Signs of Life
By JalendaviLady
Chapter 17
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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
If you recognize any characters, locations, or things in the following story, George Lucas owns them.
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It was about a week before the SkyLordish clan Clovindi was supposed to arrive at the Rebel Alliance's current position and Kalani Renalat was bored.
Sure, the mottled vision of hyperspace was interesting, but only for a little while.
Sure, the sheep in the pens beside hydroponics were friendly and her aunts always seemed to have a new variety of something growing, but she'd already been there twice since breakfast.
Hyperspace is boring. She climbed down a ladder, heading towards the back viewport.
The other children her age were all training, preparing for the roles they would fill as adults.
She sat down, staring outside. But no one wants to train me. I'm too weird. Grandpa's even checked among the other clans. And no one will teach even the most basic repairs to someone capable of telekinetic twitches. She wrapped her arms around her knees.
It's got to be worse for that brainwashed kid. Didn't Grandpa say his room doesn't even have windows? But at least there's hope the Alliance can help him.
She quietly cried herself into an uneasy sleep. A sudden sense of a comforting something came over her as she slipped into the dreams of youth.
...
Anakin yawned and stretched. There had been some sort of dream...
His eyes widened in shock. Someone was shedding bonds. And I didn't resist because I didn't realize...
Shedding bonds was the most extreme of all unconscious reactions a young Force-user could display, taking the link intended by nature and the Force for one use, usually a parent-child or training bond, and throwing the receiving end of it into the general population of anyone willing to accept the bond. Breaking a shed bond was nearly impossible to do.
Who? He gently prodded the thin but strong Force-link, trying to find whoever shed the bond.
She was young, asleep, and calm for the moment, although Anakin could feel the conflicts and pain in her. It seemed there a desperation around her...
Just as there always was during the Padawan trials. It's a training desperation.
What have I gotten myself into?
He stretched for a moment. No way I'm going to be able to get any more sleep tonight.
I wonder how Biggs is doing...
...
Biggs Darklighter stared up at the ceiling of the Executor's main medcenter. It was a rather normal looking ceiling, smooth and evenly colored. Compared to many Biggs had seen, it was dull.
And over the last 3 years, Biggs had seen a lot of ceilings.
The Head Medic walked into the room. "We've finished the analysis, Mr. Darklighter."
Here it comes. "And?"
"Chances of total recovery are from 5 to 50 percent, depending on how well your nervous system responds to receiving signals again."
Not good, but better than I had hoped or dreamed... I was expecting him to tell me there was no hope at all...
"However, there is a near 100 percent chance that you will regain some physical ability. We were wondering, how much time have you been spending around the Skywalker clan since the accident?"
Why would they want to know that? "Luke and I have been friends since we were kids. He usually tries to spend at least a few hours with me between missions, but I haven't seen him much since right after the evacuation from Hoth. Anakin's been spending a lot of time with me recently... we're both stuck without very many people to talk to since the defection rate to the Alliance started to go up. Why?"
"Unofficial research. For years, we've noticed that every time a certain now-ex Sith Lord ended up in here for a few days, patients whose conditions had been getting worse starting getting better instead. Seems he's got a passive Force-gift for healing people around him. Being around him and Luke may have helped your situation from getting as bad as it could have been, because, quite frankly, the condition of the break site looks better than most fresh neck breaks I've seen. I'd give you excellent chances of feeding yourself again and better than even odds of walking without assistance after therapy."
"When are you planning on doing the procedure?"
"As soon as possible, if you want. Given that there's already been one suspected attempt on your life, completing the operation before anyone outside this medcenter knows you could benefit from it seems to be the smartest thing to do, particularly given the delicate nature of the operation."
"How long from now is as soon as possible?"
The medic told him.
"Mind leaving a datapad in here set to audiorecord while you're getting things ready? Something for you medics to send to my friends on Home One once the operation is over and it's safe to let people know..."
"Certainly."
Within minutes, Biggs was babbling away into the datapad. About an hour later, the medic returned with a few of his colleagues and stood in the doorway. Biggs wrapped up his remarks.
The medics entered, turning off the datapad and assuring him that they would get it to his friends once the operation was done and he was recovering. They carefully explained to him that he was going to be heavily sedated for a day or two after the procedure and that when he woke up he shouldn't be afraid if he didn't feel anything because they were going to chemically block him from making any sense of such sensation for a while afterwards "or you'll have the equivalent of the worst case of phantom limb known to humankind. We're going to ease you into sensing things below your neck again, so your brain doesn't get overwhelmed and start ignoring the signals it does receive."
He told them he understood and they started sedating him.
His last thoughts before he slipped into unconsciousness were that the ceiling was in fact the drabbest one he had ever seen, including the ice one on Hoth. Now that was an interesting ceiling...