space. 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 encompass 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 passing 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 assignment 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 stitchery."
"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
pass-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 constituted-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 som
e 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."
Jos looked at his cards, frowned. "I think you're bluffing, tin man."
"And I think you're sweating, puny human."
"Who isn't? I call."
The players spread their cards. Jos grinned. He was holding a Commander
of coins, a Mistress of sabers, and an Endurance of staves. He put the hand
into the interference field broadcast by the CardShark, freezing it. "Anyone
closer? No?. That's what I-"
"Unless my math module has suffered severe damage," I-Five said, "I
believe my hand beats yours."
Jos looked down. His jaw dropped. The droid's hand consisted of an
Idiot, a three of staves, and a two of sabers. An idiot's array. The one
hand that beat all others, even pure sabacc.
"That's not fair," Jos said mournfully as I-Five gathered in his
winnings. "What does a droid need with credits anyway?"
"Didn't I tell you?" the droid replied. "I'm off to see the Sorcerer of
Tund to buy a heart and brain."
Jos didn't reply. The remark had suddenly put him in mind of CT-914,
the clone trooper whose life he had saved in the OT, only to learn later
that the vat-grown soldier had been lost, along with his entire garrison, in
a surprise Separatist attack. It had been Nine-one-four and, to a lesser
degree, I-Five, who had raised Jos's consciousness to a level including the
awareness that clones, and even, under certain circumstances, droids and
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