Chapter 11: The Medical Station
POV: Kael Vorn
The Kaliida Nebula painted the viewport in impossible colors—swirling purples and blues that shifted like aurora caught in a cosmic storm. Against this ethereal backdrop, the medical station hung suspended in space like a monument to the Republic's compassion and desperation in equal measure.
The converted cruiser housed sixty thousand patients, most of them clone troopers broken by a war that seemed to devour everything it touched. As the Twilight approached the docking bay, Kael felt the weight of so many damaged life forces pressing against his Force Sense like a physical tide.
Pain. Fear. The hollow ache of men who had lost limbs, brothers, hope. It crashed over him in waves, threatening to drag him under with its sheer intensity.
"Dear God, there are so many of them."
His knees buckled as they exited the ship. Ahsoka caught his arm before he could fall, her presence in the Force warm and steady against the sea of suffering that surrounded them.
"You feel them, don't you? All of them."
Kael nodded weakly, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to maintain his shields. The medical station's corridors echoed with the sounds of institutional care—the hum of bacta tanks, the beep of monitoring equipment, the quiet conversations of medical staff who had long since learned to speak in whispers around the dying.
"It's overwhelming," he managed.
Ahsoka's hand stayed on his arm, grounding him. "Master Plo taught me that suffering shared is suffering halved. You don't have to carry this alone."
[FORCE SENSE: OVERLOADED]
[MENTAL SHIELDS: STRAINED]
[RECOMMENDATION: LIMIT EXPOSURE TO MASS CASUALTIES]
The station's medical director intercepted them at the main junction—a harried Twi'lek named Nala Se whose lekku twitched with barely contained panic. Her surgical scrubs were stained with bacta fluid and worse things, testament to the endless stream of casualties that flowed through her domain.
"The Malevolence is en route," she announced without preamble. "Long-range sensors detected the ion signature two hours ago. We're evacuating critical patients, but we have thousands who can't be moved safely."
Anakin immediately took command with the natural authority of someone born to lead desperate causes. "How many transport ships do we have available? What's the maximum evacuation capacity?"
"Twelve medical frigates, eight converted cargo haulers. Maybe fifteen thousand patients if we pack them like cargo." Nala Se's voice cracked slightly. "But moving them will kill at least a thousand. Maybe more."
Plo Koon stepped forward, his respirator wheezing softly. "Then we must ensure the Malevolence does not reach this station. Organize the evacuation. We will handle the rest."
The medical facility transformed into controlled chaos. Stretchers rushed through corridors as medical droids triaged patients with mechanical efficiency. Alarm klaxons wailed their endless warnings while staff frantically prepared critical cases for transport that might kill them anyway.
Kael watched the dance of desperation and felt something cold and hard forming in his chest. These men—these broken, suffering souls—would be saved today only to die in three years when their inhibitor chips activated. Every one of them would turn their weapons on the Jedi they'd died to protect, erasing their individuality in a single moment of neural programming.
His fists clenched until his knuckles showed white.
Ahsoka noticed, of course. She always noticed.
"Come on," she said, pulling him away from the command center where Anakin coordinated evacuation schedules with grim efficiency. "You're no help spiraling."
She led him through the recovery wards, past rows of bacta tanks where clone troopers floated in healing suspension. Others lay on medical beds, their injuries too severe or too numerous for the limited tank space available. Burns covered half their faces. Missing limbs ended in cauterized stumps. Bandages concealed wounds that would never fully heal.
They all had the same face—Temuera Morrison's features repeated endlessly, but each bore different scars, different expressions of pain and resignation and stubborn hope.
"Individuals. Every single one of them. Not just numbers, not just assets. People."
A clone trooper missing both legs looked up as they passed, his eyes bright with fever. "Commander Tano? Will we make it out?"
Ahsoka's smile was radiant with false confidence. "Of course! General Skywalker always has a plan."
The trooper relaxed, comforted by her certainty. But as they moved on, Ahsoka's shoulders sagged with the weight of necessary deception.
"I hate lying to them," she whispered.
Kael stopped, turning to face her fully. The corridor stretched around them, filled with the quiet sounds of medical equipment and muffled conversations. In the distance, another alarm sounded.
"Then don't lie. Tell them you'll fight like hell to save them. That's not a lie."
Something shifted in her eyes—gratitude mixed with recognition, as if he'd given voice to something she'd been struggling to articulate.
"You really see them as people, don't you? Not just... assets."
"Because I know what's coming for them. Because I know they deserve so much better than the fate waiting in their skulls."
"They're more human than most humans I've known," Kael said instead. "They choose to be individuals despite being bred for conformity. That takes courage."
[AHSOKA TANO COMPANION BOND: DEEPENING]
[TRUST LEVEL: 4/10 ACHIEVED]
[SHARED VALUES: COMPASSION FOR CLONES]
Nala Se found them an hour later, her desperation finally overriding her professional skepticism. "You have healing abilities? The Jedi said you might be able to help."
Kael nodded, already feeling the exhaustion that would follow. "I can try. But I'm not very strong yet."
"Anything helps. We've got more cases than we can handle."
The next two hours blurred together in a haze of silver energy and shared pain. Kael moved from bed to bed, channeling Force Healing into the worst cases. His Initiate-rank ability couldn't regenerate limbs or reverse mortal wounds, but he could ease suffering in smaller ways.
Burns cooled under his touch. Fractures knitted together with unnatural speed. Hearts found steadier rhythms. Lungs cleared of fluid that threatened to drown their owners. Not miracles—just the accumulated weight of many small mercies.
After thirty patients, he collapsed against a corridor wall, his entire body shaking with exhaustion. A drop in an ocean of need, but perhaps enough to matter to those he'd touched.
[FORCE HEALING: 128/600 USES]
[RAPID PROGRESSION THROUGH EMERGENCY APPLICATION]
[MENTAL FATIGUE: CRITICAL LEVELS]
[WARNING: FORCE EXHAUSTION IMMINENT]
A clone sergeant approached, offering a cup of water with hands that trembled slightly. His armor bore the scorch marks of recent combat, and his eyes held the hollow look of someone who had lost too many brothers.
"Sir, my brother CT-2277—you healed his burns. He was screaming for hours before. Now he's sleeping. Thank you."
The sergeant's eyes were bright with unshed tears, and Kael felt his throat close with emotion he couldn't voice.
"I wish I could save you all. I wish I could tell you what's coming. I wish I could do more than put bandages on wounds that go deeper than flesh."
"I wish I could do more," he managed.
The sergeant shook his head, a sad smile crossing his weathered features. "You did enough. You cared. That's more than most nat-borns give us."
[ALIGNMENT SHIFT: +3% TOWARD LIGHT]
[CURRENT BALANCE: 58% LIGHT-LEANING]
[CLONE LOYALTY: INCREASING]
That night, in a quiet observation lounge overlooking the nebula's swirling gases, Kael and Ahsoka sat in companionable silence. The evacuation continued around them—a steady stream of medical transports departing for safer systems while the skeleton crew prepared to defend what couldn't be moved.
Ahsoka leaned her head against his shoulder, a simple gesture of exhaustion and trust that sent warmth spreading through his chest. Her presence in the Force was a steady flame against the darkness gathering outside.
"Sometimes I wonder if the Jedi way is too... detached," she said quietly. "We're supposed to serve, but we're not supposed to care too much. How does that work?"
"It doesn't. That's why you'll leave the Order someday. That's why the whole system is doomed to fall."
The curse clamped down on his throat, but maybe that was for the best. Some truths were too heavy for fourteen-year-old shoulders to bear.
"I think caring is the whole point," he said instead. "The rest is just details."
Ahsoka's hand found his, fingers intertwining with surprising warmth. "Yeah. Maybe you're onto something, Gray."
Outside the viewport, distant flashes lit the nebula's depths like lightning trapped in colored glass. The Malevolence had arrived, and with it, the next test of their ability to save lives in a galaxy determined to destroy them.
But for this moment, in this quiet space between crises, Kael allowed himself to feel something that might have been peace. He couldn't save everyone. He couldn't prevent the coming darkness. But he could sit here with a friend who was slowly learning to see the galaxy through his eyes, and maybe that was enough.
Maybe that was everything.
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