One time. One blasted time in the field. One time is all it took for me to get less than four hours of sleep a night. The clock reads 6:30 am. I finish folding the sleeves of my uniform, shoving the cuffs on, and step outside. My shift starts in an hour, but I like to check on the patients anyways. The medical droids aren't always reliable in their night shifts. I can't sleep anyways.
I stroll though the cots quietly, with my hands clasped behind my back. All of them are fast asleep, even the one that woke up yesterday. The one I rolled over in my dream. At least I know his night wasn't like mine- I had slipped some sleeping serum in the tea I gave him. I knew he'd need it as badly as I did; I'm not authorized to take any medicines. Nurses never get sick.
Across the room is a small rectangular case, with some buttons on its side. I press one, and a translucent screen appears comes on, asking for my authorization code. I enter mine on the turquoise touchpad keys, and I'm in the system. A list of my quadrant's patient information and medication appears. I scroll through it, checking for any treatment that has to be administered at this time. No one. I process orders for new medications and supplies. A gentle tone sounds for every order I confirm. EK's job is done.
I glance over my shoulder, then peer across the room. Tapping a blue translucent button, a new screen appears. It's the profile information of the new patient, the one who's tea I drugged. A photo comes appears with several lines of basic content. Name: C-Y-8349.
Age: 21.
Training: Class A. Rookie, I think. That explains it.
Missions: 3.
What? How can there be trauma at the third mission? I scroll aggressively. He's completed a Resistance sweep on Quell. Outpost security on Geonosis. And... An offense squadron on Saleucami.
I purse my lips. That was his first actual battle, which must have gone particularly bad if it shook him up so much.
I think of his wound on his abdomen. The injury was minor; enough for two droids to handle. He should be able to walk efficiently sometime today, with a brace. What happened that went so wrong? I tap on the screen to show me more details, but it's past my authority level. The words "Access prohibited" flash on the screen. I guess that's enough probing for now. I close the window and screen, revealing the face of the head nurse of this quadrant in front of me, GN-5251.
"Good morning, Q-L," she says.
"Good morning, madam," I reply.
She smiles widely, revealing the lines around her eyes and mouth. She has been a head nurse for 5 years now. That would make her almost forty years old. Like EK, the years don't show at all. Leaning closer, she says excitedly, "Isn't your promotion coming up?"
"I believe so, madam," I answer. "In a few days' time."
"Do you know if you're being transferred?"
"Not yet, madam."
"Class C," she sighs, with an air of nostalgia. "I remember those days. Who knows, you might be assigned a small trainee group of your own, like I was."
I smile in acknowledgment, but the thought of being a trainer makes me shudder. I'm already uneasy with my own job performance as it is.
Some of the patients begin to stir and rub their eyes. GN leaves to tend to them. I check the time: 7:00 am. I took that long?
I scurry off into the back rooms. It's time to prepare breakfast.

Most of the patients can feed themselves; those who can't are assigned a droid to assist. I bring a tray to CY's cot and snap it in place at a safe distance from his wound.
"Feeling better?" I ask.
"Yes. Thank you," he replies, rubbing his eyes. The serum worked; good for him. I pull a small clear vial from my pocket and set it on his tray. He blinks harshly, and repeatedly, like it's blurry. Maybe the serum worked too well. I continue, "As soon as you've finished eating, wait five minutes and take this, please."
"Ok," he says, nodding.
As I turn to walk away, he speaks again. "Excuse me, miss?"
"Yes?"
"Where is my uniform?" He asks. I hesitate, trying not to stammer, because I know the answer. His eyes are dark, wide, and innocent. He's twenty-one years old, but looks seventeen.
"I believe it was disposed of. However, you will be issued a new one upon recovery," I say as optimistically as I can. He remains frozen for a moment, almost in disbelief. "Thank you," he mutters, looking away. I hesitate again, then resume walking.
Whether he believes in the First Order or not, a uniform is still important. These are soldiers, nonetheless, and they treasure their armor just the same. I bite my bottom lip hard, remembering that his was disposed of because it was irreparably drenched in-
"QL. I need your help," a voice says, interrupting my thoughts. It's TM, another Class B. She paces quickly to me, and breathes apprehensively. "It's Private Kenfrill. He broke into the cabinet again."
I sigh. I've just about had enough of this man. "This is the third time. We'll have to report him now."
"It's not just that," TM continues, rushed. Her eyes are panicked as she says, "He's not waking up."
My heart drops. I knew it. Without another word, we sprint to the medicine stock room. After diving through a few hallways, we lunge into the room. There lies Kenfrill - he's face up, splayed out, and unconscious. I kneel on the ground and check his pulse.
"I've got a heartbeat, but it's fading," I announce. "Get a stretcher, please."
TM goes at once. I wave my hand over his mouth, then press my ears to his chest. He's barely breathing. There's broken glass on the floor; I trace it to the numerous vials he's gone through. They're all labeled "Jaxelaphine" - the strongest painkillers in stock. My heart dives between my lungs. He may not wake up this time.
I pat his face. "Private. Private Kenfrill," I call loudly. No response. I'm going to regret this. I give him a hard smack on the face. Or not. No reaction. This one I already regret, I think as I suck in a gust of air and give him mouth-to-mouth. I set my hands and pump his chest rhythmically. I repeat this twice. Where is TM? What is taking her so-
Kenfrill gasps, and his eyes bulge open. He begins to cough raucously. I sigh in relief, but this isn't over. His breathing is labored, strained, and wheezing. "What is this?" He asks in a slurred voice. I shush him quietly.
"It's all right," I reply vaguely, knowing he can't mentally process anything else right now. TM at last arrives with a stretcher and sets it on the floor. She sighs with relief. "He's awake."
"Quick. You get the legs," I say, as I slip my arms under his torso and neck. We carefully lift him and ease him onto the stretcher, as soon as we raise it, he's lost consciousness again. "Hurry," I say anxiously. We might lose him.
We race back into the main ward, where two more nurses help us transfer him onto a standard cot. We plug him up to a fluids machine. His breathing is staggered but consistent. The machine hums as it awakens. It will pump fluids in his system, but more treatment is needed. I turn and program a nearby nurse droid to "overdose" mode. It beeps and clambers over to the private's cot, with its team following suit. They get to work. It's over.
The rest of us nurses stand back.
"They'll handle the rest," I say to TM, who is also still panting. "Thank you," TM says. "And I'm sorry I took so long to get the cot. A droid reprogrammed the lock."
"The handprint lock?" I say disbelievingly.
"Yes. I had to find it and make it override the lock."
"I see." That's strange.
She pauses, and looks back at Kenfrill, being treated by the droids. "Do you think he'll be alright?"
"Hopefully so... Of course, he'll be permanently discharged from his battalion, sent to rehab, and most likely work in station maintenance the rest of his terms. But he'll be fine."
TM gives me a confused look. I forgot that sarcasm is frowned upon here. "He'll be fine. Excuse me," I say, and walk off before I make things more awkward.