The Ruins of Dantooine Read Online Free PDF Page B

become physically sick from the contact like her colleague would.
    Dusque walked off to the far side of the temporary stadium where she had seen most of the carcasses hastily dumped between rounds. There was only one handler who had remained behind, along with a few attendants who were already beginning the tedious task of breaking down the show grounds. She noticed the handler was still stroking the side of his fallen wrix. He paid no attention to her, but one of the attendants approached her.
    “Dusque Mistflier,” she identified herself and showed him her credentials. As always, the sight of her authorization left no room for questions, granting her immediate access to anything she required.
    “Imperial bioengineer, hmm? Little out of the way for you here, isn’t it?” he pointed out.
    Dusque ignored his snickers and his implied insult and moved past him. Breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell, she pushed her hair back and removed her tools from her bag. She then began methodically drawing blood and tissue samples from the fallen creatures. When she had collected and stored all of the DNA, she cleaned her hands on a sterile wipe and started to walk back over to the Ithorian. But the wrix trainer called out to her and trotted after her. Dusque stopped and waited for him.
    By his tattoos and vestigial horns, Dusque realized he was a Zabrak. And he was obviously distraught by the death of his creature.
    “What can I do for you?” Dusque asked him politely.
    “I saw you take samples of my wrix. I want to know how many credits you want to clone him,” he demanded.
    “I’m sorry,” she replied, somewhat surprised by his request. “I don’t have the proper equipment for that kind of procedure. And I don’t believe in cloning,” she added. “When things die, they should stay dead.”
    But the Zabrak didn’t seem to appreciate her answer. “I know what you and your kind do,” he spat, his anger obviously making him reckless. “You run around the galaxy, collecting your little bits and pieces of everything you find and scurrying back to your labs.
    “You mix and match things at your whim, or the Emperor’s, without batting an eye. Well”—he grabbed Dusque by her upper arm—“you’ll clone him for me and you’ll do it now.”
    Dusque twisted around sharply and freed her arm from his hard grip. But before anything else transpired, the two attendants rushed up to restrain him.
    “Now, now,” the attendant who had spoken to Dusque soothed. “You don’t want to mess with her kind. You saw her rank. Touch her and we’ll have to find a way to clone you,” he joked nervously and Dusque saw him eyeing the patrolling troopers. The situation became more apparent to the Zabrak, and he angrily shoved off the attendants.
    “You’re right,” he growled, “she’s not worth it. None of her kind is. They’re worse than theabominations that they cook up in their labs.” And with that, he trudged back over to his fallen creature.
    Dusque turned and walked the rest of the way back to Tendau without further incident. She could see the Ithorian looked worried, so she pasted a smile on her face and shook her head in mock disgust. But the Zabrak’s words stuck with her. She knew many of her superiors back at their labs did exactly what the trainer had accused her of. They experimented and tampered and went against the natural order of things, all in the name of the Emperor. Dusque tried to convince herself she was just a xenobiologist, taking samples for study and documenting behaviors. Still, she had an inkling what some of her samples were used for; she simply chose not to recognize the truth.
    “Are you well?” Tendau asked her when she reached his side.
    “Yes, yes,” she reassured him. “I’m fine. He was just distraught by the death of his pet. If he cared about it that much, he should never have entered the contest.”
    “The lure of credits can be very strong to some,” Tendau said. “And