Post by nabi on Sept 4, 2007 2:51:09 GMT -5
Coruscant was a planet of economic extremes, with some of the richest beings in the galaxy living kilometers over some of the most impoverished and desperate people in the sector. The disparity and segregation between these two worlds, enforced by the security services, social customs and distinctive architecture was tangible. The situation was often compared to an hourglass, with the rich and poor concentrating in opposite extreme.
But like in any hourglass, there was a small section of people that bridged both worlds. Coruscant’s middle class, representing almost two percent of the population, was a rarely-discussed minority that lived between the seas of rich and poor. Baku was one of such people, literally living between the decrepit slums of a building’s foundations, and the palatial palaces of the rich above. And whenever the lower classes tried to come up, or security forces and private armies tried to come down, the middle-aged Nemodian was treated to a first class view from behind armor plating and sensor fields that marked the shift from hovel to heaven.
He owed this tense, albeit privileged position to his work. He was titled as “Administrator to the Nazgowan-Illich Medical Insitute”, a fine hospital that took up virtually all of the larger towers half a kilometer away. With high profit margins, a veritable pantheon of qualified physicians, and some of the best equipment in the universe the facility was one of the largest gems in Coruscant’s rich medical crown.
It wasn’t, however, Baku’s job to run the medical facilities. There were specialized head nurses who handled the hospital, hospital boards who managed the doctors, and an Executive Physician who was peer-elected who ran the facility as a whole. Baku’s role was a bit more unique, and in it’s way far more demanding.
Doctors on Coruscant were some of the most educated, well-trained, and lavishly compensated in the galaxy. They were also those most prone to specialization. It was said that on Coruscant you could run through no less than thirty to forty-five physician going from diagnosis to recovery. Each was often among the top one percent in their field, with the fees and disposable income to prove it.
It was because of this trend that Baku held his current post. Because of their high levels of specialization, the doctors on Coruscant were privy to some of the most horrific and difficult conditions the galactic rich could acquire. And sometimes, they lost. This offended some of the doctors, who had grown incredibly expert in their sub-specialization, and didn’t want to have to bring bad news. They were only one in a large group of talented, expert beings who had done all they could in a difficult situation.
So when a youngling was lost, when a treatment failed, it was Baku who had to look into the eyes of family and loved ones, and bring their universe crashing down.
It was a somber job. Most people who held it lasted only a few years, often acquiring a variety of quirks and failings before burning out and moving less demanding work. But Baku had been able to last fifteen years at the facility.
This was, more than anything else, because the Nemodian had learned from a very young age to compartmentalize. True, he had amazing levels of charisma, rapport and understanding. But it was his ability to cordon off his life that allowed him to perform his job with such skill. He could meet one family, undergoing the most horrid form of tragedy, and after consoling them move on to another afresh with his past horror superbly sealed in his memory. He could live from moment to moment, isolating one experience from another with immense precision, condemning memories to oblivion save for distant review.
This allowed him intensive amounts of care and empathy. Each tragedy was his tragedy, the first his life had ever known. And each family he consoled was his family, the only one he had ever seen or loved. Families could walk away from him knowing that it would be okay, that all had been done, that this sorrow was shared in the whole hospital.
And then Baku would move on to the next one.
But this gift (if it could truly be called that) came at a price. The Nemodian had grown so used to compartmentalizing his life that he had, over time, grown more and more isolated and demanding about his life outside of the hospital. In search for shore in a sea of suffering, he had turned into a virtual hermit.
Sadly, the same seemed to have happened to one of Baku’s few friends. Sparii, a blue-skinned feline the doctor had bought on Bothawaii, had seemed to mirror the problems of her master. For whatever reason, the animal had become more and more withdrawn from the world around it. It had become fearful, withdrawn. In the past, it was so friendly that it would literally eat out of Baku’s hand while he was walking around his flat. Now, it had gotten to the point that the creature would only eat if the Nemodian left food in front of it, and left the flat for several hours so that the smell of his presence died down.
Not only was this dangerous, but it was also completely unprecedented. This particular species had been bred in captivity, and was known for it’s docility and ease around sentients of a variety of races. Engineered and bred solely for this role, the creatures were both affectionate and notoriously difficult to rattle, so much so that owning one was only possible in controlled environments, due to slow reactions to danger. They were also expensive, but Baku had saved for close to a year to buy his companion, and had enjoyed seven in comfort and tenderness at home.
But now that bubble was threatened. The only place that was safe, and fun, and full of joy was being threatened. The Nemodian was starting to worry. Worry. At home. Where there was no worry. This was bad. Unprecedented. What if Sparri stopped eating at all? He couldn’t hold her. She trembled so. He couldn’t come near her. Soon he wouldn’t be able to see her. It could get worse. It might get worse.
It was with this line of thought that Baku, filled with the intensity his isolation had bred in him, packed his darling, his companion, his Sparii in a shipping container designed to humanely transport organic beings. Dashing off a quick note, he wrote to one of his few sentient friends asking for advice. A master Healer, he was among the best of his profession. The two had known each other for several years, and the Jedi was among the most innovative physicians Baku knew, as well as one of the least greedy. Baku had known the rotund Human to offer free care to beings in need, training new Healers in low-level slums where the opportunity to care for the ill were plentiful, and the ability to procure aid was less so.
The Nemodian shut the container, and with more than one tear, put the package on a speeder and watched it speed away to the nearest transport center, to be express shipped across the horizon, to the other side of Coruscant, towards the Jedi Order.
But like in any hourglass, there was a small section of people that bridged both worlds. Coruscant’s middle class, representing almost two percent of the population, was a rarely-discussed minority that lived between the seas of rich and poor. Baku was one of such people, literally living between the decrepit slums of a building’s foundations, and the palatial palaces of the rich above. And whenever the lower classes tried to come up, or security forces and private armies tried to come down, the middle-aged Nemodian was treated to a first class view from behind armor plating and sensor fields that marked the shift from hovel to heaven.
He owed this tense, albeit privileged position to his work. He was titled as “Administrator to the Nazgowan-Illich Medical Insitute”, a fine hospital that took up virtually all of the larger towers half a kilometer away. With high profit margins, a veritable pantheon of qualified physicians, and some of the best equipment in the universe the facility was one of the largest gems in Coruscant’s rich medical crown.
It wasn’t, however, Baku’s job to run the medical facilities. There were specialized head nurses who handled the hospital, hospital boards who managed the doctors, and an Executive Physician who was peer-elected who ran the facility as a whole. Baku’s role was a bit more unique, and in it’s way far more demanding.
Doctors on Coruscant were some of the most educated, well-trained, and lavishly compensated in the galaxy. They were also those most prone to specialization. It was said that on Coruscant you could run through no less than thirty to forty-five physician going from diagnosis to recovery. Each was often among the top one percent in their field, with the fees and disposable income to prove it.
It was because of this trend that Baku held his current post. Because of their high levels of specialization, the doctors on Coruscant were privy to some of the most horrific and difficult conditions the galactic rich could acquire. And sometimes, they lost. This offended some of the doctors, who had grown incredibly expert in their sub-specialization, and didn’t want to have to bring bad news. They were only one in a large group of talented, expert beings who had done all they could in a difficult situation.
So when a youngling was lost, when a treatment failed, it was Baku who had to look into the eyes of family and loved ones, and bring their universe crashing down.
It was a somber job. Most people who held it lasted only a few years, often acquiring a variety of quirks and failings before burning out and moving less demanding work. But Baku had been able to last fifteen years at the facility.
This was, more than anything else, because the Nemodian had learned from a very young age to compartmentalize. True, he had amazing levels of charisma, rapport and understanding. But it was his ability to cordon off his life that allowed him to perform his job with such skill. He could meet one family, undergoing the most horrid form of tragedy, and after consoling them move on to another afresh with his past horror superbly sealed in his memory. He could live from moment to moment, isolating one experience from another with immense precision, condemning memories to oblivion save for distant review.
This allowed him intensive amounts of care and empathy. Each tragedy was his tragedy, the first his life had ever known. And each family he consoled was his family, the only one he had ever seen or loved. Families could walk away from him knowing that it would be okay, that all had been done, that this sorrow was shared in the whole hospital.
And then Baku would move on to the next one.
But this gift (if it could truly be called that) came at a price. The Nemodian had grown so used to compartmentalizing his life that he had, over time, grown more and more isolated and demanding about his life outside of the hospital. In search for shore in a sea of suffering, he had turned into a virtual hermit.
Sadly, the same seemed to have happened to one of Baku’s few friends. Sparii, a blue-skinned feline the doctor had bought on Bothawaii, had seemed to mirror the problems of her master. For whatever reason, the animal had become more and more withdrawn from the world around it. It had become fearful, withdrawn. In the past, it was so friendly that it would literally eat out of Baku’s hand while he was walking around his flat. Now, it had gotten to the point that the creature would only eat if the Nemodian left food in front of it, and left the flat for several hours so that the smell of his presence died down.
Not only was this dangerous, but it was also completely unprecedented. This particular species had been bred in captivity, and was known for it’s docility and ease around sentients of a variety of races. Engineered and bred solely for this role, the creatures were both affectionate and notoriously difficult to rattle, so much so that owning one was only possible in controlled environments, due to slow reactions to danger. They were also expensive, but Baku had saved for close to a year to buy his companion, and had enjoyed seven in comfort and tenderness at home.
But now that bubble was threatened. The only place that was safe, and fun, and full of joy was being threatened. The Nemodian was starting to worry. Worry. At home. Where there was no worry. This was bad. Unprecedented. What if Sparri stopped eating at all? He couldn’t hold her. She trembled so. He couldn’t come near her. Soon he wouldn’t be able to see her. It could get worse. It might get worse.
It was with this line of thought that Baku, filled with the intensity his isolation had bred in him, packed his darling, his companion, his Sparii in a shipping container designed to humanely transport organic beings. Dashing off a quick note, he wrote to one of his few sentient friends asking for advice. A master Healer, he was among the best of his profession. The two had known each other for several years, and the Jedi was among the most innovative physicians Baku knew, as well as one of the least greedy. Baku had known the rotund Human to offer free care to beings in need, training new Healers in low-level slums where the opportunity to care for the ill were plentiful, and the ability to procure aid was less so.
The Nemodian shut the container, and with more than one tear, put the package on a speeder and watched it speed away to the nearest transport center, to be express shipped across the horizon, to the other side of Coruscant, towards the Jedi Order.