Starkiller Science: Chapter 1
"The Contract"
Summary: A mysterious and deadly disorder affecting battle-weary Storm Troopers has been detected, leaving the First Order scrambling to find the cause. When two captains from the First Order ask you, a recently graduated doctor, to conduct a year-long study at the Starkiller Base, you accept without realising just what it means to be employed by the enemy. Quickly, you learn that not everything aboard the planetary base is about science, and your relationships with the upper echelons of the First Order will make the difference between life and death. As the year unfolds, you face unexpected tragedies and eminent danger, make new allies and enemies, and become entangled in a love affair–all in the name of Sith and Science. [Kylo Ren x reader; rated: Mature for violence, slight gore, medical trauma, strong language, and sexual themes]
"So, do you accept?"
You stared down at the contract that was on the coffee table, swinging an ink pen around in your fingers as you read through it once again. The words hadn't changed; they weren't going to. But you felt some trepidation as you mulled over the second to last paragraph.
First Order authorities are not to be held accountable in case of injury, whether psychological or physical, nor death. In case of death, next of kin shall be informed within 14 days. Limited resources aboard base may result in immediate disposal of body within said time frame. All possessions of the deceased will be left for probate if not claimed within 31 days after informing next of kin.
Why did this paragraph always have to creep into agreements? For fuck's sake, you were only being asked to conduct a research study for the First Order; it wasn't as though they expected you to don a Storm Trooper uniform and join a battle. Besides, it wasn't as though you knew how to fight anyway. Your planet had seen nothing but peace for generations. As the rest of the galaxy blew itself up, your planet had been more interested in academic pursuits. After all, the galaxy's largest university was there—the very university you now worked for after having graduated a year before. Academia was all you knew and all you wanted to know. It was what you excelled at more than anything else.
And that was, apparently, why two captains of the First Order had set up this meeting in the first place. It wasn't as though you were the best etiology researcher on the planet. There were a lot more professors who knew more; they knew the ins and outs of epidemiology, clinical research, geriatrics, environmental disease control, you name it. They were the experts that you looked up to. Yet, here they were, asking you to conduct a year long research study on the effects of Storm Trooper life style and training upon the devastatingly high comorbidities of the older troops.
You had asked why they chose you. It didn't end up being a matter of your excellent research skills so much as that everyone better had turned down the job. Granted, you weren't bad or anything. In fact, you were sometimes uncannily gifted when it came to reading people and thus understanding their health history. But you were still in your twenties, still learning, still definitely not as well trained nor as knowledgeable as countless other professors and researchers whom you had worked under.
But they divulged that you were number seven on their list. The other six had made every sort of excuse: "I have my family to attend to", "I'm contractually obligated to the university for the next academic year", "I would be home sick", "The First Order is literally evil", etc. There were eleven more people they could ask after you, but you could see by the looks on their faces that they were hoping this search would end right here.
"There's a clause," you began, "about what should happen to my body upon death. I'm sure that you are under orders to include the provision, but this isn't a particularly dangerous job, is it?"
One of the captains, a young man with wiry, prematurely grey hair, bit at his lip whilst glancing toward the older captain beside him. The older captain, dark in complexion and sharp featured, shot a warning grimace.
"It's not that it's dangerous so much as you will be working directly alongside those who are at war. We can't predict the nature of war or who will be affected. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes..."
Your eyes were glued to the contract again. One full year upon the Starkiller base and its orbiting stations didn't seem like that long. You'd had one year internships and residencies in the past, so it wasn't as though you couldn't handle the time commitment. But you were honestly quite oblivious to what it meant to be aboard such a militarised base. The topic of war didn't come up much in the medical school of the university. Hell, you had never even heard of the First Order before these men had called you.
But you kept flipping to the front page and looking at the egregiously large number that would be your salary. Plus, you would be guaranteed a publishable journal article, which seemed pretty appealing for someone trying desperately to secure a tenured position at the university. And they would give you a semi-furnished apartment on the base with pre-paid moving costs.
Looking back up at the men, you could tell that they were waiting on baited breaths, just hoping that you would stop switching your pen from hand to hand, finger to finger, and just sign the damned thing.
What's stopping me? Your family lived on a completely different planet. Your friends had scattered across the galaxy after graduation. Your apartment was growing its own unique mould in the kitchen that may or may not be sentient. Maybe you could sublease the apartment and let someone else get eaten by the mould. All you had was your cat beside you on the couch and a ridiculous collection of books—nothing that couldn't move with you for this year.
Taking a deep breath, you switched the pen between your fingers and clicked it. Flipping to the last page, you signed your full name on the dotted line and scribbled in the date. Like hitting a switch, you could feel the aura of the men grow lighter, buoyant. They hadn't said a damned word, but they were already celebrating.
"Right! Excellent!" the younger captain said, quickly coming over to file the contract in his binder and shaking your hand. "Doctor, it's a pleasure. Truly."
You gave a little smile and a shrug of your shoulders. Honestly, this didn't seem like that big of a deal to you. "Well, it's my pleasure to lead your research project, regardless of whether it's for the military or not."
The older captain nodded, also standing to shake your hand with a firm grip. "Not many people we spoke with were willing to be so... impartial."
"I'm not here to pick some side of a battle that has nothing to do with me." This was for science. Not the First Order; not against the Resistance whom they had spoken of so poorly during the meeting. They didn't matter. "If I can help you understand why your soldiers die so prematurely and with the rates of dementia at their present levels, then I'm satisfied. I'm here to answer question for the ill, nothing more."
He nodded, giving your hand one more squeeze. "That's fine by us."
The younger captain began pacing your tiny apartment, taking note of your belongings that would need to be moved. "We'll send out a ship nine days from now, if that's all right. We understand that your semester ends then?"
You nodded. It was almost the end of the academic year, thank God. You just needed to grade your students' exams, and you would be on your way to a brief freedom. Or, well, now on your way to a new job. But same difference.
"Movers will be sent along," he continued. "Just box everything up for them."
He returned to his seat and pulled out several packets of information from his binder: housing details, research outlines, long forgotten raw data, the works. You started going through the files, only half listening as they explained the plans for you to move. It was impossible to pay attention when you firmly realised that you had just signed a year of your life away to something completely new. Sure, it was research, which you had done plenty of in the past. But this time, you were the outsourced researcher instead of the post-grad assistant in someone's dingy lab. This was definitely a step up in your career path, and the idea was almost unsettling in its positivity. For the next few hours, even after they had left in their ship back for the Starkiller base, you could only stare off and wonder just what in the world your future now held in store for you.
Glossary:
Comorbidity: Having two or more diseases/disorders at the same time.
Dementia: Cognitive impairment caused by disease or injury. The most common type is Alzheimer's Disease, though this story will end up focusing on Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, which is the type of dementia common in footballers and those with repeated traumatic brain injuries.
Epidemiology: The multidisciplinary study of health and disease.
Etiology: The study of disease causation.
Geriatrics: The study of health in older adulthood.
Tenured position: If you are a professor, this is basically how you get to stay a professor without having someone breathing down your neck every year and threatening to make you an adjunct.
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing fic that is set in the second person as well as my first attempt at writing for Star Wars. But it's an idea that has been bouncing around in my head, so hey, why not? This first chapter gets kinda medical in its terminology, so I've included a glossary at the end. Actually... the second chapter also gets medical. I don't know how to not make this medical, lol. But stick around because, hey-o, Kylo Ren is going to be big in this story. Also, there will be several original characters who play doctors and Storm Troopers and personnel, so hopefully you like them, too.