Wedge's Gamble (32 page)

“It was much like being sunburned all over for the both of us.”

Mirax giggled for a second, then made herself appear sober and saddened. “That’s horrible.”

Corran shrugged. “Unfortunately, it’s life.” He looked over at Gavin. “There you have it, kid. My advice, see what happens. It can’t hurt, except in rare cases.”

Gavin set the blaster rifle down and stood. “Thanks. I’ll take your advice, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Good luck, Gavin.” Corran waved him on his way, then smiled up at Iella. “Nicely told.”

Mirax’s brows furrowed. “How much of that was true?”

“All of it, every bit.”

She frowned. “That’s so sad, though.”

Corran shook his head. “Not really. We both knew we were living out a fantasy, but it wouldn’t have worked in the long run. I had no desire to move to Selonia and become part of a broodhome. Chertyl knew she couldn’t bear the children I’d want. We remained friends and both have wonderful memories. In fact, that was the best ending I had for any of my relationships.”

“True, Corran, but that’s because you never listened to my advice about the women you were interested in.” Iella shook her head. “Disasters, every one of them.”

Mirax smiled. “And what is your impression of the bacta queen?”

“Her? All wrong for Corran. Attractive, sure, but just not his kind of woman.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ve told him so, but he doesn’t listen.”

“Never has.”

Corran held his hands up in surrender. “Stop, please. You may not think Erisi is right for me, and I don’t really think so either—a conclusion I came up with on my own, too, I might add. Regardless, though, she doesn’t deserve this. Ysanne Isard wouldn’t deserve this.”

Iella glanced down at him. “Actually, Ysanne Isard
does
deserve this.”

Corran thought for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right, she does, carry on. By the time you’re done, I’ll have finished cleaning all these blaster pistols. Then we’ll be ready to do the job that really needs to be done.”

33

Though General Derricote’s office was no larger than his own, its stark white color made Kirtan Loor feel more vulnerable. He would have preferred waiting to deliver his message to the Director from his own office, but the delay the trip back would necessitate would not be acceptable. Ysanne Isard would be furious with what he had to say, so he saw no reason to compound her anger.

On one knee, he refused to look up when her image burned to life in the General’s office. “What is so urgent, Agent Loor?”

“General Derricote’s estimates of the incubation period for the Krytos virus in Sullustans was generous.”

“What?” Loor could not see Isard’s expression, but her voice sounded as it might if he had told her that the Rebels had just showed up with a Death Star. “Generous in what way?”

“Generous in his favor. He promised you ten days until the Sullustans began to sicken, but a dozen appears more correct. And …”

“There is more?”

“Yes, Madam Director. The virus has resisted airborne
transmission. Contact with virus-laden fluids and tissues will still infect another individual, but fluid contact is still required.”

“This is impossible, Loor, and I hold
you
responsible for all this. Look at me!”

Loor lifted his face and saw molten fury roiling in her left eye. “General Derricote gave me false information.”

“He did that at Borleias, but you found him out.”

“But I didn’t have to be tracking Rogue Squadron’s activities on Imperial Center at the time. I was worried about your deadline, which came and went today.” Loor hesitated and found himself cringing in anticipation of her reply.

“The deadline was based on a ten-day incubation period followed by a week-long terminal cycle. This throws everything off.” Isard’s image towered over him. “What are the transmissibility figures? Is the virus jumping from species to species?”

“Flesh contact with ten ces of viral fluid results in a twenty percent infection rate and the virus is viable for thirty-six hours outside a host, longer if the conditions are warm and moist. The virus can be frozen and thawed without lost of viability or lethality. If the virus is actually injected or injested, as little as one cubic centimeter is enough to infect a subject.”

“And species migration?”

“General Derricote projects …”

“Projects! I want results, not projections.” Isard’s hologram slammed a fist into an open palm but the sound relayed by holo-link sounded muted and weak. “Order Derricote to begin replication of the current virus strains and release all of them into the water supply.”

Loor again bowed his head. “I anticipated your request. Derricote says that in four days he should have sufficient supplies to take care of the planet.”

“Tell him he doesn’t have four days. Full replication and production begins immediately and batches go into the water supply when they are complete. I want it done
now. I will tolerate no more mistakes, his or yours, do you understand?”

“Yes, Madam Director.”

“And one more thing, Agent Loor.”

“Yes, Madam Director?”

“Your last report on the Rogues indicated this evening appears to be when they are taking their first step at liberating Imperial Center. It is too soon. I won’t have it. Scatter them, kill them, deal with them. This time tomorrow I do not want to have to worry about them.”

“As you wish, Madam Director!”

Isard’s image vanished revealing Derricote standing in the doorway to his office. He applauded politely. “That was a wonderful performance.”

Loor snarled inarticulately and came up quickly. He buried his left fist deep in Derricote’s stomach, then clouted him on the side of the head with a roundhouse right. The heavyset man stumbled sideways and slammed into the wall. He tipped shelves, overturning countless boxes of datacard journals, then abruptly sat down on the floor and wallowed in them.

Part of Loor basked in the disbelief on Derricote’s florid face, but even that feeling of elation did not dull the rage in his mind. He grabbed a handful of Derricote’s tunic and hauled the corpulent man to his feet. “You have placed me in mortal jeopardy because of your incompetence.”

“Incompetence!? We are traveling paths that were previously shunned here. I have done the best I could. The fact that my efforts do not live up to specifications designated by those who have no idea about the true nature of …”

Loor slapped the man hard with his open hand, then tugged him out of the office. “First, your technicians are to start manufacturing the Krytos viruses in their myriad forms and start injecting them into the water supply. Now! You have lied about how long it will take to kill aliens and I’m not sure I trust your transmission figures
so I want as much virus as available being used now as possible. Including the experimental versions.”

“But …”

“No buts, General, just
now
.” Loor’s nostrils flared. “What else have you lied to me about? Is it as deadly as you say?”

“You have seen the results, Agent Loor.”

“Yes, I
have
seen the results, but not all of them.” Loor dragged Derricote stumbling after him through the laboratory to the hallway where the victims were kept. Loor tossed him on ahead and Derricote spilled to the ground in the sanitized corridor. “I will not pay for another of your mistakes, General.”

Glancing to the right, Loor could see Quarren beging ning to melt, so he turned away and studied a huddled group of Sullustans. They clustered around two small children who were vomiting violently. Half the adults tore at their own hair, pulling it out in great clumps. Some reeled away, others just fell and trembled as if being shaken by a Cyborrean battle dog.

Loor looked back down at Derricote. “Madam Director wants bacta to cure the Krytos virus.”

“It will.”

“Have you tested the Sullustan version for a cure?”

“No, there is no need to waste bacta …”

Loor kicked the man in the thigh. “Wrong answer, General. Get up here.”

The General stood and Loor shoved him toward the transparisteel wall. “We will test the efficacy of bacta on the virus, General.” Loor looked at the Sullustans and saw one adult desperately mopping vomitus from a child’s face. “Those two, the child and the adult. Test it on them. I want them to survive, General, do you understand me?”

“Mother and child? How touching.”

“Don’t mock me, General. The child is younger and the disease has clearly ravaged it far more than the adult. And that adult, she is caring for the child. She can tell others how to care for victims of this virus, accelerating the desired effect on the Rebellion.” Loor shoved a
comlink into Derricote’s fat hand. “Get your people in there now and save them. Do it.”

“Or?”

“Or I give you a taste, here and now, of what the Rogues will face tonight.” Loor smiled coldly. “I guarantee, General, you’ll like it no better than they will.”

34

Everything was going perfectly, then the Trandoshan dropped the memory core. Wedge’s heart caught in his throat—it clearly intended to escape him altogether, but the forced smile and gritted teeth prevented it from getting away. The box landed on a corner that immediately crumpled, and there was no mistaking the moan of metal bending out of shape.

The Imperial technician’s face drained of blood. “Oh, now there is trouble.”

Wedge raised a hand. “Perhaps not, friend.”

“I have no time and this incident will have to be reported and checked out.”

“I think, perhaps, I have a solution to your problem.”

“I hope so, for your sake.” The small technician sniffed and looked around nervously. “If there is trouble, I will not be found at blame—you and your
alien
help will be held responsible.”

The loading process had gone almost without a hitch. Each core had been packaged in individual boxes and a diagnostic datacard had been placed in a clear plastic container fastened to the box. The technician had selected forty Palar memory cores from the fifty-five available at
the plant. Each datacard was checked and then a quarter of the boxes were opened and probes were run on these randomly selected cores. If the data on them matched the data on the card, the lot was assumed to be good.

The auxiliary cores were slightly different and only ten of them had been produced. Three of them had been formatted with the special codes and had serial numbers where the last two digits added to ten. The Trandoshan doing the loading had been told to drop a core if none of the specially prepared ones had been selected, but one had.

The one he dropped.

The Trandoshan trundled back to the remaining five boxes and picked one of the other two that had the Rebel coding on it. He started to lift it up, but the technician put his hand firmly on the box and pressed it back down to the ground. “No, you clumsy vermin, you will not select the core. My choice.”

Wedge slapped the Trandoshan hard across the arm, stinging his hand on the creature’s leathery hide. “Back away, Portha. Your clumsiness will be reported.”

The big, lizardly Trandoshan hissed and shuffled back away from the boxes to stand over by Pash. The technician nodded slowly. “Thank you. They so seldom understand our problems.”

“Indeed.” Wedge scratched at the beard he had grown to help disguise himself. “You are quite right to make the choice yourself, but there is insufficient time to run the diagnostics yourself. Their cards have already shown you that they are clean, but you want it clear that you were scrupulous in making your random choice. If not, well, I doubt your superiors would be impressed.”

“That would be very bad indeed.”

“And we can’t have that, so choose you shall. Several times, so there can be no doubt of the randomness of the choice. You’ll see.” Wedge smiled and spread his hands out. “There are five here. Pick three.”

The man frowned for a second, then pointed to the first one and the last two.

Wedge motioned Gavin over. “Take the other two away.”

Gavin slid the two designated units away into the depths of the factory’s warehouse floor. Wedge hastily rearranged the remaining trio into a single line.
One of these is the unit I want him to take, two are not
. “Pick two more.”

The man designated the two on the end. “I choose them.”

“Good.” He pointed to Pash. “Take that one away. Now pick one.” Wedge wanted him to pick the first box, but the technician tapped the second one.

Wedge nodded, smiled, then turned and scowled at Gavin. “What are you waiting for? Get it into the truck with the others.” As he gave Gavin the command, Wedge rested his foot on top of the chosen memory core. “Hurry up, the man’s on a schedule, a tight schedule.”

“Don’t drop it,” the technician snapped.

Wedge sighed. “The exotics here work hard, but you can’t trust them—then I get a man like him who isn’t much better.”

The technician nodded as he watched Gavin carry the box to the repulsorlift truck and slide it into the back. “It’s the fault of the Rebellion, you know.”

“Do you think?”

“Of course. When the Emperor was still ruling there was no doubt about how things were to be done. Now …” The man shrugged his shoulders eloquently and Wedge nodded emphatically. “The people nowadays have stopped thinking because sloppiness no longer earns the sorts of rewards it did before.”

“I think you are quite correct.” Wedge smiled and rubbed his hands together.
Had you been thinking at all, my friend, you’d have seen that I forced your choice of box. You made the choice, but I decided what the choice meant. Had you chosen the two sliced cores at first, I would have discarded the other three. The illusion of choice has you satisfied
. He made a mental note to thank Booster Terrik for having so long ago taught him the
value of letting people deceive themselves by showing him how to force a choice.

The technician made an entry on his datapad. “Even the stormtroopers are slipping. They tried to prevent me from coming into this sector this evening, but I would not be dissuaded by them, no, sir. I bulled on through and they let me go!”