Thyferra: Bacta Basics

Thyferra: Bacta Basics

     Part 1: The Thriving Season

     Decades before the Empire rose to power and placed de  facto  control  of

the planet in the hands of two  companies,  Thyferra  –  –  homeworld  of  the

insectoid Vratix – – was one of the most economically volatile worlds  in  the

Republic, in no small part because of its uniqueness. Thyferra, of course,  is

the only known source of pure bacta, the miracle fluid that  can  heal  almost

any wound short of  dismemberment  or  disintegration.  (While  Vratix  colony

worlds produce bacta in other sectors, few believe any of these colonies would

last a single year without support from Thyferra and the Bacta Cartel.)

     For hundreds of years, since at least the time of  the  last  great  Sith

war, the Thyferran government was largely an extension  of  two  major  bacta-

production corporations – – Xucphra and Zaltin, both owned outright  by  Human interests in the Core. Under these small  bureaucracies,  millions  of  Vratix labored to create bacta, ostensibly without complaint. Indeed, to most in  the corporate world, the arrangement seemed too good to be true. The Vratix didn’t need to be coaxed into doing the bulk of the work; the insectoids didn’t  even want to run things. And since the creation of  bacta  was  impossible  without certain natural chemicals produced by the Vratix themselves,  they  knew  they could not be  removed  from  the  equation  by  force.  It  seemed  a  perfect arrangement, so long as the Vratix felt they were being treated more  or  less fairly.

     Just before Palpatine  was  elected  Chancellor,  a  string  of  scandals

involving  corporate  payoffs  to  a  nominally  Vratix-controlled  government

erupted, followed soon  after  by  the  revelation  that  Xucphra  and  Zaltin

corporations, the  behemoths  that  together  formed  the  Bacta  Cartel,  had

sabotaged their own alazhi fields in an effort to  hike  the  price  of  bacta

galaxywide. These  shocking  events  inspired  the  usually  anti-bureaucratic

natives to take a more active  role  in  their  planet’s  government,  showing

concern about Thyferra’s  standing  in  the  galaxy  at  large  in  what  even

corporate opponents saw as an elegantly bloodless coup.

     For about a ten-year period after the Trade Federation’s defeat at  Naboo

– – a time called Alazhixazha (or “Thriving Season”) by the  Vratix,  and  the

“Vratix Occupation” by galactic corporate interests –  –  Xucphra  and  Zaltin

were forced to toe the Vratix  line.  The  insectoids  forced  the  Cartel  to

compete with a number of local companies and “alien” business interests,  even the Hutts, in a freewheeling open market that saw consumer  awareness  of  the wonder medicine skyrocket from the Rim to the Core.

     For this single decade in the last  thousand  years,  Thyferra’s  capital

regained its ancient Vratix name,  Xozhixi.  Humans  still  ran  many  of  the

administrative bureaucracies on Thyferra, especially those involving business,

but the Vratix watched them like hawkbats.  And  at  least  one  Human  worked directly for the Vratix revolutionaries who would one  day  be  known  as  the Ashern or “Black Claw” insurgent group, still in its infancy.

     The Thriving Season is still a popular  and  colorful  setting  for  many

gritty holoserials well into the New Republic period, but the  most  legendary

tale is actually a true story. Not long after  the  Bacta  War,  the  infamous

Human spy still known only as the Bloodletter released his (or her) memoirs of

life at the time, Thrive or  Die.  The  following  holotranscripts  were  read

personally by Bloodletter via closed-circuit  holo  (Bloodletter’s  voice  was

disguised), transmitted from an unknown location, and they have recently  gone on display at the New Republic Historical Archive  on  Coruscant.  Though  the Bloodletter is no doubt well into his or her golden years, his or her identity

remains a mystery – – most likely on Thyferra itself.

     This month, a section of the author’s introduction to Thrive or Die.

     Thrive or Die: Memoirs of the Bloodletter

     Dear [REDACTED] Graduate,

     You’ve put in the hardest six years of study in your life. And what  have

you got to show for it? Endless loan payments and a mountain of student  debt. A “competitive” market for dead-end Hutt accounting jobs on the Outer Rim. And a family demanding to know how their investment in  your  education  will  pay off.

     But you don’t have to settle for a life of toil  and  struggle.  Consider

the Xucphra corporation,  located  conveniently  on  the  tropical  Inner  Rim

paradise planet Thyferra. We’re always looking for qualified Humans  –  –  and

only Humans – – to join the Xucphra team. Recent events have led to a staffing

shortfall, and we’re  offering  an  extremely  lucrative  hiring  package  for

[REDACTED] graduates that fit your profile.

     Please consider  attending  our  informative  seminar  at  [REDACTED]  on

[REDACTED]. We’re sure we’ve got a position waiting for you.

     The seminar had indeed been informative, more than  Xucphra  knew.  Their

methods were not noticeably different from the Zaltin recruiters, with whom  I

had met weeks before.

     The Bacta Cartel is like a gargantuan broken family.  They’re  forced  to

stay together for financial reasons, a joint operating agreement  that  chafed

especially hard during the Thriving Season. It was all the two companies could

do to share financial information and for corporate officers to remain  civil.

Hiring records, recruitment efforts, and employment figures  were  still  held

closely secret by each side.

     It was the perfect time for a smart third-party  operator  to  play  both

ends against the middle. And that’s exactly  what  the  Vratix  wanted  me  to

arrange. I accepted the job once they doubled my pay and offered me  permanent asylum should anything go wrong.

     But I would have done it anyway. I’m the Bloodletter, and I work for  the

side with the most credits.

     Part 2: Ashern to Ashern

     The self-described “freelance corporate espionage  specialist”  known  as

the Bloodletter worked for both sides of the Bacta Cartel –  –  as  a  double-

agent for the young Ashern revolutionary group – – during the heady time known on Thyferra as the Thriving Season. During this brief period (which  coincided almost exactly  with  Chancellor  Palpatine’s  first  ten  years  in  office), Thyferra’s bacta market was freed from absolute Cartel control,  an  era  that most believe was a direct result of a Vratix uprising  that  saw  them  retake their own government  and  planet,  even  if  only  for  ten  years.  Now  the Bloodletter’s memoirs finally shed more light on how the Vratix took  Thyferra back, and how they lost it again.

     This  month’s  installment,  transcribed  from  portions  of  a  new   NR

Historical Archive exhibit, describes further  details  of  the  Bloodletter’s

mission in Thyferra during the Thriving Season.

     Thrive or Die: Memoirs of the Bloodletter

     Excerpted from Chapter 3: Hive-Bound

     With a pair of separate cover identities established for both Xucphra and

Zaltin consumption, it was time to get to work. The Vratix that  hired  me  to

infiltrate the Cartel – – they called themselves the Asherns,  or  Razorclaws,

something like that – – spared no expense ensuring that  both  [REDACTED]  and

[REDACTED] had complete educational histories, references that would  actually hold up, and even two separate families – – one on [REDACTED] and  another  on [REDACTED]. Of course, I hadn’t  given  them  any  choice  in  the  matter.  I wouldn’t take the job until those safeguards were in place. I feel not a  whit of shame when I say that ultimately the Bloodletter’s first and only client is the Bloodletter. That’s why I have never spent longer  than  an  hour  in  any prison, and then only twice.

     I must admit that Thranx, my primary Ashern contact, was the one who  hit

upon a believable way for me to work full-time for  each  company,  a  problem

that had been posing some difficulty even for me. Xuczal  City  –  –  recently

renamed Xozhixi – – was a company town, at least during daylight  hours.  Most

Humans spent their entire careers within the city limits,  and  a  Human  only

willing to work half-weeks would  raise  too  many  eyebrows,  considering  my

ultimate goal. A Vratix

     Instead, I would take work for each company as a field inspector, one  of

the few jobs in bacta production that both  Vratix  and  Humans  performed  in

equal numbers. I suspect it’s because neither species really trusts the other,

and they  shouldn’t.  If  trust  was  possible,  I  wouldn’t  be  here.  Field

inspectors, as the name implies, roved the planet  ensuring  that  the  alazhi

plants were healthy, watching  for  blights  and  other  plant  diseases,  and

enforcing proper harvesting methods. Usually,  only  Vratix  field  inspectors

bothered to monitor the actual process of bacta creation, so I  didn’t  bother

to go underground; that would only have attracted attention. But I didn’t need

access to bacta production facilities to get my job done. I simply  needed  to

be able to move about freely and access both Xucphra and  Zaltin  records.  My

primary mission involved the alazhi, which grew aboveground. I went into  each office once a week (officially) to file reports, but otherwise  I  could  move

about with impunity.

     I’m not normally a nature lover. My business is business, and business is

rarely conducted in the middle of a rain forest. But even I have to admit that

the natural splendor of Thyferra, even with well over half the  world  covered

in  alazhi  fields,  was  magnificent.  From  the  air,  the  planet  appeared

completely uninhabited except for Xozhixi and a few other  small  settlements.

That’s because the most industrial work in the bacta industry – –  aside  from

bureaucratic wheeling  and  dealing  –  –  was  done  underground,  by  Vratix

laborers. As for their own homes, the native villages  and  towns  were  built

into the trees of the rain forests that covered every landmass,  connected  by

long sloping archways and artistically designed paths allowing easy travel for

anyone with four legs and two arms. It reminded me of Kashyyyk, redesigned  by giant bugs.

     Seeqov Thranx herself was to be my partner, which was  convenient,  if  a

little dangerous. Vratix are hermaphrodites, but hundreds of years of  contact

with Humans means that metropolitan Vratix like Thranx usually identified more with one sex than the other.

     I don’t like working with partners and very nearly quit on  the  spot.  I

knew nothing about the Seeqov hive-clan or Thranx herself. But, in the end,  I

decided that I couldn’t avoid getting saddled with at least one of  them,  and

I’d already seen enough of Thranx to know we’d work  well  together.  For  one

thing, she’s a wicked sabacc player – – a rare enough challenge anywhere,  let

alone on this giant hive of a planet.

     Though an operative for the Ashern, Thranx did have a long and legitimate

career as a field inspector and research scientist. She was  known  planetwide

for helping to eradicate a Rodian fungus epidemic that threatened  the  entire

harvest of the southern hemisphere just five years ago. (The  entire  incident

was kept secret from the galactic public and, according to Xucphra and  Zaltin

records, they each separately solved the crisis without Vratix help. They  can

say what they want, but I know the truth). Around  this  same  time,  she  was

first contacted by the fledgling Ashern and recruited into the movement. Since

then, she’s become a master of something alien to the hive-minded creatures  — deception. Unlike most idealists, she was able to see the situation from all

sides.

     Of course, not even Thranx saw the Empire coming. I did,  naturally,  but

no one ever asked me.

     Part 3: Fields of Dreams

     According to his or her memoirs, the following incident took  place  only

nine years before the  Clone  Wars  erupted  on  Geonosis.  The  Bloodletter’s

assignment was long-term, and after over a year of work, the objective was  in

sight.

     Thrive or Die: Memoirs of the Bloodletter

     Excerpted from Chapter 9: Killing Field

     The Ashern were a smart bunch. They saw that the Vratix couldn’t possibly

hold onto the kinds of freedoms and planetary  control  they  had  during  the

Thriving Season unless they were willing to get into the  ditch  with  Xucphra

and Zaltin. The newly elected Vratix government seemed to mean well,  but  the Ashern saw,  correctly,  that  allowing  even  more  alien  intervention  (and

interference) in their planetary economy would cause only  a  temporary  boom. Eventually, one or more of those companies – – probably Xucphra or Zaltin,  or maybe even a Hutt front business – – would make a power play.

     The Ashern plan was simple. I was to move about to key alazhi fields that

were secretly under Ashern control.

     At these fields, the Vratix were farming a very special kind  of  alazhi.

The Ashern believed that this new hybrid plant would be so remarkable, such an improvement on the original product, that the  Ashern  themselves  would  soon drive Xucphra and Zaltin off the planet – – or at least cut them down to size, leaving the Vratix in true control of their ecology, economy, and  government. I tried to learn more about the hybrid – – specifically, if it  was  a  hybrid plant, what was the second source of genetic material? –  –  but  even  Thranx rebuffed my questions. She trusted  me,  she  claimed  (which  shouldn’t  have gratified me as much as it did), but she could take not chances.  Besides,  it wasn’t information I needed to know.

     These secret fields were easier to conceal than you’d think; in fact, the

Ashern hid them in plain  sight.  Some  of  them  stretched  for  hundreds  of

kilometers, broken up into subsections  that  were  haphazardly  organized  at

best. My first job was to inspect the fields for real –  –  hybrids  could  be

especially susceptible to disease – – and aid the entire operation by secretly

delivering cargo that made the hybrid process possible. I  wasn’t  allowed  to

open the cargo, but again, the job didn’t call for  me  to  know  what  I  was

transporting. And that suited me fine.

     We were well over a year into the project when the  attack  came.  Thranx

and I had set down outside one of the larger Xucphra fields  and  set  out  on

foot to the Ashern’s hidden field.

     The field was empty. That should have  been  the  first  indication  that

something was wrong, but I’d grown too complacent  in  the  previous  year.  I

should have known better. Harvest was only  two  days  away,  and  the  fields

should have been crawling with Vratix workers spraying down the plants with  a natural preservative that would keep them fresh for  transport.  At  the  very

least, an Ashern agent should have been there to meet us.

     I turned to relay this fact to Thranx when a blaster  bolt  slammed  into

her upper back, sending her stumbling into me and knocking me into  the  soggy alazhi field.

     At first, my only concern was oxygen. Thranx’s torso had me  pinned  face

first in the muck. I wriggled a bit, but she didn’t move. Whoever had shot her

was probably looking right at me, waiting for me to show some  sign  of  life.

With great physical effort, I forced my mind away from the need  for  air  and

focused all my attention on the information  entering  my  brain  through  the

right ear, the only part of my head above the waterline of the bog.

     Footsteps. Human footsteps, getting closer. At this point, my lungs  were

aching for air, and I felt myself starting to blackout. Hoping my unseen enemy

was close enough, I pushed off with both arms from the  solid  bottom  of  the

alazhi field, sending muck and plants flying and Thranx –  –  whose  status  I

still hadn’t ascertained – – tumbling over into the field.

     I found myself staring at  an  image  from  a  historical  holodrama.  An

honest-to-Zim Mandalorian warrior  stood  there  in  gleaming  silver-and-blue

armor, holding a blaster pointed at my forehead. Then he  pulled  the  trigger

and everything went black.

     Part 4: The Kolcta Generation

     Thrive or Die: Memoirs of the Bloodletter

     Excerpted from Chapter 10: Medicinal Purposes

     I should have died. In fact, to be honest, I’m pretty  sure  I  did  die.

Mandalorian blasters don’t have a stun  setting.  I’d  never  seen  an  actual

Mandalorian before that day, but collectors have prized their  weapon  designs

for centuries. I own a pair  myself  that  supposedly  once  belonged  to  the

patriarch of the Ordo clan. I’ve never missed once with  those  blasters.  Too

bad I didn’t have them with me that day.

     I don’t know how long I was out – – or dead – – but I know why I’m  alive

telling you this today: Seeqov Thranx.

     I came to in the alazhi field. Judging from the  sun’s  position  in  the

sky, I’d either been out for an hour or a day and an hour (which wouldn’t have

surprised me, considering the way I felt). Thranx’s  big,  bug-eyed  head  was

hanging low over my face, and she was chittering something in Vratix I  didn’t

quite understand. It may have been a song, now that I think about  it.  Vratix

music usually doesn’t use words. She was patting at my forehead  with  a  damp rag she held in one claw. There was no sign of the Mandalorian anywhere.

     That I even had a forehead surprised me. I  could  barely  speak,  but  I

managed to ask what had happened.

     “We are pleased to see you alive, [REDACTED],” she replied. “For we shall

soon be dead.”

     Vratix are hive-minded creatures,  and  they  never  use  a  first-person

singular pronoun in my experience, even when speaking  Basic.  Therefore,  she

wasn’t saying we were both doomed. Just her.

     I raised a hand to my forehead and felt a moist but complete skull  still

attached to my shoulders. Could the Mandalorian have missed?

     “You were mortally injured,” Thranx continued. “The blue one shot you  in

the face.”

     “I remember,” I managed. “What about you? If I survived…”

     “You survived because of me,” she clicked, “And  because  of  this.”  She

held the rag aloft, and I took a closer look. It was my own  tunic,  saturated

with – –

     “Bacta?” I said when the distinctive smell hit my  nostrils.  “No,  wait,

it’s not quite right. Where did it come from?”

     “From us, of course,” Thranx said, cocking her head in a way that I  knew

was her version of a smirk. “Using chemicals  from  our  own  torso,  and  the

plants you see around us.” She let out a tinny sound that I knew was a  Vratix

sigh. “We will soon be dead. We must tell you the secret of the Ashern fields.

You have a right to know what you’ve been hired to do,  and  no  one  else  is

authorized to share this secret. But I trust you, Human, even if my  superiors

do not.”

     I simply nodded.

     “You noted that this does not smell like bacta, and you are  correct.  It

is not bacta. It is kolcta.”

     “Kolcta? What’s that, some kind of super-bacta?” I asked.

     “You are wise,” Thranx replied. “If simplistic. Do you  know  what  kolto

is?”

     “A Thyferran sabacc variant?”

     “No,” she chattered, and I could hear her breathing slits  wheezing  with

effort. “It is a legend in the medical establishment. An ancient medicine that

made bacta look no more potent than a strong glass of  lum.  But  it  has  not

grown wild for millennia.”

     “Where did it come from? What makes it so special?”

     “We do not know whence it came, though it was definitely rich  in  water;

the plant can’t grow without a lot of it,” Thranx said. “This trait is  shared

by the alazhi, which has allowed us to grow this hybrid  kolazhi  right  under

the noses of the cartel. The preserved seeds were acquired by my superiors  on

the black market, but it was Seeqov that learned how to splice  the  DNA  into

the alazhi.”

     “What’s so special about it?” I repeated.

     “For one, it can be converted into a potent  healing  fluid  by  a  dying

Vratix and used to heal a mortal blaster  wound  to  a  Human  forehead,”  she

offered. “The kolazhi is so potent that no refining is necessary.”

     “You mean you made some right here, on the spot?”

     “Yes,” Thranx said.

     “But if any Vratix anywhere could turn itself into a ‘kolcta’ factory…”

     “The cartels would have no industry to manage. We would – –  how  do  you

say, ‘cut out the middleman’ and finally be independent  of  the  cartels.  We

would be a free people once again.”

     Help! This bacta deformed my ribcage!

     With effort, I pulled myself to my feet. I  placed  my  hands  gently  on

either side  of  Thranx’s  insectoid  face  and  smiled.  “Thank  you.  That’s

precisely what I needed to know.” With a quick flick, I snapped her head clean

from her shoulders and tossed it into the soggy  kolazhi  field  before  she’d

stopped chittering.

     The Ashern paid well, and so  did  the  Cartels,  but  someone  else  had

already paid me even better. Within 48 hours, I  had  caught  a  transport  to

Coruscant. Within a week, a mysterious blight had settled into  every  one  of

the kolazhi fields except one. I personally oversaw  the  harvesting  of  that

field and delivered several tons of the  galaxy’s  only  known  kolcta  to  my

client within a month. He claimed to suffer from a degenerative aging  disease

and needed the kolcta to keep himself young. Whatever. I was a rich man.

     The Ashern recovered, of course, though I don’t think they  ever  started

pursuing the production of kolcta again. My own personal supply will  run  out

soon, and by then I may start to age myself.

     Maybe then I’ll retire to Thyferra. It was a nice place to work.