Thank you to the guests for the wonderful reviews! Unfortunately updates are going to slow down since I'm back at college. :( But it's my goal to write a chapter per week. -Scarlet


C-8: Questions

My entire evening and early morning were consumed with research. I scoured the database for information on Force-sensitive individuals and the battle between Dark and Light.

The texts that I read painted a gruesome picture of the Light Side—the old Jedi Order. They fought to undo order and bring chaos to the galaxy. They suppressed their emotions and emphasized a life without pleasure or feeling. They indoctrinated children to their will and forced them to fight for disorder. Fortunately, the Jedi Order was wiped out some sixty years ago by the Dark Side.

The Sith Lords, consequently, were the masters of the Dark Side. Their quest for ultimate order and peace was carried out by two powerful beings—a master and an apprentice. The texts emphasized the conversion of Anakin Skywalker (a familiar name of lore), who became Darth Vader, apprentice to Darth Sidious. These last two Sith Lords were killed in the destruction of the old Empire's superweapon, the Deathstar.

I had yet to learn much of anything about current events regarding the Dark and the Light. Through my training I had learned that Kylo Ren was an apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke, but information on the latter was practically nonexistent. I knew on instinct alone that Snoke and Ren were strong with the Dark Side. Was the Light truly extinct?

Rubbing my temples, I finally sat on my bed. I glanced at my half-eaten dinner and felt my stomach give a hollow groan. Breakfast would be delivered by droid soon, and my first routine practice was scheduled in two hours. I mentally debated the importance of sleep over food. Sleep won.

I was leaving for practice just as breakfast was being delivered. Opting out of the bulky Stormtrooper armor, I wore my officer's uniform just as Vegas had done the day before. On a gamble, I left the cap behind.

As I walked down the hall toward the speed lift, I noticed a service droid opening Kylo Ren's door with its input cable. It buzzed inside just as I passed by, and I couldn't resist catching a glimpse through the open door.

It only lasted half a second. Through a cracked door within , I could see a sliver of dark hair and the briefest glimpse of human skin. I sucked in a breath and doubled my pace down the hall. Kylo Ren was human—or at least looked human.

I told myself I already knew that and tried not to dwell on it. I pressed the button for Level 22 rather than 20. I tried to get off when someone entered at 21 as the lift went back up.

The shooting range was not empty, and I guessed that they scheduled several practice times together. Fortunately, the system in place was similar to the testing one downstairs. I began target practice with a shoulder blaster, trying not to flush too much whenever I missed a shot.

The empty lane next to me booted to life, and I immediately considered moving to another lane. I stole an awkward glance and met eyes with Vegas. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"Caltrel," he greeted curtly, raising a hand blaster.

I looked away with embarrassment on my cheeks, and cleared my throat to squeak, "Vegas."

He was a sharpshooter. I tried to take comfort in the fact that he seemed too focused to even notice my 50:50 hit and miss ratio. After some minutes of silence, I heard him clear his throat.

"That was some mission yesterday," he said in a casual tone. "I heard that even Hux was impressed."

I felt myself smile with pride even as my mind pictured the half-written report on my datapad. "It was," I agreed, not sure what to say.

"That's hard to come by—impressing Hux," he said, and I glanced over to find a smirk. "Ren does it often enough." His hit ratio was 100:0.

My mind snapped back to Kylo Ren. "Do you work with him often?" I asked, trying to force a casual tone. It didn't work.

I felt Vegas' eyes on me as I raised my rifle, and my finger trembled on the trigger. Thank the gods I made the next shot. "I've been on recon for almost a year now," Vegas replied. "That's longer than most last."

Remembering Bach's complaints of frequently rotating officers, I imagined that Kylo Ren was a difficult commander to please. I was suddenly impressed by Vegas. "How did you manage that?" I asked, intending to make it a joke.

"Hard work," Vegas answered. He caught my gaze in the corner of his eye. "Being there, and being ready. Following orders without asking questions."

His tone was so serious that I took a moment to absorb the advice. I nodded after a moment, focusing back on my shooting.

"Ambitious, Caltrel?" he jabbed.

I missed the next simulated target, and forced a short laugh. "No, not really." My mind added, more like trapped.

Seeming to sense my train of thought, he didn't ask any more questions. He already knew why I was here, and why I had joined reconnaissance. A full minute passed without words, and I bit my lip when I realized that I'd missed an opportunity to ask him about himself.

The system then notified me that my thirty minutes of practice time was complete. Counting myself lucky that it wasn't an hour like I'd thought, I said goodbye to Vegas and was met with a surprisingly warm smile. I felt myself smile as I walked away—it was the first time I actually felt welcome in the First Order.

As I walked back to my room, I felt even more regret about not speaking with Vegas more. I wanted to ask him about Kylo Ren and Snoke and the Dark Side. Or was I too embarrassed to show my interest about our superior?

I felt my steps automatically slow as I passed by Ren's quarters, until they stopped entirely a few paces away. He had said to ask him again after our next mission. When would that be? And what exactly had I asked him? The memory was blurred too much by the training droids comment.

I suddenly had the undeniable urge to knock on his door and ask him. I felt my hand turn into a fist at the thought—there was no possible way I could go through such an embarrassing act. I was a corporal, one of many that he'd seen come and go from his team. He didn't care about my questions.

After I found that I was in no mood to finish my report to Phasma—she probably got hundreds of reports per day anyway—I realized that I had an obsession. Another search through the database sat at my fingers, showing me archives that I'd already viewed twice. Even so, I scanned through the "Kylo Ren" text just in case I missed something.

I spent the next hour reading about the Knights of Ren and their mysterious ties to Supreme Leader Snoke. All other members besides Kylo Ren didn't have entries in the database. Was I the only one who was curious about these individuals?

My communicator pulled me out of my research. It beeped incessantly, and I realized with a gulp that it was probably Captain Phasma. I pressed the green pad and raised my wrist.

"Caltrel," I answered.

"This is Phasma." I winced. "Sergeant Bach informs me that you are responsible for his mission report from yesterday."

"Yes, ma'am." I floundered, trying to think of an excuse. "It's almost finished," I said lamely.

"See to it, Caltrel. Reports are due within twelve hours for future reference. Phasma out."

Needless to say, the report was finished within twenty minutes. Bach had told me to write about how the mission went and my impression of it. I chose my words carefully when it came to the Rodian's execution. After rereading it, I exchanged the word "shocked" for "surprised."

I practically scurried to Phasma's office. When I saw that she was inside, I decided to leave the datacube on the file cabinet by the door rather than inside.

"Corporal," snapped her metallic voice from the desk. I looked at her through the glass, hoping that it had just been an acknowledgement. "Enter," she ordered, sounding almost bored.

I stepped inside like a scolded child. "Yes, Captain?" I saluted.

"At ease," she said, still reading whatever was on her terminal. "Ren debriefed me on your mission. I want to hear what you thought of it."

Pulling out the datacube, I placed it on an empty space at her cluttered desk. "Here's my report—"

"Thank you," she said curtly. "I would also like to hear your impression first-hand." She turned her silver helmet toward me finally, folding her hands expectantly.

The sudden scrutiny raised my nerves. "It was—very good. Our approach was efficient. We retrieved the information we needed without much trouble."

Phasma nodded. "Ren told me you were nervous," she said, pausing to watch my reaction.

I felt my pulse speed up like it had during the mission, and my throat felt dry. "I was," I admitted.

"Did you feel prepared for the mission?" she pressed.

I nodded, trying to find the words. "I did, until—well, until things went unexpectedly."

She seemed to understand, and then her voice lowered as she said, "Ren meant to test you. I believe that you passed."

Taking in the statement, I felt a mix of relief and anxiety. I mulled over my response for a moment. "I'm glad I met expectations," I said weakly.

"Very good. I should expect you to receive more assignments to the reconnaissance team," she said, returning to her terminal. "Carry on, then."

I saluted once more, but felt my feet stay in their place. I didn't want to miss two opportunities in one day. As a woman, I felt fairly comfortable speaking with Phasma, even if she did hold authority over every Stormtrooper in the First Order.

"Captain, may I ask you something?"

She was typing something into her terminal with practiced fingers. "Of course," she intoned.

I hesitated over my first question. "The database says that Kylo Ren is a member of the Knights of Ren. What are they?"

Phasma's typing faltered for only half a second. "The Knights of Ren are agents of the First Order that answer directly to Supreme Leader Snoke. They are servants of the Dark Side."

"So, they are all Force-sensitive?"

The typing stopped, and I sensed a bit of annoyance in the captain's tone. "I have not seen the other Knights myself, but I would assume so. Caltrel, I prefer military tactics over sorcery. When our agendas align, I tolerate it." She looked up and I felt her eyes narrow on me. "I would advise you to feel the same."

I nodded, feeling as though I had overstepped. As I dismissed myself, disappointment bubbled in my chest.

I still had questions.