Make or Break

[Neology]

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“Captain, wait. What is the meaning of this?” Dr. Cristine Bellamy brandished a sheaf of plastic flimsies like a weapon, striding to keep up with the harried medical officer in charge of Republic Aid Camp S.12B. “This says we’re leaving. That can’t be right.” “No mistake, ma’am. As you’ve read, we’re turning everyone over to a local firm by the end of the week.” “But I have patients you haven’t even identified yet. You can’t just leave them!” “Arrangements will be made. Should any more of ours be found.” The older man’s shuttered expression was no beacon of hope. Cristine stared at him, aghast. “But what about the Jedi? Can’t the Order send someone to … I don’t know, fix him up?” “They say he’s not theirs. And well … If he’s not a Jedi after all, maybe it’s best that one doesn’t wake up.” “Even if he’s – … That doesn’t mean --” Seeing the look on the captains’s face, Cristine clamped her mouth shut. Things had grown very tense since the destruction of the Severance, an Imperial cruiser, at the Republic’s hands. And so, she grudgingly accepted the futility of riling the man. “Sorry, I’m just .. Taken aback. And concerned about the transfer. It's a very delicate case.” “Doctor Bellamy, I’m sure the locals will provide adequate care. Now, I trust your shuttle pass is in order?” He ventured a tired smile, taking in her silence and thinking the matter settled. “Yes. Thank you very much.” Cristine nodded, dipping her head politely. Her expression turned inward and abstracted as she took her leave, the shape of a very bad idea beginning to form. “You don’t look like a Sith to me.” Dr. Bellamy spoke to her mystery patient although it was very unlikely that he could hear her. It was late and, in a few short hours, she’d be on her way home. All her other charges were seen to and for the most part she could accept that. The mystery man was different. He should have been dead days ago – he’d been dug out of the starport, evidently. After it fell on him. I mean feel, really. You don’t feel like a Sith, she thought. Always a quick judge of character, Cristine had learned to listen to a feeling deep down in her chest that she couldn’t logically explain. ‘Look’ was more socially acceptable, however, and she automatically self-corrected. But how could she know that? She’d never met a Sith. Had she? Cris rubbed her neck, picking at a faint scar with her clean, dull nails. Typing in a quick code, she opened the mystery man’s locker and laid out his effects on the next cot, pulling them out of the thick plastic sheeting they’d been wrapped in. Lightsaber – she handled that at arm’s length, distrustful of the arcane weapon. A blaster of a make she didn’t recognize. Anonymous black credstick that she thought better not to slot. Finally, there was a slag-encrusted data interface, out of power. She handled it clumsily, turning it this way and that before realizing it had once been housed within a void suit or space armor. It certainly felt heavy enough. “It’s now or never, I guess.” Muttering under her breath, Cristine plugged the device into her data pad and waited for power to transfer. Finally, the interface lit up – and demanded a passcode. A moment of mild panic set in while she considered impracticalities such as throwing the thing as far as she could. A biometric scanner disengaged with a click. It flashed angrily until she sat the device down and carefully manipulated the man’s bruised fingers across the pad. After several moments text began to spill across the readout. WHAT HAPPENED JANUS STATUS 113.4 HOURS SINCE LAST REPORT … … … COMING TO YOU “Oh. Oh, shit. Oh no.” Cristine jumped to her feet, dropping her datapad as if it burned her. “No, they can’t come here.” Best case scenario, they got shot down. Worst case … What if she was wrong? She rummaged in the drawers of a cart for a moment. Staring down at her patient, she made a sudden decision. If anyone could make them stop – whoever they were – it would be the man the computer belonged to. “I’m very, very sorry about this.” Cristine fed a powerful dose of stimulants into the patient’s line and hovered expectantly.

[Stephen]

It was just too much. With a crack team of highly mobile troopers, you could just about hold this starport. With just him, it became a messy frantic killing zone worth nothing but the weight of bodies in it. They could not take it from him, but it had been awhile since a shuttle of refugees could safely board and leave. He was tiring, he could feel it, but he could also hear the chorus's song grow more frantic. They weren't the first kid from a far off land to land on Nar Shaddaa with hope in it's heart only to be bled dry. They wouldn't be the last either, he could feel it. For just a moment he felt the walls shudder before they gave way. A wash of high heat then darkness. He faded in an out of consciousness. He was vaguely aware of the distress signal his suit was high beaming, but he could not see. His limbs were too heavy to move, even at their impossible angles. He could feel the cocktail of drugs swimming just behind his eyes. He tried to scream but there was no air in his lungs. Instead he cried and fell to darkness.

Mobiva stole power greedily from Doctor Bellamy's Datapad. She pinged the holonet and got a response immediately. Surprising. Just over 8 days since last she was online. She stared at Janus' mangled body through the datapad's camera. Alive, but not moving. Better than expected. She pulled his medical records off of the camps intranet. Crush Syndrome. 67 fractures ranging from hairline to full breaks. Several bones were allowed to heal wrong in order to stagger the bleeding of bone marrow into his bloodstream. Clever. Painful for him later but probably the right call. They needed additional Bacta to stop his muscles killing his liver with potassium. They needed a tank and bacta to spare. She bounced a singled to the Wayward light and found it docked at the starport 27, just past the Eye. Just a second to drag it here. She hadn't even noticed she was vocalizing till she heard Bellamy's gasp.

Janus' eyes creaked open just a centimeter. He felt 400 pounds heavier, but he could move. He pushed his hands against the floor of the spaceport and felt it give way. That couldn't be. He took a moment to rub his numb fingers against the fabric and tried to think through the chemical fog. He could hear someone in the distance but it was too far to be understood. He tried to push himself up again before he heard Mobiva, tinny and distant “Janus, cease movement at once!” He froze, his mind suddenly more awake. “I have to. We have to get out of here.” Mobiva came through again, louder “You have to do nothing, you are in a hospital, do not make someone sedate you again.” He sunk the half inch he had gotten up back into the bed. “How, uh.” He made a whimpering noise. His eyes tore to the thin film of left over bacta and sleep and painfully opened into the impossibly white light. He winced and forced them closed again “Where am I? Did he win?” His throat felt ragged, and his lungs burned from speaking. “Quiet, your blood pressure is spiking. Let Doctor Bellamy speak then ask what you must.

[Neology]

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Cristine stood rooted to the spot, expecting the very worst as her impromptu treatment took effect. It had been a terribly irresponsible thing to do – but with no better options … Not only did the man regain consciousness, he spoke. To her datapad, apparently. As much as she agreed with the voice’s commands, she had to wonder how it got there. A virus – a slicer? Cris scooped up the datapad. A new hairline crack obscured one corner of the screen. The voice could hear him – Janus – and so it could hear her as well. She felt her face warm with embarrassment, pink beneath her freckles. ”You … Aren’t about to break into this camp, then?” Her gaze shifted from the tablet to her patient. The moment for wild, galloping panic had passed and Cris allowed herself to breathe again, gulping down air with a single painful hiccup. She traded one device for another, a compact medical scanner that she brought up slowly. ”You are in a Republic field hospital. Sector 12, Nar Shaddaa.” Did we win? Who did he mean by we? If he meant everyone except the alien hivemind from wildspace, well. That seemed rather obvious – although, there were scattered reports of Archeri tending their nurseries and their dying converts. To some degree. ”I understand that the allied fleets broke up both Spires. The Chorus is gone, though they’re still finding … Oh, I suppose you’d call them nests down in the sublevels. It’s not been the same. The creatures lost something vital with those crystals.” Cris shook her head, apologetic. This was work, not an afternoon salon with Dr. Hyul and Dr. Nador. She could not allow herself to become distracted. ”I’m sorry to say that all JMOC forces are pulling out. In a few hours, we’re leaving. Or, I am supposed to anyway.” His vitals were climbing – she adjusted his line, giving him a little more medication for the pain. Not enough, probably. She’d recently learned that Force users were unusually drug-resistant. ”You need better care. A real hospital.” She fantasized in her sleep about such facilities running under her beck and call. It had been a long time. Though Mr. LeChance had made offers. If only she would work for his organization. Then there had been no time to wonder about that at all with the entire galaxy falling apart. ”With that in mind, Mr. … Whoever. Is there someplace or someone that I can help you reach?”

[Stephen]

“I had a ship somewhere around here. It might still be around here. Mo could tell you more.” His eyes had closed again, the thin adhesive effect from dried tears more than his meager energy could overcome. His frame had sunk back into the medical bed and his head swam further into confusion as the pain meds reasserted themselves. “Got the big tank there, fell off the back of a pleasure yacht I heard, no cracks or anything.” His brow drove down toward his cheeks by the weight of the lethargy and pain, he continued through the pillow. “Shoulddofine. Tellem Mo”

A long pregnant silence was all that he could manage afterwords. “I think he was refering to the bacta tank and medical supplies on his ship, Doctor Bellamy.” Just two blocks down The Wayward Light was gaining clearance to dock at bay 13, a mere 5 minute speeder ride away. She already spooled the engine to life, and it waited eagerly at the edge of the loading ramp, as the ship settled into landing pad. The speeder took off before the ramp was fully extended like a hound from the leash, it's repulsor engine whining under the added strain of the drop. It tore off down the street toward the camp.

“His vitals have returned to pre-waking levels. I think it best to prep him for transport if you would be so kind. I have a vehicle inbound that should arrive in approximately 6 minutes.” She stared at Janus a moment through the camera on the data pad a moment. He was much easier to manage when unconscious, “I'm sure once Janus can sign his name, he'd be willing to well compensate you for your additional trouble and for the return of his ruined armor.”

The Wayward light thrummed to life once again. Tee Eye undocked from his charging port and busily wheeled around the cabins, checking each room for imperfections on his hurried final inspection. The Bay door twitched twice in false apprehension before slinging open. The loading speeder slid up the ramp carefully, and Janus was stripped in the open back of the vehicle and loaded into the bacta tank with little effort. Tee Eye took it on himself to unload the clothes and ruined armor into a tidy pile near the tank. Ruined, nearly lifeless, but home again.

[Neology]

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Cristine tried to listen patiently to the injured man’s meandering response. He seemed to identify the voice from the holonet – Moe. A slightly strange name for what sounded, to her ear, like a well educated woman. The rest of Janus’ words merely suggested he was in possession of stolen medical equipment. She was surprised at how little that bothered her at this juncture. ”I see.” ‘Moe’ went on, so far as offering a job of sorts. In only the vaguest terms. Dr. Bellamy glanced around at the empty beds and heaved a sigh. ”Well, I … Uhm. I suppose there’s nothing else.” Except that she was meant to get on that transport and leave Hutt space. Reunite with her friends-slash-business partners. There were great strides to be made, researching the Archeri from the comfort of a state of the art and fully funded lab. No doubt that would be a more productive use of her time, and it seemed like the injured man had friends waiting for him … But Moe would not be promising her credits if her help wasn’t needed. And while this was Nar Shaddaa, it didn’t seem like it could possibly be some kind of scam or trap. Hard to imagine the man in the bed threatening anybody in his current state, lightsaber or no. ”Alright. You have yourself a deal, Ms. … Er, Moe, is it?” It was a mild surprise, discovering that all of her mystery patient’s crew seemed to be droids. Her days on his ship were strange, under MoBiva’s unceasing watch but lonely too. Cristine found herself talking to the ship computer a fair bit, though she wished she’d had her luggage sent on. The pencils and sketchbooks and watercolors, especially. She kept Janus drugged under in the bacta tank, strategically breaking and resetting the many fractures he had suffered in the starport collapse. It was a slow, piecemeal process and she found herself with a lot of extra time on her hands. Especially with the droid and ship itself monitoring the patient for her. Cris tried not to snoop, though she learned a few things by osmosis. Her patient’s name was Janus Yarloc, he owned a small shipping company, and he was a Republic citizen, though not one of their soldiers. He had interesting friends. MoBiva had accepted exactly one outside communication since Cristine had taken up residence on the Wayward Light. A colorless woman in a sterile white room politely questioned her on the man’s health. Then, seemingly satisfied, the stranger had advanced a sum of credits ‘for services rendered thus far.’ It was all very peculiar.

[Stephen]

Janus drifted in and out of near consciousness. His often lithe mind addled by pain and drugs, he wandered the forgotten corners of his psyche. At times he grew aware of himself. Spikes of pain, A thick liquid feeling on the skin. The uncomfortable grasp of an oxygen mask. Quiet soothing music, distorted and muffled. A familiar voice, and an unfamiliar one. He dreamt of impossibly tight cavern tunnels and swimming wearing too many heavy clothes. He dreamt of unkempt gardens overrife with spider webs and parasites. He dreamt of flames overcoming him, his skin bursting forth in blue chemical bursts of searing heat. But mostly he dreamt of nothing. After an eon, he became aware that he was awake in his tank. He opened his eyes but could only see blurred outlines in light green silhouette. The thick viscous liquid pressed into his eyes slowly, giving an almost cooling pressure. He fought the urge to blink and swung his arm up to his face.

His hand fumbled a bit on his all to familiar mask before he hit the panic button and the tanked drained out of the now open sluice gate in the floor of the tank through a filter back into the bacta holding chamber below. Slowly the lowering liquid deposited Janus on his shakyand weak knees. He sat on his knees and leaned forward, wreching pale green slime out in discoloured chunks. He did this for somewhile, his still addled mind all to familiar with tank sickness. He staggered to his feet, leaning on a railing for support as he found himself struggling to stand on his somewhat ruined leg muscles. He grimaced and fought through the slimy discomfort and pain to focus his mind. His body washed flush with the force. He straightened his back, his creaking joints lithe and strong again. It wouldn't last, it was structural bracing, not a true rebuild, but it'd do long enough for him to have a deeply unfortunate bowel movement and a long shower. He took a long ragged breath and walked out of the cargo bay.

And right into a casual dressed woman in his halls. Well not right into, but near enough that his slick exaggerated nudity was far too apparent to strangers. He gasped, and then fell into a curled coughing fit. After a few moments he struggled back into a shameful hunched stance and raced into his room with a labored “I'm sorry!” He felt the rush of wind as the door slid closed behind him and he jammed the button by the door, and it swapped from lime green to a burnt orange with a black keyhole in the center. He muttered a confused “Fuck” under his breath and stared wildly across the room. His clothes and possessions were were he had left them, save for a key difference. His combat environment suit lay in a ripped and charred hulk on his bed, with his lightsaber laid across the back hump where the computer was housed.

And suddenly it was there. The seemingly forever pain of the collapse. The fear and isolation of being alone and stuck within your broken self. The brief time awake at the makeshift hospital. The doctor from the camp. All his lost memories how many days returned at a bezerk pace, all on top of each other., Oh god it was her wasn't it His panicked confusion was now hers. It wouldn't have occurred to her that he had a failsafe put in to drain his tank for when he needed to let himself out alone. Her patient just got out of confinement and streaked through her makeshift hospital wing. “I just need a moment” he shouted through the plasteel door. He struggled to find any clothes that would work after he cleaned himself. “I'll be out in a second.” he called out again as he rushed into his bathroom.

[Neology]

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“Dr. Bellamy? You’re needed. He’s waking up.” Cris glanced up from her retort pouch breakfast of muesli and rehydrated yogurt, squinting around the tiny ship kitchen. MoBiva’s constant presence was a difficult thing to get used to, especially in the morning. It was like living with a ghost. ”That shouldn’t be possible. The tranquilizers alone ...” She sighed, rubbed her face, and reluctantly set her food down. Cristine heaved herself to her feet and washed her face with cold water at the sink. There was no arguing with the AI – it wouldn’t be mistaken about something like this. Scooping up her thermos of herbal tea, she hurried to the medbay. Only to nearly collide with her patient in the connecting hallway. They stared at each other in mutual shock for a moment before he limped away and locked himself in his quarters. Cris frowned at the lock indicator. Mr. Yarloc was quite lively for someone so long tankbound. She hoped he wouldn’t do himself any harm with all that running. But she could hardly blame him for this sudden attack of modesty. Bacta tanks saved lives but did very little for one’s dignity. ”Mo. Just for my peace of mind, could you override that door?” “Yes, Dr. Bellamy.” ”Good.” Cris sipped her chamomile – still too hot – and followed Janus’ slimy footprints back to the medbay. She reviewed the last couple hours in logs and machine readouts and started the bacta tank’s self-clean cycle. Then, regarding the mess on the floor, she stuffed some rubber gloves in her pocket and went in search of a mop.

[Stephen]

He sat there in the near silence for an uncomfortable moment before the rumbling in his stomach took over. His chest hurt like a sucking chest wound and he shook uncontrollably, but he managed to get through it. Next up the shower. He staggered into the chamber and closed the door behind him and slinked down the wall to the floor. He lurched over and operated the dial on the shower till it came to life and battered him with the all too familiar too cold then too hot of home. He sat on the floor for some time, half asleep, half meditating as the relentless rain beat down on his raw skin. Eventually he got himself clean and strong enough to stand again. He cut the water and walked out of the shower and to his bed.

He sat there wrapped in a towel, dazed and unfocused. He had run the gamut of consciousness and it had left him mentally drained. He was aware there was probably a worried doctor somewhere on his ship but he just couldn't manage to investigate it. The return of his naked horribleness crept back through his memory, and forced him to get dressed. It was perhaps the first time he had run out of breath halfway through putting his pants on but he pushed through. His chest felt hollow pressed against his lap. He shuddered at the idea of his wasted form and called out to his ship. “Mo, I think i'm gonna need some help walking for awhile.” her response was crisp and immediate. “A hover chair should be located in your closet, TI will prepare it for you.” On queue, TI was here and before long the micro repulsor chair was floating in front of him. He pivoted on point and stood ready to help Janus into the chair. TI managed a subdued “Dwoooooo” when Janus pushed off his head disk head.

He settled into his chair a moment before he made his way back into his cargo bay. He found his wayward doctor here, cleaning his floors for some reason. It seemed a strange thing to do on a ship with a functioning floor height droid, but he at times had felt the awkwardness of busy hands and not much to do. He came to stop by her, his feet limply kicking off the edge of the platform. “I assume you know a rather lot about me by now, but I don't even know your name.” He paused a moment, his chest tight. “I suspect however that I owe you quite a deal, both financially and personally.” He let a shuddered weaze escape his chest and supressed the following cough. “If I could impose futher on you. Could you tell me where we are, other than on my ship and what day it is?”