All The Voices in My Head

[Taala Su]

"The procedure itself will be quite painless," Doctor Hemwegg reassured his patient. "It is a delicate operation and, yes, you will have to be awake for it -"

"So you can tell if you've tweaked the wrong bit of my brain," interrupted Taala, making one of her eyelids twitch and wink before closing them both and taking a deep breath. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

Doctor Hemwegg smiled. "It is normal to be nervous, Ensign. The science is unproven in sentients. We have a good idea of what will happen, but until we do it..."

Taala nodded, eyes still closed. "I understood the risks when I signed up." She looked up, hazel eyes staring at the Imperial doctor who would be cutting into her head tomorrow. "Having the Recall brain cells inserted may or may not bring about photographic memory. It may or may not make me a vegetable -"

"That is highly unlikely, Ensign. It is more likely that it will simply do nothing - your body may reject the new cells entirely, rather than integrating them. Only a surgical mistake could cause permanent damage and, as I was saying, there will be no mistakes. I will be personally supervising the team, and the actual droid unit has a flawless record."

"Right." Taala wiped clammy hands on her uniform pants, and stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow. I have a busy afternoon and evening of not eating before my surgery." She winked, shook the doctor's hand, and made her way out of the office.

The bright Coruscanti star shone through the buildings that still rose around her as she walked out toward her speeder, the Citadel looming to the west. Imperial Center was a hive of activity, and she would normally be in a cubicle far below, another worker insect pushing data around for ImpIntel. Estranged from her family in Bespin, Taala had welcomed the chance to become part of the Imperial family only to find that dream had fallen far short of what she'd imagined.

Then Doctor Hemwegg had come by, with his words like 'perfect candidate,' 'opportunity of a lifetime,' and 'become an irreplaceable asset for Intel.' She'd taken very little convincing, in the end. Anything would be better than the routine of depression she'd let herself fall into, and she'd already reaped the benefit of a far better apartment. Taala pressed the unlock button on her keytoggle, slipping into the worn seat of her secondhand speeder, and starting it up.

A room in the Imperial Citadel itself! She'd only been there two nights, but just being high enough to actually see the sun during the day - and having a window - had her feeling more optimistic already. She pulled into a skylane and turned west, heading toward the Citadel.

[Taala Su]

Her apartment had an entire wall that was glass, and the sunset was bright enough that she had pulled the shades, of all things, as she puttered about the kitchen not making dinner. It had been well stocked with fresh meats and veggies - Taala had joked to the person delivering it that it was 'brain food.' There was a big bottle of supplements she was taking pre-surgery, and another, bigger bottle, for her post-surgery regime.

She wasn't sure how long she'd end up being in the medical center and didn't want leftovers spoiling in the 'fridge when she returned, so she had been trying to make a one person meals in the days prior and had failed miserably. Hearty nerf meat in gravy over pasta, with a side of green beans...and there was enough in the 'fridge for at least two meals. Taala made a face at the carefully stacked plastic containers in the refridgerator, and began pulling them out and setting them on the counter.

She paused for a minute, watching the speeder traffic fly by as the last rays of the star were defeated by twilight. Coruscant lit up like a carnival at night, but what Taala really loved looking at were the stars. She'd never been high up enough before to be able to see even one through the nighttime glare. Even here, in the Citadel, it was difficult. Star gazing, however, would have to wait until later.

Taala picked up the containers and ventured out of her apartment to the hallway. The building wasn't well populated, by any means, but she knew there were a few other people staying around her. She headed to the nearest door and knocked.

[Jarvan Trask]

"Again. Repeat. Again. Repeat."

The commands droned, an incessant buzzing in his ears that went on forever. He didn't even hear the words anymore. Just noise. Every other tick marked the moment he tossed the weighted medicine ball back to the medical officer standing opposite him, and on the odd ticks he tossed it back. Beside them a medical droid repeated the two words over and over, paying no heed to the perspiration soaking foreheads and uniforms. Looser clothing was recommended but Jarvan Trask neither owned civilian clothing nor did he have any wish to. Instead he wore his non-combat uniform. The gray-green slack and watching jacket, the latter of which had been removed and sat nearby resting over the back of a chair; the piping and insignia marking him as a Sergeant Major in the Stormtrooper Corps. The Lightning bolts and sword marked him additionally as a Navy Commando. The rank insignia was bright and shiny. Brand new.

A heavy breath marked the moment between throws, catching his breath before the heavy medicine ball was thrown back. This was his life now. Rehabilitation. You get hit with a concussion grenade in the line of duty and they toss a medal and promotion at you and put you on probation until cleared for active duty. It had been weeks already, and he was almost fully functional after the first week. His physical therapist and doctor both agreed that he needed more time to recover. It made him angry, being poked and prodded while his unit continued to fight without him. Just thinking about it made him livid. The ball started going faster as the pace picked until finally the officer had to duck the last toss as it was thrown more or less straight at his head.

"That's enough for today. Same time tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah." Was all Trask said as he collected his jacket and headed for the door. His quarters were in the same building, the Imperial Citadel. It was only a turbolift ride to get from the medical center to the rehabilitation wing. He felt very out of place here, in a container for those recovering from injuries and disease under supervision. It was never explained to him why he was put here instead of the Med Bay aboard a Destroyer. Following orders. That's why. It was what he was good at, and it was what he continued to do now. Rest, recover, and fight another day. Easier to read in a mission statement than to do it. Every day was hell punctuated with social anxiety and an itchy trigger finger.

Even now walking through the recovery ward he tactfully ignored everyone he passed, or avoided entirely in the case of some of the more sickly looking patients. His room was one of the last in the hall. He hated walking past the sick and the wounded. It made him self conscious. He didn't feel like he belonged here. Compared to just about everyone else he was a picture of health. While they prayed for a tomorrow he complained about having to toss a weighted ball around, to run on a treadmill, and get his blood taken. Hated it. He hated everything about this place. This was no place for a soldier.

Trask's room was spartan. What furnishings it had come with he had thrown away or had removed. The facility staff insisted on the bed remaining, but he pushed it aside every night and laid on the floor, which was still too comfortable. He was used to sleeping in his armor in a reinforced bunk. Now he was forced to lay on the floor with a broom laid alongside him so he had something to simulate the blaster rifle he normally slept with his hand on. They did not permit weapons in here, leading to more uneasy feelings for his battered conscience. With his therapy out for the day he was planning on tucking in early. He wasn't tired. After years in the Corps. being tired was not a necessity for sleep. You learned to power down when you need to, and there was nothing else to fill in his "free" time. Sleep was a good distraction.

There came a knock on his door. In a galaxy of electronic chimes and bells it was a startling sound that caused him to turn sharply to face the door. Odd. The facility staff rarely bothered him. They had learned in the first week that he did all his own cleaning. They only came for his laundry now, and even then they did it while he was not in the unit. Stepping tentatively toward the door he pulled the towel from his neck and dabbed his forehead before pulling the door open and looking out into the dark skin face of a woman. She was clearly not staff, which meant by nature of this place that she was a patient also. Strange, she didn't look sick or crippled.

"Can I do anything for you soldier?"

[Taala Su]

(ooc: these are apartments, not dorm rooms)

Taala blinked and smiled as the door slid back to reveal her next door neighbor. He looked tired, and grumpy, and the apartment behind him looked incredibly sparse. She pulled her eyes back to his face. "Agent, actually. Taala Su. I live... next door." His demeanor wasn't changing, and she was getting the idea that he didn't want to be bothered. "Uh, I'm going to be gone a few days, but I had leftovers - just a day old - in the 'fridge and thought I'd offer them... It's nerf stew. My mother's recipe."

She held out the food storage containers. "If you want. If not, I guess I'll try another door."

[Jarvan Trask]

"I appreciate that." He replied. Trask couldn't remember when he had last had a homecooked meal. Military rations were the normal in the Stormtrooper Corps. Fine powder, add water, and a hardy meal if you avoid the cheese. It was hardly real food. It was more like a pack of sustenance and nutrition. Hardly food. Food was something you eat and enjoy. Soldiers aren't paid to enjoy. Real food was the only thing he missed as a soldier. The rest of that civilian crap was not for him.

Accepting the containers he popped the lid off the top one and took a smell. It was cold, but there was plenty of aroma. "Smells delicious. I can't remember the last time I had something homecooked. The food on Star Destroyers is terrible.

So what are you doing in this side of the Citadel? Mostly wounded soldiers like me down here."

[Taala Su]

She smiled as he complimented the stew, and then her own stomach decided to growl as she caught the aroma. Taala shrugged, her cheeks darkening a bit as she blushed at the horrific sound. "Yep, that's right. Rehab and rest, that's what I'm in for. After tomorrow, that is." Given the top secret nature of what was going to be done to her, it wasn't like she could just tell him everything.

"I'm glad that's going to a good home," she said, indicating the food containers. "If I'm still able to, when I get back after surgery I'll cook you some more, if you want. I'm terrible at cooking for one."

[Jarvan Trask]

"At least you can cook." Jarvan replied with a weak smile. "They don't exactly teach us how in boot. I've been living off a crate of ration packs I snuck in here. Tastes like home. God willing I won't be here much longer. Can't wait to get back to the front line."

Her growling stomach did not go unnoticed. It would have taken a couple concussion grenades to the sides of his head to hide that sound. "Going under for surgery? That's always rough. How are you holding up? Nervous?"