2
I stared up at the bunk above me. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. They assigned me to sleep in the overflow berthing area for a restful night stuffed on a shelf. It was a tight room lined with several three-level bunk beds, built for the crew when the shuttle traveled out of range to dock on a destroyer. The bunks had no ladder, no curtains, and just a small personal locker at the foot of each bed. I lost everything on the base, leaving only the clothes on my back and the equipment I carried with me. I didn't need much, but a toothbrush and a change of clothes would have been nice. The second lieutenant informed me that the shuttle would dock on Maninak if I wanted to go to the outpost on a pass. How generous. Maninak was dump and the outpost was like the nest of maggots on a flaming trash heap. There was nothing there but abandoned quarries and underground mining fires. I swore never to step foot there again.
I always felt the worst of it at night. During the day, I could push it back and soldier on, but when I tried to sleep, it all came flooding back. Every misstep, mistake, and blunder. This night was particularly bad. I let pride get the best of me. I was supposed to fly under Hux's radar. I was supposed to do my job and receive accolade for stepping in when all was lost. I didn't expect confrontation…not in my operating room. In the First Order, you work within the system— never against it. My entire scheme was foolish. It took all of my strength not to knock my head against the wall or tear my hair out from my scalp. I promised I wouldn't hurt myself that way anymore. I learned to control those impulses. I learned to make better decisions. Or I so I thought. I was just tired of the monotony. Tired of treating nameless stormtroopers. I wanted the whole galaxy or nothing.
A faint blue light on my medic cuff flashed in the dark. Blue meant patient activity was normal. Ren's treatment was confidential and so his status was on a need-to-know basis. Even the physicians' log was only accessible with a special passcode. I was the lifeline and it was the only reason I still had my freedom - if you could call this freedom.
I slipped my respirator mask over my nose and mouth and shimmied out from the cubby, cringing at the squeak of the mattress springs. I should have stayed in bed, but the snores of strangers weren't loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I tip-toed through the dark, careful not to make a sound. The corridor was quiet. Only a skeleton crew manned the early hour shift and with my medic cuff on alert, I was sure they wouldn't hassle me.
With the infirmary occupied, the crew converted the shuttle's cargo hold into a makeshift sick bay for the on board officers. The medical droid manned a small supply station outside, dialed into patient monitors to track unit activity. At this hour, the answer to almost every ailment was to administer a sleep-aid. A droid could handle that well enough. It gave medical staff a chance to sleep and catch up on paperwork. Exactly the purpose of a droid— to supplement the job, not take it away. The First Order had a refreshing policy of employing human doctors over droids, citing research that human instinct, empathy, and bedside manner led to quicker patient recovery. It was one of the reasons I found the offer to join the Order so attractive. In the Outer Rim, they rather listen to a regurgitated diagnosis from a tin can than an individual assessment from a trained surgeon.
I approached the computer terminal. Physicians documented all patient interactions, procedures, and opinions into the system. It was common for doctors to make sudden revelations about cases in the middle of the night. Nothing about my actions were suspicious. No one would even question it.
The droid shifted to acknowledge my presence.
"I had a thought about the medical history of my patient. It could affect treatment protocol," I lied.
The droid responded with a series of tones, offering assistance.
"No. It shouldn't take long," I answered, shooing the droid away. "It was a traumatic day. Why don't you make the rounds? See if anyone needs something to help them sleep."
The droid complied, but not before asking if I wanted a sleep-aid for myself. The offer was tempting.
"No, I'm quite all right. I just need to figure this out and then I'm back to bed."
I watched the droid enter the hold, waiting for the door to shut behind it. I looked over my shoulders. Paranoia stalked me. It was an eerie quiet that made the memories of day's event even louder in my mind. I wanted to turn it off. I needed to have my wits about me.
It was easy to bypass the system security through the medical software once I entered the right sequence. Just a little maneuvering and the personnel files were at my disposal. I'm never beyond stacking the deck in my favor. First, I adjusted my rank officially in case Hux wanted to throw my credentials in my face. Best case scenario, I get demoted and I'm back to where I started. Next, security footage of the infirmary…UNAVAILABLE. The files were blank. They disabled the cameras. They did not want records of a bed-ridden Kylo Ren. Reputation is everything. Dying is for the weak— never the powerful. I suppose it is easier to rally behind an invincible monster than a mortal man. Lucky me. No hard evidence of my misconduct.
Breaking into the encrypted communication logs was a little tricky, but I welcomed the challenge. I needed the bigger picture. The log indicated that the Finalizer, as well as the other destroyers and cruisers, were regrouping on Kysa. It struck me odd that we were going so far west to dock on Maninak and then looping the long way around back to the rest of the fleet. The trajectory didn't make sense. The timing made even less sense. None of it sat well with me.
I dug a little deeper. Override. There was something I needed to do. Override. I tried to stop, but it was like an itch I needed to scratch. Override. Before I could talk myself out of it, I gained access to the subspace transceiver. The medical terminal computer had no audio receiver, but I wasn't interested in the radio…just the frequency. My hands hovered above the controls and I swallowed a lump in the back of my throat.
Outgoing message. GOOD MORNING SENTINEL. End Message.
I felt sick to my stomach. The kind of sick you feel when you betray yourself. I didn't know why I did it. It was the will of my former self. I cleaned up any evidence of my breach and entered into the physicians' log. I read over my report. I am a damn good surgeon, but even I wasn't sure how Ren survived. That blaster tore through him. The impact was devastating. Not a normal blaster— maybe a high-power snub-scout rifle or a bowcaster? But if that were the case, he should have been dead long before he hit my table. Was it luck or pure will? Maybe the Force does exist. I laughed to myself at the absurdity.
A startling buzz on my wrist drew me out of my head. My medic cuff was flashing yellow, the warning light blinking faster and faster. I grabbed an emergency kit from the station and rushed through the halls up to the infirmary. The guards outside the door leaned against the wall, bored and tired. As I approached, they straightened themselves up into proper form.
At ease," I panted, pointing to the flashing light on my wrist.
They stepped aside and I scanned my cuff on the security lock and the door slid open. Composing myself, I walked through and felt the door close behind me. The room was dark except for a dim light on the wall. The equipment blinked and beeped with urgency. I watched the silhouette of my patient move. Kylo Ren was attempting to get out of the hospital bed.
"Woah, now," I gasped, rushing to the bedside. I put my hands on his shoulder to guide him back down. He shook his head, trying to resist, but his body was weak. "You need to rest."
"I don't want it," he slurred, ripping at the intravenous tube. The infusion pump squealed.
"No, no, no," I sang in a gentle voice. I secured the tube back in place and quieted the machine. "It helps with the pain."
He pulled the oxygen tubes from his nose. His right hand wandered over to the left, his clumsy fingers clawing for the IV site. "I need to feel it…"
He was delirious. I moved his arms back to his sides. "Sir, the pain almost killed you. Your body needs to heal."
Ren's head turned on the pillow towards me. His eyes fluttered and he strained to lift his heavy eyelids. With a grimace, he licked his dry lips and forced a coherent string of words from his mouth. "You will stop the pain medication."
I froze. My heart began to race and I felt a tingling heat run through my veins.
"You will stop the pain medication," he repeated.
I reset the infusion pump and disconnected the IV line from catheter hub on his hand. He pursed his lips into a satisfied grin. Reaching into my emergency kit, I pulled out a syringe and a vile. I had to move quickly. Like a soldier assembling a weapon, I prepped the needle and drew the liquid from the vile into the syringe. His expression drooped.
"What are you doing?" he mumbled.
"Just a sedative to help you sleep," I replied, plunging the needle into IV line port. "You'll feel better in the morning."
His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down into a lazy scowl. The tranquilizer worked fast. It paralyzed his body, but his mind fought it for as long as possible, keeping his angry eyes fixed on me. I tried not to meet his violent glare. I could feel my body trembling. It was as though he had his hands wrapped around my throat. The pressure grew. I wanted to throw my hands up to pry away the invisible fingers, but I refused to acknowledge his threat. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I kept my attention on the infusion pump, pressing its buttons to keep my jittery hands from being idle. The most I could do was to pretend as though he couldn't shake me. I had to hold myself together even though everything inside of me wanted to fall apart. I couldn't give in.
Then the weight lifted.
His eyes rolled back and he fell into a deep sleep.
Assured that he was out cold, I pulled my respirator back, allowing myself to breathe. I tried to breathe. I couldn't breathe. I gasped for air, feeling my heart pound faster and faster. I flung myself towards the infirmary oxygen tank, my hands clamoring for the valve. I shoved the oxygen mask to my face. Closing my eyes, I struggled to inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. My chest swelled. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. I forced the sterile air into my lungs, holding at each count. The panic eased its grip and I could breathe again. I fell to my knees. Laughing.
I sat on the floor for a while, choking on my laughter and wiping the tears from my eyes. I hadn't laughed like that since I was a child. Not since the time I was climbing in the quarry and slipped. I remember throwing my arms out, feeling the sharp snap in my wrist and the burning scrapes on my knees. My brother slung me over his back and carried me home. I laughed the whole way. I remembered the taste of blood in my mouth from the nick in my brow that wouldn't stop oozing down my face. I think I laughed because it kept me from crying.
Scrambling to my feet, I stood at Kylo Ren's bedside and looked down at him. I thought about slipping the pillow out from under his slumbering head, pressing it to his face, and snuffing his life out. It would be so easy. The joke was on me. I needed him. I replaced the IV line back into the port, and set the timer on the pump. I'd have hell to pay, but that would wait until morning. The exhaustion of the day finally hit me and I couldn't bother dragging myself back to the bunks. I slumped into the bedside chair and propped my feet up on a short exam stool. If I wasn't detained for misconduct, I would surely be murdered in my sleep. I was just too tired to care.