Weapon of the Empire. (Tarik's Tale)
Chapter One, part six.
Imperial times- Coruscant
The medic was done bandaging Tarik up, and he�d taken advantage of the time while Tarik was still out cold to do a few more tests and measurements. There was one thing that he�d noticed that he wanted a better look at, something that suddenly gave him a strange feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. He�d noticed a pattern of dark markings through the laces holding Tarik�s left wristband on that didn�t match the dark green patterns on the rest of him.
He had a good twenty
minutes before Tarik started regaining consciousness, so he decided to sneak a peek
at those markings. He carefully loosened the knot holding the wristband on,
watching the claws on Tarik�s left hand extend and retract by reflex as he touched
his wrist. Hopefully just by reflex, the medic suddenly thought, studying Tarik�s
sleeping form for a moment. He was still out.
The medic turned his attention back to loosening the laces on the wristband, finally getting them loose enough to make out that one of the markings was definitely a number. He slid the wristband further up Tarik�s forearm, and froze. That confirmed what he�d been most afraid of, that Tarik wasn�t some newly-discovered alien species or a random hybrid. He was a construct, a creature made of other creature�s DNA combined for a specific purpose.
The medic grabbed a piece of paper and started writing down the numbers and symbols on Tarik�s wrist. He turned his wrist to see the last few digits, and froze again, this time the sick feeling wasn�t just a feeling, it was real. An imperial code insignia proudly proclaimed this.... creature on his table to be the property of an imperial research facility. A clone, a hybrid clone. This monstrosity was one of the Empire�s little projects run haywire, probably an accident of some sort in the lab.
Or he might have been intentionally made like this, he thought, backing up for a better look at the creature on the table. He suddenly felt the urge to run for the restroom.
The man who dissected anything they would give him in medical school, sickened not
by a cadaver or by some festering pile of living filth, but by an idea. He didn�t
take time to muse over the irony of that thought while he was busy in the restroom
losing his lunch, though.
He did ponder one thing while seated on the floor in the stall.
Intentionally made, that thing was made for a purpose, but what? His anatomical classification class came back to him in fragments, drifting descriptions of what different attributes might have been engineered for. Big claws, big teeth, strong muscles, all indicated some sort of predator, but to hunt what?
Or who, he thought, the nausea returning. Humanoid, intelligent, well, semi-intelligent at the least from his actions and speech. Made to hunt something that can think.
Correction, Made to kill something that can think.
A person, or persons, maybe if they hunted in packs? Maybe a lot of people, or just one really powerful person.
Powerful person? who would be
powerful enough for the Empire to design that to hunt it?
The answer hit him in another wave of nausea. He�d seen how quick that thing was,
and how strong, and vicious when he wanted to be. There was only one kind of being
in the galaxy that the Empire would have thought dangerous enough to build that
kind of power into a living creature to hunt.
A Jedi.
He sat on the cool tile floor for a few more minutes being sick, then remembered that he�d left the wristband loose and the number code exposed. He stood weakly, steadying himself on the walls of the stall. After a moment, he headed back toward the med room, only to find it empty.
He snatched up the sheet of paper with the numbers on it, stuffing it into his pocket and heading for the door.
"Hey!" he called to his assistant, who was still talking to that Minero fellow. "Where�s the patient?" he said, receiving a confused look from both of the men.
"Out cold where we left him," the assistant said, walking toward him with Minero following.
"How could you possibly miss that big green......" he broke off as he looked into the room and saw the bed empty. Minero shoved his way into the doorway, looking around.
"His staff�s gone, so he is too, he never leaves that thing," Minero said, looking toward a small window high on the wall, then toward the ventilation grills. "There," he said, pointing at one of the grills that was hanging crooked.
The medic walked over and lifted the cover from against the wall
where it had been left leaning. There was a thin ribbon of white cloth snagged on
the edge of the cover, barely as long as a human finger.
"I just hope those med-pads stay glued on like I put them. That shoulder could easily get infected around here," the assistant said. Minero laughed.
"Around here? That boy doesn�t live up here, he lives down in the skaglands, a few levels down." He shook his head, "He�s survived before, he�ll survive this too," he said, looking at the vent as if he could still see him.
"I got a good idea why he�s a good survivor too," the medic mumbled, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket, where the paper with Tarik�s project id code was. Minero looked at him strangely,
"You know something, doctor?" he asked, brow furrowing in curiosity.
"Yeah," he said with a sigh, his stomach churning again.
"And I wish I didn�t."
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Tarik hopped off the tube car track with a thump, rolling with the impact to avoid landing on his bad leg. Fracture, that was one human word he was well aquainted with. The stun from the staff had numbed his leg so that he hadn�t noticed he�d broken it when he was fighting.
Stupid Jedi, stupid humans, stupid doctors.
No, not stupid doctors....too smart doctors, he thought, rubbing his left wrist thoughtfully. Way too smart, they had his numbers now, soon the man in black would come after him again. Soon he�d have to run away again, hide way down in the city�s roots, find a place where not even the man in black would follow him.
If there was such a place left, he thought, glancing up toward the tops of the buildings, so impossibly high above.
The man in black would come, he felt that as clear as he felt the breeze from the tube car vents as it went overhead, he would come. He tightened the lacing on his wristband, twisting it so that it stopped hurting while he loosened it a little.
Stupid humans, stupid Drathan,.....
The Drathan! he found him before, maybe the man in black already knew where he was!
He growled at no one and everyone, standing in the empty alley, wondering who would
be the first to find him. Drekano? the Drathan? the man in black? Maybe one of
the giant mutant rodents would find him first and eat him, save them all the
trouble.
Tarik growled, worst of all, he�d never see his cheesecake, or the berries, or the cream. He snorted, forcing himself to a near-standing position and leaning heavily on his staff. At least he had the medallion.
Jedi medallion.., he snorted again, shaking off the feelings.
His stomach growled, reminding him that being asleep had
made him hungry. He grumbled angrily to himself, limping toward one of the
maintenance shafts that he used as shortcuts to the lower levels. Shouldn�t trust
mid-towners and up-siders, he growled. He disappeared down the shaft moments before
an unnoticed security patrol passed by the alley.
---------------Ennd Chapter One--------
© 2000 Michelle Petrosky