by James Luceno
The Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic.
It had its beginning with the Delegation of Two Thousand, to some extent with the Republic Group, and by the Battle of Yavin was known as the Rebel Alliance. But what did any of that have to do with him when he had been comatose for most of it? When he shut his eyes, images of Reeze and the Stellar Envoy would strobe in his mind. Reeze had hoped that the YT freighter would one day be theirs. He had imagined a life of profitable and rollicking adventures; of women and wealth and the freedom to travel wherever they wished.
Jadak ground his replacement teeth. What had they left undone that seemed so urgent now? Why did he have to wait for his memory of the accident to kick in? Why couldn't Sompa just give him the details so he could move on?
Jadak stepped into sunshine beaming down onto Aurora's verdant grounds through scudding clouds. In the distance, luxury yachts were descending gently toward the facility's private landing field. Aurora even had its own fleet of ships. Patients—clients of many species— were emerging from airspeeders with tinted windows and being welcomed by security personnel, staff members, and droids. Some arrived with entourages of aides and servants. If there were celebrated or familiar faces among them, Jadak didn't recognize any. But how could he be expected to when most of the famous beings of his time were either dead or rejuvenated beyond all recognition? And what was a once disgraced swoop racer turned surreptitious starship captain doing among them, convalescing in a private room in one of Aurora's most exclusive wings?
The comlink Sompa insisted he wear on his belt chimed.
“Captain Jadak,” a droid voice said, “you are requested to return to Building One and report directly to Dr. Sompa's office. If you need assistance, simply state your present location and transport will be arranged.”
“I'll get there on my own two feet,” Jadak said.
He wasn't scheduled to meet with Sompa until later in the day, but the neurologist had an annoying habit of altering appointments, and the last-minute change in plans did little to improve Jadak's mood. By the time he reached the office he was wound up, but Sompa wasn't there waiting for him. In the reception area sat the most attractive female Jadak had ever seen, human or humanoid, and for a moment he wasn't entirely sure whether she was one or the other. Dr. Bezant, the Twi'lek psychotherapist, was a vision, but this woman—
“Captain Jadak,” she said, standing up and extending her hand. “I'm Koi Quire. With CH and L.”
In high-heeled shoes she was almost his height, and wearing a long skirt and a short jacket that hugged her torso. Her skin was tinged with gold; her eyes pale lavender, with a nictitating membrane. A rainbow of colors, her hair fell below her shoulders in curls and ringlets.
“CH and L?” Jadak said.
“Core Health and Life Insurance Consortium. I'm here to discuss your policy.”
Jadak shook his head in confusion. “I don't recall having any kind of policy with Core Life or any other company.”
Quire frowned and consulted a handheld data device. “I see the reason for your confusion.” She smiled, revealing snow-white teeth. “Let's find somewhere to chat, shall we?”
He followed her down the corridor to an unoccupied conference room, and they sat at right angles to each other at the end of a long table. Quire opened her carry case and set a computer between them, angling the display so that they could both see it. She called data to the screen and used the lacquered nail of her forefinger to enlarge one of the lines of text.
“The policy was taken out for you by a company called the Republic Group.”
Jadak stared at the text, then at Quire. “When?”
“Um, let's see.” She touched the screen and ran her finger under a few lines of text. “But that's impossible.”
“What?”
“The policy was taken out sixty-two years ago. But you …”
“I'm a lot older than I look,” Jadak said.
Her brows formed a V under curly bangs. “By perhaps fifty years!” She sat back in the chair. “I know what they do here at Aurora, but I had no idea—”
“Let's get back to the policy. Was it taken out on my health or my life?”
She laughed. “You're obviously quite alive, Captain. It was a health policy with a rider covering accidents.”
“You know about the accident I had?”
“Not the details. That's handled by a different department. When Aurora contacted CH and L to report that you had—” She glanced at the screen. “—emerged from a coma, I was dispatched to deliver the indemnity.”
Jadak turned the screen toward him. “Can't you find the details of the accident in my file?”
She swung the computer back toward her. “No, Captain. And even if I could, I'm not permitted to divulge any information beyond what I've been instructed to provide.”
Jadak narrowed his eyes. “So you're what, a claims adjuster?”
“That's a rather old-fashioned term, but, yes, you're essentially correct.”
“Exactly how much does this accident clause entitle me to?”
She cleared her throat in a meaningful way. “You should understand, Captain, that CH and L has been covering your quite substantial health care costs all these years.”
“How much?” Jadak said.
“Ten thousand credits.”
“Is that a lot? By current standards, I mean?”
“It would barely pay for a month of treatments in this place. But if you're sensible in your spending you could probably stretch it to cover a year on a world like Obroa-skai.”
“I'm not about to stay on Obroa-skai.”
“Well, then it would all depend, Captain, on how much travel you do and which world you eventually settle on.”
Jadak considered it briefly. “Forgive my asking, but what world are you from?”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Is that a polite way of asking my species?”
“I suppose.”
“I'm Firrerreo.”
“If everyone on Firrerre is as attractive as you, maybe I'll just settle there.”
“I don't think so,” she said flatly.
“Too expensive?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Your people don't take kindly to strangers?”
Her skin took on a silver hue. “Firrerre was dosed with a virus. It's a dead world. Quarantined.”
Jadak winced slightly. “Yuuzhan Vong?”
“Killed by one of our own,” Quire said, “who aligned himself with the Emperor. Many of my people were placed in stasis and sold to slavers. Some of us were lucky enough to be rescued and find a new life on Belderone.”
Jadak frowned. “I know Belderone. I don't want to live there.”
“Neither did I,” Quire said. She fell silent for a moment, then asked: “Choosing a place to live is that simple for you? You've no job, no unfinished business?”
Jadak appraised her. “What kind of question is that?”
Quire averted her gaze. “I apologize, Captain. I was simply curious.”
Jadak reeled in his anger. “I don't have a job, but I've got skills.”
“I'm certain you do, Captain.”
A smile formed on his lips. “How about I show you around Aurora before you leave?”
Quire laughed. “I don't think I've ever been asked to tour a hospital.”
“Medical facility,” Jadak said. “The food is great.”
“Are you flirting with me, Captain?”
“Trying to.”
Her skin resumed its golden color. “I'm flattered. But I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer.”
“You don't date older men?”
She laughed warmly. “Yes, it's because of your age. Suppose we leave it at that.”
Jadak shrugged. “Then how about one small favor?”
“What?” she said warily.
Jadak motioned to the computer. “You bend the regs just enough to tell me what my file has to say about the a
ccident.”
Her smile collapsed. “I told you, I'm not at liberty to say.”
“It's my life we're talking about,” Jadak said more firmly than he had intended.
She started. “I'm sorry—”
“Why would the Republic Group take out an accident policy on me? And why would your company keep paying for my treatments here when I was a brainwave shy of dying?”
“A vegetative state is not the same as being brain-dead.”
Jadak's nostrils flared. “It doesn't add up. Did the Republic Group take out a policy on Reeze, too? Was someone liable for the accident?”
“I have—”
“My copilot. Did Core Health cover the cost of his funeral?”
Quire was stone-faced. “And here I thought we were beginning to get along.”
Jadak balled his fists. “I'd like you a whole lot more in trade for some private time with your computer!”
Closing the computer, Quire slid it into her carry case and stood up. “Do I need to call security, Captain?”
Jadak closed his eyes and blew out his breath. “No.”
“Then I'll leave the indemnity voucher with Aurora's treasurer.”
A HOLOIMAGE OF THE T-SHAPED COMMUNICATIONS DEVICE SPUN and turned above the analyzer's projector. Lando's towering chief technician, a Cerean named Tal-lik-Tal, paused the image and gestured to it.
“You can see the amplification relay here, just at the upper juncture.”
“Then it is a transponder?” Leia asked from the far side of the projector. The glow emanating from the projector's base enhanced the slight sunburns she and Han had sustained from two days of swimming and taking long beach walks with Allana.
“Pre-Imperial in design, and I suspect rarely encountered even in its day.” Tal-lik-Tal moved to the analyzer and called onscreen a similar but far from identical piece of hardware. “This is an image from the database library. Manufactured by Chedak Communications during the Clone Wars. But I've no way of determining whether yours was made by the same company.”
“There's no manufacturer's symbol?” Han asked.
“Or model or serial numbers.”
“Could they have been deliberately removed?”
“There's no indication that any existed.”
Tal-lik-Tal put the holoimage in motion, and Han circled it, his hand rubbing the stubble on his chin.
“You were correct regarding the device's mimetic properties,” the Cerean said. “In that, it is not unlike comlinks and transceivers developed for use by intelligence organizations. As I say, this one does not match any known Republic or Imperial-era designs, but the use of mimetic alloy at least suggests the possibility that the device was installed covertly, or for covert purposes. Have you detected any changes in the performance of your vessel since the device was removed?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“With the Falcon, how would we even know?” Leia asked, smiling.
Tal-lik-Tal laughed. “The reason I ask is that the transponder is still active.”
“I told you I wasn't hearing things,” Han said to Leia.
She turned to Tal-lik-Tal. “Isn't there some way to prompt it?”
“I made several attempts at interrogating the device using codes common during the latter Republic and early Imperial eras, but to no effect. It appears that it will only transmit its encoded message in response to a predefined received signal.”
Leia frowned, then brightened. “Amelia will be thrilled to learn that we failed to solve the mystery.”
“I would vouchsafe one suggestion,” Tal-lik-Tal said. “Do not reinstall it.”
A holoimage of Jadak's brain was revolving on a display screen when he entered Ril Bezant's office and lowered himself into an armchair.
The Twi'lek psychotherapist smiled and came around the desk to take a seat opposite him. “How are your legs?”
“Getting me around.”
She took note of his sullen tone of voice and nodded. “And, in general, how are you?”
“Well, let's see, my memory's still shot full of holes and I feel like I'm imprisoned in someone else's body. I'm sleeping an hour a night if I'm lucky, and my hands shake.” Jadak showed them to her. “Other than that everything's fine.”
“Go on,” she said.
“My body seems to know that a lot of time has passed but my mind hasn't caught up.”
“It will.”
“So you keep telling me. But sixty-two years ago feels like yesterday to me.”
“The past is nothing but yesterdays, Captain, whether years or decades have elapsed.”
“I'll try to keep that in mind next time I watch some HoloNet documentary about Emperor Palpatine and think to myself that I caught a glimpse of him last week on Coruscant.” Jadak looked her in the eye. “I've got this phrase stuck in my head. Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic. I can't get past it. Like my mind's waiting for some kind of prompt that'll bring back the rest of my memory.”
“And you feel that your agitation has something to do with the phrase, with the words themselves?”
“Restoration … Republic … like they're on a loop.”
“You said yourself that you're waiting for your memory to be restored.”
Jadak considered it. “What about the rest of it?” He worked his jaw. “It's beginning to get to me.”
Bezant moved her head-tails behind her shoulders. “I warned Sompa this might happen.”
“What might happen?”
“That post-traumatic stress might engender a form of dissociative disorder—feelings of depersonalization, accompanied by severe anxiety and depression. It's likely there are underlying organic factors as well.” She gestured to the display screen. “Your brain imaging shows damage to key areas of the cortex.”
Jadak glanced at the display. “I know starship engines, Doc, not brains. And I don't really care about the cause, I just need to know if I can be fixed.”
“There are drugs, but I'd caution against using them.”
“What do you suggest—twice-weekly sessions with you?”
“Even if that were possible, I'm not sure how much help I could be.”
“You're booked that far in advance, huh?”
“No, Captain. The fact is, you're being released.”
Jadak sat up straight in the chair. “When?”
“Soon. Your body is healthy, your legs are healed. Aurora specializes in rejuvenation, not rehabilitation. There's really nothing more we can do for you.”
“Then why was I brought here to begin with?”
Her eyes shifted slightly. “You'd have to direct that question to Dr. Sompa.”
“Sompa's too busy to see me.” Jadak rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward Bezant. “Just tell me about the accident and who's really been paying for my care. Obroa-skai stores data on just about everything in the galaxy, but nobody at Aurora can tell me a single thing about what landed me here.”
Bezant regarded him, her expression softening. “One moment.” Rising, she went to her desk and tapped a code into the control pad. “I've turned off the security cams,” she said when she returned to the chair. “Captain, believe it or not, I'm as curious as you are to learn what landed you at Aurora. Dr. Sompa has treated you like a special project for the past forty years—ever since he joined Aurora's staff.”
“Forty years? Where was I for the first twenty-two?”
“I don't know. None of us knows.”
“Except Sompa.”
She nodded. “Except Sompa.”
Insomnia had allowed Jadak to familiarize himself with the routines of the night-shift nurses and droids and security personnel. He had a window of opportunity to make his move while the staff were getting the rundown on newly admitted patients and receiving updates on existing ones. The beauty of Building One was that most of the security details were posted outside. Once inside, clients were allowed to roam about freely—to the entertainment rooms, the dining areas,
the libraries and workout centers—and the med and maintenance droids were programmed to keep a low profile and refrain from speaking unless spoken to.
Sompa's office was on the fourteenth floor and overlooked the rear gardens. The broad corridors leading to it were dimly illuminated and empty, except for floor-polishing droids. Using the same code he had seen Bezant enter into the desk pad, Jadak deactivated the surveillance cams and tricked Sompa's office door into opening with a device he had cobbled together from parts liberated from the bank of monitoring machines in his own room. Once he had deactivated the waiting room cams, he entered Sompa's personal office and did the same. Raising the lighting a bit, he took a long look around. Holoscreens niched into the walls showed Sompa in the company of rejuvenated beings Jadak could only assume were wealthy, important, or both. Politicians, celebrities, lawyers, the executive officers of major corporations. In nearly every holo, Sompa looked the same age.
The neurologist's huge desk was cluttered with data cards, flimses, and durasheet documents. Jadak activated a shaded illuminator and began to rummage around. He got lucky almost immediately, discovering his name and patient identification number on a durasheet listing clients who were slated for discharge. The desk drawers were locked and the private files on Sompa's stylish computer were password-protected. Digging deeper into the strata of documents, Jadak found a data card marked with his identification number and slotted the card in a reader. Most of the terabytes of technical data were devoted to the convoluted procedures he had undergone while in a vegetative state and subsequent progress reports, but there was a history subfolder, as well. In anticipation of what he might find, Jadak took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.
His eyes scanned the scrolling text, seizing on every appearance of the word accident, and in every instance he was left disappointed by the absence of details. The accident resulted in damage to this or that part of him, interfered with the functioning of one organ or another, required a procedure time-tested or experimental. But in a subfolder labeled PREVIOUS HISTORY Jadak struck pure aurodium. He had been transferred to Aurora after languishing in a coma for twenty-two years at a public medical center. There was no mention of cost covering by Core Health and Life.