The lands of Rovae were prosperous ones. One of the renowned bread baskets of the mid-rim held beautiful gently rolling hills with golden grain so far as one could see anywhere one might go on the massive planet. The scenic sights were free from urban sprawl or industries the Senator and Governor seats built their legacy on resisting. For John Amos, this meant his memories of childhood were quite boring with little distinction between years spent tending to the crops under the sun and exploring the family's land after dusk, one day seemingly identical to any other. To the father who raised him, and to John only after leaving, it meant a peaceful respite from the turmoil of a galaxy ravaged in the Clone Wars. Only later in life did his father distract him from the holonet with ridiculous stories and an endless tirade of bad jokes out of kindness rather than foolishness. However, for a child growing up with the tales of heroic Clone Troopers defending a seemingly hopeless Republic against masses of droids, too often John thought his father a fool at best or a coward at worst.
Regardless of whether his father was right to isolate John from the unraveling galaxy in which his son would inevitably have to live with, his efforts were in vain. When the Clone Wars neared an end, a savage raid was launched by Separatists determined to starve the Clones of their rations rather than face the might of the Republic. Bombers descended from the stars to lay waste to the idyllic agrarian deployed carriers unleashed swarms of droids. John would forever distinctly remember the terror he felt as a child in the arms of his father while they ran to the shelter with the other families. Friends he knew since birth fell to indiscriminate blaster fire.
However, he also would distinctly remember it was not the Jedi who saved him but selfless troopers landing amidst a hot zone for the sake of the citizens they were sworn to protect. A Trooper leapt on top of John and his father shielding them from fire. The trooper died, but they lived. That night John remembered watching the news. The bold efforts of the clone troopers were honored little compared to the Jedi Master who escorted the Senator in safety to Coruscant. Neither ever saw the raiders, or felt their brutality. The Trooper who fell for the sake of him and his father was forgotten, but the Jedi Master honored by the Senate.
For years afterwards traumatic nightmares would haunt John. Tossing and turning in bed seeing the destruction of his home, solace only came when the troopers leapt from the gunship to the muddy field before. A lingering feeling, perhaps closest to that of an unpayable debt, hurt John when he woke in the morning. On one such morning, he woke to his father calling out to him from the porch overlooking their fields. The half-asleep young man tumbled out of bed throwing on a pair of overalls before stumbling down the stairwell to seize the day. His father, with a widening grin stretching ear to ear, steadied the young man before he fell.
"Learn to properly wake yourself before charging ahead!" the father scolded his son with greater amusement than reprimand in his tone of voice, "And washing your face first would be a good idea."
"My face is covered with the muck of the field before noon. Does the dirt care how clean I am?" John grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes, before taking the keys from his father's outstretched hands. The young man followed his old man to where their tractors lay side-by-side.
"Are you too mighty to hear the opinion of dirt? Best remember from where you came before letting pride choose your words," father said.
The old man grabbed the rusty metal of the ladder and began climbing. When he reached the seat and gently turned the key, the hunk of metal purred to life. The repulsors sputtered during its first breaths, then lifted the machine a few meters until its metal appendages beneath the main body unfolded, prepared to spread the loaded fertilizer onto the field below. Father put on his reading glasses, peering at the controls and then looked over to his son. John, a few steps behind him, strapped into the seat of the opposing tractor.
"Meet you in the middle by dusk!" John shouted over the ignition of the engine and machine coming to life. John couldn't hear his father over the repulsors but saw his mouth move and a thumbs up. Satisfied, he tilted the control stick forward.
The tractor pushed forward until slowly falling from the platform of the homestead to the fields it oversaw. The aged tractor lurched landing on the ground below, the repulsors roaring to life and would have thrown the farmer from the chair if the strap failed. All the land to the distant silos belonged to the family, and so was their responsibility to tend. John found a special honor in their work often dismissed by offworlders. A good job meant more families fed, and a poor job meant another hungry soul somewhere in the galaxy.
Today, the job was a relaxing one. A bright sun shone through a sky void of clouds and a gentle breeze kept John from sweating beneath it. Weeks ago the grain was harvested and stored in silos, leaving only a barren expanse which the young man could make good time fertilizing by gliding over with the tractor. He kept an eye on the gauges carefully to keep a low power output to the repulsors, so as not to disturb the already ploughed ground beneath. Glancing at the cracked mirrors to check the fertilized ground he rode past, he felt satisfied with the fast progress but a slight regret stirred within him. After years of sacrifice the Clone Wars had come to a victorious end for the Empire, and he remained stuck in the mud of Rovae while others followed the examples of the Clones to risk their lives bringing peace to a distraught galaxy. John knew it was foolish to waste time fretting, but he had too much time along with his thoughts as the tractor glided across the farm.
When the distant sight of his father appeared on the horizon, the sun was already dipping from the sky. John nudged the throttle forward forcing the tired machine to hasten its pace. The setting sun threatened to bring an end to the day before he could finish. Fortunately, his father being the mastermind of the family managed to fertilize both his share and join his son's effort. By the time the twilight of dusk fell on the planet, John was parked alongside his father watching the old man fill the quiet land with a bellowing laugh.
"Caught daydreaming again, huh? You have the creativity of your mother. Just try to focus a little tomorrow, otherwise you might slip off and bust a hip like I did," father advised before sliding down the ladder with a small tin box in one hand. Opening the lid, he gave his son a sandwich fat enough to make him smile ear-to-ear. After taking a bite, John raised his hand with the sandwich to the sky like a champion raising a prized trophy.
"That could only be Nuna meat. You're the best chef planetside. Sometimes I wish we opened a diner, if only to brag a little when outsiders visited."
"And go bankrupt from you eating all our stock?" his father handed his son another sandwich before taking a bite of his own.
"Who cares for credits? Imagine having the honor of having the best known kitchen in town," John, ferociously hungry from a day spent under the sun, took one bite too fast. Coughing, John swore he heard his old man snicker before patting him on the back.
"Suppose I care. Speaking of credits, tomorrow I'll take the speeder to town. Gotta arrange a few deals for the recent harvest. Sleep in past dawn. You earned a day off," his father said. After they both finished dinner, John rose and gave a hand helping raise his father to his feet.
"Strange, you tend to not let me rest. A fresh crop of weeds might grow by this time tomorrow," John knelt to the ground and found the tiniest sprout after brushing a bit of dirt to the side.
"Only when there is work to be done. We are ahead of schedule, and I want you to relax. There aren't many times in this galaxy when a man can sit back. You'll learn when you're older," his father reassured him, squeezing his son's shoulder before letting go to climb up to the canopy of the tractor. The old man peered down at his son, "Now start that engine! Any later in the night and someone will be crashing into the silo. Again."
"Aye. Wouldn't want anyone to embarrass himself," John grasped the rusty rungs and pulled himself up the ladder of his ride. After it purred to life, he gave his old man a thumbs-up. Repulsors thrust his father forward, with John following in the wake of the tractor gliding over the fields.
Not a single moon lay in orbit around Rovae. The nights were utterly dark with the distant stars in the sky dimmed by the strong atmosphere, and so John found himself wishing for a bright moon when driving in the night. Only the lights of his father's vehicle guided him, and eventually the distant landing lights of where their homestead flew above the ground below. When they left the ground to reach the landing pad above, fear gripped John. Years ago the raids which scarred his family and the planet began on a night just as dark as this one. Yet, the young man heard the distant sound of his father laughing ahead of him. Not a condescending laugh but an honest one. Again grounded in reality, John finished the ascent and parked beside his father. After tossing the keys to him for safekeeping, John left for his room. Too tired to shower off the muck, he fell asleep on top of the covers of the bed.
Despite tossing and turning, John remained asleep until late in the morning waking peacefully to have no memories of the same guilt-ridden dream that plagued him so often. Relieved, he yawned and remained in bed for a little while wondering how to spend the unexpected holiday. Eventually, he tore himself out from under the cozy blanket and went to the kitchen heating cold leftovers from last week. While he stood there waiting for his meal to warm, he remembered the house was empty aside from himself. The odd silence of the house was comforting, and enjoyed the brief respite from a usually hectic season. Switching on the holonet, the Imperial News droned on in the background while he munched on the half-boiling, half-frozen meat until stumbling over to the couch. Resting on the cushions, John felt more tired than he was last night. Within moments the young man closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep no matter the brightness of the sun shining on him through the windows. Not even the chilling breeze from the open window could stir him.
John slept all through the day, until a loud banging startled him awake. Shocked, he accidentally rolled off the couch onto the floor. Picking himself up, a dazed young farmer raised his hands to block the bright light of a speeder's headlights beaming through the house. Stumbling forwards, he pushed the front door open to greet the unexpected guests. At first blinded by the light, his eyesight slowly recovered until he recognized the leader of the small crowd outside the house.
"Adrisa? What is with the crowd? Did something happen to the farm?" John asked, still half-blind and confused from the abrupt end to his sleep.
"Your father home yet?" she peeked over his shoulders at the dark and empty house behind. Adrisa, a neighbor for so long as he could recall, acted as if their families were strangers. Unsettled by her, John stepped onto the porch closing the door behind him.
"No. You know it's the time of season for hunt contracts at the port. The harvest won't sell itself."
"That's the problem kid," Adrisa recoiled from him, repulsed. Every word she spoke was laced with venom, "John, the Amos family is getting tangled with some bad people. Your father is selling to the Imperials at a discount."
"We can sell to who we want. We were clear with you all last season when this came up," John now addressed the small gathering of farmers as well as his neighbor. His concern gave way to frustration.
"Don't make me reprimand you. Our family have been friends for generations," Adrisa said with her hands on her hips and without patience.
"Step away from my son," demanded a familiar voice arriving from a speeder breaking through the dark night. The old speeder, headlights broken, seemingly appeared from nowhere as it slowly landed from above. The crowd at least had the respect to wait until Amos stepped out of it. He wasted no time ridiculing them, "You'd scold us for feeding the mouths that keep the raiders away? That brought peace to a collapsing Republic betrayed by its own? I am proud the Imperials are taking the grain tomorrow."
"You are an idiot Amos. I'd listen to Imperial News if I wanted to hear its propaganda. This is your last warning. Hold your grain like the rest of us," Adrisa met the old man blocking his path to the house. The tense air between them stretched to everyone there. John took a short breath. Finally, she moved to the side, allowing his father to walk ahead.
"Those 'Boys in White' saved all of us. Adrisa, your anger is getting the better of your judgment. Sleep on it. We can talk another day," Amos said, offering peace to his friend.
"We will. And trust me, it'll be a long talk," Adrisa backed off from the porch waving for her followers to do the same.
John stood with his father on the porch until the last of them left their home disappearing into the night. The two stood in silence for some time, until his father led him inside, bolting the door locked behind them. Inside, Father scratched his ruffled beard while his son waited.
"Get some sleep. I have paperwork to read through. Tomorrow will be busy," the old man breathed a deep sigh and took his reading glasses out of its pocket.
When his father went to his desk to read through the long hours of the night, John couldn't force himself up the stairs. Close to his father, John laid on the couch staring up at the ceiling. Thinking of what Adrisa said, he turned the Holo Net on. Instead of muting the news, he committed every word of the broadcaster to his memory. Every single word etched into his mind until exhausted and fatigued it fell asleep.
John was accustomed to a certain feeling of helplessness in his dreams, a feeling of despair only staved off when a Trooper arrived to fight whatever harassed him. The dark green markings on the otherwise pristine white armor had become a comforting sight to the young man, but tonight the Clone was gone and John was alone.
A muddy field covered with a dense fog surrounded him. Only barren land surrounded leaving the young man utterly alone. Taking a step forward, the mud clung to his boot dragging him down. Luckily, he caught himself before burying his face in the dark mud. Yet, John realized when he stared down at the small puddle beneath him amongst the contours of the muddy ground, he was no longer a man but again a child. Tears dripped from his eyes to the puddle before. The tears broke the still water, sending small ripples across the puddle. John knew the Separatist raiders ruined their land, and all he knew were lying somewhere in the mud of their own fields dying or dead.
At his weakest moment, when he wanted nothing but to fall onto the ground beneath him, a strong, yet gentle, hand picked John up. A handkerchief wiped the tears from his face and a dirt-caked hand bruised the gunk off him. John opened his eyes, and Father stood before him smiling. The galaxy might be ravaged, but his spirit was unbroken.
The scene abruptly vanished when a violent explosion tore John from his dream and rattled the house. Panicking and caught off-guard, John tried to roll off the couch but stumbled falling onto the carpet. Another explosion rocked his home, and the wall ahead of John burnt a vibrant crimson.
"Get out!" hollered the voice of his old man from behind. Father's voice rattled as much as the house did. John tried to stand but his legs were too weak, so the old man practically threw him with one hand gripping the back of his shirt. John forced himself forward into the hallway. Before the door, a falling piece of debris caught him on the shoulder knocking him down again. Father, behind his son, dragged his son forward a few steps and kicked the door wide open. Amos used all his strength to throw his son forward as burning rafters crashed down perilously close. Lying on the ground, John looked back at the blaze engulfing the door. After a terrifying moment, Father burst through still alive. John took a deep breath of air. Before he could thank Father, the old man stepped forward and a blaster round struck his chest. Another and another laser struck him. Father toppled over.
A shriek cut through the deafening roaring flames and collapsing home, and the hearts of the rebels who wished to believe they were justified razing the homestead of the imperial loyalists. The sight of a crying man crawling along the ground to where his father lay still on the ground raised doubts in the hearts of even the most zealous, but their reservations remained silent and some drove off to plant the explosives on the silos.
Of those who remained, they quelled their unease by tossing additional thermal imploders to finish the job. The explosions tore the remnants of the home, causing it to collapse in a heap of ash and smoke. The two rebels then turned to where the son crouched over his father holding the old man's head in his lap. The first man yanked John backwards, and kicked the still father until the body rolled several feet away. The second man restrained the young man while his companion emptied the cartridge of his blaster into Amos.
"Imperial filth!," the rebel, ashes mixed in with his scruffy beard, with eyes of hatred illuminated by the roaring flames, struck John with the butt of his rifle. John slammed into the ground semiconscious. While he lay there drifting into a hazy nightmare the rebel's words etched into his mind, "Your family betrayal's cost lives. Maybe the credits the Imperials gave will give you comfort."
…
Hours passed. When John first began to stir it wasn't the shearing pain of where his skin burnt horrifically or the pounding headache which tormented him, but the pure white-hot anger coursing through him. A clenched first struck the ground, and where the bloodied knuckles struck tears dripped down alongside them. Lost to reality, John only shook himself of the haze fogging his thoughts when a hand rested on his back.
"We will find them, and justice will scourge them. Don't despair kid. The Empire is good for its word, " promised an unyielding voice from behind him. John turned to see a towering man with intensity in his eyes to match his own determination, standing as a symbol of order and hope in an impeccable officer uniform. Amidst the destruction around John, he knew this officer would be good for his word. John decided his path at that moment.