Jedi Healer

Home > Other > Jedi Healer > Page 8
Jedi Healer Page 8

by Michael Reaves


  ship's A-Grav field ensured that the crew and passengers remained at a

  comfortable planetary constant, but, judging by the quickness with which

  Drongar fell away from them, the spy estimated that the transport had to be

  pulling at least five ,g's. The reason for the swift ascent was to pass

  quickly through the spore strata. Column watched as colonies of the

  single-celled proto-animalcules splashed against the transparisteel port

  like insectoids against a windscreen. Smears of color, most of them various

  shades of red or green, were turned into liquid streaks by the transport's

  speed.

  Drongaran life was both mutagenic and adaptogenic, and its rate of

  evolution seemed to be constant, rather than punctuated, as well as

  extremely rapid. Studies had found that the species on this world possessed

  DNA that granted undedifferentiation properties to virtually every cell of

  the organism, allowing it to adapt to environmental threats in an

  astoundingly short time. The swift mutability posed a real threat to the

  aliens who had come here to harvest bota. Spores, bacteria, viruses,

  RNA-ersatz, and no doubt millions of other tiny life-forms yet undiscovered

  roiled through and clogged everything on Dron-gar. A ship traveling through

  the spore clouds had to hurry; tarry too long, and the teeming protolife

  attacked and overcame the seals, sometimes digesting material as quickly as

  might a strong caustic. It could do much the same-and frequently did-to

  alien biological systems such as lungs, livers, kidneys, gutsacs, spiracles,

  and so forth. Fortunately, the most damaging concentrations of spore swarms

  stayed just above the treetops, high enough to allow people relative safety

  at ground level. No one was sure why. It might, Column mused, have something

  to do with wind patterns. Or perhaps it was the heat. Whatever the reason,

  everyone was grateful that the myriadfoldof Drongaran life was not more

  inimical to offworlders.

  Column sighed, knowing that this rumination on the local fauna and

  flora was simply a way to put off thinking about the job to come. The stroke

  of a ringer on the holoproj control changed the image from an aerial view of

  Drongar to the magnified image of MedStar, waiting above in geosync orbit.

  What had to be done was an unpleasant agenda, no two ways about it. A spy

  was, at times, not simply a gatherer of information. There sometimes came a

  crux when a more active role was required. Sometimes one had to cross into

  the territory of saboteur. It was part of the business-hard, but

  unavoidable.

  Column reflected upon this unhappy, but necessary fact for... what? the

  thousandth time? Reflection did not change things, however. It was war.

  People died in war, some deserving, some not, and, wishes to the contrary,

  spies and saboteurs in the enemy's camp had to bear responsibility for

  violent acts. If not Column, somebody else would be here. Perhaps, Column

  liked to think, that agent would have fewer qualms about death and

  destruction.

  Not that Column could be considered scrupulous; there had been actions

  for which the spy had been directly responsible over the past few months

  that had claimed both lives and property. Actions that were, as the ancient

  Ithorian revolutionary Andar Suquand had said, "Casting sand in the gears of

  the machine." Such an action wasn't going to stop the war, but it would slow

  things down a bit.

  Sometimes, that was all one could hope to do. This coming action would

  be more akin to throwing pebbles than sand, at least locally. After Column

  was finished, gears would metaphorically grind to a stop, camshafts would

  break, and the repairs would cost time, money, and valuable labor-all of

  which would be a drain on the Republic's war chest. Not a big drain, to be

  sure; in fact, given the length and breadth and depth of the Clone Wars, as

  the aggregate battles were beginning to be called, it would hardly be

  noticed. But wars were often won, not with a few major breaches, but with

  many tiny punctures. Even pinholes, were there enough of them, would empty

  the largest container. Column glanced again at the holoproj built into the

  next row's seat back. MedStar slowly grew in size, all alone against the

  backdrop of space, as the transport approached. Column sighed again. What

  had to be done would be done. Such was the nature of war.

  Jos came out of a series of simple and dull procedures routine

  stitchery that any first-year resident could do. But simple or not, they

  were time-consuming when piled on half a dozen or more deep.

  As he tossed his dirty surgical gown into the recycle hopper, Uli

  emerged from the OT, looking as if he had just had ten hours of restful

  sleep, a sonic shower, and a cup of hot bajjah.

  Truly, youth was wasted on the young.

  "Hey, Jos," the kid said. "They just kept 'em coming today, didn't

  they?"

  "Yeah, they do that sometimes. Too many times. How'd it go?"

  "Great. Two bowel resections, a cardiac transplant; a liver repair. All

  still alive, no sweat."

  Jos smiled and shook his head. None of those procedures was

  cut-by-the-numbers, even back in the real galaxy. This kid shrugged off

  stuff that would have had Jos sweating transponder battery acid when he'd

  been a third-year surgical resident. He had a platinum vibro-scalpel, Uli

  did, no question. The uncertainty Jos had seen on the boy's first day had

  quickly been replaced by confidence verging on cockiness. Jos knew that,

  even though Uli had spent the day snatching lives back from the brink of

  eternity, death was still an abstract concept to someone that young.

  "You holding up okay?"

  Slightly startled by the question, Jos looked at the younger man.

  "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Well, you know. Tolk being gone and all . . ." "She's not the only

  surgical nurse on the rotation." "True. But she's the only one you're, uh,

  involved with."

  Jos raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?" Uli grinned, just

  like the big kid he was. "Come on, Jos, We share a cube. It's not that big,

  and a couple of plastoid panels down the middle doesn't exactly make it

  soundproof."

  Jos felt uncomfortable. "I thought we were pretty circumspect."

  "Not really. Besides, it's obvious even to people who don't live in the

  same clutch with you. She okay?"

  "She's fine. She had to go up to MedStar for a CME class. She'll be

  back in a day or two."

  "You miss her."

  It wasn't a question, and Jos supposed he could have slapped the kid

  down for it, but it sounded like a sympathetic comment, not a smarmy one.

  "Yeah. I miss her."

  There was an awkward pause. "I think I'll go get a bite to eat," Jos

  said. "Join me?"

  "Maybe later. I need to check on a patient first."

  Barriss had been practicing with her lightsaber diligently since the

  accident in which she had cut herself. There had been a little hesitation at

  first, a concern that had slowed her moves, but that had gradually faded,

  and now she was back up to speed. Whatever the problem was, it had not come

&nbs
p; back, and so her confidence had risen, even though she still could not

  imagine what had caused the slip. A move she had made ten thousand times was

  not one about which she would normally think-in fact, she shouldn't have to

  think about it. Thought was far too slow.

  She also had no idea what had created the sudden blast of cold air.

  She'd checked with others in the area, as well as some of the techs. No one

  else had experienced it, and no one had any explanation for what might have

  caused it.

  It was tempting to believe it had been her imagination, But she knew it

  hadn't. In addition to the croaker bushes, she had felt energy of some sort

  rippling through the Force.

  She trusted in the Force; had done so since the first time it had

  surged to life within her and she'd understood what it was. She had also

  learned quickly what it was not. It was not, first and foremost, a

  protector, or a weapon, or a mentor-though it could, at times, manifest

  aspects of all those things. The Force was what it was, no more, no less.

  Errors in wielding it belonged to the user,

  She had just finished the section of Form III in which she danced

  against four imaginary opponents, all of whom were using blasters. The

  greatest Jedi who ever lived could not stop four bolts fired from different

  angles at the same moment, but that wasn't the point. Jedi combat principles

  were founded in the concept of constantly reaching for perfection. A Jedi

  began the battle with the idea of facing multiple attackers, who would be

  armed, and skilled. If you trained for combat believing that you would

  always be outnumbered and outgunned and that you could still prevail, you

  stood a much better chance than if you allowed in the idea of defeat because

  the odds were against you.

  Someone approached Barriss from behind. She reached out with the Force

  . . .

  Uli.

  "Hey," came his voice.

  Barriss turned, pleased that she had identified him be-

  fore he spoke, and amused at herself for taking pride in such a trivial

  thing. "Hey, yourself."

  "How's the foot? No residual impairment?"

  "No, it's fine. Completely healed." As he smiled in rueful admiration

  of her healing abilities, she asked, "Are you going off to hunt for

  flare-wings again?"

  He shook his head. "Just finished my shift in the OT, and 1 needed to

  move around a little." He looked at her, not quite meeting her eyes. "May I

  ask you something?"

  Barriss extinguished her lightsaber. "Sure."

  "How can you be a healer and use that lightsaber like you do?"

  "Practice. Lots and lots of practice."

  Uli smiled and shook his head, but before he could reply, Barriss said,

  "You really mean why, not how, right?"

  He nodded. "Right."

  A wingstinger buzzed past, looking for prey smaller than the two people

  standing in the hot sun. Barriss pointed to the hard shade of a nearby

  broadleaf tree, and they walked to it.

  "Since these wars, the Jedi have become primarily warriors," she said.

  "Made more powerful by their abilities to use the Force. Throughout history,

  as guardians, we have always sought to use our powers for the good of the

  galaxy-thus, for defense, rather than aggression. Even so, a warrior must

  know how to fight at levels from full-out battles to one-on-one personal

  combat. And part of that is taking responsibility for our actions.

  "We believe that, if you must slay someone, if you must snuff out a

  life, then you must be willing to look that being straight in the eyes while

  you do it. The killing of a fellow sentient, even one who richly deserves

  it, is not a thing to be done lightly. Nor should it be a thing done easily.

  You should be close enough to see what it takes, to understand the pain and

  fear that enemies suffer when you dispatch them. You must feel some of their

  death."

  "So that's why the lightsaber," he said.

  "That's why the lightsaber. Because it puts you nextto an enemy, face

  to face, not at some far remove. You can use a holoscoped blaster to put a

  bolt through your opponent a kilometer away-it's more efficient, and there's

  much less risk to you in so doing. But you don't hear the death rattle, you

  don't smell the fear, you don't have to wipe your enemy's blood from your

  face. If you must kill, then you need to know how great the cost is-to your

  opponent, and to you." "Okay, I understand that part. But-

  "How can I be a healer and a warrior at the same time?"

  He nodded.

  "They are but opposite sides of the same coin. Take a life, spare a

  life-there's always a balance. Most cultures teach that people are a mix of

  good and evil-seldom all of one or the other. In most folk, there is an

  innate decency. They live lives that are more virtuous than not, but there's

  always an option to choose bad over good.

  "I can't create life, Uli, but I can restore it. Being a healer helps

  me keep m balance the fact that I have-and no doubt will again-taken lives.

  Sometimes, an opponent doesn't deserve the ultimate penalty. If I amputate a

  hand or an arm, I will have accomplished what needed to be done. Allowing

  this enemy to die, then, is wrong. Being able to repair what damage Fve

  caused can thus be of value."

  "But not alljedi are healers," Uli pointed out. "True. But all Jedi are

  taught basic medical skills and first-aid techniques. And sometimes, of

  course, we ate called upon to heal our friends-and our own-as well as our

  enemies."

  He nodded again. "Yes, I can see that."

  "Then why the question?"

  He looked at the ground, as if his boots had suddenly become

  fascinating. Then he looked back at her. "I'm a surgeon. It runs in my

  family, but it's also what I've wanted to do ever since I can remember. Fix

  patients, cure them, make them well. And yet . . ."

  He was quiet, thinking. Barriss waited. She already knew what he was

  going to admit-the Force had told her, loud and clear-but it was important

  that he say it himself.

  "And yet," Uli said, "there's a part of me that wants to kill. To hunt

  down the people who set this war in motion and exterminate them, by any and

  all means. I can feel it-that killing anger. I'm . . . that's not how I want

  to see myself."

  Barriss smiled, a small and sad expression. "Of course not. Decent folk

  don't want to travel that path. Good people, people who love and care, would

  rather not have those feelings."

  "So how do I get rid of them?"

  "You don't. You acknowledge them, but you don't allow them to control

  you. Feelings don't come with 'right' or 'wrong' labels, Uli. You feel how

  you feel. You are only responsible for how you act.

  "That's where choice comes in. Even the Force, a great power for good,

  can be used for ill,"

  "That's the 'dark side' I've heard mentioned?"

  Barriss frowned. "Jedi refer to the 'light side' and the 'dark side,'

  but really, these are only words, and the Force is beyond words. It is not

  evil, just as it isn't good- it simply is what it is. Power alone doesn't

  corrupt-but it can f
eed corruption that already exists. A Jedi must

  constantly choose one path or the other.

  "Tell me, if you actually had a chance to meet Count Dooku, face to

  face, and you had it within yourpowerto kill him-would you?"

  He reflected on that for what seemed a long time. Bar-riss could hear

  the rhurp-rhurp of the nearby croaker bushes, the high, thin buzzing of fire

  gnats swarming around her, the leathery slap of an Ishi Tib's bare feet

  striding through a nearby mud puddle. "Probably not," Uli said. "There you

  are."

  "But I'm not certain I wouldn't. After all, he's been directly or

  indirectly responsible for planetary genocide. the destruction of things

  like the Museum of Light on Tandis Four ..."

  "This is true. On the other hand ... are you familiar with the

  Vissencant Variations, by Bann Shoosha?"

  He nodded. "Less than two years old, and already considered one of the

  great musical works of the millennium. "

  "They were a great favorite of Zan Yant's. The music was written to

  celebrate the Shoosha family's escape from Brentaal. Had that battle not

  taken place,1' Barriss said, "the Variations might never have existed."

  Uli looked troubled. "But is any work of art worth thousands of lives?"

  "Probably not. I'm not saying it is-I'm just saying things aren't

  simple. That's really what it's all about, isn't it? Making choices and

  living with the consequences?"

  "I guess . . ." He still sounded doubtful.

  Barriss relit her lightsaber. "Well," she said to Uli, as she resumed

  her practice, "that's all we've got."

  12

  Seated near the top row of the hastily constructed bleachers, Jos, Den,

  and Uli, along with several others of the trauma team, watched as various

  species filled the rest of the seats rapidly. It was evening, and the short

  tropical twilight was rapidly darkening into night. The area was lit,

  brilliantly but without glare or shadows, by powerful full-spectrum LEDs.

  Doctors, nurses, assistants, techs, workers, and other Rimsoo staff

  personnel had one set of staggered plasticast row seating for themselves,

  while the troopers and other enlisted personnel occupied two others.

  Uli watched as the clones filled the rows, dozens of identical faces

  and forms. "It's one thing to see them one at a time on repulsor gurneys,"

  he commented to Jos. "But all lined up like that . . . well, it's pretty

 

‹ Prev