1
I didn't sign up for this.
The ground quaked in a constant tremor. My feet pounded below as small fissures in the concrete grew into chasms of uneven rubble. I felt my footing slip once or twice, cursing my shoes and the lack of support around the ankle. I longed for my worn, alloy-toed boots and field jacket. Instead, I was stuck in this rigid Medical Corps uniform. They like us indistinguishable and uncomfortable. The only redeeming quality of the get-up was my new respirator mask. My first was sized for a man and didn't seal to my face. It was clunky, inefficient, and the straps caught on my hair. The arrival of my new respirator was closest to happiness I had felt in a long time. Now more than ever, my new mask was the most valuable thing I owned. During the evacuation, I stole high grade vapor cartridges from the overbridge stockroom and fit them to my respirator. No one thinks about the toxins in the air. They focus on the destruction, the falling debris, and the fire….but burning wreckage releases poison and poison means you're dead before you even know it. I like to have the upper hand.
Starkiller Base was toppling. The Rebels still flew overhead, and while there were some delusional officers digging their heels in, most of us knew our fate if we stuck around. Hoards of stormtroopers, officers, and crew hurried to evacuating cruisers. At first organized, the stoic soldiers lost their bearings with every quake. It was gradual, but the crowd became a violent panic. Indoctrination be damned, once the primitive instinct for self-preservation kicks in, it doesn't take long for the wheels to fall off. The officers were ill-equipped to handle the lack of structure and scurried around in circles trying to corral their units. It was a shining example of the disorder we were meant to eliminate. I would have laughed if I wasn't stuck in the middle of it.
There is always opportunity in tragedy and so I put my plan into effect. I tuned out the whirl of hysteria and turned it into white noise, keeping my eyes up and over the herd. I could see Kylo Ren's command shuttle idling at the forefront of the tarmac. The shuttle's tall foreboding wings peeked over the cluster of people and through the smoke. Using the shuttle as a fixed point in my sight, I fought against the current. The push of the crowd was strong, and many met the fate of the undertow, the ground strewn with fallen bodies. Those still alive would wail as I trudged through, my uniform acting as a glimmer of hope. They grasped at my legs, begging for help in long, bellowing moans. I remained unwavering, kicking their scrounging hands away as I urged forward. Sympathy would slow me down. I couldn't help them.
I reached a break where the crowd diverged, slowing my gait to catch my breath. "Doctor! Report to Medical Officer Crell back at the Finalizer for your infirmary assignment!" A shrill voice slithered behind me. "Do you hear me? That's an order!"
I craned my neck back to find a stout, scowling corpsman on my heels. Dr. Devmeire Gross. A fitting name for a piece of trash. She was a mediocre physician, but a talented sycophant, and she managed to flatter her way in General Hux's favor. When she wasn't licking the boots of commanding officers, she sought out scapegoats and hung them out to dry. I don't know what was more embarrassing— her patient mortality rate or how brown her nose was. She puffed up her chest, and barged into my path with an inflated sense of authority. I narrowed my eyes in defiance and refused to stop, checking her with my shoulder. She bounced back with a growl, grabbing my arm and jerking me down.
"Where do you think you're going? You don't have the credentials to board the command shuttle. It's my post! I outrank you!" she hissed, pointing at the red insignia badge on her lapel.
The command shuttle was only a quick sprint away and I spied a land speeder rushing towards it. General Hux stood at the helm and a stormtrooper field medic braced the black mass slumped in the vehicle's bed. I tried to hurry, but Gross tugged at my arm, prattling on about protocol. The planet was about to blow and I wasn't going to spend my final moments being berated. Gritting my teeth, I reached for the small blaster concealed in my belt. With a quick pull of the trigger, her body went limp and I broke free of her grip. Her smug face looked pained to be interrupted mid-rant as she toppled to the ground. I knelt over the fresh corpse, ripping the insignia from her uniform and pinned it to my collar. I hate the concept of rank. The only way to survive is to claw your way to the top. An arbitrary hierarchy is only instilled to keep idiots and sycophants disillusioned into thinking that they are worth a damn. However, chest candy can be useful.
Being a first responder means that the first person to report to the scene is the person who calls the shots. Sometimes officers try to pull rank, but no one questions a physician during a catastrophe. They are just happy to see you, especially when someone high ranking is injured. And the radio chatter was true— Kylo Ren needed immediate medical attention and there was no time to get him aboard the fully equipped Star Destroyer.
"Medical Corpsman 7-0-2-6-4-4, Dr. Jain Ashwrin, Trauma Specialist," I spouted, flashing my new, red badge. As long as I played things right, they would never check. My only obstacle would be General Hux, but he had already scampered into the shuttle so as not to get his hands too dirty. Without hesitation, the guards waved me though. I hurried to my patient's side as they laid him on a gurney, ushering us into the hanger.
"Doctor, we applied bacta patches where accessible, but we found him in the snow and the med-kit serum tends to congeal at these temperatures." the field surgeon reported.
"Any signs of hypothermia?"
"Mild. Some frostnip on his extremities. His robes kept his body core body temperature from any significant drop. I'd be more concerned with the blood loss. It wasn't pretty."
"Thank you. I can take it from here," I nodded. "Report to Officer Crell at the Finalizer for further assignment."
I had never seen him up close. I had never seen him without his mask. The infamous Kylo Ren, lying before me, quiet, still, and vulnerable. He stared ahead, disoriented, but calm. I felt the corners of my mouth curl into a smile beneath my respirator. I couldn't help it. Holding someone's life in your hands is indescribable. Holding a life with so much power is divine. His eyes shifted and locked onto mine. It was only for a moment. A moment so brief that I questioned if it even happened at all. It was as if he could sense my appetite. I felt a strange sensation, as though the blood pumping in my veins was starting to boil. My deep quivering breath blew through my mask's exhalation valve. Whoosh. Click. Whoosh. I needed to focus.
The stark halls of the shuttle were a maze of metal, but I kept a running pace next to the gurney. An outfit of stormtroopers followed from behind and the crewmen guiding the gurney led us into a small, private infirmary. We met a cold mist from the decontamination system and I removed my mask, placing it in the small sterilizing chamber by the sink. It felt good to breathe. A nurse and a medical droid appeared at my side.
"Who are you? Where's Dr. Gross?" the nurse questioned, glaring at me with mistrust. She appeared to be only a few years younger than I, but tired circles ran under her eyes.
"I'm Dr. Ashwrin," I answered. I pulled my corps identification chip from the medic cuff on my wrist and fed it into the droid. "Gross didn't make it."
"Oh."
"Don't look so worried. It's insulting," I said. "Tell me about the facilities."
"Sorry, Doctor," she trembled. "Our infirmary is accommodating, but we don't have the kind of resources you might find at the base or on the Finalizer…like rejuvenation tanks."
"So we do it the old fashioned way. If you were assigned to this patient, I assume you know your way around an operating table."
"Absolutely."
"Good. And relax. There's nothing quite like a crisis."
The gurney stabilized, sending retractable legs from beneath to anchor it to the floor. I braced myself, holding the railing against the wall as the craft took to the sky. The others weren't as shaken, used to traveling in the fleet. Space travel never suited me. Breaking through the atmosphere was turbulent, but the grounding technology of the shuttle kept us from whipping across the room. I could hear the hollers throughout the ship and then an overwhelming blanket of relief. We skirted death…but I couldn't think about that now. Feeling the craft steady, I began my ritual. I washed my hands in the basin. I put on fresh gloves. I retrieved my sterilized mask and fit it back on my face.
Standing over my patient, my eyes scanned his injuries. The most noticeable was the superficial laceration across his face. No sign of infection. The bacta patches applied in the field already started the healing process. The field medic had cut into his dense, black robe, exposing three cauterized wounds. I never saw lightsaber lesions before, but I heard that the heat of the plasma blade is so hot that it seals blood vessels on impact.
"Take his vitals," I commanded the medical droid. With two long tones, a green beam swept over Ren's body, projecting numbers in the air. An audible beep tracked his increasing heart rate.
"Doctor," the nurse inquired, reading the flashing report. "He's lost a lot of blood. Pulse pressure has decreased. Respiratory rate accelerating…"
"He's going into shock. He needs oxygen and intravenous fluid," I barked, guiding a needle into a peripheral vein on my patient's hand. The droid complied, dropping an oxygen mask from the apparatus hovering above. The nurse fit it around Ren's nose and mouth and then handed me the IV line.
"There's blaster trauma here on his side," I said, snipping away the fabric of his black tunic. The med-kit spray bandage stuck in the fibers of his clothes, missing the injury. "We have to get him out of this armor."
The droid activated its laser diode and sent a thin red beam down the center of Ren's chest.
"Careful. Careful."
The droid retracted the laser and the nurse cracked open the armor along the score. I peeled the blood-soaked chest plate from his body. The bruising on his bare trunk surrounded the wound, wet, warm and grotesque. The sight of it made me taste metallic on my tongue.
"It appears through and through. I don't suspect it hit any organs. Perform a body scan to assess the damage." I said pointing at the flesh wound. "These surrounding contusions concern me. Nurse, prep flex clamps and hand me…."
The infirmary door slid open and General Hux marched over the threshold. He stood flanked by the stormtrooper guards stationed outside. "Who are you?"
"You can't be in here, Sir," the nurse fretted.
"I wasn't talking to you," he roared at the nurse, putting me in his sights. "I specifically requested Dr. Gross to oversee procedure and instead I come to learn that Corpsman 7-0-2-6-4-4 is the lead physician?"
"Yes, sir," I replied.
"I don't know who you are, but the recovery of that man is dire!"
"Which is precisely why you must leave, Sir."
"Doctor.." the nurse interjected.
I shifted my attention to the nurse, hoping that if I ignored the general, he would take the hint. "How's that hope'n'scope?"
"The scan has revealed internal hemorrhaging in the abdominal cavity."
"How did this woman get in charge?" Hux sneered, waiting for someone to validate his outrage. "Where is Dr. Gross?"
"Dr. Gross is dead," I answered, examining the scan's results. "But if you want another corpse on your hands, by all means, continue to question my credentials."
Hux stomped his foot, turning to the guards over his shoulder. "We must have another physician on-board! What about Crell? Or Raif?"
"Doctor, we need to proceed…" the nurse prodded.
I raised my eyes and met Hux's heated glare. Enough was enough. I stepped back from Kylo Ren's body, wiping my blood-smeared hands on a towel. Balling it up in my palms, I threw the dirty towel atop my instrument tray. "That's up to the General."
"What…what are you doing?" Hux snarled, taken aback.
"Sir, did you expect to interrogate me in the middle of the procedure?"
"You insubordinate worm! You can not fathom the consequences that will come down on you if he dies!"
"Then either take me to the brig now or let me save his life."
Baring his teeth, his upper lip curled. "This stunt will not go unpunished," he threatened, backing out of the room.
"No more interruptions," I groaned, resuming my task. I could sense the General's anger shuttering through his body. He knew I had the upper hand and he hated me for flaunting it. Men like that operate under the illusion of control and become petulant children when faced with the reality that power is fleeting. I turned to the nurse, "Hand me the heat probe and then ready the suture material."
"You're doing great," I said to comfort my patient as I worked. His lazy eyes fluttered. I wondered if he was cognizant enough to comprehend what just happened. I wondered if I had lost my advantage. "Most resilient patient I've ever had. I'm going to stitch you up, like new. Better than new."
"Fluid replacement is stabilizing," the nurse reported. "Vitals returning to normal."
"Exactly what I want to hear," I grinned. I pat down the stitches with a clean piece of gauze and applied a fresh bacta patch. "We'll keep monitoring his recovery, but we're out of the woods. Nurse, dress the wounds."
"Yes, Doctor."
I threw my soiled gloves in the bin and put my mask back in the sterilizing chamber. I washed my hands and arms up to my elbows, taking a long, shuttering breath. Without the chaos I was alone in my head. The tingle of anxiety ran through my veins and wrapped around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. My hands began to shake. I shifted my sight to my periphery. My patient was alive.
"I'm going to write my report," I told the nurse.
"Yes, Doctor."
The guards stationed at the door turned as I passed through. "No visitors tonight," I instructed. They nodded, holding their blasters to their chests.
I tried my best to keep my gait calm. I turned a corner into an empty corridor and pressed my back against the wall. I closed my eyes, feeling my pulse speed up, hearing it thump in my ears. I couldn't process my new-found emotion. Was this fear? Pure, unadulterated fear?
We all knew the stories. We lived in the shadows of folklore and catered to the nightmares. For what? For the sake of war? Conquest? Honor? Duty? Loyalty? Money? Prestige? None of it mattered. It was all make-believe. All constructs set into place to make us feel like life has a greater purpose. What few realize it that the purpose of life is to live. The rest of it is just stuffing— shredded paper and cotton batting. We walk around with our heads held high, feeling superior for how much fill we've accumulated. I wanted none of it, and yet, I wanted all of it. I guess that's how I ended up masquerading in the First Order military. I hated the system, but I still volunteered to be a cog in the machine.
I could hear my brother's voice in my head, "Do you even have a soul?"
I shut out the world to preserve myself and I was content being numb. Things felt different now. I thought I could handle it. I thought I was strong enough. I took pride in how calloused I had become, but in his presence I felt my facade begin to crumble. Kylo Ren looked in my eyes for one searing moment and the walls I built up around me met the same fate as Starkiller Base.