Part 6 (1/2)

The Bothan stroked Gavin's cheek. ”He fought the dis-ease. That's good.”

”Sure, but the fact that we can find something n.o.ble in this seems twisted.” He shook his head. 'Tve seen more death in my time with Rogue Squadron than I have ever seen before, but nothing was so hideous as this. A year ago ! would have run screaming. Now I just clean my boots and wait for guys with sterilizer units to show up. I'm changing and I'm not sure I like it.”

Asyr smiled gently at him. ”It's called maturing, Gavin, and not everyone likes it. Now me, I think you're maturing very well.”

Gavin half-coughed a laugh. ”Thanks, but I still have to wonder if it's right that we can see something like that and just continue on.”

”We continue on, my dear, because we must.” Asyr's voice developed an edge. ”The Gamorrean, he summoned up the strength to lock others out and protect them. That was good. You and I, though, have a different mission.

This dis-ease doesn't appear to affect our species, so we have volunteered to help out during this public health crisis, but that is not our primary purpose here. Our mission is to fly our X-wings, to locate and destroy the kind of monsters who would do this kind of thing to others.

Doing that requires all the maturity we can muster.”

”I know.” He rubbed a hand along her spine, then looked over to where Emtrey was conversing with an Emdee-oh and two men carrying portable plasma-incinerator units. The droid would take samples; then the men would burn everything in the hovel, including the first five millimeters of ferrocrete, to a white ash that would be vacuumed up and disposed of safely.

Gavin let Asyr help him to his feet. ”You're right, of course. I hope we can accomplish our mission. If we don't, I'm afraid we'll have to take Coruscant down to bedrock, and I don't think even that will erase the scourge of the Empire from the galaxy.”

I think even stormtroopers would find my men terrifyingly efficient. From the dark security of the grav-car's interior, Kirtan Loor watched as four Special Intelligence operatives clad in civilian garb approached the building's door. As huge and imposing as they were, they moved with a lethal fluidity their armor normally hid. Almost casually, one of them placed a thermite boring charge on the door lock and set it, then accepted a blaster carbine from a compatriot and flat-tened himself against the building's wall.

A red light blinked three times on the thermite charge, then a smoke-shrouded gout of white fire burst to hissing life. The harsh light transformed the shadowed Imperial Cen-ter street into a chiaroscuro landscape burned clean of imper-fections but still full of menace. One of the operatives punched a hooked prybar through the center of the fire and yanked the door open, then his three compatriots dashed through.

The blue backlight of stun-fire strobed momentarily through the doorway and gaps in the window shading. Loor waited for a moment, then saw two more flashes. A human figure appeared in the doorway and nodded in his direction, then retreated into the shadows of the building's interior.

Loor opened the grav-car's door and emerged. He gath-ered a cloak about himself and pulled the hood up to conceal his face from incidental observation. He strode forward pur-posefully, but he imagined himself a pale imitation of Darth Vader. Tall and skeletally slender, with dark hair, he had been told he resembled a young Grand Moff Tarkin. While that comparison had been one he had used to his advantage, he would have preferred to inspire Vaderian terror in those with whom he dealt.

He squeezed past the two operatives at the doorway and stepped over the drooling Ithorian lying in the center of the antechamber. Beyond it, through a short corridor and past a third operative, he arrived in a room that resembled a rodent nest more than it did a human dwelling. It stank of mildew and old, musty sweat, though the occupant's new terror added piquant elements to the room's stale bouquet.

Loor looked down at the small, balding man pinned to the stained mattress by the muzzle of a blaster. ”Your sur-roundings are so miserable, I am almost moved to pity you, Nartlo, but then, pity is wasted on the dead, isn't it?”

”What are you talking about?” The man's brown eyes bulged with terror. ”I don't know you. What did I do?”

”True, you do not know me, but you have brokered some cure for friends of mine. It has been selling at a high price, but they tell me that you have told them the market has crashed. At the same time they noted that the supply of cure you returned to them had gone from 95 percent purity to 75 percent purity.” Loor shook his head slowly, mourn-fully. ”My friends feel you have lied to and cheated them.”

”No, no, I didn't do that.” Nartlo tried to claw his way into a sitting position, but the operative beside the makes.h.i.+ft bed kept him rooted in one spot. ”I drew off some of the bacta as a sample, but a deal went bad and I lost it. I didn't figure they'd believe I lost it, so I tried to cover up what I'd done. I'm sorry.”

”And stupid if you expect me to believe a story that was ancient when the Old Republic was born.” Loor let anger into his voice and won a groan from his victim. Because of the surveillance he had on Nartlo, Loor did know that the story was not wholly false. Some of the bacta had been lost when a deal went sour, but only some. The rest of the miss-ing cure had been donated to an alien pleasure house for the employees' own use.

Nartlo had spent a week basking in their considerable grat.i.tude. ”Tell me we won't find a Rodian concubine's sucker-marks on your back if we strip off your s.h.i.+rt.”

Nartlo accompanied his curling up into a fetal ball with a low moan. ”I owed some favors.”

”You gained some favors, more than you owed.” Loor took a step closer to the bed, forcing Nartlo to crane his neck back to look up at him. ”Now you owe me favors.”

”Anything you want, anything.”

”Good.” Loor turned to the right and nodded at the operative menacing the small man. The operative withdrew a step and Nartlo coughed as the pressure eased on his rib cage. ”You told my friends that the market for cure had crashed. Explain.”

”The Rebels picked up a lot of cure. I don't know when or where, but it was recent and was really very quiet. Rogue Squadron was involved, though, I know that much. I've been selling some of your cure to people who do business with people who work for people in the Provisional Council, see. They've been buying to be able to keep themselves and their supporters healthy--no matter the plague doesn't seem to affect them.”

Loor smiled within the dark sanctum of his hood. The New Republic government had put into place programs that were designed to be fair to the victims of the Krytos virus. The scarcity of bacta meant virtually all of the public supply went to individuals who were infected, with the goal being to save their lives. By curing them, public health officials could limit the spread of the disease. Others, mostly those from uninfected populations, argued that a prophylactic use of bacta to prevent the spread to new populations would be best. Public health officials argued that there was no proof pre-exposure bacta therapy could prevent someone from be-coming infected with the virus, but that did nothing to stem the desire to get bacta and use it as preventative medicine.

Nartlo swiped at spittle recking the corners of his mouth. ”Seems there's going to be enough now so the provos think they won't need their own supply.”

Loor frowned. ”Impossible. It would take a decade of bacta cartel production to satisfy the demand here.”

”Could be, sir, could be, but right now the word is out that the New Republic's government has things under con-trol.”

”It's a lie, of course, but a good one.” Loor slowly sank down onto his haunches, letting his cloak pool around him. ”You believe this bacta supply exists?”

”I think some does, sir, yes, sir.”

”You will learn about it. All about it.”

Nartlo's eyes grew large again. ”I don't know as I can, sir. Security is tight.”

”You owe me, little man.” Loor's growl cowed Nartlo. ”You will go to your contacts and this time offer to buy cure at a good price.”

”What if they don't want to sell?”

”Tell them that they will find exposure of their previous black market bacta dealings rather painful and embarra.s.s-ing. If that is insufficient, perhaps making an example of one or more of them would be persuasive. I can and will do that.” Loor nodded toward the operative to his right.

”Blast-ers have more than just a stun setting on them, you know.”

Nartlo licked at dry lips with a dry tongue. ”Yes, sir, I know.”

”Good. I want to know how much they have, how long they think their supply will last. I need to estimate when the price will climb again.”

”I can understand that, sir.”

And with that information I can begin to project how large a facility they would need to store it and how best to destroy it. Loor began to smile. I could even just spread the rumor that they have more than enough bacta to cure every-one, then reveal the true amount they have in their stores. The gap between what is hoped for and what is real should create a lot of unrest. That is a suitable fall-back plan, and one which I can pursue while seeking out and destroying the containment facility.

”And, Nartlo, you will try to find out whatever you can about their storage, transport, and distribution network. If I do go buying more bacta as a hedge against shortage, I would prefer to go directly to the source. I would like to cut out the middlemen, no offense intended.”

”No, sir, none taken.”

”Good, good. I'm glad we understand each other.” Loor straightened up again. ”I will be interested in hearing what you can find out.”

Nartlo nodded enthusiastically. ”You can count on me.”

”I am counting on you. See to it that you do not fail me.”

”Yes, sir.” The small man s.h.i.+vered. ”But, sir, I was won-dering . . .”

”Yes?”

”How do I . . .”

Loor laughed in as sinister a manner as he could man-age. ”We will find you. Have something for me in two days.”

”But that's not enough time.”