Star Wars - X-Wing - Krytos Trap

by Michael A. Stackpole

tias and civil defense corps, so why not tolerate a similar

  force created out of my people?"

  Mon Mothma arched an eyebrow at Vorru. "Very few

  others have as colorful a history as you do, Fliry Vorru."

  "But some of those who have equally notorious back-

  grounds are continuing in service to the government, though

  the leadership and philosophy have changed."

  Ackbar slowly nodded. The realities of governing a vast

  panoply of worlds necessitated using the Imperial govern-

  mental apparatus to maintain communication and order.

  While a wholesale replacement of the bureaucracy would

  have been ideal, the fact was that, just as the Rebel military

  had relied on people with Imperial training, so the govern-

  ment was being forced to rely on clerks and administrators

  who had faithfully served the Empire until it fell. While most

  of these people had an allegiance to their jobs and not to the

  government, the tacit clemency granted to them in return for

  continuing to work did not sit well with many of the Rebels.

  Fliry Vorru presented an interesting case. He had di-

  rectly contributed to the winning of Coruscant. While he

  underplayed his contribution, Vorru could easily have turned

  Rogue Squadron over to the Imperials, preventing the Rebel

  conquest of the planet. His support, despite the betrayal of

  subordinates, had facilitated the Rebel victory, making him a

  valuable ally.

  And his request of us is an ally's request for trust.

  Ackbar half-closed his eyes. Vorru's request also made sense

  from a purely pragmatic position. While Cracken's law en-

  forcement organization would soon be functioning fully, it

  would never have been as effective in the underworld as

  Vorru would be. The Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front,

  black marketeering, and a dozen other problems needed at-

  tention on Coruscant, and yet Cracken still needed to attend

  to intelligence matters involving Warlord Zsinj and Ysanne

  Isard, wherever she was.

  Vorru' opened his hands. "The question I place before

  you is this will you grant me and my people the trust we

  have earned?"

  Leia's eyes hardened. "The Empire was a common en-

  emy we had between us, hence our alliance. In acting against

  them you have earned trust, but I suspect you see the account

  more fully than we do."

  "This is true, Leia, but Vorru's point is well taken."

  Mon Mothma pressed her hands gently against the table top.

  "The fight against the Empire is truly what bound the Alli-

  ance together. We must build on that basic level of trust if we

  expect the Republic to thrive. As long as Fliry Vorru's people

  are willing to abide by the conduct standards we set for our

  law enforcement and militia forces, they will remain within

  the bounds of our trust. If they step outside those guidelines,

  they will be outside their lawful duty and will be dealt with

  in a suitable manner."

  "You will find me a most able and loyal servant in this

  matter, Mon Mothma."

  "So I trust, Fliry Vorru."

  "So we must all trust," Ackbar murmured.

  Something dark flashed through Vorru's eyes as he

  turned toward the Mon Calamari. "I would have thought

  you above veiled threats, Admiral Ackbar."

  "I am above them." Ackbar's mouth dropped open in a

  Mon Calamari grin. "I merely meant that we must take your

  word concerning your loyalty because your previous masters

  are all dead, and the greatest of them through our efforts. If

  you choose to read a threat in that set of facts, I cannot stop

  you from doing so."

  "But if I get out of hand you will destroy me?"

  "You have earned trust." Ackbar leaned forward and

  gave Vorru a wall-eyed stare. "Spend it unwisely and I will

  do what I must to settle your account."

  12

  All the while in the back of the grav-cab, Wedge tried to

  puzzle out what Mirax had found on the Pulsar Skate that

  could threaten the Alliance. With anyone else Wedge would

  have made an allowance for hyperbole, but Mirax had never

  been prone to melodrama. In fact, she tends to see issues and

  emergencies rather clearly.

  Wedge shivered. Once before the Ashern rebels of

  Thyferra had inserted a virus into bacta shipments that in-

  duced an allergy to bacta in those who were treated with it.

  This, in effect, left them without treatment for a whole host

  of ills. If Mirax possessed evidence that the batch of bacta

  stolen from Zsinj had been similarly contaminated, not only

  would it doom millions of people to die from the Krytos

  virus, but the withdrawal of the bacta from the health ser-

  vices system on Coruscant would spark riots that would kill

  many more people.

  That would surely rip the Alliance apart. Non-humans

  would say that the bacta was being hoarded for use by hu-

  mans in case the Krytos virus jumped species and began to

  kill them. Humans would also be blamed if non-humans

  were hurt or killed by the contaminated bacta, and any at-

  tempt to blame the contamination on the Ashern re bels

  would be decried as false and part of a human conspiracy,

  since it was well known that the Zaltin and Xucphra com-

  bines were run by humans.

  Let it be anything else but bad bacta.

  Wedge had the droid flying the cab let him off three

  blocks and two levels from the hangar where Mirax kept the

  Pulsar Skate. While he wanted to get there as quickly as

  possible, the urgency in her voice kindled a desire for caution

  in him. He'd learned a lot from Mirax's father, Booster Ter-

  rik, about the need for caution, especially at those times

  when events seemed to be moving too fast to allow any de-

  lay. Wedge regretted the lack of a sidearm, but he did have a

  comlink and took a moment to preset it to the squadron's

  emergency frequency.

  He forced himself to slow down as he wandered toward

  the hangar. He stopped to look at the holographic displays

  set in shop windows or to read the latest news as it sped past

  on the omnipresent news-scrolls. With each stop he looked

  around and tried to spot anyone paying over much attention

  to his presence. He saw no signs he was being followed, but

  took the added precaution of wandering into a tapcaf, going

  out through the lower level, then coming back up and head-

  ing to the hangar.

  At the door Wedge announced himself. The computer

  got a good voiceprint match, then opened the door. Wedge

  stepped through into the security lock area. After the door

  closed behind him, another door in front of him opened up

  and allowed him into the hangar itself.

  A smile slowly spread across his face as he looked at the

  Pulsar Skate. The modified Baudo-class yacht had the overall

  shape of a broad-bladed dagger. The twin engines at the aft

  formed an abbreviated hilt. The broadest parts of the blade

  curved down to form gentle wings that swept up to a

  rounded prow.
The ship very much did resemble the Corel-

  lian deep-sea skate for which it was named. It had sailed

  through a lot of parsecs between the time its hull was first

  welded and its current presence on Coruscant.

  He quickly crossed the darkened hangar floor and made

  his way up the loading ramp. At the top of the gangway he

  nodded to Liat Tsayv. The Sullustan returned the nod with-

  out comment, and raised the muzzle of his blaster carbine

  enough so Wedge could pass unmenaced. The normally

  voluble Sullustan's grim silence gave Wedge a measure of

  how serious Mirax thought the situation was and filled him

  with a sense of dread.

  He made his way past the galley and crew lounge to the

  hold. The hatch stood open, and through it he could see

  Mirax sitting on a duraplast crate. She looked well, though

  she still wore her brown hair in a long braid that she doubled

  up and fastened at the back of her head. She'd started wear-

  ing her hair that way since Corran's death and Wedge re-

  membered her having done the same thing when her father

  had first been sent away to Kessel. That's Mirax being seri-

  ous and remote, wailing her feelings off so she doesn't have

  to deal with the pain.

  A single red light provided all the illumination for the

  hold, yet it did little more than illuminate a two-meter-wide

  globe within which Mirax sat. Everything else remained in

  shadow, yet from the way Mirax looked out into the dark-

  ness, Wedge could tell something alive lurked there.

  A cold chill shot down his spine, and all manner of irra-

  tional thoughts exploded in his brain. He paused in the

  hatchway and stared out into the blackness, trying to see

  what captivated Mirax's attention. He thought he saw red

  light glint off a rounded black dome, which he translated

  into Darth Vader's helmet. No, he's dead. It can't be him

  again.

  Wedge smiled at Mirax. "I'm here. How are you do-

  ing?"

  "I'm holding it together, Wedge, really." Her tone

  matched the hopeful nature of her words, giving Wedge rea-

  son to feel slightly relieved. "Thanks for getting here so fast.

  I don't know who else could help me with this, but it turns

  out you were their choice anyway."

  Mirax gestured off into the darkest part of the hold.

  "Wedge Antilles, this is Qlaern Hirf, a Vratix native of

  Thyferra and a proud member of the Ashern Circle."

  "The honor is ours, Commander Antilles." The voice

  from the shadows came deep and deliberate. Wedge heard

  his name pronounced with respectful precision; the hard

  sounds--the C in Wedge's title and the t in his name--were

  slightly abbreviated, as if snapped instead of spoken. Ooryl

  Qrygg, the squadron's Gand, produced similar sounds when

  he spoke, though even bringing to mind the image of the

  exoskeletoned pilot did not fully prepare Wedge for his first

  sight of the Vratix.

  Qlaern moved from the shadows and into the circle of

  light slowly and benignly. The insectoid creature's head fea-

  tured two bulging compound eyes, and Wedge realized it was

  light reflected from one of these that his imagination had

  transformed into Vader's headgear. The Vratix's bent anten-

  nae dangled over its triangular face, and its curved mandibles

  remained pressed one against the other.

  The Vratix's stalk-like neck broadened into a cylindrical

  thorax and abdomen. The first of three pairs of limbs, which

  hung from the point where the neck joined the thorax, con-

  sisted of two trifold arms that ended in three long, delicate

  fingers and a thicker thumb, and sprouted stout hook-claws

  from the middle arm segment. The second and third sets of

  limbs were legs, yet they were mismatched. The middle legs

  connected with the body below what would have been the

  ribs on a human. Longer and far more powerfully built than

  the other pair of legs, their configuration led Wedge to imag-

  ine the Vratix capable of great leaps and savage kicks in

  combat. The last pair of limbs were certainly more than ves-

  tigial, serving as they did to keep the Vratix's abdomen from

  dragging on the ground, but they reminded Wedge of little

  more than the landing gear on an X-wing useful to have

  when you need them, but built to be tucked away when work

  had to be done.

  The Vratix body appeared to have a uniformly grey

  color to it, but Wedge put that down to the lack of light in

  the hold. The claws on its forearms were black, but with

  lighter flecks, which led Wedge to believe the black color was

  cosmetically applied, not something native to the creature

  itself.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Qlaern Hirf." Wedge smiled

  and extended a hand toward the Vratix.

  Qlaern's hand came in toward Wedge's, then moved

  past it and came up. The Vratix brushed its fingers over

  Wedge's face. The creature's flesh, which Wedge expected to

  be cold and hard like armor, was dry and warm. While he

  could feel the solidity of the exoskeleton beneath it, the scaly

  texture of the skin covering the Vratix somehow made the

  creature seem less alien to Wedge.

  Mirax reached out and brushed a hand over the flesh of

  Qlaern's right foreknee. "The Vratix find both sound and

  vision to be deceptive senses. As Qlaern reports it, both sight

  and sound are things that are of the past the moment you

  perceive them. Only touch reports information that is con-

  current with the gathering."

  "Interesting perspective." Wedge shifted his hand

  around to grip the Vratix's arm above the curved spikes.

  "Qlaern, you are the Ashern agent who tipped us to the

  presence of the bacta that Zsinj had captured?"

  "We are responsible for that occurrence." Qlaern tilted

  his head to the right and then the left. "We would have

  preferred to transfer the bacta directly to you, but this was

  not possible. Our affluence is not such that we could present

  our gift in the manner we wished."

  Wedge frowned. "I am not certain I understand what

  you are saying."

  Mirax scooted over on the crate. "Sit down, Wedge.

  This gets complicated."

  Wedge sat beside her. "Am I going to like this?"

  "Parts of it, sure." Mirax smiled weakly at him. "At

  least, I think you will."

  Qlaern spread his forelegs slightly to bring his face down

  to their level. "You know of our world."

  "Some. Thyferra is a world in the Polith system, quite

  temperate in nature and an excellent world for agriculture.

  Thyferra is where bacta is produced and distributed by Zal-

  tin and Xucphra, the two corporations that have a monopoly

  on the bacta trade. The corporations are decidedly feudal in

  nature, with humans de facto governing a world where the

  Vratix are the majority."

  The Vratix's head bobbed on the end of its neck. "Good.

  Not as much as she who is Mirax knows, but good."

  "Please, tell me what I do not know."

 
; "We have insufficient time for that, we think." Qlaern's

  head craned back as a sibilant hiss issued from its mouth.

  Wedge looked at Mirax. "Sarcasm? A laugh?"

  "I think so."

  "Forgive us, but so many times we find humans say

  things they do not mean."

  "Ah, then tell me what you believe I need to know."

  "Much better." The Vratix settled a hand on Wedge's

  knee. "The healing properties of bacta were discovered dur-

  ing the days of the Old Republic. It was apparent to all that

  bacta was a miracle cure for many ailments and infirmities.

  The corporations which now control Thyferra and bacta

  made narrow profits, but made them on a wider range of

  sales. They set up many satellite manufacturing centers, all

  under license, all with Vratix verachen overseeing the final

  processes no matter where they took place. The thought then

  was to beat competition by producing better bacta for less

  than anyone else could."

  "You mean there once was competition for the bacta

  market?"

  "For more time than there has not been, but all of it

  before you were born. The Clone Wars made one thing abun-

  dantly clear--a supply of bacta could heal even the most

  grievously wounded soldiers and render them receptive to

  mechanical replacement limbs. This meant they could return

  to combat, saving the military the cost of training new war-

  riors. As a pilot you know how much expense goes into

  training, so the saving is clear."

  "And I know many a pilot, myself included, who owes

  his life to bacta therapy."

  "So it is." Qlaern nodded solemnly. "The Emperor de-

  cided that the only group that should have a guaranteed

  supply of bacta was his military. He systematically sup-

  pressed small manufacturers of bacta in favor of Zaltin and

  Xucphra. They realized greater profits by letting the market-

  place set the price and utilized Imperial soldiers to wipe out

  independent growers and to round up all the verachen to

  return them to Thyferra."

  Wedge frowned. "Twice now you have used the word

  'verachen.'"

  "We are verachen." Qlaern tapped his free hand against

  his thorax. "Bacta is an organic product made through the

  blending of alazhi with kavare. Kavam is itself a compound