"General Hux, please report to the command center. General Hux to command. Thank you."

I awoke to the sound of a female voice issuing a general announcement through the overhead speakers. With a groggy groan, I rolled over and immediately fell out of bed.

My quarters were small but had all the amenities I needed. A cot with comfortable sheets, a refresher equipped with a shower, and a computer terminal linked to the First Order database. I cleaned myself up and changed into some gray light clothes I found inside the dresser. Unable to smooth down my hair properly, I gathered it into a stubby ponytail at the nape of my neck.

When the door signal chimed, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The officer standing outside was statuesque—perfectly combed hair, perfectly straight collar, and perfectly annoyed scowl. "FN-3138?" he barked.

"Y—Yes...sir?"

He responded with an impatient sigh. "I am Master Sergeant Curtis, in charge of all new arrivals to Starkiller Base. I report directly to Captain Phasma."

I nodded, recognizing both of the names from my training. "Nice to meet you, Master Sergeant.

"You were the only absentee at examination and placement this morning. When I accessed your records, I was shocked to find you had already completed every module."

He quirked an eyebrow.

I shook my head, stuttering, "I—I'm so sorry. I wasn't told—"

"As such," he interrupted, "you are to report to Captain Phasma for placement. There you will receive your uniform and your communicator." His eyes swept over my body briefly. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Um...where is Captain Phasma?"

He sneered at me like I was the most incompetent being in the Galaxy. "Do I look like a protocol droid? Report there immediately."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. I stood there dumbfounded until my door attempted to close on my foot. Lunging through the doorway, I hurried down the hall to flag down a droid.

I wandered the hallways for five minutes until I found a cleaning droid. It perked up immediately when I asked for directions and led to a speed lift. I rode it to the floor labeled "command," which appeared to be an entire floor full of offices. Each one had a large glass window and identical metallic furniture. It was mostly empty, save for a few older officers here and there.

In the center of a web of offices, a large round window showed what could only be the Captain's office. A large desk stood in the center with chairs and computer terminals strewn about the room. Most of the terminals were locked with a biometric reader. A Stormtrooper stood at one of the terminals—a towering silver Stormtrooper with a black-and-red cape draped over one shoulder.

My tongue was absolutely tied.

"FN...31...38...reporting," I mumbled.

"No. I don't see why not, sir."

I bit my tongue immediately. She was using a com!

"Then send two units immediately," came the static-filled reply. "I'll deal with Hux when I return."

A restrained sigh. "Very well, Lord Ren. Anything else?"

"No."

The com channel closed, and Phasma's hands flew over the holographic keyboard on the terminal. She spoke, projecting her powerful voice across the room without even turning her head.

"FN-3138. Always nice to meet another female, considering we compose nought point nought eight percent of the First Order."

My mind automatically did the math: 0.08% / 4,000,000 = 3,200. I smiled awkwardly, both confused and pleased. "It's nice to meet—"

"That fact, however," she continued, "does not excuse your absence from orientation. Besides the exam you completed, further supplementary education is required of you."

Turning around, she strode to the large desk and picked up a datapad. She quickly tapped through some screens. Then she looked up at me, her masked gaze instantly intimidating.

"Therefore, I'm putting you on restricted access until the completion of your training."

"Yes, ma'am," I rushed out. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

She was unimpressed. "Sit down," she ordered, monotone and motionless.

I complied instantly and sat on the small chair before her desk. I pulled my shoulders back and steepled my fingers, pulling out every trick I had to hide my nerves. Though the Fleet had taught me how to read people well, that skill was useless now.

Phasma picked up a different datapad.

"I have your test results here, 38, and I'm wondering how you achieved such a result in such little time."

My mind returned to my dismal performance at the shooting range and my hundreds of rambling answers on the exam. Internally, I wanted to smack myself for being so reckless.

"I'm so sorry," I said, staring at the expressionless mask. "I should have prepared...better..."

"Don't joke with me," she snapped impatiently. "Your scores are stellar."

My mouth opened in surprise.

Phasma flicked through some information on the datapad. "All except for 'command' and 'weaponry.' It's common for volunteers to be inadequate in these areas since the conscripts are trained in them from their youth. But you possess something the conscripts lack—critical thinking."

Feeling a surge of pride, I fought the urge to smile.

"Ordinarily, I would assign you the rank of 'Corporal' and place you in command of a unit of thirty Stormtrooper immediately. However, an unusual circumstance has arisen."

My nerves flared at the word "command."

"My superiors seem to think that you are fit for"—she paused as if choosing her next words carefully—"special operations."

I perked up.

"Intel," she defined, taking on a skeptical tone. "All Stormtrooper divisions on Starkiller Base report to me, however, yours would fall outside of my jurisdiction."

I nodded, not quite understanding what she meant. "Who would I report to?"

"Lord Ren," she answered drolly.

Kylo Ren. The thought of working under the interrogator who nearly frightened me to death sounded like my worst nightmare. "Do...do I have a choice?"

I felt her eyes studying me through the helmet, appraising me. "There is always a choice in the First Order. As you have witnessed firsthand."

I wavered in my seat as I recalled the firing squad.

Her tone lowered to a deadly warning. "Individuals like you cannot be reprogrammed like conscripts. Noncompliant volunteers are dealt with by...other means."

"I'll do it," I said, nodding rapidly.

She hummed. "Very well. Your supplemental education will last approximately a week, although you will likely complete it sooner. I'll send a droid with your uniforms and such."

The prospect of learning more excited me. "When can I start?"

"Immediately," she chirped.

Phasma stepped closer with her hands behind her back. Her helmet tilted upwards, and I imagined a cheerful look on her face. I rose from my seat, mimicking her confident posture.

"Thank you," I said, saluting clumsily.

I heard a mocking laugh through the helmet's filter. She snapped to attention and planted her fist on her chest before shoving it firmly into the air—an intimidating sight. I copied her, feeling my heart race a little faster in my chest.

She nodded her approval.

"Welcome to the First Order, Corporal Caltrel."

By the evening, I'd completed most of my supplement on the terminal in my room. Since I was on restricted access, the dense texts on military tactics and combat holovids from the database were my only forms of entertainment. After eating the dinner delivered by a droid, I found myself lying awake in bed. My tiny quarters had zero recreation, and my access to base amenities was also restricted.

Thoughts filled my vacant mind.

I watched the pulsing blue light of the new communicator on my wrist, wondering if I seriously had to "wear at all times." I shoved my hand underneath my pillow, feeling the device wedged there uncomfortably. As I turned over, my eyes fell on the white plastoid armor piled by the dresser. The vacant Stormtrooper mask stared back at me.

Memories of my family and my Fleet felt like a dream. I was unable to contact anyone off-planet, but I didn't mind. My mom had passed away several years ago, and my dad's work took all of his attention. My stepmother probably thought I had made good on my threat to desert the Fleet once and for all. My sister would miss me, but her husband would take care of her. I didn't have many friends, and most of them would probably be proud of me for escaping the Fleet.

After replaying my capture in my mind, I realized how lucky I was.

I turned over for the hundredth time and squeezed my eyes shut to think of something else. Underground, the air was too heavy and too still. I pictured the stars, like I often did when sleep eluded me, and sent my mind to float among them.

I missed the stars.