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.
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