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 Gamorreanfemale and her tusky children to the other side of the walkway, then turned back toward Gavin. The droid’s nonstandard 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’ll 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 replied in subdued and broken tones, which Emtrey translated for Gavin. “She says she and the children 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 gathering, 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 liberation.”
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 recover.”
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 infected. 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 .
Gavin forced himself to step forward and reenter the Gamorrean’s hovel. The fetid stink returned to his nose and found accompaniment in the horrible sights and sounds that greeted him. The single-room hovel itself was scarcely larger than his own room in the squadron headquarters—and he found that a bit cramped for one. It had two doors—the one he’d opened using a lock-descrambling unit and a back door. A heating plate and water spigot to the left of the doorway marked the extent of the dwelling’s kitchen facilities. The refresher station
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 Gamorreanfemale and her tusky children to the other side of the walkway, then turned back toward Gavin. The droid’s nonstandard 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’ll 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 replied in subdued and broken tones, which Emtrey translated for Gavin. “She says she and the children 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 gathering, 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 liberation.”
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 recover.”
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 infected. 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 .
Gavin forced himself to step forward and reenter the Gamorrean’s hovel. The fetid stink returned to his nose and found accompaniment in the horrible sights and sounds that greeted him. The single-room hovel itself was scarcely larger than his own room in the squadron headquarters—and he found that a bit cramped for one. It had two doors—the one he’d opened using a lock-descrambling unit and a back door. A heating plate and water spigot to the left of the doorway marked the extent of the dwelling’s kitchen facilities. The refresher station
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