The lights are bright. That shouldn’t be right, the bridge lights had failed. The bridge … the devil. I slam up from the bed and grab at my left hip. Where is my slugthrower! My blaster? Any weapon? A weapon! I need a weapon! I won’t let the fucker kill me without killing him first!

  “DEVIL, I’LL KILL YOU!” I shout, scream. My eyes wide and panicked as I scan the empty room. The empty medbay room.

  “Fuck.” I sigh as I realize I’m safe. I’m safe?

  “Maker keep me.” I mutter. That’s new. Since when have I … I don’t usually verbalize my thoughts. Too many secrets to keep for family, country and self. I feel, unbalanced. I start thinking back. Trying to remember the fight. I had acted poorly in hindsight. I should have kept aiming for the head. I should have retreated, gathered as many arms-men and Clones as possible, armed as many of them as possible with flamers, explosives and boarding shields and attacked him while Krell slept.

  But … why didn’t I? I’m usually better than acting that emotionally, usually able to control it, harness it, mold it into a spike to stab a fucker through with. Ah, I remember, the civilians. Sep civilians sure, but there were plenty of innocents among them. No one deserved the extinction of life on their world. I flop back into the bed and sigh. I move my left hand to cover my face, an annoying habit I’ve been trying to break on and off again since … since forever.

  Nothing happens. I open my eyes and look for my hand, which should be right in front of my face. Instead there’s only the air. Just as I start to turn over to look at where my nonreactive arm should be the door opens to reveal an unknown. A Mon Cala Doctor, a Navy Surgeon based off of his rank plaque and emblem below.

  “Good morning, Admiral. I am pleased to see you awake.”

  “What happened? Is the fucker dead? Where am I? What happened to the Civies? Why isn’t my arm responding?” I shoot out, the questions coming out rapid fire.

  “Ah, yes. I do not have the clearance to know the precise details on your last mission, but I do know that Jedi General Krell is dead, by your hands if the autopsy we performed is accurate.”

  “Good.” I interrupt.

  “As to your location, you are in the Royal Mon Cala Hospital on Mon Cala. You were transferred here for improved medical care after you sustained multiple injuries.” The Doctor continues.

  “Those being?” I ask, my usual mask almost back.

  “We’ll start from least to most worrisome. You suffered multiple scratches and cuts from a broken display panel. Mostly concentrated on your upper torso and face. Luckily there will be no new scars from that and they have been fully healed by your stint in a bacta tank. Next you suffered multiple gut wounds, via blaster fire. These have been mended and your guts should return to usual function after recovery. Worryingly your left lung was compromised and required an intensive and taxing surgery which was completed during your transit here, though this operation did require your transfer here as we have more emergency supplies and better trained doctors and surgeons in case of relapse.”

  The Doctor takes a long breath before finishing: “Finally, I am afraid I must inform you of the loss of your left arm. The cut wasn’t very clean, despite to being made by a lightsaber. It was jagged and your arm was cut in another place, making any attempted re-attachment impossible. I am happy to say we managed to save about two thirds of your upper arm.”

  My mind reels. The mask breaks. I feel wetness running down my cheeks, I curse quietly, I must have scratched open a weak bit of healed skin. Wasteful, but not as bad as crying. Better to shed blood than tears. It’s harder to turn blood to water than filter out the excess salt and paltry debris of tears. Maker keep me, my arm. What will I do? Do I need to retire? Will I be dismissed? Maker keep me where would I go? I try to stamp down on the emotions, the bubbling panic, the fear, but they still sneak through.

  Only one thought permeates my mind: “What now?”

  The doctor hands over a datapad to me. I take it with my right and start scanning though it. I start to frown as the doctor talks: “Cloning new tissue won’t be possible with the wartime restrictions, but we have a multitude of prosthetics. It will require another surgical operation, but it should be doable.”

  I jump on the opportunity like it’s the only bit of shade in the desert: “Yes, I’ll take it.”

  “Very well. Would you like to conduct the surgery now, or afte-”

  “Now, please.” I say, “I’d rather conduct the recovery from my post. Maker I’ll have so much paperwork to go through.”

  “Very well. We will prepare the surgery for the prosthesis port now and put you under in a few minutes. Maybe you can take the time to look through possible replacements.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  I wake up a day later with a new arm. It is weird to have it, to move the metal fingers and adjust the ports for all of its features. Features I would be incredible thankful for if, when, I ever get into another scuffle. An inbuilt one shot blaster and another knife will always be useful. Not to mention an emergency beacon near the port joint and an emergency comm unit in my wrist. An upgrade, a replacement, a malice, a reward, a consolation prize.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I wasn’t sure if I hated it or loved it. The loss of my arm felt too fresh and I wouldn’t touch synth-skin with sandgator billhook. I wanted the reminder of my mistake, my failure, my experience. Maybe I’d change my mind later, but now I wanted, needed the reminder.

  A knock on my room and I press the access key from my medical bed. In marches an angry looking Commodore Hugh and I almost shrink in fear at her zeroing in on my location.

  “You” She snarls.

  “What is it Commodore?” I ask.

  “You stuck up, self sacrificing, scruffy looking, asshole!”

  “Oh shove it, I’ve hear better insults from my ma’!”

  “You don’t get to talk back to me when you settle me with the 120th after falling for some lure of glory and an academic paper just to discover a traitorous conspiracy! General Krugwolt is pinging my comm unit hourly because our command and control is on fire while trying to placate our allies, Colonel Bvinsk is trying to figure out who even cleared the mission, Strom is doing damage control with the Jedi investigator who has attempted to arrest you from your medical procedures twice! Republic Intelligence is banging on the hospital doors clamoring for your head and the mother fucking Supreme Chancellor’s office has personally expressed interest, so no! I will not shove it and you will explain what the ever loving FUCK happened! Especially after you decide to go ahead and get the prosthetic surgeries without consoling with anyone in the command structure!”

  I’m taken aback. Both mildly confused by the flurry of information and my own leaps of logic and attempts to figure out how to salvage this: “Did Republic Intelligence not take the reports off the Clones?”

  “Not applicable in a court of law apparently!” She laments.

  “Ah, right. Property of the Republic.” I mutter, whatever NDAs they must have signed must be very thorough for that. They might be able to be pushed into a witness stand, but only with a sympathetic judge, or a malicious judge, “What about the cam recordings?”

  “Salvaged, but some Republic Intelligence officer snatched them up!” She says, throwing her hands up in dismay.

  “Which one?” I ask, maybe it was one of Fleet Admiral Honor’s men.

  “General Solomahal.” She says, “He’s leading the expedition apparently. Showed up just after you left to start moving prisoners, then took over the Republic Intelligence taskforce when they arrived.”

  “The Jedi, who are they?” I ask. Thank the Maker Solomahal was in charge. I could explain everything to him without him court-martialing me after.

  “Knight Akuna, if memory serves right.” She answers.

  “Well he can certainly try to arrest me, but Solomahal should take my side of the story and the Clones will back me. Not to mention R4 should also be able to support anything I report.” I eventually answer.

  “Droids can’t-” She starts, but I interrupt.

  “But she will certainly have copied part of, if not all, of the recordings of the mission. Especially after I was injured.”

  “No droid has the databanks for that much information!” She objects.

  “R4 does. Had to negotiate quite a bit with her, but she does. I think she still holds a grudge for me removing her blowtorch and welder. Not to mention spending a good chunk of rainy day funds on upgrading her memory banks and getting the best storage I could afford.” I answer. It had not been easy to negotiate that with R4, let alone ma’ and pa’. I had almost asked Elix for the favors he owed me, but pa’ caved and I could still use the gathered favors for getting him adopted.

  She blinks in confusion and slumps down into the visitors chair: “So, what I’ve gathered is you should be fine. The only problem will be the Jedi-”

  “Who I believe we can convince of my righteous actions.”

  “-and the regional command almost imploding.” The Commodore finishes.

  “Well, yes. I’m surprised it devolved so quickly. With General Krugwolt and Colonel Bvinsk I figured my incapacitation would not have caused so much damage.”

  “Well when you disappeared suddenly alongside a Venator, two Dreadnoughts and a Jedi we assumed it was a secret mission. Next thing we know I’m commanding about half of the 120th in escorting a damaged trio of ships returning from Separatist space. I report this back and suddenly Mon Cala demands a formal investigation, the Tidal circuit demands a revenge attack, Targonn demands any retaliatory assault be postponed until their world has been secured. Meanwhile Lothal and Baros start a dispute on mining a rogue gas giant which normally is part of Lothal’s sphere of influence, but with the mining rights Baros has been given could fall into her sphere. Then there's a scare in the Ash Worlds about a Separatist warfleet and everything kinda shows up on General Krugwolt’s desk at once alongside my report, a Jedi Knight and a Republic Intelligence team demanding your arrest.”

  I blink in surprise before nodding: “I’ll take whatever he hasn’t resolved as soon as possible. I think starting by letting the Jedi, Republic Intelligence and most importantly Captain CT- 2314 and my R4 in here. It may be prudent to also get my First Adjutant in here.”

  She nods, professionalism sliding back into place as she types out my orders into her com system as she speaks: “For your information, your R4 unit will most likely be attempting to castrate you based off of her comments.”

  “Oh dear.” I mutter in reply. She only ever threatened something like that when she was immensely pissed. I’ll probably have to cave to some new demand of hers to get her off my back.

  Just as the thought passes through my mind the door opens to reveal a charging R4, her arm holding one of my vibroknives. Just as the Commodore turns to greet the intruder R4 chucks the dagger at my face. The knife embeds itself about an inch to my left and I sigh as I remove the weapon from the bed.

  “Ya know, I don’t get these for throwin’ at me.” I complain, letting my accent show as she finishes her charge and punches me in the new arm. That hurt more than I expected, the thing probably needs another day or two until its receptors are at a normal level for me.

  Commodore Hugh blinks in surprise, her mouth slightly agape before she mutters out the obvious question: “Has your droid done that before?”

  “Oh yes, I think it was in the home defense programming pa’ picked up when he was stitching her programming together into something he could use. Though she has gotten more accurate as of late, usually she stays on the safer side and goes for two inches.”

  R4 chooses that moment to begin cursing me out. I ignore her usual tirade of insults, which have long since expanded from the traditional Fondorain, Corellian, Duro and Tapani insults most people back home hear. Just as she starts insulting the mother of whoever put me in charge Captain Mi-Kus enters the room.

  “Captain.” I greet.

  He blinks in confusion as R4 insults my employers choice in sexual partners and their obvious smoking habits before sighing and sloppily saluting my person: “Glad to see you alive, sir. Your droid has a bad mouth on her.”

  “She gets it from my ma’.” I answer mildly proudly as R4 insults my friends who still trust me after all the bullshit I pull.

  “Intimidating sounding woman.” Mi-Kus mutters.

  I roll my eyes as R4 goes on to lament how ma’ and pa’ would feel about all this lizardshit, but I finally interrupt her tirade: “R4, you got the recordings of the security system?”

  She trills an affirmative and starts playing a sped up version of the fight. Damn me, I really should be dead. Not even a second later on the flame shot and I would have been carved in two. Damn R4 was right about how close this one was. Not like I’d ever admit it to her. I’d never hear the end of it.

  Just as the recording of the fight was winding down two Republic Intelligence Enforcers burst through the room, a duo of Intelligence officers on their heels, all of them with their blasters drawn. I glance at the rank plaques to identify the four Humans. The Enforcers were both Sergeants, the man directly behind them was some kind of Major, the one hanging back was definitely a Captain, though the younger man looked quite nervous about barging in and held his blaster towards the floor.

  “Rear Admiral Dericote, you are under arrest for the murder of Jedi General Pong Krell and the-”

  “Oh shut up your yammerin’,” I interrupt, “You haven’t got an actual case. Where’s your superior? I was told a General Solomahal was leading this operation? Also, trigger discipline you maggots!”

  My rapid fire questions and reminder of trigger discipline stumps the officers for a moment. Long enough for Mi-Kus to pull out his commlink and punch in a quick message, as well as Commodore Hugh to punch in her own message. Now the question was, which one of them called in reinforcements and which one called in Solomahal.

  Whatever the answer is, both groups show up at the same time, Solomahal waltzing into the room at a leisurely pace alongside another pair of Enforcers, an agitated Knight Akuna at his side and half a dozen arms-men, my arms-men, marching behind them.

  “Good afternoon, Rear Admiral Dericote.” The Lutrillian says.

  “Good afternoon, General.” I reply easily.

  “Major, put your blaster away, last thing we need is for you to end up dead in a revenge killing. With Fondor soon to be back in Republic hands Stars knows how quickly it could happen.” The General says, his tone light and easy despite the threat made on my account.

  The General waits for everyone to put their blasters away before he speaks: “Now then, will someone please explain what the ever loving fuck happened?”