Jedi Healer

by Michael Reaves

  instead of a larynx-but it was different, somehow. He hardly ever calls

  anyone by name, he realized suddenly.

  I-Five said, "From what I've studied of popular culture, I think this

  is the moment where I'm supposed to remind you of all the wonderful

  advantages you, as an organic, have over me, a mechanical. Unfortunately, I

  really can't think of any. Yes, you are capable of creativity, of flights of

  imagination that I am not-because my core programming doesn't encompass such

  ephemerals. But I don't miss them. I don't yearn to be able to understand

  beauty and art. The same goes for love-and existential life crises such as

  you seem to be currently experiencing."

  "1 don't believe that. You have, at the very least, a sense of humor-"

  "I was programmed with one. Just about all droids that interact with

  organics on this level are."

  "You wanted to get drunk!"

  "True. I didn't say I wasn't programmed with emotions. Loyalty is one.

  Curiosity is another. And my lack of creativity dampers and my expanded

  synaptic grid allow me to extrapolate feelings. Experiencing things that

  organics favor-such as mind-altering concoctions- would theoretically help

  me understand them. And, since I'm stuck in this galaxy with all of you, I

  need all the data I can get.

  "But I'm not the little droid in the children's tale that wants to be

  an organic, Jos. I'm a machine. A very complex machine, capable of mimicking

  the thinking processes of a sentient to an astonishing degree, if I do say

  so. But a machine, nonetheless. And I have no real desire to be anything

  else."

  Jos stared at I-Five. He couldn't have been more aston-

  ished if the droid had just turned into a three-headed Kaminoan. Then,

  somewhat to his surprise, he started to feel angry. He'd just recently had

  his worldview twisted, was only now starting to get comfortable with the

  idea that maybe droids shouldn't be treated like electrospan-ners with arms,

  and he was determined not to let I-Five mess with his head again.

  He said slowly, "Do you remember, during one of the sabacc games, when

  we were discussing how a being knows if it's self-aware?" "I remember."

  "And you said something along the lines of, To be self aware enough to

  ask the question is to have answered it. I think you're aware enough to

  answer that question, I-Five. In fact, I think you already have. But now

  you're pulling back-you're denying your self," Jos said. "I wonder if it

  might have anything to do with your memory returning?"

  I-Five was quiet for what seemed a long time. When he spoke again, Jos

  could hear a definite tone of wonder in his voice, "I think-comparing

  subjective neural activity with internal files on the subject-" the droid

  said, "I think I'm having an anxiety attack."

  24

  Sometimes the names did get a little confusing. Most of the time, it

  was the one the others in the Rimsoo used; after that it was Column, the

  op-nom bestowed by one of Count Dooku's Separatist spymasters. Lens, the

  code name by which Black Sun knew its agent, was the one least often

  utilized. None of them, of course, was the name bestowed upon the spy at

  birth, and that was but one of a long list that had changed time and again,

  as circumstances dictated.

  However, Lens was the sobriquet being used now, that being the one the

  spy's guest was familiar with. The being sitting facing Lens was ostensibly

  human, but, in fact, concealed under the adipose rolls of a fat-suit

  disguise was Kaird, the Nediji assassin and enforcer. The two of them were

  in an empty office that belonged to a lab supervisor who had contracted a

  nasty, local form of pneumonia during the recent cold spell. The lab worker,

  an Askajian, was in the medical ward and wouldn't be using her room anytime

  soon.

  The ersatz human had just laid out what sounded like the bare essence

  of a plan to steal a major amount of bota-and a ship in which to transport

  it. This didn't make any sense, and Lens was not at all hesitant to say so.

  "We have our reasons."

  "And you are telling me this . . . why?" "You are our agent; it seemed

  only fair to warn you. The theft will cause investigation-best you are not

  caught unprepared."

  Lens smiled. "My official persona here is quite blaster-proof. What's

  the real reason?"

  The human disguise was quite good-the smile it produced looked genuine.

  "Eventually, as all wars must, this one will end. Business will continue.

  You have been a valuable asset to us and could be one again after this

  conflict is resolved. We hate to waste talent."

  That made more sense, but it wasn't all of it, Lens figured. "Still not

  quite right, is it?"

  The disguise's vox unit gave a realistic offering of a human laugh. "It

  is so refreshing to not have to deal with the dull and ignorant," Kaird

  said. He leaned forward. "Very well: in your official capacity here, you

  have access to certain data."

  "True-but security codes for vacuum-worthy ships, especially those with

  hyperdrive units, are not among such data," Lens said.

  "I didn't think they were. But you can get medical records."

  "Anybody in the Rimsoo with standard clearance can view those files. I

  fail to see how that will help you steal a ship."

  "Ever see a child's tumble-slabs? You can set them up in long and

  convoluted rows and whorls, the one at the end being a hundred or a thousand

  away from the one at the beginning. If you line them up right, however,

  tipping the'first one over will eventually result in the last one falling."

  Lens nodded again. "Yes. I see what you mean." "I am going to do some

  very basic research," Kaird

  said, "and after I have learned some things, I will ask you for

  specific files that I believe will be useful. Nothing that should be secured

  above your ability to scan." "Not a problem," Lens said. "I will obtain what

  you need."

  "Excellent." There was a pause. "Now I'm going to do you a favor, Lens.

  I realize you have other loyalties besides those to Black Sun, but those

  interests-and ours- here are about to cease to matter."

  Lens frowned. "How so?"

  "The reason we are all here is singular. That reason is already

  dwindling in importance, and, in a short time, will stop completely."

  "I'm afraid you've lost me. You're talking about the bota?"

  "Yes. The plant, it seems, is undergoing a new mutation, one that will

  radically alter its prized adaptogenic properties. By its next generation,

  bota will be no more valuable than any other weed growing on this hot rock-

  it will be chemically changed so far as to be useless as a drug. Since

  Drongar itself is of no use, strategic or otherwise, both the Republic and

  the Separatist forces will have no reason to remain here." The hands spread

  themselves, palms-up, in a gesture of freedom. "We can all go home."

  "How do you know this?"

  "That doesn't matter. I know it for a fact. I tell you this because,

  after I'm gone, you might be able to use the data to help your friends under

  Count Dooku's command. It might be worth a final, all-out battle
to secure

  what's left of the bota fields-since once those are gone, there won't be any

  more to be had. Not around here, at least."

  Lens, startled by this revelation, said nothing. There would be no

  reason for Kaird to lie about this. The theft of a goodly amount of bota

  would, at least indirectly harm the Republic, and so Lens wished him success

  as far as that went. But if what he said was true, it would definitely be in

  the Separatists' interest to grab up as much of the crop as they could, even

  at the risk of destroying the rest of it. Better half a loaf than none.

  Somehow, this information had to be verified.

  "This is valuable knowledge," Lens said. "And yet you offer it freely."

  The jowled head nodded ponderously. "As I said, the war will eventually

  be settled. Win or lose, it's all the same to us. If we do you a favor,

  someday you might be in a position to do one for us. Black Sun has a long

  memory, for enemies and for friends. We have plenty of both, but it never

  hurts to have more friends."

  Lens nodded and smiled. The Nediji's statement made sense, although it

  came with a fairly high dosage of irony, since Black Sun had in the past

  played such deals from so many angles that it took a nine-dimensional slice

  of space-time just to contain them all.

  The human suit stood, its rolls of foamcast fat quivering. "I'll

  contact you in a day or two," Kaird said. "May frost never dim your vision."

  Kaird left, and Lens considered what the Black Sun enforcer had said. If

  this revelation about the bota checked out, it would be a major bit of

  intelligence to pass along. The course of the war here would almost

  certainly be altered quickly. Very quickly.

  Jos plodded toward his kiosk. He no longer shared it with Tolk, nor

  with Uli. She'd moved back into her own three days ago, saying she needed

  space to think. Uli was still in the single unit that he'd moved to soon

  after Tolk moved in. These days, Jos spent most of his time either in the

  cantina or in the OT. He only went back to his quarters when he needed

  sleep-and he desperately needed it now.

  The drone of medlifters began. They quickly built into such a cacophony

  that he couldn't even guess how many there were. He shook his head. That was

  going to be bad for whoever was on-

  His comlink cheeped.

  He answered, knowing it was bad news. "What?"

  Uli said, "There's been an explosion and big fire at the AIA hydrogen

  plant, Jos. A hundred people seriously hurt. We've got nine lifters worth

  headed our way, thirty-some wounded, most of them bad burns and-"

  "1 just finished my shift. I can barely lift my hands, much less use

  them to operate."

  "I know. But one of the droid surgeons just blew a gy-rostabilizer, and

  it'll take hours to repair it. We're short-handed in the OT. Colonel Vaetes

  said to call."

  Jos sighed. "Kark," he said. But there was no heat in the word, only a

  great weariness. Would this never end?

  In the OT, the first patients from the fire started arriving as Jos

  gloved up. He saw Tolk, and this time she nodded at him. A small gesture,

  but it made him feel a little better. At least they had that much.

  He moved to a table as a pair of droids slid a patient onto it from the

  gurney. A clone, and scorched pretty badly. "What do we have here?"

  '"Third-degree burns over twenty-six percent of his body," one of the

  droids, a surgical diagnostic unit, intoned. "Second-degree over an

  additional twenty-one percent. First-degree over seventeen percent. In

  addition, he has a lacerated small intestine from what seems to be a

  splinter from a shattered hydrogen tank, left lower quadrant, transversely;

  puncture wounds in his left lung, which is collapsed; and a fragment

  embedded in his left eye,"

  "Separatist droids attacked the plant?"

  "No, sir," the SDU droid said. "It was an industrial accident."

  'Wonderful.

  "Isn't bad enough the Seppies're killing people-now we're blowing

  ourselves up. Crack open a burn kit," Jos told Threndy. "Somebody hit him

  with enkephalin, a hundred milligrams. And get the ultrasonic scrubber-he's

  going to need at least half his skin replaced . .."

  Jos somehow managed to keep it together for another five patients,

  saving them all.

  Then he killed the next one.

  He was halfway through the first stage of a pneu-monectomy, on a

  nonclone human patient, working on the left lung with a laser scalpel, when

  he nicked the man's aorta. Blood spewed from the clamped vessel in a geyser

  that shot nearly all the way to the ceiling.

  "Get a pressor on that!"

  Tolk and Threndy had been pulled away to help Uli and Vaetes, who were

  doing a heart transplant, but the surgical assistant droid quickly focused

  the pressor field on the cut artery with mechanical precision, a perfect

  placement. Unfortunately, the field strength was not quite sufficient, and

  the wound continued to ooze.

  "Kick it up," Jos ordered. "What's the field strength?"

  "Six-point-four," the droid said.

  "Go to seven."

  "But doctor, that will exceed tissue parameters-'

  "Override. Seven, I said."

  Even as the droid complied, Jos realized his mistake. The man lying

  before him was not a Fett-clone, one whose circulatory system's wall

  strengths had been augmented to help keep wounds from bleeding as much. This

  was an ordinary human, which meant-

  The aorta exploded, shredding as if a small bomb had gone off inside

  it.

  "I need some help here!"

  All of the surgical heart-lung bypass toilers were in use, and an extra

  pair of hands wouldn't be enough. The field couldn't stop the blood, and

  even as he tried to tie off the blown artery, he knew it was too late.

  Massive shock took the man, and he flatlined before they could implement

  cerebrostasis. Jos tried to revive him, once he had a flexy-stat on the torn

  vessel and oxygenated expander flowing to replace the lost blood. Ten

  minutes he tried, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't restart the heart.

  He had four more patients lined up. He knew what he had to do.

  Jos pronounced the man and had a droid haul him away. There was no

  other choice. If he kept working on this one, the patients waiting would

  almost certainly die.

  Or maybe you'll kill them, too, the malicious little voice within

  whispered, as the next patient was placed before him.

  He had never felt more tired in his life. Blast this war.

  25

  Den sat listening to the Ugnaught med-mechano specialist, Rorand Zuzz,

  feeling as if he had just been handed the key to Coruscant on a platinum

  platter. Zuzz hail supplied him with useful information in the past, but

  nothing like this.

  "You're sure?"

  "Y'kin take it t'the IGB 'n' swap it fcreds, Dhur. Oh,

  yar."

  "How did you come by this information?'

  Zuzz grinned. "Femnaught in Rimsoo Twelve, over'n Xenoby, she lustin'

  f'me. She runs alia d'test on d'local crop."

  "Have another drink," Den said. This was big, Huge, Monstrous. So

&n
bsp; important, in fact, that. . .

  "Why haven't I heard about this?"

  The stubby little alien shrugged. "Dunno. Rachott, d'fem, say she

  runnin' d'tests, passin' 'em 'long, 'n' no feke, the stuffs gettin' weaker

  'n' weaker. Somebody sit-tin' on d'results. Who knows why?"

  The server arrived with a fresh drink, and Zuzz grabbed it as if it

  were the last drop of liquid on the day side of a nonrotating planet.

  Den continued to think about this. If the bota was in deed losing its

  potency, that was major news. The stuff was worth its weight in first-grade

  firestones, if not more, and if it died out, the price of any that still had

  full strength and full spectrum would rise right out of the galaxy. Once

  word got around, everybody and his ugly little sibling would be out there in

  the fields trying to grab up as much as they could. A being could retire on

  what he could hide in his pockets . . .

  Yeah, this was a story, all right. A ticket-to-anywhere, the kind of

  piece that came along once in a Falleen's lifetime. Spin it right-and he

  knew he could-it might even be a Poracsa Prize winner, and that would set

  him up for life.

  Den had to confirm it, and fast. He had to break it before somebody

  else leaked it. This would put him on the map. They'd name journalism

  colleges for him . . .

  He paid for another three drinks for his Ugnaught source, got up, and

  left the cantina. He had to find at least two more confirmations. Maybe even

  just one. Once it had been confirmed, he would get the story out, somehow.

  Even if his comm unit was on the crackle at the moment, there had to be a

  way. He'd tattoo it on a soldier mustering out, if he had to. Something.

  As he started to cross the hot and fetid compound, he saw Eyar heading

  toward the chow hall. He moved to intercept her.

  No doubt about it-she was one gorgeous fem.

  She smiled, and they exchanged ritual greetings.

  "You look excited about something," she said.

  "How could I be anything else but excited in your presence,

  Sweetflaps?"

  She laughed. "I love a Sullustan who makes me laugh. But I ken

  something else in your attitude."

  "A story," he admitted. "A big one, if it checks out."

  "Good for you!" Her voice was warm, generous, sincere.

  Den looked at her, and for a moment, he felt a pang of regret for the