Star Wars: Riptide

by Paul S. Kemp

  Soldier could not argue with the point. But he had trouble believing that Runner had actually thought ahead, as opposed to simply giving in to his anger.

  Above, swoop bikes with uniformed officers streaked past, high-pitched sirens wailing. Somewhere behind the crush of buildings, he heard a different kind of siren and presumed it was med evac.

  Using the tall spike of the medical center as a navigational aide, he drove the speeder quickly through the streets until they reached the city center. A score of pedestrians milled about outside the large, transparisteel doors of the medical center. Swoops, speeder bikes, speeders, and several wheeled vehicles were parked in a disorganized fashion on the street. A small, box-shaped medical shuttle alit from a second-story landing pad, turned, and shot off in the direction of the havoc Runner had wrought. Soldier looked over to Seer.

  “You’re certain the meds we need are on the ship?”

  She did not blink. “I’m certain.”

  He spared a look at Hunter, at Grace. They would not last much longer. “Then let’s go.”

  They parked the speeder and exited. Seer took Grace before Soldier could, so he carried Hunter.

  “Cover your weapons,” he said to Seer and Runner.

  “Why?” Runner said.

  “Just do it,” he snapped.

  Runner grumbled as he covered the hilt of his blade with his cloak.

  Together, they walked toward the sliding doors of the medical facility. Soldier kept his head down, but he felt the eyes of pedestrians and passersby on him. Perhaps they noted the raggedness of his group’s clothing.

  A bipedal, anthropoid droid, coated in dust, separated itself from the crowd and approached them. Soldier tried to veer away, but it shifted to intercept them.

  “May I assist you, sir?” the droid asked.

  “No.”

  “I will alert a doctor about your sick companions.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Soldier said.

  “It is no trouble, sir. Their body temperature is quite high and they will need rapid treatment. A medical team will be awaiting you inside.”

  Soldier had hoped to go mostly unnoticed. That, it seemed, was no longer possible. They moved through sentients and droids and into the medical center.

  A waiting room opened to the right, a dozen worried sentients sitting in chairs or watching a holo. To the left was a medical triage. The smell of antiseptic filled the air. Violet-uniformed doctors and nurses moved about the triage area. The beep and whistle of medical equipment reminded Soldier of the facility on the frozen moon. Bad memories bubbled up from the dregs of his mind.

  “I don’t like doctors,” Runner said, agitation coming off him in palpable waves.

  Neither did Soldier. Their experience with doctors involved sensory deprivation tanks, surgeries without anesthesia, painful tests, hypos, and constant monitoring. He felt his own level of irritation rising. The power he held at bay crept up on him, desperate to be used.

  A thin female doctor with graying hair stood near the reception area straight ahead. She held a portable scanner in her hand. A male nurse stood beside her, one hand on a wheeled gurney large enough to hold Hunter and Grace. Both hurriedly approached as Soldier and the others entered.

  “Put them down here,” the doctor said, her tone brisk and commanding.

  Soldier laid Hunter down on the gurney and Seer placed Grace beside her. Soldier was pleased to see that Grace’s color had improved.

  Soldier scanned the triage, the reception area, the waiting room, looking for lifts. He saw six security guards in black uniforms stationed within eyeshot. All wore blasters at their hips.

  The doctor began her examination. “They’re burning up,” she said.

  “They need injections of Metacycline,” Soldier said.

  The doctor looked up at him. “Metacycline? I’m not familiar with—”

  “It’s a mixture of several drugs,” Soldier said. “A genetic coherence sequencer, an antipsychotic, and a blood thinner.”

  The nurse said, “I read about Metacycline years ago in a medical ethics paper. The Empire used it decades ago in some experiments.”

  “Why would they need that?” the doctor asked Soldier.

  “Just give it to them,” Runner barked.

  Two of the nearby security guards noticed them, frowning at Runner’s tone.

  The doctor blinked, taken aback, perhaps unused to being talked to in such a manner. She seemed to actually note their appearance for the first time—their filthy, threadbare clothes made from Imperial castoffs, their unkempt hair and beards.

  Soldier saw the change come over her, the moment suspicion seized her mind, changing her concern from treating Hunter and Grace to ensuring that she was not harmed.

  “Uh, I see,” the doctor said. She stood up and backed away, her eyes wide. “Let me see what we have in the dispensary.” She took the nurse by the arm and backed off a few more steps. “Nurse, I will need your assistance.”

  The nurse, surprised, said, “Uh … of course, Doctor.”

  Soldier sank into the Force, drew on the enormous reservoir of power bubbling beneath the surface of his control. He reached out with mental fingers and took hold of the doctor’s mind, of the nurse’s.

  “You will both escort us to the lifts,” Soldier said.

  Doctor and nurse stopped their retreat and their faces went vacant.

  “I will escort you to the lifts,” they said in unison.

  “You there,” called one of the security guards from behind them.

  “Take us,” Soldier said to the doctor and nurse. “Now. Right now.”

  They turned and started walking toward the triage area. He could feel the emotion building in Runner, in Seer, in himself. He felt as if it might lift him from his feet.

  “You there!” called the guard again from behind them. “Wait, I said!”

  Eyes were on them—doctors’, nurses’, patients’.

  Ahead, two other security guards appeared, talking softly into their comlinks. Each had a hand on his blaster. Behind those two, Soldier saw the lift doors.

  “Enough of this,” Runner said. He shoved Soldier to the side, the anger bleeding from him. He held out his hands and unleashed a blast of energy that went before him in a wide arc. The triage area virtually exploded. Beds overturned; overhead lights shattered, raining glass; medical equipment toppled; and two dozen bodies—patients, security guards, doctors, and nurses, including those whose minds Soldier had bent to his will—flew across the room and slammed into the far wall. Bones shattered.

  Before them, the pile of bodies, bedding, and machinery looked like the aftermath of a bomb blast. The lift doors were crumpled on their mounts; the lift control panel was shattered and spitting sparks. The alarms from medical equipment beeped plaintively. Moans and screams sounded from the wounded.

  Soldier drew his lightsaber, activated it, and turned as the two security guards behind them drew their blasters and fired. His blade spun and he deflected both shots back at the guards, opening smoking holes in their chests. They staggered backward, fell, and died.

  Screams came from all sides, some of terror, some of pain. An alarm activated and sang in high-pitched notes. The authorities would be coming.

  “Come, Soldier,” Seer said, her voice preternaturally calm. She had already scooped up Grace from the gurney. Soldier grabbed Hunter and put her over his shoulders. Runner picked his way through the carnage to the lifts and pressed futilely at the panel.

  “You ruined them,” Soldier said.

  Runner whirled on him, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. Caught up in Runner’s anger, Soldier stepped in closer, fists clenched.

  Seer interposed her body between them. “We use the stairs,” she said.

  Soldier swallowed hard, nodded. Runner said nothing, merely spun on his heel and used the Force to blow open the doorway to the stairs.

  “Ruined this door, too,” he said over his shoulder.

  Sold
ier resisted the urge to drive his lightsaber into Runner’s back only because Seer, perhaps sensing his anger, put her hand on his forearm.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  They left the wounded and dying behind them and started up the stairwell.

  As he climbed, Soldier wondered why he stayed with Seer. He could have taken Grace, even Hunter, and left Seer alone on her quest for Mother. Runner could not have stopped him.

  But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer: he hated his doubt. He craved certainty, and he hoped, against his better judgment, that everything Seer said would ultimately prove true.

  If that happened, he would kill his doubt forever.

  Junker came out of hyperspace and the blue churn gave way to black, to Fhost’s system. The system’s star painted the cockpit in orange light. Ahead, the tan sphere of Fhost spun against the ink of space.

  “Welcome home,” Khedryn said. “Doesn’t look the same somehow.”

  “No,” Marr said thoughtfully. “It doesn’t.”

  “The authorities may want us for questioning about The Hole,” Jaden said.

  “Reegas will not welcome our return,” Marr observed.

  Jaden had intervened in a sabacc game involving Khedryn and a local crime lord named Reegas. The game had turned into a brawl, and Jaden had left several of Reegas’s bodyguards dead.

  “We’ll avoid sat pings, and planetary control won’t know we’re in-system,” Khedryn said. He looked back at Jaden. “We’re not staying long, are we?”

  “Probably not,” Jaden said.

  Khedryn nodded. “You know the headings to use, Marr.”

  Marr started plugging numbers into the instrument panel. Jaden noticed that he did it with his eyes closed.

  “I need to hail Ar-Six,” Jaden said. He’d left his droid aboard his modified Z-95 in-system.

  Khedryn handed him the ship-to-ship and Jaden input the frequency. The droid’s beep of acknowledgment carried over the channel. The sound brought Jaden enormous comfort. Prior to meeting Khedryn and Marr, R-6 had been his sole companion for months.

  “Good to hear you, too, Ar-Six,” Jaden said.

  Without further ado, R-6 exploded into droidspeak, unleashing a rapid series of whoops, beeps, and whistles.

  “Slow down, Ar-Six,” Jaden said.

  “Something wrong?” Khedryn asked.

  Jaden had trouble with droidspeak during the best of times, but he’d caught the note of alarm in R-6’s tone and something about an attack. As a matter of routine, R-6 would monitor holo and radio transmissions planetside.

  “Start over,” Jaden said, and put the droid on speaker. “But go slower.”

  R-6 began again, and Khedryn and Marr watched Jaden as he listened.

  “The medical facility on Fhost has been attacked,” Jaden said.

  “Users,” Khedryn said, shaking his head. “Happens a few times per year. They get together in a gang and—”

  “Repeat, Ar-Six,” Jaden said, and the droid did so. “Are you sure that’s what the report said?”

  The droid beeped an affirmative.

  Jaden looked to Khedryn and Marr. “Reports say that one of the attackers used a lightsaber. A red lightsaber.”

  A long moment of silence passed.

  “Couldn’t be,” Khedryn said.

  “The timing is right,” Marr said. “They could be sick after so long in isolation. Maybe they need medical supplies?”

  “Ar-Six is getting this in real time,” Jaden said. “So there’s one sure way to find out.”

  “Heading for Farpoint Medical Center,” Khedryn said, and wheeled Junker to starboard. “You’re a magnet for this stuff, Jaden. Marr, I hope you know what you signed on for.”

  “Keep monitoring planetary authorities, Ar-Six,” Jaden said, and the droid beeped an affirmative.

  “There isn’t much in the way of official security, Jedi,” Khedryn said. “Reegas and those like him run Farpoint. The authorities are just thugs with uniforms. After the mess you left in The Hole, I doubt they’ll even show up at the facility when they hear the word ‘lightsaber.’ ” To Marr, he said, “Chewstim?”

  Marr pulled the pack from his pocket, offered Khedryn a wedge.

  “Better stow that caf,” Khedryn said, nodding at the mugs.

  Jaden and Marr scooped up the half-full mugs, dumped the contents, and packed them away.

  Junker burned through the atmosphere, flames licking the ship’s side. They completed reentry and burst through the cloud cover, and Fhost appeared below them. Farpoint looked like a darkened thumbprint on the planet’s beige surface.

  “Anything new, Ar-Six?” Jaden asked.

  The droid beeped a negative.

  “Maybe you ought to bring that droid aboard Junker, Jaden,” Khedryn said.

  Jaden stared at him, dumbfounded. Even Marr looked surprised.

  “What?” Jaden said. “I thought you don’t let droids aboard Junker.”

  “You seem fond of him, so maybe he’s better than most. Besides, I need someone to talk to when you two are off training. I feel like I’m flying a tomb. Too blasted quiet in here. That droid seems chatty, if nothing else.”

  “I see,” Jaden said, smiling.

  “Maybe time for some other changes, too,” Khedryn said. “You don’t seem inclined to run away from things, which is too bad, since it’s a habit that’s served me well for thirty years. So maybe we ought to arm Junker with something other than a tractor beam.”

  Jaden knew better than to push. “Whatever you think is best. She’s your ship.”

  “Darn right she is,” Khedryn said. He pointed down out of the transparisteel canopy. “There’s the facility.”

  The medical center’s ten stories had once been part of the bridge tower of the crashed ship that formed the bones of Farpoint. As the tallest building in Farpoint, it looked like a victory pennon planted in the city center. The doors of its rooftop landing pad lay wide open, a medical supply ship visible on the deck.

  Jaden saw three swoops circling the exterior of the building at various altitudes, their sirens flashing orange.

  “They’re not going in,” Jaden said.

  “Told you,” Khedryn said. “They’ll let internal security handle it, then come in to clean up when it’s over.”

  “Security can’t handle even one of those clones.”

  “We don’t know that it’s the clones.”

  R-6’s droidspeak carried over the comm. Jaden nodded, listening.

  “Reports from inside say they’re heading up the stairs,” he translated. “The lifts were damaged in some kind of explosion. There are a lot of dead and wounded.”

  “At least they’re in a hospital,” Khedryn said, then winced at his bad joke. “Not funny. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Coming in. Where should I set down?”

  “If they’re taking the stairs, they’re going up.”

  “The supply ship?” Marr asked.

  Jaden frowned. “Possible, but they could be after just about anything. Or they could be after nothing. The Solusar clone I faced on the moon was insane. Using reason to anticipate their actions is a fool’s game.”

  Jaden flashed on the Kamclone’s wild eyes, the script written in blood on the door of the cloning chamber:

  MOTHER IS HUNGRY.

  He thought of the corpses piled several meters deep in the cloning cylinder, the thick, pungent stink of decay. The clones had killed everyone.

  He had to get into the medical facility or there would be many more dead.

  “Land on the roof. Marr, I need a schematic of that building.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Marr, and worked the keys of his comp station.

  “Still wondering why we’re chasing them?” Khedryn asked Marr, and the Cerean gave no answer.

  Junker blazed through the air, the medical facility getting larger in their vision.

  “I have it,” Marr said. He tapped a few keys, and a hologram of the building schematics materia
lized over his station. “Stairwells there and there,” he said, pointing. “Both accessible from the roof.”

  “I’ll take the west stairwell,” Jaden said to Marr. “You take the east.”

  Marr nodded, his expression unmarked by fear. Jaden credited him for it.

  “I’ll go with Marr,” Khedryn said.

  Jaden shook his head. “No. You stay on the roof with Junker.”

  “I may not be a Jedi, but I can handle myself, Korr.”

  “I know that. You’re my last line of defense, Khedryn. If they are making a run for that ship and get past us, I need to know it right away. Understood?”

  Khedryn inclined his head. “All right. Understood.”

  “Good. Let’s move, Marr.”

  Jaden and Marr ran through Junker’s corridors until they reached the cargo bay.

  “I need a marker,” Jaden said. “A transponder beacon or something like it. Anything aboard?”

  Marr’s expression turned puzzled. “We have salvage beacons. We use them to mark derelict ships if we can’t tow them. We find them later with the beacons.”

  “Unique frequency?”

  “Have to be. Otherwise other spacers would pick up the signal and take our salvage.”

  “Get me one.”

  Marr ran across the cargo bay, opened a wall-mounted bin, and pulled out one of the pyramidal beacons and brought it back to Jaden.

  “What’s the frequency?”

  Marr told him. “Why do you need it?”

  “Just in case,” Jaden said. “Always have contingency plans, Marr. Nothing ever goes as planned. Be prepared with backup plans and be prepared to improvise.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Khedryn’s voice carried over the comlink. “Setting down.”

  Jaden punched a button on the control panel to open the door. Air and Fhost’s dust billowed in. The sound of sirens carried over the wind.

  Jaden seized Marr with his eyes. “If it’s the clones in there, then they killed people, Marr. That means we’re past philosophical discussions about nature and self determination. They’ve made their choice. We will have to stop them. Kill them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Jaden heard no hesitation in Marr’s tone. “Good. Now, do not engage the clones alone.”