"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 pa.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 a.n.a.lgesic, 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 a.n.a.lyze 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sed 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 it shook Barriss's grasp of the Force. Hurry-.'

But as she triggered the fire b.u.t.ton 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 s.p.a.ce 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 felt connected to all things, everywhere, able to do anything, anything at all-For that timeless moment, she was the Force. Suns were born, planets sp.a.w.ned, civilizations rose, fell, the planets grew barren, the suns cold. Time flowed like,a blaster bolt, like a ship at hyperspeed, but she was ill' to track it all. Every detail on every world in all the galaxies to the end of the universe.

It was indescribable. This must be what it felt like to be a G.o.d, did such things exist.

How long it lasted, she couldn't say. A few moments or a few eons, there was no way to time it ...

Then it was over. Barriss staggered back against the wall and slid down it until she was sitting on the cold floor, stunned by the experience.

She could barely breathe. The surge pa.s.sed, but remnants of it continued to swirl in her, potent patterns that eddied and danced throughout her being. She felt exhausted, but...

wiser, somehow . -. . What was this? What had just happened to her?

18.

Jos couldn't recall feeling more excited anytime since he'd been on this planet. The transport carryingTolk was on the way down. He stood by the pad, peering upward-not that he could see anything for the blasted clouds that still covered the arch of the dome. The snow was chest-deep in places, even with the droids shoveling it away full time. Enough heaters had been rigged so that most of the indoor s.p.a.ces were bearable, some even toasty, but it was more than a little inconvenient. Even at ground level, there was a condensation that fogged one's view-they were essentially living in an opaque bubble. There hadn't been any enemy attacks near the Rimsoo lately, no stray, missiles or particle beams striking anywhere close, fortunately. Were it up to Jos, he would shut the force-dome off, let the snow melt-it certainly wouldn't take long-and do repairs with the system offline. But, of course, had it been up to Jos, they wouldn't be on this karking planet; there wouldn't be a need for protective domes because there wouldn't be a blasted war.

The invisible dome window dilated, allowing the trans port in, .along with a fast exchange of hot and cold air that swirled fog and clouds into a momentary cyclonl vortex. The small windwhirl spun down and died asthe dome closed and the ship settled from the clouds to the cleared landing pad. The snow that dropped around the launch area was lightly variegated-a pale rainbow with red the dominant shade, tinted by spore colonies that had been blown in and instantly frozen.

It seemed to take forever for the vessel to land and the port to open, and five people got off before Tolk did, of course. She was wearing surgical scrubs, and her luggage was following in a baggage droid's hamper. Jos saw chilblains start to frost her bare arms.

He felt a rush of joy that was nearly vertiginous as he saw her, and he hurried to embrace her. She relaxed into his arms for a moment, then seemed to stiffen. "Hey. You okay?"

"l am, yes." She looked around, and shivered. "You weren't joking about the weather, were you?"

"Isn't so bad right here-over near the rep-dep there's some kind of cold spot where the snow's piled higher than a wampa on stilts." Jos took her arm and steered her back toward the camp. "Let's get you inside. You'll warm right up." He held her close with one arm, and hurried toward his kiosk.

"Let's go to my place first," she said. "I have a jacket there."

Jos shrugged. "Sure."

Inside her kiosk, the heater Jos had installed and turned on earlier had taken most of the cold from the air. Tolk sat down on her cot. "Snow," she said. "On Drongar. Amazing."

"You get over that pretty quick," he said. "Then it just gets to be a big pain in the posterior. Especially given our triage situation. If they don't get the uplift back on schedule pretty soon, we're gonna be stacking patients in warehouses-we're running out of room in the 'wards."

She nodded. She looked tired, Jos realized. Tired and drawn.

"Pretty bad up there?"

She sighed. "Not for me. I was on the Command Level. All we got was a big vibration before we were sealed in. I didn't know any of the people who were killed, and the injured and survivors were triaged by the emergency response teams belowdecks."

Jos shook his head. "Unbelievable. Blowing up a medical ship."

"It's a terrible thing," she said. Her voice was flat and somewhat distant.

Silence stretched. "Want some stimcaf?"

"That'd be nice."

He busied himself preparing the drink. "How was Great-Uncle Erel?"

Tolk looked away from him, at her bag. "Fine."

Even allowing for the recent past horrors, something in her demeanor struck Jos as odd.

"Tolk? Are you okay?"

She waved one hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, is all, It's been a ... trying time."

"Got that." He hesitated. "We could go down to the cantina, get something to eat, maybe a drink?"

She looked at him. "You know, Jos, I'm really not up for it."

"Okay, sure. We can stay in, no problem. Uh, I can go pick something up at the chow-"Jos,"

she said, and her voice had a slightly brittle tone to it, which he'd heard far too many times from far too many next-of-kin. "I-I think I just need to get some rest."