Born Triston Alexander, Triston grew up in what could be called a provincial life on the world New Margrette, a world known for its lush green fields and thriving agricultural systems. Like most people in his family, he was being groomed for life working and managing the tens of thousands of square miles devoted to food production and manufacturing.
However, at the age of 16, while operating one of the large harvesters, Triston had injured a small animal native to the planet, a small ball of fur not unlike a rabbit. Tending to the injured animal had inspired him, giving the young man a vision of what he wanted to do with his future. This however came at a logger head with his family.
Tristons father would have none of it, his son was going to follow in the family enterprise and there was no other way about it. His mother had been disappointed, but supportive in a quiet way typical of all women in her family.
Handsome in his youth, Triston had grown into a sensitive cautious man, not prone to violence or rages of any kind. This was in stark contrast to his brothers who excelled in physical sports and work. This left Triston feeling an outsider with his own family. More often than not he could be found between shifts working in the fields reading in any quiet place he could find.
At the age of 18, Triston left home and attended the only university on the planet. First enrolling in vet sciences he found the course work both tiring and pointless. The decision came with little consultation with his family and quietly transferred to a new university in the Doob system. Leaving home without so much as a good bye to his family or few friends he had.
By the age of 26, Triston had risen to top of his medical class, graduating second overall in a class of more than 2000. His wild success left many door open to him and while he wanted to take full advantage of these his student debt had left him nearly crippled, unable to leave the planet and take advantage of any of the offers he had been given with large hospitals, medical foundations, or planetary governments.
Desperate for a job, Triston took a low level position with Hiyma Corporation in their medical safety department. Nearly entry level and far below his educational station, Triston applied himself in much the same way he had as a farmer. With hard work, patience and attention to detail he slowly began to rise through the ranks of the company until he had secured a department directors position.
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Triston stood at the operating table, he couldn’t have looked worse if he had spent the night in a trough of blood. His hands had become slippery and unworkable, forcing him to change gloves every few minutes. The pile of dirty latex at his side had grown over the past hours from a small stack to a virtual mountain of blood stained rubber.
Pulling his surgical mask down slowly, taking a deep breath, the doctor nodded to the assisting nurse. “Okay, he’s stable, who’s next?”
This was not what he had in mind for his future. Drafted into military service, on a planet he had no intention of staying on for very long, preforming surgery on men with the most devastating wounds he had ever seen with the aid of a single nurse. It was, in his mind, a crime.
“Sir?” The nurse had a concerned look on her face. “Sir, I said that’s it, we’re done for now.”
Triston looked at her, blinked; the words made sense but for some reason didn’t register. For the past 20 hours he had been seeing one after another. Stabilizing the wounded for further surgery.
“I need a drink.”
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