Star Wars_ MedStar 02_ Jedi Healer - Michael Reaves [107]
Den flicked the master switch on the back of I-Five’s neck. “Time to go,” he said.
“For you, maybe. The droids are scheduled to depart after the troops, if I recall correctly.”
Den grabbed I-Five’s hand and pulled him along toward the door. The cantina was just about deserted; the staff and tenders were already at the launch pads, waiting to board. He eyed several containers of vintage wines and liquor that he would love to bring along, but somehow he doubted they qualified as essentials.
“You’re not a droid,” Den said, as the two emerged from the building into the smoke-filled afternoon.
“I’m not?”
“Nope. You’re a diplomatic envoy on a mission for the Jedi. Moves you right to the front of the line.” A mortar blast less than a klick away showered them with dirt. “Assuming we reach the line,” he added.
“Didn’t we go through this already, a few months back?”
“Yeah. Except that last time they were just trying to move the front lines back so as to claim more bota. This time they want to wipe us out. They’ve got little left to lose.”
Another explosion, this one entirely too close. There was little attempt being made to dismantle the camp this time, Den noticed; the worker droids were concentrating on saving supplies and whatever viable bota was left.
Den stumbled and nearly fell into a crater. Only I-Five’s quick grab for his arm kept him upright.
“The pad’s up ahead,” the droid said. “Fifteen meters, no more.”
Den tried to respond, but suddenly there was acrid smoke everywhere, filling his nostrils. He coughed, struggling for clean air, and finding none.
Abruptly, he felt himself being lifted. I-Five was carrying him, moving rapidly in long strides toward the launch pad. Den kept trying to breathe, and kept failing miserably.
He’s carrying me a lot easier than I carried Zan’s quetarra case, he thought. It was the last coherent thought he had for a while.
42
Look—he’s coming around,” Barriss’s voice said. It sounded hollow, as if echoing from a well. Jos tried to open his eyes, but white light seared them.
“Zan,” he croaked. “Don’t do this. Don’t die…”
But it was too late. Jos knew that, if he opened his eyes, he would see Zan’s lifeless body lying there on the deck. He didn’t want to see it, not again…
“Jos.” He felt gentle hands on him. “Jos, it’s Barriss. Everything’s all right. Come on back to us.”
Jos opened his eyes. The light wasn’t so bad this time. He blinked and focused on Tolk, who grinned tearfully at him. “Where are we?”
“Sickbay One, on MedStar,” she said.
Jos raised himself on one elbow. “Ow!” His head hurt. He touched the synthflesh bandage on his head. Uli pushed him gently back down. “Easy, hotshot. You’re lucky to be alive. The roof came down on you. You’ve got another concussion.”
“Merit,” Jos whispered. “What happened? Is he—?”
“He’s dead, Jos,” Barriss said gently.
Jos saw Colonel Vaetes and Admiral Kersos standing behind Tolk and Barriss. He said, “Merit was trying to get away. I shot him.”
Vaetes said, “You did the right thing, Jos.”
“Yes,” Uncle Erel added. “You stopped a dangerous enemy agent from escaping, at the risk of your own life.
“When Uli and Security and I got there, we found you unconscious, and Merit dead. He had a hold-out blaster up his sleeve, but he didn’t get the chance to use it. Uli patched you up on the transport.” He raised his right hand in a slow salute. “Well done, Captain.” He lowered the salute and added, “I’m proud of you, nephew.”
“I’m not sure…” Jos said.
“About what?”
“Whether I did it because I knew he was going to cause more death and grief, or…” He trailed off.
“Because of Zan?” Tolk said.
Jos nodded.
“It doesn’t matter. He had to be stopped. You did it. You can work out the rest of it later. We’ll have plenty of time.”
It was true—he did it. He had killed another sentient being. Never mind why, never mind if