X-wing_ The Krytos Trap Part 5

The door to the apartment slid open and Wedge's ner-vousness slackened when Iella smiled. "Wedge. This is a sur-prise."

"A pleasant one, I hope." He glanced down at his hands for a moment, then back up into her brown eyes. "I should have called before heading over, but I was going to get some-thing to eat and I thought, well, I hate eating alone and . . ."

The brown-haired woman's smile widened for a mo-ment and carried on up into her eyes, then shrank as if the corners of her mouth had slammed into walls and were re-bounding. "I think you'd better come in." She turned away from the door, and he followed the lithe woman down a short corridor to a modest-sized parlor. The door closed au-tomatically behind him, cutting off the brightest source of light and sinking the room into a grey gloom.

The man sitting in the corner chair looked every bit as if he were constructed from shadow-threads and slivers of grey. The sharpness of his features accentuated the gauntness of his frame. His shoulders and knees poked like k.n.o.bs against the grey fabric of the jumpsuit he wore. A few strands of black hair wove through the white and grey combed over his largely bald head but did nothing to dis-guise the shape of the skull beneath it. In fact, were it not for the spark of life burning in the man's brown eyes, Wedge would have believed him to be a mummified worker resur-rected from some tomb in the bowels of Coruscant.

Iella folded her arms across her chest. "Commander Wedge Antilles, this is Diric Wessiri. He is my husband." Husband! Wedge covered his surprise by taking a step forward and extended his right hand toward Diric. "My pleasure, sir."

Diric inclined his head forward and shook Wedge's hand with a long-fingered grip that was firm and even strong, though the strength faded quickly. "The honor is mine, Commander. Your exploits bring glory to your world and fellow Corellians."

"Glory wasn't our goal, sir."

"Nonetheless . . ." The man smiled, then let his hand drop back toward his lap. "Forgive me, Commander. At an-other point I would engage you in a lively discussion, but now I am somewhat fatigued."

"I understand."

Iella walked to her husband's side and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. "The Imps caught Diric up in a sweep about a year ago. They interrogated him, broke his ident.i.ty, then imprisoned him. Six months ago or so they set up a bio-research project and made Diric part of the slave-labor force. They only used humans because the lab produced what we know to be the Krytos virus." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "General Cracken's people had Diric in quarantine, then debriefed him. I only learned he was alive when they brought him here four hours ago."

"I should be going, then, and leave you two alone."

"No." The old man raised his right hand and gently patted Iella's hand.

"I have long been among Imperials and other slaves. It is good to have normal people here to ease me back."

Wedge coughed lightly into his hand. "I don't think you'll find my life normal at all."

Iella laughed politely. "Nor mine."

"How fortunate. Normal can be quite boring." Diric's head came up and he fixed Wedge with a steady stare. "And I want you to know, Commander, if anything has happened between you and my wife, I bear neither of you malice. I have been dead for a year. While 1 dreamed of being alive again, I do not bear a grudge against those who lived while I was dead."

Wedge held a hand up. "First, no t.i.tles."

"Where they kept me, we joked that t.i.tles were for when we were once again people. I use it to remind me I am again a man. And I use it out of profound respect for what you have done."

"Don't. I'm just Wedge. Nothing I've done is the equal of your enduring Imperial captivity, so t.i.tles don't apply here. Second, Iella is intelligent, a wonder to work with, a joy to be around, and above all else, loyal to her friends. In fact, save one thing, she's just the sort of woman I could see my-self growing old with. That one thing is this: she's married to you. Her loyalty to you, her fidelity, has never been in ques-tion. You are undoubtedly one of the luckiest men on this planet."

As he spoke, his mind raced on through thoughts and dreams of what he might have had with Iella had Diric not reappeared. It seemed as if the life they would never share was flashing before his eyes even as his words killed it. The romantic in him just wanted to hold onto how wonderful it would have been, but the pragmatist knew from just looking at Diric that things would have fallen apart in the end. Iella had chosen Diric because he was a sanctuary. No matter what her life held in store for her, he was someone who would always be there to share her joys and ease her disap-pointments. Wedge realized that he could not have given her what Diric provided. It might have taken a long time for their relationship to destroy itself, and they might have over-come the difficulties, but Wedge knew he could never have been as perfect a match for her as Diric was.

Someday I'll find someone. Wedge smiled. When I'm ready to settle down.

Diric mirrored Wedge's smile and let his head sink back contentedly against the chair's padding. "I am glad Iella found friends as generous and honorable as you are, Wedge. I do feel quite fortunate."

"And I bet you're happy to be free."

"Happy? Yes, though captivity wasn't as brutal as imag-ined. They can only control your body, not your mind." Diric shrugged slowly as if the effort were all but beyond his ability. "I knew I would be free someday."

"That's what Tycho says."

"Who?"

Ieila looked down at her husband. "The man who killed Corran."

"The man who is on trial for killing Corran," Wedge corrected her. "Your wife is working with the prosecution team."

"Working to find the truth, mind you." Iella gave Wedge a frank glare.

"There's ample evidence to bind him over for trial and to convict him."

"And blasted little uncovered, st) far, to acquit him." Wedge held his hands up. "However, discussing that case was not my purpose for conling over here."

Diric's bushy brows met over the bridge of his hooked nose. "You think this Tycho is innocent?"

"I know it. Tycho Celchu is as much a victim of the Empire as you were."

Iella gave Diric's hand a gentle squeeze. "Tycho was once captured by the Imps. He's been working for them since his supposed escape, though Wedge would tell you he's been neatly framed."

Diric looked up at her. "And you know Wedge is wrong?"

Her immediate response died in a moment of open-mouthed hesitation.

Iella's gaze flicked up at Wedge, then back down again. "We have found a lot to indicate Captain Celchu was an Imperial agent of extreme resourcefulness."

"But there are gaps in the evidence." Wedge smiled slowly. "Everything that condemns Tycho is available, but those things that would acquit him have vanished. Given the timing, the only force that could provide with one hand and take away with the other is the Empire."

Diric disengaged his hand from lella's and pressed it, fingertip to fingertip, against the other hand. "This Tycho must be something to earn such loyalty from you."

"I feel about Tycho what Iella feels about Corran."

"Hence the impa.s.se between us."

"Impa.s.se, indeed. Still, Captain Celchu sounds fascinat-ing." Diric's voice became wistful and Iella straightened up.

"Don't even think it, Diric."

Wedge raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"

Anger creased Ietta's brow and put snap into her voice. "He's going to meddle."

The older man wheezed out a laugh and punctuated it with a wet cough.

"Meddle, is it? You see, Wedge, my voca-tion in life is to seek out people who fascinate me. I study them. I try to understand them. I share what understanding I have with others."

Iella's brown eyes narrowed. "On CoreIlia he found a defendant in a case fascinating. He got to know her and decided she was innocent."

"Was she?"

Diric nodded solemnly.

"He kept after Corran and me, constantly asking us lit-tle questions that forced us to look beyond the scope of our investigation. She had been framed, but we got the guys who were responsible in the end." She frowned at her husband. "That was a different case, it wasn't on Coruscant, and you weren't weak as an Ewok cub at the time. You need to re-COVCF."

"I will, dearest."

Wedge smiled as he heard all manner of meaning in those words. Iella's sigh meant she heard at least some of them and knew nothing short of house arrest would keep Diric from meeting Tycho. Diric will make sure leila doesn't let her desire to avenge Corran stop short of discovering the truth of what caused his death. "Having a hobby will likely speed your recovery."

"A hobby, very good."

"This man's hobby is going to be my nightmare." Iella shook her head.

"Antilles, didn't you say something about food when you arrived here?"

"I did indeed." Wedge jerked a thumb up toward the ceiling. "There is an lthorian tapcaf about thirty levels up that is supposed to offer some fairly exotic vegetable matter and then . . ." He stopped as a tone sounded from the com-link clipped to the collar of his jacket. "Hang on a second."

He pulled the comlink free and flicked it on. "Antilles, go ahead."

"Wedge, it's Mirax."

"Finally awake?" Wedge nodded toward Iella. "It's Mirax."

"Ask her if she wants to join us for food."

"Will do. Mirax, I'm at Iella's apartment. She wants to know . . ."

"I heard, but it'll have to be another time." Mirax's tone dripped seriousness. "I have a problem. It's on the Skate, and I need you to get down here. Just you."

Wedge frowned. Those fliers for Zsinj should have been taken into custody a long time ago. "How bad is it? Are your riders back and causing trouble?"

"No, no, not that. That I could handle." Mirax sighed. "Look, you know I usually haul rare items for folks, right?"

"Right."

"Well, at the station I picked up something that's very rare, and as near as I can tell, if I don't get rid of it in the right way, the New Republic will shake itself apart and a scant few people will be alive to start rebuilding the future."

10.

Gavin Darklighter felt his gorge rising as the miasmal stench from the darkened hovel stabbed through his nostrils and into his brain. He reeled away from the doorway and fell to his knees, puking up what felt like every last bit of food he'd eaten since his return to Cornscant. His stomach muscles clenched again and again, wringing his guts empty, but doing nothing to soothe the p.r.i.c.kly sensation in the back of his throat that prompted him to heave once more.

A piercing wail from a female Gamorrean drilled through his skull and reminded him where he was and why he was there. Gavin coughed once and spat, then croaked a command to the black M-3PO droid behind him.

"Emtrey, don't let them go in there. Tell her I'll do all I can."

Gavin wiped his mouth with his hand, then weakly crawled up the hovel's exterior wall. He pressed his back against the ferrocrete and slowly straightened up. He coughed again and his body tried to make him heave yet again, but he clenched his jaw and refused to vomit. Never seen one that bad before. Though he hoped he never would again see such a case, he knew that was one hope that had no chance of becoming reality.

The M-3PO droid succeeded in guiding the Gamorrean female and her tusky children to the other side of the walk-way, then turned back toward Gavin. The droid's nonstan-dard clamsh.e.l.l head--a refit from a s.p.a.ceport control droid--canted slightly to the left. "Is there anything I can do for you, Master Darklighter?"

"I'11 be fine in a minute, Emtrey. Just keep them back." Gavin again spat, trying to rid his mouth of the sour taste. "Ask her when she last heard from her husband."

The protocol droid swiveled his head around and grunted the question out to the Gamorrean female. She re-plied in subdued and broken tones, which Emtrey translated for Gavin. "She says she and the children had been visiting kin elsewhere. The last time she spoke to her husband it was by comlink. He had sniffles, but was not alarmed. I'm gath-ering, from the words she's using, sir, that there was some domestic discord, which is why a lapse in communication would not be surprising."

"Got it, Emtrey. How long was she gone from here?"

"A standard month, sir--she left well before the libera-tion."

Gavin nodded. A month meant the chances she'd been infected by her husband were nil--if she had been, she'd already be showing signs of the Krytos virus. "Tell her to get to a bacta center for evaluation. She doesn't want the kids sick."

"I've told her, sir. She wants to know if Tolra will re-cover."

Gavin sighed and pushed himself away from the wall. "Tell her he's very sick. The prognosis is not good, but we will do what we can. Then call Asyr and tell her we'll need a clean team here." He forced himself to smile. "And, Emtrey, tell Tolra's wife she did the right thing. Tolra was brave and smart, and together they saved many people."

The words rang hollow in his ears, but he knew they would not in hers.

What he said was correct: when the Gamorrean in the hovel recognized how sick he had become, he sealed his home's entrances and scrambled the lock-codes, preventing anyone else from getting in and becoming infected. In that he had indeed saved many lives.

Except for his own. Gavin forced his fists to unclench. Had the Gamorrean used his comlink to summon medical help, he might have been saved. That he was lucid enough to entomb himself meant that he was not so far gone that bacta therapy couldn't have helped him. He needn't have become what Gavin had seen in shadows.

The pilot realized the blame lay not entirely with the Gamorrean himself.

The black-market price for bacta was astronomical, so far out of reach for the average citizens that they could not imagine there was any bacta available for them. Those who did summon help, or had it summoned for them, were often so far gone that no therapy could help, so they never returned. As a result, other citizens saw the medivac units as thinly disguised extermination units that took the sick away and destroyed them.

Ignorance is killing these people.

Gavin forced himself to step forward and reenter the Gamorrean's hovel.

The fetid stink returned to his nose and found accompaniment in the horrible sights and sounds that greeted him. The single-room hovel itself was scarcely larger than his own room in the squadron headquarters--and he found that a bit cramped for one. It had two doors--the one he'd opened using a lock-descrambling unit and a back door. A heating plate and water spigot to the left of the doorway marked the extent of the dwelling's kitchen facilities. The refresher station stood farther along that wall, in the corner.

Spattered blood covered all of it, sprayed along the floor, up the walls, and across the ceiling. It had dried and taken on a black hue, making the room look as if a shadow had exploded. The explosion's epicenter lay in the back cor-ner, on a raised black platform that glistened in what little light made it in past Gavin.

A wet, gurgling sound pulsed arhythmically from that corner. On the platform, restrained by bedding twisted about him while in the throes of agony, the mortal sh.e.l.l of the Gamorrean named Tolra somehow clung to life. Gavin could see where the flesh had split, allowing leg and arm bones to protrude. The skin itself had thinned to a green-grey translucency and hung in ragged ribbons from ribs and fingers.

The Gamorrean seemed to sense Gavin's presence, be-cause he turned to look at him. With a thick sucking sound, like cold grease being slathered over machine gears, the skull turned toward him while the fleshy sac encompa.s.sing it did not. The Gamorrean's horns and tusks gashed his own skin, then the thick muscles on the creature's neck snapped, leav-ing the ma.s.sive skull to 1oll unnaturally in a puddle of vis-cous tissue.

A chill settled over Gavin. Though he knew Tolra was dead and that the disease had long since eaten away any trace of sapience, he nodded toward the Gamorrean. "You saved them. You did it. May the Force be with you."

Shivering, he turned and walked from the room. He sat down outside and stripped the filmplast covering off his boots, then tossed them back through the darkened door-way. He didn't bother to look up when a shadow fell over him. "He's dead."

Asyr crouched down beside him. "The clean team will get here shortly. Are you all right?"

Gavin thought a moment before he answered. "I will be, and I think that scares me."

"No reason it should."

"I think there is." He jerked a thumb toward the hovel. "There is a Gamorrean in there who has been turned into a ma.s.s of jelly. The disease killed him, but it did so in a way that didn't let him die until he could experience every frag-ment of pain possible. There's nothing left to him, but he was still breathing when I went in there. He was so tough, he probably lasted longer than a week in the end stages of the disease."