Tales from the ER, Ep. I [Ask]

[Andreus Makaryk]

OOC thread

Onderon

Oh, fracking damn it.

My shift at the only known hospital on this Force-forsaken Rim Rock had already not gone well. Already, two seven-hour operations, and a five-hour operation, on top of the innumerable random crappy cases that pop up on a planet with only one doctor per eight thousand inhabitants. Nearly thirty-five hours into my forty-eight hour shift, and this was only my second lunch break. I had not eaten in more than twenty-four hours. The last chance I had had to sneak a drink from my canteen: nine hours ago.

And now, though I frantically wolfed down whatever food I could stuff in my stomach within twenty minutes, I had a bad feeling that my lunch break was about to be cut short. I frantically stuffed half a sandwich into my voluminous mouth, slipping a stimpill inside because I knew there would be no other way for me to take it with what I had a really bad feeling about what was coming. A feeling of pure dread, the kind I get when I know that a single operation is going to hold me over past my forty-eight hour shift, before the 40-Hour. And I'm not even close to the 40-Hour yet. It's barely thirty-five hours in, so I know this is gonna be really bad.

I rush back to the operating room, right when I hear the sirens of the ambulance shut off, and I just know this one's gonna be dumped off on me...

Paramedics immediately rushed in with the patient on the gurney, which happened to be a complete fracking mess. I see blood oozing from his head right away, though that bleeding appears mostly staunched already by the paramedics, but blood is still literally spurting, or trying to spurt through the cloth the paramedics put on, from his cartoid artery and is generally splattered all over his body. I know not how he survived the initial thirty seconds after whatever the frack happened, but I recognize the hemorrhagic shock immediately. This guy is going to die if that artery is not sutured within...oh, about forty-five seconds. "Get me one Type O-Neg unit and oxygen NOW!" I bark, even before the medics have a chance to tell me this guy's condition. I already know; I immediately reach for my trauma needle holder, specifically crafted for this kind of thing (as opposed to a more standard needle holder used in non-emergencies). I have my suture in hand even before the paramedics wheel him up to me, and though I already know his condition, they rattle off his stats anyway, as they are trained to do.

"Pulse 174, BP 39/28 and falling, temp 95.9..." the rest of it is a blur. "...speederbike accident, ejected 240 feet, internal organ damage, practically all his bones broken..."

Quickly, I take off the cloth, which while it probably staunched the hemorrhaging of blood just barely long enough for the paramedics to get him to me, still isn't gonna save his life if that artery isn't patched yesterday. Frantically, I thread the suture through the tiny gap in his cartoid. It looks like it just snapped from the force of impact; by all rights this guy should have died instantly. It takes a lot to just snap an artery, especially for blunt-force impacts, but damn...I don't think I'm gonna be fast enough. The gap is just too big for me to seal in the twenty seconds I have remaining...

Then the suture welds itself to both sides of the artery. What the hell? Quickly, I take advantage of the few extra seconds this buys me, to seal the guy's cartoid. It will have to be removed whenever the artery can finish healing on its own. I look up...to see the oxygen canisters arriving. Second order of business, ah yes, getting oxygen to this guy's brain. As I hook him up to the oxygen and start suturing his numerous lesser arterial injuries, and apply scarce clotting factor to his head wounds to stop the bleeding entirely, I have just a little more time to wonder what the frack happened with the cartoid suture. I've never seen that before. Ever. And I have lots of experience in operations like this, too. I wonder if it has anything to do with the phenomenon of medicine being more effective when given by my hand. It's weird, but ever since I made the hospital start recordkeeping on treatments and patient outcomes, it's been statistically verified.

A couple of minutes later, a unit of O-Negative blood arrives. Universal blood donor, of which I happen to be one. It's obviously a rare blood type, but I know I can replenish the hospital's stock by donating blood myself later; it's been more than sixty days. The galaxy outside of the Rim looks upon this system of blood transfusion as primitive, I know, but it is, unfortunately, all this hospital can afford. At least his left arm survived the impact with only a broken ulna and assortment of carpal/metacarpal injuries. Its circulation is still intact enough for me to stick a needle there, and I hook him up to receive the transfusion, to replace at least some of the I'm-sure-several-liters of blood that he lost. I check his pulse and blood pressure. His pulse has fallen somewhat to 154, and his BP has risen somewhat to 51/35. I will need to watch those like a hawk, but at least the decline has stopped for now.

With his circulatory system appearing to stabilize for now, I make sure that the cloth is tight against the patient's neck. I can do a skin graft later, but for now I need to examine him to find out if there are any more surprises. Mostly, severe internal organ damage. Indeed, I find out that his stomach is now leaking acid into the rest of his body, which must be corrected immediately. I immediately reach for a kolto packet (this hospital cannot raise the up-front capital required for full tanks), and spend at least the next forty minutes or so sewing that back together. Ugh. The only thing that's worse is messing with someone's intestines. I check his vitals again, 110 pulse and 72/51 BP. Not great, but at least good enough that he won't be dying on me thirty seconds from now. He's still got enough other organ damage so that I can't upgrade his condition from critical to serious yet, but I do have the feeling now that my efforts so far are not in vain. "Get me an IV," I order the staff, as things finally calm down just enough for me to bring my assistant, Kelli, over and have her help me examine him. He's got so many broken bones that I'm not even going to bother identifying all of them; I'm going to just let my surgical assistant do that. The IV comes very shortly, and I stick it in the same arm that I'd stuck the blood transfusion into; the sooner I can get some water and nutrients into this guy so that his body can recover from the rest of the blood it lost, the better.

In the meantime, as I go to treat a severe laceration on his liver, I notice that his stomach damage is healing very quickly. Too quickly. As in, by the time I'm done with the liver damage, the guy's stomach will be healed. Huh? Kolto doesn't work THAT quickly. Not even for me. But as there is little I can do about it, and I REALLY shouldn't complain about it, I spend the next hour working on this guy's liver...

With that, after I'm done with this guy's liver, I take my gloves off. Frack it. I need a drink or I'm gonna be the next one keeling over and getting operated on. I take a deep swig out of my canteen, so deep that I have to refill it. Then I wash my hands, put another set of gloves on, and get myself some bone sealant. Fortunately, Kelli had by now identified each of his broken bones...and this was gonna take a LONG time. Unfortunately. My intuition that I was doomed to stay over, had proven correct.

Bone sealant is expensive, so I had to ration it on internal bones only. Like vertebrae and ribs. The first thing I noticed while I was repairing his broken vertebrae: nerve damage. In the spinal cord. Bad. Out came more kolto, and surgical implements. Though I was tired, by now exhausted, I could not let my fingers slip now. No. Not while I was making sure that this guy would not be paralyzed for the rest of his life. Too damn important. For hours, I stood over him, carefully fusing back together his broken and disjointed spinal cord so that the guy could learn to walk again. As much as I hate the stress, ALWAYS must I remember that the patient is more important.

Forty-eight and a half hours into my shift, I finally finished stitching his central nervous system back together, after no less than ten hours spent on that endeavor alone. I still had his 140-someodd broken bones to look forward to, and that did not count the vertebrae I'd already repaired and sealed. I finally grafted skin onto the patient's neck, where the damage to his cartoid had been exposed, after disinfecting it of any infections that might have crept in. Any number of things were more important during that time, and besides, that opening had provided a convenient insertion point to work on his neck without me having to make another incision. I just had to be really careful around there, for obvious reasons. I used sealant on every single one of the guy's ribs, for they were all broken, as well as a cracked sternum...I was still amazed this guy's lungs weren't crushed by the impact. Then I had the honor of gluing the guy's cranium back together.

Fifty-two hours in. By now, I've been working on the patient for seventeen hours. Finally, the internals are all sorted out, his pulse has stabilized to 97, BP 91/64. All I need to do is close him all up again, and prepare casts for his extremities, which the hospital unfortunately cannot afford to expend its limited bone sealant for. Quickly and efficiently, I set first his arms, then his legs, into casts. He will be pretty bound up for a while, and he still needs someone to watch him. I call for a relief doctor after I'm done with all the grafts and casts, as I have done all I can as a surgeon. There are others, including Kelli, who can oversee his recovery, and I only have 36 off hours anyway. I upgrade his condition from critical to stable. I was too busy to upgrade it from critical to serious earlier.

I clock out, after a grueling twenty-hour operation, fifty-five hour shift. Seven hours of overtime for me, but damn I'm exhausted. Though I am bone-exhausted by my efforts today, I still have no chance of falling asleep, as the stimpill will unfortunately still be in my system for two to four hours. I do not particularly like that thought, but decide to make the best of it, and go to the local watering hole, the Merry Mynock. I fling open its entrance, my head slumping forward as I do so, and stumble into a seat. Obviously I am more coordinated than this most of the time, but the bartender knows me and will recognize my exhaustion. Moreover, the locals know that doctors on this Rim Rock must work like dogs, so most of them will give me some space so I don't accidentally bump into one of them and cause problems.

I notice that I am hungry, as I haven't eaten in twenty hours either, so I add that to what I hope will be a decent relaxant for a drink. "I'd like a nerf steak and juri juice," I inform the bartender. Perhaps I can have something better-tasting after I get a decent chance to relax...

Shortly after noon, next day

Dei Aidan rubbed his eyes, completely unable to remember how he had gotten home, or at least what constituted his home. Even though he was a surgeon, and thus an elite compared to the rest of the locals, his living quarters were quite spartan by offworlder standards, consisting of a dim, dark one-bedroom apartment with only a mattress, a few chairs, a single table, and a pantry for furniture. For refrigeration, he used an icebox. He preferred instead to keep credits handy. Better to have credits than to be shot dead for lack thereof--though occasionally he did the killing, albeit in self-defense.

No, he wasn't intoxicated--if anything, yesterday had been so chaotic and exhausting that he just had amnesia. But he remembered his last patient from yesterday very well. Almost too well. Now that his mind had had some time to clear itself from its exhaustion, he found himself wondering what in the universe would have caused yesterday's spontaneous arterial suture. Without a doubt, that happenstance had saved his patient's life.

He activated the one luxury he allowed for himself--a small Holonet terminal--to do a bit of research, searching for spontaneous arterial regeneration. No results, which surprised him; however, occasionally finding a simpler word worked. He replaced the word "arterial" with "tissue" in his query.

Thirty-two results. Apparently it was rare. Then again, possibly more likely, it went unrecorded most of the time. Like yesterday. Dei perused the results and noted they all had certain things in common--namely, some relationship to the Force. More specifically, spontaneous regeneration of body tissue seemed to occur in rare instances when someone was Force sensitive, had a heretofore unknown affinity for healing, was under extreme stress, and severely injured. Sometimes the healing aspect of it was projected onto someone else, apparently the same thing that happened yesterday.

Hmm...the Force? Same thing the Jedi used? Dei's mind whirred as he cross-referenced the Jedi. Interesting...he hadn't heard much about the Jedi before this incident, as Onderon was independent of them, but what little he knew of them interested him. The information before him on the Holonet interested him more.

Most importantly, it appeared a simple blood test could be used to detect Force sensitivity. With a somewhat broader focus now, Dei was able to find out more information about the blood test, including clinical trial results and how it worked. Satisfied, he decided he wanted one for himself, and it could be his for the low, low price of only CR199.95!

He realized that the Jedi would probably test him for free, but he also knew Onderon was a remote place, and for all he knew, the Jedi didn't care enough to come out and test him. Therefore, he figured that he should at least have some concrete evidence of his Force sensitivity before bothering them and asking them to come out. Yes, he would take his midichlorian test, and if it came back positive, he would send the Order the sample along with a letter explaining the random vial in the mail. If it came back negative...he would get paid next week.

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Eighteen Standard Days Later

The first light of day attempted to make its way into Dei's dark bedroom, but having been filtered through a thick cloud deck, had little success. Dei, for his part, stirred and groaned, wondering why he awoke only five hours after getting home from his hospital shift. The last two days hadn't been terribly bad, unlike two and a half weeks before, but nevertheless, forty-eight consecutive work hours still took their toll. Today was supposed to be his day off! Still dressed in hospital garb, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. His eyes tried, mostly in vain, to construe an image from the dark shadows caused by the dim outside light.

He heard a loud knock at his door. Well, that explains it, he managed to think to himself. He managed to jerk himself up, navigating his small abode more by touch than anything else, and made his way to the door. Another loud knock. Doesn't the courier realize how ridiculously early in the day it is!? Dei asked himself incredulously, though he kept the thought to himself.

"Umm...hi, I guess." Dei's voice croaked as he opened the door.

"Dr. Dei Aidan?" the courier asked, seemingly not caring that he had disturbed his customer's sleep.

"Yeah, I am he," the doc replied, fumbling in his pocket for his credit stick. "Umm...how much was the delivery again?"

"One hundred credit delivery cost is included in the unit price," the courier spat out, in a tone that indicated that Onderon didn't generate enough business for the flat delivery cost to be worth it. "Sign, please."

Dei muttered something unintelligible as he handed over his credit stick, and scribbled something that vaguely resembled a doctor's signature. The courier exchanged the two-hundred credit transaction for the box that he carried. As Dei realized what he was paying for, his mind cleared, ever so slightly. "Oh, yeah, take an extra fifty for hauling yourself all the way out here. I've been waiting for this."

The courier nodded and handed back the credit stick, now two hundred fifty credits lighter. "Have a nice day."

"Uh...you too." As the courier left, Dei took the package inside. He made himself a caf before opening it. When he was sufficiently awakened to read instructions, he opened the package and extracted the test kit, a little contraption meant to poke someone's finger and obtain a blood draw therefrom. Simple enough, but Dei read the instructions just in case. The instructions claimed the device had a 10% margin of error--at least this company was honest--and another sealed bag within the box contained a little vial that could hold the blood sample for further analysis if desired.

Dei pricked himself, and squinted at the display trying to make out the reading. It was still dark, but he couldn't move too much lest he jar the sample around and ruin it. Finally, the thing beeped, indicating a final reading, and Dei could get up to turn on a light.

9700, well within one standard deviation of the mean for Jedi, the instructions indicated, even allowing for the margin of error. Yes, the time was come; he would send this little sample off to the Order along with an explanatory letter, and celebrate later during his day off at the local watering hole. The doc quickly slipped the sample into the vial and sealed it, before looking around for paper upon which to write his letter. The best he could find was a prescription pad. Dei allowed himself to grin--how fitting.

He tried to make his writing look neater this time, taking the time to write in all-capital, block lettering, the only way he knew of to make his handwriting sufferable, much less legible:

JEDI TEMPLE--OSSUS
ATTN: RECRUITMENT

DR. DEI AIDAN
303 SPACEPORT WAY #214
IZIZ, ONDERON

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I VERY STRONGLY BELIEVE THAT I AM FORCE-SENSITIVE. TWO AND A HALF WEEKS AGO, A PATIENT WITH A SEVERED CARTOID ARTERY WAS ADMITTED TO MY EMERGENCY ROOM, ONLY SECONDS FROM DEATH. AS I READIED MY SUTURE, THE ARTERY SEALED ITSELF, SPONTANEOUSLY STAUNCHING THE HEMORRHAGIC SHOCK WHICH WOULD HAVE OTHERWISE CERTAINLY BEEN THE PATIENT'S CAUSE OF DEATH. MY OWN RESEARCH INTO SPONTANEOUS TISSUE REGENERATION HAS INDICATED THIS IS A LIKELY INDICATOR OF FORCE SENSITIVITY.

I HAVE FURTHER PERFORMED A BLOOD TEST TO CONFIRM MY FINDINGS. THE BLOOD SAMPLE IS ENCLOSED IN A STERILE MANNER, FOR FURTHER ANALYSIS AS YOU WISH.

UNFORTUNATELY, I POSSESS NO SHIP, AND OFFWORLD TRANSPORTATION IS BEYOND MY MEANS. PLEASE CONTACT ME AT ONDERON, AND NOTE THAT IF I AM CONTACTED THROUGH IZIZ HOSPITAL, I MAY BE BUSY WITH ER PATIENTS AND UNABLE TO RESPOND IMMEDIATELY.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME,

DR. DEI AIDAN

Dei shuddered to think of how much offworld transportation would cost. Just to ship this letter with blood sample off planet would set him back a hundred credits or more; an actual seat on an outbound freighter ran above a thousand credits, mostly because there were not many ships that came through here, and a fair number of people who wanted to leave. Any world with a reasonable degree of commerce, and the outbound fare would be at least less than five hundred. Oh, well, he hoped the Jedi were at least willing to send someone out here.

He added his scrawl-resembling-a-signature to the letter, grabbed the vial, and headed off to the spaceport to mail it. The trip confirmed his suspicions. The cost to ship a few ounces and for a box to ship it in: One hundred and thirty-two credits.

Oh, well, Dei was sure it would be worth it. Otherwise, destiny would not have thrust that patient upon him...

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, as a morning thunderstorm announced its intention to move over Iziz. The darkening sky no doubt meant anyone caught outside would get drenched shortly, and any journey home would consist largely of sloshing about in mud. Dei hurried to pay the one hundred thirty-two credit "postage" for his package, and after observing the clerk take his package, quickly made his way through the nearly-deserted streets. No one wanted to be out this early, and especially not when a thunderstorm was coming. A gust of cool wind blasted Dei as he made his way past a market stall, ignoring the vendor hawking junk salvage for now. Like everything else in his life, Dei had not much time, though in this case, the consequences of not being quick enough remained comparatively minor compared to the ER environment that he was accustomed to.

Dei burst through his door, just as he was blasted by the first sheet of rain with nearly the force of a water cannon, of the type used to dispel fires (or protesters). Not expecting any visitors, he disrobed, the better to get out of his soggy, flash-drenched clothing. The pounding of wind-driven rain against his apartment's rooftop filled his dwelling, and though Dei lay down in an attempt to get some more sleep after the courier's pre-sunrise disturbance, the combination of the rain and thunder kept him awake. Or was it something more? The weather wasn't the only thing on his mind...

After a half-hour of attempting to burrow his head further into his pillow, his attempts at sleep thwarted by the constant background noise, the insomnia sufferer got back up, figuring that if he could not fall asleep, he could at least make better use of his scarce time off. He figured it would be a couple of weeks, at least, before his letter was delivered up to the Jedi Order, and it might be a good idea to use that time constructively, in an attempt to get a head start on his training. Therefore, somewhat against standard advice regarding electronics, he fired up the one luxury he allowed himself--a Holonet connection. He wasn't going to find anything resembling the information he sought from a book--not on this Inner Rim-Rock, which did not maintain a public library.

The doctor-turned-researcher searched for records of Jedi training, but such records that the Order publicly divulged were sparse indeed. Apparently, the Order didn't take to kindly to the thought of the Holonet supplanting its masters in training prospective students. The reluctance was understandable; Dei wasn't sure he would want to broadcast the strengths and weaknesses of Onderon's medical training program to the rest of the universe, either. The closest he found was a paragraph or two on meditation--not even the Jedi Code, which he found odd. I would at least think the Jedi would have a mission statement more detailed than "the guardians of peace in the galaxy." Most of the information that was available about the Jedi, it seemed, came from sources outside of the Jedi Order, many with their own agendas. Dei wondered if the Jedi really were so arrogant, or simply perceived as such by certain shady elements who had other motivations for disapproval.

Nevertheless, he found what he found, and he would have to make do therewith. Perhaps he could make some useful observations from it. What little information he had gleaned had been written about meditation, and it could not alone constitute a tutorial. However, there was a sentence or two that vaguely mentioned "clearing the mind." Dei could only make a semi-educated guess as to what, precisely, that meant. He ceased conscious thought, letting his mind drift to whatever it wished, free of any mentally-imposed distraction. Freed of his distractions (including the weather), his senses heightened a bit, and perceived things he could not perceive before...instead of the mere sound of wind howling, for example, Dei perceived it to be blowing from the northwest at approximately thirty knots, with wind shear against a downdraft about two hundred feet above his head. Shortly thereafter, he thought he sensed hail somewhere in the clouds, in its formative stages, and a few seconds later, his suspicions proved correct.

While the weather remained interesting, without realizing it, Dei had wrapped his fingers around a scalpel, perhaps because they were simply readily available within his abode, or perhaps because of something more. Without conscious thought of any kind, he pricked himself with it, and immediately his attention diverted inward. Instead of noting the weather, his senses noted inflammation, which while medically a non-issue, seemed much larger than it really was, due to his heightened sensitivity in the moment. Dei noted the bloodflow to the area, and felt his blood grow thicker as platelets and blood clotting factors performed their respective biological duties. He thought he sensed some kind of energy--it must have been the Force the Jedi used--flicker through his pricked finger as well, raw and uncontrolled. What should have taken a few moments took but one as Dei's blood clotted around the "wound," trivial but illustrative nonetheless. Dei wondered if he could at all control it.

Then the thought struck him, the purpose behind this little thought experiment revealed: in allowing this mystical Force to direct his thoughts, Dei had stumbled upon a way to "practice" his newly discovered abilities, in a controlled environment, and free of the medical consent issues regarding experimentation (since it was assumed that he could provide consent for himself). The wait for the Jedi to answer might be productive, from a training purpose, after all.

If only it was that simple. Suddenly, a bad feeling washed over him, a noxious feeling indeed. Not only could he practice before ever seeing a Jedi instructor, but suddenly he felt impelled to do so. The thought that plagued his mind was quite similar to his thought pattern of the afternoon before, thirty-five hours into his most recent shift...

 

[Ares]

The Fifth Patrol Division of the 903rd Scout Fleet trolled through the Telti system. The small battlegroup had already passed from Republic Space into the H'ratth system, and had continued into the current one. Technically, they weren't supposed to be doing this, but Veren couldn't think of a single pilot or Jedi who had seen action and not gone into non-Republic territory on patrol. Besides, the inhabitants of these systems, who at first panicked upon sight of the small battle group, now seemed to be much more at peace- after all, a regular procession of a battleship, two frigates, and a horde of starfighters tends to make you feel a lot safer from outside threats, once you accept the former won't hurt you.

Veren's starfighter, the Naiad, was by itself a superbly graceful starfighter. It was elegant, symmetrical, and beautifully designed. The copper-colored starfighter, however, was rarely graceful in the hands of one Veren Lorollo. Most adept pilots maintained solid, strong paths that cut through space. Due to the faun-like Jedi's.... lack of finesse, the ship was wobbling on its course through the system. Damn those trainers, only teaching him to move the ship and fire its weapons..

Veren Lorollo sat in the cockpit of his alien fighter. Tugging at the back of his mind was the fact that in this area of the Inner Rim, he could always feel the barely-gifted beings on all these planets... Somewhat annoying, really. The Jedi Knight paused in his irritation, however. He felt something.... more. A far more substantial Force Presence. Inside the starfighter, the Jedi Knight activated his holoprojector, establishing a link with the Jedi Temple's processing division on Ossus.

The Jedi inquired to the image of a young Duros Knight, "Knight... have there been any reports of Force-Sensitives in the Onderon system? I sense a being with potential."

The Duros pulled up a list on a holoprojector, and answered, "Actually, yes... A human named Dei Aidan- works in a hospital, very... scientific? I dunno. Formal, you could say."

Veren processed the information. If he was a force-sensitive and worked at a hospital, he would likely make an excellent healer when trained... and the Force knows that the Jedi needed more of those in this war. After a minute, the Jedi Knight replied, "I'm going to break off of the scout group and get him. See if he would fit into the Jedi... We need more Jedi, especially Healers."

The Duros' image nodded. "Noted," and cut the transmission. Veren checked the diagnostics. Onderon was only one system away. Granted, it would be a medium-length jump, but he had handled worse. The Jedi Knight reached for the comm, and informed the Battlegroup of his plans. The Jedi leading the group, an aged Cerean Master, acknowledged this, and Veren broke off from the Scout group as it plowed through outer space. The Jedi Knight sent for a hyperspace ring that attached to his customized fighter. As he activated the hyperdrive, the equine thought to himself, And so the fun begins....


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4 hours later....

Veren awoke from his mild doze when the starfighter lurched into the Onderon system, slowing down with an excess of G-Force. The satyr-like Knight blinked and rubbed his eyes. That had taken longer than he had thought it would... Damned Jedi finances. The war had put a strain on the Order's budget, so his starfighter's ring had never gotten an updated hyperdrive. Geez, it felt good to be appreciated.

The Jedi Knight guided his unique starfighter towards Onderon, and after twenty minutes of being hassled by the Space Traffic Controllers, Veren Lorollo finally began to bring the Naiad into a descent to the surface. Eventually, he found an empty landing pad that actually looked safe to land on- after all, it was embarrassing to land on a planet and have to contact the Order for help getting off. Veren's starfighter settled down with a humming buzz as it touched down on the landing pad. The copper starship turned off once he landed, and Veren manually opened the hatch. The Knight disembarked, stretching and popping his neck. He hated flying....

Veren was about 5' 10", with icy blue eyes and curly brown hair. His build was strong, but not excessively bulky, and a pair of small horns protruded from his forehead. His lower body, from the abdomen down, resembled a goat's- his legs were digigrade, furry, he had horse-like hooves, and he had a stubby, useless tail. Veren was clad in sky blue armor with white designs, and he wore a small backpack upon his back. The Jedi Knight's lightsaber, possessing a uniquely curved hilt,sat upon his belt. Tucked under the wide cloth belt was a concealed small-rounds slugthrower pistol with acid rounds. A machete sat inside the backpack, along with seven vials of kolto and two flash grenades. Hanging from his belt was a tiny jar with ten small, glowing insects.... firedrakes. The firefly-like bugs emitted heat, and would burn at touch. Very useful to keep opponents on their toes.


The Jedi Knight shifted his weight onto his left leg and rubbed his right horn unconsciously. Now... where was it the Duros had said that Aidan would be? He worked at a hospital. Fantastic. That was general. He worked at a hospital... somewhere on the planet. Veren decided to simply look him up. The faun-like Jedi lifted his left arm, and accessed the holoprojector built into his armguard. Veren accessed a search engine and looked up "Onderon Dei Aidan hospital"


Surprisingly, it pulled up a doctor from Onderon named Dei Aidan. That was a first. There were several interesting articles about the human, each detailing various medical miracles he had worked. Wow. He had done this with no Force training? This guy was impressive. Veren closed the browser once he found the address, and walked to the Docking ramp, heading down towards the city to catch a cab.


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45 minutes later


Veren stumbled from the taxi, quite ready to clutch sweet, sweet land. The satyr-like Jedi shakily handed the taxi driver the credits he requested, then hobbled off, his hooves clicking on the pavement outside the hospital. That had been.... harrowing. Note to Self:, he thought, Never take local taxis. They are far more dangerous than any battlefield. The Rodian who had been piloting the air taxi had treated the nigh-unturnable vehicle like it were a top-of-the-line interceptor fighter. Veren waited outside of the hospital for several minutes, letting his heart stop racing. He wouldn't be trying that cab firm anytime soon. The Jedi noted that while he had been in the cab, it must have rained- and hard. The area outside the hospital was simply soaked, and the sky above was still cloudy. Veren decided to not test his luck, however, and made his way up the steps to the hospital. He entered the building, and looked around the lobby. It actually seemed rather peaceful. The Jedi Knight straightened his blue armor and strode up to the Reception desk, manned by a tastefully-dressed female Theelin.

"Ma'am," Veren began, "Would one doctor Dei Aidan happen to be here? If so, is his indisposed at the moment?"

The female alien replied, "I'm sorry sir, but he went home about thirty minutes ago. Would you like to leave him a message? If I may ask, what is your business- after all, he works in the ER, not a primary care physician."

Veren paused. He couldn't just ask where he lived- that would be dreadfully tacky. Instead, he would have to either leave a message, or wait... he had a far more devious, more un-Jedi-like idea. The handsome equine thought about it for a minute, then replied, "I knew him from... medical school. I've been trying to get in contact with him for a few months, but I think he changed his holonet address. Could you just give me his address, then I can go and talk to him tomorrow?"

The receptionist raised one delicate eyebrow. "Oh, really? You don't, ah..." she looked at his armored figure. "Look very much the part."

Veren cut in, "I went into field medicine- working with the Republic. Dei went a different direction, and we lost contact. Would you mind telling me his address?"

The Theelin seemed convinced, now- if barely. She took a slip of paper, a brochure, and scribbled down an apartment building's address and an apartment number in Galactic Basic. "There you go. Now, there's a line. Move along, sir."

Veren gave her a stunning smile and proceeded to leave the building. After his experience with the cab drivers here, he decided to walk. The Jedi Knight read the address, and tucked it into his satchel. Veren then reached out with his mind. Biggest Force presence here should lead him right to... ah. There he was. That would be the apartment building. Veren groaned. It was a bit of a distance. Jedi were tough and all- but they got just as uncomfortable as anyone else. The Jedi Knight set off down the street grumbling about not being paid enough for what he did....

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Dei's shift had been quiet for the last few days. Too quiet, simply the run-of-the-mill random drunks and assorted injuries from bar brawls. He wondered why he had had such a bad feeling, a feeling he could only describe to another as imminent death, or at best a close call therewith, only to find that his shift had grown more mundane than usual. The dark feeling that impelled him to cut the palms of his own hands, in a desperate bid to learn more about using the Force for healing purposes by trial-and-error, without a Master for instruction, was all but forgotten. He had never had such a feeling before discovering his Force sensitivity, and it had faded from memory in the days since.

Today, he had even had some time to rest for a little while between patients; it was the first shift in memory when he could actually take each and every one of his meal breaks at the allotted time. Therefore, though he had on paper worked a forty-eight hour shift, he was significantly less tired than usual. Perhaps when he arrived home he could actually do something other than immediately crash his head on the pillow. He might even be up for a before-bed workout, a rare treat. Usually, workouts had to wait until morning the next day. A smile crossed his face, for the first time in at least a week.

For some reason, he found himself pausing to look down at his left hand. It still bore a few scabs from failed attempts to heal it exclusively with the Force during the earlier stages of his trial-and-error "training," but in the last couple of days he had finally grown more successful. Not fully so, but he had to start somewhere, since either the courier charged with delivering his message to the Order, or the Order itself, seemed to lolligag about anything resembling a prompt response. His hands showed slight signs of callousing from all of the cuts...an unorthodox method of practice to be sure, but Dr. Aidan could think of no more ethical way to obtain the experience he needed for as long as his communique went ignored.

However, after some days of dormancy, the bad feeling the doctor had had upon confirming his Force sensitivity flared up again, and this time it was imminent, every bit as imminent as that bad feeling that had crossed his mind the last time he had performed a medical miracle. Any dreams of post-shift workouts would have to be deferred. Adrenaline surged through his system to awaken him to some imminent need. His presence in the Force, untrained and uncontrolled, discharged something vaguely resembling a solar flare in the Force, as if he himself were in danger, that would probably be sensed by any trained Force user within the city of Iziz and possibly beyond. Before the hospital had any chance of reaching him by commlink, he wheeled about and began a full sprint back through the eight hundred or so meters between him and the hospital.

At six-foot-five, Dr. Aidan had a long stride, and as befitting a doctor, he deeply cultivated his own physical fitness. Though his own life didn't depend on getting to the hospital yesterday, Dei ran like it did, for he felt that to be the case for someone else. The doctor's commlink beeped at two hundred meters from the hospital, but he did not stop to answer. He knew perfectly well who it was, and why such party would be calling. To answer would have been a waste of valuable breath better applied to running.

He burst into the ER waiting room, sweaty from such a sprint in such a humid environment, just in time to see an adolescent boy thrashing about the floor shot with a tranquilizer dart. The entire room reeked of cancerous death, all the more pungent as Dr. Aidan approached the boy. The smell of rot emanated from his mouth, and the last second of the boy's behavior indicated a grand mal seizure, most likely meaning the cancer was currently metastasizing. The smell of death on the boy most likely indicated that the surgeon didn't even have time to examine where the cancer was before ordering a full radiation drip--the only means of chemotherapy available on Onderon. Iziz lacked more advanced medical equipment, and if the metastasizing cancer could not be stopped now, it would surely continue to grow faster than it could physically be removed. However, if the cancer wasn't removed quickly enough, the radiation might kill him just as easily.

"Get the boy on radiation IV," Dr. Aidan ordered, as he retreated into a storage room to grab a portable ultrasound machine, which though obsolete, had represented last year's entire capital equipment procurement budget. As both patient and surgeon made their way to an operating room, Dei briefly wondered if the Jedi might pick the worst--or possibly best--time to arrive. "And if the Jedi comes, direct him to the OR."

As a nurse attached the requested radiation IV, Dr. Aidan ran the ultrasound over the boy's body to figure out where the cancer was, and where to operate. It looked like some form of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, definitely Stage IV, which had metastasized to the left lung and brain stem. The latter explained the seizure nicely, but unfortunately made the cancer all but inoperable by Onderon standards. Dr. Aidan had been the first doctor to attempt surgery to remove cancer of the brain stem in a generation on Onderon, and only one of three such attempts had been successful. The other two patients with similar problems had both died in surgery. The archived news records available to Jedi searching through them tended not to include failures. Making matters worse, this case was significantly more advanced than any of Dr. Aidan's previous, similar three cases.

While each and every other doctor on the planet would have triaged this case as hopeless, Dei felt impelled by an external force to attempt treatment. The surgeon would have to drill a hole through the side of the patient's skull to access the brain stem, and manually remove the cancer therefrom, a dicey proposition at best. All-consuming need drove him, as he prepped for an operation highly likely to take at least fifteen hours, if not twenty.

"Oh, and don't forget to filter the white blood cells out of his blood. He'll need a ventilator soon as well." Given the condition of the patient's lymph nodes, at least a large proportion thereof would be cancerous too, but at least a machine could do that filtering. Dei didn't realize it yet, but the Jedi had sure picked a great day to come...

 

[Ares]

Veren froze in his tracks. The Force Presence had shifted while he wasn't paying attention. It had moved- and pretty damn fast. The Knight let out a series of extremely un-Jedi-like words, and spun about. He could sense Dei Aidan at the hospital, now. How could he have been so inattentive. As the Jedi ran, he could definitely tell that something... brutal had happened. Someone had suffered terribly, and Dei Aidan was projecting it like a klaxon alarm. As Veren ran forward, he hunched more. He resorted to almost clawing at the ground as he ran, nearly going on all fours as he ripped across the sidewalks, scattering pedestrians. Whatever was happening, all Veren knew that it was bad. Worse than anything he had felt before.

The faun-like Knight skidded to a halt in front of the hospital, and sped towards the emergency room entrance with a speed far greater than any human and a grace only allowed by the Force. Veren slammed through the ER's doors, and he could have sworn that one of the doors wobbled a bit too much after he went through with force-enhanced speed. The Jedi Knight swiveled his head to the Theelin receptionist, who seemed now to recognize what he was. She tremblingly pointed to a hallway on the right.

"That h-hallway, two door to the left. Dr. Aidan wants you..."

Veren nodded curtly, and rushed down the hallway. Upon seeing the Operation Room, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Immediately, he sensed exactly which one of the numerous doctors and surgeons was the force-sensitive. Easy, really, with an untrained wielder of power. The Knight immediately noted that he was both the only non-human and the shortest being in the room. Truly vexing. He brushed aside his note, however, and strode toward Dr. Aidan. The Jedi Knight could only spare a brief glance at the obviously dying patient, and immediately snapped, "Doctor Aidan. You need assistance. What do you need me to do?"

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Dr. Aidan stood back up. He had just begun to kneel, to begin cutting his incision through the base of the patient's cranium. However, he knew that it would be worth the few moments' interruption to speak with this...presence...who was currently busting his way through the ER doors.

The Jedi had not identified himself as such, but few others without medical training would randomly walk into an OR and ask a surgeon what assistance was needed. That Dei had left a message with the receptionist to admit Jedi aided in this tentative identification.

"Master Jedi, this patient presented with seizure, identified as lymphoma metastasized to the brain stem and left lung," the doctor began, as concisely as possible. "Immediate radiation was necessary to suppress the growth of the cancer long enough for me to remove it; without it, he would be dead within the hour. Unfortunately, this hospital is not equipped to target chemotherapy to tumors only, meaning the patient's entire body will suffer radiation side effects, that may very well kill him before I can remove the tumors. Therefore, I need the radiation more specifically targeted, to ease the side effects. As you are more likely able to sustain such activity for the hours required, I shall attempt a brief demonstration..."

Interestingly, Dei mentioned nothing of the difficulty of the surgery itself. Yes, it was well beyond the capabilities of normal surgical procedure here, but for all he knew, the Jedi before him lacked the skill to heal such an advanced case utilizing the Force only. Furthermore, the buckshot nature of the radiation seemed far more a limiting factor (possibly killing the patient before the operation could be completed) than Dr. Aidan's surgical skill. The two times out of three he had failed before, he had been too slow.

Dei looked down to his hands; though now covered with polyurethane surgical gloves, they still bore the remnants of his trial-and-error concerning the Force. It was well that he had had the ability to practice before it was important, but now all hinged on this demonstration to a Jedi. For as long as Dei had practiced medicine, his medical training and the Force had achieved a synergistic effect, well beyond what either could do alone. Most of this time, he had remained completely unaware of the latter, until it simply refused to be missed. Now, it appeared even that would be insufficient; instead, he had to utilize a Jedi to fill in for something he knew he could not sustain (much less sustain while maintaining concentration on neurosurgery!).

He let his eyes close. The ultrasound images of the tumors scattered throughout the patient's body seared into his mind; his Force presence, raw, untrained, and nearly completely uncontrolled, flared off of him like a solar storm as, for the first time, he allowed the Force to rise to conscious thought, willfully summoning it, while dealing with a live patient. He knew the radiation injecting itself into patient John Doe's body had to be drawn to the black, malignant harbingers of death, the better to divert it away from ravaging what parts of his body remained healthy. He summoned the radioactive poison to the black splotches of death, that such death may be suppressed long enough for Dr. Aidan to remove it entirely. The doctor's presence commanded the room as he willed the poison to the grand total of forty-six cubic centimeters where it would prolong life, rather than destroy it.

Dr. Aidan's concentration on the matter intensified, and for fourteen heartbeats was he able to hold it, before his untrained command of the Force cracked and splintered. A blink of the eye compared to the surgery ahead, but nonetheless effective to demonstrate what was needed. Quickly, sensing that further attempts would sap energy he needed to preserve for the surgery itself, Dei aborted the attempt. However, he figured the Jedi to be capable of sustaining it for much, much longer, long enough to do some good.

"That is what you must do," the doctor at last replied to the Jedi's direct question, in a quiet but still clear voice. "For fifteen to twenty hours while I remove it."

 

[Ares]

The icy-eyed Jedi absorbed what Dei had been saying. While he listened to the words coming forth, he also took the time to analyze the human- tall, well-built, fairly attractive. He was brusque, but methodical, and was obviously intelligent. He could feel definite Jedi potential behind the jade irises of the doctor. He could almost feel the determination the man obviously held in his mind. Veren could sense the desperate need to help others... This was a man who wouldn't let the innocent down. Yes. He would definitely make a good Jedi. Well.... after he got through the stubborn streak he could read from Dei's face. The Jedi then remembered to put aside his analysis of the man until he had helped Dei heal this boy.

Veren narrowed his eyes, looking at the adolescent. Hold the radiation into a forty-six cubic centimeter area... for fifteen to twenty hours? Hey, it couldn't harder than the grueling training method of holding up a hefty rock for eight hours, taking a sip of water, and continuing to hold the rock up until nightfall. That had been... well, the past. The lesson of patience was applicable now, though, as was the concentration necessary. The Jedi Knight nodded, and murmured to himself, "Size does not matter. Large or small, all objects are the same. Dreadnaught or pebble, all is equal."

The Jedi Knight replied louder, "Of course." He moved over next to the adolescent, and looked up. "You will have time to remove the tumor."


Veren reached out and placed a hand on the boy's chest. Physical contact made it far easier to transfer energy, or to create barriers within things- which he would be doing now. The satyr-like Jedi Knight closed his eyes, calmed his breathing. After about thirty seconds, his breathing was so slow and quiet it was almost inaudible. Veren pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. The Force shaped around the forty-six square centimeter space, and simply... encouraged... the radiated molecules not to go past that point. Each time one started to leave, it was immediately sent back. This may sound easy, but keep in mind that this happens millions of times a second, with new being added every millisecond. This would probably get tough, after a while.


The faun-like Jedi Knight murmured softly, his concentration almost entirely on the radiation, "Doctor Aidan. Begin, please."

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Dr. Aidan took notice that Veren physically placed his hand upon the patient, and that it seemed to make Veren's use of the Force easier. Perhaps atmosphere was a less effective conductor of the Force than direct physical contact, like a cut circuit. However, for the time being, at least, that was little more than an academic consideration. There would be time for such questions during (re)training. For now, Dei had more important things to worry about.

After making sure that the unknown patient was hooked up to all of the necessary equipment, including respirator, hydration drip, radiation drip, and a blood-filtering machine currently set to remove white blood cells from the bloodstream, Dr. Aidan sanitized his surgical bone drill and procured a biohazard container, as well as a coagulation agent to have ready in the event of excessive bleeding. He knelt down by the patient's side, as any attempt to access the brain stem standing would result in an unnecessarily deep and invasive incision, on the order of several inches. He admitted to himself that his large stature did not necessarily lend itself well to this particular type of operation, which would have been much better-suited to shorter species, such as Chadra-Fan. However, he had done this operation before, and he would do it again.

Carefully, the surgeon began drilling a small hole into the side of the patient's head, a couple of inches behind the junction of the jaw and the rest of the cranium. His precision and ability to avoid striking blood vessels of any significance immediately stood out as well above average, aided by a Force signature far more subtle than just a few minutes ago, almost suppressed, yet distinct in Dr. Aidan's subconscious, as it had manifested itself in this manner for years preceding. Yet, for all this time, there had been no one to detect it; the Force hid itself within a surgeon who just seemed to have well-above-average dexterity...or at least it had hidden itself from everything except spreadsheets of patient outcomes. No wonder the surgeon's Force sensitivity had been missed for so long--it operated below the radar, below conscious thought where it might have been more evident, and left its user oblivious to its presence for so long. Unlike more common manifestations of Force sensitivity such as uncommanded telekinesis, its immediate effects remained all but invisible to the naked senses, only showing themselves after hours or even days. The huge flareups earlier now seemed like aberrations, as the surgeon calmly performed his work, clearly in his comfort zone despite the extraordinary difficulty of this type of procedure.

It took the surgeon perhaps a half an hour to cut out a small, almost rectangular portion of bone along the grain of the tumor. It left just enough of a hole for the doctor to get a scalpel through. Dr. Aidan cautiously began picking flecks of black darkness out from the tumor, depositing them in his biohazard container, the caution justified by the possibility of one false twitch leaving the patient paralyzed, possibly for life, or worse, killing him. Surgery upon the brain stem had a low success rate, even for one so talented as Dei, for a reason. The surgeon gently scraped along the grain of the tumor, squishy black ooze forming a thin film on his scalpel's blade, before the cancerous rot was dumped into the biohazard container, never to be seen again. If Veren thought that his assigned duty required patience, perhaps he could appreciate Dei picking away at his containment area a tenth of a cubic milliliter at a time, because anything "faster" than the very limit of human dexterity could lead to disaster if done sloppily. The passage of time seemed irrelevant, and Dei did not care that cramps were starting from kneeling for several consecutive hours. He barely noticed his discomfort.

Nearly eleven hours later, Dr. Aidan stood up for the first time since beginning the operation. Though the biohazard container still only contained about twelve cubic centimeters of the black death, they were by far the most dangerous twelve cubic centimeters of such death. The lymph nodes, and especially the lungs, left much higher margins for error. The lymph nodes would still take a while, but the lungs, especially, could be made to regenerate before damage to them resulted in death, much unlike the brain.

A resident dutifully brought a cast mold into the OR, engineered from the section of bone Dr. Aidan had earlier cut out. The more experienced surgeon changed gloves before accepting it, looking at the patient's vitals in the process. Mostly stable, but one particular number concerned him. The patient's oxygen saturation only read ninety-two-percent, not quite hypoxic but well below where it should be, and particularly worrisome because the patient was breathing in pure oxygen from the respirator. Though the Jedi had thus far done an admirable job of containing the radiation to where it was actually needed, unfortunately it still had to travel through the patient's bloodstream to reach the tumors. Apparently, the radiation had fried most of the patient's red blood cells in the process. One more thing for Dr. Aidan to worry about...

The surgeon decided that the cancer was sufficiently suppressed for him to pull the radiation (assuming the Jedi kept it in confinement). Though John Doe's red blood cell count would still need addressing after the surgery, halting the introduction of more radiation into his bloodstream would at least prevent the situation from further deterioration. That momentary distraction out of the way, the surgeon took a sip of water, sanitized his hands, and poured liquid bone sealant into the mold given him. Exposed to air, the substance would harden into an off-white bone replacement, capable of taking the same stress as natural bone, yet allowing natural bone to take its place over a period of years. The material was one of the few "advanced" materials available to this hospital, but the risk of infection and other complications was much lower compared to other available options like steel, which had the chance of rejection by the body.

While Dr. Aidan waited for the material to harden, he perused the blood sample readings on the machine that filtered the patient's white blood cells. His theory that radiation had rendered the patient anemic proved correct. The doctor took note that the machine indicated a blood type that was less than known for high transfusion recipient compatibility, O-positive. However, due to the respirator, this concern could be deferred for the moment.

However, the doctor still had to address another concern. The patient had not died, but Dr. Aiden still did not know whether the operation would leave him paralyzed for life. Before checking up on the hardening of the bone sealant, the surgeon moved back beside the patient, and taking a cue from one of the Jedi's first activities, ran his finger down the open palm of the patient's right hand. Though the patient was heavily sedated, the doctor still felt a nerve impulse sent up to the patient's brain, and the patient's fingers curled inward ever-so-slightly. The reaction was weak and drugged, but it was enough. Enough for Dr. Aidan to know the most difficult part of the operation was behind him.

It had only taken a few moments for the artificial bone to harden. Dr. Aidan pried the artificial bone out of its mold, and carefully inserted it into the hole he had cut through the patient, making sure the site was clean beforehand. He extracted another tube of bone sealant, and let a few drops drip onto a clean scalpel, before using such scalpel to fill in the cracks, effectively gluing the molded bone in place. Thereafter, he began stitching back together the end fibers of neck muscle that he had had to cut through to get to the tumor, grafting it with biodegradable stitches so that its area would cover the hole cut through it earlier. This weakened the muscle overall, but left it in a usable state where it would recover its function. For now, the patient would merely notice that he would get tired if he turned or strained his neck too much. The skin graft, along with application of the proper coagulants to contain the bloody mess was an even simpler procedure, taking only moments.

The surgeon calmly moved the Jedi's hand, sliding it down to the abdomen, to allow him access to the patient's chest. Fortunately, the cancer had confined itself to the hilar lymph nodes, instead of spreading through lymph nodes throughout the entire body, though it had metastasized dangerously to other organs, previously including the brain. Had the patient come in even a few minutes later, however, the surgeon would now more than likely have ten or more surgical sites throughout the body to worry about. For that, at least, he silently thanked the Force. Now the operation was fairly straightforward; the surgeon needed only to make two small incisions in the patient's chest for the lymph nodes, at the junction of each lung and its bronchi. The doctor began with the right lung, because its incision would not have to be enlarged later. Quickly, but nonetheless carefully and with considerable efficiency, the surgeon cut through to his target: the two-thirds of the affected lymph node that was swollen with cancer. It did not take anywhere near as long as the brain stem cancer to remove, and within another three hours, the cancer of both affected lymph nodes had made its way into the biohazard bin, the organs themselves considerably smaller.

Now for the highest concentration of the dark ooze by volume. Dei wasted little time in enlarging the incision on the patient's left side, revealing a significant section of diseased lung underneath. Unlike the brain stem, the patient could survive, with few long-term side effects, from having a portion of one lung removed, so rather than the tedious flecking, the surgeon enjoyed the flexibility to cut out relatively large portions of cancer at a time, up to a cubic centimeter or so. Compared to the glacial pace of the neurosurgery, the biohazard bin filled up quickly. Nevertheless, the surgeon, aided by his Force-enhanced dexterity, still expended a few more hours cutting at the edges of the cancerous zone, to make sure he had extracted all of the blight. By the time Dr. Aidan finished stitching back up the patient, another seventeen hours had passed.

The Jedi, at least, could rest, all of the radiation that he had been confining now contained within the biohazard bin. Dr. Aidan handed it off to a resident; his voice cracked from the first time he spoke in hours. "Take this, and burn it."

The doctor himself had become dehydrated, tired from attaching another nineteen hours to the end of a forty-eight hour shift. Nevertheless, even after washing his hands, he was not done. Indulging himself with a canteen full of water and an energy bar, the doctor mulled over the patient's bloodwork, and the hospital's supplies. The patient's oxygen saturation levels had scarcely recovered at all.

"Kelli, could you please get me a supply manifest?" The doctor lingered, simply watching the patient's vitals while his surgical assistant fulfilled the request. A few minutes later, she came back with a printout of vital supplies.

The hospital was completely out of kolto, a scheduled delivery apparently hijacked. Worse, the hospital had no available blood, specifically red and white blood cells, that the patient's body would accept. Dei considered his options to deal with the patient's anemia, much less having all white blood cells removed from his blood.

Dei vanished into an adjoining supply room, looking for something. Namely, his own medical charts, as he was blessed with type O-negative blood, a universal blood donor (or, in other words, screwed if he ever needed a transfusion himself). He remembered he had ordered a unit of such blood for his last freak patient a few weeks past. However, there was something that escaped his exhausted mind: the date when he had last donated.

His eyes scanned down the chart. Eighty-seven-days ago. He had thought about replenishing that supply immediately after that fateful patient three and a half weeks ago, the one that had revealed his Force sensitivity to him, finally, after all these years. Apparently, he had been too exhausted to follow through then, but that left him eligible now.

The doctor stuffed another energy bar and canteen full of water down his throat. It was all he could do to prevent himself from passing out during what he had in mind. Though every bit as exhausted now as he had been weeks before, he felt he had little choice. "Kelli, prepare for a blood draw..."

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

(Relevant OOC)

Dr. Aidan, after munching and drinking to his satisfaction, laid down flat on his back on the unused gurney opposite his patient's. He relaxed a little, but not too much; if he relaxed too much he could conceivably fall asleep, and that would not do at all. Even as Kelli undertook the requested preparation, Dei craned his neck so he could observe the unknown patient's vitals as he lay there. Kelli walked over and pricked him, the better to take a blood sample before draining Dr. Aidan's blood entirely, lest there be some unknown, disqualifying factor. Besides, even Onderon had some safety regulations concerning this kind of thing, though in the case of the black market, such regulations were not always followed.

The blood test returned a few minutes later showing everything within normal range, save the telltale signs of exhaustion that would not indicate larger health issues, namely a still-semi-depleted blood glucose level and assorted stress markers. Under normal conditions, Dr. Aidan's blood glucose would have been too low to give blood--doing so depleted one's strength during the best of conditions, and a very real possibility of losing consciousness existed when doing so in such an exhausted state. Driven by the knowledge that there was no other alternative for the patient available at this poorly equipped hospital, Dr. Aidan waived the restriction off. He would rather the risk be borrne by himself than transfer the risk to an unconscious patient who could not give informed consent.

Kelli inserted a long needle into one of Dr. Aidan's veins--it hadn't been hard for her to find one in his sizable arms. Dr. Aidan continued to lay flat, though standard procedure called for the upper body to be raised slightly, in an effort to mitigate the risk of passing out. Nor did he find it necessary to squeeze the stressball given to blood donors to encourage bloodflow--he was more than healthy enough to pump the blood out without such external stimulus. The bag connected to the needle by way of plastic tube began to fill up quickly; even though the doctor tried to relax a little, his cardiovascular system still tended to pump more blood, more efficiently than the general population, but of course that also meant that when a needle found its way into his veins, his blood supply would be depleted all that much faster. Dr. Aidan struggled to prevent his eyes from closing, though in an attempt to keep himself awake, the doctor finally seriously gave philosophical consideration to joining the Jedi. He had not had the luxury of diverting his attention, not even for a moment, up until now.

The primary objection that he came up with, as he squinted at the patient's vital signs readings, was that his departure was very likely to spike Onderon's mortality rate. There was much more to this objection than mere self-importance; Onderon only had one doctor for about every eight thousand residents; the departure of even one doctor would spike the ratio to one for every eighty-five hundred. The other doctors at the hospital would thus suffer an even heavier workload with the same equipment. Heavier workloads and more stress increased the likelihood of more mistakes...

Dr. Aidan's mind stopped.

Equipment. Yes...Dr. Aidan thought a moment. With better equipment, the remaining doctors could be far more efficient, thus mitigating or eliminating the extra workload from Dr. Aidan's departure. Kolto tanks were highly efficient and required little manpower to operate; as of now, the hospital only administered kolto via IV and had to ration it carefully. Equipment existed that allowed surgeons to target radiation to specific, minute parts of the body. For lack of such equipment, Dr. Aidan had had to employ the services of a Jedi to do the same thing. None of this equipment the hospital (or just about any entity on Onderon) could afford, but all, or nearly all, of it was likely to be found on board the medbay of a Jedi cruiser. Surely the Jedi could understand the natural and probable consequences of removing a doctor from a population suffering from a severe shortage of medical services, and would be willing to take reasonable precautions to mitigate those consequences. At least, if what little information Dr. Aidan had found on Jedi ethics was correct, that would seem to be a reasonable extension of their ethos.

Dr. Aidan's attention snapped to his arm as Kelli removed the needle therefrom, the blood bag having already filled. He did not get up, but reached with his other arm for his canteen, and guzzled its contents from his current, flat-on-his-back position. It was not the most comfortable way to drink water, but he needed hydration desperately and under the conditions, merely getting up could result in an unsafe drop in blood pressure. Kelli handed Dr. Aidan's blood to another nurse; it would have to be run through a filtering machine to split it into its constituent components: red blood cells, platelets, blood clotting factors, antibodies, plasma, and white blood cells. Of those blood components, the patient only required red and white blood cells; the rest of the blood components could therefore be preserved for other patients. While Kelli and Dr. Aidan waited for the red and white blood cells to come back, Kelli walked over and fed him a granola bar and a piece of fruit.

The chewing helped to wake Dr. Aidan up slightly; slowly, he could feel his own vitals stabilize, though still at lower rates than before. Still, by the time the blood returned from the filtering machine, Dr. Aidan could at least get up. He washed his hands and changed his gloves before taking the two syringes, one with red blood cells and one with white. While Kelli updated Dr. Aidan's medical records to reflect the fact that this was his fifty-third blood donation since reaching adulthood ten years ago, and his blood was now being administered to the one hundred ninety-third person to receive it, Dr. Aidan carefully injected the red blood cells--his red blood cells, followed by the white blood cells, into the patient. He carefully watched his patient's oxygen saturation increase from ninety-one to a much healthier ninety-eight percent, all within a few seconds, along with a corresponding dip in heart rate and blood pressure as some load was removed from the patient's heart.

Around this time, a relief doctor walked in. Finally! "Has the patient been identified yet?" Dr. Aidan was sure that if the kid had relatives, they would be most interested to know.

"It would appear not. It is currently suspected that his parents abandoned him due to his health," Dr. Iztopo, a male doctor nearly a foot shorter than Dr. Aidan, replied, his voice clinical, yet betraying a slight bit of worry. Though rare, this kind of child abandonment was unfortunately not unheard of; there were many on Onderon who could not afford to take their children to a doctor. Preventative care was all but nonexistent, so most were forced to go without until their conditions became absolutely critical...when they became Dr. Aidan's patients.

"I see," Dr. Aidan nodded, wondering what could be done for the boy. "He was admitted for what turned out to be non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, metastasized to the brain stem and lungs. The cancer is now removed, and he has just received a transfusion to aid his recovery...but he will need regular cancer checkups the rest of his life. Otherwise, it looks like he will manage a full recovery, but..."

"...the remission risk. I know."

Apparently, these kinds of things weren't unheard of, either. Patients stabilized, but follow-up care not available.

Dr. Aidan would have to be...most insistent.

 

[Demiurge]

In all the time that Tassadus had lived, he could truly say that the galaxy had entered a dark era. Since the arrival of the Dark Jedi of the Bogan, the galaxy had bred into itself a new generation of terror and distrust. Even among the Jedi. Since the destruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, the Jedi Council had become especially vigilant, keeping a close watch on their Jedi brethren for the sake of their very well-being. For the majority, their fears remained unfounded. However, exception have risen during these times as well. For any Jedi venturing away from Jedi worlds, unless special permissions were granted, were to contact the Jedi Council with an update on their status.

The Jedi Knight Veren Lorollo was sent to examine a prospective Jedi hopeful, yet had not established communications with any of the Jedi Council. Naturally, the Council sought a prompt solution, and dispatched several other Jedi to investigate. With the circumstances of Veren Lotollo's disappearance being unknown, Tassadus took it upon himself to continue what the Jedi Knight had been commissioned. From the records in the navigation archive in the Jedi Temple of Ossus, the Knight had been dispatched to Onderon, the city of Iziz. After making proper arrangements, Tassadus took one of the Jedi transport starships, and headed a course to the Inner Rim world.

After entering the Onderon system, and navigating to the starport in the proper district of the city, Tassadus garbed himself in his Jedi cloak, hooding himself so that his face was darkened, revealing only his glowing blue eyes. As Tassadus walked off of the ship's loading ramp, he was intercepted.

"Excuse me," the port officer said, hesitantly. The port officer nervously placed his hand over his blaster as he spoke to Tassadus, who was an intimidating faceless figure, standing over three meters tall, "Y-you aren't scheduled to be here... on any of the docking arrival timetables. You'll have to pay the docking fee or... leave."

Tassadus slowly walked up to the port officer and bend his head sharply down, so that he was staring directly above him, gazing directly into his eyes. You are mistaken. The docking schedules are incorrect. I may pass.

Dazed, the port officer responded in mimicry, "I... am mistaken. The docking schedules are incorrect... You may pass." Without another moment, the port officer moved out of Tassadus' way, giving him clearance into the city. From there, Tassadus made his way to the medical establishment the doctor called Dei was indicated to be practicing medicine. It was a long walk, but untiring. Tassadus had lived without advanced technology for much of his life. He was far more comfortable walking to his destinations than taking speeders, which he saw as unreasonably dangerous.

After some time, Tassadus arrived at the medical establishment, walking up to the receptionist's desk. The receptionist had her eyes locked on Tassadus from the moment he arrives. Tassadus was universally telepathic. It was his sole means of communication, as was his entire species. He was a master of reading minds and in the art of Empathy, sensing emotions. The receptionist resonated in fear at the sight of him, and he could sense her debating whether to call security.

Tassadus' glowing gaze met her eyes as he planted mental suggestions into her. Calm... Do not alert anyone.

At that, the receptionist began to calm herself, although she was still very much scared at the sight of Tassadus. As he came to the desk, Tassadus simply asked the only thing he requested, I am Tassadus of the Jedi Council, and I am here to contact the medicine practitioner, Dei Aiden. Would you direct me to him?

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

The receptionist somehow managed to keep her calm as this heretofore unseen species known as "Tassadus" made its demands. She seriously considered calling security, but suddenly thought better of it, partly because of his...mental suggestion, and partially simply because she valued her own life. Dr. Aidan had left instruction that the Jedi might come looking for him, but the receptionist clearly hadn't expected the Jedi to send someone who appeared to be more inclined to beat street thugs than make inquiries about local medicine practitioners.

"Dr. Aidan is currently...with a patient...but I will page him," the receptionist squeaked. Despite the Councilor's telepathic attempts to calm her...his size still remained quite imposing, and but for the known fact that the surgeon was expecting Jedi, she might be forgiven for thinking the "visitor" was here for more sinister purposes. The receptionist quickly and efficiently did exactly as she said she would, leaving a page for the surgeon to see one Councilor Tassadus when time and patient condition would permit.

Having a relief doctor on duty, and having briefed him on the patient's condition, made for a relatively prompt response from the requested surgeon, who needed only take a few moments to update patient John Doe's medical records (and Kelli, who witnessed the procedure, could do most of that). Tassadus would no doubt sense the one he sought in a back room, wrapping up assorted legal formalities as he transferred responsibility for this particular patient to the relief doctor who had just come on duty. Dr. Aidan walked out of the room and down the hall, towards Tassadus, only shortly thereafter. His posture alone indicated exhaustion; Tassadus didn't need the Force to tell him that. Whatever the surgeon had just finished doing, it had to have been incredibly difficult.

Though exhausted, the surgeon radiated a sense of relief through the Force, a very subtle one but nonetheless an aura of sufficient distinction for a Master, or even a Knight, to detect. If Tassadus was sufficiently interested in Dr. Aidan's depleted condition, he would quickly discern why from the doctor's unguarded, perhaps slightly disjointed thoughts--he had, after all, been recalled just as his forty-eight hour shift ended to perform what, in hindsight, had been the most difficult operation he had ever done, one that no doubt would have taken the skills of a Master specialized in healing to perform using the Force alone. As it was, he had utilized Veren's skill to perform a function that the hospital's equipment could not, which explained the latter's prolonged lack of contact with the Order. Neither would have succeeded without the other. The operation he had just performed had brought the symbiotic relationship between his medical training and Force sensitivity to the surface, for Veren, and now Tassadus, to observe.

Another causative factor behind the surgeon's exhaustion was also apparent. The surgeon was missing about a liter of blood, having donated it so the patient would be on life support for only about a day, with assurance of full recovery, rather than a week or more, with chances of continued survival iffy at best. It was a wonder that the man had the stamina at all to withstand a blood donation after nearly seventy straight hours with no sleep, let alone spending nearly twenty of those hours doing the most difficult thing he had ever done before. He would need rest, and quickly.

Dr. Aidan approached the unfamiliar alien and looked up, making visual contact with his eerie blue eyes, honestly not having a clue whether it was socially preferable in the visitor's culture to make eye contact or simply stare ahead, at his lower chest, in deference to him. Though the surgeon was quite large and well-built for a human, this Tassadus stood just slightly over a full meter above him. He had clearly never seen this species before. However, he did not radiate the fear that the receptionist had, at least not to the same extent. "You must be Councilor Tassadus?" he inquired. "I am Dr. Dei Aidan, and you wished to speak to me?"

However, Tassadus could easily tell (if he was sufficiently interested) that a subject existed that the doctor had not yet broached--his concerns, reservations, even, of joining the Jedi Order. However, such concerns were not frivolous, nor were they motivated by anything remotely related to the Dark Side. The doctor was merely quite aware that his departure would result in a significant increase in the city's mortality rate, because the shortage of medical services here was so severe. To train him, the Jedi would necessarily have to deprive a population, one in very desperate need of medical services, of a skilled surgeon's work, and though Dr. Aidan felt it inappropriate to begin an introduction by making demands to offset this concern as a condition of his training, the concern was very much on the top of his mind.

 

[Demiurge]

That I do, Dei Aidan. Tassadus 'said', shifting his sights to the doctor. You are he, the who sought us out. I do know it through your essence. And yet, he said, removing the hood of his cloak to reveal his semi-reptilian face, thy heart is not yet whole. Your mind is yearning for separate dreams, desires.

Tassadus had a great respect for another's privacy, as he does for his own. However, his situation is different in that, while he can choose to delve into a person's mind, he cannot not sense the surface thoughts and emotions of another. It is not an option, but simply part of his species' physiology, in a manner. Tassadus continued, You are he that believed you were one sensitive to the Force. And thus, I heed thy call, as you sent.

Now... What troubles your spirit? What is it your fear, Dei Aidan? If there is something you wish to speak, a concern that weighs you down, it is best that you speak it.

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Tassadus' form of communication at first unnerved the doctor, but as he looked up at his hooded face--or the eyes that seemed to substitute therefor--it took him only a few seconds to realize why. The physiology of whatever species that Tassadus happened to be did not allow for a physical mouth. Therefore, he, like very few other species that Dr. Aidan had read about, but never seen, communicated by telepathy. The realization calmed the doctor somewhat, so he was not too incredibly and unpleasantly surprised when Tassadus sensed some concern below the surface. He had figured it out just in time--while Tassadus was merely confirming his identity--to avoid offense at having his mind "read," albeit shallowly.

The surgeon looked around the lobby for an empty seat, the weight of seventy hours with no sleep, and depleted blood count on top of that, upon him. "Please excuse me; I must rest," he apologized, his voice croaking from the remnants of dehydration, and the exhaustion that currently plagued him. He settled into one of the cold, hard seats that didn't quite accommodate his stature. He had selected an end seat, and shifted most of his body towards the empty end, so as not to impose upon the person sitting next to him, who had been waiting for about five hours for treatment of some kind of digestive parasite, painful, but not life-threatening. The realities of triage provided a cold backdrop for the surgeon's currently sole objection to joining the Jedi. Nor could the surgeon help the person next to him--he could never get to everyone, and at the moment he was simply too exhausted to do much of anything for him. In his current state, any attempt at rectifying the problem was just as likely to make the problem worse as it was to cure it.

"Unfortunately, the reality seems to be that my departure would directly result in a higher mortality rate here on Onderon," the exhausted surgeon explained, attempting not to let his thoughts express themselves in the disjointed manner in which they ran through his mind. "We only have one doctor for every eight thousand inhabitants. The departure of only one of us will increase that ratio by several hundred. Look around you--we cannot afford even a single kolto tank. Kolto must be administered by IV and constantly monitored. The other Jedi--his name escapes me--arrived just in time to fill a function that our equipment cannot perform, and without which my last operation probably would not have succeeded. Without kolto tanks and other equipment that much of the galaxy takes for granted, we must rely on blood transfusions to deal with heavy blood loss." The surgeon neglected to mention that he had donated his own blood less than an hour ago, but Tassadus would easily be able to tell by evaluating the surgeon's physical condition. "Your training would necessarily force me to withdraw my services from a population in desperate need of them. I am quite unsure of the ethics of leaving for Jedi training when I know that doing so will result in about an extra fifteen-to-eighteen-hundred more quantifiable, preventable deaths each year, and I am wondering, would the Jedi Order consider any attempts to mitigate this foreseeable but unfortunate consequence of my training?"

 

[Demiurge]

Tassadus closed his eyes in sadness, as he replied to Dei.

To join the Jedi Order is not a decision you should make lightly. It is a path of devotion and servitude, not unlike your own profession. However, as for the fate of your world and your people, that is something that must be endured. For there are many worlds, as even my own, that are enduring hardships resulting in a great many deaths. And however you wish to stop it, is is only a delay of what will again occur. The Jedi are protectors, but we are not saviors. We defend the Republic, but we cannot prevent suffering.

Dei Aidan, life is invaluable, all Jedi know this. However, death is a natural part of life as well. It is no more evadable than your own shadow. This is not to say that the suffering of your world is of no consequence, for it is, but the Jedi can offer nothing to stop it. The only true option is to either endure through it, or have your government organize a petition to the Republic Senate to dispatch emissaries of medical practitioners. If you believe you would better serve your life mending your people, there is no shame in remaining here. Yet the Jedi does offer you a path as well.

Every man has many destinies laid out before him, as you do. At this time, I may aid you however I can, but the time is soon arriving where you must decide whether to stay here or leave for the Order.

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

(*cough*)

Tassadus may as well have just handed Dr. Aidan a slugthrower and requested him to shoot up the room. The surgeon visibly recoiled, his mind reeling back to the anti-Jedi propaganda he had been exposed to when he had first inquired as to the Force on the Holonet. The Jedi were insular. They ignored the natural and probable consequences of their actions, especially negative consequences, even when they were warned of such consequences to their face. The doctor hadn't asked for the Jedi to make everything in the galaxy immortal all at once; he had only requested what aid the Jedi could render to offset the death that robbing a deprived population of a surgeon would provide. The surgeon lived in something called "the real world," and the Councilor had unwittingly showed him why the reputation of the Jedi Order was declining. He shook his head sadly.

His voice rasped and cracked as he delivered his response. "You take, yet you do not return. I tell you, all of the equipment this hospital would need to render proper services can be found in the medbay of a medium freighter docked at Iziz Spaceport. To offset my loss would not require much; I did not ask for the Coruscant Medical Center to be relocated here. Yet we cannot afford even those few thousand credits for a couple of kolto tanks that would mean that each of the remaining doctors could treat more patients, more efficiently. Instead, you would ask me to let five to six people daily die--voluntary manslaughter--for your training--for my personal advancement. Petitioning the Republic will take years, by which time at least another five thousand souls will have died prematurely. Though I respect that death is inevitable, it certainly need not be premature. Suffering is inevitable, yes, but it can be mitigated. This is why the reputation of the Jedi is falling throughout the galaxy. They are too buried in abstract philosophy to see or care about the suffering around them, even that which can be ameliorated with resources they possess right now. I say this not out of anger, but concern...if I left now, would these people then turn to the Hutts for aid? Yes, to do so would cause them to be scammed, possibly enslaved, but the one thing the Hutts have going for them is that they lack the bureaucracy of the Republic."

Dr. Aidan knew he was probably being too blunt for the Councilor's taste; he had absolutely no training in diplomacy, and most of his contact with others came from his profession, which required the ability to get along but not necessarily resolve intractable diplomatic problems. His mind was in no condition to debate a Jedi Councilor on philosophy, and he knew it; the best he could do was to tell this Councilor his thoughts. Freely. Perhaps a bit too freely. "I would like to train. I do recognize that there will always be the occasional case of someone who presents in such severe condition that conventional medicine will fail no matter what. For that special case, you are right; nothing can be done because I cannot clone myself and leave my clone here. However, for each of those patients, there are a hundred whose lives can be saved with conventional medicine. Yes, eventually they will return to the soil, but they can still have years in which to seek fulfillment added to their lives. This hospital operates well below maximum capacity, because of both staffing shortages and equipment shortages. The loss of one surgeon can almost entirely be offset by equipment that will allow the others to treat more patients, and again I am not talking about relocating an entire Coruscanti hospital here. I am merely talking about a couple of kolto tanks. A man-portable nuclear medicine device that can actually direct radiation to the tumor, instead of us having to do radiation IV drips. The Jedi that you sent earlier had to stand in for a twelve-hundred-credit piece of equipment. That's the cost of a speeder here, maybe a bit less. The medbay on the transport that brought you here probably had sufficient supplies to offset most of the negative effects of my departure many times over. Or, in the event that philosophy does trump the consequences of me joining the Order, I would have to train with the knowledge that I was knowingly and willfully letting a person here in Iziz die, on average, every four to six hours. Perhaps that could be covered up under the cloak of the greater good, perhaps not. But this is why I must leave the hospital with about the same capacity as I found it. To knowingly and willfully allow another to die every four to six hours, for training, for advancement, for philosophical knowledge, is not merely the way of things. It would cast a long shadow over my training indeed. It is evil."

The surgeon shook his head again, sadly. He respected the good that the Jedi did, when they chose to do it. For the last two weeks, he had been hoping that the anti-Jedi articles floating around prominently on the Holonet were simply patently false; he would certainly rather join the Jedi than the assorted shadier organizations of Force users around. However, the Councilor had inadvertently confirmed at least some of that propaganda. Still, his mind honestly conflicted between the greater good he might do as a Jedi, and the known consequences of him simply leaving, the very quantifiable consequences that, if not legally voluntary manslaughter, were very, very close.

"It appears I must assume the burden of accounting for my departure alone, since the Jedi Order would otherwise insist on strip-mining the population without any thought to making it whole again. I must return home to rest. Thereafter I will decide upon my destiny. Or perhaps the Force will decide for me...I doubt you came here simply to get yelled at."

The surgeon slowly got up to go home, visions of his pillow dancing through his head.

 

[Azium]

The expanses of the galaxy were more than enough to make Phri feel as though she was just a speck among the masses. Having been isolated on a planet in a ghost town, no one would expect the girl to pick up on new aspects of life so quickly, but she was her mother's child. Though, even that had its throwback. Phri wasn't privy to a clean room thusly with the fragile genetics she unknowingly succumbed to an infection at only a year old which managed to deprive her of any feeling or mobility of anything below her waist. When she had first met Daska, now her adoptive father, walking was a mystery to her. Now, there was nothing more in the galaxy she longed for than to experience the sensation of walking.

While exploring the vastness of the immediate worlds that were in reach of her, she had come to visit Onderon, curious of its people, culture, and species. A multitude of caretakers, mentors, and even a perimeter of bodyguards followed her about. Ever since the double deaths at the wedding, and Daska nearly getting killed himself, security was tighter than a Twi'lek dancer's corset. Even while she sat in her repulser chair in the lavish suite in one of the finest resorts, bodyguards kept a close and watchful eye. One of the caretakers was bringing lunch to her while she read articles from the local HoloNet news.

"What's this word?" Phri brought up the page to the woman as she set it down a tray of various fruits and cheeses along with a glass of juice on the table next to her. The child's voice was light and airy, as if a whisper among a thunderstorm.

"That's not a word, its a name. By looks of it he's a doctor, a rather successful one at that," the caretaker skimmed through the article before looking down at the girl and handing back the datapad.

"Successful?" the specific word was just beyond her grasp though Phri was picking up on the multitude of the Basic language expanse of terms rather well.

"He's really good at what he does," the patience of explaining every little thing to her was a remarkable trait in the caretaker.

"Do… Do you think he could fix me?" the child asked, the immobile legs that were thinner than twigs from atrophy shifted by the caretaker as she retucked the blanket around her.

"I don't know, sweetie," the answer wasn't enough for Phri, and the caretaker knew it as soon as she said it. With a single look to another member of Phri's care staff the motions to find this doctor was made. First a call was placed to the hospital named in the article, it was then switched over to Sentient Resources and put on hold. Nearly an hour had gone by before a representative could be obtained. Another half hour went by, deliberating about the disclosure of the doctor's home comm number. Though, as soon as the name Jade Galactic and the phrase 'daughter of the CEO' was dropped the number was in hand. With one of the guards preparing to speak over the line Phri held her hand out for the comm unit.

"I wanna do it," the girl stated, and being who she was no one was to argue. When it was placed in her hands she looked at the device for a moment, the line on speakerphone and ringing. An automated voice came on the line asking to leave a message. For the first few moments Phri stumbled over her words before being able to make an appropriate sentence, "… umm… Hi, I wanna talk to the doctor in the paper. I can't move my legs and I'm hoping he can fix them… I'm Phri Revnik. Bye."

Rustling could be heard along with background voices of instructions on how to turn off the comm unit before the call was properly ended. She wasn't the best at conversations, or communication overall, but she at least got the point across.

 

[Andreus Makaryk]

Dei stumbled into his apartment, unable to think of anything but his pillow. His shift and resulting overtime had exhausted him; he found it a wonder he had not simply passed out during his 'debate' with the member of the Jedi Council. However, upon entering his abode, he noticed his HoloNet terminal flashed and beeped. Highly unusual that someone would actually leave him a message. The last time someone had contacted him over his personal HoloNet connection had been...a couple years ago, he thought. Yet, he could tell that whatever it was, it was important. He replayed the message left for him, trying to make sense of the initial fumbling and rambling that occupied the first few minutes of the recording. Apparently, it was some little girl who had never used a commlink before. An interesting person to be contacting him, to be sure...

Finally, something intelligible played over the recording. "… umm… Hi, I wanna talk to the doctor in the paper. I can't move my legs and I'm hoping he can fix them… I'm Phri Revnik. Bye." Dei strained to hear the instructions in the background; apparently instructions on how to turn the comm off. Whoever the person was, she had staff. Dei looked up the caller ID on the HoloNet transmission to him. What was a person who could afford to pay personal staff--as a minor child no less--doing here?

Dei honestly had not the slightest clue of who Phri Revnik was, not the slightest clue she was somehow intertwined with Jade Galactic. Nor would he have known offhand what Jade Galactic was; he would have to look that up. However, a vague feeling that he really, really should return this call overwhelmed his mind--on the same scale as the periodic feelings he felt that indicated a particularly difficult-to-treat, shift-extending patient was imminent. The background noise from the HoloNet recording had given him a slight clue that whoever had attempted to contact him was fairly wealthy. For most all of Dei's life, that would not have mattered. However, the confluence of circumstances, that this person had contacted Dei seeking help only moments after the Jedi had refused it on philosophical grounds, was far too great to ignore. Dei felt the Force swirl about him, an odd sensation he had never felt before. At least not like this. Tassadus, assuming he was still paying attention, would no doubt sense it too, even if he was kilometers away by now. Whoever this Phri Revnik was, Dei sensed, she held the key to resolving his ethical dilemma.

Or, in Jedi-speak, it was his destiny.

Dei fumbled with his own comm setup, the dexterity in his fingers failing because he was so exhausted. It took several moments, but finally he managed to successfully dial out the correct frequency to return the strange call. His voice, normally fairly deep and commanding, cracked. Quickly, he consumed some water in a vain attempt to force it to sound somewhat normal. "Hello, this is Dr. Dei Aidan. I am looking for the Ms. Phri Revnik who expressed interest in my services."

A child fumbled about with the device on the other end; the rustling of fabric filled the line before Dei heard a very sparse voice in tone and volume. It squeaked a little. "Oh.. umm.. Hi. I was hoping you could help me."

Dr. Aidan wondered what he might be able to help the young girl with. A silence of a couple of seconds occupied the connection before the doctor remembered that she had indicated something about paralysis of the legs. "Yes, you mentioned that you cannot move your legs. Have you been in an accident lately? Do you know what caused it?"

"I dunno what it is, I've never moved them in my entire life. I was hoping you could help me."

Dr. Aidan remained silent, though his mind was not. It was definitely the voice of a child on the other end, and said child probably had insufficient vocabulary to express anything much more specific than that. It would be difficult to glean more information from a child who didn't remember what happened, when the doctor was not there to interact with her, to examine her, to see her facial expressions. There were any of a thousand problems that could lead to paralysis of the legs, and Dr. Aidan would need more information to figure out if the girl's condition was curable. After several seconds of silence, the doctor replied, "Possibly. I do not know. It could be any of a thousand different things, and I do not believe I will be able to diagnose your condition via commlink. Is there anyone with you who might have more information on your medical history?"

There was a bit of rustling from the other end. "Uh huh..." Phri's voice faded as she passed the comm unit over to a caretaker. The sprightly lady in her late forties took over the conversation, her voice bright and cheery, and somewhat less confused. "Good evening, Dr. Aidan. I'm Tenali Bevin, Phri's primary caretaker. What exactly do you need to know about her?"

Dr. Aidan struggled to recall the thoughts that had passed through his mind just a few seconds earlier. His exhaustion definitely was beginning to affect his ability to think, and short-term memory. His voice still a bit raspy, his sleepiness evident, he managed, "Uh...good evening, Ms. Bevin. Ms. Revnik stated she has been unable to move her legs since birth. There are numerous possible causes, some which are curable, others which are not. I would like more information on her medical history and what caused the paralysis." There had been a random yawn or two in there; the caretaker would easily be able to tell that he was tired, but at least the doctor had reasonably summarized his need so far.

The caretaker's bright and cheery voice attempted to wake the surgeon up. "Well, the best I can explain it is by infection. Phri was born from a incubation droid in an abandoned town on Necropolis. The past fourteen years of her life she's been in complete solitude so there's no year to year record of her health. As far as any examiner to date since her rescue she's been diagnosed with neural infection though no one is able to pin point the strain or even why it's affecting only the lower half of her body. No one even wants to test anything due to the fact that her DNA comes back as unknown."

Dr. Aidan's mind reeled, trying to figure out what the hell 'unknown DNA' meant. If the child was of an exotic species, he might have some research to do. "I see. Is it known which species she is?" Dei wondered about the unknown DNA part, especially as it might explain why such an evidently wealthy person had been unable to find a doctor before...

"All the genetic tests came back as unknown. The only known blood relative was her mother, Azium Revnik, who was rumored to be a descendant of Celestials but no one can corroborate it."

Well, that explained quite a lot. Few doctors would attempt cloning DNA that they were not familiar with. Medical ethics strongly frowned upon certain forms of...genetic experimentation. Dei wondered if there was a way around full-blown cloning, but without a physical exam, there was little he could figure out, and his desire for a pillow wasn't helping at the moment. "Well, if that is true, that might explain the DNA part. It also means that whatever I do, it is highly likely to be experimental, and thus patient outcome might be quite tricky to predict. I suspect, however, that a fourteen-year-old infection would have left significant damage to Ms. Revnik's body. I am willing to see her to see if anything might be done, but please consider that I must first rest. I just returned home from my shift. Unless, of course, Ms. Revnik would rather be examined by someone who has been awake for the last seventy standard hours..."

The caretaker wasn't so sure she wanted such an exhausted surgeon operating on her charge, either. "Oh please, do rest, Dr. Aidan. Thank you for taking the time to return the call. We look forward to see you soon."

Dei was relieved he would soon see a pillow, and the relief showed in his voice. "You are welcome. Do please inform me where I might contact you again after I am rested."

"Any time is fine, some one's usually around."

The surgeon was slightly confused, as he thought he had asked where, not when, but it could probably be resolved when he was better aware and awake. "Same comm?"

"Same number you called back to."

Ok, thank you. Have a nice evening, Ms. Bevin." Dei tried to stifle a yawn, but failed, and the sound thereof made its way into the transmission. "I will contact you again sometime tomorrow." The exhausted surgeon absentmindedly forgot to turn the commlink off before his head crashed into his pillow, and a wide smile sprouted across his face. Sleep at last...

A low chuckle could be heard along with Phri giggling in the background before the call cut off from the other end. The soft noise reminded Dei that he probably should inform Tassadus of the recent development. He scrawled out a dyslexic-looking note that indicated a general sense that "it might be wroth it to stay" on account of an elective-surgery patient and the inescapable feeling that he was to meet his destiny. Somewhere in the note, an apology for his earlier insolence could be found as well. He was too tired to proofread the note, so he scanned it into the system, typos and all, and sent it off to Tassadus.

 

[Demiurge]

Tassadus extended a telepathic sigh through his thoughts. He'd heard this argument before, although it made no difference no matter how many times the case arouse. It was still a painful realization to reveal to others. Many saw the Jedi in a light that they could accomplish anything, not realizing how finite they were.


While I am a Councilor, Dei Aiden, I speak not for the Jedi Council. What I speak, I speak for myself, not for the Jedi. The Jedi can take nothing that is not their own, we can only offer. Accepting the call is a decision only the sentient can make. You wish to heal your world, and it is as noble a wish as any. However, what is it you expect the Jedi to do for your people? What resources do you believe we have? Even the existences of our very temples had relied on the Republic. We cannot give what we do not have, no matter how much we may try. We possess no great wealth, and that along with any supplies we possess are by the Republic's own discretion. Indeed, our healers number no greater than a few dozen for our entire Order. So what is it you demand we compensate when we cannot do any more than you can?

We do not exclude ourselves, but we cannot do what is not possible for us. You asked the Jedi to evaluate you, yet you say that the Jedi take. We do not wish you to leave with us if you do not wish to. If you feel that you life would be better served here, than do so. The reason we Jedi have existed is to explore the mysteries of the Force. We do not exist to serve others. That is the choice we made. We could have truly kept to ourselves, but we wished to aid others how we could, as defenders and keepers of the peace. We cannot save worlds groaning in anguish, not out of arrogance, but because we have no means to. Your words carry pain, and rightly so. However, we are a monastic people. We carry no wealth, no material possessions of personal value aside from our symbolic tool. Believe me that there is no falsehood when I say that there is nothing we could do.

Tassadus closed his eyes, as if relieving the painful admittance to himself. One would have to search deeply to find even one Jedi that did not wish to heal the galaxy. Life was above nearly all things to them, the most sacred thing next to the Force itself. However, the realization was that the Jedi were limited by what they could do, and that alone was a pain for any Jedi to admit to themselves.

Tassadus then gazed deeply into Dei's eyes, planting a very slight hypnotic mental suggestion. He did not wish to overpower his will, nor take advantage of his state of exhaustion. However, he knew his stamina was reaching its depletion, and knew he would not easily find rest on his own with his emotions and mental state under such stress.

But the time has come to enter a quite state. The hour is late, and the day nears it end. Rest now, Dei Aiden. Your efforts for your people shan't be in vain, for while many lives may be lost, treasure the ones you have saved... and by the Force's will, shall yet save.

Tassadus then left for his ship, to rest for the night. He inquired himself on leaving the planet, but decided on staying to see where Dei's path led him in the situation he was facing. At the very least, the shuttle the Jedi Temple supplied him with was out of shape, and in need on maintenance repairs, among other necessities. Crossing his legs and entering into Floating Meditation, Tassadus rested for the remainder of the day.

Following Day​

Tassadus' meditation was interrupted by a beeping console. Tassadus then channeled his species natural ability to see into the various wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum, and perceived several wavelengths that were identical to the frequency used with communication receivers. Once seeing that, the alien Jedi Master turned his attention to the terminal in the shuttle's communication deck, and accessed the informative and apologetic message sent by Dei Aiden, which surprised him, as Tassadus felt as if nothing had been said worth apologizing for. Nonetheless, the message was difficult to read. Tassadus was not illiterate, but he was more used to communing 'verbally', so to speak in his case, with others.

He wasn't sure if the Onderonians used a different grammatical system from Aurebesh, or if Dei had simply written sloppily due to tiredness, so he dismissed it as a fault on his own understanding. Tassadus went back to his levitating meditations, and began engaging in the Force ability of Farsight. Dei's message sparked the interest of the Jedi Master, and while he did not feel it warranted his physical presence as of yet, he reasoned it did call for him to observe in spirit, at the very least. He received vague impressions through the Force, and could sense a strong absence connected to Dei, which meant he was most likely still resting, so Tassadus felt little urgency in the matter. Tassadus' spirit had departed from his body, watching over a resting Dei. Once he had awakened, Tassadus would watch over him, observing the course of events following into his destiny.

((OOC: I am so off to sleep right now))

 

[Azium]

The comm unit would stay in Phri's thin fingers, waiting for the good doctor to call back after his rest, the hours just barely crawling by. The sheer excitement had her livelier than usual, the energy so boundless she could hardly focus on her studies. Politics, economics, science, none of it was any interest today when usually she was nose diving into the books, wanting to know more. What she wanted to know was how this, currently, disembodied voice was going to fix the paralyzing problem. Walking was something she first learned of just weeks ago when Daska Jadeonar burst into her isolated world only to yank her into the vast galaxy. The droids that had been taking care of her for the first fourteen years of her life were all on repulsers, simply hovering, thus the phenomenon of two legs propelling a person at will was something she had yet to really grasp. Back in her little world, she wasn't broken or damaged, but out in this strange arena of cultures and species, she was of the minority. Modern science could very well help any cripple overcome the challenges imposed by injury or defect, but with Phri being half a nearly unheard of or documented species no physician this side of the Core would look into her case. It all seemed bleak, until now.

The golden yellow eyes stared out the gigantic bay windows of her lavish suite, a gentle drizzle of rain starting to fall on Iziz City. Even the simplest thing as weather was a mystery to her, though she was beginning to learn how natural systems of moisture and pressure worked, there was still the question of why it happened. The proposition of 'why' was something her mentors had yet to really explain.

"Phri," the social skill mentor stopped mid-lesson on the workings of the senate, stylus above the screen of a datapad while several sheets of flimsi laid before his student on the table, "Phri, are you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm dreaming," she answered, clutching the comm a bit tighter in her hands while they laid in her lap, an unconscious plight for help.

"You were daydreaming. Past tense since you're now paying attention and since you're awake its called daydreaming. Actual dreaming is done while you sleep," the mentor corrected while shutting off his datapad and piling up the flimsi sheets with a huff of annoyance, "We'll continue after you see Doctor Aidan, we can't get anything done until then."

"Don't berate her for being excited, I would be too," the caretaker from before, Tenali, interjected. In hand was a small tray with a single glass of blended fruit and ice, a beverage Phri was starting to favorite. Tenali placed the glass off to the side of Phri before helping the mentor pick up his materials, "Especially with the wonderful news I have. No one's going to be able to focus on serious matters."

"News?" Phri questioned, the word to her meaning an happening in which every one had to know by means of a HoloNet broadcast. While the comm stayed in one hand, the other reached for the blended smoothie, the flavor being that of the freshest pick of the orchards on Onderon.

"I just received or that the paperwork finally came through. Phri, you're officially a Jadeonar," Tenali laid a hand on Phri's shoulder, squeezing it lightly as she announced the event. The filing for adoption and sole custody had been honored by the Republic courts, pushed through by the massive team of Jade Galactic lawyers. Phri was now not only Daska's legal daughter, but also a high value target. Security was tight before but now it old be nearly impregnable. With this new change in her name, besides the risks of being killed or kidnapped, also came the responsibility of keeping up appearances. None of this meant anything to Phri other than the fact that she now had some one to call family, though since day one she had been calling Daska "Father" and the team that was tasked for seeing after her was seen in the same manner of relationship in her eyes.

"Did Father hear?" she asked between sips of the light purple drink, golden eyes searching for some kind of answer. She wanted to make sure that Daska knew so that any dread of being rejected could be let go. Though the man had taken her in as his own from the beginning, she still feared of being left alone again.

"Of course, he has as many secretaries as you have bodyguards. I'm sure he's planning some sort of celebration," Tenali gave a reassuring smile while lying through her teeth. No one could ever be certain of when Daska learned of things, but he some how always knew what was going on no matter where he was.

Silence befell the suite, the rain now a steady pattering against the sill of the windows. The belittling mentor had left for the day, the hours now filled with short conversations and people watching from the high floor she was on. Even the guards took to relaxing though still alert, two by the door to the suite, another two on the inside, then one constantly by Phri's side. It wasn't long before the young Jadeonar was asleep in her repulser chair, comm lying on her lap with in the twitching fingers.