with her in doing her duty as she saw it.
He pressed the door buzzer, then tugged at the cuffs of
his jacket sleeves. I'm not asking her out. I'm just here as a
friend visiting a friend. Wedge shook his head. For the past
ten years, since the death of his parents and through his
association with the Rebellion, he'd really given little
thought to romance and relationships. He'd certainly found
companionship with a number of Rebel women, but he'd not
found a single companion, a partner, the way Han Solo or
Tycho Celchu had. He couldn't explain why not, nor did he
let it bother him--the nature of the Rebellion and his assign-
ments meant planning for anything long-term was silly, and
avoiding relationships meant the chances of getting hurt
when the unspeakable happened were much less.
He'd seen Leia over the time Han Solo had been encased
in carbonite. She had been driven almost to the point of
recklessness in her attempts to free her beloved. He laughed.
Entering Jabba's palace meant she was driven beyond reck-
lessness. While he envied Han Solo the passion with which
he was loved, he dreaded the idea of being plagued by the
pain Leia had known.
The door to the apartment slid open and Wedge's ner-
vousness slackened when Iella smiled. "Wedge. This is a sur-
prise."
"A pleasant one, I hope." He glanced down at his hands
for a moment, then back up into her brown eyes. "I should
have called before heading over, but I was going to get some-
thing to eat and I thought, well, I hate eating alone
and . . ."
The brown-haired woman's smile widened for a mo-
ment and carried on up into her eyes, then shrank as if the
corners of her mouth had slammed into walls and were re-
bounding. "I think you'd better come in." She turned away
from the door, and he followed the lithe woman down a
short corridor to a modest-sized parlor. The door closed au-
tomatically behind him, cutting off the brightest source of
light and sinking the room into a grey gloom.
The man sitting in the corner chair looked every bit as if
he were constructed from shadow-threads and slivers of
grey. The sharpness of his features accentuated the gauntness
of his frame. His shoulders and knees poked like knobs
against the grey fabric of the jumpsuit he wore. A few
strands of black hair wove through the white and grey
combed over his largely bald head but did nothing to dis-
guise the shape of the skull beneath it. In fact, were it not for
the spark of life burning in the man's brown eyes, Wedge
would have believed him to be a mummified worker resur-
rected from some tomb in the bowels of Coruscant.
Iella folded her arms across her chest. "Commander
Wedge Antilles, this is Diric Wessiri. He is my husband."
Husband! Wedge covered his surprise by taking a step
forward and extended his right hand toward Diric. "My
pleasure, sir."
Diric inclined his head forward and shook Wedge's hand
with a long-fingered grip that was firm and even strong,
though the strength faded quickly. "The honor is mine,
Commander. Your exploits bring glory to your world and
fellow Corellians."
"Glory wasn't our goal, sir."
"Nonetheless . . ." The man smiled, then let his hand
drop back toward his lap. "Forgive me, Commander. At an-
other point I would engage you in a lively discussion, but
now I am somewhat fatigued." "I understand."
Iella walked to her husband's side and gently rested a
hand on his shoulder. "The Imps caught Diric up in a sweep
about a year ago. They interrogated him, broke his identity,
then imprisoned him. Six months ago or so they set up a bio-
research project and made Diric part of the slave-labor force.
They only used humans because the lab produced what we
know to be the Krytos virus." She gave his shoulder a
squeeze. "General Cracken's people had Diric in quarantine,
then debriefed him. I only learned he was alive when they
brought him here four hours ago."
"I should be going, then, and leave you two alone."
"No." The old man raised his right hand and gently
patted Iella's hand. "I have long been among Imperials and
other slaves. It is good to have normal people here to ease me
back."
Wedge coughed lightly into his hand. "I don't think
you'll find my life normal at all."
lella laughed politely. "Nor mine."
"How fortunate. Normal can be quite boring." Diric's
head came up and he fixed Wedge with a steady stare. "And I
want you to know, Commander, if anything has happened
between you and my wife, I bear neither of you malice. I
have been dead for a year. While 1 dreamed of being alive
again, I do not bear a grudge against those who lived while I
was dead."
Wedge held a hand up. "First, no titles."
"Where they kept me, we joked that titles were for when
we were once again people. I use it to remind me I am again a
man. And I use it out of profound respect for what you have
done."
"Don't. I'm just Wedge. Nothing I've done is the equal
of your enduring Imperial captivity, so titles don't apply
here. Second, Iella is intelligent, a wonder to work with, a joy
to be around, and above all else, loyal to her friends. In fact,
save one thing, she's just the sort of woman I could see my-
self growing old with. That one thing is this she's married to
you. Her loyalty to you, her fidelity, has never been in ques-
tion. You are undoubtedly one of the luckiest men on this
planet."
As he spoke, his mind raced on through thoughts and
dreams of what he might have had with Iella had Diric not
reappeared. It seemed as if the life they would never share
was flashing before his eyes even as his words killed it. The
romantic in him just wanted to hold onto how wonderful it
would have been, but the pragmatist knew from just looking
at Diric that things would have fallen apart in the end. Iella
had chosen Diric because he was a sanctuary. No matter
what her life held in store for her, he was someone who
would always be there to share her joys and ease her disap-
pointments. Wedge realized that he could not have given her
what Diric provided. It might have taken a long time for
their relationship to destroy itself, and they might have over-
come the difficulties, but Wedge knew he could never have
been as perfect a match for her as Diric was.
Someday I'll find someone. Wedge smiled. When I'm
ready to settle down.
Diric mirrored Wedge's smile and let his head sink back
contentedly against the chair's padding. "I am glad Iella
found friends as generous and honorable as you are, Wedge.
I do feel quite fortunate."
"And I bet you're happy to be free."
"Happy? Yes, though captivity wasn't as brutal as imag-
ined. They can only control your body, not your mind."
Diric shrugged slowly as if the effort were all but beyond his
ability. "I knew I would be free someday."
"That's what Tycho says."
"Who?"
leila looked down at her husband. "The man who killed
Corran."
"The man who is on trial for killing Corran," Wedge
corrected her. "Your wife is working with the prosecution
team."
"Working to find the truth, mind you." Iella gave Wedge
a frank glare. "There's ample evidence to bind him over for
trial and to convict him."
"And blasted little uncovered, st) far, to acquit him."
Wedge held his hands up. "However, discussing that case
was not my purpose for conling over here."
Diric's bushy brows met over the bridge of his hooked
nose. "You think this Tycho is innocent?"
"I know it. Tycho Celchu is as much a victim of the
Empire as you were."
Iella gave Diric's hand a gentle squeeze. "Tycho was
once captured by the Imps. He's been working for them since
his supposed escape, though Wedge would tell you he's been
neatly framed."
Diric looked up at her. "And you know Wedge is
wrong?"
Her immediate response died in a moment of open-
mouthed hesitation. Iella's gaze flicked up at Wedge, then
back down again. "We have found a lot to indicate Captain
Celchu was an Imperial agent of extreme resourcefulness."
"But there are gaps in the evidence." Wedge smiled
slowly. "Everything that condemns Tycho is available, but
those things that would acquit him have vanished. Given the
timing, the only force that could provide with one hand and
take away with the other is the Empire."
Diric disengaged his hand from lella's and pressed it,
fingertip to fingertip, against the other hand. "This Tycho
must be something to earn such loyalty from you."
"I feel about Tycho what Iella feels about Corran."
"Hence the impasse between us."
"Impasse, indeed. Still, Captain Celchu sounds fascinat-
ing." Diric's voice became wistful and Iella straightened up.
"Don't even think it, Diric."
Wedge raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"
Anger creased Ietta's brow and put snap into her voice.
"He's going to meddle."
The older man wheezed out a laugh and punctuated it
with a wet cough. "Meddle, is it? You see, Wedge, my voca-
tion in life is to seek out people who fascinate me. I study
them. I try to understand them. I share what understanding I
have with others."
Iella's brown eyes narrowed. "On CoreIlia he found a
defendant in a case fascinating. He got to know her and
decided she was innocent." "Was she?"
Diric nodded solemnly.
"He kept after Corran and me, constantly asking us lit-
tle questions that forced us to look beyond the scope of our
investigation. She had been framed, but we got the guys who
were responsible in the end." She frowned at her husband.
"That was a different case, it wasn't on Coruscant, and you
weren't weak as an Ewok cub at the time. You need to re-
COVCF."
"I will, dearest."
Wedge smiled as he heard all manner of meaning in
those words. Iella's sigh meant she heard at least some of
them and knew nothing short of house arrest would keep
Diric from meeting Tycho. Diric will make sure leila doesn't
let her desire to avenge Corran stop short of discovering the
truth of what caused his death. "Having a hobby will likely
speed your recovery."
"A hobby, very good."
"This man's hobby is going to be my nightmare." Iella
shook her head. "Antilles, didn't you say something about
food when you arrived here?"
"I did indeed." Wedge jerked a thumb up toward the
ceiling. "There is an lthorian tapcaf about thirty levels up
that is supposed to offer some fairly exotic vegetable matter
and then . . ." He stopped as a tone sounded from the com-
link clipped to the collar of his jacket. "Hang on a second."
He pulled the comlink free and flicked it on. "Antilles,
go ahead."
"Wedge, it's Mirax."
"Finally awake?" Wedge nodded toward Iella. "It's
Mirax."
"Ask her if she wants to join us for food."
"Will do. Mirax, I'm at Iella's apartment. She wants to
know . . ."
"I heard, but it'll have to be another time." Mirax's tone
dripped seriousness. "I have a problem. It's on the Skate, and
I need you to get down here. Just you."
Wedge frowned. Those fliers for Zsinj should have been
taken into custody a long time ago. "How bad is it? Are your
riders back and causing trouble?"
"No, no, not that. That I could handle." Mirax sighed.
"Look, you know I usually haul rare items for folks, right?"
"Right."
"Well, at the station I picked up something that's very
rare, and as near as I can tell, if I don't get rid of it in the
right way, the New Republic will shake itself apart and a
scant few people will be alive to start rebuilding the future."
l0
Gavin Darklighter felt his gorge rising as the miasmal stench
from the darkened hovel stabbed through his nostrils and
into his brain. He reeled away from the doorway and fell to
his knees, puking up what felt like every last bit of food he'd
eaten since his return to Cornscant. His stomach muscles
clenched again and again, wringing his guts empty, but doing
nothing to soothe the prickly sensation in the back of his
throat that prompted him to heave once more.
A piercing wail from a female Gamorrean drilled
through his skull and reminded him where he was and why
he was there. Gavin coughed once and spat, then croaked a
command to the black M-3PO droid behind him. "Emtrey,
don't let them go in there. Tell her I'll do all I can."
Gavin wiped his mouth with his hand, then weakly
crawled up the hovel's exterior wall. He pressed his back
against the ferrocrete and slowly straightened up. He
coughed again and his body tried to make him heave yet
again, but he clenched his jaw and refused to vomit. Never
seen one that bad before. Though he hoped he never would
again see such a case, he knew that was one hope that had no
chance of becoming reality.
The M-3PO droid succeeded in guiding the Gamorrean
female and her tusky children to the other side of the walk-
way, then turned back toward Gavin. The droid's nonstan-
dard clamshell head--a refit from a spaceport control
droid--canted slightly to the left. "Is there anything I can do
for you, Master Darklighter?"
"I'11 be fine in a minute, Emtrey. Just keep them back."
Gavin again spat, trying to rid his mouth of the sour taste.
"Ask her when she last heard from her husband."
The protocol droid swiveled his head around and
grunted the question out to the Gamorrean female. She re-
plied in subdued and broken tones, which Emtrey translated
for Gavin. "She says she and the ch
ildren had been visiting
kin elsewhere. The last time she spoke to her husband it was
by comlink. He had sniffles, but was not alarmed. I'm gath-
ering, from the words she's using, sir, that there was some
domestic discord, which is why a lapse in communication
would not be surprising."
"Got it, Emtrey. How long was she gone from here?"
"A standard month, sir--she left well before the libera-
tion."
Gavin nodded. A month meant the chances she'd been
infected by her husband were nil--if she had been, she'd
already be showing signs of the Krytos virus. "Tell her to get
to a bacta center for evaluation. She doesn't want the kids
sick."
"I've told her, sir. She wants to know if Tolra will re-
cover."
Gavin sighed and pushed himself away from the wall.
"Tell her he's very sick. The prognosis is not good, but we
will do what we can. Then call Asyr and tell her we'll need a
clean team here." He forced himself to smile. "And, Emtrey,
tell Tolra's wife she did the right thing. Tolra was brave and
smart, and together they saved many people."
The words rang hollow in his ears, but he knew they
would not in hers. What he said was correct when the
Gamorrean in the hovel recognized how sick he had become,
he sealed his home's entrances and scrambled the lock-codes,
preventing anyone else from getting in and becoming in-
fected. In that he had indeed saved many lives.
Except for his own. Gavin forced his fists to unclench.
Had the Gamorrean used his comlink to summon medical
help, he might have been saved. That he was lucid enough to
entomb himself meant that he was not so far gone that bacta
therapy couldn't have helped him. He needn't have become
what Gavin had seen in shadows.
The pilot realized the blame lay not entirely with the
Gamorrean himself. The black-market price for bacta was
astronomical, so far out of reach for the average citizens that
they could not imagine there was any bacta available for
them. Those who did summon help, or had it summoned for
them, were often so far gone that no therapy could help, so
they never returned. As a result, other citizens saw the
medivac units as thinly disguised extermination units that
took the sick away and destroyed them. Ignorance is killing these people.