The Bacta War

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The Twi’lek shuttle, an octagonal tube that lacked all the elegance of the Imperial Lambda-class shuttle, looked as if it had been extruded from the freighter. It moved sluggishly onto the landing platform. It settled down onto a docking collar, which rose up to meet it and formed itself to the ship’s hull. Lights on the exterior of the collar went from red to yellow and then green, signifying an atmospheric seal had been achieved.

  A lighted panel near the viewport through which Wedge was watching showed the progress of a personnel-mover heading out to the Twi’lek ship. Outside, slowly moving across the loading platform area, droid-driven grav-sleds approached the ship to begin to offload cargo. Wedge had no idea what Booster had asked the Twi’leks to bring, but he knew from his visits to Ryloth that an exchange of gifts was customary. He hoped the Twi’leks brought ryll so it could be shipped to the rylca production facility on Borleias and transformed into the medicine that was vital for curing the Krytos epidemic on Coruscant.

  The personnel-mover started its trip back to the station’s hub. Wedge walked over to the doorway where it would arrive and positioned himself in front of it. He tugged at the sleeves and waist of his jumpsuit. He knew it might have been good form to wear the Twi’leki warrior togs he’d worn on Ryloth, but they were designed as warm-weather clothes and Booster’s habitat adjustments made it a bit too cool to wear them with comfort.

  The doorway opened to admit an obese Twi’lek wearing a robe made from a shiny gold fabric and held closed by a thick red sash. A coral ornament secured a gold cloak at his throat and the cloak’s reflected light jaundiced his pink flesh, especially the flesh of his lekku, which he wore draped over his shoulders. He clasped his black-taloned hands before his belly and executed a short bow.

  Wedge returned it. “I am pleased to be able to greet you here, Koh’shak.”

  “It is my pleasure to accept the invitation of Booster-ter’rik to visit you, Wedgan’tilles.” The bulbous Twi’lek moved through the doorway. “You recall Tal’dira?”

  A second Twi’lek filled the doorway and had to bow his head to make it through. The black flightsuit he wore had been supplemented with a scarlet loincloth and cloak as well as a golden bandoleer running from right shoulder to left hip. The hugely muscled Twi’lek’s lekku had been tattooed with a whole host of designs, the significance of which Wedge could only guess at. He wore a blaster on his right hip and Wedge knew from prior experience that the bandoleer concealed a pair of vibroblades.

  “It is an honor to see you again, Tal’dira.”

  “And you, Wedgan’tilles.” The Twi’lek warrior gave Wedge a smile full of sharp teeth. “Koh’shak will run off and find his trading partners, leaving warriors to speak among themselves.”

  Wedge nodded in the fat merchant’s direction and Koh’shak immediately headed off toward the lift-tubes to find Booster. While Wedge looked forward to spending time with Tal’dira and learning why the warrior had come to the station, he regretted not being able to sit in on the conversations Booster and Koh’shak would have together. They might not be warriors, but the battles they will wage to strike a bargain will be of epic proportions.

  Wedge waved a hand toward the threshold of the cantina on that level. “May I offer you the hospitality of the station?”

  The warrior nodded. “You honor me.”

  “Say that after we get served. Our selections are rather limited here.” Wedge led him into the darkened cantina and wove a serpentine path through small tables to an open booth in the back. The reserved hologram drifting above it proclaimed its glowing message in a multitude of scripts and stood almost as tall as a Jawa. Wedge held his hand over the holoprojector and let it do a quick scan of his palm. The message changed to one of welcome, then morphed into a bill of fare. Wedge sighed and slid into the booth. “Having a table held for me here is about the only benefit of command.”

  “Warriors must take pleasure in even the slightest of benefits, because death is ever our companion.” Tal’dira sat opposite Wedge, interlacing his fingers and placing his hands on the table. His lekku flopped over inside his elbows. “You deserve more than this for your great victory.”

  Wedge raised an eyebrow. “Great victory?”

  The Twi’lek chuckled in a manner that seemed almost menacing. “You took from Iceheart a convoy of bacta.”

  “It wasn’t exactly defended very heavily.”

  “It matters not. You did what no one would dare to do—you struck at the Bacta Cartel. What you did is memorable and worthy of praise.”

  “Thank you.” Wedge glanced at the serving droid that approached the table. “Corellian whisky for me, Whyren’s Reserve, if you have it. Tal’dira?”

  “This Whyr’rensreserve will suffice for me as well.”

  The droid beeped an understanding of the order and rolled away. Wedge smiled at the Twi’lek. “You did not come here to tell me what you thought of the raid against Iceheart.”

  “Ah, but I did.” Tal’dira leaned forward and raised his hands so his chin could rest on his outstretched thumbs. “The galaxy is changing. I am not old enough to remember the prior Republican era, but I have heard tales of the Clone Wars. Since its birth, the Empire sought to maintain peace, but there was much conflict that they ignored, conflict in which a warrior could find a career and build himself into a legend. And then there was the Rebellion”

  The Twi’lek fell silent as the droid returned with their drinks. Wedge plucked the tumblers of the amber liquid from the serving tray and set one before his guest. Hoisting his own glass aloft he offered a toast. “To warriors and their legends.”

  Tal’dira nodded and added, “And to those skilled enough to become living legends.”

  Wedge touched his tumbler to Tal’dira’s and drank. He let the whisky linger on his tongue for a moment, then let it trail fire down his throat and into his belly. He gave himself a moment to consider what Tal’dira had said and he thought he had a glimmering of where the Twi’lek meant the conversation to go. The thought that he might be right threatened to plant a smile on his face, so he deliberately narrowed his eyes.

  “The Rebellion was very much a place where warriors were able to build reputations. Too many of them have become posthumous legends, but that was one conflict that favored the courageous and devoured the weak.” Wedge kept his voice even, but found his words surprising him. It felt natural to refer to the Rebellion in the past tense, as if it were over even before the last bits of the Empire had been smashed. He realized that this thought was not wholly wrong, for the conquest of Coruscant had elevated the Rebellion from being a movement to being a government almost overnight. That’s a transformation I never thought I’d see.

  Tal’dira’s black talons clicked gently against the duraplast tabletop. “It is my profound wish I had been possessed of the foresight to join the Rebellion.”

  Wedge shrugged his shoulders. “You had responsibilities as a Twi’lek warrior. I had no such responsibilities and could therefore join the Rebellion.”

  “True, but to acquit my duties to my people I should have opposed the Empire.”

  Wedge frowned for a moment. The political makeup of the Empire had been such that the nonhuman populations always knew they existed at the sufferance of the Emperor. For many of them, remaining unnoticed by the Empire seemed the best way to make sure they were not destroyed. Historically, the Twi’leks found negotiation and deal making preferable to direct confrontation, and this preference had served them well during the time of the Rebellion. They seemed to view both the Empire and the Rebellion as rival heat storms that would annihilate each other, leaving the Twi’leks in a position to thrive afterward. The victory of one side over the other had not been predicted—especially not the Rebellion’s victory. Tal’dira’s lament is genuine, but the product of hindsight.

  “I would have been happy to have you fighting beside me, and Nawar’aven has been a boon to my squadron, but you did what was required of you.” Wedge smiled. “Until you put together
those fighters I saw on Ryloth, I know you had very little in the way of hyperspace-capable ships native to Ryloth. I have to imagine the Empire deliberately suppressed such technology on Ryloth so they would not have to deal with you as a force.”

  “It is kind of you to say so.”

  “To even think otherwise would be to do you a disservice. While many think of Twi’leks as traders, I know you have a proud warrior tradition.”

  “But our warriors are unproven to the galaxy.” Tal’dira waved a hand toward the half of the station above his head. “As you have said, to most of the galaxy Twi’leks are merchants like Koh’shak or criminals like Bib Fortuna. You have been to Ryloth. You know this is not true, but such is the impression that has been made on the galaxy. Thinking that sapient beings believe all of us to be merchants and thieves preys on my mind.”

  Wedge glanced down at his tumbler of whisky. “I thought the fighters you have created were impressive.” The Twi’leks had taken a TIE fighter’s ball cockpit and married to it the S-foils of an X-wing fighter. The S-foils were connected to a collar that allowed them to rotate independently of the cockpit, much in the way the cruciform stabilizers on the B-wing rotated around its cockpit. The design provided stability for the pilot and had proved very effective with the B-wing. “Their maneuverability, I would imagine, makes them very formidable.”

  Tal’dira straightened up and smiled with genuine pleasure. “The Twi’leki designation for them is Chir’daki. In your Basic it would be Deathseed. It recalls the spores of a parasitic fungus that invades a larger creature and destroys it. Most unpleasant, as would be facing our Chir’daki in combat.”

  Wedge sipped a bit more whisky. “They are hyperspace capable?”

  “Indeed. The twin-ion engines are used for main propulsion. The engines on the S-foils are smaller than those in your X-wings, but they provide power for the hyperdrive motivators and shield generators. We have quad lasers for our weaponry—no proton torpedoes because we decided obtaining supplies of them might be difficult.”

  “Wise decision—proton torps and concussion missiles are the only things we’re having trouble finding. Booster is using up a lot of favors to get them.” Wedge gave Tal’dira a curt nod. “I envy you your ships.”

  “And I envy you your ability to win victories.” Tal’dira played with his tumbler of whisky in a most unwarriorly fashion. “You have proven yourself time and again a most dangerous enemy.”

  Wedge glanced down for a moment and stroked his chin with his right hand. “It occurs to me, Tal’dira, that it would be a waste for your ships to go untested.”

  A light sparked deep in the Twi’lek’s dark eyes. “Indeed, a great waste.”

  “Perhaps it would be possible for you and some of your pilots to join us.” Wedge spread his hands open. “The work is dangerous, and we will find ourselves outcasts everywhere if we fail.”

  Tal’dira’s lekku twitched nonchalantly. “Twi’leks have been outcasts before.”

  “Can you give me a squadron?”

  The warrior nodded. “Fearful that pirates might prey upon Koh’shak’s freighter, we shipped with a dozen Deathseeds and pilots. We would be honored to join your battle against Iceheart.”

  Which is what you wanted the instant you heard we were fighting her, but you could never have asked. You wanted to be invited. Wedge sat back. “I know you are aware of how serious this is, but there really are fairly grand problems here. If you join us, Iceheart could cut the bacta supply to Ryloth.”

  “Ryll may not be bacta, but it suffices for many of our needs.” Tal’dira shrugged. “Twi’leks pride themselves on being hearty, and bacta is seen in some quarters as a means for the weak to survive. If we are deprived of it we will lose people, but if we do not oppose Iceheart and take our place in the galaxy, what is the reason for living?”

  “And you know Iceheart isn’t going to forgive you if we lose.”

  The Twi’lek smiled easily. “The implacable foe is the only one worth facing. If we know we have lost everything we will fight that much harder. Such are the battles worth winning and worth taking pride in.”

  Wedge raised his tumbler again and clinked it against Tal’dira’s. “Welcome to the Bacta War, Tal’dira. Here’s hoping Iceheart and her people choke on your Deathseeds.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The thing Corran hated the most about floating in the bacta tank was that he could see blurred figures outside the tank, but he couldn’t communicate with them. Even when one or more got close enough to press a hand to the transparisteel window into the tank, he couldn’t make out who was at the far end of the arm. He could guess, but since the room outside the tank was kept dim and lit mostly by a yellow-green glow from within the tank itself, confirming his guesses was impossible.

  He had no way of knowing how long he’d been in the tank, but he found the duration of his stay both too long and too short. Pain in his back and guts had been overwhelming at first, but it subsided after a while. In its wake came a tingling in his legs, which was good since he’d not felt anything in them at first. Only after feeling returned to them did Corran allow himself to think about how badly he had been hurt and how close he’d come to death.

  I probably broke my pelvis in the fall, then when the stormtroopers landed on me I broke my back and probably ruptured internal organs. Had bacta not been available, those injuries would have been fatal.

  That realization sobered Corran and gave him a clarity of mind that allowed him to go back over what he had done at the spaceport. His two mistakes were very clear and gnawed at him. I should have known better. I am not a Jedi. Trying to use Jedi methods without proper training is stupid, as I found out. I’m as bad as wannabe police—a Jedi vigilante. If Jedi techniques were just parlor tricks and illusions, the Emperor wouldn’t have hunted all the Jedi down and had them destroyed. If these abilities are that dangerous, they shouldn’t be used without proper training.

  While that line of thought made certain he’d never again try to warp the brain of a stormtrooper, Corran was not as harsh in his self-judgment concerning the fight on the catwalk. Lacking a blaster and pinned down by crossfire, to do nothing would have meant both he and Mirax would be dead. Escaping that trap required action and he’d taken action. His mistake in the fight had been the result of inexperience with the weapon he’d used. I swung wildly, using more power than I needed. If I moderated things, kept the blade more under control, I could have gotten at least the third stormtrooper. The fourth stormtrooper would have shot him, Corran had little doubt, but his attack would have all but eliminated half the threat to his friends.

  A gentle tug on the breathing mask he wore caused Corran to look up. He saw a round hatch through which light came and a silhouette of a human head and shoulders in it. Kicking his legs, Corran made his way to the surface of the tank. He removed the breathing mask and hauled himself out through the hatch. The medtech there lowered a grate over the hatch and pointed Corran toward it. As he had done before, Corran stood on the grate as the tech used a water spray to wash the bacta residue from him and back into the tank. Holding his hands high, Corran turned slowly beneath the spray, then smiled as the tech tossed him a thick towel.

  “How do you feel?”

  Corran shrugged and wiped his face. “Pretty good. How badly was I hurt?”

  The tech’s face screwed up tight. “Pretty bad. You were in shock when we dunked you. Internal organ damage, broken pelvis, spine, and ribs—more quantity than quality of damage.”

  Corran nodded. “So I was in for, what, a week?”

  “Two days.”

  “What?” Corran frowned at the tech. “I should have been in there much longer than that for those injuries.”

  The tech lifted his chin and gave Corran an imperious stare. “You are used to dealing with export-quality bacta, and Xucphra product at that, friend. The bacta here is more potent.”

  “Made by Zaltin verachen?”

  The tech bowed his head. “Very
good. If you will follow me, your friends are waiting for you.”

  Lacking clothes, Corran wrapped the towel around his waist and followed the tech down some stairs and through a doorway. The room beyond it was lit by a ghostly green glow coming from the transparisteel viewport that dominated the left wall. It looked back into the tank, the light from which allowed him to see further into the room than he had been able while in the tank. Low, long, well-padded day beds and high-backed chairs filled the rest of the room and had been arranged so anyone using them could keep an eye on his progress. Shadows shrouded the archway in the wall opposite the one he entered through.

  As he came through the doorway, Mirax stepped forward and enfolded him in a hug. She kissed his lips, then his right ear. “I can’t tell you how good you feel. I was afraid you’d not make it.”

  “And give your father the satisfaction?”

  She laughed lightly. “I’ll tell him that the Horn tenacity is, in fact, good for something.”

  Corran kissed the side of her face and held on tight. One of the most unnerving things about being in a bacta tank, with its temperature control and neutral buoyancy, was the feeling of floating in a void. If not for the touch of the breathing mask on his face, he would have had no connection to the outside world. Just being able to hold on to Mirax and feel her body through the thin material of her clothes brought him fully back into the world.

  “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  Mirax shook her head. “Nope, I kept my head down and came out in one piece.” She grinned. “And I even managed to recover your lightsaber for you. It and your Jedi credit are safe.”