Wretched Resuscitation

[Pierce Tondry]

As the starlines faded into stars, Pierce correctly believed no welcome would result from his homecoming to the Wheel. His suspicions confirmed themselves a few minutes later when, after identifying himself to the Valiant flight controller several times, he was asked "You're who?"

"Intel Agent Pierce Tondry," he repeated obstinately. "Authorization code fog-zed-zed-plural-zed-alpha nine five six."

Flight Control (who clearly did not like him) paused. "Agent Tondry," the next excuse not to let him aboard began. "That's not your usual craft and you've been missing for a month. Explain your absence."

"Be happy to give a full debrief soon as I'm aboard, sir."

"Agent," the uppity rakatat started in a high-n-mighty tone. "We've engaged the Empire while you were away. Security is on full alert right now and everyone, even high-clearance agents, must go through full check-in process."

Inwardly, Pierce winced - no word of this came from the Tallax cell he connected with he wished he'd known the news. Outwardly, he sighed and cut power to engines and shields to allow for a full scan. "Fine. Get this over with."

"Scan initiated. Kindly answer my question while we wait, Agent."

"Long Shot One should already be docked," Pierce stated flatly. "Mission we left on succeeded but there was pursuit. I got left behind." -When I fell out of my own damn ship saving Karen from doing the same- "Had to go underground and I've spent the last month attempting to re-establish contact with the Wheel in a secure fashion. Eventually helped a Rebel cell in the Tallax system. They'd scheduled a shipment of med supplies to the Wheel; I needed to get there. And here I am."

Another brief comm silence ensued. "You're cleared for dock, Agent Tondry," FC finally informed him.

"Good." Pierce powered the engines back up. "Requisition me a med-check. I've spent time swimming in garbage between being shot and I'd like to make sure I'm not growing a dianoga somewhere."

A choked laugh came from the other end of the comm. "I'll forward your request. Welcome to the Valiant."

[Chaz de Coventina]

“Specialist Leong,” Chaz de Coventina said slowly, her voice laced with confusion, “I’m still not sure I understand exactly how this happened.”

“It’s an old trick, ma’am.”

The Knightfall doctor's brows lifted in disbelief, creasing her forehead with frustrated furrows that settled below the fiery horizon of her copper-hued hair. Impatience was clear in the stiff set of her jaw.

“An old trick.” She repeated flatly. When no elaboration was forthcoming, she pressed on, “You mean to tell me this is a common course of... treatment?”

“Yes, ma’am,” First Class Ami Leong nodded, her large brown eyes solemn as she stared back unflinchingly at the physician. She jerked her shoulders upward in a casual shrug. “Every knuckle dragger does it.”

“Really.” Chaz eyed the wiry framed mechanic suspiciously. Even though the woman’s face was a friendly, open-featured one and showed no sign of deceit or humour, it was hard not to suspect that there was a punchline lurking about somewhere. In the thirty minutes that they’d spent together it had been made abundantly clear that Specialist Leong was an intelligent, capable woman in possession of a keen reasoning ability and logical thought processes; the impression was supported by her impeccable service record. Surely ignorance couldn’t be credited for her current predicament - could it? - and so the only conclusion that Chaz was left to draw was that she was being had. Perhaps this was an initiation of sorts, though Leong was playing it awfully straight if that were the case.

The medic stared baldly at the gash on the crewman’s arm. Angry red and oozing a viscous yellow-green fluid, the infection that had set in looked as though it was ready to start snarling audibly, so savage was its appearance. Chaz grimaced. No, this was no joke. “You sliced yourself during repairs and then rubbed engine fluid on it.”

“Valve lubricant, ma’am,” Leong corrected easily. She was remarkably unruffled, considering. In fact, she looked almost bored as she sat on the exam table, the top half of her coveralls shucked down around her waist leaving her in a simple grey tank that showed off her impressively defined arm musculature. “It stops the bleeding real fast.”

“You’re aware that a bacta patch and adhesive gauze would have done the same thing and saved you the trouble of an infection?”

“The lube’s faster and more convenient,” Ami shrugged again and Chaz got the sense that the mechanic was trying not to roll her eyes. “We’re shorthanded as it is, Doc. We don’t have time to stop and get hysterical over a lousy little scrape.”

“And look how well that worked for you,” Chaz couldn’t suppress the acidic bite to her words and didn’t bother trying to mask the irritation in her expression as she gestured to the festering wound. “Performing basic first aid isn’t hysterical, Specialist Leong, it’s sensible, especially when your ‘lousy little scrape’ is a contaminated laceration. Had you done so in the first place instead of relying on rubbish circle-jerk home remedies, you would still be down in the understaffed hangar instead of stuck up here, wasting time and emphasizing just how shorthanded your crew really is.”

Leong blinked and stared for a half-second before her outrage caught up. She glowered and opened her mouth to speak but Chaz shook her head and cut her off, holding up a hand.

“I’m not interested in whatever cutting insult you have, creative though I’m sure it is; my only concern is this,” Chaz gingerly lifted Ami’s arm, grasping her wrist between brisk fingers. She released the appendage and shook her head, jotting down a note on the datacard that hung on the end of the repulsorlift sleeper Leong was perched on. “A meddroid will be in to clean that out. I’m going to send a styptic poultice back with you; the next time you or one of your buddies slices yourself open, use it. It’ll stop the bleeding without the added fun of gangrene.”

Without waiting for a response, the doctor turned and tugged back the privacy shade, squeezing past the meddroid that was already shuffling in with a tray of instruments in its hands.

Probably has more patience for these military types, anyway, Chaz thought to herself, another swirl of annoyance pooling in her belly. Of all the stupid, senseless things...

“New policy,” She stated blithely as she reached reception. Magda, the infirmary assistant, looked up with a mixed expression of amusement and apprehension - it was hard to tell when Dr. de Coventina was being serious and when she was just in that mood of hers. Chaz slapped a palm down on the countertop loudly. “If anyone sticks a foreign body or substance into an open wound, they get an automatic Amputation Special card for free. I mean it. Bloody, stupid... valve lubricant, Magda.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and drew a deep, calming breath. Some days aboard the Wheel were more trying than others. “Honestly, what’s next? Gargling with waste water for a sore throat?”

[Pierce Tondry]

Irascible. That word definitely fit the attending physician best; she wore it like a perfume. Pierce wondered whether her attitude came from annoyance at the myopic or fear of hidden secrets before the call of "Pierce Tondry?" summoned him up to the medcheck desk.

"Review and thumb-print here, please." Dr de Coventina (or so the nametag advertised) offered him a datapad. Pierce skimmed it and pressed a thumb to the large square, causing the Doctor to frown. "They never read it."

Pierce allowed a hint of amusement to reach his face; having high-grade observation and recall sometimes defied standard expectations. "No, I did."

Her body language screamed 'skeptical' but she tucked the pad beneath her arm. "Come in then."

As she made to enter the examining rooms, the assistant Magda grabbed her arm and hissed worriedly in her ear. Given Magda's completely pale face, Pierce assumed she knew his reputation.

The physician, on the other hand, brooked no deviations from the norm in her own domain. An exasperated staredown later, the assistant retreated to the desk. "As I was saying, come in. Head to room 5, I'll be in with you in a moment."

Pierce did so silently, dismissing the fearborn prejudice that coiled around yet another civilian. Shame that the extent of their knowledge of him went no further than 'Former Imperial spy, killed many friends and families, stay away he will kill us all'.

Room five contained the typical bunk and varying equipment. As he sat, Pierce took mental note of the location of the syringes, gloves, pills, and various other potential makeshift weapons. It never hurt to be prepared, though Pierce decided a long exam was unlikely. If his read of Ms de Coventina proved correct, she valued efficiency and competency and needed to put out five other fires elsewhere in the ward.

[Chaz de Coventina]

Coruscant--or rather, Imperial Center as it was wont to be called now--was in possession of a phenomenal health care system. A hub for technological advancement, the writhing ecumenopolis attracted some of the most prodigious and influential intellects and it was this fortunate combination of means and minds that, in part, had devised a system capable of churning out well-honed professionals in too many individual fields to number. Of course, it bred a lot of bureaucratic bantha poodoo too, and for every promising young upstart there was bound to be a half-dozen tragically idiotic fools - but this was a universally applied statistic and Galactic City, at least, maintained the ability to boast that, per capita, it averaged more than the usual count of talented citizens.

It was exposure (survival?) of this environment that had set Chaz’s impatience for petty fence gossip on a hair trigger. She had seen and treated all sorts of characters, repeated species by species, in her time on the capital; sprawling drunks and wheedling addicts; adamant hypochondriacs and timid supposers; filthy, dirt-poor, space-hardened traders with no compassion to speak of and bleeding heart liberals who were full of imploring speeches on a litany of good causes. A being’s past deeds, unless diagnostically relevant, weren’t important.

And, oh, how noble that sounded: how impartial. Chaz was impartial, sure; she didn’t give a good gods damn about anyone’s reputation or standing, thank you very much. A patient was a patient and time was a valuable commodity, not to be wasted on entertaining hysterical notions of ill-willed espionage. Save it for the holovids, as far as she was concerned, because all the medic wanted to do was get through the diagnostic and move the frell on so she could collapse at the end of the day with a modicum of accomplishment to keep her warm while she indulged her vices.

“Tondry,” Chaz said by way of greeting as she entered the exam room, not once looking up from the datapad that contained his medical history. “You’re returning from...” She glanced down at the ‘pad and scowled. “‘Field operations’. Well, that’s helpfully unspecific. Welcome back. Do you have any particular concerns or is this just a general exam to make sure you’re in working order?”

Pulling a small, double-plated scope from the breast pocket of her clinic tunic, Chaz held it up to the man’s face, a scant few inches away from his eyes.

“Keep your gaze straight ahead, please. Don’t blink.”

[Pierce Tondry]

To his credit, the soldier in Pierce obeyed the order with skill to rival a durasteel sculpture engaged in the task. The muscles behind the face froze in their inner workings and allowed the physician to complete the eyecheck. "Both. I haven't had a general physical in about two years; in that time I've been beaten, stabbed, roughed up, burned, and most recently, shot. I've also swam through waste water that I'm pretty sure contained dianogas."

The physician posed another question while gazing through a device into his left ear. "What part of your body received these injuries?"

"Head, torso, back, right upper arm. No leg injuries."

The physician pulled the device away from the other ear and tapped the simple navy tee he wore. "Off."

Pierce pulled his shirt over his head and set it beside him. Though his body bore several thin strips and splotches of white, no obvious deformities or injuries existed. The physician pursed her lips, clearly weighing courses of action. In the end, the physician - Pierce's eyes flitted to her nametag again - de Coventina produced yet another medical scanner and began running a light over the various scars.

"You know something about first aid, at least." Words that seemed a begrudging admission to Pierce's ear, though still dressed to the hilt in a clinical tone. "And you stay in shape. What do you eat?"

"Mostly rations and meal supplements. Real food where and when I can get it."

"That sounds like an abnormal diet."

"Define 'normal'."

de Coventina's expression went wry. "Not the awful mush they serve in the mess halls on this ship."

"Agreed."

de Coventina withdrew a flat tongue-check sensor from yet another pocket, attached a plastic covering to one, and peered at his mouth. "Open wide and say-"

"Ahhhhh." Pierce followed the prompt.

"Good." de Coventina delivered the compliment in tones as brusque as anything else she'd said. She held the device long enough to get an annoying-yet-accurate reading and then withdrew it. Data appeared from the sensor on the 'pad and her fingers tapped in a few additional notes. "So far, you appear in good health. I'll need to run a full bioscan and blood workup to test for any parasites you may have."

Pierce nodded understanding. "You'll detect a few trace chemicals in the skin on my upper arms and lower back."

This got de Coventina's attention and she responded pointedly. "We don't like it when people put strange things into open wounds. Should I ready the amputator droid?"

"They're the result of some unique tattoos."

de Coventina eyed his unmarked arms. "Invisible ones?"

"In this lightband. They're a work requirement. Just let me know if you're going to do anything that might alter them."

"Very well. Put your shirt back on and go to the small waiting area about two doors back. I'll be back in a few minutes to run a complete set of tests on you."

[Chaz de Coventina]

Regardless of the reputation Tondry had garnered for himself - which was not an enviable one, if Magda's impression of the man could be universally applied to the general public aboard the convoy - he was a good patient. Succinct, obedient, thus-far honest; all traits that Chaz held in high esteem and valued in anyone who walked through the doors of her (and she did think of it in personal terms) clinic. Sadly, they were few and far between. All too often people confused the medbay for a confessional and her professional inquiry for personal interest. The sheer amount of unsolicited ship's gossip that was offered along with her yes-or-no queries could have fueled a soap opera and several spinoffs for years. Chaz often wondered what the consequences would be were she to accidentally (sarcastic rabbit fingers) plunge a hypodermic dispenser of sedatives into the carotid vein of those particular appointments. Probably she could get away with it the first dozen times.

And then there were the bloody hypochondriacs. It never failed; there was always one or two aboard a vessel. Every splinter or muscle twinge was cause for a trip to the medbay and by the time they arrived they were generally in hysterics, convinced that some life-threatening side affect was already a foregone conclusion. Chaz had seen toddlers with more stoicism. Of course, after the first time she'd indulged one such particular Petty Officer's doomsday notions by agreeing that, mm, yes, there was an odd wheezing edge to her perfectly normal congestion and that they ought to put her in confinement lest it be a rare form of deep space influenza - a pronouncement that had caused the girl's face to drain completely in a matter of seconds - Magda had done her level best to herd those appointments to one of the other physicians on staff.

Tondry, though. He was the ideal midpoint between the two extremes. Chaz had only to hold up a hypodermic and the man readily extended his arm, allowing her to draw the blood needed for his panels. The doctor pressed a thin web of sealing mesh against the needlemark left behind and then depressed the vial of red fluid into a serum separator, writing Tondry's name and the test code on the small label provided in her tiny, neat script.

"The scanner's broken - again - so processing will take some time. I'll do a manual 'scope for major contenders while we wait for your labs to come back. In the meantime," Chaz pulled a cartridge of milk-blue liquid from a cooler unit underneath the exam table and inserted it into a new injection fun. She held it up, cocked like a space cowboy, and then swiftly pressed it against Tondry's forearm and pulled the trigger. There was a dull click and the contents of the vial drained away. "That will keep you from going septic, just in case."

"If you'd like, I can also have you put under an antiseptic field," She lifted a questioning brow. "It means staying here in an iso-room for a couple of hours but it might be a good idea, given the circumstances."

[Pierce Tondry]

She cared about him.

Not in that romantic way that idiots went for in holodramas. Not in a friendly way either; the two of them barely knew each other and "friends" failed to apply. Professional courtesy mismatched as well, though it hit the mark more closely.

No, saving lives lay paramount in de Coventina's priorities (after some kind of coffeine and a warm breakfast, Pierce guessed). She worked, tireless, to ensure that anyone in her ward received the best care she could muster no matter what they'd done to themselves. Those at her doorstep through no fault of their own, she worked hardest to save. She wasted no time when on duty; neither with needless pleasantries nor foolishness alike. Anyone whose shenangians caused her to take time away from her "real work" still got care, but she let them have it. Pierce bet she garnered a reputation for it among her clinic-mates. He also bet it never stopped her from her work.

The perspective fit him too. Better than most, he understood the life and death decisions behind the job they did.

And also, he saw a chance to help her along. "Decon's the smart move, but I hate wasting time. Is that broken scanner movable?"


######

Karen DeLumiar hesitated across the hall from the medbay door, a mechanic's rag turning over in her hands.

The pause came from Pierce being somewhere inside. Anyone's arrival on the Wheel became big news and on this collection of space-huts, news traveled fast. But when she'd heard the news from Vic, it'd been delivered with the same anger all her former cell-mates used when referring to Pierce. Most people didn't seem to care.

She thought he'd come see her first. To make finding herself easy, Karen'd hung around the flightbay where both Pierce's infiltrator, Long Shot I, and her A-Wing, Screaming Beauty were docked. When he didn't visit, Karen originally thought Pierce might be avoiding her. Then she heard he'd gone to the medbay almost as soon as he'd returned. While that gave her a different reason to worry, it also made his lack of visit much more understandable..

Well, maybe. If Pierce cared about someone, wasn't he the type to send a message a message? Let them know 'Hey, I fell out of a starship, but then I somehow learned to fly so I lived and I missed you so I came back here and-'

No. No, that wasn't Pierce. If he were injured, he'd go straight to get himself patched, so he'd live through the emergency five klicks out that no one'd spotted yet.

But he'd done something amazing for her. She'd started it at gunpoint but like he'd said, he could've pulled out at any time. And she, Karen, lived because Pierce sacrificed himself to keep it that way. And that moment before everything'd gone to hell-

He cared, right? He did. He had to. Something was keeping him away, was all.

She just needed to see what it was for herself.

Karen looked down, suddenly realizing she'd used the rag in her hands to help wipe down a lubricant feed after repairing her A-Wing. Smears of shiny blue ooze now ran across her hands, a smelly reminder of the amount of time she'd wasted standing there thinking about visiting Pierce.

Wisdom from a long-ago conversation with Pierce himself came to her mind. 'You can only mull a strat for so long, Kar. Do something one way or another before the moment's up.'

She started a foot towards the medbay door and stopped short of walking into an armed guard. “Tondry's in here, sir.”

“Thank you, Private. Dismissed.” Karen watched as the nondescriptly uniformed human male entered the medbay before her, Intel spook stripes hanging on the left shirt breast. Coldness churned in her gut like it did when she couldn't shake a tail during a sim-dogfight. Trouble hunted Pierce. She just didn't know what for.

She raised a hand to enter the ward herself, then remembered the lubricant on her hands. The docs in there would kick her out faster than she could eject from Screaming Beauty. And what would a pilot do about a spook officer anyway? She'd be no help to Pierce at all, as unprepared as she was.

Karen turned and burned atmo back to the flightbay.


######

“Agent Tondry, I know you're in there. Please respond.”

Pierce ignored the voice coming through the isolation room's doorway comm. The bio-scanner's self-diagnostic text scrolled across the touchscreen with the fillbar monitor at the top reading 99%. He'd done the routine twice before with hangups right at this stage. Mentally, he crossed his fingers.

The monitor paused, hit 100%, and then activated normal-looking screens, complete with medical wording above his understanding and a happy blinking prompt.

Satisfied, Pierce went to the doorway comm and pressed the call button that reached the front desk. “This is Pierce Tondry in Iso-2. The scanner's fixed if you'd like to send someone back for it.”

Hopefully, whoever they sent would have sufficient authority and wrath to boot the official-sounding man from the premises. Perhaps even de Coventina herself.

[Chaz de Coventina]

In the brief time that it took Chaz to administer three vaccinations and complete a physical, Tondry's page reached the front desk. The doctor stared at Magda as the message was reiterated, disbelief etched on her face. While it came as a surprise that he'd repaired the expensive piece of lab equipment (she'd allowed him to take it, figuring that it wasn't as though he could inflict further damage on it), what was more unlikely was that he'd done what two medical techs and a droid hadn't been able to do in a week in a little over an hour.

"You never know," Magda shrugged, an uneasy expression on her face. "They say he's pretty tight-lipped. Who knows what he's capable of."

"Oh, for pity's sake. You're beginning to sound like one of those silly, hysterical women who sees murderers everywhere." Chaz glared sternly at the girl, snapping up the datapad that contained Tondry's lab results so far.

"I'm not the only one who's heard--"

"Until those others are stationed in this medbay, they don't concern me. I credited you with having enough brains to make your own judgements, Magda, not ride on the coattails of other people's. I'm going to go check on our resident mystery man and when I get back, please be so kind as to have dropped the frakking subject."

With a flourish, Chaz turned and stalked away from the desk. She'd been harsh with Magda --perhaps too harsh, but honestly, hearing fluff from the patients was trying enough; was she now meant to tolerate it from staff as well?

As the physician rounded the corner, an obnoxiously loud and demanding voice reached her ears. She frowned at the hulk of a man standing outside the Iso-Ward.

"Excuse me," Chaz cleared her throat as she approached, offering him a thin smile. "This is a medbay. I'll thank-you to keep your bellowing down to a dull roar."

"I'm here for Tondry."

"Yes, I gathered that from your delightful presence outside his room."

The man gave her a hard look and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm here for Tondry," he repeated, his tone even and exacting.

"I heard you the first time," de Coventina said, mirroring his tone. "Unfortunately, he won't be available for a few hours. I can neither admit you into Iso nor release him, not without risk of contamination."

"That's unacceptable."

"And yet it's truth that you're going to have to live with. I'm sure whatever it is can wait until such time as Tondry is fit to leave." There was nothing friendly in the smile that Chaz now wore. Instead, only a steely challenge shone in her eyes. "If you'd like, I can call security to escort you out; it's a small clinic but it's still easy to get turned around."

There was a long moment of heavy silence, during which Chaz didn't dare break eye contact with the uniformed ape. Finally, he seemed to come to a resolution. "I want to be notified the moment he's given the all-clear."

"Of course."

Her level assent was enough. With one last suspicious glance at Iso-2, the man marched briskly by de Coventina and out of sight around the corner. She waited a full minute before pressing the comm button on the wall and keying in her security code to authorize the opening up of a channel.

"Mr. Tondry, you have some charming associates. I understand you've fixed my scanner?"