STAR WARS
Imperial Cadets
Book 1
By
John McNichol
Prologue:
The fighter exploded in a screaming bloom of fire and metal. The pilot’s right arm encased in his flight suit flew out of the wreckage and made a whump! against the camera lens.
Two more ships, thankfully unmanned, ignited like fireworks on an emperor’s birthday. The hangar erupted in screams of dying and injured men, officers giving orders, and an omnipresent wail of alarms and calm instructions given over loudspeakers no one heard or understood. Several emergency crews descended onto the scene, fighting the fires with foam tanks blasting from carefully aimed nozzles and blast shields over their eyepieces.
After a few seconds, the screen froze.
The eight men around the meeting table looked at each other with wary, sidelong glances. Throughout the past three hours, each point of the day’s agenda had been brought forth, debated, decided and filed away with quick efficiency by the nearby secretary droid. The issues were trivial on the surface- meeting schedules, resource levies, power couplings shorting out on a too-frequent basis. Beneath the surface though, each man knew they played a ruthless game of power, with words, wit and innuendo replacing blasters or light sabers as the weapons of choice.
But this, this was serious. There’d be no room for layers of deception or subtle jockeying for position here.
“That, gentlemen,” said the man at the head of the table, his eyes and voice now cold as the vacuum of space outside the thick glass window behind him, “was the scene three days ago on Argosy VI. Three fighters destroyed with locally produced explosive devices. Casualties included one pilot, several members of the ground crew, and a trooper who was standing at the wrong place at the wrong time. An exhaustive investigation has revealed the perpetrator was a mechanical engineer, who apparently blamed the Empire for the death of a number of his family members.
“Were this only an isolated incident, I would not be addressing it here. But it now appears that similar issues and developments in the sector require our attention: There are pockets of rebellion breaking out over issues of authority, gentlemen. And they cry for solutions that are both quick and neat. Captain Veers, your report.”
“Thank you, Governor,” said the captain, standing. His grey uniform was crisply pressed, and the buttons of rank on his tunic had been polished to a shine that impressed even the veterans at the table. He placed his datapad on the table is front of him, glowing notes visible on its flat surface even as it began to project the holographic star map of the local worlds of their sector for the others around the table to see.
“Governor, the pockets you refer to are not especially new. There will always be those who will refuse the gift of order that Empire has provided to the Republic. However, recent reports suggest this has been moving from a fringe world phenomenon to one of the mid and even occasional core worlds in the sector. Worse, intercepted communications suggest these rebellious cells may organize at some discernible point in the future. They cannot, of course, pose any real threat to us. Even as a fully united front, we project it would take at least a decade before the most organized band could mount even a nominally effective action against us directly.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“That is very reassuring, Captain Veers,” said the Governor. His face was stoic, but his voice betrayed the slightest hint of impatience. “Have you addressed the issue of how to crush this little batch of embers before it becomes a forest fire?”
“Yes, Governor,” Veers said crisply. His face was noncommittal, but his bowels had turned to icewater. He looked at his datapad- the information details he needed were in a different section of the document, but he didn’t want to look inefficient by spinning downwards or searching for it while in front of his peers and the Governor. “In terms of crushing these pockets as they arise, the data and analysis suggest that the primary issue facing us is one of manpower. Reports are still coming in from the farther reaches of the sector, but those from the core worlds and mid-level outpost worlds suggest that a buttressed force of troopers and more individual pilots in easily manufactured, expendable one-man ships would be the ideal means of ensuring order.”
“What about our clone troops?” asked another voice at the table, its grating edge drawing everyone’s attention. “They’ve proven themselves time and again. Aren’t they being sufficiently deployed?”
“The troops did serve admirably, Captain Tagge,” countered Veere. “No one questions that here or anywhere else. But their numbers were severely depleted by both their efforts to secure the Republic from the Trade Federation and suppress the treason of the Jedi. Using them exclusively in the current situation we face would be impractical.”
Holographics appeared above the table. Icons of clone troopers appeared next to worlds of the republic, along with green glowing rectangles showing the actual numbers of troops. Above each rectangle glowed a red line, displaying the number of troops needed in the action. In each case, the number of troops needed exceeded those available.
“Plus,” continued Veers, “let us not forget that our clone troops have accelerated aging built into their genetic codes. The troops that currently exist will last another decade at most, and we will then run the risk of having a depleted force precisely when they are most needed. No, Governor,” said Veers, looking again at the sallow complexion of his superior, “we need more than clones to win this coming fight. The clone army was bought through the resources of a long-dead Jedi, and the Emperor frowns upon using that strategy again, both for political and practical reasons that I don’t think I need detailing. The analysis suggests a different strategy: recruit raw manpower from the individual worlds themselves.”
“Recruits?” said a clear voice from the end of the table. It was Captain Motti, his sarcasm barely disguised as straight-faced inquiry. “Have you truly thought this though, Captain Veers? Recruits aren’t always cost effective to train or field.”
“I have indeed,” Veers said, smiling. “One option was to compel the regional governors to levy a draft on their populations, sending a percentage of those able to swell our ranks. However, as we are not currently facing anything approaching full-scale war, such a move could backfire. Worlds and populations not currently hostile to the Empire could become so, if we start grabbing their best and brightest for our own forces.
“But some reports suggest that if a voluntary recruitment drive were properly handled, even outpost worlds like Tatooine would yield recruits in the tens of thousands. From core worlds like Corcusant, it will be in the millions. A campaign mounted to convince, rather than compel inexperienced young citizens of the Empire to serve as troops would have a double effect: The prestige of the Empire will improve among local populations if their best members voluntarily enter our ranks. Second, and just as important, we’ll sap the local population pools of potential recruits for the various rebellions, putting them to work in our ships rather than theirs.”
Moff Tarkin leaned forward, his hands folded before him while his eyes closed in a brief moment of meditation.
“And,” he said, leaning back and looking at the still-standing captain, “exactly how do you intend to encourage the local populaces to join us willingly?”
Veers smiled. “I’m very glad you asked that, Moff Tarkin.”