Star Wars - X-Wing - Krytos Trap

by Michael A. Stackpole

  with her in doing her duty as she saw it.

  He pressed the door buzzer, then tugged at the cuffs of

  his jacket sleeves. I'm not asking her out. I'm just here as a

  friend visiting a friend. Wedge shook his head. For the past

  ten years, since the death of his parents and through his

  association with the Rebellion, he'd really given little

  thought to romance and relationships. He'd certainly found

  companionship with a number of Rebel women, but he'd not

  found a single companion, a partner, the way Han Solo or

  Tycho Celchu had. He couldn't explain why not, nor did he

  let it bother him--the nature of the Rebellion and his assign-

  ments meant planning for anything long-term was silly, and

  avoiding relationships meant the chances of getting hurt

  when the unspeakable happened were much less.

  He'd seen Leia over the time Han Solo had been encased

  in carbonite. She had been driven almost to the point of

  recklessness in her attempts to free her beloved. He laughed.

  Entering Jabba's palace meant she was driven beyond reck-

  lessness. While he envied Han Solo the passion with which

  he was loved, he dreaded the idea of being plagued by the

  pain Leia had known.

  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 knobs

  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 identity,

  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."

  lella 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 titles."

  "Where they kept me, we joked that titles 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 titles 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?"

  leila 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 impasse between us."

  "Impasse, 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."

  l0

  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 prickly 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 clamshell head--a refit from a spaceport 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 ch
ildren 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 in-

  fected. 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.