Star Wars_ MedStar 02_ Jedi Healer - Michael Reaves [89]
All in all, it was the kind of journalism that garnered notices. His byline on something like it could very well put him back on the radar again, land him an assignment someplace less… exciting than Drongar. Or, if he did indeed return to Sullust and take Eyar up on her offer, it would be a great story to go out on.
There was only one problem. Upon reflection, he didn’t see how he could file it.
Once it became common knowledge that the bota was useless, Den foresaw two things happening. The second thing would be the cessation of hostilities and eventual evacuation of Drongar, since there would be nothing else on this simmering dungball to fight over. Which was just fine with him.
The first thing, however, would be a no-holds-barred final battle between the Separatists and the Republic over the last viable patches of the plant. Since bota grew pretty much only in this one area of Southern Tanlassa—about a thousand square klicks—the fighting would be concentrated all around them. The fifteen Rimsoos charged with the duties of caring for the wounded and, in the cases of Rimsoo Seven and a few others, of harvesting bota, as well, would be overrun by enemy troops. Battle droids, droidekas, mercenaries of all kinds, and just about anyone else with dreams of quick wealth would come howling over the barricades like a swarm of swamp shoats. It wouldn’t be pretty.
He’d realized from the moment he’d heard the rumor that such was going to happen. Still, the story would break anyway, sooner or later—why shouldn’t he be the one to reap the benefits?
But he knew the answer to that, much as he hated to admit it. Somehow, during his sojourn here, he’d become infected with a germ more deadly than any bug to be found in Drongar’s pestilential ecosystem: a conscience.
Den could get the story out secretly, he knew that. But he would be at least partially responsible for a shipload of bantha poodoo falling on the people he’d come to consider his friends.
Den sighed gustily, dewflaps fluttering in vexation. Whether the leak came from him or someone else, the calamity was certain to come eventually. And when it did it would be the sort of thing best viewed from a few parsecs away. Which meant he should be finding a bunk on an outbound vessel. Soon. Which is why the thought of accompanying I-Five on his journey to Coruscant was quite appealing. It would be easy to connect from there to Sullust or just about anywhere else.
Den was still undecided on the whole retirement issue. In fact, compared to him, a two-headed Troig was a paragon of single-mindedness. Chuck it all and become the patriarch of Eyar’s warren-clan? Or hurl himself back into the job he’d done all his adult life? There were still good stories to uncover, after all.
On the other hand, Eyar was a most lovely and desirable fem…
He would have to decide soon. I-Five was leaving on his mission for Barriss Offee. There would be no problem with Den going along—he was a noncom, a civilian, free to come and go as much as was practical. They could reach the Core worlds in forty-eight standard hours, maybe less.
There was no reason for him to stay, unless it was to risk almost certain death by remaining to report on the last chaotic hours. And, as he’d pointed out more than once to just about anyone who’d listen, he was no hero.
But something about going, about leaving people like Jos, and Barriss, and Tolk, Klo, Uli… it just didn’t go down easily.
How had things gotten this bad? That he suddenly had all these people to care about?
As one of The Silent, getting up to MedStar was easy. Religious and meditative orders—particularly ones that had beneficial effects on the ill and wounded—were usually given preferential treatment. Once on board and checked in properly, Kaird took his travel case and proceeded directly to the main bay. Since The Silent didn’t speak, he handed the guard a stat