Saga - OT Cease, Banthas, Life is Short! (post-ROTJ | OCs)

Title: Cease, Banthas, Life is Short!
Author: Ewok Poet
Genre: General, for now
Rating: PG
Characters: Original characters
Timeframe: Begins somewhere in 4 ABY.
Length: Dunno
Summary: There are two kinds of idealists. One needs the other to fulfill their potential.

A/N: The characters have previously appeared in Death, Life and Other Goals, Waterstories, A Blaster Wound?, this set of drabbles and a story I deleted because it was not good. They never appeared together before.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Ahyolu - An Astraal

Tarlo Tarmill - A Human doctor, intern and former mentee to Professor Pyrgopolynices

3D-4B aka Threebee - A medical droid

Professor Pyrgopolynices - A Drall doctor, professor at the University of Corellia.

 

01 I can be wrong sometimes, 3D-4B!

“So, this is how true freedom feels? It does not actually look like freedom. Then again, what do I know about freedom?”

A being whose appearance at the Hanna City Refugee Relocation Centre the workers could not fathom and whose species they could not determine was not making much sense after that initial statement. Perhaps it was the fact that she did not disclose the most important information first, perhaps it was her mimic, similar to the one of an overly excited bird.

“There was this stranger who looked like a walking-talking carcass, almost a ground-speeder bump remaining from an accident. I attempted to help him, but I ended up abandoning him. And that stranger just sucked up everything out of me and I don’t remember what I have done next. I have not seen that creature since.”

The local volunteer was stumped, so she gestured over to the Drall overseeing the whole exercise with refugees. There have been many refugees sharing all sorts of unsettling stories, but this one met somebody and that left them drained? That did not sound normal. That was nowhere near normal. When you hear it from somebody wearing a colourful synthfur coat, it’s even less normal.

The being was not particularly lively until it was clear that the only way the rodent doctor would deal with them would be by restraining them. And all that it took for him to make such a decision was a brief observation with his spectacles on and a couple of “mhms”.

“I am not insane! You are not going to do that. You are so not going to do that.”

The Drall medic waved his syringe. “Whatever kind of a trauma you have witnessed, it has clearly altered your thought patterns.” He pushed the needle into the pale skin of the being. “And it sounds that you like needles, either way.”

“What…?” the unidentifiable managed to say before the nerf-sized dose of dystorzepam cocktail. “I have never…”

The droid assisting the Drall put its cold metal hand onto the being’s arm. “Their results don’t indicate any substance abuse, doctor Pyrgopolynices!”

“You must have short-circuited, Threebee! I mean, 3D-4B. This is clearly a sign of multiple spice intoxication and we should have placed this one in the detox unit, with other dianoga fodder!”

“I don’t think that this is a good idea, master.”

“I can be wrong sometimes, 3D-4B!” The doctor crossed his little arms. “I can be wrong. However, the other option that we must not exclude is hypoxia. This being is hallucinating because they are deprived of a different chemical that their homeworld’s atmosphere includes, as opposite to oxygen.”

“THEIR? I am female, you good-for-nothing…space-worm! I even know my own name, but you refuse to listen to pretty much anything I’m saying! I have been breathing the same kind of air as you all my life!” The being was able to talk, though the rest of her body was still paralysed from the dystorzepam injection.

“This one will make a good exam subject for the senior year students.”

“Master, if I may…I do not think that it is a wise idea. Their biology indicates that the species is not to be found in the fourth year textbooks.”

“Their biology is irrelevant here. The students are not going to perform a physical. I merely want them to identify the species.

“Because you have no idea what I am, you slicer of a medic?” The being spoke again. “If I could only remember how to…I can’t even remember what…I would put you in your place, which is the trash compactor!”

Professor Pyrgopolynices just shook his head, sighed and administered another dose of the tranquilizer into the vein of his subject’s other arm, without even notifying the droid.

This time, it was enough to knock them – or her, as she claimed – out.

The student present was petrified.

“What are you looking at? Take this unruly creature to the detox unit.”


…


That evening in his studio apartment in the hotel repurposed as the camp headquarters, Pyrgopolynices realised that he had not tormented any of the interns that day. The fourth year students had three days off before the xenoanthropology exam that he was left to co-host with the Dean of Arts from his home sector’s Vagran system. It was not his field, but still a required part of the curriculum for the medical students. He did not think that it was about to change with the current events taking place – the sentiment against lesser-known and endemic sentient species was to change for sure, but the exam was likely to remain a part of education at all possible departments.

He got out and half a minute later, he was at the interns’ suite for males. The den was exactly the mess that he had expected it to be. Boxes of half-eaten huttza scattered on the floor. Empty duraplast packs of ardees, various juices and milk. Two of his favourites, Piknikbrik and Koukou Gann slept on the couch in front of the screen, with some bizarre bootleg Jedi film running at the same time as the news bulletin about the very complicated uprising in Anoat Sector that had been on the news way too much over the past year or so.

He headed to one of the rooms. Once the door opened he saw what he expected to see: the shaggy-looking kid devouring what appeared to be his second huttza and taking large sips of his cafchok in-between bites. On his datapad there was a holobook of some sort.

“Tarmill? I beg your pardon?”

The intern jumped in his seat and turned around, his cheeks stuffed with food and eyes wide open.

“Mffffmffmfmfmf!” he comically swallowed his huttza. “Good evening, professor Pyrgopolynices. I was…”

“It’s not about what you were, but what you are to do, my boy.” The Drall adjusted his spectacles. “And I need you to check on a particularly unruly creature that I encountered today. They’re in the detox unit.”

Tarlo pulled his face into a forced expression that would have screamed “not again” to anybody but his mentor.

“And who is it?”

“Threebee and I dealt with the subject earlier today. Came with Rogierre’s batch of refugees from Abatore. The little data that he supplied said that she lived in an otherwise inaccessible area of Mount Chiro for a long amount of time, but I would attribute that to intoxication as well. You need to determine her species and check for the presence of spice. If none is present, just take her back to one of the single being rooms. And did I say her species? I meant their species.”

Something was odd about the whole story. The only thing the intern was sure of is that his mentor wanted unsuspecting students to fail the same way that he once did – by having to answer a question that he didn’t know an answer to himself. He nodded, more to himself than to Pyrgopolynices, and went to wash his hands before heading to the detox unit.

Once there, he put his lab coat and face mask on – one could never be too careful, with the places these beings were coming from. He was relieved that his alleged substance abuser was not one of those that slept behind an electrical restraining device. This one was in a plain bed, wearing simplistic robes, likely the clothing they wore upon their arrival to Chandrilla. Why were they not giving the refugees nightgarbs in the first place?

It was certainly some sort of a humanoid. The thing professor did not understand is that sometimes you just have to give these strangers from all around the Galaxy the time of the day. In most cases, they were perfectly fine and capable of telling their stories.

Tarlo decided to just go the easiest possible route as there was no way that this one was aggressive.

“Psst…wake up.”

The stranger opened her eyes – yes, that was definitely a she – and rubbed them. She did not appear that different from other humanoids, but whatever her species had been, it was secondary to whatever Pyrgopolynices could have done to her.

“Finally. The stupid thing wore off. And who are you?”

“Wore off? Dystorzepam, out of all thighs. That fast?” the intern was clearly puzzled. “My mentor sent me to check on you.”

“Another doctor, huh? Looks like I have no luck. First there was the bespectacled rodent who thought I did spice and now there is somebody who works for him. Charming.” The strange woman, who did not appear to be particularly aged either, did not seem impressed with his mentor.

She propped herself on her elbows and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I am not intoxicated. I am angry.” The stranger’s irises widened as her pupils constricted. “He is not listening to me at all.”

Tarlo grinned underneath the mask. “He does not know how to listen. Oh. I should not have said that.”

“They say that our thoughts may betray us, but you don’t even need thoughts to betray you.” The stranger seemed somewhat amused, amidst distress. “And I can see what your eyes are doing. They betray you as much as your tongue. Take that thing off.”

For reasons he could not even fathom, the Human intern obliged. She smiled upon seeing his uncovered face. He smiled back at her and looked down. Her nose twitched.

“Everything I had said to the other Drall was true. I lived on my own for a long time. Quarter of a century.”

“Why?”

“Rent, you know? I owed a bit too much, so I went to live in wilderness. Healthy life away from the city and all. Going from Coruscant to Vagran, I did not know it was so expensive over there.”

“You lived in an area potentially full of deadly fungi spores because of…rent?”

“I had no idea about the deadly fungi spores.”

This might have been the strangest thing he has heard recently. But then again, he was a really bad liar himself. This refugee, she just attempted to sell him a story so bizarre that it was comedic. But there is something he liked about her. And it was not the fact that whatever the real story was it could have been even more bizarre than what she just shared.

She was quiet for a bit, looking at him, trying to keep a straight face. He felt both delighted and threatened by her red irises. And then she remembered something.

“Say, do you have any good food? From what I understand this is an agriworld, which is still not an excuse to give us these kriffin’ porridges. Are ohvanille cream buns still a thing?”

“They very much are.”

“Bantha sliders? Huttza?”

Tarlo nodded, thinking of his supper getting cold back at the interns’ apartment.

“I want it all. And you look like somebody that can get me some.”

“That would be breaking the rules.”

“I broke rules at worse places, in situations that you would not believe and I did not lose my internship. Are you really afraid of that tyrant?”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean…where did you intern and when?”

At this point, he was convinced that he might have encountered a refugee with a story far beyond his wildest imagination. And for whatever reason, he wanted to hear more.

“You give me food and I might as well tell you more about it. You want those students to get good grades, don’t you?”

There was something that made her more persuasive, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

She got up. The dystorzepam had not really worn off yet, as the next thing that happened was her falling on him and their weight resulting in kicking the bed towards the wall.

A voice that clearly belonged to an inebriated being could be heard from a couple of metres away. “The starships of gods themselves again! I can hear them!”

Tarlo chuckled. At this point, everything was absurd. But the refugee did not seem to be bothered by it. Not in the slightest.

“Get off me.” She said. “Get off me and bring me my coat. It’s in the storage unit. Not the greatest piece of clothing, but it’s art, you know?”

She directed the confused intern to the said unit. For the thirty seconds or so that he looked away, he was able to think again.

“Here is your coat. One thing, though.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t tell me your name. You want me to break pretty much every rule in the book and you didn’t tell me your name.”

“In our culture, an introduction is out of question until somebody gains your trust.” She cocked her head like a large bird. “My name is Ahyolu.”

 

What you are really good at, @Ewok Poet, is to create unique OCs which stand out in the SW universe. On their own legs. And you write stories that suck in immediately.

 

Yikes, Ahyolu has certainly managed to end up in a real pickle here. I'm glad that Tarlo at least is willing to use his own wits and may be able to help with this strange situation. And good old Dr. Pyrgopolynices -- jack of all medical and scientific trades, master of none. Anyway, I'm very glad to see these characters again, and to learn more about them through the story.