The Krytos Trap (12 page)

“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, mournfully. “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 makeshift 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 missing cure had been donated to an alien pleasure house for the employees’ own use. Nartlo had spent a week basking in their considerable gratitude. “Tell me we won’t find a Rodian concubine’s sucker-marks on your back if we strip off your shirt.”

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 becoming 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 flecking 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 control.”

“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 embarrassing. 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. “Blasters 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 everyone, 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 shivered. “But, sir, I was wondering …”

“Yes?”

“How do I …”

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

“But that’s not enough time.”

“But it is all the time you have, Nartlo.” Loor turned and swept from the room. The operatives crowded behind him and the two at the door preceded him to his grav-car. Loor climbed into the back, one of them got behind the controis,
and the other three disappeared into the night. “Drive.”

Inertial forces pushed Loor back into the car’s plush upholstery. He began composing the report he would send off to Ysanne Isard. The fact that the Rebellion had gotten its hands on a new supply of bacta would not please her. She had wanted the demand for bacta to bankrupt the Rebellion, but Rogue Squadron’s capture of more bacta meant it was not nearly as pricey for the Rebels as Iceheart desired. The only way to counteract that bit of luck was to locate and destroy the bacta store, which was exactly what he intended to do.

The problem is that no matter how quickly I resolve this matter, it will not be quick enough for her
. It occurred to him that her messages to him suffered little reduction in their venom, despite having to be recorded and transmitted instead of being delivered in person. He would have thought that the distance between them would have insulated him from her criticisms, but it had not. She seemed to have a preternatural ability to point up to him errors he had made, no matter how slight, and that kept him constantly off balance.

He realized that if he told her he was having some of his people train for a strike on the bacta facility before he knew what that mission would take, she would point out that he was wasting time and resources. He decided he would put men into training for smaller missions that could serve as diversions or that would, at the very least, provide the training framework upon which the bacta strike mission could be built. Iceheart might maintain that he was wasting resources that could be better used to locate the bacta facility in the first place. But trying to argue that stormtroopers could be used as spies was not the sort of blunder Isard would make.

The grav-car broke free of sub-urban roadway and shot up into the night sky. Countless towers flashed past, each lit as brilliantly as the fire of the thermite charge, but not nearly as harshly. He wondered how many of the people and aliens living in those towers were rejoicing over the secret word
that their worries about the Krytos virus would soon be over.
Many. Too many
.

Loor let his own laughter become a parody of the sound he imagined echoing through those towers. It struck him that laughter and sobbing were really not that different, and decided that he would do his best to see to it that others gained first-hand knowledge of this insight.

Before they die of the virus for which I will destroy the cure
.

11

Admiral Ackbar sat back in his Council chair and tried to pull serenity from the cool mist drifting down over him. Grand Moff Tarkin, in one of his more expansive moods, had once described politics to him as “soft warfare, the elegant duel of lightsabers instead of the thunder of turbo-lasers.” Tarkin, with that description, had given no evidence of finding political fights frustrating because of the posturing and the treacherous riptide shifts of allegiances.

Or the inability to come to grips with problems in a direct manner
. Ackbar had endured more reports on microeconomic fluctuations on planets he’d never heard of than any sapient creature could be expected to stand in one lifetime. Slowly, in working through the reports, Borsk Fey’lya and Sian Tevv were moving toward the matter that had been bruited about on the Provisional Council’s staff level.

Glancing over at the Bothan councilor, Ackbar could see a feral gleam in Fey’lya’s violet eyes.
The Bothans thrive on this soft warfare
. Ackbar had already recognized in Fey’lya a drive to lead or, when he had been outmaneuvered, a desire to vault out in front to where the leaders stood so he was placed among them. Ackbar had seen similar tactics among
warriors who sought promotion, but true warfare tended to deal with such ambition in a most lethal fashion.

Mon Mothma nodded toward the Elom councilor. “Thank you, Verrinnefra, for bringing us up to date on the economies of our newest worlds. Next on the agenda is the matter of bacta. Borsk, you have a point to make?”

The cream-furred Bothan stood opposite Ackbar. “The recent mission which has liberated a supply of bacta and brought it here to Coruscant is, of course, a great victory for us and a great boon to the people here. For that we owe much thanks and praise to Admiral Ackbar and his staff. Their success also brings with it some burdens, not the least of which is the need to take precautions to prevent Warlord Zsinj from exacting retribution from us.”

Ackbar leaned forward. “Forgive me the interruption, Councilor Fey’lya, but it strikes me that you are asking us to deal with the undertow before the wave has crested.”

“Excuse me?”

Princess Leia smiled. “I believe the Admiral is pointing out that the supply of bacta brings with it far more pressing problems than a possible attack by Warlord Zsinj.”

“More correctly, Princess, I meant to say that because an attack by Warlord Zsinj has always been possible, both before and after our strike, there have long been plans in place to deal with such. I am more than willing to review those plans, but I think the core problem with bacta needs to be addressed more quickly than the surface issue of Zsinj. Trouble is a vast ocean, and for us, bacta distribution is the issue lurking in the depths.”

The Bothan’s fur rippled. “There is indeed much to discuss on the matter of bacta distribution. With the supply we now have, I think it should be possible to create centers for preventative therapy to stop the spread of the virus. My people tell me that an hour’s mist therapy per week should be sufficient to destroy the virus before it has a chance to incubate. Creating centers that would allow that much treatment would go a long way toward quelling the fear that has gripped this world.”

Leia frowned. “I’ve seen no such reports concerning mist
therapy. The review of the data we captured from General Derricote’s lab does not show evidence of any testing in that regard. In fact, the only data the Imperials had on the Krytos virus showed massive amounts of bacta would be required to cure patients—having the effect of draining our supplies of bacta. There is no reason to suppose creating the centers you advocate would do anything but waste more bacta.”

“Ah, Leia, I would have expected more compassion from you.” Fey’lya glanced down at her. “If it were humans who were dropping dead of this plague, you would be the first to advocate creation of these centers.”

Leia’s dark eyes flashed coldly. “And you think I do not support your plan because it would save non-humans?”

“I would like to think better of you, but I know you have various constituencies to worry about. Like Admiral Ackbar, you would like to see some of the bacta reserved for use by our military. I understand this, for saving the lives of our valiant warriors is certainly commendable. I fear, however, your hedge against the unseen means there are countless individuals who might sicken and die and never get a chance to enter the military and fight for their freedom.”

Doman Beruss raised a hand. “I think, Councilor Fey’lya, you do Princess Leia and every other human member of the Council a disservice by even hinting that opposition to your plan is based on an anti-alien bias.”

“Ah, but even you are prey to it, Councilor Beruss. You refer to us as ‘alien’ and the Princess called us ‘non-human.’ Why are we defined by you and in comparison to you? Humanity certainly has contributed much to the Rebellion, but it did so because the Empire had done all it could to suppress and subjugate the species it saw as harmful and aberrant. Humans—being those who learned their trade at the hands of our Imperial masters—were the only people capable of taking a leadership role in the actual Rebellion. The rest of us contributed as we could, and made great contributions—contributions that led to the successful conclusion of the major campaigns in the Rebellion.

“I do not accuse you of being wholly unfeeling, but I think your perspective in this matter is compromised.”
Fey’lya smoothed the fur on the top of his head. “I believe the matter of bacta distribution is one that should be decided by those of us whose people are prey to the virus.”