Chapter Text
- A fertile or green area in a desert or wasteland, made so by the presence of water.
- A situation or place preserved from surrounding unpleasantness; a refuge: an oasis of serenity amid chaos.
The day was drawing to an end. In front of Gern, the waiting room beyond the reception desk was empty and quiet; there was no one left in the building except them and Doc S.
Another half-hour of cleaning up these notes and making sure everything was in order for tomorrow, and Gern would be all set. The thought of going home and seeing their kids and spouse brought a smile to their lips. Hahl would greet them with a kiss and ask how their day had been, and they'd be able to answer it had been an easy one: everything running smoothly and on schedule, and no cases that the clinic wasn't prepared to handle. Not that there often were, thanks to Doc S and all the skilled people she'd brought together in this quiet corner of the Outer Rim.
The doctor was currently restocking supplies in the treatment rooms. It wasn't the kind of work she would have been doing if she'd remained on Coruscant, but Gern knew that she was perfectly happy doing it. Unlike them, Doctor Shussa Mavon—universally called Doc S by everyone at the clinic, as much as they didn't care about ranks or titles—had no partner or children. In a way, the clinic was her family. She'd founded it more than twenty years ago as a safe haven for both patients and staff, far from the rules and demands of the Empire.
A loud knock at the main door jolted Gern out of their thoughts.
They pressed the button for the intercom and called out, "Sorry, we're closed for the day. We open at seven tomorrow. If it's urgent, tell me more and I'll see what I can do."
There was no reply, so Gern shrugged and returned to their notes. It probably wasn't an emergency, then. Maybe they'd find out who it had been tomorrow.
The second thud at the door was distinctly not a knock, but the sound of a blaster being fired, and as Gern looked up, shocked, they saw the door being wrenched open with gloved hands. The widening gap revealed a glint of silver, which turned out to be a figure wearing plate armor, complete with a helmet that covered their head, hiding their face entirely. As the person stepped into the room, Gern recognized the design of the armor: this was a Mandalorian. They'd never met one, but they knew their reputation as ruthless mercenaries and bounty hunters. They felt a chill run down their spine.
The Mandalorian's blaster came to point directly at Gern's face.
"This is a medical clinic, we don't have anything of value," Gern said, in the calmest tone they could muster, raising their hands to show that they were unarmed. They probably didn't appear very calm; they could feel their arms and legs trembling.
The clinic had seen its share of difficult patients over the sixteen years Gern had worked there, and the crowd was often rough, but the community appreciated them. It was the best medical facility for many parsecs, after all. People tended to like having them around, not just because they could treat anything ranging from the sniffles to a stroke, but also because their good reputation brought in travelers, which meant more income for the whole town.
No one had ever broken in and threatened them with blasters.
"I'm no thief," the intruder said. The helmet gave his husky voice a metallic echo, and he sounded exactly as dangerous as the Mandalorians from Gern's imagination. "I need you to help him." Blaster still kept steady, he nodded towards the crook of his other arm.
As Gern looked at the bundle cradled there, they saw that the Mandalorian was holding a small being, with pale green skin, large ears, and equally large eyes that were half-open, giving a sleepy impression. The species wasn't familiar to Gern, but he seemed like a baby or a very young child.
All of a sudden, the situation had turned on its head. Whatever reason the Mandalorian had to carry this child, if the child was hurt, then Gern was absolutely going to help, no question about it. They stood up slowly, hands still placatingly in the air. "Of course. You've come to the right place. Just put down the blaster—you don't need it, we have no weapons here."
"I'll be the judge of that," the Mandalorian said, turning his helmeted head to look at the door behind him, which was stuck open, then at the child. Finally, his attention returned to Gern, as much as they could tell from that impenetrable visor. Apparently reaching a decision, he lowered the blaster and holstered it at his thigh. "I don't want to hurt you. I'll pay for your assistance, but I'm not letting you out of here until he's better. Make one move against me..."
"I won't," Gern promised. Of course, they were already trying to run through plans for that in their mind.
It didn't seem right for a bounty hunter to be carrying a child. In fact, Gern thought it likely that this was a kidnapping in action. There were previous occasions when the clinic had intervened and helped rescue children in trouble. It was how Gern and Hahl had ended up adopting theirs: Glal had lost both biological parents in an accident, Samerd had been abandoned on the streets, and both had wound up in the clinic needing help. This was a very different situation, though, and Gern would have to learn more to figure out what would be the right course of action.
"Is the child yours?" Gern asked, before going for the most crucial question: "What's wrong with him?"
The Mandalorian remained silent for a moment, which was enough of an answer to the first question, as far as Gern was concerned. "He's a foundling," he finally said, which didn't mean anything to Gern. "He was poisoned," he added, taking hold of the child with both hands to offer him to Gern.
Gern accepted the tiny being with great care, not knowing how much weight to expect, or what shape his body was under the thick robe he was wearing. He wasn't heavy, and it was concerning how little he reacted to being handed to an unknown adult, only blinking very slowly at Gern's unfamiliar face.
While Gern's attention was on the child, the Mandalorian had picked up an item from his belt, showing it to Gern. "This is what they used," he explained. "There may be some poison left in it, in case that helps."
It was a dart, its main body and vanes made of dark metal, and it looked like advanced tech, with intricate golden circuitry on the surface. Gern hadn't seen a device like this before and their experience treating poisonings was limited to the accidental household varieties. They knew how to take care of common childhood illnesses and minor injuries in many different species, but even if this child hadn't been of an unfamiliar kind, poison darts were definitely outside of their skill set. They had been hoping they wouldn't need to involve Doc S yet, or at all—that would have given them the element of surprise of an extra person in the building that the Mandalorian didn't know about. So much for it.
Shifting the child to one arm, Gern picked up the dart. "I'm just grabbing a sample bag," they noted, to make sure the Mandalorian didn't think they were up to something, and stepped back behind the reception desk to get said bag. "Okay, so, I need to take this and the child to one of the treatment rooms and find the doctor, she'll know better how to deal with this."
"You're not a doctor?" the Mandalorian checked.
"No, I'm a nurse. Gern Vaalbu," they introduced themselves. Not that the Mandalorian would care, but if they were stuck in this together, it seemed like the thing to do. "What do I call you?"
The Mandalorian ignored that question entirely. "Well, nurse Vaalbu, you're not taking him anywhere without me," he declared, then seemed to hesitate, his visor turning towards the open door again. "I need to secure that first. I'll be quick. Are there any other entrances?"
"No, that's the only one," Gern confirmed. Most of the town was carved deep into the side of a mountain, and there weren't even any windows at the clinic large enough for people to pass through. "Expecting company?" they asked warily. One bounty hunter was a lot to deal with, let alone a crowd hunting that first one.
"Possibly," he said, and turned his back to Gern to return to the entrance. He pulled the door closed as far as he could, with the mechanism broken. Next, he began dragging one of the big sofas from the waiting area over to block it.
Keeping half an eye on the Mandalorian, Gern turned their attention back to the child. "Hi there, little one," they said, looking into those drooping dark eyes. The child didn't respond verbally, but he did raise one hand in a tired-looking wave. "Does he talk, usually?" Gern asked the Mandalorian. "What's his name?"
"Just baby noises, and I don't know," he replied, words interspersed with grunts as he struggled to shift the heavy furniture.
If he didn't even know the child's name, clearly he couldn't be a parent or a guardian. Considering that, Gern wasn't sure how accurate any other information the Mandalorian could provide would be.
They didn't have a scanner on hand, so they had to stick to just observing the child. He seemed to have a basic humanoid body plan: one head, two arms and two legs, going by the feet poking out at the hem of his robe. His hands and feet had three digits ending in small claws. Gern didn't see any obvious injuries; wherever the dart had caught him, it wasn't currently visible. The most worrying sign they spotted, aside from the drowsy impression the child was giving off, was that his breathing seemed slow but not deep, although that was relative to what they were used to, based on other species.
It was difficult enough to deal with adults of a species they didn't have a baseline for. With a child, there were the additional unknowns of what was normal for their specific developmental stage. As a human, Gern knew they had a bias towards what was usual for their own kind.
"What species is he?" Gern asked out loud, although based on the Mandalorian's answers so far, they weren't expecting anything. "Do you know how old he is?"
The Mandalorian's reply to the first question was as Gern had anticipated, "I don't know," but the second one took them by surprise. "Fifty years."
"Wait, fifty? Five-zero? In standard years?" Gern repeated, baffled, and raised their eyes from the being in their arms to look at the Mandalorian. There was plenty of variation in the amount of time it took for different species to reach adulthood, but this was extreme—it meant he was actually older than Gern. "He is a child, right?"
"Yes." The Mandalorian had managed to place the sofa across the doorway, and stepped back to inspect it, hands on his hips. Since the upper half of the entrance was still open, Gern thought that at best, this would slightly slow down someone with their mind set on getting in. The Mandalorian didn't seem too satisfied, either. "It's not enough, but it'll have to do for now. The kid's the priority. Let's go."
"Right, yes, of course," Gern stammered.
They leaned closer to the desk to make a clinic-wide intercom call—the building wasn't big, but the stone walls made for excellent soundproofing. Otherwise, all this commotion surely would've brought the doctor here already. "Doc S, where are you? We've got a situation."
There was a slight delay, probably from her moving closer to the interface, before she answered, "Room 3. What's up?"
That was the room Gern would've chosen anyway, since this was a potentially serious case: it was the best equipped one, used when they needed surgical interventions and other advanced procedures. They even had a bacta tank, although most of the time, it sat empty in a corner of the room. Bacta wasn't easy or cheap to come by out here, after all. Running the clinic was a constant balancing act of getting what they needed and what they could afford.
"I'm on my way, I'll explain there," Gern told Doc S.
They led the way deeper into the building, acutely aware of the intimidating, armed-to-the-teeth figure trailing two steps behind them. That presence was enough to turn the familiar corridor into a cold, bleak space, with no cover to hide behind. The colorful holo art on the walls, meant to create a hospitable ambiance, now seemed falsely cheerful.
"No sudden moves," the Mandalorian warned, as Gern stopped at the door to Room 3, raising their hand for the button to open it. From the corner of their eye, they saw that his hand was hovering over the handle of his blaster.
"You do realize that if you want our help, you'll need to trust us at least a little?" Gern commented, instantly shocked at their own bravery, or possibly foolishness, at being so direct. Deciding it was best not to wait for an answer, they pressed the button.
Doc S was expecting them, standing some five paces from the door with her arms crossed. Unlike Gern, she had already changed from her scrubs to street clothes; the deep indigo of her knit dress contrasted her skin, which was at the paler end of blue for a Chagrian. She might want to change back, Gern thought regretfully. They had the feeling that this day wouldn't be over anytime soon.
It occurred to them that they should find a way to call home, or at least send a message and let their family know what was going on. Better yet, maybe they could call for help. If only they didn't have the Mandalorian watching their every step.
"What is going on?" Doc S asked, her eyes growing a little wider as she took in the menacing figure behind Gern's shoulder.
"We've got a male child of unknown species, um, apparently 50 years of age, shot with a poison dart," Gern gave the meager information they'd learned so far.
They stepped into the room and walked over to the exam bed, setting the child gently on it, on his back. The Mandalorian still shadowed them, coming to stand at the head of the bed. Gern was surprised to see his fingers twitch, almost as if with nerves—like he couldn't decide where to put his hands. Finally, he kept his right by his blaster, grasping the edge of the bed with his left.
Whatever was going on with him and the child, clearly, the child was important to him. Of course, if he wasn't, then the Mandalorian wouldn't have broken into the clinic in the first place. Maybe there was a high bounty on the kid, or maybe he had very rich parents.
Doc S, as professional as ever, seemed to have already gotten over her initial surprise. The look on her face turned thoughtful, her gaze dropping from the Mandalorian to the little patient. "Any details on the poison?"
"Not yet, but here's the dart," Gern said. They dug the sample bag with it from their pocket and offered it to the doctor.
She held up the transparent bag, inspecting the small but sinister object inside against the light. "Doesn't look familiar to me. We need to run a chem scan to see if we can identify the compound. What kind of symptoms are we dealing with?"
Gern turned their face towards the Mandalorian, aiming their words at him. "Anything you can tell us?"
"They caught him in the left shoulder. This was about two hours ago. I pulled out the dart as soon as I realized he'd been hit and put a bacta patch on it, but I guess it didn't help much. Around an hour later, he got really tired and quiet. Then, his ears stopped moving, and the rest of his face soon after—at first, I thought it was just because of how tired he was, but I think it's more than that," the Mandalorian described, using more words in one go than Gern had heard him put together so far. "I'm worried he's not breathing right."
"All right, that's something we should be able to treat. Gern, can you grab a mask for him, please?" Doc S instructed, before casting another glance at the Mandalorian. "So, who would you be?"
"Someone who's looking after him," he replied, with less hesitation than when Gern had posed him a similar question, although as definitions went, it was still vague.
"But you don't know his species?" the doctor pressed on, as Gern turned their back to the others to move over to the supply cabinet.
"I don't," he confirmed.
"You don't know it, either, then, Doc?" Gern asked. It was disappointing; they'd been holding on to the hope that Doc S would recognize the child's species. She'd had a long career, and between Coruscant and the Rim, she'd probably come across all sentient beings in the galaxy aside from the very rarest of them.
"Something about him does seem familiar, like I've seen his kind before, I just can't remember where," Doc S said. "Must've been a long time ago. Let's see if we get a database match." She reached over the table for the controls in the wall to turn on the scanning array.
Within seconds, a set of vital signs showed up on one of the screens, but even from across the room, Gern could see that they had no luck with matching: the usual ranges and colors to indicate whether the numbers were within acceptable limits were missing. While the database the clinic had assembled over the years was extensive, it was nothing like the comprehensive shared libraries in the Core Worlds. They had no baseline, because this was still an unknown species. It meant that they couldn't tell how bad the child's numbers were in relation to a normal healthy situation, but at least they could keep an eye on how they changed compared to these initial values.
"So, can you help him or not?" the Mandalorian demanded, already starting to sound impatient, squeezing the edge of the exam bed with both hands.
"We'll do our best," Doc S said, in the same soothing voice she would use with actual parents, her dark eyes on the Mandalorian's even darker visor. "I'll be honest with you: it's always challenging to treat a species we're not familiar with. Still, if we can identify the poison, there's a good chance we can find a way to counter it."
Gern had picked a mask in the size and shape that they figured would be the best fit for the child's facial anatomy, and walked back to hand it to Doc S. "I could get that chem scan started right away," they suggested.
They'd need to move over to the lab to study the dart, which meant that they'd be able to get away for a moment. They'd get some room to breathe, to think, and maybe make some plans to get them out of this situation. If they could contact Tifri at the saloon, maybe they could get some brawlers to storm in and tie down the Mandalorian. Gern very much wanted to help the child, but it would be easier if they and Doc S could do it on their own terms, without the constant threat of a blaster bolt in the face.
"Yes, that'd be great. The sooner we get those results, the better," Doc S agreed, passing the sample bag with the dart to Gern again. "In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about making the child more comfortable."
Gern had taken less than five steps towards the door when the Mandalorian moved over to block their way. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I need the equipment in the lab to figure out what the poison is," they explained, doing their best to keep their voice level, to hide their excitement about the potential escape plans they were brewing.
"It's essential for treating the child," Doc S added in support.
"Fine, but that better be the only thing you do," the Mandalorian said suspiciously.
"Look, remember what I said about trust? Do you want us to help him or not?" Gern shot back.
The Mandalorian let out a heavy sigh, almost a growl, clearly audible through his helmet. Instead of allowing Gern to pass him, he walked over to the door ahead of them, and turned around to face them and Doc S. "I want you to do everything you possibly can for him. Now, I'm going to make sure that the entrance is secure. You keep working, but be gentle with him, he's been through a lot already," he said, ending the last sentence in a softer tone that gave Gern pause.
They couldn't make up their mind what to think of this Mandalorian: on one hand, he seemed ruthless. By all intents and purposes, he was keeping Gern and Doc S hostage. His sudden decision to return to the waiting room suggested that he expected Gern to make a run for it, and he wanted to prevent that. On the other hand, the way he acted around the child was much more protective than Gern would've expected from a cold and callous bounty hunter. Could it be that they had judged him too harshly, and he did genuinely care about the child? Still, even if he did, Gern didn't think it was right of him to barge into the clinic like this.
As they followed the Mandalorian into the corridor, turning to the right when the Mandalorian went left, they were glad that they would get a moment on their own, to try and figure out what to do next.