7

The cantina was fairly busy, it being one of the rare times when the spore-ridden skies were not full of medlifters, themselves full of wounded clone troopers. At their usual table sat Den Dhur, Klo Merit, Tolk le Trene, Jos Vondar, I-Five, and Barriss Offee. These were the regulars for the twice-weekly sabacc game. Occasionally others, like Leemoth, would sit in, but for the most part it was the same six. The game was a way of relaxing, of rebuilding themselves for the next onslaught of blood and pain. They could never forget about the war, but for an hour or two it would not be uppermost in their minds.

The air coolers were working fairly well, which was also unusual—the filters in the refrigerating units were especially susceptible to spore-rot, and, because all the other Rimsoos on Drongar had the same problem, replacement parts were on constant back order. Even though spores couldn’t penetrate the force-dome when it was lit, there were pass-throughs for incoming and outgoing vessels, plus all the local flora and fauna that were already there when the dome was first triggered. Consequently, most of the time, rooms filled with cool, clean, and dry air were few and far between.

In addition to the heavenly coolness, the cantina had recently acquired a few other luxuries, either by accidental consignment or through the efforts of the new quartermaster, a Twi’lek named Nars Dojah. One was a dejarik game, complete with holocreature generator, which was being played at one table now between two human female nurses. Another was a new autochiller for drinks. But the most impressive was a perky TDL-501 unipod waitress droid, whom Den had promptly nicknamed Teedle, and who scooted adroitly around the crowded room on one wheel while balancing trays of drinks.

Teedle pulled to a quick stop in front of the sabacc table and placed drinks before Jos, Tolk, Klo, and Den. “One Coruscant Cooler, one Bantha Blaster, one Alderaanian ale, and a Johrian whiskey,” she said briskly. “Seventeen credits, folks.”

Den waved one hand in dismissal. “On the tab.”

“Whose tab, hon? Your bill’s higher’n a skyhook already.” A static pop accompanied every sentence, sounding almost like a wad of dreamgum cracking.

Den turned slowly and looked at Teedle. “I beg your pardon?”

Teedle jerked a durasteel thumb toward the bar. “Mohris says he can’t float you anymore. So you either pay up or bring a repulsor next time.”

Jos saw that the other patrons of the table, with the exception of I-Five, were having just as much trouble holding laughter back as he was. “Put his on my tab,” he told Teedle. “He’s covered for tonight.”

“You got it, Cap’n,” the waitress droid answered, and zipped away.

Den gave her a sour parting look, then said to Jos, “Thanks. It’s hard to program good help these days.”

Jos was about to respond when he noticed I-Five staring after Teedle. The others had noticed it as well. “Anything wrong, I-Five?” Klo Merit asked.

“She’s beautiful,” I-Five said reverently.

Everyone stared. Jos put his cooler down so hard it splashed onto his pile of chips. “I-Five…are you saying you’re attracted to Teedle?”

The droid continued to look at Teedle—then abruptly turned back to study his cards. “No,” he said lightly. He glanced up, and Jos would have sworn that those immobile features had somehow contrived to look sly. “Had you wondering for a second, though, did I not?”

The others burst into laughter. Jos grinned. “Why, you chrome-plated water heater—I oughtta—”

“You ought to shut up and play,” Tolk interrupted good-naturedly. She looked around. “Where’s that CardShark?”

The cantina’s other new droid—and as far as Jos was concerned, the jury was still out on how much of an actual improvement this constituted—was an automated sabacc dealer, an RH7-D CardShark. A smaller, mobile version of the big casino automata, the droid now floated down from the ceiling to hover over the table via repulsorlifts. It shuffled the deck in a blur of motion, then slapped the cards on the table. “Cut,” it said to Jos, its electronic voice raspy.

Repressing his annoyance at the droid’s tone, Jos cut the cards. The CardShark quickly dealt two rounds with its manipulator appendages. “Bespin Standard,” it announced. “First hand. Place your bets, gentlesirs.”

“Hey,” Tolk said sharply, looking up at it. “Clean your photoreceptor and try again.”

“Your pardon, madam,” the CardShark said crisply. “Bets, please, gentlebeings.”

“Not much improvement,” Tolk grumbled as she checked her cards.

They had been talking about the newest addition to the surgical team. “One problem with the new guy that’s obvious from the start,” Den observed as he tossed a cred chip in the pot. “He’s too young to come into the cantina. So I guess he won’t be playing sabacc anytime soon.”

“He’s not that young,” Barriss said. “And he’s a long way from home.” She added her bet to the hand pot, then noticed Jos, Tolk, Den, and Klo grinning at her. “What?”

“For shame,” Den said with mock severity. “And you a Jedi.”

“I’m shocked,” Jos added. His grin grew wider at the blush that spread over her cheeks. It contrasted nicely with her facial tattoos.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, then glared at Den. “Mind in the gutter, Dhur,” she said. “Again.”

The reporter shrugged. “Hard not to be when the whole planet’s a gutter.”

“I just meant,” Barriss continued, “that we should do our best to include him in things like this. Make him feel welcome.”

“She’s right, of course,” the Equani said. “Adolescence—particularly human adolescence—is hard to endure without support.”

“Just how old is he?” I-Five asked. “I confess that estimating age differences isn’t something I’m extensively programmed for.”

“You’d make a terrible nanny droid,” Tolk told him.

“For which I thank the maker devoutly.”

“He’s nineteen standard years,” Klo Merit said. “Something of a prodigy, I’m told. Aced all his courses, graduated with the highest honors. Interned at—”

“Big Zoo,” Jos finished. “Hey, most of us have seen Wonder Boy work. He’s very good.”

“I can vouch for that,” Barriss said. “I fold.”

“Please shift hands, ladies,” the CardShark said.

Everyone stared at the hovering droid. “Sweet Sookie,” Jos said, shaking his head. “Whoever dumped this one on Nars saw him coming.”

Den looked around. “Maybe the new droids will earn their keep,” he said. “More people in here now than I’ve seen in a while. And some of ’em I don’t even know.” He indicated a corner table, where three beings were engaged in intense discussion.

Klo Merit looked, and frowned. “I recognize two of the species, though not the individuals. The Kubaz, of course, and the Umbaran. But the other I’m not familiar with.”

“She’s a Falleen,” Jos said. “They tend to be insular; outside of some high mucky-mucks on Coruscant, you don’t see a lot of them offworld. Wonder what she’s doing here.”

“Just don’t get too close to her,” Tolk warned him with a grin.

Den looked puzzled. “Falleen exude pheromones,” Jos explained. “Strong stuff, crosses most species boundaries. Usually signaled by cromatophoric changes in pigmentation. It’s said that they can mix precursors and influence endocrine levels.”

“Thanks. It’s all clear as swamp water now.”

“They can manipulate how you feel by what they sweat,” Tolk told him.

Den blinked. “They must be real charismatic in this weather.”

I-Five dropped a chip in the sabacc pot. “Raise.”

Jos looked at his cards, frowned. “I think you’re bluffing, tin man.”

“And I think you’re sweating, puny human.”

“Who isn’t? I call.”

The players spread their cards. Jos grinned. He was holding a Commander of coins, a Mistress of sabers, and an Endurance of staves. He put the hand into the interference field broadcast by the CardShark, freezing it. “Anyone closer? No? That’s what I—”

“Unless my math module has suffered severe damage,” I-Five said, “I believe my hand beats yours.”

Jos looked down. His jaw dropped. The droid’s hand consisted of an Idiot, a three of staves, and a two of sabers. An idiot’s array. The one hand that beat all others, even pure sabacc.

“That’s not fair,” Jos said mournfully as I-Five gathered in his winnings. “What does a droid need with credits anyway?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” the droid replied. “I’m off to see the Sorcerer of Tund to buy a heart and brain.”

Jos didn’t reply. The remark had suddenly put him in mind of CT-914, the clone trooper whose life he had saved in the OT, only to learn later that the vat-grown soldier had been lost, along with his entire garrison, in a surprise Separatist attack. It had been Nine-one-four and, to a lesser degree, I-Five, who had raised Jos’s consciousness to a level including the awareness that clones, and even, under certain circumstances, droids and other artificial intelligences, should be considered self-aware sentients, and thus deserving of the same rights.

This was something he had known all along, but he’d unconsciously kept it at a lower level, not really considering all its moral implications. Clones were created to fight wars; the desire for little else was encoded in their genetic programming. They had no fear of death, a sense of fulfillment and contentment when engaged in battle, and just enough pain receptors to warn them away from actions that could result in injury or death.

Until Jos had gotten to know Nine-one-four, he’d also assumed clones were incapable of forming close bonds, either with each other or with beings of other species. But CT-914 had felt a sense of brotherly affection for his vatmate CT-915, and when the latter had been killed, Jos had watched the clone grieve.

Similarly, I-Five, with his enhanced cognitive module functions and deactivated creativity dampers, had impressed them all repeatedly with his “humanity.” Though initially his world had been turned upside down by all this, Jos now was grateful, because this wider definition of what was human had led directly to his being able to embrace—literally and figuratively—Tolk as a potential life mate, even though she was a non-permes esker.

He loved Tolk, he now knew. No matter the consequences of espousing an outworlder, he was determined to follow his heart in this matter. But he could not help but wonder what the new commander, Great-Uncle Erel, would think of this.

It wasn’t long before he found out. As the casino droid set up for another game, a Bothan corporal approached the table. “Admiral Kersos requests your presence, Captain Vondar. Please come with me.”