THE RECRUIT

BESH: Processing

Classified Imperial Base
Ship Bay 04
Daro
LST: 02:32:45 // DAY: 00
Taipan

Taipan follows Lieutenant IC-3286 into a turbolift the metal doors slide solidly shut. He punches in a button on the controls and the lift lurches into its quick ascent. Taipan steadies her footing a step behind the LT. The lift pulling her gut to the floor. She suppresses the uneasiness and assesses him. His posture is relaxed and his hands loosely cradle his blaster rifle but the tenseness of his shoulders says he is also watching her.

The Lieutenant remains silent as the doors open and he steps out. Taipan follows him past multiple doors with red medical insignias stamped on the front. They enter a door numbered 02 and are greeted by a couple of medical droids.

Great, droids. Taipan sighs.

"I will take your footlocker from here, ma'am," says the LT reaching out a hand. His voice is identical to the Captain. The accent is distinctly someone else's but it had been so long she can't remember whose.

Taipan looks at the soldier tilting her head. "I don't suppose the larger of the droids doubles as a food conservator?"

The commando's posture remains unchanged. But then again he could be switching from internal to external comms. "The Admiral has requested specific processing for TK-Seven-Sixty. You are TK-Seven-Sixty, correct?"

Taipan nods and reluctantly hands the commando her footlocker. A few medical chairs line the walls. A cylindrical tube of some sort lays on its side humming in the center of the room. Its diameter is wide enough to swallow a Wookie on a gurney. She flicks off her hood running a hand through her short hair that crests from the front to the back. The petroleum jelly used to keep it spiked greases through her fingers. She looks to the LT for further instructions.

The Lieutenant's head moves backward only slightly clearing his throat and says, "Ahem. Don't worry you'll be back in time for PT at oh-six-hundred." He tucks the footlocker under his arm as casually and effortlessly as carrying a sack of fruits.

"PT?" Military jargon and acronyms weren't part of her regular vocabulary. But she wasn't planning on staying here long enough to pick up the terminology.

"Physical Training." The Lieutenant turns and walks out of the room. She catches movement on the far wall spotting a T-visor step into view of an observation window.

A droid, looking like it was made out of the same sterile white walls of the medical room, wobbles up to Taipan on two servo whirring legs. "Please take a seat," it says in polite monotone gesturing to one of the medical chairs. "And please remove the poncho."

Taipan snarls. They could be telling you to remain calm while they beat you to death. She pulls the poncho over her head giving it to the droid's outstretched hand. She sits down in the medical chair, carefully watching the cynically cheerful droid. Metal clamps unexpectedly click around her wrists and ankles. Her eyes narrow and she looks up at Lieutenant IC-3286. Another commando helmet appears in the window. She tugs at the restraints knowing the durasteel wouldn't budge. She bears her teeth at the commandos behind the transperisteel. Bring it on, soldier boys.

The droid comes around into her field of view. She struggles against its cold hand that pushes her head back against the headrest and clamps click around her forehead. The droid's hand flips and turns as it selects a tool from the various instruments in its forearm. A circular grinder wheel folds out buzzing to life. Taipan's eyes grow wide realizing what the droid is about to do.

The droid puts the wheel to her horns. Metal against bone sends ear-piercing screeches bouncing over the walls. She growls stifling a yell. With each rotation of the saw her skull vibrates into numbness. Of course, her horns weren't as bold as her mentors' but it still took years to get them to this length, all two inches of them. The droid performs the procedure five more times around her hairline.