes-aside from that, they don't have the same beliefs that we do They are-" He searched for an appropriate term, and finally came up with one. "-less pure. They mix things together that we don't mix together, and that includes who they, um, marry."

Tos had nodded, not understanding what his father was getting at, but aware that the subject was making the man uncomfortable. "Uh-huh."

"They aren't ...bad people," his father had said then. "Just... different."

"How, Da?"

His father had frowned. "You know how you like salt-nut b.u.t.ter on bread?"

"Yeah!" The kind fresh from the farm, the nuts just cracked. Spread it on thick, it was the best!

"And how you also like bluefruit jam on bread?"

"Yeah . . ." It wasn't as good as saltnut b.u.t.ter, but it was still a treat.

"But how if you mix saltnut b.u.t.ter and bluefruit jam on the same bread, you don't like it?"

"Uh-huh." It was true. The two tastes, individually wonderful, when eaten together would gag a sand cat. That had always seemed very unfair.

"Well," his father had said, "that's how ensters and ek-sters are. They just don't mix together."

"But, Da, people aren't all the same, like saltnut b.u.t.ter and bluefruit jam, are they-His father cut him off: "You'll understand this when you're older, Jos. Don't worry about it now."

Now, sitting with his shunned great-uncle decades later, Jos now had a much better idea of what his father meant. At home, this att.i.tude was normal. But to outsiders, it was called xenophobia, speciesism, or worse. For years he had shrugged that off. Outsiders didn't un-derstand the complexities of permes, so they spoke from ignorance. They were to be pitied more than feared or scorned. Even after his rotations on Coruscant and Alderaan, during which dozens of sentients had been laid open before him, even though he no longer spoke the High Tongue or observed the Purging Days-even then, though he fancied himself fairly galactopolitan, the interdiction, the barrier between his kind and all others, had worked for him on a deep level, so deep he hadn't even realized its power.

But then he'd fallen in love with Tolk-a Lorrdian nurse who was not of his planet or even his system, a fact that was supposed to be the death knell for any possible long-term relationship. In the words of many older and infirm beings he'd treated, he'd fallen and he couldn't get up.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Go ahead," his great-uncle and admiral said then. His voice was strong-a voice that knew how to give an order-but kind as well. "Go ahead. Ask."

Jos looked straight at him. "Was it worth it?"

Silence for a long moment, the two of them looking straight at each other-and the older man gave him a small smile. "Yes. And no." He sat down with a sigh in Vaetes's chair. "For six glorious years, I was sure it was."

Jos raised an eyebrow. His uncle gestured for him to sit as well, which he did.

"Feleema-my spouse-died in a mag-lev accident on Coruscant six years after we married. So did four hundred others. It was quick-a superconductor failed, the safeties malfunctioned, and the train left the rail at three hundred kilometers per hour and rammed into a row of deserted industrial buildings in the southern hemisphere. No survivors in any of the cars."

"I'm sorry."

His great-uncle nodded. "Thank you. It's been more than thirty years. No one from the family has ever said that to me. Or anything else."

Jos was quiet, touched by the man's sense of loss.

"So, there I was," Erel Kersos continued. "A fresh lieutenant in the service of the Republic, my wife gone, and my family and culture no longer available to me. We had no children. I couldn't go home. So I applied myself to my work, I made a career for myself in the military." He smiled, and Jos thought there was a slight bitterness in it. "Which is how I wound up here, nearly forty years later."

"You could have recanted."

"I would have had to deny my dead wife to do that, I could not do so. And could not abide a family that would have demanded it."

There was another silence-not one that was particularly comfortable to Jos. Then Erel Kersos looked him square in the eyes and made it worse. He said, "Jos, you need to think about all this, very seriously."

Jos blinked. Was the old man a mind reader? Didn't they have enough of them here already?

"I found out you were on this world before I applied for this duty. I... inquired about you. I know why you are willing to talk to me. I know about you and the Lorrdian nurse."

Jos felt his temper rise abruptly. Kersos must have sensed it; he shook his head. "Don't blow a major vessel, son. I'm not telling you what you should or should not do. I'm only offering my experience. When I elected to marry Feleema, I never looked back. I was young, brave, and she was, in my mind, worth all of my disapproving family put together. I had her-I didn't need them.

9.

"Then, suddenly I didn't have her-and I didn't have them, either." He paused. "Family is sometimes more important than we think. Especially when they are still there, but denied to you. Things happen. People change, they separate, for all kinds of reasons. And they die. The woman you love today might turn into somebody you can't stand five or ten or fifteen years from now. Or she might not be here at all. There are no guarantees."

Jos nodded. "I know. Just tell me this: if you had it to do over again, knowing what you know now-wouid you do the same thing?"

His great-uncle smiled, and it was not a happy expression. "I'm not you, Jos. My mistakes were mine-yours will be your own."

"Not a responsive answer."

The older man shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's true." He paused. "There are times when there is no questionin my mind-yes, I'd have done it exactly the same. Six years with Feleema was better than six hundred years of my family.

"But there have been other times when I wonder: what would it have been like, to see my brother's or sister's children grow up? The nephews and nieces 1 never met, never saw, never even knew were born? I couldn't go home for my father's funeral. My mother is still alive-I've kept track through the census data banks-but I am dead to her. The choice I made was simple-as simple as it was irrevocable. But it wasn't easy. And it never got any easier. There's an old saying, Jos, maybe you've heard it: there's no easy way to shave a Wookiee." Jos sighed. Just what he needed to hear.

After Jos had left the table, the remaining players discussed the new commanding officer, Erel Kersos, for a few minutes. "I hear he's much more hands-on than Admiral Bleyd was,"

Barriss said.

"A Bespin cloud creature is more hands-on than that brain case was," Den said. "They never did find his a.s.sas sin, you know. There's a thought to keep you nice and cozy at night."

The CardShark began to deal cards again. Den held up a hand. "We're done. Just finishing our drinks."

The casino droid paid no attention. "Dantooine double-hand," it said. "Place your bets, pplleeeaaa.s.s-The CardShark's voice suddenly droned off as its arms drooped. It slowly spiraled to a resting place on a nearby empty table. The players looked at each other in puzzlement. Then, as one, they turned to look at I-Five.

"What did you do?" Barriss demanded.

If droids could shrug, I-Five would have done so. "I shut it down. It was hardly the most sparkling of conversationalists."

"You weren't anywhere near it," Den said.

'True. It wasn't necessary. I simply aimed a microwave beam at one of its EM receptors and overloaded a capac-itor, I knew it would go into emergency shutdown mode."

"Maybe trying to get you drunk isn't such a good idea," Den mused. "You're dangerous enough as it is." : The other three looked at the Sull.u.s.tan and the droid skeptically. "Why would you want to get a droid drunk?" the Padawan asked.

"Not just any droid." Den stood and threw an arm around I-Five's shoulders, an accomplishment made possible only by the fact that the droid remained seated "I-Five needs to let his dewflaps dangle a little."

"Thanks for that," I-Five said. "It's a thoughtful gesture, but I think we've already decided that it's impossi-"

"You might be able to accomplish it," Klo Merit broke in, "by varying the oscillator signal so that the phase harmonics shift into a multipulse instead of a standard pulse configuration."

Everyone turned and stared at the minder. Merit spread wide, four-fingered hands, the short fur on their backs shading to dark leathery palms. "What? I can't have more than one skill?"

"It might work," I-Five said thoughtfully. "The nonlinear feedback pattern established could create a new heuristic response."

"Your synaptic grid processor would have to be in electron depletion mode," the Equani pointed out.

"Of course. That goes without saying. Perhaps programming could be devised ..."

Den c.o.c.ked a suspicious eye at Merit. "Where did you pick up all this esoterica? And don't lie to a reporter-we always know."

Merit smiled. "I've had a number of jobs before I settled into minding. Including six months working as a boson wrangler for Industrial Automaton."

Den shrugged. "Who knew?" He turned back to M-ive. "What say we give it a try? And just to make sure you're not flying solo, I'll be your copilot." He gestured to the serving droid, who swerved her single wheel and headed in their direction. "Hey, Teedle, bring me a Pan-Galactic Gar-"Quiet!" Tolk had her head c.o.c.ked in a listening pose-a pose they all knew all too well. In the sudden buzzing quiet a sound slowly became audible-a sound they also all knew too well.

"Lifters!" Tolk headed out of the cantina at a fast trot, followed by Barriss. Merit, moving his bulk with surprising ease and speed, left as well.

"Looks like we'll have to temporarily forgo pushing back the boundaries of science,"

I-Five said to Den as he started for the door. "Hold that thought."

Others at nearby tables were also leaving, heading for their various stations. Only the three sentients in the corner-the Kubaz, the Umbaran, and the Falleen-stayed put. Den shrugged, and settled back to wait for his drink.

They sat in the cantina, in the middle of the midday meal crowd, hidden, as Kaird liked to think, in plain sight.

Kaird, still in his Kubaz disguise-thank the Egg for a working air cooler, finally-leaned back and looked at his two potential employees. They returned his gaze, both faces noncommittal, as far as he could tell; he'd always had trouble reading those fleshy blobs and gashes that served as faces for most humanoids. There was no question as to whether they would take the job, however-if you were an outlaw and Black Sun made you an offer, it was not in your best interests to refuse.

Whether they could do the job was the question.

They ordered drinks, and then, before Kaird could say a word, the Falleen female said, "Okay. We'll do it. What would our end be?"

"Just like that?" Kaird said, vaguely disappointed He'd expected some pretense at haggling, at least. "You're Black Sun," Thula said. "Do we look stupid?"

"How? How will you manage it?" As Kaird watched the Falleen, her pale green skin began to change color, shading into a warmer, reddish orange tone. And almost immediately, he felt a powerful sense of desire stirring in him. An attraction to her so strong it was all he could do to resist it.

It was the same attraction he'd sensed earlier, but multiplied a hundredfold. He knew what was causing it. Pheromones. Airborne chemicals released solely to cause emotional reactions in others. A number of different species used them, he knew; some for communication, some to mark territory-and some to enhance s.e.xual attraction.

Thula smiled. She knew exactly how her pheromones were affecting him. "That's how," she said. "The military hires civilians now and again, especially those with appropriate credentials. It just so happens that Squa and I have excellent doc.u.mentation-the best that credits can buy-attesting to our expertise in a number of disciplines. Shipping dispatch and systems controls are among them. With a ... patron who is attracted to me, I am sure we can get work somewhere in the shipping system."

"What if the person in charge of hiring is female? Or some other s.e.x entirely?" Kaird asked. "Like the Tri-parates of Saloth, out in the Minos Cl.u.s.ter. Ever hear of them?"