Prologue:
The work was grueling and hard. He had never worked so hard or long in his eighteen-year life. Every day was potentially his last. Here he was, after two years in a living hell, chipping away in the hot, cramped confines of a precious ore mine. It was just him and a couple of others who survived the oppressive conditions.
He chipped away with his well-worn pick, the clink of metal hitting hard rock echoing through the narrow passage. There was a little light, the only glimmer coming from a plasma lamp at the end of the shaft. He had done this for eighteen hours every day for the past two years. Every day the guards would shoot innocent people for "slacking off." Their bodies were dragged out of the shaft and thrown into hastily dug shallow graves. This mine was an offshoot of a much larger complex that had started out initially with 35,000 laborers. As he chipped away on this dreary day, there were only 2,500 left—the 32,500 others were six feet under.
The Malux Cartel had come to his home planet of Odisar, overwhelmed the small military they had, and enslaved or killed most of the 3 million inhabitants.
The Cartel was an influential economic powerhouse in this region of space that had taken advantage of the turbulence caused by the Galactic Civil War for the past fifteen years. Now, in some areas it rivaled the size and influence of the infamous Hutt Cartel, which was made all the worse by a recent cooperative alliance between the two cartels.
The Empire and the Rebellion both viewed these cartels as threats, but they were also assets. Many gang members willingly provided crucial information for the right price— a price both the Empire and the Alliance to Restore the Republic handsomely paid.
The Cartel had come to Odisar demanding natural resources and credits, the Odisarian government promptly refused. The Cartel then attacked.
They fought valiantly, but their armed forces were nearly wiped out. The remaining members of the government petitioned both the Empire and the Rebellion for assistance: supplies, arms, credits, anything that might help. The Empire sent emissaries down to the planet, bringing with them messages of support; however, the rumors swirled that the Imperial officials were really just on-world to conduct business with the Cartel. Additionally, the Empire used transports to ferry individuals deemed useful off-world to indoctrinate and assimilate them into either the military or government.
They couldn't fight back sufficiently, and the Cartel knew that. In only three months, the Cartel had gained control of the entire planet and killed an estimated 1.5 million people in genocidal massacres.
Now they did something far more insidious: they turned the population against each other.
The Cartel, working with the Empire, brainwashed the populace of the large cities into believing that their economic and personal hardship was not a result of the Cartel's invasion, but of the rural agrarian population. It was farmers who decided how much harvest to sell; it was farmers who led to food shortages; it was farmers who only produced the resources they need to survive, and now they were dying because of those rural farmers.
The city dwellers formed roving bands that, with the assistance of the Cartel members, rounded up and executed farmers and their families. Within a couple of months, whole swaths of the countryside became devoid of life.
As he picked away at the dark rock beneath him, he remembered the time they came for him and his family.
They lived in an old house situated on a large plot of land their family had farmed for more than five generations. They lived as good as a rural farmer could, and they always had a steady food supply, with the surplus being sold.
He father and mother were the light of his world. They were the two individuals he looked to most for guidance, comfort, and protection. His older brother was one of his only friends throughout his childhood, playing together, comforting each other, and loving each other.
Life was good.
But with the Cartel's invasion, their lives were endangered. And so, with a gang of killers comprised of their fellow countrymen nearing their homestead, they fled.
They took flight towards the nearest spaceport, where they hoped to find a ship to escape this nightmare.
But their potential killers took notice and were in hot pursuit.
Just as the family reached the spaceport and found a suitable ship, his world was shattered.
He remembered holding onto his older brother's hand as they sprinted towards the gray clad vessel. Then, in the most imperiled moment of his life, he tripped and fell, spraining his ankle in the process. His family turned around to see their youngest one on the ground, with their killers within view and running towards them.
Suddenly blaster rifles came to life and the red bolts whizzed around them.
He lay there on the ground with his hands covering his head, waiting for the strong arms of his mother or father to encircle him and carry him on board the ship.
Instead, he heard the ship's engines power up and looked up. He was shocked.
His mother, father and brother had boarded the ship, which bore the insignia of the Empire, and were preparing to leave. The last one onboard was his father, the man's dark brown hair matted with sweat, his eyes shining with tears. The message in them was clear: he wasn't going to be leaving the planet with his family.
He tried to rise but couldn't. The ship's ramp closed and the repulsors engaged and soon was airborne.
The gang quickly reached him and hauled him to his feet.
All the while he screamed at the shrinking ship, screaming for his family to come back, screaming for his family to not abandon him to die.
He snapped out of his thoughts.
He hadn't died that day. Instead, he was a dead soul trapped in a living body, living an existence fit for no living thing. In these two years of life—if one could call it that—he had pondered what to do.
He soon got his answer.
The Cartel's funds were slowly being depleted by the increasing ferocity of the Galactic Civil War, which left no sector or organization untouched. Despite shadow support from the Empire, the credits were simply not enough. With the crunch in funds, many members got tired of their lack of pay and simply abandoned their posts and left the planet. Soon, the oppressed population was taking advantage.
In a campaign of resistance, former slaves and prisoners organized themselves into makeshift armies and fought the remnants of the Cartel.
He and his fellow slaves had successfully overpowered and killed the dwindling number of guards at their camp, then set about raiding the other camps of the large mining complex. It was soon fully liberated.
This process of resistance lasted for the better part of a year and a half. During this time of bloodshed and battle, the formerly enslaved and imprisoned population began to regain its pre-invasion structure: armed forces were reestablished, governments formed, and leaders elected.
The Alliance had taken notice and was sending some aid to the fledgling planet: arms and monies.
By the time the Cartel had fled he had turned nineteen years old. He wondered if his family would return now that their planet was freed.
He waited and waited. They never came back.
He was truly abandoned.
With his planet retaken and freed he turned his attention to the larger conflict that had taken hold of the Galaxy.
He had no family to speak of and nothing to lose.
The Empire had come with messages of support but seemingly did nothing, except take some citizens, including his parents, off-world. The Alliance, however, had actively supported their resistance and eventual liberation. He wanted to ensure that nothing like this would ever happen again, and he knew which side he would fight for.
His family had left him behind, but he would be dammed if he let the galaxy suffer as he and his planet had.
The prologue is done. I know some details are lacking (the name of the individuals) but I intend to reveal more in subsequent chapters. Hope you all enjoy!
-LittleP