Entry One – Days after Geonosis, One
I can't sleep. Twenty straight hours working, desperately trying to stabilize the wounded, to halt the terrible progressive injuries, and every part of me is exhausted, but sleep won't come. I can't meditate either. When I close my eyes all I see is blaster burns and shrapnel punctures; once hale bodies coated in crimson and indigo, twitching feverishly until suddenly still.

I've turned to writing instead. At least this way I can sit down and ease the strain on my feet a little. Perhaps if I vomit enough thoughts onto the page I will find sufficient emptiness to allow sleep. Force send it so.

War. Such a little word, but what power it holds. The power to change all things, to completely redefine the state of the universe. Yesterday matters were strained, in emergency conditions even, but I still lived in a galaxy at peace. Today that is all gone and everything is broken. The galaxy tears at itself and the Jedi, comrades and friends all, are the first to bleed. I can barely absorb how this has happened. I cannot absorb why.

Mass casualty shifts are not new to me. I have faced the overwhelming rush of the wounded and dying before, more than once. Tramline accidents, fuel-line failures, building collapses, these things happen at intervals, but though the scope is similar, I find myself upon an entirely different scale. Never have I seen a great mass of wounds of this kind, all deliberately inflicted, the offspring of killing intent. Nor have I, or any other living being, ever encountered a mass of victims comprised of Jedi before.

Their pain howls in the Force, a raging wound echoing endlessly entwined with my core. It pulsates behind the eyes with every blink. Even here and now, on the opposite side of the temple and with my shift finished, I can still feel it. That wail hurts me and destabilizes my center, but for all the pain it brings I'd rather hear it forever if it would hold back the silence. Pain can be endured, suppressed, but the silence sears supreme. It heralds gaps, holes in the great tapestry of the Order once filled with warm and welcoming glows. So, so many empty spaces. Over one hundred perished on the ochre sands of Geonosis, and despite our efforts to save them, nearly half again as many have expired since. The greatest healing sciences in the Republic, aided by the Force, are not equal to the killing arts of the same. I keep the math from my mind. This is the greatest disaster to befall the order in a thousand years, perhaps far longer.

Worse, I can imagine only worse to come. After all, this battle has already been declared a great victory. So the official news reports, and the Council has confirmed. If this is victory, what then does defeat bring?

While I fought, far too feebly, to save those few not beyond our power to assist, messages archived on my terminal. I have paused to read them now, in part. War, it seems, changes everything. That little word has turned Jedi Knights into Generals; placed them at the head of vast armies of clone soldiers that yesterday no one knew existed. Even the Padawans have been drafted as commanders.

That duty does not await me. Is it shameful to be relieved to learn this? Or perhaps some sort of pre-emptive survivors guilt? I cannot say. All that I know is that the new legislation, formulated by the Chancellor's office, makes no direct provision for the Service Corps. Whether oversight or deliberate, I remain grateful for this. Perhaps cowardice plays some role in demurring battlefield service, but I possess not the slightest understanding of how to lead soldiers, and it has been years since I ignited my lightsaber outside of training exercises.

I am sure that someone will find a role for us in this great conflict soon, whether the directions come from the Chancellor or the Council. I confess I could not say what role the AgriCorps might play, but for myself and my fellows in the MediCorps the path seems clear enough. There will be more battles to come, and injuries to heal. Doubtless field hospitals, or something like them, will be established, and they will send us there. I have no desire to repeat the trials of today, but I will face them as they come. That is my role. I can trust the Council to steer a proper course for the rest. Worry fills me at the cost, however. Ours are not idle hands in peacetime. Sent to the battlefield we must leave all other work behind. Lives will be lost and suffering will spread in our absence, it is inevitable.

How did this happen? Greed motivates corporations, and they measure lives in numbers, not the Force. That their unbounded avarice could lead them to take up arms I can at least derive. They even fight with machines; their casualties are measured in credits rather than blood. But they do not fight alone. Many worlds have joined this Separatist coalition, and they are prepared to give their lives for the cause. Already many Geonosians have perished facing the clones, and surely they will only be the first to face the counterblows of the Republic now that an army has been passed to it. I am familiar with the demographic data, many of these worlds are impoverished or isolated and the Senate has long failed to represent them. Their grievances are real, but how will war help them? Even if they somehow obtain victory they would take possession of a galaxy impoverished and ruined. The Republic may have failed them, but in this they fail themselves.

The worst news of all is that Count Dooku has betrayed us. He has lost himself to the dark side, there can be no other explanation. This baffles me, I can find not even the slightest edge to tug upon in search of a reason. He was always so collected, so at ease, even when engaged in strenuous argument. His advocacy for a new galactic politics seemed genuine, born of a true vision for change. I always respected him, even as I completely disagreed with his advocacy.

But the evidence is incontrovertible. Anakin Skywalker endured surgery only one table over from my station. He will live, thank the Force, and lightsabers wounds usually adapt well to prosthetics so in time he should regain full function, but to think that it was Dooku who inflicted such a grievous injury. Nothing makes sense.

Yesterday everything was simple. Today I see only chaos. Perhaps it was always present and has only now extended its reach.

What solace I can find comes from the continuance of tasks. War requires healers. They will send me somewhere, surely, but my duty will remain unchanged. The Force placed me upon that path, and however many bends I must endure, I will ever walk it.

I think maybe I can find sleep now, for a little while.

Notes
This entry makes the assumption that Jedi wounded on Geonosis were evacuated to Coruscant. As no medical centers existed in the field at this point, I feel this is a reasonable assumption.

Rig Nema's lightsaber is referenced here. She is established as having one, and it is shown on her belt in 'Voices.' Sources conflict regarding lightsaber possession by members of the Service Corps, but at least in Nema's case she was allowed to carry one.