other artificial intelligences, should be considered self-aware sen-tients,
and thus deserving of the same rights.
This was something he had known all along, but he'd unconsciously kept
it at a lower level, not really considering all its moral implications.
Clones were created to fight wars; the desire for little else was encoded in
their genetic programming. They had no fear of death, a sense of fulfillment
and contentment when engaged in battle, and just enough pain receptors to
warn them away from actions that could result in injury or death.
Until Jos had gotten to know Nine-one-four, he'd also assumed clones
were incapable of forming close bonds, I either with each other or with
beings of other species. But I CT-914 had felt a sense of brotherly
affection for his vat- I mate CT-915, and when the latter had been killed,
Jos I had watched the clone grieve.
Similarly, I-Five, with his enhanced cognitive module functions and
deactivated creativity dampers, had impressed them all repeatedly with his
"humanity." Though initially his world had been turned upside down by all
this, Jos now was grateful, because this wider definition of what was human
had led directly to his being able to embrace-literally and
figuratively-Tolk as a potential life mate, even though she was a non-permes
esker.
He loved Tolk, he now knew. No matter the consequences of espousing an
outworlder, he was determined to follow his heart in this matter. But he
could not help but wonder what the new commander, Great-Uncle Erel, would
think of this.
It wasn't long before he found out. As the casino droid set up for
another game, a Bothan corporal approached the table. "Admiral Kersos
requests your presence, Captain Vondar. Please come with me."
8
Ohleyz Sumteh Kersos Vingdah," the admiral said. "Than donya sinyin."
"Sumteh Vondar Ohleyz ... dohn donya," Jos responded, hesitating just a
bit. It had been well over a standard decade since he had spoken in the High
Tongue. Everyone spoke Basic nowadays. As a boy, he'd only spoken the older,
ceremonial language during Purging Days.
His great-uncle looked tired. His face was about half a day shy of
depilation, and his uniform had one of the front tunic flaps unbuttoned.
Without the man's surgical mask, Jos could see a distinct family
resemblance. Somewhere during his boyhood, he and a cousin had discovered in
the family archives fragments of broken holograms-shattered images of, among
others, the young man who had thrown away his heritage and been disowned by
the family he chose to abandon. They'd peered through the fragments as if
they were windows open on the past, providing glimpses of that young man,
who was also apparent in this older man's features.
By all that was strict and proper, Jos knew he ought not to be speaking
to Erel Kersos at all, save as a military subordinate replying to a superior
officer. Great-Uncle Erel was still non-permes-the social and personal
invisibility did not diminish with time, or even with death. But then again,
given Jos's current status with an esker female and his determination to
keep it that way, the prohibition against speaking to a shunned relative
didn't seem quite such a major infraction.
Plus, there was nobody from the homeworld around to see it. And the
reason Erel Kersos had been expunged from the clans was of compelling
interest to Jos: the man had married an esker.
They were in Vaetes's office, just the two of them, Jos had a hundred
questions he wanted to ask his great-uncle, and at the top of his list was
one in particular. Standing there uncomfortably, wondering if he should be
the first to speak, he suddenly remembered the first time his father had
talked to him about outsiders . . .
At six years of age, Jos had never been offworld, and the only
sightings of aliens he'd had were at a distance, So when the subject of
outlanders came up in the school rec-dome, it had been puzzling to him. He
had asked his father about it, on one of the rare evenings when his father
had been home and not working at the clinic.
It had taken him some time to work up the courage to approach him. His
father was never violent, and Jos had no doubt that the man loved him. But
he was big; when he stood, he towered over Jos. And he could be loud, very
loud, though never when he was talking to his son.
In retrospect, it was clear that his father had not been ready for this
conversation. What Jos recalled of the time was that, once he had approached
and told him about his schoolmates' talk, his father had stopped whatever he
was doing-reading the evening newsdisc was what Jos remembered-and looked at
his son in mild surprise. "Well, son, aside from being of different
stock-that's like the difference between a blethyline and a tarkaline; they
look similar, but they're different colors and sizes-
aside from that, they don't have the same beliefs that we do They are-"
He searched for an appropriate term, and finally came up with one. "-less
pure. They mix things together that we don't mix together, and that includes
who they, um, marry."
Tos had nodded, not understanding what his father was getting at, but
aware that the subject was making the man uncomfortable. "Uh-huh."
"They aren't ...bad people," his father had said then. "Just...
different."
"How, Da?"
His father had frowned. "You know how you like salt-nut butter on
bread?"
"Yeah!" The kind fresh from the farm, the nuts just cracked. Spread it
on thick, it was the best!
"And how you also like bluefruit jam on bread?"
"Yeah . . ." It wasn't as good as saltnut butter, but it was still a
treat.
"But how if you mix saltnut butter and bluefruit jam on the same bread,
you don't like it?"
"Uh-huh." It was true. The two tastes, individually wonderful, when
eaten together would gag a sand cat. That had always seemed very unfair.
"Well," his father had said, "that's how ensters and ek-sters are. They
just don't mix together."
"But, Da, people aren't all the same, like saltnut butter and bluefruit
jam, are they-
His father cut him off: "You'll understand this when you're older, Jos.
Don't worry about it now."
Now, sitting with his shunned great-uncle decades later, Jos now had a
much better idea of what his father meant. At home, this attitude was
normal. But to outsiders, it was called xenophobia, speciesism, or worse.
For years he had shrugged that off. Outsiders didn't un-
derstand the complexities of permes, so they spoke from ignorance. They
were to be pitied more than feared or scorned. Even after his rotations on
Coruscant and Alderaan, during which dozens of sentients had been laid open
before him, even though he no longer spoke the High Tongue or observed the
Purging Days-even then, though he fancied himself fairly galactopolitan, the
interdiction, the barrier between his kind and all others, had worked for
him on a deep level, so deep he hadn't even realized its power.
But t
hen he'd fallen in love with Tolk-a Lorrdian nurse who was not of
his planet or even his system, a fact that was supposed to be the death
knell for any possible long-term relationship. In the words of many older
and infirm beings he'd treated, he'd fallen and he couldn't get up.
And he wasn't sure he wanted to.
"Go ahead," his great-uncle and admiral said then. His voice was
strong-a voice that knew how to give an order-but kind as well. "Go ahead.
Ask."
Jos looked straight at him. "Was it worth it?"
Silence for a long moment, the two of them looking straight at each
other-and the older man gave him a small smile. "Yes. And no." He sat down
with a sigh in Vaetes's chair. "For six glorious years, I was sure it was."
Jos raised an eyebrow. His uncle gestured for him to sit as well, which
he did.
"Feleema-my spouse-died in a mag-lev accident on Coruscant six years
after we married. So did four hundred others. It was quick-a superconductor
failed, the safeties malfunctioned, and the train left the rail at three
hundred kilometers per hour and rammed into a row of deserted industrial
buildings in the southern hemisphere. No survivors in any of the cars."
"I'm sorry."
His great-uncle nodded. "Thank you. It's been more than thirty years.
No one from the family has ever said that to me. Or anything else."
Jos was quiet, touched by the man's sense of loss.
"So, there I was," Erel Kersos continued. "A fresh lieutenant in the
service of the Republic, my wife gone, and my family and culture no longer
available to me. We had no children. I couldn't go home. So I applied myself
to my work, I made a career for myself in the military." He smiled, and Jos
thought there was a slight bitterness in it. "Which is how I wound up here,
nearly forty years later."
"You could have recanted."
"I would have had to deny my dead wife to do that, I could not do so.
And could not abide a family that would have demanded it."
There was another silence-not one that was particularly comfortable to
Jos. Then Erel Kersos looked him square in the eyes and made it worse. He
said, "Jos, you need to think about all this, very seriously."
Jos blinked. Was the old man a mind reader? Didn't they have enough of
them here already?
"I found out you were on this world before I applied for this duty.
I... inquired about you. I know why you are willing to talk to me. I know
about you and the Lorrdian nurse."
Jos felt his temper rise abruptly. Kersos must have sensed it; he shook
his head. "Don't blow a major vessel, son. I'm not telling you what you
should or should not do. I'm only offering my experience. When I elected to
marry Feleema, I never looked back. I was young, brave, and she was, in my
mind, worth all of my disapproving family put together. I had her-I didn't
need them.
9
"Then, suddenly I didn't have her-and I didn't have them, either." He
paused. "Family is sometimes more important than we think. Especially when
they are still there, but denied to you. Things happen. People change, they
separate, for all kinds of reasons. And they die. The woman you love today
might turn into somebody you can't stand five or ten or fifteen years from
now. Or she might not be here at all. There are no guarantees."
Jos nodded. "I know. Just tell me this: if you had it to do over again,
knowing what you know now-wouid you do the same thing?"
His great-uncle smiled, and it was not a happy expression. "I'm not
you, Jos. My mistakes were mine-yours will be your own."
"Not a responsive answer."
The older man shrugged. "Maybe not. But it's true." He paused. "There
are times when there is no questionin my mind-yes, I'd have done it exactly
the same. Six years with Feleema was better than six hundred years of my
family.
"But there have been other times when I wonder: what would it have been
like, to see my brother's or sister's children grow up? The nephews and
nieces 1 never met, never saw, never even knew were born? I couldn't go home
for my father's funeral. My mother is still alive- I've kept track through
the census data banks-but I am dead to her. The choice I made was simple-as
simple as it was irrevocable. But it wasn't easy. And it never got any
easier. There's an old saying, Jos, maybe you've heard it: there's no easy
way to shave a Wookiee." Jos sighed. Just what he needed to hear.
After Jos had left the table, the remaining players discussed the new
commanding officer, Erel Kersos, for a few minutes. "I hear he's much more
hands-on than Admiral Bleyd was," Barriss said.
"A Bespin cloud creature is more hands-on than that
brain case was," Den said. "They never did find his assas
sin, you know. There's a thought to keep you nice and
cozy at night."
The CardShark began to deal cards again. Den held up a hand. "We're
done. Just finishing our drinks."
The casino droid paid no attention. "Dantooine double-hand," it said.
"Place your bets, pplleeeaaass-
The CardShark's voice suddenly droned off as its arms drooped. It
slowly spiraled to a resting place on a nearby empty table. The players
looked at each other in puzzlement. Then, as one, they turned to look at
I-Five.
"What did you do?" Barriss demanded.
was hardly the most sparkling of conversationalists."
"You weren't anywhere near it," Den said.
'True. It wasn't necessary. I simply aimed a microwave beam at one of
its EM receptors and overloaded a capac-
itor, I knew it would go into emergency shutdown mode."
"Maybe trying to get you drunk isn't such a good idea," Den mused.
"You're dangerous enough as it is." :
The other three looked at the Sullustan and the droid skeptically. "Why
would you want to get a droid drunk?" the Padawan asked.
"Not just any droid." Den stood and threw an arm around I-Five's
shoulders, an accomplishment made possible only by the fact that the droid
remained seated "I-Five needs to let his dewflaps dangle a little."
"Thanks for that," I-Five said. "It's a thoughtful gesture, but I think
we've already decided that it's impossi-"
"You might be able to accomplish it," Klo Merit broke in, "by varying
the oscillator signal so that the phase harmonics shift into a multipulse
instead of a standard pulse configuration."
Everyone turned and stared at the minder. Merit spread wide,
four-fingered hands, the short fur on their backs shading to dark leathery
palms. "What? I can't have more than one skill?"
"It might work," I-Five said thoughtfully. "The nonlinear feedback
pattern established could create a new heuristic response."
"Your synaptic grid processor would have to be in electron depletion
mode," the Equani pointed out.
"Of course. That goes without saying. Perhaps programming could be
devised ..."
Den cocked a suspicious eye at Merit. "Where did you pick up all this
esoterica? And don't lie to a reporter-we always kno
w."
Merit smiled. "I've had a number of jobs before I settled into minding.
Including six months working as a boson wrangler for Industrial Automaton."
Den shrugged. "Who knew?" He turned back to M-ive. "What say we give it
a try? And just to make sure you're not flying solo, I'll be your copilot."
He gestured to the serving droid, who swerved her single wheel and headed in
their direction. "Hey, Teedle, bring me a Pan-Galactic Gar-
"Quiet!" Tolk had her head cocked in a listening pose-a pose they all
knew all too well. In the sudden buzzing quiet a sound slowly became
audible-a sound they also all knew too well.
"Lifters!" Tolk headed out of the cantina at a fast trot, followed by
Barriss. Merit, moving his bulk with surprising ease and speed, left as
well.
"Looks like we'll have to temporarily forgo pushing back the boundaries
of science," I-Five said to Den as he started for the door. "Hold that
thought."
Others at nearby tables were also leaving, heading for their various
stations. Only the three sentients in the corner-the Kubaz, the Umbaran, and
the Falleen-
stayed put. Den shrugged, and settled back to wait for his drink.
They sat in the cantina, in the middle of the midday meal crowd,
hidden, as Kaird liked to think, in plain sight.
Kaird, still in his Kubaz disguise-thank the Egg for a working air
cooler, finally-leaned back and looked at his two potential employees. They
returned his gaze, both faces noncommittal, as far as he could tell; he'd
always had trouble reading those fleshy blobs and gashes that served as
faces for most humanoids. There was no question as to whether they would
take the job, however-if you were an outlaw and Black Sun made you an offer,
it was not in your best interests to refuse.
Whether they could do the job was the question.
They ordered drinks, and then, before Kaird could say a word, the
Falleen female said, "Okay. We'll do it. What would our end be?"
"Just like that?" Kaird said, vaguely disappointed He'd expected some
pretense at haggling, at least. "You're Black Sun," Thula said. "Do we look
stupid?" "How? How will you manage it?" As Kaird watched the Falleen, her
pale green skin began to change color, shading into a warmer, reddish orange