She reached for the Force, felt it flowing through her, and concentrated on the cut. There was no danger of her bleeding to death from it, but she certainly didn't fancy hopping back to the base for treatment, leaving a trail of blood behind her.

The steady flow ebbed, then stopped. She could feel the pain beginning to throb, now; she breathed deeply, made s.p.a.ce for it, shunted it into that s.p.a.ce. She mentally applied the Force to the wound again. The edges seemed to draw together a bit, but then gaped again.

"Better let me take a look at that," came a voice from one side. She looked up, surprised.

It was Lieutenant Divini, the new surgeon.

"I can manage it," she said.

The boy-Uli, she remembered-whose issue coverall was clotted with swamp mud to midthighs, stepped forward and peered at her foot. "Looks as if you nicked a couple of tendons.

They'll need to be synostatted, plus you're going to need three or four staples and a der-maseal, at the least. Lot of nasty little microorganisms swarming around this place."

He waved his hand to encompa.s.s the entire planet. "Better patched and sealed than infected and sorry, don't you think?"

He was right, of course. Barriss nodded. "And how do you propose to do this?"

He grinned. "No problem-I'm packing." He patted a small pouch on his belt. "Got my trusty kit right here." He gestured at a relatively dry spot of ground. "Be seated, m'lady."

Barriss sat, restraining a smile, and Uli squatted nextto her in that relaxed, rear-on-heels position available only to those with flexible ankles. He opened the medpac, laid the sterile sheet out and triggered it, then slipped into a pair of thinskin gloves while she positioned her foot. The field tickled as she extended her leg through it.

He used a flash-sterilizer on the wound, the bright strobe of actinic blue and the accompanying zap! indicating that the injury had been cleansed of bacteria and germs, then reached for a sprayer of nullicaine, "I won't need that," she said. "Right. I forgot."

He put the anesthetic back in the kit. He lubed a resec-tor with synostat, and used a hemostat to spread the cut wide. Bending close, Barriss could see that the tendons leading from her toes had small cuts in the sheaths, revealing a pair of paler, pearly white ellipses. She concentrated on keeping the pain at bay. Uli dabbed synostat onto the cuts and waited. Jn five seconds the cuts changed color to match the uncut tendon sheaths.

"You forgot what?" she asked.

"I did my internship at Big Zoo, on Alderaan," he said, reaching for the biostapler. "I treated an injured Jedi once. Great body control-the ability to stop minor bleeding, shut off pain-very useful."

He inserted the tip of the stapler into the wound and triggered it. The staple-which, Barriss knew, was made of a biodegradable memory-plastic-formed a tiny ioop, It would hold for a week or so, then be absorbed by her body. By then the wound would be healed.

"How did that happen?" she asked, referring to his story. "The Jedi have their own healers on most of the Core worlds, including Alderaan. They don't usually see outside doctors."

He dialed another staple into the applicator's tip. "One fine evening, a bunch of drunken hootyboos decided to take apart a cantina in downtown Aldara. Started a riot that boiled out into the street. The Republic Senator was pa.s.sing by, and her flitter got caught in the melee. She had a Jedi protecting her. There were thirty, thirty-five rioters who took it upon themselves to turn her flitter onto its back. The Jedi-a Cerean, as I recall-ah .

. . objected to this action. The mob decided to teach the Jedi a lesson."

"What happened?"

He laughed as he triggered the third staple shut. Barriss looked at his face, thought, Someday, when he's old enough to have laugh lines, he'll be stunningly handsome.

"What happened was, four surgical interns-including me-and two residents spent the rest of the night reat-taching hands, feet, arms, and legs to the rioters. Lightsabers leave neat, surgical cuts. Every bacta tank in the place was fired up. The Senator wasn't hurt, but they brought her in to check, of course, and her bodyguard came along. He had a vibroknife wound on one arm, good-sized laceration, all the way to the ulna. Wasn't bleeding, though, and it didn't seem to be bothering him. I cleaned and stapled it for him."

Barriss smiled. She wondered who the Jedi had been. Ki-Adi-Mundi was the only Cerean Jedi she knew, and the talents of a Jedi Master would not be squandered on a bodyguarding a.s.signment these days, even for a Senator. Probably one of the many who died at Geonosis, she thought. We are so few now, so few . ..

Uli put four staples inside, then looked at the external wound edges. "Even with a dermaseal, I'm thinking a couple of extra staples to close the skin," he said.

She nodded. That would keep the strain off the edges of the healing cut when she walked.

He began the external repair, his movements very neat and precise.

"You do nice work, Doctor Divini."

"Call me Uli," he said. "Doctor Divini is my father. Also my grandfather. And my great-grandfather. All of them still in practice together."

"Disappointed them when you didn't go into the theater, did you?"

He laughed. "A Jedi with a sense of humor. Will wonders never cease."

After he finished, she thanked him. He stood and gave a grandiose bow, "Glad to be of service," he said. "It's what I do." He watched her with a speculative frown as she put her boot back on. "Now, an ordinary human or humanoid, it'd take five, six days to heal.

With you ... what? Three?"

"Two. Two and a half, at the most." Uli shook his head. "Wish we could bottle that." The unsettling image of beings dying in the OT arose unbidden in her mind, and she could see by his expression that it had in his as well. She changed the subject.

"You spend much of your time slogging around in the swamp?"

He smiled, and once again he looked about fourteen. "My mother collects Alderaanian flare-wings," he said. "Some of the bugs on this world look very similar; might be panspermic relatives. Thought I'd bag a few for her."

Suddenly his name sounded a chord of recognition. "I saw a display once, in the Coruscant Xenozoology Museum. The most extensive collection of flare-wings in the known galaxy.

Filled up three of the biggest rooms in the building. Presented by the renowned mudopterist, Elana Divini. Any relation?"

"Mother never does things halfway." He looked at his chrono. "Gotta run. I'm back on duty in ten minutes."

"Thanks again for the st.i.tchery."

"Thanks for the opportunity."

After he was gone, Barriss walked around the clearing. Her foot was fine, and it would heal quickly. But that sudden cold wind she had felt was nowhere to be found now. She'd been on this hothouse world for so long she'd almost forgotten what cold air felt like.

How could a cold breeze possibly be produced anywhere on Drongar, without mechanical aid?

And inside a force-dome? It was human body-heat temperature out here within moments of sunrise, and it never got much cooler than that, even at night.

More importantly, even if a chill breeze had touched her, how could she have allowed her concentration to lapse to the extent that she had cut herself with her lightsaber? The last time that had happened, she had been nine years old-and it had been a nick on her wrist, nothing nearly as bad as this.

No two ways about it-she had reacted like a rank amateur.

Barriss started back to her kiosk. This was a bad sign. The longer she stayed on Drongar, the more she seemed to be moving away, not toward, her goal of becoming a Jedi Knight.

She shivered. For a moment it seemed that she could feel that chill breeze again-not on her skin this time, but in her heart.

7.

The cantina was fairly busy, it being one of the rare times when the spore-ridden skies were not full of medlifters, themselves full of wounded clone troopers. At their usual table sat Den Dhur, Klo Merit, Tolk le Trene, Jos Vondar, I-Five, and Barriss Offee. These were the regulars for the twice-weekly sabacc game. Occasionally others, like Leemoth, would sit in, but for the most part it was the same six. The game was a way of relaxing, of rebuilding themselves for the next onslaught of blood and pain. They could never forget about the war, but for an hour or two it would not be uppermost in their minds. The air coolers were working fairly well, which was also unusual-the filters in the refrigerating units were especially susceptible to spore-rot, and, because all the other Rimsoos on Drongar had the same problem, replacement parts were on constant back order. Even though spores couldn't penetrate the force-dome when it was lit, there were pa.s.s-throughs for incoming and outgoing vessels, plus all the local flora and fauna that were already there when the dome was first triggered. Consequently, most of the time, rooms filled with cool, clean, and dry air were few and far between.

In addition to the heavenly coolness, the cantina had recently acquired a few other luxuries, either by accidental consignment or through the efforts of the new quartermaster, a Twi'lek named Nars Dojah. One was a de-jarik game, complete with holocreature generator, which was being played at one table now between two human female nurses. Another was a new autochiller for drinks. But the most impressive was a perky TDL-501 unipod waitress droid, whom Den had promptly nicknamed Tee-die, and who scooted adroitly around the crowded room on one wheel while balancing trays of drinks.

Teedle pulled to a quick stop in front of the sabacc table and placed drinks before Jos, Tolk, Klo, and Den. "One Coruscant Cooler, one Bantha Blaster, one Alder-aanian ale, and a Johrian whiskey," she said briskly. "Seventeen credits, folks."

Den waved one hand in dismissal. "On the tab."

"Whose tab, hon? Your bill's higher'n a skyhook already." A static pop accompanied every sentence, sounding almost like a wad of dreamgum cracking.

Den turned slowly and looked at Teedle. "I beg your pardon?"

Teedle jerked a durasteel thumb toward the bar. "Mohris says he can't float you anymore.

So you either pay up or bring a repulsor next time."

Jos saw that the other patrons of the table, with the exception of I-Five, were having just as much trouble holding laughter back as he was. "Put his on my tab," he told Teedle.

"He's covered for tonight."

"You got it, Cap'n," the waitress droid answered, and zipped away.

Den gave her a sour parting look, then said to Jos, "Thanks. It's hard to program good help these days."

Jos was about to respond when he noticed I-Five staring after Teedle. The others had noticed it as well. "Anything wrong, I-Five?" Klo Merit asked.

"She's beautiful," I-Five said reverently. Everyone stared. Jos put his cooler down so hard it splashed onto his pile of chips. "I-Five ... are you saying you're attracted to Teedle?"

The droid continued to look at Teedle-then abruptly turned back to study his cards. "No,"

he said lightly.He glanced up, and Jos would have sworn that those immobile features had somehow contrived to look sly. "Had you wondering for a second, though, did I not?"

The others burst into laughter. Jos grinned. "Why, you chrome-plated water heater-I oughtta-'

"You ought to shut up and play," Tolk interrupted good-naturedly. She looked around.

"Where's that CardShark?"

The cantina's other new droid-and as far as Jos was concerned, the jury was still out on how much of an actual improvement this const.i.tuted-was an automated sabacc dealer, an RH7-D CardShark. A smaller, mobile version of the big casino automata, the droid now floated down from the ceiling to hover over the table via repul-sorlifts. It shuffled the deck in a blur of motion, then slapped the cards on the table. "Cut," it said to Jos, its electronic voice raspy.

Repressing his annoyance at the droid's tone, Jos cut the cards. The CardShark quickly dealt two rounds with its manipulator appendages. "Bespin Standard," it announced. "First hand. Place your bets, gentlesirs."

"Hey," Tolk said sharply, looking up at it. "Clean your photoreceptor and try again."

"Your pardon, madam," the CardShark said crisply, "Bets, please, gen tie beings."

"Not much improvement," Tolk grumbled as she checked her cards. They had been talking about the newest addition to the surgical team. "One problem with the new guy that's obvious from the start," Den observed as he tossed a cred chip in the pot. "He's too young to come into the cantina. So I guess he won't be playing sabacc anytime soon."

"He's not that young," Barriss said. "And he's a long way from home." She added her bet to the hand pot, then noticed Jos, Tolk, Den, and Klo grinning at her. "What?"

"For shame," Den said with mock severity. "And you a Jedi."

"I'm shocked," Jos added. His grin grew wider at the blush that spread over her cheeks. It contrasted nicely with her facial tattoos.

"I didn't mean-" she started, then glared at Den. "Mind in the gutter, Dhur," she said.

"Again."

The reporter shrugged. "Hard not to be when the whole planet's a gutter."

"I just meant," Barriss continued, "that we should do our best to include him in things like this. Make him feel welcome."

"She's right, of course," the Equani said. "Adolescence-particularly human adolescence-is hard to endure without support."

"Just how old is he?" I-Five asked. "I confess that estimating age differences isn't something I'm extensively programmed for." , "You'd make a terrible nanny droid," Tolk told him.

"For which I thank the maker devoutly."

"He's nineteen standard years," Klo Merit said. "Something of a prodigy, Fm told. Aced all his courses, graduated with the highest honors. Interned at-'

"Big Zoo," Jos finished. "Hey, most of us have seen Wonder Boy work. He's very good."

"I can vouch for that," Barriss said. "I fold."

"Please shift hands, ladies," the CardShark said.

Everyone stared at the hovering droid. "Sweet Sookie," Jos said, shaking his head.

"Whoever dumped this one on Nars saw him coming,"

Den looked around. "Maybe the new droids will earn their keep," he said. "More people in here now than I've seen in a while. And some of 'em I don't even know." He indicated a corner table, where three beings were engaged in intense discussion.

Klo Merit looked, and frowned. "I recognize two of the species, though not the individuals. The Kubaz, of course, and the Umbaran. But the other I'm not familiar with."

"She's a Falleen," Jos said. "They tend to be insular; outside of some high mucky-mucks on Coruscant, you don't see a lot of them offworld. Wonder what she's doing here."

"Just don't get too close to her," Tolk warned him with a grin.

Den looked puzzled. "Falleen exude pheromones," Jos explained. "Strong stuff, crosses most species boundaries. Usually signaled by cromatophoric changes in pigmentation. It's said that they can mix precursors and influence endocrine levels."

"Thanks. It's all clear as swamp water now."

"They can manipulate how you feel by what they sweat," Tolk told him.

Den blinked. "They must be real charismatic in this weather."

I-Five dropped a chip in the sabacc pot. "Raise."