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"It's free time, do whatever you want," I told him.
"But you said not to let them drag me down," Parter replied with an uncomfortable look.
It had been a couple of days since our little chat. Parter had made a point to study as hard as he could during study hour. However, he took it just a bit too far and started to avoid the other kids during free time as well, which wouldn't do well. Because that meant he was starting to hang around me.
"Letting them drag you down is talking to them during study hour and not doing anything productive," I explained with a sigh. I guess I laid it on a little thick during my speech to him. Enough that he missed the context, at least. "Talking to them and making connections during free time is just socializing."
"If that's the case, why don't you socialize?" Parter asked, a little accusatory.
"Orphan and no one likes me," I answered with a nod. "I'm totally okay with both facts."
Mostly, I was talking to him right now because I wanted him to stop hanging around me. If I actually got to know some of the people here, it'd make it difficult to defect later. Not impossible, given that I doubt I'd ever truly be comfortable in the Empire's rankings with all the wanton evil in their ranks, but difficult.
But, you know, if a government is generally evil, not serving its citizenry and all peaceful avenues of change have failed, armed revolt is really the only moral choice.
"Well, they don't like me either," Parter replied with a frown. "I annoyed them by brushing them off during study hour."
"And so, you decided to just hang around me instead?" I asked him with a raised eyebrow.
"I was hoping we could be friends," Parter glared at me, his dark black
See, this is what I get for trying to act like a semi-decent human being in a school built by the forces of evil. I get an annoying hanger on that's trying to make it harder, in the long run, to turn on the Empire. I'm trying to finish my holo-novel, honestly.
Well, it's really just a novel, but on hologram. Really fancy way of reading on a tablet or computer.
"Okay," This is a bad idea. "Alright. Well. I'm guessing you've looked more into requirements to get into the Navy."
"I did," Parter replied with a happy nod. "The main thing they look into for pilots is how well they do in flight simulations."
"We don't do those until the senior academies, right?" I asked. I had looked into it of course. We didn't get to use flight simulators until we reached the senior academies.
"Yes, and I can't wait. It's going to be amazing, learning how to fly TIE Fighers, shooting down pirates and blowing them to cinders." Parter was smiling. "…what made you want to join the Storm Troopers?"
Huh. The classist is asking the orphan about him. Alright. "I don't know. I was an orphan. When I was little, I saw Storm Troopers and thought they looked amazing. My nanny bots showed me how to get there and I stuck with it."
I was certainly not telling him I joined so they could train me to be one of their fiercest enemies. Seriously, if I ever have to say 'For the Empire' or any variation, it's going to be sarcastically. Even if it's only sarcastic in my own head.
"That's very impressive," Parter said, taking one of the chairs beside me.
"Thank you," I replied.
The recreation room was every cadet's favorite place in the entire academy. It was a square room with chairs lining the walls, arcade machines and card tables taking up the room. Some of the other kids were playing Pazaak, a game I could not believe had survived four thousand years of the galaxy moving and shaping. Betting Imperial credits was completely against the school rules, but the other kids had probably managed to figure out a way around security.
I wanted to play, but I didn't gamble. That, and I didn't want to get busted by the other kids for 'cheating' because I would use the force because I didn't want to lose my money. Seriously, getting thrown out of the academy or facing disciplinary action would actually be bad. Not to mention the risk of having my unexplained luck being identified as affinity to the force and then being disappeared to be trained as a Sith.
That is not something I would be able to recover from.
"So, have you told your parents about how you want to join the Navy?" I asked him, breaking the silence.
Parter waited for a moment before answering. "Not yet. Mom really wanted me to become an administrator, though. I'm not sure what she'll think."
"And your Dad?"
"I don't know what he'll think," Parter responded, looking off to the side. "He's busy. I don't see him much."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I told him diplomatically. "Must be rough."
"Yeah, it is," Parter replied with a despondent expression. "…probably not as bad as being an orphan, though, huh?"
You'd be surprised. "Honestly, I've got a lot of freedom and the nanny droids were always supportive of everything I did, so it's not that bad."
I loved my parents from my old life, don't get me wrong, but being an orphan granted a surprising amount of autonomy. I liked it.
"I guess you'd think that, huh?" Parter asked with a frown. "Not many parents would want their kids to become Storm Troopers, huh?"
"Probably not," I said with a nod. "At least I think so, I wouldn't know."
Still a little sad, actually. Thinking about it. The possibility that the ROB (It was unlikely she was actually omnipotent, but she was likely close enough) had something to do with my death had occurred to me occasionally, but there was very little I could do about it other than get over it. Which I was.
For the most part.
With a heave, I climbed out of The Well. This was the first time in three weeks since my victory in the well that I was able to climb out within the top ten, let alone in third place. I knew that my trick where I sent the rest of the class to the floor, dazed and confused, would not be forgotten, but at least now they were learning that they had to fight the rest of them too.
The first week I ended up in last place because the other cadets stood at the topmost level of the well and peppered me with blaster bolts so I couldn't leave. It was maddening, but…instructional. At the very least, I learned of the importance of good cover.
"Congratulations, Cadet Plite," Pyrus announced. "You're in third place. The work detail is yours."
No special reward this time, but that's okay. I was ready for a break from Pyrus's training regimen.
The other cadets who made it to the top was Saren, of course, and Tesk Olivar, one of the other students.
"I'm shocked to see you pull yourself out of the bottom of the trash heap, Garbage Rat," Saren whispered condescendingly as I took my spot in the line. "I thought playing dirty was all you could do."
I didn't say anything. No point.
Saren Lorad, the jerk who put a rifle stock in my back and decided to earn his hypocrisy badge today, was the class's top student. His Dad was apparently a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Army and he had been prepared extensively for the military life. His aim was as close to perfect as possible, he could run for days and he was a favorite for graduation.
He was also a bully and I refused to give him any satisfaction by taking him seriously. That was the part that drove him nuts, that I refused to rise to his bait. In the force, he was like a ringing comm unit while everyone else was on vibrate, which made it easy to avoid him and his pranks, which I guessed meant that he was a force sensitive.
I had taken the opportunity of having a force sensitive bully to practice that 'Making myself Small' technique I had heard about. I think it's working slightly, but I'm not sure. It's practice, at least. Like scanning minds for skills, I have made some progress; I'm not accidentally picking up declarative memories (Pyrus's flashbacks) anymore, so now I'm only getting his Procedural memory (how to hold and shoot a blaster). It's just still slow.
Ideally, what would happen is that I'd be able to download a person's skills from their brain like I was in the Matrix. Close my eyes for a few minutes and then know how to fly a starfighter. From how it's going, I'm starting to think that mapping my performance after someone else's might actually be a waste of time. At least until I get some proper education in force techniques.
I mean, I'm going to keep working on it, but I'm pretty sure there's something that I'm missing.
One by one, the other cadets began to pull themselves out of the Well. The last one, this time, was Parter. I assume it's because he got knocked some ways down because I thought he was making good progress up. Very sad. But then, since places one through three are the only ones that truly matter in the evaluation, it's not hard to imagine that a bit of a fight between salty cadets may have taken place down there. It's happened before.
Step just an inch backward, dodge the elbow from Saren. Step forward.
"Something wrong, Cadet Lorad?" Pyrus turned and asked at the sound of Saren regaining his balance.
"No sir," Saren said, snapping to attention.
"Get back in formation," Pyrus ordered. "Both of you."
"Yes sir," We said in unison.
This is going to be a very long year. It's already been a long couple of months. As long as I have the force to tell me where he's at then at least it won't be an overly paranoid year. Just mostly paranoid. But the best way to keep from revealing yourself is keeping yourself calm and that was the first trick I learned.
After this, then the Senior Academy curriculum, then Storm Trooper Corps. Very simple. Once I get into the Storm Trooper Corps, I'll be an officer. Second Lieutenant most likely. When I'm not wearing the armor, I'll be wearing a black uniform. What I really want to do is become a Space Trooper, since they're the ones that get Jet Packs.
…I just realized that I want to use a jetpack, but I'm afraid of heights.
I'm gonna have to get over that.
"Evaluations over," Pyrus called out. "Lorad, Olivar and Plite are this week's winners of Deenlark's work detail. The rest of you will be spending the week with me since you clearly love the obstacle course as to lose!"
What are my odds of getting nabbed by the imperials secret force-training program? I've only won two out of seven, so not likely. Unless they heard my conversation about losing the first two on purpose. Which they might've.
Karabast.
"All of you to your posts!" Pyrus ordered. "Move out!"
Now that I think about it, they're probably called inquisitors. At least I think it would make sense. Inquisitors were a thing in The Old Republic MMO and nothing in Star Wars really comes from nowhere.
Saren, Tesk and I immediately marched for the administrative wing of the building. No one was interested in trying anything, due to the security cameras and the officers sure to catch anyone that started fighting and it would be a fight. This is an academy for the Empire. I'm training to become one of their attack dogs. A good sight less loyal than most, but still.
"So that's how the past few months have been, M7," I told my nanny-droid. "It's tough, but it'll be worth it. Eventually."
"I hope it is," M7 replied. "It sounds positively dreadful."
The months had passed and it was now winter break. Parter had offered to let me stay at his home, but I had refused. He acted disappointed, but he was fairly happy I had refused, since I doubt he had told his parents about me. You know. Orphan. Would he even count as a friend? I mean, we hung out during free period, I guess. Maybe it's more of a casual thing.
"It's got its ups and downs," I shrugged. I was getting used to it, too. That was the important part. That meant that I was growing as a person. My tolerance for the unpleasant was increasing. What was the old saying? 'Pain is weakness leaving the body'? Yeah, that's it. "But I am ready for the break."
"Well, I'm glad you made it through safely," M7 replied. "I insist that you spend the next two weeks relaxing."
She had come to pick me up from the shuttle bay. I'm shocked she still remembered me, but I guess the memory wipes don't happen very often to allow the nanny droids to remember what each child needs, maybe? "I'll certainly try."
We boarded a public speeder and sat at the first row. My things were in the case by the bench. The biggest thing I have to be afraid of right now is boredom. Right? Right.
Probably.
The speeder rose up and I watched as the ground disappeared beneath us. This…wasn't so bad. It was like riding a bus. A Tie Fighter that jerks up immediately startled me. But I can get used to that too. A jetpack? That's going to be a whole 'nother nest of mynocks.
…I love how I've assimilated enough that I'm using the local vernacular. Nest of mynocks instead of ballgame. Honestly, I'm in Star Wars. Of all the places to be reincarnated too? This one's the best possible one. At least I think so.
Because Star Wars.
"Will you need my help with anything when we get back, M7?" I asked, turning my attention to her.
"Oh!" She turned toward me, her glowing eyes seeming unusually bright. "No, I assure you, I'll have everything taken care of."
"You sound surprised," I told her.
"Well, it's just that no one's really asked me if I needed help," She replied, laying a metal hand on my leg. "I do appreciate it."
"I just wanted to do something useful while I was away from the Academy," I replied with a shrug. "If you need anything, let me know."
"I'll be sure to do that," M7 replied.
The ride back was comfortable silence between the two of us. The hum of the engines undercut all the sounds of conversation inside the shuttle. I watched as the impossibly tall buildings floated past us, the speeders and shuttles ahead and behind us. We got passed by a particularly impatient speeder, but I could actually feel that his need was urgent. Not exactly sure what it was, but…it was urgent.
Besides, it's not like I'm flying this thing. It's a droid. A masterful stroke of genius that probably eliminated a lot of road-rage…lane-rage? I don't know.
Eventually, the peaceful speeder ride came to a stop and it parked before the orphanage.
"M7, may I ask a question?" I…well, asked.
"You certainly may," She said as we stood up. I picked the bag up.
"How did my parents die?" I asked.
Now, I knew for a fact that I was planted here by a ROB. Whether I was created out of whole cloth or if there was a backstory that was fabricated for my sake was what I was curious about.
"I am afraid I do not know," M7 replied. She stepped off of the shuttle, allowing me to leave. "We can check once we're inside the orphanage and I have access to the database."
"I'd appreciate that," I replied with a nod. This was little more than idle curiosity, honestly. Just how deep did the rabbit hole go?
The inside was exactly how I remembered it. I even had the same room since I technically lived here still. I had the option to live on the Academy grounds over the break, but…I needed out of there. The paranoia of being outed as force sensitive was something I needed a real break. When I learned, after a talk with M7 over the comms that I could come back for the break, words could not have expressed my joy. I threw my pack onto the bed and sat down.
Tension like I had never known before left by body with a long, shuddery breath that shook my entire body.
It was good to be home. I'm going to love having my break. It's going to be the best thing that's happened to me since blaster training. Just a chance to sit down and reeeeelax.
Ahhhh…
…let's go find M-Sev-NO! No. No, no, no. Bad Jet. Bad.
I'm relaxing first. Let it all out.
I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes.
Time to meditate. Let the force flow through me, let's make myself calm. Relax.
The cool feeling of nervous tension leaving as I dipped into the force was pure bliss. Absolute satisfaction as the fear and paranoia that I had managed to keep in check was departing my soul and it was enough to bring a tear to my eye.
Just chill, Jet. You deserve this.
M7's approaching my bedroom.
I sat up before she arrived and activated the doorbell.
"Coming," I called, moving my back off my bed before going to answer the door.
It slid open, revealing M7. "Hello, Jet. I just checked the orphanage's records."
"What'd you find?" I asked, wiping my eye.
"Well," She seemed hesitant. "You were given to the orphanage by a woman who wished to remain anonymous. Evidently, your parents were unable to provide for your needs."
ROB, whoever you are? You're a genius. That's perfect.
"Are you crying?" M7 asked, sounding a little distressed. "You are! I'm so sorry, Jethro. I wish I had a better answer for you."
"What? No, no," I assured her. "I'm fine."
"I know what will make it better," M7 said, turning around and sounding cheerful. "A healthy lunch! Come to the kitchen, I'll make you a snack."
"I promise I'm-" I began, but she was already gone off to make me a sandwich.
I sighed and followed after her.
"Thanks, Mom."
The break was exactly what I needed. In fact, it was so nice that I actually dreaded going to the academy again. And not in the 'I don't wanna work hard anymore' but in the 'I could actually die when I get back' sort of way.
When we got back, we all got pulled for Academic Evaluation. It's always an evaluation. Not a test, oh no. We just look at your every move and decide if you're the ruthless attack dog we want in our organization. Which means that I need to find out how to show them that I am the ruthless attack dog they want in their organization without actually being the ruthless attack dog they want in their organization.
I mean, I'm okay with the 'attack' and 'dog' parts, it's just the ruthless part we're going to take issue with; I'm going to maintain my scruples. If I just become another Imperial, then the spirit of why I entered the academy is dead.
We all sat down in the lobby in front of Taskmaster Pyrus's office. Loro sat across from me, trying not to fall asleep. The guy had lost weight during his time in the academy and to his credit, he's kept it off. He was still chubby, but he wasn't at the fourth level of fatness anymore. Maybe the military is going to be good for him.
Beside me was Parter. Our reunion had actually been happy, though he seemed a little reserved. Maybe he told his parents about me after all and got negative responses? It seems likely. But he sat beside me, nonetheless.
The only person who wasn't here waiting with us was Saren, who got pulled away for evaluations with the Commandant himself. He looked so smug as the Commandant personally escorted him and a few other kids off to his office. On one hand, that's one less day I need to deal with him. On the other hand? He was force sensitive.
I could never see him again.
Don't get me wrong. He was a jerk. A bully and a coward. But I wouldn't wish Sith training on him. Or anyone. He could easily die or become one of the Emperor's stooges: drunk on the dark side and almost incapable of showing genuine kindness or empathy.
"Cadet Plite?" Pyrus had opened the door, allowing Kesh out of his office.
"Sir," I stood up.
He waved me in and I moved inside.
His office was small, but well lit. A desk, a big chair on his side and a small one on mine. Potted plants with purple bulbs. Behind Pyrus's chair was an open window out to the Coruscanti skyline, showing the Imperial Palace.
Imagine my delight when I learned that I had guessed right: The palace was built on the ruins of the Jedi Temple.
"Remove your helmet and have a seat, Cadet," Pyrus motioned for me to sit and I sat.
"Yes sir," I replied, sitting down and taking my helmet off, resting it in my lap.
"First off, how was your break?" Pyrus asked gruffly.
"As relaxing as I was hoping it would be," I answered. "Sir."
"Good," Pyrus nodded. "I'm glad. Now, answer me this; do you still want to become a Storm Trooper?"
"Yes, sir," I replied with a nod.
"Why do you want to join the corps?" Pyrus asked.
I took a breath. "I wish to protect the people of the Empire by killing their enemies."
From a certain point of view, this was the truth. The enemy of the people was the Emperor and I wanted to kill him all kinds of dead.
"Very noble," Pyrus replied with a nod. "Very noble. Any other reason?"
"I also want to see the galaxy and meet beautiful zeltron women," This was the other reason I had prepared, to be muttered quietly and bashfully while looking to the side. Makes me look like any other teenage boy.
Masterfully, Pyrus managed to stifle the laughter that had threatened to burst through his mouth. "I see. That's a very…honest statement, Plite."
He brought up two data-pads and passed one to me. "Here's a summary of your academic performance while you've been here at the Academy."
I looked at the pad.
"First and foremost, let's look at your combat evaluations," Pyrus said, and I brought up the appropriate spreadsheet. "This says you've placed in the top three thirteen out of twenty-four evaluations and of thirteen, two of those were in first place."
The first one was with my dirty trick. The second one was a hard-earned work of effort to spite Saren and send him to the bottom. I had succeeded. He was being insufferable the whole week.
"I'll be honest," Pyrus said, looking at me with a slow nod. "In this school, an over fifty percent success rate is nothing to sneeze at. It's not bad. Actually, it's very good. But before I continue, I must ask you."
He leaned closer, affixing me with a cold glare that very nearly sent shivers to play my spine like a xylophone. "Did you throw any of your evaluations?"
It really was best to be honest in this case. I might get expelled, but if he's asking me about this, he already knows. No point in delaying the inevitable. "Yes sir."
"Which ones?" He frowned.
"Just the first two, sir," I answered with a nod. "I tried to win each one afterwards."
"I see," Pyrus replied. "Why?"
"Because I want to be a Storm Trooper," I explained. "Running the obstacle courses with you seemed more conducive to that goal than being a desk jockey for most of my time here."
Pyrus hummed, nodding slowly. "I appreciate your honesty. Sergeant Oliyo had informed me of a conversation she overheard between you and Parter."
"Am I going to be expelled, sir?" I asked with a frown.
"No, Cadet," Pyrus shook his head. "But Commandant Deenlark wanted me to make sure you understood the point of the work assignment with him. You see, Cadet, the students that go through this Academy are not going to simply be grunts, or foot soldiers. You're training to be officers in the Imperial War Machine, the greatest organization in the entire Galaxy. That means you must know how to file reports, collate data and work with bureaucracy."
"Yes, sir," I nodded.
"These are given as a reward because those who consistently defeat the other students in the evaluation are clearly in no need of additional physical training," Pyrus continued with a stern look. "They're strong, fast and smart enough to win without additional physical training. So, they obtain training on how to be a proper leader and to oil the cogs properly. This is essential because if you're in the field and you need to requisition additional supplies for your men, you need to understand not only how to do that, but how to make sure your request goes through in a timely manner. Do you understand, Cadet?"
"Permission to ask a question, sir," I answered.
"Ask it, Cadet," Pyrus replied.
"Am I to understand that those who may succeed one evaluation but fail the next one were unsuccessful in maintaining their lead?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"
"You can take it to mean that, and it is true," Pyrus nodded. "But honestly, every cadet needs to understand how to work in the bureaucracy and the evaluation helps us sort out who does or does not need physical training. That's why those who have an unacceptably low win-rate fail the academy, we don't need officers that don't understand the importance of following proper channels. Any other questions, Cadet?"
"No, sir," I shook my head. "I understand, sir."
"Very good," Pyrus said. "Now, going back to your evaluation scores. A fifty-four percent win rate is unacceptable for what you want to be."
"Sir?" I asked. Oh no. That's not good.
"Are you aware that the Storm Trooper corp. only takes the very best to be officers?" Pyrus asked me in turn.
"Yes sir," I nodded.
"According to the academic statistics that I've been provided," Pyrus said, looking at his data pad. "Those recruits with a seventy-one percent or more win-rate are the most likely to be recruited into the corps. The lowest recruit had a sixty-five percent win-rate. You fall short by over ten percentage points. In order to fall into that seventy-one percent range, you will need to win 19 more evaluations over the next five months. That allows you one loss."
"Yes sir," I nodded. Crap.
"Now don't get me wrong, Cadet," Pyrus said. "Everything else is acceptable. Your grades fall within the ninty-percentage, you have the aim, the smarts and the talent. You just need to win."
"Sir? Permission to ask another question," I requested.
"Ask it," Pyrus replied.
"Does the corp. really check on the evaluations done in the academy, sir?" I asked with a frown. "I was under the impression that if you graduated with top marks in the senior academy, the corp. would take you. Sir."
"They do," Pyrus affirmed. "And those who graduate with top marks in the senior academy have around a seventy-one percent win-rate. Do you understand, Cadet?"
"Yes sir," Statistics. I wish I knew them before I came to the Academy. Now the crunch is on.
"Very good, Cadet," He nodded. "Now, as it turns out, I like you, Cadet. You've got a fire in you. A nobility and drive that I haven't seen in a long time. So, I'm going to help you become the Storm Trooper that you've always wanted to be."
"Sir?"
"By giving you the most intense and productive training as possible," Pyrus continued with a nod, looking at me to check my reaction. "I can't give you extra training, I've only got so many hours in the day. But I can make sure that the training you do get is as productive as possible. Do you understand, Cadet?"
Hearing that your drill instructor, essentially, is going to single you out during the day for more intense training is normally the end of days. Don't get me wrong, it's that for me too, but it's also a light of hope for my dreams. "Yes sir."
"Very good," Pyrus grinned. "Very good, Cadet. I wish you luck. Dismissed."
"Thank you, sir," I replied, standing and putting my helmet back on.
He stood up behind me and Taskmaster Pyrus opened the door. I moved forward to sit down.
"Cadet Cores!" Pyrus called, causing Parter to jerk straight up to attention. He moved past me.
"Good luck," I whispered as I passed him on the way to my seat.
I sat down and leaned forward, interlocking my fingers and sighed.
Nineteen more wins? When I'm fighting these animals for supremacy?
I'm going to need to up my game, start using the force a bit more and pray that I don't get discovered. Seventy-one percent, though? Why couldn't it have been a nice, easy to read number like fifty percent? It would line up with what we see in the movies with the troopers who can't aim for anything.
But then again, I do have another…eleven years, I think it was? Eleven years for training standards to fall significantly.
I might be just in time to avoid the Empire turning into even more of a quantity over quality machine.
Author's Notes: I'm taking it nice and easy with this story. No rough stuff. No shocking, planned out, surprise twists or anything. Just writing what comes. That seems to work the best.
Shout out goes out too Sanne Berg, Melden V, John, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Flamester, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, and Jiopaba. I thank you for your continued support.
If you are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my ! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world.
~Fulcon
