insides. He shook the glass, listened to the ice globes tinkle together.
There certainly wasn't any shortage of the frozen stuff these days. It had
been over a week now since the force-dome had first malfunctioned, and still
no indication as to when it was going to be fixed. They had at least
stabilized the temperature, albeit at a not-terribly-comfortable minus six
degrees. It had stopped snowing, but only after three kiosks had buckled
under the weight. It wasn't as bad as being stuck in an outpost on Hoth-that
he knew from experience-but it definitely wasn't pleasant.
From what he'd heard, there were at least two vital parts that had to
be brought in from outside the system. Until they were delivered, it was
going to be a long, cold winter.
He noticed a couple of the entertainers at a table not too far from
him. He'd love to work up something on them-they were getting antsy about
being stuck here, and who could blame them? Their schedules were already
hopelessly shot. Doing a story about their plight, 'however, would require
revealing the dome's malfunction, and the powers-that-be had decided that,
for now, that fact was classified. He'd gotten a bit persnickety about it,
but Vaetes had been adamant. Den couldn't see how the Separatists could take
advantage of the knowledge, since everyone was claiming it was a
malfunction. Still, the lid remained firmly in place, and was likely to stay
there fora while.
Little to do, then, except have another drink. The sabotage of MedStar
certainly wasn't expediting matters. As far as Den had been able to
determine- which wasn't much, even with his sources-the explosion had
definitely been intentionally set. That in itself was horrifying
enough-blowing up a hospital ship was an act of barbarism, not war-but the
fact that it might be linked to the earlier transport explosion seemed to
indicate that, somehow, a spy walked among them.
Needless to say, he wasn't being allowed to file that bit of news,
either. Not via official channels.
He shook his head. It seemed absurd-a spy, in an out-of-the-way Rimsoo
on a star-forsaken world like this? To think that, when he'd drawn this
assignment, he'd come steeling himself for boredom and enforced idleness.
The time he'd spent at Rimsoo Seven had been anything but boring.
As he finished his drink, he saw I-Five enter the can-tina. He made an
inviting gesture, but the droid headed instead for the bar, where Teedle
was.
The two droids spoke for a moment. Den was close enough to overhear the
conversation. Usually he had no compunctions at all about eavesdropping, but
since this conversation was in Binary instead of Basic, there wasn't a lot
to be gleaned from the rapidfire clicks, beeps, and whistles exchanged.
After a moment, Teedle went on her way and I-Five joined Den at the
table.
"Didn't know you spoke Binary," Den said.
"This comes as a surprise? Surely you know that protocol droids-even a
discontinued line like mine-are programmed extensively with languages."
"Right. So I guess you were just making nice with the lady."
"Hardly. If you must know, I was asking for her model number and field
substrate parameters."
Den was just drunk enough to find this hilarious. "Great line," he said
between giggles. "Maybe I'll try it on that cute little dancer with the
troupe. C'mon back to my cube, doll-we'll discuss field substrate
parameters.'" He laughed again.
"Organics are endlessly amusing," I-Five said. "If only to themselves."
Den managed to stop laughing, though his dewflaps fluttered with barely
contained mirth. "Don't be stuffy. We never did get you drunk, did we? Had a
few ideas, but nothing seemed to work."
"And I'm honestly not sure whether to be grateful or aggrieved about
that. Klo Merit's suggestion would probably work, but only after I've
retrieved all lost memory data. Until then, my nonlocal control dampeners
would prevent any baseline alteration."
"Well, I'm still working on it. Have no fear." Den drained the last of
his drink.
"How comforting. Is this where you pass out face-first in the bowl of
shroomchips again? Because, much as I enjoy organic physical comedy, I do
have many more non-challenging tasks to perform."
"I'm not that drunk," Den said. He set his empty glass on the table
without overturning it, though it took a little effort.
"The important thing is that you believe that." The droid headed for
the door, stepping aside to allow two beings to enter. Den squinted against
the momentary dazzle of the snow's reflection. He recognized them after a
moment as the Umbaran and the Falleen. Recent arrivals for some
administrative task or other, if he recalled correctly. No doubt they
answered to the new supply sergeant. He felt a moment's envy for them-at
least they were performing some kind of function here. Until the blackout
was lifted, he had little to do other than sit in the cantina and drink.
Come to think of it, that wasn't such a bad job after all...
17
It was done.
The spy stood before a viewport, looking down at the green-and-blue
planet below. The initial cost had been thirty-three biological lives,
seventeen droids, and several billion credits' worth of damage. And it would
ultimately be far more. Because Column had been ordered to destroy the lower
decks, reception of patients from the planet had been severely
curtailed-sick and wounded would begin stacking up in Rimsoos, and some of
those who would have lived had they been transferred to Med-Star would not
make it. Bota shipments would be drastically slowed, as well-but not so much
as to arouse Black Sun's ire. The gangsters were aware of Column's
Separatist connections. It was a narrow line being walked here, no doubt
about that. The spy had to make sure that the services performed for Black
Sun outweighed inconveniences in the matter of the bota shipments, or Kaird
of the Nediji might soon be knocking on Column's door as he had on Admiral
Bleyd's.
It was indisputably a setback for the Republic. Enough by itself to win
the war? No, of course not. But it was another block on the bantha's back,
as the saying went. Who could say that this might not be the one that made
the creature's burden too great? Or the one just shy of doing so?
Still, Column felt no satisfaction, no closure. To blow up a medical
ship, or even part of one, was vile, heinous, reprehensible. There were
people on Drongar who thought well of Column and, if they knew what the spy
had done, would turn away in disgust. Or-more likely-cheer were Column to be
executed in a sleet of blasterfire. Those who didn't clamor to be the ones
who putted the triggers . . .
Best not to dwell on it, the spy knew. Painful experiences left scars,
and even years later they could throb and blaze, if one paid them too much
mind. Best to put them in a closet and close and lock the door. They would
always be there, but if one didn't look at them, there in the dark, they
didn't hurt as much. Sometimes it was the only way to
move on.
They still thought it was an accident, as far as the spy had been able
to determine, so they weren't looking for a saboteur. Eventually, operations
between the ship and the planet would return to normal. And Column would be
allowed to leave and return to the Rimsoo.
To contemplate the next inevitable blow against the Republic.
To call the results of the intramuscular injection of bota extract into
the dying trooper a miracle was perhaps stretching the meaning of the term
as Barriss understood it; still, there was no denying that the man had been
calling on death's door a few hours earlier, yet he was now awake and alert,
his fever was gone, and his rapidly failing organ systems were on the mend,
if the telemetric monitors were functioning correctly. His white cell count
with its bacterial shift was markedly decreased, though still slightly
elevated. He was, for all intents and purposes, nearly well.
Amazing.
Barriss had six more of the bota muscle-poppers given to her by Jos,
and she knew several patients who could certainly benefit from them. Those
who were more human in their species-tap seemed to derive the most
antibacterial and antiviral benefits, but those for whom the drug functioned
primarily as an analgesic, and who were in extensive pain that was unabated
by ordinary narcotics, would appreciate the injections as well.
There were a lot more patients in the Rimsoo than usual-the explosion
aboard MedStar had slowed their transfers, and while most of them were
stable, some still needed more care than the Rimsoo could provide. The bota
would help that. Problem was, it wouldn't last long.
Even as she made her rounds through the medical ward, Barriss was
already wondering how she might get more of the miracle plant. The larger
crops were, of course, guarded, but Jos had told her that there were smaller
clumps still growing wild. These patches Zan had found, and used for his
preparations. If she could find a wild patch and harvest even half a kilo or
so, she could make a suspension that might treat fifty or a hundred
patients. She didn't know the precise dosage and proportions of active
ingredients to carrier solution, but she could analyze one of the remaining
poppers and figure that out. Chemistry and pharmaceutical preparation hadn't
been her two favorite subjects during medical training, but she had managed
to learn enough in both to pass with honors. She would find a way to make it
work.
Too bad Zan didn't leave notes, she thought. That would have saved some
time and trouble.
Of course, leaving such notes around could get one in deep trouble if
somebody found them. What Zan and Jos had done, and what she had in mind to
do, was technically illegal. It was not, however, immoral, and her Jedi and
medical training were in complete accord on such matters. There were laws,
and then there were laws. Some of them had been passed for the wrong
reasons, and many were flawed-nearly every rule had some exception. When the
choice came down to a legal act or a moral act, the Jedi making the choice
would ideally do both. But circumstances were seldom ideal, and in such
cases one should always choose the moral way, and be willing to suffer the
consequences, if any.
In this case, it wasn't complicated. Saving lives was the right thing
to do. If the means to do that were at hand, and one allowed people to die
because of a law that had been passed to favor the rich and powerful-well,
that was wrong.
She heard a low moan, and turned to see one of the several nonclone
patients, a Rodian lieutenant called Zheepho, thrashing in his bed,
struggling against the pressor field holding him in place. Zheepho had
chronic smashbone fever, which had apparently been dormant for years, but
had recently recurred. The intensity of the muscular contractions caused by
the pathogen-a form of microorganism not quite a bacterium, nor exactly a
virus, but somewhere in between-was such that the in-fected's ligaments
would tear and bones sometimes snap during the more violent episodes of
tetany. The illness carried a 50 percent mortality rate, even when treated.
There was no cure, and most of the muscle relaxants they had on hand were
not effective on Rodians. A brain-stem surgical disconnect would stop both
afferent and efferent nerve conduction, but-besides the small matter of
leaving the patient totally paralyzed as far as voluntary movement was
concerned-it wouldn't stop the convulsions, because the infection was in the
muscle tissue itself, not just the CNS.
Maybe the bota would help. Zheepho was in much pain, and could soon die
if something wasn't done. In over half of the cases, the infection spread to
the organs, and something vital-heart, liver, or lungs, most likely- would
shut down. Barriss had checked, but the literature-at least what she could
access here-held no mention of the effects of bota on Rodians.
But it wasn't as if he had much to lose. There were no fatal side
effects of bota on any known species. And the continued episodes of tetany
could very well damage Zheepho beyond the Rimsoo's ability to properly
treat, even if he survived the illness itself.
She approached the thrashing Rodian, She'd have to drop the pressor
field to inject him. A deltoid or thigh jab would do the job. The popper
would blast the aerosolized drug right into the muscle tissue-if she could
do it before he spasmed again. She might have to use the Force to hold him
still.
She reached the bed. "Zheepho," she said. "I'm Barriss Offee, a Jedi
healer."
"Ex-excuse m-m-me if I d-don't g-g-get up, H-H-Healer," he managed to
say between gritted lip plates.
"I have a treatment here that might help you," she said, She held up
the popper. "But there is some risk, which! can't calculate properly."
The Rodian clenched all over, tightening like a giant fist. The spasm
lasted twenty seconds. Blue-green perspiration broke out on his tensed body.
When the spasm subsided, he croaked, "Right n-now, Healer, I would g-gladly
take p-p-poison if y-you offered it-ahhh-!"
Another contraction gripped him, shorter this time.
"I'll have to drop the field. Try to hold as still as you can."
"Nop-p-problem," he managed. She felt less confident than she sounded.
She couldn't do this by swaying his mind, since the spasming muscles weren't
under his control. She'd have to hold him in place physically, with a
controlled and sustained Force push, and that would be tricky to do without
injuring him, especially given the fragile condition he was already in.
She found the connection with the Force that she needed, and thrust
forward with her mind, pinning him down. He lay still, and she readied the
popper. She'd drop the restraining field, reach in fast, hit him, and be out
in a second or two. Ready . . . go!
She thumbed off the pressor field and reached in with both hands, using
one to steady his leg. She pressed the popper to his thigh and reached for
the trigger-
A major spasm wracked the Rodian. The unexpected severity of i
t shook
Barriss's grasp of the Force. Hurry-.'
But as she triggered the fire button on the popper, Zheepho's leg
jerked, as if a thousand volts of electricity had galvanized it. The popper
bounced off his thigh. She was still gripping his leg as a second spasm hit
him, throwing her momentarily off balance. Barriss lurched forward, and the
injector came down-on the back of her other hand.
The popper sprayed the suspension extract through her skin. Some of it
went into a vein-she could feel the cold rush. Quickly, she pulled back,
relit the pressor field, and grabbed another bota popper from her pocket. As
Zheepho's muscles relaxed, she killed the field again, jammed the popper at
his leg, and fired it. This time her luck was better.
A moment later, the field was back in place, and Barriss stood there,
staring down at the Rodian. He twitched again, but less than before, and
after another two minutes, the spasms stopped.
Can it work that fast? she wondered.
"Whoo," he said. "Thanks, Healer. I don't knowwhat you did, but I'll
take a barrel of it."
She smiled. "I'll come back and check on you in a little while."
The Rodian had been in the Green Bed, the last one in this ward.
Barriss walked through the sterilizing field and turned into a supply
chamber. She sought the Force, intending to turn it inward, to monitor
herself. While it was true that bota had not shown any adverse affects on
humans, she had just taken a rather whopping dose. She didn't feel any
different, but still-
Sudden sourceless light washed over her.
She blinked. And saw Master Luminara Unduli, standing three meters away
against the far wall, watching her and smiling.
"Master? How did you-?"
Master Unduli went translucent, then transparent, and then blinked off
like a light going out.
With her next breath, Barriss felt sudden energy flow into her-pure,
raw, vast power. In that moment, she felt transcendent, almost omnipotent.
She was simultaneously in her body and out of it, able to sense beyond
three, even four dimensions. It felt as if she could grasp the fabric of
space and time, and turn it, twist it, anyway that suited her. For one
blinding instant she could feel the Force as she had never done before-in
its entirety. There was a kind of ... cosmic consciousness, in which she
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