#13 Sleepless on Christophsis

Goose strolled down the deserted corridor, a towel tossed over her shoulder, whistling an upbeat tune. This was her favorite time of day. Sure, it was the middle of the night, and of course she was tired. The day's surgery had been long, adding up to nearly twenty hours. It was over for the moment, and that knowledge alone was comfort enough for her. She couldn't say that she was happy, but at least she was relieved, which was the next best thing at the moment.

Right then, Goose was on her way to the showers. She was thankful she'd had the presence of mind to pack as well as she had, since she hadn't had an opportunity to return to her quarters on the Resolute after leaving it. It was hardly glamorous, walking all the way to the other side of the base just to use the showers, dressed only in her robe. And it wasn't exactly her first choice to have to sneakily creep into the showers while everyone else slept, but there was nothing to be done about it. The simple fact was that she was living on an army base, and should she ever want to take a shower, she'd have to wait until all of the sweaty, naked soldiers had already taken their turn.

Surgery kept her busy nearly all day, so late at night was the only available time to her. This didn't bother her, because she much preferred the peace of an empty hallway to the chaos that had become her recent existence. Goose was in an especially good mood that evening, given her circumstances, because a gunship had just carried away most of the day's wounded. If she was lucky, she could anticipate six or seven more hours before the next casualties rolled in. Rather than collapse onto a bed, which had been her first instinct, Goose decided to treat herself to a shower instead.

Hygiene had been a bit of a challenge for her lately, since her sleeping pattern had been reduced to four or five often interrupted hours a day, and she'd acquired a propensity to falling asleep as soon as she stopped moving. It was also a bother that the only showers on base she was aware of were in the clone barracks, a long trek for one with little rest. Another issue was the clones themselves, though they'd learned to be careful if they ever felt the need to shower at night, due to a few rather cringe worthy accidents.

So that was why Goose was shuffling down that corridor, her whistling off-key but still good enough to her ears. The lights in the hallways, which were long fluorescent tubes, had not even been dimmed, giving the whole corridor a garish brightness for so late at night. That hardly registered in her brain, as her conscious mind had long since fallen asleep, so it was only instinct and some dull sense of purpose that kept her plodding along. Somewhere in the back of her mind she cursed the fact that she'd been assigned quarters without an attached 'fresher, especially one so far away from the actual facilities, but mostly she just squinted groggily at the light and stubbornly kept whistling.

She'd entered the barracks by then, and had she been more awake, Goose might have whistled a little softer so as not to wake the sleeping troopers. However, being more asleep than anything else, she did not. It probably wouldn't matter that much anyway, since most of the 501st was off base. No one ever bothered to tell her the details, but judging by the amount of orange-striped armor at dinner that night, the 212th was the only battalion on base. Goose hadn't seen much of Rex in close to two weeks, ever since she joined his company. That was all right with her, since he hadn't seemed too enthusiastic about her in the first place.

Goose walked on, only one left turn away from the showers. She heard some receding footsteps, going away from her, though it didn't fully register in her mind that it was odd someone else was awake at this hour. For some reason, her thoughts had drifted to the jedi. Did they have their own private showers, or did they sneak into the barracks like she did? It would make sense that a prefabricated base would only have limited plumbing. What if the jedi didn't shower at all? They always looked so calm, composed and immaculately clean, it frequently annoyed Goose when she noticed how greasy her hair had gotten in comparison to theirs.

With a slight huff, Goose turned into the left corridor, the entrance to the showers just ahead. Why should she worry about jedi bathing habits? She was about to take her first shower in nearly three days, and then she was going to go to sleep. That was about as good as things got around here, and she was looking forward to it. She yawned as she thumbed the door sensor, and it slid open with a hiss.

She yawned some more as she walked into the giant barracks 'fresher. Like most military designs, it was utilitarian and not much to look at. A row of compact chemical toilets lined one wall, all without stalls, unfortunately. Opposite those were a row of sinks, with all the pipes exposed, and small mirrors above them. The whole base had only been in use for two weeks, having been no more than prefabricated parts off an assembly line prior to that. And yet, everything was getting gross. All the fixtures were smudged and grimy from being used by hundreds of men every day, and the floor was unpleasantly slimy. The showers were at the end of the long rectangular room, past a plastoid partition. She wearily skirted around puddles of mysterious fluid and the odd glob of soap, at the same time purposely ignoring the unsanitary mess, as she made her way to the showers.

Goose froze. She'd decided to forego her boots, since she hadn't wanted to get them wet. And she'd just stepped in something…warm. Subconsciously, her mind had jumped to the most immediate conclusion, but she whipped her eyes down to the floor anyway.

Blood. Her left foot was in a puddle of blood.

Her mind jolted back to alertness, and she jerked her foot out of it. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, but with a feeling of mounting dread she hadd a good guess. Icy talons of adrenaline clawed at her racing heart as she edged around the partition. In her somewhat numbed state of mind, time slowed with all the suspense of a melodramatic horror holovid. In reality, hardly three seconds had passed when at last she forced her shaky legs to take her for a look, trailing bloody footsteps behind. Mentally, she prayed that it was nothing, just a nosebleed no one bothered to clean up, something harmless like that. But from the other little flecks and spatters of blood, which she'd not noticed earlier, she knew otherwise.

She peered around the corner cautiously, and swallowed hard at what she saw. Laid out on the cold duraplast floor, naked as the day he was decanted, was a clone. The harsh fluorescent lights shone grotesquely on his still-bleeding wound, so similar to the OR lamps that she almost wanted to smash them out. The last two weeks, and in fact the last three years, had made her too desensitized to have a normal reaction and be surprised. Goose couldn't even begin to fathom why this man was lying in a pool of his own blood in the supposed safety of his own base, let alone what had caused it. She wasn't sure if he was alive or dead.

For an interminable moment, she entertained the insane thought of turning around and leaving, as if none of it had ever happened. She didn't know what had happened, but yet it was still her problem. Only a very, very long and profane string of expletives could ever adequately describe her current state of mind, and at the time she lacked the processing power to do even that. In the end, she was merely able to throw out the first suitable word to sum it all up.

"Skrag." She whispered, though her throat was so strangled by fear it nearly didn't come out.

And then it was over. While the conscious part of herself continued to chase itself in circles, the utter confusion passed. The practical part of her was asserting itself, and her instincts and training finally kicked in. Goose whipped the towel off her shoulder, using it to apply pressure and staunch the oozing wound. With a free hand she checked for a pulse, and was astonished to find one. It was weak, but there. He'd been stabbed just a little to the right of the heart, and if he was still alive, it must have been no more than a minute or two ago. He was fading before her eyes, and aside from her towel, she had absolutely nothing with her to use to save his life.

Now, she couldn't exactly drag him to the medbay, because he'd never make it. He was lucky to still be breathing, but that likely wouldn't hold out. Shouting for help wouldn't do much good this late at night, either. It was only after long moments of panicked indecision that Goose finally remembered that her comlink was still pressed into her ear, where she'd forgotten about it days ago. She hadn't gotten the hang of using it yet, because it was controlled by clicks of the teeth, something she had no idea what to do.

She'd left it in her ear because she'd sometimes get comm'd, usually by Jules, and had no other comlink to use instead. Goose cursed vehemently after her repeated attempts to open a channel failed, and she silently vowed to crush the damn thing under her heel as soon as she could get another one, preferably wrist-mounted. She was about to give up and try shouting when it finally worked, beeping softly while it waited for the other end to respond. Not sure who she was even calling, Goose waited expectantly as blood continued to seep into the towel. After a short eternity, when she had begun to believe it wasn't working at all, she heard a click.

"Goose?" came a tired mumble.

Had she been under different circumstances, Goose would have celebrated her good luck, the first break she'd had in ages. The voice on the other end could have been any clone in the Grand Army, but she knew it had to be Jules. After two weeks of near constant contact, it was no problem to tell him apart.

"Jules, get your choobies out of bed and down to the showers, now." she said lightly, surprising even herself at how calm she sounded. "Swing by the medbay and pick up a trauma kit and a unit of blood, while you're at it."

There was a long pause, and it dawned on her that she probably didn't sound quite as coherent as she thought she did.

"What's going on?" Jules demanded, sounding much more awake.

Goose suddenly realized she had absolutely no idea. What was going on?

"I don't…. It doesn't matter!" she snapped, "I've got a wounded man in some pretty deep dwang, and I need you down here, stat. And don't forget to bring a stretcher!"

"But wha-"

"This isn't a good time for questions, Jules." Goose barked impatiently, "Don't walk, run!"

The channel closed with a click, and she could only hope that he would hurry. She hadn't made much sense, and she couldn't really blame him if he didn't take it seriously. At the moment, her patient was holding steady, though he was losing blood far too quickly. What she assumed to be his towel hung on a hook just a few feet out of her reach. If it were possible, she would have swapped it with her own towel because it had long since soaked through with blood, but she was loath to remove pressure from the wound.

Goose was keenly aware that there was nothing left for her to do except sit tight and wait. The towel was totally saturated, so that blood oozed out of it when she pressed it down harder, staining her hands a crimson red. She supposed that had this happened a few years ago, she'd probably have had to vomit by this point. It seemed that now she'd been so numbed to the gore that all she felt was a deep-set revulsion. At the same time, Goose still had to fight the urge to gag as the metallic odor pervaded her senses, and she could feel his blood squishing between her toes.

She glanced around the room again, hoping to find anything that would help. Of course, there was nothing, and it would be at least a few minutes before Jules would get there. Goose looked back at the clone slowly dying beneath her hands, trying to understand how this had happened. It had appeared that he'd been stabbed, and it couldn't have been self-inflicted because the knife was nowhere in sight. So someone had tried to murder him? That seemed unlikely, given that the only people on base besides her and the jedi were other clones. Besides, if it had been murder, why hadn't they waited to make sure he was dead?

It didn't add up. Her mind ran in circles as she knelt by his side, until a new thought popped into her mind. A spy. Who else could it have been except a spy? Then again, why would a spy want to kill a clone in the shower? It was too overt. The body would be found, the spy discovered… Goose sighed tiredly. What did she know about murder and espionage? She was tired, and her mind was making things up. That had to be it. There must have been a simpler answer…

Her thoughts were interrupted by raspy gasps from the clone. She studied him in shock, at first believing that he was awake, which was impossible. Then she saw what it was. Blood bubbled out of his lips, as his mouth gaped spasmodically for air. He wasn't conscious, he drowning in his own blood. Goose cursed herself for not recognizing it earlier, then started giving chest compressions. She shifted her weight so that her knee maintained pressure on the wound, and prayed to any deity that would listen to not let him die now.

She hadn't been able to see the angle of the wound because of all the blood obscuring her view, and she'd thought it hadn't punctured the lung. As far as she could tell, it wasn't a sucking chest wound, so it was puzzling that she hadn't noticed it in her initial examination. The blade would have had to be remarkably thin to have done such damage with so little outward sign. But that was of little importance now. He would be dead very soon if Jules didn't show up.

Almost frantically, she continued the compressions, though she was dismayed by how little blood was coming out his mouth. If too much built up in his lungs, he was a dead man. Goose didn't have a free hand to spare to check his pulse, but that was for the better. It would not have been reassuring. Her own breath came in short gasps, almost like his, as she began to lose faith. How could he possibly survive, even if she did have all of her equipment? She felt her arms tremble despite her efforts to keep her elbows locked, and a coldness crept into her hands even with the warm, sticky blood that coated them.

Then, at long last, she heard the door hiss open, followed close behind by the clatter of booted feet.

"Goose?" Jules shouted breathlessly.

She let out a sob of relief, so overcome that she almost couldn't speak.

"Back here!" was her somewhat strangled reply.

With a few more steps, Jules appeared around the partition, panting slightly. His expression was a study in shock. He stood in openmouthed surprise at what he saw. A long moment passed before Goose realized she hadn't yet told him what to do.

"Jules, take over compressions while I clear his airway," she ordered. "Don't forget to maintain pressure on the wound."

He nodded and dropped the supplies he'd brought with him on the ground, then clumsily changed places with her. He was back in his armor again, for some reason, though he'd been wearing scrubs when she'd last seen him an hour ago. Goose hardly noticed it, however, as she dug around the trauma bag for the intubation kit. She finally pulled it out, and struggled to keep her hands steady while she went through the tricky process of feeding a tube down the wounded clone's trachea, a task made even more difficult by the slippery blood on her hands. After a tense moment and a few muttered curses, it went in.

She didn't spare a moment to celebrate, and immediately affixed a mechanized pump to the end that would force air back into his lungs. A small release valve would allow any fluid in the lungs, in this case blood, to dribble out. It wasn't always a sure thing, but with any luck the pump would regulate his breathing and remove the blood, preventing him from downing. Goose fixed the tube in place with a few strips of surgical tape, and took a moment survey her work. It would hold.

"You can stop the compressions, now," she said. "Go get him started on the blood, I'll take over on the stab wound."

Jules nodded again, then moved to the side so she could take his place. It would be difficult for him to find a vein given all the blood he'd lost, but she trusted Jules to do it. Besides, she had her own problem to worry about. She lifted the towel to check how much it was bleeding, and was dismayed by how little it had clotted. She once again used her knee to hold pressure on it while she rummaged around in the bag. Goose took out a small flimsiplast packet, tore it open, and poured its chalky contents over the open wound. The dry powder absorbed the moisture of the blood, hardening into a gel like substance that sealed the wound over.

"What was that?" Jules asked incredulously.

"A coagulant that mimics the way blood clots," Goose answered absentmindedly as she taped some bandages over it, just in case. "It can be real lifesaver because it stops the bleeding, but sometimes the clots can be picked up by the blood flow and wreak all kinds of havoc. Like a stoke or a heart attack, I suppose."

She lapsed into silence as she checked his pulse once more. It was erratic, but there. The intubation seemed to be working, and Goose was pleased to see how much blood was being removed from his lungs. Of course, he was still losing that blood, but at least he'd be getting more from the IV Jules was setting up.

"Alright, let's get him on the stretcher," she said as soon as he'd finished with the IV.

They quickly unfolded it, laid it beside the bleeding clone, and gently started to move him onto it.

"Goose, have you informed anyone else on base about the…situation?" Jules asked as they secured the patient with a few safety straps.

"What? No, I barely could get the blasted comlink to work at all," she said darkly.

"I should probably report this to the jedi." He said sensibly.

She glanced at him, and could not deny he had a point. At the same time, they really had to get to the medbay, on the double.

"Can you do it while running?" Goose asked tiredly.

"Yes," he replied.

She almost rolled her eyes at herself. Of course he could, he was wearing his helmet. How thick could she be?

"Then go for it," she said, nodding at him.

He nodded back at her, and was probably deep in conversation with someone in command by the time they were racing toward the medbay, each trailing bloody footprints behind them.

A/N: I would like to inform my lovely readers that this story will be moved to the main Star Wars archive with the next update, probably within a week or two. I hope this does not inconvenience anyone, and that you continue to read. Thank you.