Project Boussh: Insomnia
by Josh Nolan

The ticking of a clock always sounds louder at three o'clock in the
morning.

Josh lay on the motel bed, alone in the darkened room, with only the
snoring of an Ewok and the ticking of the clock for company.

That, and his thoughts.

He knew that in the bedroom next door, Ooryl was keeping a vigil over
Brad.  Josh hadn't administered a beating that was anywhere near fatal,
but he had broken Brad's nose and a few of his ribs.  Ooryl was treating
the injuries with some bacta patches they'd recovered from Brad's base,
which would apparently reset the bones as good as new in a matter of
days.  What Ooryl was really waiting for was evidence of a concussion -
to find out whether it would be safe to stun Brad again.

Josh had known from the beginning that he may be called upon to kill
people.  In fact, he had already killed, several times - from the safe
end of a blaster shot.  In every case, the people he had killed were
shooting back.  He had somehow survived, and that had meant making sure
that they did not.  All of them had doubtless had families, loved ones,
who were now deprived of their kin - and Josh avoided thinking too hard
about it.  His strategy was to remind himself of whether he would rather
deprive *his* family and friends, instead.

And while he had gotten angry at the Ewoks several times - waking up to
find them trying to eat his bed had probably been the worst - he had
always been able to hold himself within limits.  To remind himself that
they were people, too.  He may have hit them, but he had never been glad
that he had.  He had always, at some level, regretted the necessity.  He
had never enjoyed showing his anger.

But the brawl with Brad - that had been different.  He had not only
stepped well outside his own limits - he had enjoyed it.

He replayed the fight - though perhaps massacre would be a better term -
through his head, and the sheer destructive joy he had felt sickened
him.  The relief at finding he had survived the fragment of TIE fighter,
the sense of grim satisfaction of a well-planned raid on the Melbourne
base - Josh understood these as perfectly natural reactions as a human
in stressful situations.  But with Brad...

He fingered the split knuckle on his left hand, caressing the scab that
had formed there.  He had no excuses, not to himself.  If he had been
unable to resist the stormtrooper's constant whispering before, he might
be able to forgive himself.  But the stark truth remained - he had done
it because he had *wanted* to.

Josh closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but Josh could only remember
the last part of the beating.  His focus on Brad's throat - the internal
debate on whether to crush his windpipe or to tear it out - the
knowledge that he would have killed Brad, and the cruel exultation he
had felt as he had hurt him.

Josh sat up on the side of the bed and blearily went into the small
ensuite bathroom.  He flicked the light on and stared at himself in the
mirror, seeing if his face was changing into something unrecognisable.
But it was the familiar face that looked back at him, covered in a bit
more stubble than the last time he had seen it.

Turning on the tap, he splashed some water on his face and dried it with
a towel.  He stared back at the mirror, and whispered a snatch of song
from Jekyll and Hyde:  "Am I a good man?"

He paused for a moment, and continued the rest of the fragment, finding
it oddly appropriate:  "Am I a madman?/  There's such a fine line/
between a good man and the..."

For a moment, he almost expected the face in the mirror to metamorphose
into a stormtrooper's helmet, and begin singing Hyde's response, but, as
usual, art was so much more interesting than life.  Josh wished he could
vomit, or replay the last few hours, and somehow expunge the taint from
his soul.

He stared at the face in the mirror, and said quietly, "There's such a
fine line between a killer and a murderer."  He dropped his head and
looked at the sink, and wished he could cry.