The 7th Hymn of Tiresias

Chapter 11

In response to an attending doctor who attempted to comfort him by saying,
"General, I fear the angels are waiting for you."
Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well-let 'em wait.
– Ethan Allen

Seemingly oblivious to the sounds and lights of the Medi-droids, Master Healer Kay'leb Canaille ran a soothing hand over his niece's forehead. Behind him, in stoic yet watchful silence, stood Toa, awaiting the smallest request from his master.

"Lights down to five percent," he murmured. "Unless you need them to see, Toa."

"No thank you, Master," came the respectful reply as Toa shuffled nervously in place.

"Toa," Kay'leb sighed shaking his head. "I know you are very gifted when it comes to working in the dark, but I need you to utilize all of your senses right now. Raise the light level appropriately, please."

"Lights to fifteen percent," Toa murmured. "I'm sorry, Master. It won't happen again."

"Oh, but we both know it will, my friend." Kay'leb replied wryly. "Lights to twenty please."

Toa could not contain himself any longer. "Master? Is it… the symptoms say it could be…" He swallowed hard, unable to give voice to his fears and thus granting them substance.

"Stop acting like a nanny-grasser, Toa," Kay'leb snapped, now becoming irritable. "Have you looked into the Force surrounding her? Have you seen anything of note?" Gently now, Kay'leb reached back and caught Toa's hand in his own. Tenderly, he stroked his thumb over his apprentice's palm, and although the touch was that of affection, it had the added effect of giving Toa focus. "Now Toa," he said softly. "Close your eyes and truly see…"

It was only when Kay'leb took his hand that Toa realized that he was shaking.

The message center was spacious, yet afforded itself of smaller, more private self contained rooms where Schurke unerringly led Luke. When the door sealed itself silently behind them, Luke helped Schurke into a seat, suddenly almost painfully aware that the Jedi Master had seemed to have aged several years over the last few hours.

"Your messages," Schurke said with a wheeze, waving his hand in the general direction of the holo net terminal. "Unless you wish to view them in private…"

"Master," Luke said, exasperation creeping into his voice. "The messages can wait. Now will you tell me what you think is wrong?"

Schurke sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, as if trying to delay the inevitable, and when his eyes met Luke's once more they were as full of sadness as he had ever seen them.

"Luke," he said at last. "Have you ever heard of 'Tarkin's croup'?"

Luke considered, then shook his head. "No. Not really."

"It came to Corellia after the destruction of the first Death Star," Schurke said softly. "At first, people joked that Corellia would choke on his ashes, and then people started to die…"

Luke thinned his lips, perhaps unconsciously picking up the habit from Aubé, but allowed Master Canaille to continue at his own pace,

"Mostly it was the children," Schurke said wearily. "For the most part, adults would recover as often as not, but in the children it was almost always fatal. Quick…"

"Where did it come from?" Luke whispered, although in his heart he already knew. Please, don't let this be another stone to lay on my father's grave, he thought.

Schurke leaned back in his chair, fingers knitted thoughtfully under his chin. "No," he assuaged the stricken young man before him. "Vader's interest was directed at finding a certain young Rebel after all, and Vader had developed an aversion to such – shall we say, impersonal – wholesale slaughter."

Schurke fell silent, allowing Luke this small moment of absolution before continuing on.

"Kam and the other Healers – and surely by now you realize what many of them are – nearly worked themselves to death trying to find a cure."

"Jedi…" Luke said softly. "But how?"

Schurke ignored the question. "There is no cure, Luke," he said softly. "The Healers can comfort, treat the symptoms, and sometimes the victim recovered."

"My daughter…" Luke began, seeing Schurke's impassive reaction, grew angry. "How can you just sit there?" He cried out in a growing fury. "That's your granddaughter in there!"

"It came back, Luke," Schurke said softly. "After nearly a generation, it came back when Pemberian was less than three seasons old. Of course, she has only fleeting memories."

It struck Luke then, in that instant it was like a solar burst from Tatoo 1, burning his very soul.

Everything made sense now. Aubé's almost fearsome protection of their daughter. The reluctance to even consider more children. The sense of familiarity at her meditation place. The secret behind her eyes.

He couldn't bring himself to say it, to ask the question. It was too terrible to consider.

"What was his name?" Luke croaked.

"Tamaillin…" came the soft reply. "Your son's name was Tamaillin."