Rain poured down washing the grime of the road away into the sewage downs. John stared aimlessly at the torrential rain of the storm, hearing the crackling of thunder in the distance, while kept dry beneath the canopy of the recruiting station he lingered outside leaning on the wall. The windows were dark, much like the sky was until the first rays of sunlight from the morning dawn shone through the cracks between the clouds. The growling of his stomach broke his attention from the weather to himself, realizing he forgot to eat yesterday. Strangely, the gnawing in his stomach brought a small measure of peace to the young man for at least it kept him rooted in reality instead of drifting away into another daydream. John breathed a sigh of relief, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets to keep the chill at bay, and watched a familiar speeder appear where the road met the horizon. The sleek dark machine tore through the empty urban sprawl, the impatience of the driver evident in his driving style, until it parked outside the station. The officer leapt out of his seat with keys in hand, and ran through the rain trying best to shield his uniform from the worst of the storm.
"Ordered the officer stationed here to open early. I'll need to discipline the scumbag," the towering officer commented while trying each one of the keys on his chain to the rusty lock. After seven tries, he finally found the right one and pushed the door open ushering the young man inside before him.
"Hopefully the paperwork will be finished by the time he arrives," John said following the officer into one of the offices in the back.
"Sounds like you and Lieutenant Donnen need to be reminded of what discipline means," the imperial officer grabbed a file from a cabinet but kept it in his hands out of reach of John, "Did you follow my orders Amos?"
"Yes sir. Spoke with the last of the family across the planet. Every loose end is attended to," John paused for a moment considering the last time he refrained from saying all he wanted, "...Thanks, Velour. For seeing this through to the end. Might have ended poorly without your guidance."
"Don't mention it kid," Lieutenant Velour placed the file down on the table and opened it before glancing up at Amos. The officer gave him one of his rare smiles, "It's good some of my buddies from the Academy were assigned to the recruiting otherwise I'd be no help to you."
The officer sat at the desk, peering over the details of the folder with keen eyes, mumbling under his breath at the absurdity of the backwater planet's inability to have the infrastructure for a reliable digitized network to store the local garrison's work in. John shifted nervously in the chair watching the officer sort through the details of the contract edited in the weeks prior by the aforementioned Lieutenant Donnen. The young man had pressed the disgruntled officer into making a few concessions to him by appealing to the man's inflated sense of pride and his own want to find the rebels responsible for inciting unrest across the sector. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Velour knew the officer well and might have suspected the possibility of an irregularity. After flipping through a dozen pages the man paused, and went back until finding the text which caught him as odd. Displeased, the imperial looked up from the desk to stare the young man in the eyes.
"Thought I was clear. Your contract will not make you an applicant to any stormtrooper legion. You'll serve in the Imperial Army like the rest of them."
"Lieutenant Donnen thought my aim and loyalty was unwavering enough to consider me. I want to hunt the rebellion, not sit and wait for it to come. My father would want this," John claimed, refusing to back down although he knew the point moot.
"You are either breed for the legions in the clone vats or you are personally selected from the army regiments. The applications are only for renowned soldiers like heroes from the Clone Wars or exemplary mercenaries. The stormtroopers are the best and need the rest. You are a farmboy lacking basic training. Understand?" Velour asked with an unyielding certainty evident in his strong voice. Summoning the droid attendant waiting silently, the contract was taken away for shredding.
"Yes sir," John watched the droid leaving with the contract along with his best chance at having justice. The farm boy knew the chances were dismal, but the words of Velour raised a new hope in his heart. Exemplary service leading to hand-selection for the legions.
The imperial officer glanced from the young man to the rising dawn outside the window. The rain had stopped. Wisps of clouds were scattered across the bronze sky gently drifting above the land below. To Velour, the clouds resembled those same plums of smoke rising to form their own wisps on the dawn he found the broken man strewn outside the boy's home. Velour could tell from looking at Amos that the mind of the young man was scrambling for another plan. Velour placed no fault on Amos for it was only natural to search for revenge after such a crime. Still, the officer knew he couldn't remain idle and let the want of revenge consume the one in front of him. Clearing his voice to speak and get John's attention away from his own internal thoughts, Velour began to speak only for an unexpected guest to interrupt him.
"So you are going through with it?" Donnen knocked on the door as he briskly walked between the two and around to where he could peer over the Lieutenant's shoulder, "This should at least prove interesting."
"No, the kid isn't going to waste his time. Nor the Empire's resources," Lieutenant Velour shot back without bothering to look at him, "Amos will join the regiments of this sector's army. The training will prove valuable to him. There is plenty for a farmer to learn before fighting a war."
"Maybe. But the story of a farmer making it in the legion is a good one to tell in an otherwise dull job. Let him try," Donnen mock pleaded with the hint of a laugh behind his words. John silently sat watching the two, unsure of what he should say.
"No. I want him to succeed. Troopers like him will keep the Empire strong. Make the rebels shake in their boots," Velour turned to John and looked at him with honesty in his eyes, "You'll do fine. I promise you. Have a little faith in me."
"Lighten up Velour! Let's see how the womp rat does in the field," Donnen remarked jokingly while clasping the Lieutenant's shoulder.
"Remember your composure," Velour shrugged the man's hand off and scolded him.
"There's the classic ISB sense of superiority. Still think you are better than the rest of us?" Donnen tried to feign a smirk at his former classmate in the Academy.
"There's no speculation involved. Your loud mouth got you thrown to a backwater station. Leave us," Lieutenant Velour unwavering stare bore into the juvenile officer. Donnen lingered for a moment weighing his options before escorting himself out of the room.
"I'll join the Imperial Forces. I'll prove myself in the ground forces regardless of where in this sector my regiment is deployed. You will hear of me again," John promised the officer sitting across from him.
"Fantastic. The rebels won't stand a chance against that fiery spirit," Velour extended a hand out to John, who shook it with resolve in his eyes.
…
The confidence Velour inspired in the cadet helped the young man find the strength to sign his life to the empire, and he would need it for the training ahead of him. The long days of training spent hiking the crushing weight of the kit around the forests of the training complex in the outskirts of Rovae's agricultural districts at times threatened to extinguish the spirit within his pained body. Even worse, every time a fellow cadet fell to the ground limp from exhaustion or beat by the Sergeants overseeing their daily training a part of John wished he joined the cadet laying in the dirt. Only the memory of his father sharing a meal with him in a far gone past or of the Lieutenant sending him off with greater confidence than Amos knew his surviving family had, kept his limbs moving forward.
Every brawl he won in that damned forest, every shot from his rifle landing center of target, every day he survived meant Amos was ever-closer to fighting the rebels terrorizing the galaxy. The young man could feel it in his stride, the strength of his fist or by the increasing accuracy of his rifle that he was growing stronger. Strong enough not only to fight the rebels for the sake of his lost family and empire, but to win. A chance to put an end to the madness threatening to turn the stable galaxy to chaos. The first step was to survive basic training and reach the ground forces of the sector. Eventually, he would become like the Trooper who saved his life years ago.
The morale Amos felt for serving his empire dampened when the final weeks of training integrated the volunteers with the conscripts. Serving as an integral component of the infantry, in numbers comparable to the enlisted, conscripts experienced similar training to his own; the difference lay in their attitude. A sense of despair, lack of heart or any will to survive to the next meal, embroiled the conscripts. During any unit movement, Amos and his brethren were always slowed by the conscripts dawdling in the back of the formation, hesitant at times to even take a single step forward. Forced to serve by some threat, each reason unique to the man whether it be from arrest or other offense to the empire, Amos felt sympathy for the pathetic lot of soldiers. Moreover, his discontent with fighting alongside them overrode those prongs of sympathy softening him. Their poor morale, lack of coordination and skill could mean the death of him and his brethren should they see combat. The conscripts turned the formidable platoon Amos spent months training with into a mass of cannon fodder. More than sympathy or discontent, it was disgust which forced him out of anger to grip his rifle until the knuckles were white and fingers numb every mock patrol. Naturally, in the final weeks of training the enlisted and conscripts learned to hate one another.
When the time came for his platoon to graduate, no officers intervened when a brawl broke between the two parties during their final meal together. In the chaotic melee of men and women, John found himself unable to fight the conscripts or restrain his friends. Instead, he faded into the background until the fight died. During the next morning soldiers from all platoons and of all companies loaded into shuttles bound for stations across the vast sector, John breathed a sigh of relief that no one else from his unit stepped foot on the same shuttle. Each soldier was bound for wherever the empire deemed fit, and the training units were intentionally broken up and sent different ways. While John watched the boarding ramp of the shuttle lift, he hoped the separation would help him remain himself. He knew the prior months changed him, seared memories of bloodied conscripts on the ground proved it, and maybe a fresh start would bring back whatever he lost.
Four days of travel, half of it spent sitting in dock waiting for refueling and performing endless roll calls by the shuttle officers, and too little sleep pushed John, and the rest of the hundreds traveling packed tightly with him in the dozens of shuttles, to the brink of delirious by sleep deprivation. At each port they stopped at, when everyone disembarked and marched to formation in the hangar bay, John could hear bits of the imperial news from a distant holonet recorder. Hearing of the empire progressively taming the feral parts of the galaxy left too long neglected by its predecessor put a spring in the soldier's step, but that motivation was constrained by the lack of knowledge the soldier possessed of his duty station. John flew to the planet of Lomont, which he gathered lingered along the rim of the sector in a too often forgotten system known for nothing, and he hoped more awaited him than endless pointless patrols in the wilderness or urban sprawl. The private wanted something more than that; an opportunity to honor his father and the Trooper who once saved them both. The dreams seemed distant at the moment.
Throughout the journey one by one the shuttles parted from the main body for their own ports. Eventually, there were only those bound for Lomont. On the last jump to hyperspace John felt uneasy as the shuttle shook abnormally coming out of hyperspace. When they entered the system proper, a TIE patrol personally escorted the new blood for the imperial garrison. After passing by a gas giant, each soldier saw Lomont for the first time. Though a small planet with an equally small imperial station in orbit, the scene was still breathtaking to those who spent their last week fantasizing about the place. With no major storms or other features from the atmosphere, it appeared a lazily peaceful place with oceans but no signs of deserts.
When the imperial shuttles docked in the orbiting station along with their TIE escort, only the fortunate few stationed in the comfort of the station left the ships for their new unit. John, and the rest of the infantry, sat idle until the call came for the ships to take off again. Leaving the station for the planet below, the shuttles lurched into the atmosphere shaking from the intrusion. Under the black gloves of his uniform, John's knuckles turned white from gripping the harness forcing him into place. When the shaking finally stopped, the shuttle broke from the others destined for the detachment where his future unit sat entrenched watching over the quiet planet.
The land beneath the shuttle was crimson from the abundant wild grasses growing across the rolling hills in all directions. The longer the ride lasted, the more convinced John was that Lomont was a planet of endless steppes. Soil too poor for agriculture and scarce rare minerals to mine, combined to erase the memory of the planet from the minds of any potential investors or settlers. Few towns with urban sprawl passed beneath them as the shuttle sped onwards, but after passing one such city the ship came to a half until settling in a small imperial base centered within the minor metropolis.
When the transport touched the landing pad all the buckles of the harnesses came off. John and the other dozens of men packed into the glorified stuffy metal box disembarked at the urging of the shouting officer ordering them off the ship. Marching forward, the bright rays of daylight from the blue giant star of the system temporarily blinding him, John and the other soldiers entered the unknown.