Hello everyone and thanks for reviewing. Things are heating up for our heroes. Comments and feedback are welcome. -T
.
.
.
.
.
Han toggled the com scanner, the computer searching for available signals. There really hadn't been much information about the technology possessed by the sentient inhabitants of Cattairn III, only that the residents here were mostly human, and had immigrated here several hundred years before.
But….there. The scanner was registering four separate signals, originating from the more densely-populated region near the equator. He toggled the com, checking to make sure he was transmitting his fake ID. "This is captain Doran Klep of the Starrunner. Come in."
He waited.
Again, Han leaned toward the com. "Captain Doran Klep of the Starrunner. I have a passenger on board with a medical emergency. Please come in." He toggled the switch to the bunkroom. "Chewie? We're ready for take-off." He got a short bark in response.
Han keyed the repulsors. The familiar whine of anticipation built up around him. "Doran Klep of Starrunner. Come in," he repeated into the com. Silence.
Chewie growled something Han didn't catch as he entered the cockpit, dropping his bulk with surprising nimbleness into the co-pilot's chair.
"No answer," Solo muttered, glaring at the silent com unit. "Not yet." He glanced sidelong at the wookiee. "The kid okay?"
Chewie gave him a strange look and then shrugged noncommittally. Luke was anything but 'okay'.
"Yeah, yeah," Solo waved him off before he had a chance to reply. "And by 'okay', I mean he hasn't died yet." He cringed inwardly at the cynicism even he could hear in his own tone. It wasn't that he was heartless, or even really inconvenienced. He wasn't angry at the kid. Not really.
It was that he felt helpless. Han Solo had spent years building shields around himself to protect himself from ever being hurt again. But somehow the kid had, in his own irritating way, found a way around those shields. Han had come to realize in the last few hours that he cared. Cared what happened enough to forget himself momentarily, enough to realize there was a lump of fear lodged in his throat, because he knew Luke could die. And if he cared enough to keep Luke from dying, then that meant he cared about someone as a friend. And that scared the hell out of him.
Setting his jaw, Solo faced forward, concentrating on the task at hand. Wordlessly, he toggled the controls of the Falcon. The ship lifted off, distancing itself from the clearing they had tried to call home for less than two weeks. So much for lying low.
The ship skimmed over the tops of trees, gaining speed and altitude, turning the ground below into a green blur. Again Han leaned over the com. "Starrunner requesting assistance," he said again. "Do you read?"
The navigator was showing the lush, verdant sea of green ending abruptly at a vast ocean roughly nine-hundred kilometers to the east. "I'm getting a fairly large population reading," he muttered to Chewie.
The wookiee growled a question. A place to land. Han shook his head. By now, whatever detection systems they had set up - or weapon systems for that matter - would be able to detect a ship coming into their airspace. He reached for the com system again. "This is the Starrunner. We have a medical emergency and request assistance. Over."
The radio silence stretched on for several minutes. Solo cursed under his breath. "All power to the fore shields," he told Chewie. "Just in case."
Sublight engines kicked in, accelerating their approach to the coast. Within minutes, they were flying along the coastline, a blue ocean crashing against craggy black cliffs. The computer identified a settlement below, as well as the source of two of the signals.
"That looks pretty good," he muttered, jabbing a finger at the display. There was a stretch of rocky outcrop that looked like it could easily fit the Falcon. "Set her down there."
As they neared the surface, he could see several crude buildings nestled among the dense clusters of trees.
Chewie set the ship gingerly down on the craggy surface, killing the power.
They sat in silence for a moment, gazing out the viewport. Nice view.
Solo flattened his palms on the armrests of the pilot's seat, checked the charge on his blaster at his hip. "Let's go meet the welcoming committee."
He was only half-joking. The scanners were picking up the approach of two speeders. "We've got company."
He lurched to his feet, walking briskly down the corridor, Chewie on his heels. Solo palmed the door to the sleeping cabin. "You okay in here, kid?" He asked full voice, though he knew the young man wasn't about to answer. Worry wormed its way back into his gut as he stepped into the dim cabin. The slight figure lying prone on the bunk was only barely visible in the dark, a sheen of perspiration on his face and chest reflecting the the faint blue light. Han held his breath, looking for the tell-tale rise and fall of Luke's chest to know he was still breathing, still alive. After a moment's pause, he saw it, breathed his own short sigh of relief.
"Hang in there, kid, help is on the way," he muttered into the dark.
Chewie's roar from the Falcon's entrance let him know the ramp was lowered and they did indeed have company. His hand loosening his blaster from his hip holster, Han quickened his pace down the corridor.
The entrance came into view, and with it Chewie's dark bulk, his hands open in front of him, which could really only mean one thing…..
"Step out where we can see you," a harsh male voice barked at Han.
Swallowing, Solo lifted his hand away from his blaster. "We come in peace," he said, keeping his voice low and calm. He came into view of the owner of the other voice, a tall rangy man in a long coat, gray goatee, unkempt dark hair, faded blue eyes, hard as steel, mid-sized blaster carbine pointed at Chewbacca.
"We are traders," Han continued, doing his best to look as harmless as possible. Behind the tall man stood a stouter, younger man with closely cropped red hair and olive tunic that appeared vaguely military, and next to him, a slight, middle-aged woman, faded blonde hair, thin, weathered face, mouth set in an unreadable expression. Both brandished their own blasters.
Han plowed on, not sure of the reception, but with little other choice. "One of our crew members is extremely ill. He needs medical attention or he will die. We can pay you." He paused, all dignity out the window at this point. "Please. We need help."
The tall man with the flinty gaze held Han's expression a moment longer, the silence stretching like melting meladian rubber, the distant sound of the surf crashing against the cliffside. Han was out of any other ideas. If this didn't work…..
The blaster carbine lowered slightly. The lines around the man's faded eyes eased. "How can we know you're telling the truth?"
Solo took a cautious breath. "Take my blaster," he said, nodding to his hip holster. "Follow me and see where he is."
The silence held for another long moment.
Finally, the blaster lowered. "Caine?" The tall man spoke to the man at his side without turning his head. "Watch the wookiee."
The man Caine nodded shortly, stepping forward, blaster raising slightly, his eyes never leaving Chewie.
The tall man walked up the ramp to Solo, until he was eye-level with the smuggler. "Please," he indicated, gesturing Han forward, his expression sardonic, still suspicious.
Solo stepped forward back the way he had come, aware that the man could easily shoot him in the back and there was nothing he could do about it. Bringing a stranger aboard his ship was the last thing in the universe he would ever do willingly, but it was a risk he was going to have to take, a necessary evil.
"In here," he gestured. They arrived at the bunkroom, Solo palming the door open again, this time activating the lights. Luke lay exactly as he had left him, shallow breathing, gray pallor, sunken eyes closed.
The man stepped into the small room, holstering his blaster. "What happened?" He asked.
Solo eyed the other man, gauging his apparent willingness to help them. "I don't know. He has been delirious for hours. His fever spiked at one-oh-seven. We can't get it down.
The man man swore softly, kneeling next to the bunk, reaching out a hand to Luke's forehead, snatching it back. "Has he come in contact with Gorts? Finger-length black slugs, they live in the bottom of streams and rivers." He grimaced to himself. "Blood-sucking parasites."
Solo frowned, feeling a fresh chill run down his spine. "Gorts?" he repeated, looking down at Luke. The kid hadn't mentioned anything like that. Maybe he had encountered them, but they wouldn't have seemed significant. "I don't know. I haven't seen anything like that. He did go in the river though…"
The man swore again, reaching for his comlink. "Caine," he muttered into it. "Tell Padduk we're on our way. This kid's got the Fever."
"Wait, hold on," Solo frowned, as the taller man pocketed the comlink and gained his feet. "We're moving him?" Somehow he's been hoping to bring the medical person aboard his ship, treat Luke, and take off again. In and out. "Where are we going?"
The man didn't answer the question. "Can the Wookiee carry him to the speeder?" He asked. "We can get him to the doctor. There may not be much we can do, but Padduk is his best hope."
Another chill crept down Han's spine. "What is 'the Fever'?"
The man shook his head, more urgent this time. "Get the Wookiee."
.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
.
Chewie carried Luke, wrapped in a blanket, cradled to his large chest like a rag doll, to the man's waiting speeder. The shorter man Caine and the woman had holstered their weapons and were to follow behind in the other speeder, but Han had already decided the Wookiee would remain at the ship, while Solo would stay with Luke.
Luke only moaned in discomfort once as the Wookiee set him gingerly in the back of the open-air speeder, Solo bunching a jacket under his head for a pillow. The early evening air this close to the coast was heavy and cool. Despite the raging fever and the perspiration standing out on the kid's forehead, Han worried about the chill. He tucked the blanket carefully around his friend.
"Ready?" The tall man, Terrik - he had introduced himself as they'd briskly made their way to the speeders - was already in the pilot's seat. Han nodded quickly, his eyes flicking momentarily away from Luke.
They took off, winding through sandy knolls, clusters of short trees - nothing that resembled an actual, genuine path or road. They whipped past several stout dwellings, which looked to be made of local wood, some lighted from the inside, inhabited. It felt like an eternity before they pulled up to a tall wooden building, several stories high. It looked unbelievably rustic to Solo, but once the speeder pulled in front of the building, two human males - both with a shock of thick black hair, wearing uniforms that would probably identify them as members of the medical profession on any planet - emerged with a repulsor gurney, which somehow helped the smuggler feel slightly more reassured.
"Is Doctor Padduk here?" the man Terrik asked the orderlies curtly. One of them nodded.
"Yes, he is waiting."
They quickly loaded Luke onto the stretcher. Terrik nodded to Han to follow them into the building. Not that Solo needed any encouragement. He wasn't about to let the kid out of his sight.
A middle-aged man of medium height with thinning hair and graying temples met them as they rushed through the entryway of the medical center. His steely gray eyes were on Luke, grim. "You are the man who brought him here?" He asked, eyes flicking to Solo.
Han nodded, falling into step with their pace, down the corridor.
"How long has he been like this?"
The stark corridor could rival that of any modern medcenter Solo had seen. The harsh glare of the lights stung his eyes. He tried to think. "Since this morning - eight or ten hours, maybe?" Had it really been that long?
"Any vomiting?"
Han shook his head.
"Age?"
Solo swallowed. "Twenty."
"His name?"
Han scrambled for a moment. How idiotic of him not to have an alibi for Luke's identity. "Ah….Dack," he mumbled. "Dack Cheppish."
The doctor eyed him with an expression Solo could not identify, and for one terrifying moment, Han pictured him on the com with Imperial forces, collecting his cool billion-credit bounty. He knows, he thought. But again, there was nothing Han could do about it. This was Luke's best hope.
"Dack?" Padduk was focused on Luke now. They had pushed the gurney into a small room, an array of equipment on the walls, a short curtain partially covering the window, black plastene chair in the corner. "Dack, can you hear me? You say he went in a river?" He was addressing Han now.
Han nodded. "Yes, in the night sometime. I thought maybe he had hypothermia. We, ah, didn't find him until morning, sitting on the bank, soaking wet."
The medic frowned. The orderlies were throwing a sterile drape across Luke's front, lifting his left arm, looking for a suitable vein. Padduk shook his head. "No, this wouldn't be hypothermia. Did he receive any Gort bites? Have to pull any Gorts off him?"
Han shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what a bite mark would look like."
The medic nodded, his eyes on the task at hand. He strapped a firm black band to Luke's upper arm. "They are hard to spot. Klimpton?" He asked, eyes raising to one of the orderlies. "Check his legs and feet. Was he in the water with shoes on?"
"I...yes," Han answered. "Yes."
Klimpton was following orders with a short nod. Padduk frowned at Luke's arm. "This is a terrible vein. He's dehydrated. Have you checked the other arm?"
"Worse sir," answered the other orderly.
With an audible sigh, Padduk chewed his lip, tore open the sterile packaging. "I guess we'll have to make it work."
Han glanced away. He would never admit to anyone, but he was slightly squeamish. He did not do well around blood or needles.
Padduck cursed. Solo's eyes darted back to him in alarm. A line of dark red blood trailed across the sterile drape. "I need the other arm." The orderly stepped in with a handful of gauze as the doctor circled to Luke's other side, retying the black band above his other elbow.
Luke stirred slightly, uttering a faint moan. His eyelids fluttered.
"Dack, can you hear me?" Padduk asked again, louder. "Dack?"
Solo looked at the young man. "Kid?" he said out loud, ruffling Luke's hair. "Wake up, huh?" Luke's eyes drifted shut again.
"Here sir," the first orderly, Klimpton, announced triumphantly, indicating a mark on Luke's calf. Han looked down. There was a small circular red mark about two centimeters across, just below his knee. He swallowed and looked at Padduk, wondering what it was supposed to mean.
Padduk uttered another curse. Not the most reassuring sound, coming from a medic.
When the medic attempted the IV the second time, all hell suddenly broke loose. Instruments on the sterile tray began to clatter, and a sudden wind seemed to rush through the room. Suddenly Luke was thrashing, nearly toppling from the gurney, a sob of "No!" breaking from him. Han grabbed ahold of the young man in a panic, holding his arms to his sides. One of the orderlies flew back as if struck by an invisible hand. "No," Luke cried again, bucking against Han's hold.
"Hypo!" Padduk barked, unfazed, snatching the vial from the rattling tray. Before Han could blink, the medic had pressed the plunger into the side of Luke's neck, and the kid suddenly fell back, his clenched hands falling slack.
"What in seven Hells was that?" The second orderly hissed, backing toward the door.
"Cut the chatter, Conchan," Padduk ordered. "I need leads on him right now. Then load the anti-viral into the IV." The orderly nodded, his eyes wide with fear. The kid's going to blow our cover, Solo thought grimly, staring at Luke's unconscious form, even as he straightened and stepped aside to give the doctor room to work.
With two veins blown, Padduk moved to Luke's wrist. "It's imperative we get fluids into him," he muttered, half to Han, half to himself. "Gort fever is a hemorrhagic fever. In the end stages, patients vomit blood. This is when we know they have very little time left. You say he hasn't had any vomiting?"
Han shook his head, feeling like his heart was being squeezed. "No," he said again, eyes still on Luke. The Princess was going to kill him. He couldn't keep one Rebel pilot kid alive for even three weeks.
This time the IV needle took. The second orderly swooped in to tape everything down while Padduk stripped off his gloves, hung the saline bag from the pole, and looked at Han again. "We have to make sure that IV stays where we put it - the hardest thing will be to find another usable vein." He ran a hand through his hair. "We'll run the antiviral, which has about a sixty percent chance of bringing the fever down to safer levels." He pursed his lips. "I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you. Gort Fever is very serious - has a very high mortality rate. We have little to offer in terms of a cure. It's basically palliative care. But still," he forced a smile, as if remembering to put some effort into his bedside manner, "some do pull through. The next twelve hours will be critical."
Padduk stepped out of the room while the second orderly placed cardiac leads and hooked up the monitor. On the screen, Solo could see the green line bobbing up and down like a psychedelic wave. A glance at Luke showed a vein on his temple throbbing with his rapid pulse. Solo heaved a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Luke wasn't out of the woods, and it looked like they were stuck here for the time being, but he was a fool if he didn't recognize that things could have turned out much worse.
After a moment of hesitant pacing, he pulled the plastene chair close to the gurney, hand moving instinctively to Luke's forehead to check the fever, even though the readout spewing heart rate and oxygen saturation kept flashing his temperature in red. 106.8.
He pulled out his comlink. "Chewie?"
There was a short bark of acknowledgement from the speaker.
"He's here in the medcenter."
Another bark.
Solo slouched forward. "Yeah, well, it looks like we're stuck here for the time being."
Another growl. How long?
Solo shook his head. "I don't know, pal. It doesn't look really good."
An anguished howl. Chewie was pretty attached to Luke. They all were, obviously.
Han sighed, his gaze slipping back to the kid, gaunt and feverish, on the narrow bed. "Just stay with the ship and look sharp. I'll keep you posted."
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
A plastene chair wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, though someone did make a point to bring him a blanket. This would make the second night in a row that Solo was losing sleep on Luke Skywalker's behalf. If the kid weren't so sick, he would be really angry about now. As it was, he was completely and utterly worn down.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep in the chair, with his forehead propped against the cushioned edge of the gurney, because when he awoke, white sunlight was streaming through the small curtained window and a new, lower tone was beeping from one of the monitors.
Solo jerked upright, ready to slam his fist onto the red button that would summon someone, but his brain caught up to his panicky reaction, and he did a double-take of the monitor. The first thing he noticed was Luke's heart rate had slowed to a reasonable pace - the pace of someone sleeping. The second thing he noticed was the temperature reading - in green numbers this time. 100.3.
Relief washed over the smuggler and he realized he was grinning like an idiot. He stretched aching legs and stood. Luke's color was better - no longer the purple-gray in the hollows of his cheeks and eyes. He seemed to be breathing more evenly now.
Solo laughed out loud. This called for a celebratory trip to the refresher down the hall, now that he knew Luke was out of danger.
He stepped into the hall. Dr. Padduk was coming down the corridor toward him. Solo threw a half-salute. "The fever's broke," he grinned.
Padduk brightened, headed toward him. "This is very encouraging," he nodded. Solo nodded back, then darted to the refresher.
When he returned, it was to see Padduk hanging another bag of saline, and Luke, staring with a frown at the ceiling. His head turned to Solo, an expression of relief on his features. "Han," he croaked.
"Hey kid." Solo moved to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, remembering belatedly that his name was supposed to be Doran. "How're ya feeling?"
Luke grimaced. "Like I've been trampled by a herd of Banthas," he whispered. "Care to fill me in on….everything?"
Padduk stepped forward. "Dack, I'm Doctor Padduk. You are here in my medical center being treated for Gort Fever, a very dangerous pathogen carried by the Gort, a small slug that can be found in bodies of fresh water on Cattairn III. It is my understanding you went into a river…."
But Luke was not listening. He had arched his eyebrows at Han at Padduk's use of the name Dack, and Solo, standing slightly behind the doctor was pantomiming just go with it and I'll explain later until Luke, still looking worn, cracked a faint smile.
Padduk stopped talking to Luke, turned back to Solo. "Am I missing something here?"
Solo stammered an apology and Luke put on his serious face again. But it was good to see the kid smile. Han realized he had not seen that since they left Terrenia.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Luke wanted to leave the medcenter. Padduk wanted him to stay. Solo wanted the kid to calm down and stop being so agitated, but it seemed it wasn't to be.
After a short nap and a breakfast - if one could call it that - of a few sips of water and two spoonfuls of fruit puree, Luke began to grow very agitated. "I'm feeling fine now," he insisted to Han. The temperature reading on the screen showed the fever was still down-99.9.
To Padduk's irritation, Luke had disconnected the cardiac leads, and had wanted to pull the IV, until Han snapped at him sharply to leave the thing alone. The young man sat on the edge of the gurney to reorient himself to being upright, then began walking the room in his gray medcenter tunic, pulling his IV pole with him.
"How soon can we get out of here?" He asked Han for the umpteenth time.
Han, leaning the plastene chair on the back legs, folded his arms across his chest. "Sit down, kid," he muttered. "When the doc says you're free to go, we'll get out of here."
And Luke did sit down for a little bit. He seemed to run out of steam, trembling like he was cold, and reluctantly lay back down on the gurney. After a short spell of silence, where Han practically nodded off again, he was jolted out of his half-dream by a gasp from Luke.
Solo jolted. "What is it, kid?"
Luke's eyes were round as Ilo's moons. He still appeared to be trembling.
"Are you okay? Is the fever…..?" He leaned forward to brush his hand against Luke's forehead. It was barely warm.
"Han," Luke croaked, struggling to sit up. "He's here."
Solo frowned in confusion. "What…?"
The kid pushed to a sitting position, swung his legs over the bed. "Vader is here."