If there was one thing CT-5732 "Stretcher" knew about Jedi, it was that they were idiots.
Sure, they were said to be brilliant strategists and negotiators, but when it came to their health? Complete idiots. Every medic who had ever worked with a Jedi had horror stories. This medic's Jedi doesn't eat enough, this one's Jedi never sleeps, this one found his Jedi stitching their own wounds with one hand. Furthermore, everyone agreed that Jedi were like birds; they don't show any signs of illness or injury, no matter how hurt they are, until it's almost too late.
Stretcher had never worked with a Jedi before, but he had read the secret files that all clone medics kept and had access to. The pages and pages of stupid things a Jedi will try to do, along with little tells to watch out for that mean a Jedi is hurt, and ways to trick a Jedi into actually taking their painkillers. The files were appropriately named "How to Care for Your Jedi (because they won't do it themselves)" and included forums for asking questions ("what do I do if my Jedi broke her leg and refuses to stay off it") and ranting ("my Jedi is an idiot"). There were even individual files for each Jedi, so that whenever someone got transferred or found themself tending to someone else's Jedi in a pinch, they knew what to watch out for and how to handle the Jedi in question.
Stretcher had read through all of the files and forums several times, and he was determined to lay down the law with his Jedi from the start. He didn't have time to be sneaking pills into rations, or trying to hunt down a Jedi who was avoiding medical. He didn't have the time to do that for any of the men.
Glancing at the chrono on the med-bay wall, Stretcher straightened a few last supplies and turned to face the door. His new General should be here to inspect the bay and meet him any minute now.
Sure enough, at the moment the minute turned over, the med-bay doors whooshed open.
"General, Commander," Stretcher greeted, snapping a sharp salute.
"At ease," the General said. He wore a kind smile on his face and a friendly twinkle in his eyes, and he bent into a half-bow in greeting."I am General Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"CT-5732, sir. I go by Stretcher."
"Well, Stretcher, it is a pleasure to meet you."
"You as well, sir."
General Kenobi looked around the room, gaze drifting over the rows of neat gurneys and organized counters. "I see you keep your med-bay in excellent condition."
"An organized med-bay is an efficient med-bay."
"Indeed." The General gave an approving nod. "I won't keep you, I'm sure you have much to attend to. It was good to meet you, Stretcher. I do hope we won't be seeing too much of each other, hmm?" His polite smile had shifted to a humorous smirk. "And I'm sure you'd rather not have me as a patient too often."
He was clearly joking around, and Stretcher appreciated the humor. He'd heard that some of the Jedi could be rather dry. But he still needed to make some things clear.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
The General blinked. "Of course."
"Do you know why they call me Stretcher, sir?"
"I have not heard your story, no."
Stretcher lifted his chin, meeting the General's curious gaze with his own steely one. "It's because I have no problem knocking out troublesome men and bringing them here on a stretcher. Specifically those who are avoiding medical."
The General opened his mouth to reply, but Stretcher held up a hand. He wasn't finished yet. "Let me show you something. This way." He led General Kenobi to the far end of the room and paused beside the last bed. It was a standard stretcher, except for the large signs attached to each end with the words 'I'm an idiot who endangers my brothers by neglecting my health' printed in large, bold letters.
"This"—he gestured to it—"is the Stretcher of Shame. Note the signs. This is what I use to bring in those who think they can get away with skipping medical. I've used it before, and I'm not afraid to use it again. I trust I won't have to use it for you though, right, General?"
"Oh no, that won't be necessary."
"Good. I'll hold you to that. And that means that when you're injured, you come here. You don't go hide, you don't sew your own stitches, and you don't pretend that you can magically heal broken bones overnight with that Force of yours. Am I clear?"
The Jedi nodded. "Quite clear."
"Some men think they can hide from me," Stretcher continued. "They can't. No matter how good your hiding place, I will find you, knock you out, and drag you onto the Stretcher of Shame. Some kids think they can skip out after I've already brought them in. For that breed of troublemaker, I have these." The medic reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a set of binders, waving them in the air to make sure the Jedi got a good look. "These are the Binders of Shame. If you try to pick the lock, or otherwise wiggle out of them, it'll set off an alarm. Again, I'm sure I won't need to use these on you, right?"
The Jedi shook his head.
Stretcher eyed him suspiciously. "One more thing." He moved over to the counter and plucked a pamphlet from a holder. He handed it to the General, who took it and opened the trifolded pages.
"The 'Should I Go See Stretcher?' Flowchart'," General Kenobi read aloud. He glanced over the many lines and boxes, then looked up at the waiting medic.
"In case you're on the fence about whether an injury needs medical attention, you have that handy pamphlet. I don't need to see paper cuts, and I don't want my time wasted with them, but there are a lot of things that do require my attention. Even if you think you can tough it out, if it's in the chart, you come to me. And if you happen to conveniently misplace that pamphlet, I have a lot more of them here." He patted the stack of identical pamphlets on the counter to emphasize his point.
"And every brother has one somewhere," Commander Cody added. "I'm sure any of our men would gladly lend you theirs if need be."
"I'll try not to misplace it," the Jedi promised. He read a couple more boxes, then folded the pamphlet and tucked it into his robe.
Stretcher nodded in approval. "Good. That will be all. It was good to meet you, General."
He snapped another salute, and the Jedi gave another half-bow.
"Thank you for your time, Stretcher. And for the pamphlet. I'm sure it will come in handy."
With that, the Jedi turned and swept out of the room.
Once the General was gone, Cody slapped Stretcher's back. "That was a valiant effort, vod."
The medic sighed. "Think it'll work?"
"I wouldn't hold your breath," Cody said, "he's more stubborn than most. But if anyone can get that Jedi to medical, it'll be you."
"How many times do you think I'll have to use the Stretcher of Shame on him?"
Cody grinned. "We've already got a betting pool going. One of the shinies is lowballing it at one time, and on the other end Boil put money on 'twenty or more times before the end of the month.'"
Stretcher huffed. "And what about you?"
"I'm hoping he doesn't get injured that many times, but he has a tendency to let himself get beat up in the name of 'negotiating,' so"—Cody shrugged—"we'll see."
The medic scowled. "Di'kutla jetii."
A/N:
Mando'a translation
Di'kutla jetii = idiotic Jedi