Chapter Text
It took a long time for Tech to be sure he was awake. He wasn’t sure how long exactly, but he thought the length of time was getting longer each time he woke up, which was discouraging, because it meant he probably wasn’t getting better. That wasn’t surprising in the slightest – what was more surprising was that he was alive at all – but he still didn’t like being in this position.
He saw the blurry face of a humanoid approach the bacta tank he was in. Contrary to popular assumption, his eyesight had been fine before the incident, but it failed him now, confining his world to the tank. He somewhat liked it when he could see his doctor moving outside the tank; it reminded him that something other than himself still existed out there.
The doctor said something, but he lost it amidst a sudden awareness of his bodily sensations, namely, pain everywhere. It wasn’t excruciating, probably dulled by some chemical or other, but it hurt enough to be upsetting and highly distracting. It took everything he had to be able to refocus on the humanoid beyond the glass as his muffled voice traveled through the bacta solution.
“...ize about the limitations of painkiller substances. Can you hear me?”
Tech made a slight nod. The movement tugged slightly on his pain receptors, but amid the chaos all of his nerves were going through, a bit of movement and pain with a clear cause was oddly welcome. It almost diminished the rest of his pain for a second.
“Do you remember my name?”
He nodded again. This was Dr. Caraway, a medical staff member at Tantiss Base, which was where they currently were. He saw the vague impression of the doctor moving to use a datapad.
“Your ability to record new memories seems to be recovering. You had forgotten my name the previous several times you were awake.” After a pause, he added, “Today is the 41st day of the second year of the Empire.”
He had a vague recollection of the doctor telling him the date during previous bouts of consciousness as well. There was no real reason to do so; it seemed motivated by an intrinsic desire to help him keep track of time. It wasn’t often that he was conscious enough to comprehend the meaning of a date, though.
Last I remember… the Imperial year had just turned… We keep using the Republic calendar out of habit. I don’t remember…
Dr. Caraway watched his eyes search for something to latch onto as his mostly-awake brain attempted to comprehend the significance of the date. “You have been in our care for 18 standard days,” he supplied. That was much easier to understand.
I only remember… maybe four of those days at best. It was a disturbing thought, but not surprising.
“I don’t know your trooper number nor chosen name – I suppose it’s above my paygrade to know in your particular case, for whatever reason – but I know that you are a defective clone trooper. Your designated label is Experimental Subject 2, though there is no ‘Experimental Subject 1’ that I know of.”
He paused, as if leaving time for Tech to respond, though of course he couldn’t speak with the breathing apparatus attached, much less with the ventilator pumping his lungs through it.
“Your improved consciousness is… encouraging. I am going to temporarily remove you from the tank and observe your stability when you are outside. Please remain calm.”
Tech’s body tried to groan as a droid lifted him out of the liquid he was suspended in and offended a diverse array of pain receptors. It came out as more of a wheeze as the ventilator insisted on making him inhale at that moment. He found that he didn’t have enough energy to scream or writhe, letting himself be transported with only a few passive whimpers escaping.
He soon found himself on a table, adrenaline coming down, dimly aware of the doctor continuing to talk. “...Very good. You lost stability the last time I tried to move you when you were conscious. It seems you are indeed improving.”
Tech tilted his head slightly toward the doctor. It was the only part of him that he could really move with all of his broken bones. He could see Dr. Caraway more clearly than before, enough to somewhat make eye contact. The doctor was a human with mild brown hair and brown eyes, like himself, but he wasn’t a clone.
“Right eye shows no improvement…” he muttered to himself as he typed on his datapad. “I am going to turn off the ventilator and disconnect the breathing apparatus.”
With the mechanical force suddenly gone from his lungs, his breath caught on a few painful coughs before setting his own pace, a bit faster and shallower than that of the ventilator, but within stable range. The doctor nodded his approval.
“I was instructed to only keep you alive and not bother repairing any of your non-essential organs, but I find that idea… a little bit barbaric for a medical practitioner. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Tech nodded weakly, finding some small amount of relief in knowing that his apparent caregiver was at least making some attempt to heal his body. That was more than he could expect from the Dr. Hemlock and Advanced Science Division that he had read so much about.
“I’m not going to give you prosthetics for your three amputations – that would probably leave enough of a financial footprint to count as an unauthorized use of the Empire’s resources – but if you manage to survive the next several months, you should regain use of your right arm. Now, despite my best efforts, your survival is still not a guarantee, because you are to be interrogated as soon as I deem you physically capable.”
Tech’s breath caught again, and his heart winced at the sudden spike of cortisol.
“...But ‘physically capable of withstanding interrogation’ is a nebulous concept.” There was a hint of a smirk in Dr. Caraway’s voice, though it didn’t carry to his facial expression. “I know your prefrontal cortex is well above standard for a human. If you don’t want to be interrogated, I’m sure you’ll know how to carry yourself whenever Dr. Hemlock comes around to look at you.”
“You’re… helping me lie?” he managed to croak out through a terribly dry throat.
“Are you implying that you can withstand interrogation right now?”
He slowly shook his head no. He was sure that his enfeebled lungs would give out at the first sign of real stress.
“Then it’s not really lying, is it? At most, it might be performing, but I’m sure whatever performance you might be able to muster would have 80% truth to it.”
“If… if he sees through it…”
“Then we’d both be in trouble, now wouldn’t we? So make it good. Don’t be too dishonest with it. Be the pathetic, broken little clone you are.”
I’m not a good actor. But the doctor’s advice seemed sound enough. Staying conscious and clear-headed was an active battle right now. If he closed his eyes, he felt like he could easily descend into a state of delirium again.
Dr. Caraway was quiet for a minute as he performed a few checks and made some notes, looking completely impassive, as if he hadn’t just declared his intention to take an enormous risk for Tech’s safety.
“I’m going to return you to the tank. Any last questions, comments, or concerns?”
“...It has been 22 standard rotations since… since I learned of Crosshair’s… CT-9904’s… imprisonment in this base.” It seemed his normal capacity to do arithmetic had returned with his wakefulness. “Do you know… if he is still here?”
“Hmm, I can look him up.” He walked out of sight – oh, how Tech envied his ability to locomote – and momentarily returned, reading off his datapad. “CT-9904 is still a prisoner here, yes. He has had one failed escape attempt and four health complications involving interrogation, though none are recent. Based on what is written here, it seems he is currently fine.”
As if a prisoner in this place could ever be fine.
“...Anything else?” the doctor asked him.
“Why… are you here?”
Dr. Caraway huffed as if the question were amusing. “Alright, in the tank you go.”
He retrieved the breathing apparatus. As he was about to stick it in Tech’s face, the clone spoke again.
“Thank you.”
This time, Dr. Caraway openly chuckled as he fitted the breathing apparatus, cutting off Tech’s ability to speak.
“You can thank whichever god finally decides to strike us down when our sins catch up to us.”
Once he was in the tank again, with the doctor no longer talking to him, he felt an inkling of Crosshair’s distant presence weighing on him. Four health complications? What did they do to him? Was he really holding up? Surely they wouldn’t be allowed to meet, right?
The fact that Dr. Caraway didn’t even know Tech’s CT number hinted that he was supposed to be some sort of secret. Would Crosshair ever find out he was here?
He quickly grew tired of thinking through the haze of pain. He thought about asking the doctor to apply some numbing agent to his upper spinal cord so he could forget about most of his battered body, but knowing that he had no way of communicating with the doctor, he let go of that idea and drifted off instead.