A Time for Everything

[James Prent]

Shouldering my pack, I stepped off of the public transport into the wonder that was Cloud City. Glistening spires wound up into the pink and orange sky, and the whole place looked like it had been scrubbed clean by an army of maids just that morning.

Growing up on Nar Shaddaa, the I'd never seen anything so white be called a city. Grunting as other passengers shoved into me from behind, I stepped out of the way as I checked the piece of flimsy in my hand.

Dr. Barton Henning, lvl 115

The Alliance, and Dasquian Belargic in paticular, had made sure that I would land on her feet, or as least as close to it as I could manage. Sanis was busy in the Carshoulis Cluster and wasn't returning calls, and I'd managed to lose Loklorien's comm number. Still, I didn't like to make a fuss, and Bespin was a place that the Layla was likely to make port at. I'd been set up with a place to live, though I wasn't sure what the circumstances would be, exactly.

A pair of stormtroopers walked by, and I found herself holding my breath until they'd passed. This wouldn't do, wouldn't frellin' do at all! Get ahold of yourself, James! I limped towards the bank of turbolifts that held center stage in front of the transport docks.

Squeezing into one with at least ten other travelers, she was pleased to see that 115 was already lit up. At five foot even she couldn't imagine how she'd of managed to get her request in with so many people crammed around her.

After a few minutes, with people getting on and off at nearly every single frellin' stop, I was itching for a stim and feeling a little claustrophobic. Not that I smoke spice, of course, just your regular run-of-the-mill legal stims. I had a battered pack in my bag that I'd won in a sabacc game off of some techs in the Rebel fleet, but of course I couldn't get to it.

When the 'lift stopped at 115 I fled into the passageway beyond, bag clutched to my chest. It was silly, really, having grown up near the slums of Nar Shaddaa, I was used to crowds. Worse crowds than this, really. But since... since the incident I was completely unsure of myself.

I took a deep breath and walked down the passages and walkways until I came to Dr. Henning's clinic. Pushing open the door (a little bell chimed) I entered.

[Barton Henning]

The clinic was all but empty. It wasn't that the office was closed for the day, but rather that the people of Cloud City seemed to have managed to avoid getting themselves into their usual array of scrapes and tumbles. There was a big convention of some kind being held on one of the lower levels and a party being planned on one of the upper-tier casinos, and it was likely that many citizens had gravitated to either one or the other of these two events. Barton, knowing that it was only a matter time before something was sprung upon him, attended neither.

He was tired, like an old book worn at the edges. People remarked on this more and more, but Barton had almost ceased to notice and certainly long ago stopped caring. Most days he worked long and hard with only few hours rest, and those rare days in which he was given the luxury of a whole night in bed were often wasted, thanks to troubling dreams. In an effort to busy himself, and distract his mind, he had taken to clearing the clinic foyer of the many pamphlets, fliers and advertisements that had found their way into the room, including numerous fast-food chains and establishments with questionable moral-standards. Crumpling one such flimsy up, he signed and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

dingding

The door opened and Barton – preparing himself for the worst – put on a smile to greet whoever had entered. It was a young woman who, though apparently a little confused and apprehensive, did not appear injured.

“Hi... can I help?”

[James Prent]

"Uh, yeah," I said, struggling with my bag as it slipped off my shoulder for the fifteenth time. "I'm lookin' for Dr. Henning?"

Duh. Like everyone who came in wasn't looking for him. "I have this - " I fished a datacard out of my pocket and set it on the counter as my bag fell to the ground. "He'll know what it is."

[Barton Henning]

“Oh.” Barton frowned, picking up the data-card. “I'm Doctor Henning... Barton, if you prefer.”

He glanced down at the thin panel. With the touch of a button, a familiar security screen appeared. To the untrained eye, it was like any other password protection program, but Barton knew better. It was a system used by the Alliance and had been altered, in subtle ways, to stand out to those who were in the loop. Paranoia crept into Barton's mind, though he fought to suppress it. Discreetly, he entered the password and a message flashed onto the screen.

Doctor – please ensure the safety of this patient. We, in our limited means, cannot take care of her. We are certain that, in your able hands, she will soon be well. Thank you. Reading the words over, Barton smirked slightly; he had a good idea who the message was from. He looked up.

“I take it your haven't read this?” he asked, holding the 'card up.

[James Prent]

I shook my head, eyeing the doc. He was younger than I expected, though still prolly ten or fifteen years older than me. "I think I know what it says though. Poor girl needs place to stay?"

My mouth twisted up in a half smile, which faded as I looked around the front room of the clinic. "I understand if y' don't wanna, but I just need a place to crash for a few days, while I look for a job, y'know?" I walked over to a row of chairs against the wall, limping as the calf muscle in my left leg started acting up. I grimaced, and sat down, stretching my frellin' leg out in front of me and rubbing my calf.

[Barton Henning]

A place to crash... Feeling a great sense of duty to the Rebellion, Barton nodded. “I've got a spare room in my apartment... you're welcome to stay there as long as you like.” The 'guest' bedroom in the Doctors modest suite had yet to be used. With no family to speak of an a work schedule that wasn't exactly conductive to making new acquaintances, it was no surprise.

Pocketing the data-card, with a mental note to erase its contents later, Barton watched as the young woman sat down, obviously in pain. It wouldn't have surprised him if her journey to Cloud City had been rocky, to say the least.

“Are you hurt?”

[James Prent]

I flushed, and shook my head. "No - er, well, sorta." I sat up, leaving my leg as it was. "Had some burns on my legs, and the reconstructive surgery left me a little lopsided. Left calf cramps up, from time t' time." I smiled a little too brightly, please don't ask how I was burnt, "No big deal."

"Your spare room sounds great." Ah, a quick subject change. He won't be suspicious or curious at all.

[Barton Henning]

“Ah.”

Barton smiled softly, knowingly. Major burns and surgery weren't the stuff of small talk, even for someone in his profession. He let the issue slide for now, knowing that wards of the Rebellion rarely came without their secrets. He had his own, after all, and so was respectful of others privacy.

“Well, do you want to go over there now? You can drop your things off, get a bite to eat; I can point you in the direction of some places you might get a job.”

[James Prent]

"Sounds good!" I stood up, adjusting my pack on my shoulder. "The food on that transport was awful. Really. Brown gelatin and some sort of protein supplement bar that tasted like sawdust." I pulled a face, and laughed.

Walking back towards the front desk, I tried very hard not to limp. "Thanks, Dr. Henning. I really appreciate all o' this."

[Barton Henning]

He chuckled, he couldn't help it. It was a refreshing change to have someone in the clinic who wasn't shouting at him or moaning in agony. Barton set down the stack of papers he'd been gathering and, excusing himself for a moment, picked up a key-fob and a hand-held communicator, knowing that although there were plenty of nurses on hand it would be only a matter of time before he was called back into the clinic by some irate patient who demanded to see a Doctor, not a nurse – Barton sighed at that thought.

“I'll only be half an hour or so, I expect,” he explained to a young man with bright green hair, who was the senior orderly for the time being. They exchanged a couple of words quietly and then Barton, turning back to James, smiled and – careful not to walk too quickly - lead the way back out into the City onto the bustling walkways.

“So, what kind of work are you looking for... sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

[James Prent]

"Gods, my manners are horrid. I'm James, James Prent." I stuck out my hand and he shook it with a smile on his face. "An' I'll do just about anything. Well, mostly, anyway. I have experience in waitressing though, so that's where I wanna start lookin'."

I wasn't sure about standing on my feet for ten hour shifts, but I had to start somewhere, right? I had my stretches and physical therapy to continue, as per One-Two-Bee's instructions, and that was supposed to relieve the limp and the cramps. Given enough time.

"So, restaurant, diner, et cetera." I couldn't help but stare around a little wide-eyed at the City. It was so...different!

[Barton Henning]

There was a kind of awestruck wonder on her face that Barton had seen many times before, and even felt himself. Cloud City was so unlike anywhere else he had ever been. Even his memories of Coruscant seemed pale in comparison.

“I think I know just the place.”

Barton's apartment wasn't far from the clinic. It was one of many like it, on a street – if it could be called that – that looked like many other streets on that level. Outside Barton's door, someone had scrawled something he didn't fully understand, but the basic meaning transcended the language barrier. He shook his head and sighed, easing the front door open. The city wasn't as pristine as the Administrator liked to think.

“Well, here we are.”

Inside, the apartment looked a little less impersonal than it had done from the outside. It was decorated with warm colors and had a vague, homely smell about it, the kind that all houses which had been lived in for some time have. There was an old sweater thrown here, a pair of worn running-shoes there. The door clicked closed behind Barton, who shakily tied away some of the clutter.

“Sorry about the mess. I don't get many visitors. You'll be pleased to know that the guest room is in better shape,” he said, leading the way through to a small room just off of the lounge itself.

[James Prent]

I grinned, "You shoulda seen the last place I lived. This is spotless." The Layla was many things, but tidy wasn't one of them. I felt a pang of lonliness as I remembered the crew, and wondered what they were up to.

No matter. They were too busy, and I needed to move on. The room Henning showed me to was small, but clean and the bed looked comfy. I plopped my pack onto the duvet and took a deep breath. Home.

It was bigger than the room I'd stayed in on Nar Shaddaa. "This is perfect. I don't know how t' thank you. I know... I know this can't be how y' were intendin' to spend your day."

[Barton Henning]

“Oh, if you knew how my days usually went... your arrival was a much welcome change.”

Barton lent his weight against the door-frame, arms folded over his chest. He was proud of his little apartment, in spite of the mess.

“That accent of yours, can't help but thinking I've heard it before. If you don't mind me asking, where're you from?”

[James Prent]

"Nar Shaddaa," I answered absently. Ah! So forthcoming! His manner was disarming and I couldn't help but feel at ease.

I looked at him closely to see what his reaction was, but the Doctor gave no outward indication that my answer was surprising. "Its a great place to be from. I wouldn't care if I never saw the frellin' moon again."

[Barton Henning]

“Ahh. I had an uncle from Nar Shaddaa, think he lived in the Corellian Sector. I always wanted to visit, but-” As a youngling on Coruscant, family visits and trips anywhere beyond the halls of the temple were almost unheard of. “Just never had the time. I'm sure you know how it is. You make all these plans for life, things you'd like to see, but life has a habit of getting in the way, somehow.”

Barton frowned then, mostly at himself.

“Sorry, I'm rambling. I think I've got some Runyip stew in the cooler, maybe some spiceloaf. There's some stimcaf too, if you'd like a cup.”

[James Prent]

"Love some, thanks. An' stew sounds great." I fished around in my bag and came up with the pack of stims. "Is it okay if I..? They wouldn't let me on th' transport."

[Barton Henning]

“Well... as a Doctor I should say no,” Barton said, smiling lop-sided. “But, go ahead.”

The kitchen was small and cluttered, like the rest of the apartment, and looked just as used. Barton fished into the cooler unit, moving aside meals he had prepared for a number of days in advance to find what he was looking for. The stew just needed heating up and it'd be ready. Flicking the kettle on to boil, he put the stew in the oven to warm. The caff brewed quickly and he brought two steaming cups into the lounge, where James now sat by a pile of laundered washing that had yet to be hung-up. Barton took a seat opposite.

“So... how long do you think you're going to be staying in Cloud City?”

[James Prent]

I blew out the smoke from my stim out to the side, as far away from the pile of clothes as I could manage. I was already stinking up Dr. Henning's place with my filthy habit, but as he handed me a cup of caf I had already finished one cigarette. Pinching it out, I set it on a ceramic coaster, and sipped the caf. Glorious.

"Ah, I'm not quite sure, at th' moment." I smiled, "It seems really nice here, so who knows? I'm not... I'm not really involved, politically speakin', so I can do just about anythin' I want to, as long as I stay outta trouble, y'know?"

[Barton Henning]

Barton, careful of the heat, sipped his 'caff as he listened. When James paused, he slowly set the cup down and seemed to be thinking to himself for a moment.

“I hope you don't mind me asking this, James, and you can feel free to just... not answer if you like, but how did you end up involved with... them, this?”

[James Prent]

"Oh," I said, "Well, its sorta ..." I took a deep breath. "Complicated?"

I patted my left knee, "I needed medical help, and my friends took me there. I think. I was a little out of it."

[Barton Henning]

“Complicated,” Barton repeated, and he found himself laughing a little, though he wasn't quite sure why. Everyone who got caught up in the Rebellion seemed to have a complicated story to tell. He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, sighing in thought.

“They're good people. This whole situation is just... incredibly messed up, and it doesn't really get more messed up than Cloud City. No one faction is really in charge, so there's a constant air of competition. I know I'm not really... selling the place to you, but it's probably best that you find out now before you run into some of the, uh, wrong crowd.”

[James Prent]

"Well, I'm no friend of the Empire, I'll tell ya that," I stated emphatically. "I just don't picture myself as a radical, y'know? I jus' wanna live my life somewhere in th' middle.

"And," I added, "I'm used t' tough places. This place can't be worse than the Smuggler's Moon. Talk about factions! But, not really political ones, I guess."

I sipped the caf, and the timer on the oven went off. I wriggled my eyebrows, "Dinner?"

[Barton Henning]

Barton thought about Nar Shaddaa and what kind of life James might have lead there, but his thoughts were quietened by the sharp ding! of the oven. Bowls and cutlery assembled, he dished out to healthy servings of stew with a side plate of thick-cut spice loaf. He looked at the two plates and wondered if he hadn't made too much. On the way back to the couch, he almost tripped but managed to save himself just in time, muttering a tame curse at the shoe that was to blame.

“I got the recipe for this from a girl named Molly Black. She works at one of the local bars, Cloud 9. I'm not sure whether they're hiring at the moment, but if they are I'll be sure to put in a good word for you, if you want to apply.”

[James Prent]

"Hey, that would be great," I said, then nearly burnt my mouth on the stew as I shoveled it in rather unceremoniously. Working hard not to spit it out, I cracked my mouth open and tried to blow the heat off the food already inside. "Aahhh!" I said, and took a big bite of the room temperature spice loaf to take the edge off of the stew.

Swallowing, I shrugged my shoulders apologetically. "The stew is great." To prove it, I spooned up another helping, but carefully blew on it before eating it.