It felt like hours before someone came to my cell and released me. I didn't care. I passed the time by walking around and examining every centimeter of my space. Once I even caught myself humming subconsciously.
A Stormtrooper eventually opened the door and gestured me out into the corridor. He motioned for me to follow him, no manhandling or restraints in sight. He had a blaster strapped to his hip and wore a red shoulder guard.
"I'm taking you to examination and placement."
I gulped. "What's that?"
He shrugged. "School, basically."
Reassured, I let go of the breath I was holding. "Alright."
"Oh, yeah. Take this," he said, unbuttoning a pouch on his belt. He handed me a small package of some kind. "It'll hold you over until dinner."
The words "nutrition supplement" were written on it, causing my lost appetite to return with a vengeance. I felt warmed by the small act of kindness. "Thank you," I said.
He nodded silently.
I nibbled on the dense protein supplement as we stood on a speed lift. We descended rapidly, so rapidly I felt my head spin, until we reached the twenty-second floor. If we were underground as I suspected, I estimated we were at least eighty meters below ground.
We entered a shockingly massive room. About a hundred young men and women sat in front of computer terminals that lined half the room. The other half appeared to be a shooting range of some kind. Chattering filled the space as the students spoke into their headsets. They all wore the same gray jumpsuit as me, and, strangely, they were all human. I glanced back when I realized the Stormtrooper had stopped.
"Find an open terminal and use the headgear," he told me. "The computer will do the rest."
"Alright," I said, feeling a flutter of nerves at the thought of being left alone. "C—Can you tell me something?"
The Trooper wheeled back around, his posture impatient.
"Um..." I licked my lips. "Am I going to be a Stormtrooper?"
I heard a breath of air filter through the helmet. He pointed to the computers. "Go find out."
My eyes went to the trainees, all of whom were much younger than me. Some stole curious glances in my direction. When I looked back, the Stormtrooper was gone. I took a deep breath and marched toward the empty row of terminals at the back of the room. Exchanging my half-eaten package with the headset, I took a seat and placed it on my head.
A holographic interface appeared on the glass visor before my eyes.
"Welcome to examination and placement, FN-3138," a computerized voice said in my ears. "Your classification is volunteer and your rank is null. Please provide your birth name and serial number."
"Um..." My eyes crossed as I tried to locate the microphone near my mouth. "Lucia Caltrel. And, um..."
The computer paused as it processed my input. "Your serial number is 295880699-2."
I subconsciously patted my clothes for a datapad.
"You have no further records in our database. Place your right arm on the armrest at a ninety-degree angle."
Blinking in confusion, I propped my elbow on the armrest. A metal band suddenly closed around my upper arm, and I gasped. An air pump whirred as a cuff inflated around my arm, cutting off my circulation. A slender robotic arm extended from the end of the armrest and sprayed an alcohol-based solution on the bulging veins in my hand. Then a needle appeared.
I jerked my head to the side, wincing as it extracted a blood sample. When the computer abruptly continued, I shook my head to clear my racing thoughts.
"Initiating indoc training—Starkiller Base. This is an interactive course that requires active participation."
I sat up straighter, cupping my bandaged hand. My Fleet used similar education methods.
"Are you ready to begin?"
"Um, yes," I said with a nod.
"Question one. Define the New Republic."
I sank back into my seat, surprised by the complexity of the very first question. "It's the government," I answered.
"Elaborate," the system ordered.
I held my chin in thought. "The New Republic. Well, the seat of the New Republic is on Coruscant, a Core World in the most prosperous region of the Galaxy. Senators are elected by popular vote, meaning that many smaller civilizations don't have representation. These...aristocrats try to impose their laws on us through non-violent means. Political coercion. Financial deprivation—"
"Correct," it interrupted. "Question two. Define the First Order."
I hesitated. I better be careful.
"The First Order is...a...a competitor to the New Republic. It's a..." Paramilitary organization known for intimidating Republican loyalists and extorting impoverished worlds. "Political movement?"
A long pause. "Incorrect. The First Order is a liberation army based in the Unknown Regions, under the leadership of Supreme Leader Snoke."
I nodded hesitantly.
"Question three. Define the Resistance."
I sighed in relief at the easy question. "A proxy military used by the New Republic since the constitution forbids the formation of a standing army."
"Correct. Question four. What is Starkiller Base?"
"Um...here?"
"Incorrect. Starkiller is the main base of operations for the First Order and the primary training location for all Stormtroopers. It is also the site of Project Starkiller, a geothermal super-weapon under development."
I nodded again.
"Question five. How many planets are in the Outer Rim?"
Basic trivia questions about star charts, historical events, and political figures seemed to never end. Most of them only required a one-word answer, but some of them were open-ended questions. I felt good about my general knowledge of the Galaxy. When the questions shifted back to the First Order, my confidence plummeted.
"Question three hundred ten. How many Stormtroopers compose a battalion?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said, inspecting my fingernails. "One hundred?"
"Incorrect. Three hundred sixty Stormtroopers compose a battalion. Question three hundred eleven. What is the maximum speed of a TIE Fighter?"
"Let's see...really, really fast?"
"Incorrect. The maximum speed of a TIE Fighter is one thousand two hundred kilometers per hour. Question three hundred twelve..."
After several wrong answers, a prompt appeared to remind me that my answers were being recorded. I dismissed it in annoyance. How was I supposed to know any of this?
My interest was piqued when it started asking questions about the command structure of the First Order. I learned that the Supreme Leader had twelve Generals who each commanded bases and Star Destroyer battle groups stationed in key locations.
"Question three hundred sixty-two. Who is Snoke?"
"Uh...the Supreme Leader."
"Correct. Supreme Leader Snoke is a wise and powerful Sith Lord. He founded the First Order in 21 ABY, publically announced in 29 ABY."
The word "Sith" conjured deeply buried childhood memories. Legends of the Jedi and Sith were famous throughout the Galaxy, but they were just that—legends. I wasn't one of those crazy people who believed in the Force.
"Question three hundred sixty-three. Who is Kylo Ren?"
The masked mind reader from my interrogation appeared vividly in my mind, and I felt a chill settle over me. "Kylo Ren...," I murmured distractedly.
"Incorrect. Lord Kylo Ren is a Force-sensitive apprentice of Supreme Leader Snoke. He oversees intelligence-gathering operations within the First Order."
Hm. Force-sensitive. The questions continued, and I learned more and more about the mysterious organization I had joined.
Before I could complete the exam, I noticed the other students leaving their terminals. I copied them and followed the crowd through a short hallway to a cafeteria. Very few words were exchanged among them as if they had been instructed to limit communication. I was glad—I didn't feel like talking to any of them.
After getting my food, I sat away from the group once again. I ate like a savage, tearing through the dry meat and overcooked vegetables with unbelievable speed. I returned my dishes and sat again, massaging my aching temples with my fingertips. I was exhausted.
I need to finish this test as soon as possible.
I was the first to return to the "classroom." The interface identified me and resumed the exam right where I had left off. After many more informational questions, it shifted to testing my ethical judgment.
"Question five hundred twenty-five. If a prisoner of the First Order escaped confinement, what would you do?"
I sat in silence, trying to think of the appropriate answer. When I waited too long, the system repeated the question in the same eerie tone. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.
"I would attempt to recapture him."
"Elaborate."
"You know..." I waved my hand vaguely. "Incapacitate him. Nonlethally."
"If your efforts to recapture the prisoner fail, what would you do?"
The answer popped into my mind instantly. "I would kill him," I stated.
Instead of correct or incorrect, the system rated my response a nine out of ten. "Question five hundred twenty-six. If a prisoner of the First Order failed to provide needed information, what would you do?"
My own interrogation room flashed before my eyes. "I would interrogate him."
"Elaborate."
My brow furrowed as I recalled what Ren had done to me. Force-sensitive. I bit my lip hard. If there was one thing I couldn't do, it was read minds.
"Elaborate."
"I would...threaten him. Scare him. Coerce him into giving me the information."
The system ranked my response as seven out of ten. "Question five hundred twenty-seven..."
The judgment-based questions went on and on, sometimes requiring five or six elaborations. As the hours dragged on, I realized that the other students were not coming back. The room eventually grew dimmer for the night cycle, and the glare of the holographic words grew harsher.
It didn't matter—I was finishing this test even if it killed me.
"Question one thousand one. Swear the First Order's Oath of Obedience."
My eyes tracked the words as they appeared before my eyes, and my lips parted to repeat them.
"I swear this sacred oath that I shall render unconditional obedience to the Supreme Leader, to exercise every power in service to the First Order, and shall, whensoever I am asked, be prepared, as a loyal servant, to surrender my life for this oath."
The response earned me a ten out of ten.
"Mental examination complete," the computer said. "Proceed to the practice range for the physical portion of the examination."
A bright light thunked on behind me.
Pulling myself to my feet, I walked sluggishly to the range. I was desperate to finish the exam, but I doubted I could perform well in my current state. Besides, physicality wasn't exactly my strength.
The first lane at the shooting range illuminated green when I approached. I realized with a start that I was about to fire a blaster for the very first time. A control panel flickered to life, showing a list of six weapons to quality in. The first one was a small blaster pistol. I tapped on it, and a storage rack nearby dispensed the weapon for my use.
Unsurprisingly, I missed all of the simulated targets completely.
The word "FAIL" appeared in red over the blaster pistol. I tapped on the next one—a blaster rifle.
"Star's end," I breathed tiredly.
"FAIL."
"FAIL."
"FAIL."
"PASS."
I propped the sniper rifle on my hip to examine the high-definition scope attachment. It definitely helped my aim.
The final weapon was an actual flamethrower. The fuel canister alone was heavy enough to hurt someone. As I lifted it to aim for the target, the metal handle slipped through my trembling fingers. It fell to the floor with a loud bang.
"FAIL."
"Oh!" a voice exclaimed across the room.
I whirled around, my heart pounding out of my chest. It was just a protocol droid. I glanced back at my lane and sighed with relief when I realized the exam was complete.
The shiny black droid approached me with stiff mechanical steps. "FN-3138, you are out of your quarters after hours," it fussed. "I must escort you there and file a misconduct report."
I practically limped toward it. "But I wasn't even given quarters."
"Oh."
It stopped and straightened, surprised.
"I will assign you quarters."
It clumsily motioned for me to follow it.
"And also file a misconduct report."
I followed eagerly, excited by the prospect of a bed. I didn't care about the report. The whole planet could explode at that moment, and I wouldn't care.
After speed-lifting up several floors and hobbling through several hallways, the droid finally deposited me at a door prelabeled "FN-3138." The droid explained that the biometric reader on the door would only respond to me and my direct superiors. My tired brain could barely process the information.
I walked into my new room and collapsed on the nearest flat surface I could find.
