AN: Sorry for the long wait there's been some unavoidable real-life issues for all of us, again...there's no set deadline for this story to be finished as nobody's getting paid for it. It's a group passion project. Rest assured that the last chapter for this story's being beta read and after Story 1 is completed we'll have a break before we begin Chapter 2, so thank you very much to all our fans for being so patient (even after the series is over, lol).
Credit to fuzzydemolitionsquad for her exceptional writing skills and eyeloch (our beta-reader) keen eye to detail. aspiringwarriorlibrarian for her story assistance. Pictures/co-writing/story idea by DarkDranzer
Garazeb: Son of Lasan
Saviour - Part IV: Holding On
As the thrum of a jump to hyperspace vibrated through the Ghost, Kanan half-fell into a sitting position on the cargo hold's cold floor. The contents of the Ghost's medkit had now joined its shuttle's - sprawled out all over the floor in front of him, beside the dying alien. Without even thinking, he sorted through the jumble of sterilisers, bacta patches, stym-packs and sedatives, trying to get an idea of what might help.
'A medical scanner could have been handy,' he reflected, only to realise that it wouldn't have had information of treating this warrior anyway. Inconvenient data had a way of disappearing, especially if the offending device connected to the holo-net. Anything he did would be guesswork - just as likely to harm as to help. Yet second-hand pain lanced through him with every twitch and spasm the being before him went through, and he didn't need to be a professional to realise that each lance of agony drained a little more of the soldier's dwindling strength. A sedative was needed - the sooner the better.
He just needed one that wouldn't stop the big guy's heart. Or cause an allergic reaction. …no pressure, then…
Running his hand across the paltry selection in front of him, Kanan suppressed a shiver at what he was about to do. It might be a miracle he wasn't sharing this cargo bay with a corpse already, but a single mistake and it would be on his head. Another person's death on his conscience. Fumbling a low dose of a general sedative into a hypospray, he took a deep breath, then made his choice.
...breathing grew more shallow, heart rate slowed…
...guilt coiled within Kanan, names he'd rather forget returning to the forefront of his mind…
...but his patient's breathing didn't cease, and neither did his heart. No seizures took this fellow survivor. Kanan let out a breath of his own, pain rolling through him as the adrenalin faded once more. Mechanically, he found himself assessing the rest of the warrior's wounds, rinsing the worst of the grime away with water, then spraying antiseptic around the shallower cuts.
Spots danced across Kanan's vision as he worked, his mind and body beginning to protest their treatment during the last few hours. With fumbling fingers he secured an armband around the lasat's forearm, tightening it so its electronics could make a guess about blood oxygen levels. Much as Kanan wanted to collapse, he still had bacta patches and foam plasters to apply.
As he pressed adhesive strips down, started the bacta's slow release into the larger wounds, Kanan couldn't help but wince as haemorrhaging immediately darkened the plasters on the sweat soaked fur. There didn't seem to be anymore he could do right now - not now he was out of bacta patches.
Yet, without an immediate task to distract him, the tension pooling above his eyes returned with a vengeance and shoved him to the floor. Muscles, protesting their treatment back in that rubble-strewn world, betrayed him. Hands shook, limbs didn't seem to listen. Pain feasted on him, mind and body, and his vision blurred to noise...
...as he lay there, heat pounding through his brain, he felt the Force once more. His hated friend had come back so naturally to him, guided him amongst the dead and dying. As much as he tried to suppress those talents that painted a target on his back, the Force had flooded him. And now he was paying the cost. Like an overworked muscle, his mind now protested even the slightest motion, the merest thought.
Despite the hum of the universe pressing in close to him, trying to guide him once more, he doubted he could grasp it right now - even if he wanted to. Disgust welled up, as some semblance of thought returned to him. Had he even been himself in these last few hours, or just the Force's tool? Or perhaps he'd been a puppet of a kid's desires for heroism, heedless of the danger even a slight awakening of the Force could bring...
...and yet, he couldn't bring himself to say he'd done the wrong thing. Saving this life (or so he hoped, at least) wasn't something he could disagree with. Even if, even if…
...as he got his muscles back under control, Kanan shook away the lingering thoughts. With the wall's help, he got back on his feet and hobbled his way to the ladder - steps gradually growing more sure, despite his senses still echoing with phantom sensations.
They might have been short on pretty much everything, but he was fairly sure there must be a few more medical odds and ends hiding in this ship. That idea gave him just enough motivation to haul himself up the cargo ladder, rung by rung. Looking for them might at least keep his fears at bay for a while.
As he reached the top of the ladder, he hauled himself onto his feet once more. Glancing down, his gut churned again at the sight of the ash his hands had smeared on the deck. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples - he'd seen enough of burnt things for several lifetimes, even if he only counted today.
Hissing air through his teeth, Kanan forced his eyes back open. Forced his mind back onto the task at hand. He'd certainly scrubbed down the cockpit and lounge enough times in the past to know his captain kept a clean, uncluttered ship - stuff like bacta wasn't something she'd let you just leave lying around. No, everything had its place here - spare parts had their boxes, cargo had it's bay, secrets had her cabin...
...the galley, at least, was his domain - but its antibacterial sprays weren't really very suitable for skin, let alone open wounds! In short, he realised, the only chance of finding any other medical supplies was–
"Ouch!"
Something cold collided with his shins. Hard. A metallic clang (and a loud, electronic huff) hit his tired brain, just as it connected the usual dots - Chopper was underfoot. Literally.
His addled mind was far too hazy to register much beyond the newest source of pain, and the indignant buzzing coming from that general direction. Chopper's antics could give anybody a headache, and his didn't need more encouragement!
"Listen, Chopper," he groaned, while trying to rub his battered shin, "it was was an honest mistake-"
"Wub-waah-wub-wub wardoo" (Mutiny will not be tolerated on ship;Ghost) the rustbucket shot back, "Warra-whap-wop-whamp-wamp-wub-ward––" (Betrayal of crew;Ghost will result in immediate termination by vacuum–)
"It was an honest mistake," Kanan interrupted, "look, I don't have time for this, not today."
"Waaah-waah-wub-wado-wubba-waddo-waddah!" (C1-10P fulfilling vital orders from Syndulla2.0, unlike DrunkenHuman!) Chopper grumbled testily, emphasising his point by sharply prodding a surprised Kanan with his spark projector. The human had to breath a sigh of relief when the droid didn't activate it.
"...actually keeping the guy alive isn't vital to your faulty logic circuits?"
Turning his back on the still-protesting astromech, Kanan thumbed the door release to the other (and, for the next few hours, only) storage room. For a few seconds, he let the room's darkness ease the strain on his brain, before his hands found the light switch. Even despite the aches and pains, he'd still much rather work than think. Especially with a life on the line.
As cabin lights hummed into life, he involuntarily shut his eyes at the brightness. Forcing them open, Kanan squinted at the jumble of boxes and bundles strewn about the room. Hera might like to keep a neat ship, but odd bits of clutter were inevitable - especially given their lifestyle - and those bits of junk usually found themselves in this drab little room. Hera sometimes seemed to have an aversion to colour on the walls of her ship - as if a painted bulkhead was no different than a stained one. Personally, he'd enjoy a little more vibrancy around the place.
With a quiet groan, Kanan set himself to work. Pulling open the nearest few containers, he quickly began to unpack them. Spare towels, damaged datapads, random bags full of various currencies…
...shifting aside the remains of a mouse droid that Chopper had once dismembered and left by Hera's bed like a present, Kanan's hand brushed something foil-like. Hurriedly pulling what he hoped to be bacta patch free, he almost smiled, before he got a good look at what turned out to be an old ration pack. False hope. As he scowled down at the offending lump of foil-wrapped mush, the slight hiss of the door release (and a low grumble of binary) gave him an outlet for his frustrations - "accidently" tossing the pack over his shoulder. As he heard a soft thump, then a furious, electronic blat from a certain orange astromech, Kanan did smile. For a moment, anyway.
Shifting aside a vacuum-sealed crate of undercover outfits, he pulled yet another box towards him. Stage makeup seemingly filled this one - actual stage makeup, taken from a safehouse under a theatre, if he remembered that disaster of a mission correctly. They'd both needed patching up after that one… Wait. They'd both needed patching up.
Shoving the various bottles and palettes out of the box as fast has he could, Kanan quickly got his hands on what he'd been hoping for. It wasn't much - just another bacta patch or three, some heating/cooling pads and other irrelevant bits and pieces - but it was more he could work with. Another few seconds of life he could give the warrior.
Box in hand, he jumped back to his feet. Swaying slightly as blood rushed to his head, he walked back to the ladder as quickly as he dared. With a clear purpose, he could almost ignore the aches of body and mind - as survivors went, the one just below him was in far worse shape than he was!
As he reached the cargo bay, he fell into a sitting position once more. With his legs no longer protesting, Kanan turned the box upside down into the pile of remaining supplies. As a stray tube of lipstick rolled away, he got his hands on the bacta patches and shifted closer to the lasat. Pulling the first patch out of its wrapper, he placed it down on the charred and blistered mess of flesh that made up the now-beardless side of his face. It was a good thing he rinsed the burns before he shoved the patch down - he'd mucked that up once, back before he was Kanan Jarrus...
...like a dam bursting, his foggy memories of jedi emergency medical training came back to him like yesterday's news. He'd usually been partnered with a funny Mirialan boy, Ulliam Norte, who'd wrap him up in so many bandages that he looked like some sort of ancient mummy. He couldn't help but smile, despite himself, at that memory of simpler times.
The brief moment of mirth was interrupted by pain. The second-hand variety, chewing at him through the Force. Looking over at the lasat, it was instantly clear the soldier was gripped by a painful spasm. The carefully placed plasters and patches on his body threatened to tear - to the point Kanan considered giving him another pump of sedative, despite the risk. Lucky for both of them, though, the lasat's body relaxed - preventing any further damage.
'Just a subconscious reflex…' Kanan mused, rubbing the back of his neck – unnerved once again by the lasat's actions. He wasn't a doctor, or even a field medic. His formal training stopped when he was packed off to the battlefield, his informal training was mostly self-taught patching up after particularly nasty bar fights...
With a deep breath or two, Kanan felt his courage return to him. Gingerly, he felt around the lasat's throat, his shaking fingertips halting beneath the lobe of the alien ear. There, thank the Force, he felt a faint pulse. Kanan frowned, relief cut short, as he heard the familiar sound of fluid bubbling while the survivor drew another shallow breath. He may not have known anything about lasat anatomy, but he knew a collapsed lung when he heard it.
Tracing his fingers down from the alien's shoulder, Kanan squinted at the sensor he'd managed to strap across the less damaged arm. Frowning, he blinked when he saw the glowing numbers on the screen, as if he hoped the blood/oxygen reading was somehow a trick of the light. It wasn't. The blood/oxygen content was low; much too low for any mammal to survive on. Frustrated, Kanan let out a wordless groan - this guy needed a proper medic, not some panicky, half-delusional gunslinger.
He didn't know how long the lasat had. Just sitting there, wordlessly, Kanan wasn't certain he'd ever felt more useless. He wanted to help, he needed to help, but he'd done all he could. He'd patched the wounds, best as he was able. He'd got the breathing apparatus pumping highly oxygenated air into the soldier's failing lungs. But he knew it wasn't enough - even if he shut his eyes to the readings, he could feel the battered body in front of him shutting down...
'Kriff...Hera, hurry up.'
It was a useless thought, really - the Ghost was Hera's darling, tinkered and tuned to perfection long before he'd ever entered the picture. She'd know what she was doing. Still though, Hera remained in the upper part of the ship, no doubt conversing with her mysterious contact again. Kanan sniffed, wiped the fresh sheen of sweat from his brow, and tried to swallow down his misgivings. He and Hera were both equally embroiled in the fight against the Empire.
Weren't they?
Regardless of whoever her friend really was, Hera would undoubtedly be asking them about a safe place to bring the alien. Despite his usual misgivings, with a life on the line, Kanan felt he should trust whoever Hera did. He should trust them, anyway...
Neither of them had known quite what they'd be flying into, on their spur-of-the-moment scheme. Seeking treasure–especially living treasure–in the graveyard Lasan had become, seemed abhorrent. Finding treasure, impossible. Was it desperation that'd tugged them there, or the Force pulling on his puppet strings once more? Despite that madness, because of that madness, a flicker of hope lay in front of Kanan. He'd taken unplanned risks, made stupid choices, yet couldn't quite bring himself to entirely regret what he'd done. Not while he had proof it might have been worth it lying right in front of him. A survivor, a fellow survivor had been saved, each shallow breath drawn in defiance of the Empire.
Massaging his temples, as if he could rub the introspection away, Kanan turned to Chopper. The droid lingered nearby, hissing static and rotating his dome from side to side, as if to convey his annoyance of the lasat's distracting presence.
"We should get him upstairs, into the cleaned cabin." Kanan said. "You did clean it. . . didn't you?"
"Whaaarrr…." Chopper droned affirmatively.
"Good, good…" The man nodded, stroking his goatee while his eyes remained glued on the prone lasat, "...do you think you can get him in there?"
"Whoo-waddu woo?" Chopper warbled sardonically. After all, how was a small droid like him supposed to carry a large, half-dead lasat upstairs?
"I didn't mean by yourself," Kanan said, through clenched teeth, "honestly Chop, you always think the worst of pe-"
He was cut off when the lasat convulsed again. This time, a blast of bloody mist spattered the inside of the rebreather mask.
That was when Kanan began to panic.
"Kriff!" The man's shaking hands tugged at the mask, "Kriff, kriff, kriff!"
After a few failed attempts, he was successful in tearing it off the lasat's face. Hot, slippery blood ran in rivulets between the former padawan's fingers. Holding his breath, Kanan tried his best to stop himself from hyperventilating. His eyes widened as horror and a grim realisation slowly took hold.
'H-He's not going to make it…'
Kanan's heart froze, and time stopped.
He knew the feeling of someone's life ending, the exact moment of it. Like wisps of warm silk, gently flowing through his fingers to join the Force. An incredible cold remained afterward, leaving him begging for the warmth to return.
His numb mind managed to create–in bold, heart-wrenching detail–images of the three people he couldn't save. Those who helped shape his life to what it was, helped give him the purpose he was searching for, filled his mind with grief. There was the unbalanced Skelly, the veteran who took down a cybernetic madman and died a hero. Old Okadiah Garson, a man who was more father than friend. He'd helped Kanan when he needed it most, given him a job. . .doling out honest and straightforward advice, always lending a listening ear...
...and then there was Depa Bilaba, his own master, who'd helped teach him so much of the Force and life itself, before her own was tragically cut short. With her murder came the brutal end to both his training and all his former dreams–betrayed by the men who they once fought beside and considered friends, even brothers. These 'friends' slaughtered every jedi in the temple, including the younglings, without a second thought. Friends who grew up with him, who'd become as close as siblings. Friends he'd hoped to fight alongside (or at the very least exchange light-hearted banter with, if they could snatch a few shared moments away from the conflict).
He knew what all those deaths had in common. He had ample chances to save them, but never seized upon it. Caleb Dume had instead watched helplessly as each of them died in turn.
Was that to be the fate of this lasat too? Even Hera, eventually?
...Okadiah told him to marry that girl. He'd never taken those parting lines seriously, yet he still liked to entertain thoughts of being with her for the rest of his life. 'You're a dreamer.' He often told himself - imagining stability, even though his life was an ever-constant uncertainty. He was a wanted fugitive of the Empire, had been ever since he was a naive kid. Even now, Kanan had to wonder if it was his curse to wander around aimlessly, watching everyone he dared care for die senseless deaths?
'No.' came a voice. His voice.
With a rush of determination, Kanan shook the doubts from his head. It did him no good to fixate on the deaths of those he couldn't save; it was too late for them. But it wasn't too late for him - the warrior he sat beside needed Kanan's strength, now more than ever. He had the chance to help someone, a survivor, like himself.
Closing his eyes, Kanan refocused his energies and stretched out his hand. He imagined himself fishing for the warm silken fabric of the force which had slipped through his fingers, his feelings of helplessness slowly ebbed away, replaced with a calm resolve. He refused to let it happen this time. The Force would not claim this soul now.
He would make sure of that.
Kanan knelt over the alien and grasped his hand firmly. The giant's fingers were stiff, curled in toward the palm like the legs of a dead arach. Still, there was some warmth amongst the clammy sweat of his fingerpads.
"Don't know if you can hear me but, c'mon big guy. You've made it this far. Just hold on for a little bit longer…" he turned to the small droid behind him, "Chopper!"
The droid blupped.
"Wash this out. Get all the blood out of the tube!" Kanan threw the rebreather at Chopper's 'feet'.
"Warrb-warb wadda whuuur!" Chopper protested, insulted that Kanan was ordering him around like a mere maintenance droid.
Kanan's brows arched as he shot the droid a piercing glare. The battered droid wisely backed up.
"Now Chopper!" Kanan barked.
The squat astromech jerked at the authoritative tone in Kanan's voice, and in a rare display of obedience, snatched up the mask and wheeled out of the room. Not even his characteristic grumbling could be heard.
"Kriff Hera!" Kanan yelled, knowing the communicator would pick him up. "You got a bead on the nearest med-center?"
Soft static cooed over the communicator.
"Yes. It's on Garel – Crossroads General Medcentre." Hera's voice shot back. "We're only one jump away, once we drop out of hyperspace."
'Is he going to make it?' Her unspoken question hung across the comlink.
Instead of answering, Kanan crawled behind the lasat and cradled his heavy upper body. He called the force back to himself with calm intakes of breath, feeling the living power of it charge all of the cells in his body. Straightening his posture, Kanan took the lasat's shoulders into his hands and let the Force flow through the stranger too. The lasat's jaw muscles tensed, causing the thick, sinewy cords in his neck to do as well. A thick spate of blood rushed from his left nostril.
This time Kanan was calm, his mind clear for the first time since the rush to Lasan. He tugged the unconscious lasat's pinched nasal fold away from the corner of his mouth, diverting the flow of blood away from his throat and into his beard. The lasat gulped like a fish and sucked in a hearty draught of life-sustaining oxygen.
"You're doing good big guy...keep going..." Kanan felt a smile pull at his lips.
He felt the sharp vibes of agony emanating from the lasat begin to recede, felt them settling back into the duller throbs of pain. With fast but gentle movements, he reached for the sterilized towel in the med kit.
"Warba-roo-rada"
Kanan turned and saw the cantankerous droid returned with the cleaned mask.
"Thanks Chop, you're a lifesaver." He gave the old droid a rare smile. Kanan might not have been able to tell what the droid was thinking, but he was certain he embarrassed him. Stifling his chuckle at the image of a blushing droid, he gently put the mask on the alien's face.
"You're doing good." He dabbed the alien's sweat-soaked brow with the sterilized towel, trying to reduce the fever beginning to take hold. "I know you're tired...we may not know each other, but I know a warrior when I see one. You have to keep fighting...don't let those Imperial bastards win..."
Kanan closed his eyes again and felt the sting and warmth of his tears. He heard the Ghost's sub-light engines whine, felt the old ship shudder as she prepared to warp the unfathomable realities of of time and space. In his mind, he saw a shoal of blue and white hyperspace sprites coming at him. Infinite measures of galaxy flowed freely around the little freighter.
He called upon a technique his master had been teaching him. He hadn't enough time to practice it and truthfully, wasn't very good at it and he never imagined ever getting the chance to do it. But now was not the time for doubt. He had to try and do something to save the lasat. Skilled or unskilled, Kanan knew the lasat needed help right now if he was to survive the long journey.
"Hate to break it to you, big guy," he spoke, as much to ease his own fears as anything, "but as you can probably tell, I'm no surgeon. . .don't know anything about what's inside a lasat, but I do know a few tricks that might ease some of your pain."
Rolling up his sleeves, Kanan slapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. He might be exhausted, physically and mentally, but he inhaled and exhaled through his nose, cancelling out all sounds around the ship, silencing the doubt in his mind. He chose this connection, chose this path.
Resolve suddenly sure, Kanan concentrated on the lasat. With the universe flowing through him, the ship disappeared. There was nothing now - just the Force, and these two lives floating within it. Without the Ghost's metal skin, a deep black vacuum surrounded them, shot throughout with a spattering of twinkling stars.
'We're a part of this galaxy, you and I. We can't let the Empire tell us different.'
There was, however, something of a problem. Kanan might be able to all but feel the movement of blood through the survivor's body, but he had no idea what the internal organs, muscle tissue and nerves even looked like. All the lasat he had seen before this one were burned to unrecognizable husks. Without any idea of what things should be like, healing quickly went from difficult to impossible...
His eyes quickly scanned over the lasat's body. There might be nothing he could do about the lasat's internal injuries (or the severe burns that marked his flesh), but he could focus on the numerous surface wounds. He hoped.
'Here goes nothing...hopefully this will buy us some time…'
His hands hovered over the lasat's body. In his mind's eye, he saw a striped map of pale lavender skin, its smooth-furred surface slashed and pitted with large bleeding rends and flesh-mangling pockets of shrapnel. There were deep black hematomas–the size of Kanan's head–all over the lasat's arms and legs, as well as patches of flayed hide, revealing thin layers of fat and the muscle beneath. Death by a thousand cuts–as if the larger wounds weren't enough to kill someone!
Kanan's brow furrowed. He concentrated on each horrific wound in turn. A wellspring of the living force flowed from deep within him, down his arms and through the tips of his fingers. Years ago, minutes ago, he would have resented this familiar tingle. Yet, right now, the power behind it was welcomed. He hated to admit it, but the force did come in handy. Once in awhile.
Chopper warbled and cooed almost inquisitively as he saw large gashes and bruises begin to shrink in size. Transparent layers of tissue unfurled across the skinless surface wounds, thickening and becoming more opaque as the lasat began to heal. The droid seemed to gasp when tiny hairs began to sprout, atop the new skin.
Kanan was almost as surprised with his work as the droid, truth be told. As tiring as this was though, the feel of invigorating cells and encouraging them to heal was almost blissful. Life clung a little tighter to the body in front of him. Still though, it wasn't enough—in a bout of overconfidence, he tried to push himself further. To go beneath the skin, to heal the more serious injuries.
...a mental scream, from himself or the lasat, seemed to show the answer. His focus wavering, Kanan felt dizzy and strained - even more than before he'd started. Loosing a slight grumble, he could imagine Depa chiding him from the back of his mind. Just because he could do something doesn't make him an expert.
He'd done all he could, for now. He needed to let go.
With a short gasp, Kanan opened his eyes. His shirt was soaked with perspiration and his hands were shaking, from both exhilaration and stress. But the wounds, save a few missed surface scratches, were all gone. Kanan smiled, relieved at his work...it was the first time he felt proud of himself in quite some time. It was also the first time in a while he felt the force was a blessing rather than an inescapable curse.
He gazed on the lasat's body—with the skin healed he had prevented excess blood loss and (he hoped) infection. Judging by the more peaceful expression on the lasat's face, he'd made him slightly more comfortable. He looked it anyway.
Kanan's smile fell as he heard the persistent wet gurgle continue with each breath taken...though that'd be a task for the skilled surgeons on Garel to look at. He could take solace in what he had done.
He tried to stand, but his exhaustion made his knees buckle. He wobbled and collapsed on top of Chopper—who responded to this frightening 'attack' by shocking him (and cursing in binary).
"Yargh!" Kanan yelped, jumping back, "Kriff it Chop! What are you doing?!"
The embarrassed droid warbled something insulting as Kanan steadied himself, huffing as he let go of the droid's head.
The former padawan continued to feel dizzy and weak. It was then that he realized his tapping of the force–not to mention skipping breakfast–had drained both his body and his mind. His blood sugar plummeted and his belly growled. He needed food, sooner the better.
Kanan looked down at the lasat. He was satisfied that their new guest was stable enough to be transported to the second level where his temporary 'medcentre ward' waited.
His stomach, like Chopper, cared little for lasat and continued to remind him of more important things. With a irritated moan, Kanan turned to Chopper who was looming over the lasat's head, glowering as best as a droid could manage.
"Stay with him Chop. I'm gonna grab something to eat then I'll be right back. Don't do anything. . . funny."
"Wah, wah wahhh. . ." Dipping backwards, Chopper raised his middle prong.
Laughing, Kanan made a fast track to the mess - hoping to grab a few ration bars hiding in the back of the cabinet. With fumbling hands, clumsy from exhaustion, he pulled what supplies remained down to the counter. A half a blink later, and he'd already unwrapped two of the bars. Half a minute later, and he'd quickly devoured most of all five remaining bars– making a mental note to get more on their next 'milk run'– already racing back downstairs, where Chopper was standing over the lasat, prodding him.
"Chop, if you shock him I'm throwing you out of the airlock." Kanan threatened, somewhat muffled by the masticated wad of ration bar in his cheek.
The little astromech warbled in disgust, but Kanan paid him no mind. The food and his first successful use of basic force-healing had more than helped to reinvigorate him.
Rubbing his hands, he gripped the smooth handles of the stretcher. He spread his feet, grounding himself, and felt the force permeate his soles. It flowed up through his calves and thighs, into his trunk and radiated out into his arms. He lifted the stretcher effortlessly, as if twenty or so invisible hands were aiding him.
The stretcher rose until it was level with the railing. Kanan leapt over it and guided the lasat toward the corridor. He met Hera who was standing beside one of their vacant rooms. She wore upon her face a familiar crooked smile, a smile Kanan greatly loved. It said, 'I'm worried, but I have faith that we can handle this together.'
Despite her gentle smile, Hera revealed her worry in the way she slammed her palm against the door control panel. In the flick of her eyes as the portal opened with a hydraulic hiss. In other little ways besides. Kanan didn't comment, as he helped manoeuvre the lasat inside.
The twin bunks, which lay at the far end of the room, reeked of disinfectant, causing both Kanan and Hera's noses to twitch and their eyes to water. It seemed Chopper was aware of the fact that lasat emitted a strong musk. Kanan sneezed, then looked down at the prone lasat and for once, envied his comatose-like state!
Chopper had made his opinions on the smell of most organics–humans and twi'leks included–very, very clear over the time Kanan had spent on the Ghost, but it seemed the scent that lasat produced was even more intolerable. Electronic whines and buzzes repeated what he'd already told each of them - this sort of organic made his olfactory sensors feel like they were overloaded or malfunctioning, and so he had taken suitably drastic measures to mask the scent.
"Ugh...dunno what smells worse, this guy or the deodoriser Chopper used…" Kanan said, waving his hand in front of his nose.
"Don't worry about it. We'll just leave the door open. I'm sure the back-up filters will help clear the air." Hera sniffled. "Let's get him in bed."
Kanan removed the stretcher and set the alien down in the lower bunk. Noticed a fresh patch of blood spreading across the bandaged chest wound, he placed his hands against it, putting as much pressure on it as he dared - hoping he wasn't damaging the patient further.
He grunted as he propped the giant alien onto the only pillows they could procure, taking extra caution not to make his injuries even worse.
"There, that's good" he grunted "I think the upright position will help him breathe better. Should the lights be on or off?"
Hera thought for a second. "Off. The dark might be good for him. It should help calm him down, at least until we can get to the medcentre."
"I think he might be in a coma, but I can feel that he's in great pain." Kanan turned to her. "I gotta admit, it's gonna be an uphill battle for him."
Hera looked at the mess of bloody bandages covering the large alien. She rubbed her chin. "We have to be positive."
She took a step back and bumped into Chopper (somehow looming, despite the height difference).
"Great! Just who I wanted to see. Listen, I need you to contact that 'bakery' on Garel. Call their droid and ask it if they have an extra large box for the 'cake'. Custom-cake." She hastily added.
Kanan took his eyes off the lasat for a split-second and eyed the droid, who clearly understood the reason for the false transmission.
Chopper issued a crude, binary raspberry and zipped away to the cockpit, grumbling expletives in binary. Hera chuckled to herself. She knew the role of courier was beneath a droid of Chopper's design, but they needed make sure all their tracks were covered. Any confrontation with the Empire at this stage would be disastrous.
Kanan joined Hera in the cockpit. He stood behind her, rubbing his hands vigorously with a nubby towel from the fresher. He'd washed his hands–twice–but still couldn't seem to get the smell of the lasat's blood off them.
"Anything I can help you with?" he asked as he made his way to the co-pilot's chair, still wiping his damp hands on his pants.
"No, just let me do all the talking, alright?"
Briefly glancing towards him, Hera noticed his odd look, and turned to look him in the eye.
Kanan tried to smile. "...I think I could chat with your cont-"
"-We've been through this before, Kanan," she admonished him, "we can't afford to make any errors for a mission as delicate as this. One wrong move and everything we've worked for – saving this life, and keeping ours – would have been for nothing."
Kanan grumbled but didn't protest any further as he flopped into the co-pilot's chair. Watching as Hera fluidly flicked on all the scrambling systems and Chopper grumbled his way through connecting the call to the bakery, he tried to calm his doubts.
He almost jumped when the Ghost's communicator pinged - reflexively, he looked at Hera, his eyes filling with worry. She smiled at him reassuringly and answered the hailing signal, effortlessly shifting her expression and posture to suggest a more jovial and upbeat lady.
"Jumay Ayox," she almost sang in greeting, "party planner extraordinaire speaking. "
"Ah ha! Just the girl I wanted to talk to." Came the equally upbeat–albeit gruffer–reply. "This is Zupa, chief baker at Phondant Phantasy. You're hard to track down sweetheart. If it wasn't for your droid..."
Tiny laugh lines appeared at the corners of Hera's eyes. She immediately recognized the gruff, masculine voice. "I know, I know, Zoop. I'm sorry. This is a busy time for me. It seems everyone is having a party these days, thanks to the prosperity the glorious Empire has brought its citizens."
Kanan stuck his finger down his throat and made soft gagging noises. Hera smacked his thigh and he wisely held his tongue.
"Isn't that the truth." The man on the other communicator all-but-growled. For handful of heartbeats, it sounded like the man was ruminating over a recent bad experience and let bitter anger push through his charade.
Then, without so much as a flinch, both his tone and subject changed.
"Never thought I'd hear your lovely voice again. Still with that scruffy drunkard?"
"Scruffy?" Kanan hissed, glared at the speaker. "Who's this moof-brain calling sc. . ."
Hera shushed him with a finger to her lips.
"Oh yes, I'm still with him. He's all a woman could ask for. Handsome, debonaire. Loves his mother and kid sister. Sends them credits every cycle." She fluttered her eyelashes at Kanan and his tan cheeks flushed. "He's actually cleaned up since last time I spoke to you."
"Really?"
"No joke.. And let me tell you, he really cleans up nice."
"As long as he makes you happy, I'm good with him. So, made up your mind on your order? Gotta tell ya, the back of the bakery's really full right now, but I think I might have space for your custom order. How big of a box do you think you'll need?"
Kanan rose an eyebrow. It was clear that Hera was no stranger to this unusual code-speak, and he had figured out what her and the man were expertly conveying, but something irked him. This was rebel talk. He had known Hera for quite a while now, trusted her with more than anyone else. He'd hoped she would've revealed some of what she was doing for this 'Rebellion' he kept hearing about, by now. At least a little.
Hera laughed musically. "Darling, I told you I'm planning a coming-out party for a friend. They're having a party with their colleagues before organising the family gathering. Are you getting forgetful in your age?"
"Well the bakery business is stressful these days, hon."
"I'll bet. Anyway...it's a big deal to them and unfortunately the party isn't going to be a breeze."
Hera paused, listening to a long drawn out sigh from the baker. She didn't let it show, but Kanan was certain she felt guilty for adding more to his plate. Still, she wouldn't be so focused unless she knew he was more than qualified for the job.
"Alright, got my holopad here." Zupa's tone became terser, as he put on his professional front. "You know the drill - what flavour of cake would your friend like? Cream? Frosting? Also, need to know the box size."
Hera tapped her own holopad with her stylus, exaggerating a thoughtful look.
"Now let me see, the cake size is, oh what did I say. . . seven feet by four feet wide. It'll need a big box."
"Just so happens I've got one that will work perfectly."
"Excellent - also the cake flavour's going to be violet sapina, cream is egg jellycream and the frosting's silver starblossom."
There was a pause on the other line as the Besalask frantically wrote down his instructions.
"Right. I think I've got it in order, violet sapina cake, egg-jelly cream and silver starblossom icing?" He muttered as he wrote. "What kind of palate would they have?"
"Sweet and savoury, like the fruit."
A few flicks of the stylus later, and he was done. "I've got that all down, 'May."
"So how long will the order take? I know this is sudden-"
He cut her off with a chuckle. "Not to worry, I believe I can squeeze one of my favourite customers to a few hours."
"You do? Oh Zupa, that's great news!" Suddenly, Hera's tone was woeful. "It just occurred to me that I forgot the directions to Phondant Phantasy."
Zupa's laugh boomed through the communicator
"Oh Jumay, and you say my memory's bad. Too much work can make you loopy. Trust me, I know. When you get into 'town' on the main drag, turn right when you see the building with the orange roof. "
"Oh that's right, Pappy Pumbo's fried nuna and polygon waffles!" Hera's eyes lit up as she recalled the place from a previous mission "Now, let's see if I get this right...I go a little further until I get on a roundabout and you are right there in the cul-de-sac next to the underwater furniture store."
"See? You do remember! Come around back. I've got two new bakers. I'll tell them to meet you on the loading dock. Be on the lookout for two Cathars - their names're Condu and Josina."
"You're a life-saver Zupa, thanks."
"You're right there, darlin'."
Hera winced at the possible slip. It was no matter. If the empire was listening, they would have no idea which planet they were talking about.
"Hey, has the town gotten rid of that nasty 'rat' infestation they had last month?"
Kanan smiled. He was starting to figure things out and knew exactly what she was getting at.
"Oh the infestation is gone. Occasionally we'll see one or two of them. Can't be helped. I'll talk to you later 'May. Just got an urgent call. Probably my wife saying she burnt my dinner and wants me to take her out."
"Ok Zoop, bye. Good luck."
Hera signed out, her smile growing tenser as she dropped her act. Fiddling with the Ghost's nav-computer, she scowled as she shifted their course through hyperspace, shaving a few more seconds off their journey.
"Hope this ride won't be too bumpy," Kanan teased, despite himself. Hera only offered a wan smile in response.
Suddenly, a guttural cry from behind them made both Kanan and Hera's heads whip around.
"Just in time." Kanan muttered under his breath, as he ran to the lasat's makeshift bedroom just as the Ghost made the jump. Chopper, already speeding toward the room, spewed a stream of disgruntled droid-speak.
"Hold on," Hera called as she leapt from the pilot's seat, "I'm coming with you!"
"Good," Kanan replied, voice now deadly serious, "I'm gonna need some company."
They entered the room to find the lasat shivering and moaning. Sweat droplets the size of pebbles streamed from his face, flying in all directions whenever he tried to shake his head. Strange words passed through his lips, telling both Kanan and Hera that their patient was having some sort of fever dream.
"I'll flash freeze some water using the Ghost's coolant." Hera said, rushing to get a bucket. Kanan nodded.
"I'll try to patch the leaks again."
Bright blood stained through the bandages Kanan had used to patch several of the larger wounds. Thin trickles of from the horrific burn on the warrior's face where–in his fevered thrashing–he had torn away some of the charred flesh. Even Chopper seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation, barely grumbling as he sped back into the room with a small box of additional bacta patches.
Kanan fought to be calm, but his hands still fumbled and shook when he unwrapped these new bacta patches and pressed them against the worst of the lasat's leaking wounds.
Hera, sprinting back and forth, tossed chunks of steaming cold ice into a plastic bag and beat the bag with a heavy spanner wrench. Barely stopping to breathe, she poured the now-smaller fragments into a bucket, hauling it back to to the cabin. As she dropped the heavy bucket down beside him, Kanan started. Blinking, Hera saw Kanan standing there with an exhausted look on his face and an unsealed bacta patch in his hands. Some of the alien's wounds seemed new - like healed flesh had torn, while in other places, patches of skin looked almost healthy. Crusty bandages, made from torn strips of his shirt, were piled around Kanan's feet.
As she drew closer, Hera intentionally brushed past Kanan. Unlike normal, he barely seemed to notice - just blinking slightly, before looking at their patient's wounds again. Following his lead, she took a good look as she placed the bucket down. Scooping two handfuls of ice from it, she began to pack it around the lasat's head.
"Yeah. . .I'm still drained from the last few hours." Kanan finally mumbled back. "I think I overdid it today. . .I don't know how much I even helped him..."
Hera put a hand on the former padawan's shoulder. "It's okay, love. Every little bit helps. You probably gave him more time."
Rubbing his forehead, Kanan made a small assenting noise. "See a place where this should go?"
"Um, well I know you are probably hesitant to touch it, but that place on his stomach where the metal piece is protruding is streaming blood pretty fast." Hera looked at him with empathetic eyes. "If you split the patch lengthwise, you can wrap it around the metal and still have enough patch to cover the skin."
At Kanan's nervous look, Hera pried the patch from his fingers and did as she had explained. Splitting then wrapping the patch, taking care not to push on the offending object deeper into the lasat's body. By the time she was finished, there was a neatly wrapped hunk of metal and bandage that securely sealed the wound. Before their eyes, the steady release of bacta staunched the still-escaping blood to a slow trickle.
"Lady," Kanan smiled at her, "you'd have made one hell of a nurse."
Hera bowed. "And you sir, would have made one hell of a nursemaid."
Kanan rubbed the back of his neck, while he tightened a clean bandage on the lasat's arm. "Ha ha, very funny-"
Suddenly, the lasat's arm flew up like a trebuchet, his clenched fist slamming Kanan square beneath the jaw. It was an involuntary response, albeit one that rattled Kanan's teeth! He went down hard, too tired to twist himself into a softer fall in time. His face smashed against the hard metal floor grate.
"...anan!" He heard Hera crying out, distantly.
For a moment, it was like he couldn't quite feel the pain - like the cool metal of the floor had taken his headache away too.
"Wahh wahh!" Chopper laughed.
And the pain returned. Worse than before. Still, by forcing his eyes open, he was rewarded by the sight of Hera tapping the misanthropic droid firmly on his dome.
"Chopper!" she scolded with a firm glare
"Bwahhhhh." He apologised. Insincerely.
She knelt before Kanan and reached out a hand, helping him to sit up. He didn't miss the wince when she saw his face.
"Oh blast," she exclaimed, moments later, "your nose is bleeding."
Kanan swiped at his nostrils and looked at his hand. There was a smear of red down the length of his finger.
"Greaaaat. More blood. I'm starting to love the stuff."
"Not funny." Hera wagged a finger in his face. "Hold on, I'm going to get you a wet towel from the fresher."
Kanan shook his head. He grabbed his lower jaw and moved it from side to side.
"I'm okay. The bleeding's stopping."
"How do you feel otherwise?"
"Brain's a little rattled, that's about it." He looked over to the lasat, still squirming in his bunk. "I'm not mad at the big guy. I know it wasn't his fault, but damn, does he have a mean left hook."
Hera almost smiled at that, before she looked down to check her chrono. Pursing her lips, she got back to her feet.
"We got about five more minutes till we reach Garel." She explained, while pulling down her sleeve. As she started piling more ice on top of the lasat, the translucent chunks melted like butter in a hot skillet.
"If he hasn't got a fever, I think he's developing one," she muttered, "I should get more ice. Keep his brain from boiling. "
Kanan nodded. "I wish there was something we could have done about his internal injuries. He's gotta be all pulp and shattered bones inside. At least he's still breathing. I don't know how, but he is."
"It probably has to do with biology." Hera said, shrugging. "I've known beings who can freeze themselves solid and live. Ones who walk through fire and ones who hibernate for ten years without waking for food or water. This guy's species obviously handles pain and life-threatening injuries better than you or I could."
Kanan nodded along as he slowly lowered himself onto the bunk, settling next to the lasat. Carefully, so as not to startle his patient in his sleep, Kanan made himself comfortable.
"You get the ice," he replied to her unasked question, "I'll stay with him."
"Right." Hera agreed.
The sound of squeaky wheels diverted his eyes from Hera, who was out of the doorway - it seemed Chopper had recovered from Hera's scolding. The droid wheeled up to Kanan and spun around once, chattering in his screechy way.
"Bwa bwa ga eh wop naw. . ."
"Is he talking about Garel?"
"You're getting pretty good." Hera half-smiled as she returned, passing him the refilled ice bucket. For a split second, the back of her glove brushed against his hand-
-a sudden shudder, as the Ghost returned to realspace, killed the moment. A few stray chunks of ice skittered off the top of the bucket - one pinging off Chopper's chassis!
"We'll be in Garel's atmosphere right about. . .now!" Hera spoke, over Chopper indignant grumbles. "I'm gonna hail the medcentre while I set us down, so they can get ready for us."
"Wow," Kanan said, "time sure flies when you're having fun."
"Remind me to discuss your definition of fun some time, love."
"Sure thing. Wait. . . medcentre? You mean you're not really picking up a cake?" Kanan winked.
"Don't worry. We'll have cake when our purple friend here is better." Hera said, before turning on her heels and rushing to the cockpit.
Kanan, half-smiling, pushed himself off the bed. Rolling his shoulders, he looked across at Chopper.
"Think you can help me get him in the stretcher?"
The droid grumbled in annoyance - ramming into one of the melting ice cubes, as if to prove some point.
"What? My spine is killing me!" Kanan grumbled back, rubbing the tender small of his back as he did so. " When I'm done with this I'm getting a massage at the first parlor I find. I don't care what Hera says."
Chopper, holding back a retort for once, fidgeted in place.
"Just hold his legs down while I slide him head-first onto the stretcher, Chop. Hera will help me take him down the ramp take when we land."
"Cooahh wup waa wop lih huh-huhrah beh naw keh waa!" (Fine, but if he lives, you and Hera better not think about keeping him!) Chopper yelled at the top of his amplifier.
With Kanan's ears still ringing, the two of them maneuvered their patient as carefully as they could, Chopper's motors groaning from the unusual stresses they were being subjected to. Kanan could sympathise.
As the pair got the lasat out into the corridor Hera offered Kanan a small smile, in response to Chopper's antics, though the open doorway to the cockpit. She'd lived with the cantankerous droid for most of her life, long enough to know the actual emotions behind his insults. Despite the aches and pains, the fears and doubts, Kanan smiled back - because, for the first time in a long while, Kanan Jarrus felt at peace with himself.
TBC
Author's Note:
The link to the translated code phrases Hera Syndulla and Zupa Craxxsk can be found on my Google Docs page, if you want the link to it please PM me. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to link to outside links.