Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [14]
“Polish your buttons, boys,” the chief said. “I don’t want anything sticking just in case we have to shoot something today.”
Most of the crew smiled. They all knew about the drill. They were all ready. None of them wanted to be the being who disappointed Master Chief Petty Officer Graneet. No, sir …
MEDICAL FRIGATE MEDSTAR FOUR, POLAR ORBIT, PLANET DESPAYRE
“Captain Dr. Kornell Divini?”
Uli nodded. “Yeah.”
“Medical Technician Class Two Vurly, sir,” the man said. Human, as Uli was, or at least close enough that he couldn’t tell otherwise, and Uli was something of an expert on humanoid anatomy.
“This way, sir.”
The meditech led him down featureless gray corridors, deeper into the ship, to an office complex. Uli marked the route half consciously, knowing he could find his way around pretty quickly if need be. He had a good sense of direction, though it wasn’t anything he could claim credit for—he’d been born that way.
Sure enough, it was the Medical Admin section he found himself in. Ships’ medical suites all looked alike; the same pale off-white walls, wide corridors, and color-coded luminescent floor stripes that led you to various departments. There were a dozen or so people working: secretaries, mostly, some biologicals, some droids. The hands-on medical stuff would be done elsewhere down the hall, he knew.
“Commander Hotise, Dr. Kornell Divini.”
Hotise was a short, rotund man, probably seventy or so, with white hair and a cropped beard. He wore office grays, and the clothes were cut well enough that they had to be tailored. He was checking off a list on a flatscreen. He looked up, nodded at the tech. “Thanks, Vurly.”
The tech nodded, said “Sir,” and left.
“Welcome to MedStar Four, Doctor,” Hotise said. “Glad to have you aboard.”
Uli nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he said. His apparent lack of enthusiasm must have showed. The old man cocked an eyebrow that had more hair than a leafcrawler.
“Not happy with this assignment, son?”
That earned Uli’s new commander an incredulous look. “Not happy? I did my first tour in a Rimsoo unit on a swamp world where your lungs could fill with spores in five minutes if you weren’t wearing a filter mask. I patched up maybe a thousand clones, and I was supposed to be rotated back to my homeworld and discharged a civilian at the end of it. That was … five? six? hitches ago. I lost track.”
Hotise nodded. “Imslow,” he said.
“That’s right.” IMSLO stood for “Imperial Military Stop Loss Order.” Too many skilled people who’d been drafted had had enough of the military after the Clone Wars, and when their compulsory service ended, wanted nothing more than to go home. With the action against the Rebels heating up, the Empire couldn’t allow that. Doctors, in particular, were in short supply; hence, IMSLO. A retroactive order mandating that, no matter when you’d been conscripted, once you were in, you were in for as long as they wanted you—or until you got killed. Either way, it was kiss your planned life good-bye.
Imperial Military Stop Loss Order. An alternative translation, scrawled no doubt on a ’fresher wall somewhere by a clever graffitist, had caught on over the last few years: “I’m Milking Scragged; Life’s Over.” The memory brought a faint, grim smile to Uli’s lips.
“Sorry, son,” his CO said. “It’s not my policy.”
“But you are career navy.”
The older man nodded. “We each have our chosen path.”
“Not exactly true, is it? If I was on my chosen path, probably you and I would never have met.”
Hotise shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t run things back in civilization—I just do what I’m told. We were short a surgeon. I requisitioned a replacement. You’re him. You weren’t here, you’d be someplace else where the Empire deemed you necessary.
“It ain’t Imperial Center General or Big Zoo, but it’s quiet here. Not like a Rimsoo tent out in the tall grass. Nobody is shooting at us. Most of what we see is the occasional industrial accident or normal wear and tear. You could do better, Captain, but you could also do a lot worse. War is ugly, but that’s how it is.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can