First Reply Layovers, Dreams, Nightmares.

[Sid Berik]

I HAVE YET TO NOT HAVE NIGHTMARES

Galactic City Spaceport, Coruscant 1020 Local Time

​

Sid stared up at the ceiling when he woke up. He was leaning on a duffel bag. The spaceport was bustling, busy with people going to and fro. He just wanted to get home- his unit had rotated out, and he'd been granted leave. So, he had to go home. He wanted to go home, rather. Part of him wanted to stay there- even after his 30 standard days were up. Three days of travel each way, which let him have plenty of time back home.

Or, maybe too much.

The battle for Tython was costly. Even moreso than he wanted to admit. The human cost of the battle was in the thousands, on both sides. The Empire had come out on top, just barely. Not that he'd tell anyone on Coruscant of all places he was a member of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. No, he was a regular person, on travel. Coruscant was just simply too busy, and his identification carried him through with no problems. Maybe they knew who he was, maybe they didn't. Maybe they didn't care. Maybe they didn't want to know. Maybe they cut him some slack. Who knew, for sure? He knew only one thing for certain-

He was tired.

Emotionally and physically. Traveling around from spaceport to spaceport, was ultimately not a very luxurious affair, and the act of sleeping on benches, chairs, and the floor here and there was taxing on his body. He stared up at the ceiling, finding himself too tired to sleep again. An announcement came over the intercom, starting in Basic then rattling down to most major languages in the galaxy.

Delays due to weather and movement of Alliance military vehicles and vessels.​

The Alliance was on the move again, probably. Or on patrol, or something to that effect. More time spent here. He rubbed his tired eyes and sat up, blinking. He was weary, exhausted, and all he wanted to do was go home and see his mom and dad. He'd just turned 20. He made it to his twenties, so far. Which was more than he could say for most of his comrades. He hadn't told his parents he was at Tython yet. Or maybe he never would. He'd lie and say the scars were from a training accident. Nobody blew him up, no Jedi slaughtered his friends and laughed about it and sang songs while they did it.

He'd remember that for the rest of his natural life- the haunting visage of demigods slaughtering his friends to and fro. He didn't want to, though. He wanted his friends back. He pushed the thought from his mind, standing up to walk over to a vending machine. Something caffeinated, for the love of all that was good in the galaxy. He leaned on the machine, dropping a credit chit into it, popping the tab on the can, before he slouched back in his seat across the way.

"Another day in paradise." He said to no one in particular, watching the board above them. Four more hours to his last leg of the journey. The times were constantly shifting, delays and departures fluctuating with the chaotic unpredictably of Coruscant. He just had to wait a little longer.

Then he'd go home, and be home. If only for a little while.

 

[Luther Lewis]

Galactic City Spaceport, Coruscant 1020 Local Time
- Sid Berik -​

Coruscant moved too fast for him now.

He hummed as he walked, letting the hustle and bustle of the spaceport move around him. The noise of people's lives washed over and surrounded him. He felt like he wasn't part of the crowd; he felt like he wasn't even part of the planet. Coruscant was a living, breathing ecosystem and he was a speck of dust ready to be blown away.

He hadn't yet become an old and decrepit man, but his body didn't know that. His once powerful, augmented limbs now seized up without the proper muscle relaxant. His heightened reaction system only made his hands spontaneously shake. Not to mention the coagulopathy induced by all the dormant cybernetics, the one that left him in constant fear of a stroke. Not that it mattered anymore. Soon it would all be over.

His finger tapped on the large bag slung under his shoulder, the crinkle of plastic inside adding a chaotic harmony to his humming. Not for the first time did he wonder how he ended up on Coruscant of all places. The Galactic Alliance had killed his father when Luther was only eighteen. He remembered the burning hatred he'd felt, the passion that pushed him to becoming a Deathtrooper. How had he ended up working as a doctor in heart of his former enemy? Coruscant gave no response, it was too busy to pay attention to the regrets of a dying man.

"Enough self-pity" he growled under his breath. The old Luther had died when the resurgent First Order once again crumbled into dust. He had a task to do; he could always lament his turbulent youth on his days off.

The Coruscant spaceport was a hive for travelers, transients and the just plain lost. There were plenty of homeless people all over Coruscant, but it was the people at the spaceport who always seemed the most down on their luck. But what brought them here? Maybe it was the proximity of the rich travelers, targets of beggars and thieves alike. Maybe it was sight of the starships, the promise of new beginnings. Or maybe it was just because it was warm and dry.

He felt his inner turmoil settle a bit as he handed out the packages from the bag, giving the supplies out to those who needed them. Densely packed rations, dry socks, bottles of water all got passed out. In return he got some thanks, some looks of distrust, and some choice expletives. To each of them he'd simply nod and move on.

The bag was nearing empty when he spotted the man, propped up against his pack. There was something vaguely familiar about him, though Luther was certain they'd never met before. Something about the man's expression as he stared up at the ceiling. The haunted look in his eyes.

He strolled over slowly to the man, wincing as his knees started to stiffen. His heavy bones gave his footsteps an almost cartoonish 'thump thump'. He reached into his pack and withdrew a tied bundle of packets, making sure they were still secure. When he was close enough to the man, he threw it underhand toward him. "Polystarch bread" Luther said, with a slight smile. "Tastes awful, but it keeps you going and doesn't go bad".

 

[Sid Berik]

​

 

[Luther Lewis]

Galactic City Spaceport, Coruscant 1020 Local Time
- Sid Berik -
​

The man looked up at him, frowning. He was young, though that was hard to discern past the damage to his face. Luther studied the scars for a moment, noting the pattern of the injuries. War wounds he realized. You didn't get that level of scarring from fighting in the alleys of Coruscant. And you likely couldn't afford to repair the wound with synth-flesh if you lived off the average Coruscanti wage.

The man's frown dropped, and he thanked Luther. The man's voice didn't match his face. He sounded more like a farm-boy from Dantooine than a soldier sleeping rough. Luther felt a deep, intractable sadness inside himself.

The man gazed around the spaceport, silent for a moment before speaking again. "Is it always like this?". Luther looked around as well, soaking in the familiar sights and sounds. "Mhmm" he said, nodding "Everyday". With a weary sigh, he sat on the nearby bench.

"You don't notice until you stop and look". He gestured to one of the nearby groups. "That's a family from Onderon, fleeing from the Mandalorian front. They're stuck here because Onderon's not part of Alliance territory, and they've left their papers back home". He felt his knee start to ache and the muscle spasms start travelling up his calf. So soon? He thought, reaching into his pack.

"That Duros over there" Luther continued. "Is from the Outer Rim. He came for an expensive surgery, but he got mugged on his first day. He can't walk to my clinic anymore, so I bring the medicine to him". The alien had been very still today, and Luther had feared he was dead. But he had perked up when he saw the Doctor, and they'd had a lively conversation

He pulled out a large autoinjector syringe from his bag. Regular needles couldn't penetrate his reinforced knees, so he had to opt for bigger and more painful injectors. "And here, is where I usually take my lunch break" he finished. He gritted his teeth and pressed the injector into his right knee. A spike of pain surged up his leg as the needle injected the fluid into the synovial space. Wincing, he rotated the mechanism on the injector to prepare the other needle.

The second injection was always worse, though he didn't know why. Maybe it was because he was tense. He couldn't help but gasp as the needle pushed into the joint. He let off a few good swears and disposed on the needle into a sharp-safe container.

"I'm Luther" he said, turning back to the man. "Are you shipping out or heading home?"

 

[Sid Berik]

[Care to dance again, mon amis?]​

He was a doctor.

Sid stared for a while, watching the interaction with the Duros, the gentleness, the stiffness counter-balanced with his sincerity. He was wounded, or maybe sick. Something was off- he moved in such a way. And then it got more apparent, with the auto-injector. Sid stared, not hatefully, not sorrowfully, or pitiful as some would give him. Just stared, intently watching.

"Heading home." He looked around, leaning forward from his seat, lowering his voice. "I just got home from Tython." The battle of Tython was all over the news- the Alliance's grave defeat at the hands of the Empire. Though, obviously, Sid didn't say which side he was on. It may have been more obvious. Alliance soldiers were usually longer in the hair, and less regimented. Everything about Sid was a soldier, or soldier-like. Even his bag, his civilian clothes.

It all screamed Stormtrooper.

But he was so young, that it was hard to picture him as one of the Empire's finest, or even fighting in that brutal battle. Or maybe that's who fought the wars of the galaxy. All the old men were dead, so it was left to the boys and young men to fight the Jedi and Sith's wars.

Luther Lewis