Just This Side of Paradise

[jackwabbit]

Just This Side of Paradise

Fandom: Star Wars Skeleton Crew
Rated: G
Category: Vignette. Slice of Life. Wim Focus.
Word Count: 863.
Time Frame: Post-Series (but only by a bit, probably – Wim is still quite young).
Spoilers: Nothing Specific/General Series Knowledge Only.
Summary: At Attin isn’t paradise. But some days, it’s enough.

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Wim sat in the uncomfortable chair and tapped his foot nervously, then looked around for what seemed like the millionth time.

But this time, things were different.

A door cracked open this time.

And a droid stepped through.

“Next,” called the droid, gesturing to Wim.

Wim wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers, then stood.

He took a deep breath and followed the droid back into the room it had come from.

He understood why this was necessary. And why they still had to do it this way, even with all the technology at their disposal.

But that didn’t help his nerves.

Every year, this test made him anxious.

But now, it was so much worse than before.

Because now, he had so much more to lose. His genetics hadn’t changed, but his dreams had.

And he couldn’t fly an X-Wing if his dad passed on his bad vision. At least that’s what he’d heard.

A moment later, sitting in a different chair, his eyes filled with tears – because his vision had been blurry before they’d come. He’d tried, so hard, to read the smallest line, or even the one in the middle. He’d willed the letters to just come into focus, if only for a moment.

And they hadn’t.

Wim started to cry.

The droid, clearly trained for this type of thing (though not very well), patted him on the shoulder.

“There, there,” it said.

But Wim would have none of it. He was embarrassed now on top of his failure, and the tears wouldn’t stop. He didn’t even notice when a door to his right opened and a human man stepped through.

Suddenly, a warm hand replaced the droid’s on his shoulder, and a gentle voice said, “What’s wrong, son?”

“They were blurry,” sputtered Wim. “They were blurry and I couldn’t see them right and now I don’t know what to do and…”

“Whoa, slow down. It’s ok. So they were blurry. So what? We can fix that.”

Wim sniffed and wiped a hand across his face, calming somewhat.

“But I can’t wear specs!”

The man blinked. “Who said anything about spectacles?”

Now it was Wim’s turn to blink. “Well, that’s how you fix it, right? Specs? I have to wear them now?”

A slow smiled spread across the man’s face.

“Well,” he drawled, “ you can if you want to, and some people do, but you don’t have to. Most don’t.”

Wim stared at the man.

“What?” he asked.

The man’s grin grew sly as he took in Wim’s flight style jacket. Then he nodded toward the patches representing various New Republic ships.

“Which one you like?”

Wim looked down at his sleeve, realizing after a moment what the man had meant.

He beamed despite the situation.

“The X-Wing!” he nearly shouted.

“Excellent choice,” said the man. “Now, I know what they say about flying and eyesight. That’s my job, after all. Well, eyesight, not flying. Obviously. And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Wim’s eyes widened.

“I can still fly if I can’t see?” he asked, completely flabbergasted.

The man laughed.

“Oh, I didn’t say that! Pretty important to be able to see what you’re shooting at, don’t you think?”

Wim deflated.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered.

“But between you and me,” said the man, leaning in close to Wim, “I know a few Republic pilots who wear special visors to help with vision. At least until they get the surgery.”

“The what?” asked Wim, looking lost.

“Son, you’ve been hidden away on At Attin a long, long time. In a lot of ways, that was good. But you missed a lot, and not all of it was bad. I know you know more than most about that. But you’ve still got a lot of catching up to do. And this? This is nothing. I can fix your eyesight in nearly the time it takes you to blink.”

 Wim’s eyes grew wide again, and he nearly shouted at the man.

“Do it now!”

“Now, hold on,” answered the man. “We have to ask your dad if it’s okay. If so, we’ll do it right now. If not, or if we can’t reach him, we’ll fit you for specs today and you can do it later. Is that okay?”

Wim nodded.

A moment later, Wendle had agreed, and Wim had the procedure.

Then he retook the test, and he aced it.

And then he was on his way, smiling broadly.

Behind him, an old optical technician shook his head. But he was smiling too.

He’d been on At Attin for one standard rotation – similar to a year on his own planet – and he still couldn’t get used to the dichotomy of it.

It was nearly paradise, but they couldn’t fix a child’s vision – and it had never occurred to them to try.

There were days when he wondered why he took this job, or even did it to begin with.

And then there were days like today.

He didn’t know if young Wim would fly an X-Wing. There was so much more to that than vision, after all. One day, the boy’s dream might die.

But not today.

Not today.