Ask Under Faded Stars

[Bast Emblai]

Outer Rim Territories
S-12
Nar Shaddaa, the “Smuggler’s Moon”
Transit District

​

The Sector Rangers had a poor hold on Nar Shaddaa, if it could even be called a hold. In reality, they were more of a minor presence. Less corrupt and more effective than planetary law enforcement, but officers were few and far between. The loose interpretation of regulations and galactic law was infamous in the Ecumenopolis. The neon lights and grated doors had harboured every breed of criminal, from high-running syndicate goons to simple street thugs, largely running free. In an attempt to crack down on illegal operations, the Sector Rangers of the Outer Rim had attempted to partially reclaim the planet, unsuccessfully. Rangers, side by side with mercenaries and soldiers were waging a war with local gangs over turf: the transit district. The area handled many imports and exports of goods and people as well as housing a planet wide hovertrain and speeder taxi company.

Holoprojections, neon lights, and vivid colors beckoned for vacationers from near and far to eat out, buy luxury goods, or head to a nightclub. Bast, however, was not there on vacation. She had been deployed with a medic, Ranger Falynn Tikarsis, to provide support for casualties behind the frontlines as an emergency measure. Local criminals were hitting the understaffed Rangers hard. The detective doubted she would be invited to clubs once her affiliation was known, and as a precaution, the precious badge that represented what Bast stood for was tucked behind her blast vest. The pair wasn’t to be undercover, but subtly was essential if they were to be of any help.

It was not the woman’s first experience with gang violence, spice dealers, and a world crawling with distasteful people. For years, she had worked at CorSec as the Detective Sergeant, which involved spending copious amounts of time around unsavoury folk, both colleagues and suspects. It was not her first time in the den of villainy, but it never got easier. A small part of the woman didn’t want to leave her ship, but she knew it was her duty. With a small sigh of anticipation, Bast switched off the controls, straightened her blaster vest, and walked down the ramp into the humid city air.

“Ranger Tikarsis, do you copy? This is Ranger Bast Emblai. Meet me at landing pad 3791. There’s an escort waiting here.” The guide of sorts was pale haired and dressed in a neatly pressed collared shirt. He in his manner of dress and complexion, he resembled Corran, but the resemblance ended there. A smug grin decorated a scarred face with narrowed eyes and she could smell the cologne from her ship. It was hard to place, but something about him made her skin crawl. Perhaps it was the subconscious observation of every posture and expression the detective never turned off was getting over-sensitive. After all, he was supposed to be a ranger. Not that that meant much, unfortunately. There was a sudden pang of loneliness- she would have rather have done the mission with her typical partner. He was attentive and industrious, but also a good man. A somewhat charming one at that. Letting herself become lost in her thoughts for the last time before entering the war zone, Bast awaited her new partner. She seemed nice enough.

@FireSong

 

[Falynn Tikarsis]

So this was Nar Shaddaa. The infamous moon where crime ran rampant across the ecumenopolis. No wonder many considered it the dark twin of Coruscant. Falynn gazed at the bright city lights through the ship’s viewport, watching as the buildings gradually increased in size. Her own ship was currently undergoing a maintenance check, so she’d been left with public transport as her only option of travel. It hadn’t been difficult to score a flight to the Smuggler’s Moon of course. Apparently it was quite a popular place to be at the moment. Falynn herself was bound for the moon on business matters.

A synthesized voice over the intercom interrupted her thoughts. They would be landing shortly. Falynn pulled out her datapad to review this most recent assignment. The Sector Rangers had been unsuccessful in their efforts to reclaim Nar Shaddaa, which had resulted in many casualties on both sides. She would be working with Ranger Bast Emblai, someone she knew. As a medic, her main objective was to treat the injured but also offer whatever other help she could. Pulling out her medical kit, Falynn double checked that she had enough resources. It was fortunate that she’d restocked on everything beforehand, lest she find the need to purchase emergency medical supplies from this moon. A mental checklist ran through her head as Falynn ensured she had brought what was needed. Thankfully everything seemed in order. Falynn repacked her bag and waited for the ship to make its landing.

A hiss sounded as the ramp was let down and Falynn stepped off onto one of the moon’s various docking bays. Assuming her affiliation as a Ranger would not sit well with many people on Nar Shaddaa, she had chosen to wear basic, nondescript clothing and kept her badge hidden away. Her hair, as always, was swept up and out of the way. A voice sounded on her comlink; it was her partner. “Landing pad 3791, copy that. I’ll be there shortly.” Never one to be late, Falynn walked briskly in the direction of the transit district. It was a brief walk to the designated area, where she saw Ranger Emblai and the escort waiting for her. “Ranger Emblai, we meet again.” She gave a friendly nod to Bast before following the escort into the depths of the war zone.

The sight wasn’t pretty. Sector Rangers and their allies had set up an encampment on one side of the district and were struggling to hold their ground. Falynn could already see the various places where aid was needed—there were resources to be distributed and wounds to be treated—but deferred to her partner, who was technically the one in command. “What comes first?”


@Kestrel

 

[Bast Emblai]

Their smirking escort led the two woman through a locked gate and onto a back street. The pair walked in cordial silence until they reached the encampment, a blown out storefront shielded with temporary walls a shield generator and a few patrol droids. The neon light dubbing the demolished store “Fresh Exotic Market” flickered, only half attached. Duracrete rubble cluttered the road, making it almost inaccessible without a speeder. Reports saying the station was in less than ideal operating order were a vast understatement. The triage tent was full, and men were sitting outside, slowly bleeding out or in excruciating pain. The hourly update indicated 11 troops were missing. Stores of water were almost empty. The detective wondered why she had been called in, how two people could be of any help. She dealt with crime, not war. Nevertheless, it was her duty. She owed thirteen lives from Outpost Blue. The debt couldn’t truly be repaid, but Bast would have to try her hardest.

“The command structure has completely disintegrated. I need to get that back up and running before we do any recon or attack. Would you organize efforts to treat casualties? I will be there as soon as I can to help with basics and morale.” The place had really gone to the cath hounds.

Carefully traversing the uneven ground, Bast flashed her badge at a patrol officer. He looked overworked and exhausted. His shirt was wrinkled, hair unbrushed, and eyes droopy. As soon as Bast entered the comandeered store, everyone straightened, and a few even stood at attention. Perhaps it was her well groomed appearance, but the soldiers seemed to have instant respect. Shaking her head slightly in disbelief, she commanded they be at ease before beginning her barrage of questions to get an idea of the situation.

“Who is your captain here?” No one spoke. “Lieutenant?“ A few soldiers looked around awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. Walking briskly up to one such man, Bast repeated the question harshly. More harshly than she had meant. If she was to be in control, she would need the men’s respect, their trust. Avoiding assertiveness was not a luxury she could afford, and being a woman made it twice as hard to be heard.

“We have none, Ma’am. We were told you were the senior officer, followed by your partner, Ranger Tikarsis.”
“Good man. Thank you. You are now team leader for a supply run. Choose five men to go and get food, water, and medical supplies as well as ammunition. Be back by 21:15. You in the red, take four troops and do a head count, then go help in the medbay. You, Sir-“ Bast pointed the man who had brought them to the encampment. “Set up a defensive perimeter. Everyone else, rest until I call shift up. Dismissed.”

Giving cold, hard orders left a bad taste in the woman’s mouth. These were people of her rank, fighting for her cause, exhausted and burnt out. The reality of the situation was that if the camp didn’t function for much longer, there would be a massacre.

@FireSong

 

[Falynn Tikarsis]

The triage tent was an absolute disaster. Falynn stepped inside and was immediately met with the strong scent of bacta mixed with burnt flesh. Men either lay in stretchers or on the ground along the sides. Many bandages and bacta patches were haphazardly strewn across the dirty floor, now lacking their sterility. In the center of it all, a young man rushed about from person to person trying his best to treat all of the soldiers. He hadn’t noticed her entrance. Tapping him on the shoulder, Falynn addressed the man. “Excuse me. My name is Ranger Falynn Tikarsis, I’m a medic. How may I be of assistance?”

The man jerked his head up in surprise before relief flooded his features. He continued working as he began to speak. “Oh thank goodness. We’ve been short staffed for a while now...” The man rambled on describing the condition many of the men were in, while becoming increasingly flustered. “...so now that you’re here I’m sure everything will go much smoother. What can I do?” Falynn stared at him as she processed everything he‘d said. Why was he so nervous? She bent down to observe the wound he was dressing, noting how unnatural his movements seemed. The finished result was adequate, but leaning on the sloppy side, as if he lacked confidence. “How long have you been in service?”

“No more than a week. This is my first assignment. I’ve only just finished my residency.” The words struck her hard. Every new piece of information Falynn learned from this medic was like another sharp stone of responsibility being thrown at her. Not only were they tremendously short staffed, the only other medic lacked experience in this field. There would be a lot of work to do. Taking a deep breath, Falynn spoke calmly as she relayed directions to the young man.

“Remind me of your name again?”

“Luca. Luca Kene.”

“Alright Ranger Kene, in order treat these men as efficiently as possible, I need you to go over there,” she pointed in the direction of the soldier’s quarters, “and find three or four men willing to help in here. If they don’t already know how, teach them the basics of dressing a wound.” Falynn tossed him a roll of bandages and bacta patches from the floor. They could no longer be used for open cuts, but would serve their purpose for practice. “Once you’re done, report back here with the men. Can you do that for me?” The medic nodded once and took off in a rush. Falynn herself got down on her knees and began to treat the injuries of the men in the tent. The journey ahead of them was a long one, but not impossible.


@Kestrel

 

[Bast Emblai]

Entering the triage tent, the detective expected a disorganized mess, not utter carnage. No wonder Falynn bad yet to check in and give a status report. Men and women lay on stretchers, cots, and the bare floor in some occasions. There was everything from comatose patients to shrapnel cuts and burns. A young soldier, looking no older than twenty groaned and shifted. His hair was black, saturated with dust and debris, and he had a nasty looking cut down his inner thigh, looking to be from a vibrosword, as well as a blaster wound to his stomach. Barely an inch from his body was that of a pale, muscular woman, hair cropped short. Her eyes were open and blank, but her chest was still rising and falling unevenly. She looked less than a click away from death. Leaning down to check her pulse, just in case, Bast found nothing. Immediately she dragged the woman out onto the floor and began chest compressions. The Ranger’s voice sounded desperate. “We have one coding!” She, herself was still recovering from surgery and couldn’t risk re-opening scars by continuing CPR for the next ten minutes. The skin on her back was tender, discolored, and tight, but mercifully not tearing. As soon as backup arrived, she handed the woman over for an attempt to restart the heart. There was no time to mourn or care about the outcome, she had to move on.

Having passed basic for both CorSec and Sector Rangers, Bast was well versed in first aid, if not much else in the medical field. Getting to work on a ranger who had burns covering half his face, she hoped her partner wouldn’t mind. In the triage tent, Falynn outranked her.

The burn was nasty, but not life threatening or near the airway. The only permanent consequence besides cosmetic disfigurement would be a lack of hair growth, premature balding. Cautiously placing a hand on the man’s arm to alert him of her presence because of his bandaged eyes, she spoke. “My name is Ranger Emblai and I am going to treat some of your wounds. You will come out of this.” She hoped the words were some condolence as she retrieved new dressing with burn treatment gel on it. Attempting to ignore his stifled cries, she wrapped the area as gently and efficiently as possible.

Falynn had returned from the coding patient, and Bast stood up at attention. “I have five more men coming your way after they do a head count. What do you need done?” Then, in a lower tone she continued, leaning towards her partner to avoid her voice carrying. “There is no command structure here. I dispatched some troops to get the bare minimum done, but this place is hardly operational. Do you think we should get a medical frigate and pull out?”

@FireSong

 

[Falynn Tikarsis]

There was so much that needed to be done, and not enough people to do it. Luca had arrived with three men behind him, each with the barest medical knowledge. Even so, a little was better than nothing. Falynn briefed the men on the situation and directed them towards those in the most critical condition. Once they had gotten started, she went to go help someone who had taken a hit to the back. The woman was only living because she had been wearing light armor beneath her jacket. Carefully cutting off the woman’s jacket, Falynn began to disinfect the wound and wrap it while soothing her. She was so engrossed in her work that the sound of Bast entering the tent didn’t register in her mind. At least, not until she heard, “We have one coding!”

In the hospital, a coding system was often used to alert staff of various emergencies. So to hear those words coming from somewhere inside the tent was not a great sign. The medic rushed over to Bast, finding her crouched over a woman in the middle of chest compressions. “Here, let me take over.” Falynn quickly searched the tent for a defibrillator, grabbed one, and placed it on the woman’s chest. “Stand clear.” A quick pulse, then nothing. She tried again, but still no response. The woman was gone. A cloth was draped over the body and carried outside. There was nothing more Falynn could do but continue in her efforts to save as many rangers as possible.

Rising to her feet, Falynn saw Bast treating a man with severe facial burns and walked towards her. With five more men on their way it would be possible to form some sense of order in the tent. “I’d like to be able to triage everyone in here and group them accordingly. Ranger Kene,” Falynn gestured to the young man in the corner, “can teach the men basic first aid so they will be able to help treat the wounded.” The one positive thing she could see in this situation was that the wounds people received were quite uniform. Mostly acquired from blaster shots or fallen debris. It made teaching people how to treat the wounds much simpler. “Feel free to help in any way you feel comfortable. Believe me when I say how thankful I am for what you’ve done so far.”

Falynn leaned in closer to hear Bast’s next words. Should they pull out? There was absolutely no command structure anywhere within this unit. Looking around, the option was tempting. A medical frigate would provide a better environment to treat this number of people. But, that would mean abandoning the others. In an even quieter voice, she responded. “I can’t just leave these people here. If we pull out, we’ll be leaving all these rangers to fend for themselves. I don’t think I can live with the knowledge that we abandoned them when they needed aid the most.” It was her duty to treat people to the best of her ability and was one Falynn took very seriously.

@Kestrel

 

[Bast Emblai]

The woman had a point, but Bast was young and inexperienced. There was no ignoring the fact the fight on the streets of Nar Shaddaa was not one the Sector Rangers were winning. If they kept calling for reinforcement, it would be an endless cycle of death and loss. From the detective’s point of view, the best option was to pull out when possible, with as many men as possible. “I understand where you’re coming from, Falynn. However, this is no time for heroics. Our men who die in a heroic last stand are still dead. The injured-“ A gloved hand, partially stained with blood gestured vaguely around the tent “- have little to no chance here. There are just as many soldiers incapacitated as there fighting. The ones who are fighting are being captured left and right. I am going to call it.”

Only after the words were spoken, did Bast realize she may have sounded harsh, but she did not apologize. The medic needed to understand the urgency, the choice of the lesser evil. The detective’s perception of the truth was hard to swallow, but she was convicted. If Falynn had any qualms, which no doubt she did, she was welcome to take them up with the other woman, but they had work to do. Pride would not be the death of four dozen troops, not on her watch.

A scream shook her out of her frustrated concentration dressing wounds. Two soldiers were carrying a backboard into the triage center. The man strapped down looked to be in his early-to-mid twenties and was fighting with all his might against his restraints. He was shirtless, and his trousers were splattered with blood. Ivory pale skin was dotted with burns and lashes, but there were no apparent life threatening injuries. Both eyes were blackened with bruises, and his pupils were enormous. Rushing over, Bast overheard the stretcher-bearers explain he’d been a prisoner of war. Although he needed medical attention, clearly the first priority was to stabilize his mental health. “I will take him” So authoritative was her voice, that the hover-gurney was promptly handed over.

“Hey. Ranger...” with a quick tilt of her head, she read his dog tags, “... Andrezi. It is okay. You are safe.” He showed no indication of hearing her. She knew the terror of delirium. They seemed to have drugged the poor man. Wracking her mind for what to do, only two memories surfaced: that of her rescue, and that of wake up from anesthesia. The latter had been horrifying, yet she had no idea of the most effective way to help. Certainly it wasn’t restraining him- that would scare the man, as would any physical touch perceived as a threat. “I am Ranger Bast Emblai. You will survive. Just relax. I will take care of you. Please. You are alright.” Again, the words seemed to have no effect. The man was too far inside his own hell to hear her. Helplessly, hazel eyes searched for any support, finally landing on her partner.

@FireSong

 

[Falynn Tikarsis]

Bast countered her points with hard, cold logic. Her words stung, but Falynn saw the clarity in them. The other Ranger was right. Calling in a medical frigate was the reasonable choice, even if it was one she didn’t fully agree with. Falynn gave a nod to show she acquiesced the decision, and turned away to treat another patient. Not because she was angry or trying to be rude, but to give herself time to think, to process. She knew Bast was adamant on this decision, even if Falynn herself had not yet come to terms with it. There was a groan of pain from the woman she was treating, and the medic let her thoughts subside to focus on her duties. Any part of her that wanted to speak further with Bast would always be second to the needs of the wounded.

Somewhere by the entrance of the triage tent, an agonized cry sounded. Falynn looked up from where she was kneeling and saw Ranger Emblai struggling with one of the patients brought in by an orderly. The words prisoner of war spread in a whisper around the tent. Her eyes met Bast’s and Falynn saw what was conveyed in them. She quickly made her way to the gurney to analyze the man. Barely in his twenties, yet he had suffered a great deal. The bruising around his eyes were proof of internal hemorrhaging. Unfocused eyes and dilated pupils likely indicated he had been drugged, yet the most concerning part was his mental condition. The man was in no condition to be treated for his physical wounds at this stage, and Falynn was severely lacking the necessary supplies to help him. For her to do anything safely, even put him under, the medic would first need to know what was in his system. Any sort of reaction between drugs could be catastrophic when there were too many variables. That medical frigate was beginning to look more appealing.

Falynn motioned for the orderlies to hook him up to a line of fluids, and if possible stay with him in case he woke. Then, she turned to address the Ranger beside her. “I can’t do any more for him until I run a diagnostics check,” she said to Bast. “You’re right. I would be better equipped to treat these people aboard a medical frigate. But, looking around, I see the suffering of these Rangers, and feel compelled to help as many as possible. Not just the injured, but the able-bodied, and the captured too.” She paused before continuing on. “Medical frigates are equipped to be able to carry a high capacity of people. We’d be able to fit more than just the injured on board.” Falynn gestured to the prisoner of war that had just come in. “There are more prisoners of war out there, you know it as well as I. We still have time to save them from a worse fate and leave with as many people as possible.” If there was one part of Bast’s words Falynn disagreed with, it was the first couple of sentences. This wasn’t heroics, it was compassion.

@Kestrel