Even after decades as a Jedi, an unsatisfactory mission left him . . . unsettled. Diplomatic efforts with the Chiss had not improved given his decision to imprison Syndic Zenta instead of executing her, unofficially of course, on behalf of the Ascendancy. His status as a Force using Chiss of a long ago banished triad of families did not play well in his negotiations for the Alliance and the Wardens. It was times like these that doubt could set in, and offer temptation to send other personnel who would likely make more expedient decisions, but that was not the Jedi way, nor was it his way no matter how much he often disagreed with the council on certain mandates. Like the need for the Wardens seperate from the politics of the Republic.
He returned to his suite in the complex on Odessen, staying only long enough to cleanse the body, and change into more comfortable, and frankly more relaxing, simple Jedi robes, although of more fanciful colors than most Jedi wore, one of the many small items that put him at odds with many council members. He paused at the door, but this suite was no more home than a berth on a ship, and frankly less of a home than his regular transport vessel that had served him for far longer than he cared to remember. He had moved a significant portion of his speeder collection to Odessen, so that he could avoid the penthouse in Coruscant as much as possible. Yes, it made it more likely for Kikari to fall to temptation, but that just meant he had something to repair or clean to relax.
For long years the suites in Coruscant had been home, a home that he looked forward to returning, laughter, love, and yes, those attachments that many Jedi felt they had to cut themselves from because of the possibility of pain and loss. But pain and loss were part of life, and healing, and you could not understand people if you could not understand their emotions. All wonderfully fun justifications to debate until your wife disappaeared during the war with Zakuul. Eventually, he would need to find something else to be his comfort. Eventually. At this moment, he still missed Nadia, as he had for the last several years.
For now, there were always duties for one of his rank. Even if they were self-imposed duties.
Odessen had a unique structure, which meant that that hospital and healer’s wing were a lengthy walk from his personal quarters, which provided him with plenty of time to mentally review the events of the last several weeks. Besides the mess with the Chiss, and Theron, he had come to realize several months ago that there were so many new faces amongst the Alliance, and especially the Wardens, that he needed to spend more time on getting to know some of them better, working with them more. The various missions a couple weeks ago had gone relatively well, at least in terms of success, but not so great in his own personal tactical performance in small group action. He had gotten too used to either diplomatic missions or mass battles during the war. Nar Shadda had proven extremely troublesome, perhaps because of the personnel mix, but he didn’t think so. He would review with the rest of his friends, and find some time to practice. More importantly though he was failing in his duties to help train the younger members of the Wardens to search for more peaceful solutions if possible.
Enough time for that later, as he entered the healing wing, which always had a unique scent to the environment, no matter how much the room was cleansed by droids and personnel, there was always a scent of biological fluids, kolto, sweat, and of course the chemicals of cleaning droids.
He made his rounds chatting with Tinis who had the current duty shift in regards to anything of particular interest or need, or that would need his touch given the scarcity of kolto supplies at the moment. There were nearly a dozen active kolto tanks, with various Alliance members in different states of healing, proof of both successful medical intervention and proof of those who had not survived long enough to reach a kolto tank. He stopped in front of the lone Jedi floating unconscious in a tank, it had been a near thing for the young Mirilian Jedi Knight Far’kai, her body floating peacefully, minus the arm at the elbow, courtesy of a bladed weapon on Chiss, as she had protected several of these same troopers during an ambush before Major Trakul had arrived with another squad. It would take time for the integration of a bio-mechanical arm, and even more time to re-train herself and her body, to understand the whole in the force that now existed, to get used to holding her ligthsaber either in her off hand or at the end of that “hole.” How well he knew the difficulties of dealing with a hole in the force. He had faith in her abilities though. Faith in her fellow Wardens to help her. And, if for some reason she never fully recovered, there were plenty of duties for a Jedi, even if the front lines no longer beckoned.
The muted noises of protest broke his musings of the younger knight, and he turned to see two troopers he did not know, one cradling his arm with blood on his tunic from an obviously broken nose, in front of the massive bulk of Washer One, who he did know at least vaguely, talking to one of the medical droids. Tinis started towards the troopers, and Dharo turned walking serenely towards the commotion. He had thought that all active missions had returned for the day, but it was always possible someone had returned early, late or just training mishaps. Besides, he needed something to occupy his mind.
As Tinis, who’s lanky form far outgrew Dharo’s, and he approached the troopers, all of who dwarfed Tinis, let alone, Dharo, Washer One, who probably whisper-bellowed, “Attention on deck,” and Dharo frowned slightly as even the corporal with the wounded arm snapped to rigid stance instantly.
“That’s not really necessary here in the medical wing, Captain,” a smiling Tanis said, before waving his hand in a vague at ease signal to the troopers to relax.
“Ah believe it is Master Tinis,” Washer stated, and Dharo noted a curious paling of the face on the corporal and the sergeant next to him. Whatever it was would surely be an interesting story, maybe he would ask Micohl about it later.
“Tinis,” he spoke suddenly, instinct guiding him, “you’ve been at it all shift, I’ll take care of the corporal here.”
With a weary smile, Tanis waved him on. “Corporal?” The question obvious in Dharo’s tone.
“Irvwill, sir,” the answer muffled with the blood and congestion of the broken nose in his throat.
“Corporal Irvwill Drusen,” the seargeant added.
“Well, then, Corporal, sit here on the medical bed so RX-195 and I can get a better sense of what it’s going to take to patch you up.”
“Move it Drusen, do whaat the Ambassador-General says,” Washer’s unique pattern of speech lengthened all the vowels. As the trooper sat down, he contined, “I’m sure, Master Dharo, that the medical droid will be sufficient.” Dharo ignored the muttered epithet from the corporal as he jostled his own arm, sitting.
“It’s not a problem Washer, I need the practice,” he replied with a smile.
He turned to the trooper on the bed, “Well, Irwin, this could be a little tender,” as his hands gently touched the swollen nose and cheekbones.
“It’s ok si…..” before the quick jerk of the nose shocked him into silence.
Dharo studied the arm for a moment, closing his eyes momentarily, before looking at the RX unit and taking the medical scan. “I’m afraid that this isn’t just a normal fracture, the elbow ligaments are torn badly, as are the wrist. What mission were you on Corporal?”
“Just a training accident, sir.” Drusen’s voice already sounded better, less congested.
“Well, we don’t really have a kolto tank available, so we will do this my way. Please hold still.” A dark blue glow emanted from his hands, and the corporal swallowed audibly as his armed rippled as bone and ligament moved, reforming, although with surprisingly little pain for the next couple of minutes. When Dharo opened his eyes, he smiled, before turning to the trooper. “Everything’s back in place, but RX-195 is going to put a light kolto cast on it for a week to let all the repairs come to full strength. Light duty I’m afraid.”
“So, Captain – who’s filling out the paperwork, you or the Seargent here?”
It seemed like he and his old friends were seldom in one place at once, so he was happy that he’d gotten to chat with all of them over dinner earlier in the evening before they all headed in different directions again in the morning.
He just had one more person to talk to before he returned to his quarters for meditation tonight. He couldn’t say that he was looking forward to two weeks on Toydaria, but they had been suprisingly key partners in relief efforts for planets that suffered under Zakullian rule. He’d been surprised when Micohl had assigned Lieutenant Mishor Voc and his Wrecking Crew to the mission. He really didn’t need that large of an escort, even if it was Hutt space. Frankly, someone with the name of “Wrecking Crew” were going to be more trouble than they were worth on a diplomatic mission, but, they’d been together too long for him to question Micohl over his trooper assignments. And Fre’hd as a pilot would certainly be entertaining.
He had specifically requested someone from Aerie though. Which is why he was standing in her tactical office waiting.
The knock was perfunctory, as would be expected from one of Aerie’lynn’s padawans entering her office. She did not have much patience for ceremony.
When the young Jedi entered, the query of “Master Dharo,” was surprisingly calm, even if someone of Dharo’s experience could sense her uneasiness.
“Ah, yes, Zhosa, thank you for coming so quickly. Master Aerie’ynn has agreed to my request for your assignment as my ‘bodyguard’ for my next diplomatic mission, which is, unfortunately in Hutt space.”
Confusion obvious in her response, he smiled calmly. Maybe by helping someone else broaden their comfort zone, he could restore his own.
Last Dreams 