Disclaimer: The medic is mine. All other characters, and the GFFA belong to GL.
A Change of Plans: Chapter 5
Han leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the young medic take Luke's vital signs.
"How long's his fever been like this?" the medic asked, his brows furrowed in concern.
"About nine hours," Han replied, uneasy with so much worry coming from a medic who was supposed to be used to this kind of thing.
The young man's reaction to his words didn't reassure him any. "Damn! Were you able to bring it down at all?"
Han shifted his gaze to the ailing rebel on the bunk. Deathly pale and unnaturally still, the kid looked like he was barely clinging to life. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest and the soft wheeze that accompanied the motion signaled that he was alive at all. His body showed no reaction to the scans and probes to which the medic was subjecting him, and Han found himself silently apologizing to the kid for not being able to do more to help.
"Chewie and me doused him in ice," he found himself saying. "That worked for a bit. But the fever was still pretty high."
The medic shook his head as he continued to assess his patient. "He's severely dehydrated, " he murmured. "Any delirium?"
Han nodded. "Yeah."
"Seizures?"
Han frowned. "Not that I'm aware of. A few coughing spells."
The medic grimaced. "I'm not surprised, considering the scan shows double pneumonia."
"Double pneumonia?"
"Both lungs are infected," the medic explained, looking up at Han, "instead of just one." He dug into his med-kit and pulled out a small, fluid-filled bag with a thin tube attached, and handed it to Han. "Here, hold this for a second. I want to start a fluid-drip on him before his kidneys shut down."
Han obediently did as asked, feeling oddly helpless and subservient on his own ship. He watched as the young medic attached the tube to an IV catheter in Luke's arm before resuming his analysis of Luke's symptoms. "Do you want me to just keep holding this?" Han asked, indicating the fluid bag.
The medic looked back at him with a dry smile. "Let me know if you get tired."
In other circumstances, Han would have told the young man exactly where he could stick the bag, but he merely held his tongue and nodded. Now was not the time for him to take offense. Not when another's life was hanging in the balance.
The medic continued to work quickly, finally taking a quick blood sample and running it through an analyzer. "Now let's see if we can't figure out what's causing the infection," he mumbled as he watched the machine synthesize the data into a probable diagnosis. He paused, shaking his head at the readout. "This can't be right."
"What?" Han asked quickly, surprised at his own level of alarm.
"Hang on," the medic muttered as he took another blood sample and ran it through the machine. "Let me try this again." He waited for the results to come up before he murmured, "Well, I'll be damned."
"What is it?" Han demanded.
The medic shook his head in disbelief. "This scan shows that your passenger here has contracted Corellian Influenza."
Through his exhaustion, the medic's words seemed to slowly penetrate his brain. "Wait," Han voiced, questioningly, "isn't that impossible? I thought Corellian Flu was practically extinct."
"It practically is," the medic agreed, taking another look at his patient. "Where's this kid from?"
Han forced himself not to scowl at the medic's use of the term "kid." It seemed rather derogatory considering the medic seemed barely older than Luke himself. "Tatooine," he replied as politely as he could. "On the outer rim."
"Much Imperial presence there?" the medic asked.
Wondering what he was getting at, Han shook his head and replied, "No. It's primarily a Hutt world, with only one spaceport and scattered moisture farms."
"Well, then it's obvious," the medic concluded as the pieces visibly fell into place.
Han suddenly came to the same conclusion. "He was never immunized?"
The medic arched an eyebrow. "This is the same kid that flew against the Death Star without any flight experience, right? My guess is he was never fully processed. And likely, they never tested him for the standard antibodies because they just assumed that everyone in the galaxy has had their shots. Of course, what most people forget is that there are societies of people who never even think about immunizations and plagues because they're so far out of touch they never come in contact with others enough to worry about it." He pointed to Luke, "Case in point."
Han had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. "I don't believe this! All this because the kid never got a couple of lousy shots?"
The medic turned back to his kit, talking as he rummaged around inside. "Well, now that we know what it is, at least we can give him some medications right away to stabilize him until we get to the planet. Corellian Flu can be fatal, but there are plenty of other diseases out there that he could have picked up that are much worse. The fact that he lasted this long without treatment speaks wonders for his constitution, but I wouldn't want to see how he would fare of he was subjected to a bout of Ithorian Fever or something along those lines."
"Of course not," was all Han could manage to say. At the moment he wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that the kid was finally getting the treatment he needed or totally angry at the kid for being stupid enough to get in this situation in the first place. Not to mention, Han had been worried sick over the whole thing for the past nine hours! That in itself crazy enough to warrant extreme anger. He didn't know what to think or what to feel, and the confusion was enough to make him explode. But all he could do was stand and hold the fluid bag as the medic administered two injections.
His confusion must have been evident on his face, but the medic misinterpreted it. "I'm just giving him a fast-acting fever-reducer and a decongestant. That ought to hold him until we reach the medcenter."
Han nodded mutely, watching as the two injections seemed to take immediate effect. Luke slowly began to shift where he lay, wrinkling his forehead as he struggled back to consciousness.
The medic didn't seem to take much notice as he spoke into a com-link. "Delta One, come back." Han strained his ears to hear the reply, but he couldn't catch it. "Yeah," the medic continued, "I'm on board the Falcon, and there's no threat of contagion. But we need a fully equipped team ready for us when we land. Do you copy?" Another pause as the medic listened to the reply. "Copy that. We're on our way down." He switched off his com-link and turned back to Han. "We're clear to land. Proceed to one-two-zero-point-four."
Han fixed him with a glare for a moment, wondering whether or not to put this medic in his place. Instead, Han replied, "Yes, sir." He then handed the medic the fluid back and walked briskly up to the cockpit.
At Chewie's questioning growl, Han scowled. "Just fly us to the medcenter and don't ask. I'll fill ya' in later."
At least this trip was finally over. Now to find out just how badly the alliance had suffered during his absence.
***********************************
The state of the Rebel base wasn't as bad as Han had initially thought. It was worse. Rescue crews and emergency technicians raced through the corridors, jostling Han as he tried to make his way toward the South Wing. Injured Rebels on gurneys and various medical droids lined the walls, and he found himself swallowing back a momentary surge of panic. Just how badly would the fragile rebellion suffer because of this? How many men had they lost? How many more wounded? And how many ships damaged? It was well that the idealistic young rebel who had first dragged him into this mess was unconscious in the medical center. The sight of this would devastate him.
He shuddered to think of what the Princess was experiencing at this moment.
Without realizing it, he had instinctively headed off to find her as soon as Luke had been admitted for treatment. Even as he moved through the crowded and chaotic hallways, he could not fathom why he was making the pilgrimage to the South Wing in the first place. He was not in any mood or shape to help out in any serious fashion. He'd just gone through the most grueling ten hours he'd ever experienced on board his own ship, feeling helpless and bewildered throughout the whole ordeal. He certainly had no desire to relive the experience on a grander scale with a wing full of injured and dying Rebels. Yet, even as the doubts and grumblings echoed in his mind, he found himself heading into the fray as though pulled by an invisible lifeline.
The question was, who was tugging on the other end?
Certainly not Her Worshipfulness! That stuck-up, arrogant, bossy, and hot tempered Princess was in no way the driving force here! He commanded his own destiny, and he was never going to give up the pilot's seat. Not again. He'd been down that road, and he knew what lay at the end of it. While it was true that he didn't want to see Her Highnessness hurt or suffering, he had to remind himself that he was not on his way to check up on her or help her in any way. That would be ridiculous!
But still, the question remained: Why was he fighting bustling crowds of frantic rebels to get to the end of this hallway?
"Why are you still here?" a familiar female voice could be heard up ahead. "I told you to get yourself over to the medcenter right away!" There was no mistaking the authoritative, regal tone of that voice. Nor the weariness and desperation that colored it now.
Fighting his way toward the voice, he tried vainly to spot the Princess in the harried crowd. With so many people in the way, she was impossible to see. Finally giving up on the chances of visually identifying her, he called, "Need any help there, Your Highness?"
A young crewman just ahead of him suddenly shifted to one side, and within moments the face of the Princess Leia Organa appeared just beneath his shoulder. "Captain Solo?"
Han smiled as politely as tired muscles would allow as she pressed forward. It was no wonder she couldn't be seen in the crowd. He only now realized just how petite she truly was. Somehow her presence always seemed larger than life. Or maybe it was just that she could be so oppressively annoying at times.
Now however, the desperation in her voice was apparent. Her carefully braided coronet of hair had begun to unravel, and her face had been marred by a few bruises and one nasty looking cut just beside her left eye. It had been closed with adhesive, but it looked painful all the same. Taking a quick assessment of the rest of her, he noticed that her left arm was in a sling, but she appeared to be okay for the most part.
"When did you get back?" Her question was abrupt, making it unreadable. Was she happy that he was back? Was she annoyed? Was she just trying to get any and all information as it came in?
Why did he care?
"Just a few minutes ago," he replied, his voice barely concealing his own annoyance at himself.
"Did the mission go all right?"
Han blinked a moment. The mission. Of course, that was why he'd been sent to fly Luke out to that forsaken planet in the first place. With all that had gone on in the past few hours, it had somehow managed to slip his mind. He struggled for a quick answer.
"We'll find out soon, Your Highness."
The young woman frowned, her forehead crinkling in concern. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I haven't had the chance to get the data to command yet, but . . ."
"Wait," she said, abruptly cutting him off. "Why do you have it? What happened to Luke?"
Han ran a hand through his hair feeling, vaguely uncomfortable at the sudden panic in her voice and not knowing why. "Well, uh . . .you see . . ."
"Your Highness," a young man interrupted.
Leia quickly turned to him. "Yes?"
Han was thankful for the interruption, but he pitied the poor rebel who was under the Princess's hard and questioning gaze at the moment.
"The medcenter said they're afraid to take any more of the lesser injuries because of a lack of space and the threat of infection. But the emergency department still has room for the severely wounded." The young man seemed out of breath, and Han wondered if he'd just run from the medcenter. "They suggest setting up a portable unit in East Corridor 1 to handle the rest."
Leia nodded. "Agreed. Have them send over the supplies and we'll start setting up right away."
The man nodded in turn. "Yes, Your Highness," he said as he started to turn away.
Leia's arm suddenly darted out and grabbed him before he could hurry back. "Wait. What infection?"
He shrugged. "Some rookie's sick, and they're afraid that there's been a failure on the part of the medical staff regarding immunizations."
"Is it serious?"
"No, ma'am. It's not like they're afraid of an epidemic or anything like that on the base. But the medics are hesitant to place injured men who are already at risk in a contaminated area. Corellian Influenza isn't something you want to mess around with."
"No, of course not," Leia absently replied. "I'll get to work on this right away," she added as a dismissal to the young man. She turned back to Han. "Wait right here for a moment while I take care of this."
Han watched as she quickly dashed out of sight to handle the setting up of the portable medstation, feeling somewhat guilty for holding back his own pertinent information during her conversation with the young messenger. She just seemed so frantic that he hardly wanted to add to her already overburdened plate. Within moments, she dashed back through the chaos to join him once more.
Pushing a tendril of hair off of her forehead, she looked up at the Corellian. Her fatigue was evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but she was fighting to remain ever the strong and fearless leader. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said politely. "You were saying?"
Han shook his head. Feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic toward her, he said, "I was going to say that I think you need to get off your feet for a moment. You look ready to collapse."
In response, she drew herself up as ramrod straight as she could, even as her tired muscles seemed to protest. "Captain, in case you haven't noticed, I am needed right here."
"What you need is to sit down before you fall down, Your Worshipfulness!" he snapped. "I've already dealt with one sick rebel today and that's enough!"
He immediately realized his mistake as her eyes widened at him. "You mean that Luke is . . .?"
Han didn't get a chance to answer. Without another word, the young Princess pushed him aside and rushed toward the medical center, leaving Han to stare at her wake, baffled and forgotten.
Tired and cranky, he slowly followed the path she had just taken, wondering why he suddenly felt so bitter. So much for being needed here, he thought to himself, looking darkly across the crowded corridor. It wasn't like he hadn't expected her to be worried about the kid. Being shoved aside was another matter. Of course, that shouldn't really bother him either. Should it? The confused faces around him seemed to mirror the confusion that coursed within him.
This was turning into a very, very long day.
A Change of Plans: Chapter 5
Han leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the young medic take Luke's vital signs.
"How long's his fever been like this?" the medic asked, his brows furrowed in concern.
"About nine hours," Han replied, uneasy with so much worry coming from a medic who was supposed to be used to this kind of thing.
The young man's reaction to his words didn't reassure him any. "Damn! Were you able to bring it down at all?"
Han shifted his gaze to the ailing rebel on the bunk. Deathly pale and unnaturally still, the kid looked like he was barely clinging to life. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest and the soft wheeze that accompanied the motion signaled that he was alive at all. His body showed no reaction to the scans and probes to which the medic was subjecting him, and Han found himself silently apologizing to the kid for not being able to do more to help.
"Chewie and me doused him in ice," he found himself saying. "That worked for a bit. But the fever was still pretty high."
The medic shook his head as he continued to assess his patient. "He's severely dehydrated, " he murmured. "Any delirium?"
Han nodded. "Yeah."
"Seizures?"
Han frowned. "Not that I'm aware of. A few coughing spells."
The medic grimaced. "I'm not surprised, considering the scan shows double pneumonia."
"Double pneumonia?"
"Both lungs are infected," the medic explained, looking up at Han, "instead of just one." He dug into his med-kit and pulled out a small, fluid-filled bag with a thin tube attached, and handed it to Han. "Here, hold this for a second. I want to start a fluid-drip on him before his kidneys shut down."
Han obediently did as asked, feeling oddly helpless and subservient on his own ship. He watched as the young medic attached the tube to an IV catheter in Luke's arm before resuming his analysis of Luke's symptoms. "Do you want me to just keep holding this?" Han asked, indicating the fluid bag.
The medic looked back at him with a dry smile. "Let me know if you get tired."
In other circumstances, Han would have told the young man exactly where he could stick the bag, but he merely held his tongue and nodded. Now was not the time for him to take offense. Not when another's life was hanging in the balance.
The medic continued to work quickly, finally taking a quick blood sample and running it through an analyzer. "Now let's see if we can't figure out what's causing the infection," he mumbled as he watched the machine synthesize the data into a probable diagnosis. He paused, shaking his head at the readout. "This can't be right."
"What?" Han asked quickly, surprised at his own level of alarm.
"Hang on," the medic muttered as he took another blood sample and ran it through the machine. "Let me try this again." He waited for the results to come up before he murmured, "Well, I'll be damned."
"What is it?" Han demanded.
The medic shook his head in disbelief. "This scan shows that your passenger here has contracted Corellian Influenza."
Through his exhaustion, the medic's words seemed to slowly penetrate his brain. "Wait," Han voiced, questioningly, "isn't that impossible? I thought Corellian Flu was practically extinct."
"It practically is," the medic agreed, taking another look at his patient. "Where's this kid from?"
Han forced himself not to scowl at the medic's use of the term "kid." It seemed rather derogatory considering the medic seemed barely older than Luke himself. "Tatooine," he replied as politely as he could. "On the outer rim."
"Much Imperial presence there?" the medic asked.
Wondering what he was getting at, Han shook his head and replied, "No. It's primarily a Hutt world, with only one spaceport and scattered moisture farms."
"Well, then it's obvious," the medic concluded as the pieces visibly fell into place.
Han suddenly came to the same conclusion. "He was never immunized?"
The medic arched an eyebrow. "This is the same kid that flew against the Death Star without any flight experience, right? My guess is he was never fully processed. And likely, they never tested him for the standard antibodies because they just assumed that everyone in the galaxy has had their shots. Of course, what most people forget is that there are societies of people who never even think about immunizations and plagues because they're so far out of touch they never come in contact with others enough to worry about it." He pointed to Luke, "Case in point."
Han had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. "I don't believe this! All this because the kid never got a couple of lousy shots?"
The medic turned back to his kit, talking as he rummaged around inside. "Well, now that we know what it is, at least we can give him some medications right away to stabilize him until we get to the planet. Corellian Flu can be fatal, but there are plenty of other diseases out there that he could have picked up that are much worse. The fact that he lasted this long without treatment speaks wonders for his constitution, but I wouldn't want to see how he would fare of he was subjected to a bout of Ithorian Fever or something along those lines."
"Of course not," was all Han could manage to say. At the moment he wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that the kid was finally getting the treatment he needed or totally angry at the kid for being stupid enough to get in this situation in the first place. Not to mention, Han had been worried sick over the whole thing for the past nine hours! That in itself crazy enough to warrant extreme anger. He didn't know what to think or what to feel, and the confusion was enough to make him explode. But all he could do was stand and hold the fluid bag as the medic administered two injections.
His confusion must have been evident on his face, but the medic misinterpreted it. "I'm just giving him a fast-acting fever-reducer and a decongestant. That ought to hold him until we reach the medcenter."
Han nodded mutely, watching as the two injections seemed to take immediate effect. Luke slowly began to shift where he lay, wrinkling his forehead as he struggled back to consciousness.
The medic didn't seem to take much notice as he spoke into a com-link. "Delta One, come back." Han strained his ears to hear the reply, but he couldn't catch it. "Yeah," the medic continued, "I'm on board the Falcon, and there's no threat of contagion. But we need a fully equipped team ready for us when we land. Do you copy?" Another pause as the medic listened to the reply. "Copy that. We're on our way down." He switched off his com-link and turned back to Han. "We're clear to land. Proceed to one-two-zero-point-four."
Han fixed him with a glare for a moment, wondering whether or not to put this medic in his place. Instead, Han replied, "Yes, sir." He then handed the medic the fluid back and walked briskly up to the cockpit.
At Chewie's questioning growl, Han scowled. "Just fly us to the medcenter and don't ask. I'll fill ya' in later."
At least this trip was finally over. Now to find out just how badly the alliance had suffered during his absence.
***********************************
The state of the Rebel base wasn't as bad as Han had initially thought. It was worse. Rescue crews and emergency technicians raced through the corridors, jostling Han as he tried to make his way toward the South Wing. Injured Rebels on gurneys and various medical droids lined the walls, and he found himself swallowing back a momentary surge of panic. Just how badly would the fragile rebellion suffer because of this? How many men had they lost? How many more wounded? And how many ships damaged? It was well that the idealistic young rebel who had first dragged him into this mess was unconscious in the medical center. The sight of this would devastate him.
He shuddered to think of what the Princess was experiencing at this moment.
Without realizing it, he had instinctively headed off to find her as soon as Luke had been admitted for treatment. Even as he moved through the crowded and chaotic hallways, he could not fathom why he was making the pilgrimage to the South Wing in the first place. He was not in any mood or shape to help out in any serious fashion. He'd just gone through the most grueling ten hours he'd ever experienced on board his own ship, feeling helpless and bewildered throughout the whole ordeal. He certainly had no desire to relive the experience on a grander scale with a wing full of injured and dying Rebels. Yet, even as the doubts and grumblings echoed in his mind, he found himself heading into the fray as though pulled by an invisible lifeline.
The question was, who was tugging on the other end?
Certainly not Her Worshipfulness! That stuck-up, arrogant, bossy, and hot tempered Princess was in no way the driving force here! He commanded his own destiny, and he was never going to give up the pilot's seat. Not again. He'd been down that road, and he knew what lay at the end of it. While it was true that he didn't want to see Her Highnessness hurt or suffering, he had to remind himself that he was not on his way to check up on her or help her in any way. That would be ridiculous!
But still, the question remained: Why was he fighting bustling crowds of frantic rebels to get to the end of this hallway?
"Why are you still here?" a familiar female voice could be heard up ahead. "I told you to get yourself over to the medcenter right away!" There was no mistaking the authoritative, regal tone of that voice. Nor the weariness and desperation that colored it now.
Fighting his way toward the voice, he tried vainly to spot the Princess in the harried crowd. With so many people in the way, she was impossible to see. Finally giving up on the chances of visually identifying her, he called, "Need any help there, Your Highness?"
A young crewman just ahead of him suddenly shifted to one side, and within moments the face of the Princess Leia Organa appeared just beneath his shoulder. "Captain Solo?"
Han smiled as politely as tired muscles would allow as she pressed forward. It was no wonder she couldn't be seen in the crowd. He only now realized just how petite she truly was. Somehow her presence always seemed larger than life. Or maybe it was just that she could be so oppressively annoying at times.
Now however, the desperation in her voice was apparent. Her carefully braided coronet of hair had begun to unravel, and her face had been marred by a few bruises and one nasty looking cut just beside her left eye. It had been closed with adhesive, but it looked painful all the same. Taking a quick assessment of the rest of her, he noticed that her left arm was in a sling, but she appeared to be okay for the most part.
"When did you get back?" Her question was abrupt, making it unreadable. Was she happy that he was back? Was she annoyed? Was she just trying to get any and all information as it came in?
Why did he care?
"Just a few minutes ago," he replied, his voice barely concealing his own annoyance at himself.
"Did the mission go all right?"
Han blinked a moment. The mission. Of course, that was why he'd been sent to fly Luke out to that forsaken planet in the first place. With all that had gone on in the past few hours, it had somehow managed to slip his mind. He struggled for a quick answer.
"We'll find out soon, Your Highness."
The young woman frowned, her forehead crinkling in concern. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I haven't had the chance to get the data to command yet, but . . ."
"Wait," she said, abruptly cutting him off. "Why do you have it? What happened to Luke?"
Han ran a hand through his hair feeling, vaguely uncomfortable at the sudden panic in her voice and not knowing why. "Well, uh . . .you see . . ."
"Your Highness," a young man interrupted.
Leia quickly turned to him. "Yes?"
Han was thankful for the interruption, but he pitied the poor rebel who was under the Princess's hard and questioning gaze at the moment.
"The medcenter said they're afraid to take any more of the lesser injuries because of a lack of space and the threat of infection. But the emergency department still has room for the severely wounded." The young man seemed out of breath, and Han wondered if he'd just run from the medcenter. "They suggest setting up a portable unit in East Corridor 1 to handle the rest."
Leia nodded. "Agreed. Have them send over the supplies and we'll start setting up right away."
The man nodded in turn. "Yes, Your Highness," he said as he started to turn away.
Leia's arm suddenly darted out and grabbed him before he could hurry back. "Wait. What infection?"
He shrugged. "Some rookie's sick, and they're afraid that there's been a failure on the part of the medical staff regarding immunizations."
"Is it serious?"
"No, ma'am. It's not like they're afraid of an epidemic or anything like that on the base. But the medics are hesitant to place injured men who are already at risk in a contaminated area. Corellian Influenza isn't something you want to mess around with."
"No, of course not," Leia absently replied. "I'll get to work on this right away," she added as a dismissal to the young man. She turned back to Han. "Wait right here for a moment while I take care of this."
Han watched as she quickly dashed out of sight to handle the setting up of the portable medstation, feeling somewhat guilty for holding back his own pertinent information during her conversation with the young messenger. She just seemed so frantic that he hardly wanted to add to her already overburdened plate. Within moments, she dashed back through the chaos to join him once more.
Pushing a tendril of hair off of her forehead, she looked up at the Corellian. Her fatigue was evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but she was fighting to remain ever the strong and fearless leader. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said politely. "You were saying?"
Han shook his head. Feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic toward her, he said, "I was going to say that I think you need to get off your feet for a moment. You look ready to collapse."
In response, she drew herself up as ramrod straight as she could, even as her tired muscles seemed to protest. "Captain, in case you haven't noticed, I am needed right here."
"What you need is to sit down before you fall down, Your Worshipfulness!" he snapped. "I've already dealt with one sick rebel today and that's enough!"
He immediately realized his mistake as her eyes widened at him. "You mean that Luke is . . .?"
Han didn't get a chance to answer. Without another word, the young Princess pushed him aside and rushed toward the medical center, leaving Han to stare at her wake, baffled and forgotten.
Tired and cranky, he slowly followed the path she had just taken, wondering why he suddenly felt so bitter. So much for being needed here, he thought to himself, looking darkly across the crowded corridor. It wasn't like he hadn't expected her to be worried about the kid. Being shoved aside was another matter. Of course, that shouldn't really bother him either. Should it? The confused faces around him seemed to mirror the confusion that coursed within him.
This was turning into a very, very long day.
