The New Republic and the corruption of Ideals. Prequel to Iyov.
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My name is Belr Jet'rik, and I once was a slave to the Empire.
Six months ago, I lived on a harsh, unlivable world as a miner for industrial grade metals, the child of convicts who had borne me and then died. Every day, I would get up before the cold light of day and go to sleep far into the night. There was little food, no medicine, and much suffering.
Dozens died each month.
One day, a man came among us, a Devaronian felon sentenced to fifteen years for insulting an Imperial officer. He told us…many things. The Emperor was losing control. His 'Death Star' had been destroyed by the Rebels, and the Rebels were beginning to take ground. More importantly, he told us we had the right to liberty, the right to choose our fate.
The next day, someone ratted him out. He was hung without a trial, his bloated body a warning for all to see. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect on the prison population. A man named Borsk Fey'lya began speaking of our rights as sentient beings. He spoke in the shadows, spread rumors among the guards, kowtowed by day and agitated by night – but he still spoke.
I was the first to join his Kinshatar Rebellion.
My name is Belr Jet'rik, and I am soldier for liberty, for freedom, for equality.
You can just call me Sergeant Jet'rik of Alliance, though.
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My name is Varn, and I am a slave.
I was born on an agricultural planet in the Core, where most of the land is owned by a small class aristocratic elite, and is worked by a vast, seething mass of serfs. My parents were serfs to Lord Echinbay, our Senator for the sector. From the time I was five to fifteen, I worked in the ivitu/i fields with them, digging the tubers out of the frozen ground in the winter and planting the seeds in the mud of the summer. I did not learn how to read and write, did not receive any money for my work, and could not leave the estate under pain of death.
Once, a man ran away. I saw his body three days later, torn apart by nekk battle dogs and spread out in front of the housing compound for all to see.
When I was twelve, invaders entered the galaxy. We heard only rumors of this, though – serfs don't need to know such stuff. When I was fifteen, I was forcibly drafted into the New Republic army with every other male between the ages of 13 and 60. My father and I were separated and sent into different units. I was trained as an infantryman.
The sky of this unnamed world glows unnaturally. Soon, the 'vong will be upon us, and we will fight. I am fighting not because I am a citizen, not because I can vote and speak and do what I wish. I am fighting because I am a slave.
My name is Varn, and I am a soldier for the New Republic.
You can just call me by my true name, though: slave.