15
The thing Corran hated the most about floating in the bacta tank was that he could see blurred figures outside the tank, but he couldn’t communicate with them. Even when one or more got close enough to press a hand to the transparisteel window into the tank, he couldn’t make out who was at the far end of the arm. He could guess, but since the room outside the tank was kept dim and lit mostly by a yellow-green glow from within the tank itself, confirming his guesses was impossible.
He had no way of knowing how long he’d been in the tank, but he found the duration of his stay both too long and too short. Pain in his back and guts had been overwhelming at first, but it subsided after a while. In its wake came a tingling in his legs, which was good since he’d not felt anything in them at first. Only after feeling returned to them did Corran allow himself to think about how badly he had been hurt and how close he’d come to death.
I probably broke my pelvis in the fall, then when the stormtroopers landed on me I broke my back and probably ruptured internal organs. Had bacta not been available, those injuries would have been fatal.
That realization sobered Corran and gave him a clarity of mind that allowed him to go back over what he had done at the spaceport. His two mistakes were very clear and gnawed at him. I should have known better. I am not a Jedi. Trying to use Jedi methods without proper training is stupid, as I found out. I’m as bad as wannabe police—a Jedi vigilante. If Jedi techniques were just parlor tricks and illusions, the Emperor wouldn’t have hunted all the Jedi down and had them destroyed. If these abilities are that dangerous, they shouldn’t be used without proper training.
While that line of thought made certain he’d never again try to warp the brain of a stormtrooper, Corran was not as harsh in his self-judgment concerning the fight on the catwalk. Lacking a blaster and pinned down by crossfire, to do nothing would have meant both he and Mirax would be dead. Escaping that trap required action and he’d taken action. His mistake in the fight had been the result of inexperience with the weapon he’d used. I swung wildly, using more power than I needed. If I moderated things, kept the blade more under control, I could have gotten at least the third stormtrooper. The fourth stormtrooper would have shot him, Corran had little doubt, but his attack would have all but eliminated half the threat to his friends.
A gentle tug on the breathing mask he wore caused Corran to look up. He saw a round hatch through which light came and a silhouette of a human head and shoulders in it. Kicking his legs, Corran made his way to the surface of the tank. He removed the breathing mask and hauled himself out through the hatch. The medtech there lowered a grate over the hatch and pointed Corran toward it. As he had done before, Corran stood on the grate as the tech used a water spray to wash the bacta residue from him and back into the tank. Holding his hands high, Corran turned slowly beneath the spray, then smiled as the tech tossed him a thick towel.
“How do you feel?”
Corran shrugged and wiped his face. “Pretty good. How badly was I hurt?”
The tech’s face screwed up tight. “Pretty bad. You were in shock when we dunked you. Internal organ damage, broken pelvis, spine, and ribs—more quantity than quality of damage.”
Corran nodded. “So I was in for, what, a week?”
“Two days.”
“What?” Corran frowned at the tech. “I should have been in there much longer than that for those injuries.”
The tech lifted his chin and gave Corran an imperious stare. “You are used to dealing with export-quality bacta, and Xucphra product at that, friend. The bacta here is more potent.”
“Made by Zaltin verachen?”
The tech bowed his head. “Very good. If you will follow me, your friends are waiting for you.”
Lacking clothes, Corran wrapped the towel around his waist and followed the tech down some stairs and through a doorway. The room beyond it was lit by a ghostly green glow coming from the transparisteel viewport that dominated the left wall. It looked back into the tank, the light from which allowed him to see further into the room than he had been able while in the tank. Low, long, well-padded day beds and high-backed chairs filled the rest of the room and had been arranged so anyone using them could keep an eye on his progress. Shadows shrouded the archway in the wall opposite the one he entered through.
As he came through the doorway, Mirax stepped forward and enfolded him in a hug. She kissed his lips, then his right ear. “I can’t tell you how good you feel. I was afraid you’d not make it.”
“And give your father the satisfaction?”
She laughed lightly. “I’ll tell him that the Horn tenacity is, in fact, good for something.”
Corran kissed the side of her face and held on tight. One of the most unnerving things about being in a bacta tank, with its temperature control and neutral buoyancy, was the feeling of floating in a void. If not for the touch of the breathing mask on his face, he would have had no connection to the outside world. Just being able to hold on to Mirax and feel her body through the thin material of her clothes brought him fully back into the world.
Mirax shook her head. “Nope, I kept my head down and came out in one piece.” She grinned. “And I even managed to recover your lightsaber for you. It and your Jedi credit are safe.”
“Great. Thanks.” He released Mirax and gave Iella a hug. “Yet one more time you’ve had to watch me bobbing in bacta.”
Iella smiled. “As long as you keep coming out whole, hale, and hearty, I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.” Corran let her go, then nodded to Elscol and Sixtus. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
The big man just shrugged. Elscol’s eyes narrowed. “The crossfire was a bit more inconvenient than this. We’ve gotten some work done while we’ve been waiting.”
“And good work it has been.” A tall, slender man came through the archway and gave Corran a once-over. “I’m glad to see you healed. You were in a bad state when I first saw you.”
Corran hesitated. While he’d floated in the bacta he’d mulled over the identity of the man he’d seen standing above him in the spaceport. He’d looked like Bror Jace, but Corran knew that was impossible because Bror Jace had been killed by the Empire. Corran had decided that the man he’d seen was someone affiliated with the Zaltin corporation, as Jace had been, and perhaps was even closely related to Jace. That solution made perfect sense to him and seemed to satisfy all the facts in his possession.
But there’s no mistaking that tone of voice. Corran’s jaw hung open. “You are Bror Jace.”
“Indeed I am.” Jace bowed his head, then graciously waved Corran toward one of the day beds. “You’d like an explanation on why I’m not dead?”
Corran sniffed. “I’ve been reported dead myself. Those things happen.”
Mirax slapped him playfully on the belly. “You’re dying to know what happened to him, just like the rest of us.”
“Well, if the rest of you want to indulge him, then I think the only polite thing for me to do is listen.” Corran sat and adjusted the towel to preserve his modesty. “Go ahead, Bror, knock us out with the story.”
Jace, whose blond hair picked up green highlights from the bacta tank, smiled easily. “I hardly think the tale engrossing enough for you to endure a second telling of it, so I beg your forbearance.”
Corran glanced at Mirax. “You’ve heard this before.”
“Yes, and I’d rather have him tell you instead of having you get it out of me later.”
Corran winced. “Right. Okay, Bror, do it.”
The Thyferran began to pace, clasping his hands behind his back. The short pants he wore and the thin shirt rustled with his movements—and Corran found the whole ensemble a little hard to reconcile with the pilot he’d known and competed with in his early days with Rogue Squadron. The pacing is right, as is the imperious tilt of the chin, but the clothes are what kids wear.
“I joined Rogue Squadron for a number of reasons, not the least of which was to maintain parity between Zaltin and Xucphra. This was important because Xucphra had Imperialistic leanings. They’d been the first of our two companies to be given an Imperial license to be an exclusive producer of bacta, establishing the cartel. Zaltin had been brought in by the Empire to serve as competition for Xucphra—Zaltin had no real desire to become part of the cartel, but the choice we were given was to join or be put out of business. In effect this was no choice, so we did what we had to do to survive.”
Corran raised an eyebrow. That was as close as he’d ever heard any human from Thyferra being critical of the corporations with which they were affiliated. Despite the fact that Jace was attempting to paint Zaltin in a good light in comparison with Xucphra, the honesty was welcome and sparked in Corran a willingness to trust Jace further than he ever had before. How much I trust him depends on the rest of this story.
“The intention behind my joining the squadron was for me to become known and trusted within the New Republic. Zaltin officials had come to the conclusion that the Empire was doomed and wanted to make agreements with the New Republic to provide bacta and the means to expand bacta production back along the lines of the system that existed before the cartel was created. Altruism was not their motivating factor—prohibiting the production, sale, and distribution of something is much more difficult than managing the same. The cartel only worked because of the Empire—with its death, the back of the cartel would be broken. The only way Zaltin could profit was to work out a deal with the New Republic which allowed us to oversee the expansion of production throughout the New Republic.
“Zaltin officials also realized that the Vratix, through their terrorist organization, the Ashern, would make a case to the New Republic for independence. They would ask for help throwing off the yoke of their human masters. Since bacta production is all but impossible without the Vratix, Zaltin began to court them. We supplied money and hiding places for them. We began an alliance that would eventually make Zaltin the agents for the Vratix in spreading bacta production throughout the galaxy, enriching us all.”
Bror Jace stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. “The Vratix do not think the way we humans do. Whereas we would incorporate reports and data produced by someone into our plans, they incorporate such individuals into their planning groups. It is as if they don’t disassociate the report from the person making it. Realistically, this is a societal way of ensuring the spread of information and stimulating more creativity within groups, though its efficiency can be questioned.
“The Ashern, who were being given reports on my impressions of the New Republic, required me to return to Thyferra to join their main planning group.”
Corran nodded. “So you were sent a message telling you that your patriarch was dying.”
“You remember. My course home was set by Captain Celchu. Erisi asked about it, and I told her my itinerary because I wanted her people watching for my return. In my trip I made one deviation—an unscheduled stop. I transferred from my X-wing to a freighter that brought me back here. Into my X-wing we placed a bomb meant to mimic the accidental discharge of a proton torpedo. The X-wing was slaved to a shuttle and dragged off toward Thyferra. We intended to enter the system from quite a distance out, send the X-wing in, then have it blow up where everyone could see it.”
“But the Imps had an Interdictor Cruiser waiting for you, thanks to Erisi.” Corran scratched at his upper lip. “Reports we got said there was no Imp debris where you died. I knew something was up then, but I didn’t think you’d lived. Did the shuttle survive the ambush?”
Jace shook his head. “No, so we had no idea what happened until my family received a hologram from Commander Antilles explaining the circumstances of my death. At that point I’d already returned and had gone underground, so it didn’t really matter how I’d died as much as it mattered that both the New Republic and Xucphra thought I was dead.”
Mirax frowned. “Something just occurred to me—you’re the reason Qlaern Hirf came looking specifically for Wedge.”
Jace nodded. “Wedge is intelligent, resourceful, and respectable, so he was my obvious choice. Corran would have been my second choice, but by the time we sent Qlaern Hirf out, news of Corran’s death had reached Thyferra.”
“You would have sent him to me?” Corran wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly. He’d never had the impression that Jace had seen him as having the same attributes that he ascribed to Wedge.
“Corran, though we established that I was a better pilot than you, this does not mean I have no respect for your skills or experience.” Jace’s tone of voice lightened ever so slightly. “Your long association with the Empire’s criminal class means you understand a host of methods necessary for eluding authority and surviving, which were things I thought would prove useful in keeping Qlaern safe.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“I meant that as a compliment.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Mirax glanced over at Iella. “Too bad the bacta can’t cure annoying personality traits.”
Iella shrugged. “Congenital defect, I’m afraid. Corran’s always been competitive and contrary.”
Corran gave Iella a hard stare. “I always got along with you.”
“Because you knew you’d lose if we ever went head to head where our skills overlap.”
He could have protested her observations, but he knew it was more true than false. “Okay, you made your point.” Corran forced a smile on his face. “Where do we go from here? What’s been decided while I’ve been floating?”
Elscol folded her arms. “Sixtus, Iella, and I will be staying here—taking Jace’s place in the Ashern planning councils because he’ll be going back with you to liaise with the squadron. We’re bringing in expertise on how to take a planet away from its government and how to deal with counterintelligence operations.”
Corran looked at his former partner. “Are you ready for this?”
Iella thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll probably get the cleanest shot of any of us at Isard. Diric’s death still hurts, but if I’m to honor his memory, I can’t do it by sitting around and mourning. You made that point very succinctly.”
“Yeah, but here you won’t be among your friends.”
Iella smiled gently and caressed Corran’s cheek. “True, but that means I’ve got fewer things to remind me of Diric and distract me.”
“I don’t think being away from friends would have made it any easier to get over my father’s death, but I understand what you’re saying.” Corran winked at her. “Don’t do anything stupid—especially in the name of revenge. Promise?”
“Sure, as long as you make the same promise.”
“Done.” Corran got up and gave her a big hug, then reluctantly let her go. Looking back at Mirax he asked, “So, what about the rest of us?”
“Our job here’s done. We’ve delivered our charges, and we’ll be safeguarding our liaison officer back to the base, so we’re going home.” Mirax smiled at him. “At least we’ll be doing that as soon as we get some clothes on you, that is.”
“As long as I don’t have to use Jace’s tailor, I’ll be happy.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“On you, who’d notice?”
Jace’s riposte stunned Corran, then he smiled. “I was thinking I spent a long time in the bacta tank, but I have a feeling that’s going to be like nothing compared to the trip home. I’m glad you’re alive, Jace. Life’s been much too easy since you’ve been gone.”