The Krytos Trap

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Mon Mothma opened her arms. “Let there be no citizen of the New Republic who harbors suspicions about Tycho Celchu. His devotion to the New Republic is unquestioned. His return to active service with Rogue Squadron is a joyous event for us, and an event that should be feared by those who would attack the New Republic.” She initiated applause for Tycho and everyone else joined in, including Wedge once he tucked the unit citation beneath his left arm.

  Tycho bowed his head toward Mon Mothma, but declined an invitation to speak with a curt shake of his head.

  Mon Mothma nodded back at him, then resumed her place at the podium. “It is said of Rogue Squadron that doing the impossible is what they do best, and another member of the squadron has shown himself to be perhaps the best of the best at it. Is there anyone in the New Republic who has not heard of Corran Horn? He was the pilot who flew through the worst storm in Coruscant’s recorded history to bring the defense shields down, only to be slain through the treachery of one of his comrades. It was a story that touched all of us because it spoke to the best in one individual and the worst in another. We mourned Corran Horn because his untimely death seemed yet one more tragedy caused by the Empire at a time when the Empire should have been decidedly less virulent.

  “We know of Captain Celchu’s innocence because of a number of things, greatest among them Corran Horn’s return from the grave. He was not killed on the last day the Empire held Coruscant. He was captured instead. When Ysanne Isard could not break him and transform him into a puppet, he was placed in a prison where she intended him to live out the rest of his life. Though he had been told that a failed escape attempt would result in his death, Corran Horn risked his life to win his freedom. He alone has gotten away from Lusankya, and his escape precipitated Ysanne Isard’s own departure from Coruscant.”

  Mon Mothma beckoned Corran forward, but he followed Tycho’s lead, acknowledging her gesture with a slight bow and a smile. That smile remained on his face as he straightened up, though he did give Wedge a covert wink. Wedge nodded in return, pleased that both men were content with allowing the focus of the ceremony to remain on the squadron instead of shifting it to themselves.

  “Citizens, Ysanne Isard’s flight from Coruscant and her subsequent actions have given birth to more rumors than can be counted. It is true that with the resources available to her she did travel to Thyferra and support a revolution that put the Xucphra faction in charge of the bacta cartel. She does now rule there and has effective control over the output of the entire bacta cartel. Given that she introduced the Krytos virus to Coruscant and directed covert Imperial operations to destroy bacta storage facilities here on Coruscant, this would seem to place her in a most powerful position. Literally, it would appear that millions will live or die depending upon her whim.”

  Mon Mothma’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Her action would have caused a crisis except for two things over which she had no control. One was a direct and unwitting result of her own haste in taking action against us. When she ordered the creation of the Krytos virus, she wanted a virus that would mutate quickly and spread between species easily. Her scientists complied with her orders, but they failed to take into account what would happen if the spread of the virus was hampered. The Krytos virus was very deadly—in fact, too deadly for her plan to succeed. Infected persons died fast—in many cases too fast to be able to spread the disease very far. An illness that kills too quickly runs itself out of hosts and dies along with them. Those individuals who lasted long enough to spread the virus did so only because, as the virus mutated, it became less virulent. Since it did not kill them so quickly, they had a chance to pass it on, but it was no longer as deadly a virus as Iceheart wanted it to be.

  “This high rate of mutation also weakened the virus’s defenses. Analysis of the virus allowed a Vratix verachen to be able to synthesize a specific medication to combat the virus by growing the alazhi component of bacta in a ryll-rich environment. The resulting product, known as rylca, is now being produced in a hidden location by the New Republic. More than enough to eradicate the virus will be available here well before our bacta supply runs out.”

  Mon Mothma glanced momentarily back toward Wedge and he saw the glimmerings of a smile on her face. “Rogue Squadron itself did not produce the rylca, but they provided support for the product and were instrumental in obtaining both the ryll and the bacta used to create the rylca. Qlaern Hirf is a Vratix verachen from Thyferra and is the creator of rylca. Equally instrumental in the success of this effort is the woman who transported the components for the rylca and rescued the Vratix from the most dire of circumstances, Mirax Terrik. You may have heard that Mirax was killed in the ambush at Alderaan, but it appears her long association with Rogue Squadron allowed her to do the impossible as well and return from that tragedy to help us deal with the Krytos virus.”

  The New Republic’s Chief Councilor led the assembly in a round of applause for both Qlaern and Mirax. The Vratix seemed utterly nonplussed by the demonstration, but Mirax blushed fiercely. She gave Wedge a fearsome stare that he recognized by virtue of having seen it many times before, and he knew what it meant.

  She’s right, it is all my fault that she’s being embarrassed by the attention, but I’m glad she’s alive to be blushing. As nearly as Cracken and his Intelligence people could make out, Erisi had betrayed the bacta convoy to the Empire for two reasons. The first was to eliminate a lot of bacta, dashing hopes on Coruscant and driving the price yet higher. The second reason was to get Mirax killed, since her Pulsar Skate was one of the ships in the convoy. Mirax recalled Erisi threatening her if Mirax continued her relationship with Corran, and the destruction of the convoy offered Erisi a way to kill her rival for Corran’s affections. Given that everyone thought Corran was dead at the time, the act was taken as a reflection of Erisi’s vindictive and petty nature.

  Then again, Isard might have told Erisi of Corran’s survival and promised him to her as a reward for her continued loyalty. Wedge shivered at that thought. Luckily for Mirax, the Pulsar Skate didn’t go along with the final convoy jump. Mirax had instead shipped out to Borleias, where the captured Alderaan Biotics Facility was put to use synthesizing rylca. The plan had been for it to appear as if Mirax had just stolen a portion of the bacta going to Coruscant—what smuggler could have resisted taking such a prize? She would have remained out of sight until the production of rylca could allow the New Republic the freedom to anger the hacta cartel by announcing their possession of a facility that could produce enough bacta-like products to break the cartel. The death of the convoy provided an even better cover for her operation, so she remained dead until an opportune moment to reveal the deception.

  Mon Mothma faced the holocams one last time. “Citizens of the New Republic, the last vestige of the Empire’s evil has been rooted out of Coruscant. What was once an Empire is now just a collection of bitter people clutching at whatever power they can find to keep themselves apart from those they have hurt. What they do not realize, and the reason they are doomed to failure, is that all power in the galaxy comes from the free and willful investing of power by one person in another. Human and non-human, gendered or not, young, old, hale or infirm, we can only give power, we cannot take it. Stolen power evaporates and when it does, the empires that were built on it and of it collapse, never to rise again.”

  Chapter Fourty-Six

  Wedge found it mildly annoying that he was able to resist the generally festive atmosphere of the reception following the awards ceremony. Various guests mixed and mingled with members of the squadron while holocams made the most of every holo-op. The images would be distributed throughout the New Republic, winning a small measure of the unit’s fame for the politicians and other celebrities present.

  Though he was inclined to view such opportunism with a cynical eye, he didn’t condemn it. The Rebellion had won. Hundreds and hundreds of worlds flocked to the New Republic’s banner. The New Republic fleet was poised to go after Warlord Zsinj
in a campaign that would strike fear into the hearts of all the other petty warlords in the galaxy. Even Ysanne Isard had to know her days were numbered, since there was no way the New Republic could let her remain in control of the bacta supply. With the installation of Fliry Vorru as Thyferra’s Minister of Trade, bacta prices had already started to climb, making that situation one that could not be tolerated.

  The reason the celebration failed to reach him went beyond his sense of mourning for Iella Wessiri. She had declined to accompany him to the reception, and he understood why. No one saw Diric as anything but one more of Iceheart’s victims, out Iella clearly thought she should have been able to spot something, to have known Diric was under Iceheart’s control. The obvious implication of that thinking was that if she had been more vigilant she never would have had to shoot him and the guilt over that act would be one with which she would wrestle for the rest of her life.

  Ultimately Wedge’s reservations about the celebration came from the past. He remembered well the celebration on Yavin 4 that followed the first Death Star’s destruction. Our joy was this transparent, this unguarded. Then we evacuated the base and began running from the Empire. I know it’s stupid to associate a victory and celebration with impending disaster, but…

  Borsk Fey’lya cut through the milling crowd and nodded his head toward Wedge. “I wanted to congratulate you, Commander, on a game well played.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The Bothan tapped claws against the barref of his lominale mug. “There was a report concerning Rogue Squadron’s intervention at Alderaan. I understand it has been classified as ‘Most Secret.’”

  “Indeed it has.” Wedge suppressed his desire to smile. “It struck me that the information about the situation at Alderaan could have compromised our rylca operation. I suggested that classifying the report that highly would be a good thing.”

  Borsk Fey’lya’s creamy fur rippled up the back of his head. “Good for you.”

  “No, Councilor, good for you.” Wedge let his voice drop into a low growl. “You would have found the report less than satisfactory for your ends, which would have prompted you to try to destroy one of my people. I can assure you that would have caused problems.”

  “If you want to play at politics, Antilles, I would welcome you onto my battlefield.”

  “I don’t want to play at anything, thank you. I didn’t join the Rebellion to play.” Wedge opened a hand and pointed to the various members of the squadron. “My job is to make certain my people do their jobs and stay alive. What I do isn’t about me or garnering power, it’s about people: my people and the people we defend by going after the Empire.”

  “And doubtless you see politics as some dirty enterprise beneath your notice.”

  Wedge arched an eyebrow at him. “And you can convince me otherwise?”

  “You’re intelligent enough, Commander Antilles, to convince yourself I’m right. You already know everything is political. You know, for example, that what you have done for the Rebellion has granted you power—power you might well wish to use to advance your own plans and desires. You have things that will require support to accomplish, and building a coalition of support is political.”

  Wedge’s brown eyes narrowed. I had hoped to advance the Vratix case for joining the New Republic, and I thought hard’s taking of Thyferra would make that job just that much easier. Is Borsk Fey’lya trying to suggest that something so obviously right and necessary might flounder because I’m not going to play his game?

  Anger began to build in Wedge, but before he could give it vent, he felt the weight of a hand on his right shoulder. His fury drained away as he turned from the Bothan and began to smile. “As stars live and die! I didn’t think you’d be here, Luke.”

  The tow-headed Jedi Knight enfolded Wedge’s hand in a firm grip, then he pulled Wedge forward into a backslapping hug. “I wouldn’t have missed it for all the Tibanna gas on Bespin. I was a bit late because, quite frankly, the Jedi exhibits your man found in the Galactic Museum are, well, absorbing. I’ve been chasing all over trying to locate traces of other Jedi, then it turns out a repository of a lot of stuff is on the planet from which I’ve been basing my searches. While very little of it deals with training, there is a lot of material that lets me piece together some history.”

  “Corran mentioned he’d found quite a haul. He said it was rather macabre.”

  Luke Skywalker nodded solemnly as he stepped back from Wedge. “Once the Emperor isolated those rooms, they became his own private playground. As the Jedi in there were hunted down, the Emperor defaced their monuments. There’s enough evil there to be palpable, but I think things can be set to rights again.”

  Borsk Fey’lya came around on Wedge’s left side. “The Council is already discussing an appropriation to allow for the rehabilitation of those exhibits.” The Bothan extended his hand to Luke. “Councilor Borsk Fey’lya, at your service.”

  At his own service. Wedge caught a mischievous glint in Luke’s eyes, as if the Jedi Knight knew what he was thinking.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Councilor. The efforts of your people in eliminating the second Death Star and in liberating Coruscant speak to the nobility in the Bothan spirit.”

  “You are most kind, Jedi Skywalker.”

  Wedge laughed. “That’s just because you’re not a womp rat scurrying down some canyon, Councilor.”

  “No chance of his being mistaken for that, Wedge.”

  “Ahem, thank you.” Fey’lya smoothed the fur at the back of his head. “Jedi Skywalker, you have made strides in reestablishing the Jedi?”

  “Some, though I hope for more.” Luke shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Progress is seldom measured in great leaps except when viewed with hindsight.”

  “It is much the same with nation-building.”

  “So I can imagine.” Luke nodded, then turned and extended his hand to the male half of the couple walking up. “Tycho, good to see you again, and now out from under suspicion.”

  Tycho shook his hand. “Thank you, Luke. I believe you know Winter?”

  The Jedi Knight nodded and offered Winter his hand. “My sister’s friend and confidant? We are well acquainted. It seems I speak with her more than I do Leia, especially with my sister off on her embassy to Hapes. How are you doing, Winter?”

  “Much better, now that Tycho is free.” Winter slipped her hand from Luke’s and again held Tycho’s hand. “I understand you are spending most of your time in the Museum.”

  “True. There is a wealth of material there.” Luke looked over at Wedge. “I was hoping you’d introduce me to this Corran Horn.”

  “Gladly.” Wedge looked around, caught Corran’s eye, and waved him over. Corran headed in their direction with Mirax on his arm and Qlaern Hirf following them like a shadow. “Luke Skywalker, it is an honor to present to you Lieutenant Corran Horn, Mirax Terrik, and Qlaern Hirf. This is Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and founder of Rogue Squadron.”

  Corran smiled and shook Luke’s hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir. One of the first things Commander Antilles ever said to me was that I was ‘no Luke Skywalker.’ You set a very high standard for all of us to shoot for.”

  “Not my intention, but I’m not averse to being used as a motivational tool.” Luke smiled, then shook Mirax’s hand. “What you and Qlaern Hirf have done to save lives here on Coruscant is worthy of much praise and even more thanks.”

  Mirax shrugged. “I’m strictly transport, sir, Qlaern did the hard work.”

  Luke shot a glance back at Wedge. “A Corellian smuggler without an attitude?”

  Wedge shrugged. “She’s smarter than most.”

  Mirax laughed. “No profit in bragging, only working.”

  “Indeed.” The Jedi held a hand up and brushed it along the Vratix’s arm as Qlaern touched his face. “Our thanks to you for creating rylca.”

  “Verachen is what we are. Our joy is in our success.”

  “And your success will
make many people very happy.” Luke withdrew his arm—forestalling introductions to the rest of the squadron as they crowded around—and, for a moment, his dark cloak closed around his body. When his hands again emerged from beneath the garment, he extended a slender silver cylinder toward Corran. “This belongs to you, I believe.”

  “No, sir. I returned it to the Museum, and the Jedi Credit, too.” Corran tapped his breastbone. “I borrowed them when escaping from there and returned them when everything calmed down.”

  “I know that, Lieutenant Horn.” Luke’s hand remained halfway between them with the lightsaber held loosely in his grip. “What I mean is that this lightsaber belongs to you. They’re often passed down from one family member to another.”

  Corran frowned. “I think you’re making a mistake here. That lightsaber belonged to a Jedi named Nejaa Halcyon. It should go to his family.”

  “So it shall.” Luke advanced it toward him. “Nejaa Halcyon was your grandfather.”

  What? Luke’s remark, spoken in a low, calm voice, surprised Wedge as much as it seemed to surprise Corran. “Corran, you never said anything about your grandfather being a Jedi Knight.”

  “He wasn’t. My grandfather was Rostek Horn. He worked for the Corellian Security Force. He wasn’t a Jedi. He once partnered with one—liaised with him so CorSec could work with the Jedi on things on Corellia—but that was it.” Corran unfastened his tunic at the neck and pulled out the medallion he wore. He unclasped the gold chain and gathered the Jedi medallion in his right hand. “The Jedi on this medallion may have been his friend, but he wasn’t my grandfather.”