The kitchen was lit by a soft, golden light that filtered through the window. The warm glow contrasted with the unease in her chest as she moved with automatic precision. Her steps were guided by her memories, memories she did not recall gaining. She opened a cabinet and reached for the cup- her cup. As she sat the cup down at the caf machine, she thought of how weird it was, how disorienting it was that she could have a favorite cup here. Something so mundane, yet so familiar.
A single button press, and the machine hummed to life, pouring the hot, dark liquid into her cup. From the cup, steam carried up into the air with the bitter scent of the caf as she watched the machine pour the caf into the cup. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of the caf, taking a sip from the cup before moving to the counter where her datapad lay waiting. It was open to a document, with 2 awaiting her reading and signatures. Oh, the joys of ‘leading’ a town council.
The first document was a lengthy and ornate decree from the planets governor, dressed in the usual legalese that came from the planets’ capital, with it basically saying in the legalese and less than so clear wording,
"By the Grace of the Emperor and his Appointed Governor, your life has been spared. The town government of Kelthia will be reorganized under Imperial Control. First Lieutenant Kelta will be leading a detachment of soldiers to assist you during the transition."
Or, “First Lieutenant Kelta is placed in charge of the Town of Kelthia. Do not resist her.”
Her lips tightened into a thin line as she skimmed the words, sipping her caf to drown the bitter taste the decree left in her mouth. It was a hollow mercy, sparing her and her fellow townsfolk only to place them under an iron grip. She moved to the next document, already bracing herself for worse news. The second file was a report from First Lieutenant Kelta, the officer now in charge of the Imperial detachment stationed in the town. The words were clinical, almost indifferent, but the weight of them pressed down like a boot on her chest.
"Per Imperial Protocol, the clinic has been requisitioned as a headquarters for our operations. Garrison patrols are now fully operational, with continued efforts to ensure compliance from local populations. The town council restructuring will begin immediately, under Imperial oversight. Additional reports will follow."
They could have used the town hall, if they hadn’t been so brazen in simply burning it. No, they had to ‘requisition’ the clinic. Oh, poor Zelvir, she thought. His clinic and the only hospital in town. She could imagine the twi’lek standing helpless as Imperial troopers cleared the clinic and booted him out without a second thought. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing she could say that wouldn’t endanger herself, or worse, the townsfolk. Setting the datapad down, she sighed and finished her caf, the once-comforting taste now a bitter reminder of her helplessness. From the window, the signs of the Empire’s transformation were everywhere.
Troopers patrolled the streets in pairs, their pristine white armor catching the morning light as they moved in their formations. Some homes bore the unmistakable signs of Imperial intrusion: doors were left ajar, furniture overturned, and personal belongings scattered in disarray. A few homes were eerily silent, their occupants likely hauled off for questioning or worse. She clenched her hands, one into a fist, the other nearly breaking the cup it held, as the memories of her Earth life bubbling to the surface. The sight of soldiers ransacking homes wasn’t unfamiliar—only now, the uniforms were different, and the flag they carried wasn’t the one she’d once been forced to defend.
Her gaze moved back to the datapad, where according to the report, she had the ‘luxury’ of overseeing the garrison as the de facto leader of Kelthia. She knew the truth, of course, she’d have to be stupid to not. It was nothing more than a formality, a facade of local control to placate the population until they don’t even think or have the means to resist. The real power, of course, was Lieutenant Kelta and her men. The town was changing, moving away from her memories of childhood in Kelthia. Already, the people were different. More subdued, their heads bowed as they moved quickly through the streets trying to avoid the troopers patrolling.
The sharp knock on the front door pulled her abruptly from her spiraling thoughts. Her gaze darted away from the window, her heart skipping a beat. She could see three stormtroopers standing rigidly on her porch, the sunlight gleaming off their white armor. One of them wore the distinctive pauldron of a lieutenant, its black color marking her rank. For a moment, she stood frozen, gripping her now-empty caf cup like a lifeline. Schooling her expression into something resembling composure, she moved toward the door. With a deep breath, she opened it, forcing a smile to her lips that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Lieutenant,” she greeted, her voice deliberately even. “What brings you to my… home?” She cursed herself for the hesitation on "home", the place still felt alien to her, the memories it evoked clashing violently with the life she’d lived before this galaxy. The lieutenant didn’t bother with pleasantries. She stepped past Janice without invitation, her two subordinates following closely behind. The stormtroopers remained standing by the door like silent sentinels, their faceless helmets amplifying their intimidating presence. The lieutenant, however, strode into the living room as though she owned it, seating herself on the couch with a casual ease.
“Come, Janice. Sit.”
The lieutenant’s voice was clipped and commanding, leaving no room for argument. She held a datapad in her gloved hand, the sleek model noticeably more advanced than Janice’s own. Janice hesitated, stopping just shy of the threshold into the living room. Her instincts screamed at her not to move, but the sharp glare Kelta shot her made it clear this wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, Janice stepped forward, perching on the edge of a chair across from the lieutenant, her body stiff as a durasteel rod.
“Excellent,” Kelta said, her tone dripping with mock warmth. She tapped a few commands into the datapad before holding it up. “You see, we’ve had to arrest a few of your townsfolk since moving in. Rebel sympathizers, supporters, traitors. You understand, of course. It is how it is.”
The words were delivered casually, as if she were discussing the weather. Janice’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. Her gaze flicked to the datapad as Kelta extended it toward her, and the lieutenant’s expression hardened.
“I just need your signature to formalize it. Nothing complicated.”
Her hand shook slightly as she took the datapad. The screen displayed a list of names—names she recognized all too well.
Aris Veydra. Treason.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Drex Korran. Treason.
Miala Serinn. Treason.
Zevrik Jaal. Treason.
Ryna Callen. Treason.
Tayor Grinn. Treason.
Liryn Thera. Treason.
Gorak Fenn. Treason.
Selar Danthe. Treason.
Harin Vosk. Treason.
Neya Tarkal. Treason.
Orim Vastel. Treason.
Each name hit her like a blaster bolt. They weren’t just strangers; they were people she’d known her entire life in this world. Aris, the shopkeeper who used to let children pick out sweets for free. Ryna, the midwife who had helped deliver half the town’s children. Zevrik, the quiet farmer who always gave her a nod and a smile in passing. She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat as the word Treason repeated itself over and over like a drumbeat. The charges felt absurd, a blanket excuse to justify whatever cruel fate awaited these people.
Kelta’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and insistent. “Time is valuable, Janice. You don’t want to keep the Governor waiting.” Her hands gripped the datapad tightly as she glanced up at Kelta. The lieutenant’s gaze was icy, her expression unreadable. The stormtroopers by the door remained motionless, their silent presence a constant reminder of the stakes.
Janice’s mind raced. If she signed this, she would be condemning these people. If she refused, what would happen to her? More importantly, what would happen to the town? Would they haul her away, or simply replace her with someone who would comply without question? Her Earth memories roared in her mind. She’d been a soldier once, a conscript forced to serve, forced to obey. Back then, defiance wasn’t an option. Here, though? Here, the stakes were higher.
She looked back down at the datapad, her finger hovering over the signature box. A cold sweat ran down her back as the silence stretched on. What choice did she really have?
----------------------------------------
What had she done?
Her body was trembling, still, from the lieutenant’s visit. The cold glow of the datapad lingered in her mind, the names from the list was etched in her thoughts. She could still hear Kelta’s voice, clipped and commanding, insisting on her signature, mirroring the voices of her drill sergeant and her previous superior officers. Before the nuke, of course.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady her breathing, but it came in sharp, shallow gasps. The weight of what she’d signed pressed heavily on her chest. Those people, her neighbors, her childhood acquaintances—they were doomed now. She’d signed away their lives with a few swipes of her finger. Treason was a certain death sentence. She made her way over to the sink, dropping her empty caf cup into it as she tried to shake off the suffocating sense of guilt. The mundane sound grounded her for a moment, but the flood of emotions was relentless. She gripped the edge of the counter, forcing herself to focus. She needed to move, to do something—anything—before her thoughts swallowed her whole.
Making her way back to the bedroom, she knelt by the bed, reaching underneath it, her hands trembling as they searched for the hidden safe. The slight ridge in the floor beneath her fingers confirmed its location. She pressed a small button on the underside, and a panel slid open, revealing a keypad. Her fingers hovered over the keys, hesitating for a moment before inputting the code. It came to her without conscious thought, a sequence of numbers from her other life. The code worked, the safe beeping softly as it unlocked.
The sight of the contents was both reassuring and surreal. Inside was a small stack of physical credit chips, a high-value chip resting on top. She instinctively reached for the large one, embossed with the marker for 100,000 credits, but paused. No—too much. If she needed it, she could return for it later. For now, a smaller amount would suffice. Carefully, she took 1,000 credits in physical form, tucking the chips into a small pouch at her hip. As the safe slid shut and locked once more, she allowed herself a moment to think.
The Empire might have declared her the town's leader, but Janice felt more like its prisoner. Signing that document had bound her tighter to the Empire’s leash. She did not want that. Standing up from the bed, she moved over to her closet, the door sliding open to reveal her armor hanging neatly in the back, hidden behind a few plain dresses and tunics. It wasn’t much, but it was hers, an heirloom from her father.
The armor was utilitarian, matte gray plates designed for both protection and flexibility. She ran her fingers along the chest piece, feeling its weight and sturdiness. The holster attached to it was empty, the blaster that usually called it home sitting on the bedside table. Janice pulled the armor free, laying it carefully on her bed. As she strapped it on, piece by piece, she felt a strange sense of comfort. The weight of the gear wasn’t just physical—it was symbolic, a shield against the chaos of her life and the galaxy around her.
She grabbed the vibroblade from the table first. The hilt felt cool against her palm as she tested its balance before sliding it into the sheath at her hip. The blaster pistol followed, she inspected it before sliding it into the holster.
The town was quiet, a sort of silence that pressed down like a heavy cloak on her. A silence she remembered, from both worlds. Earth, the silence that covered the towns she visited in Germany as a soldier. There was no occupation; but a sort of resignation, as if waiting for the war to turn nuclear and kill everyone. Or from the Clone Wars. The Confederacy’s occupation, their droids patrolling the streets with the efficiency of cheap, mass produced droids. But it wasn’t droids this time.
These were people—stormtroopers.
Janice’s eyes flicked to the nearest patrol, a trio of white-armored figures moving methodically along the main street. Their helmets turned in unison, scanning their surroundings with an almost mechanical precision. The muffled stomp of their boots against the duracrete echoed faintly. She kept her right hand resting lightly on the holster at her hip. Her blaster pistol was a weight she had grown used to, but now it felt heavier, as if it shared the burden of her unease. She forced herself to move casually, not wanting to draw attention. The streets felt smaller, more suffocating than they had before the Empire’s arrival. Doors were shut tight, windows drawn, and only the occasional brave soul dared to step outside. Most avoided the troopers entirely, scurrying like shadows from one point to another, their heads down and shoulders hunched.
Janice swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. This wasn’t the town she remembered—not the vibrant community she’d known. She turned down a side street, her boots scuffing against the worn path as she made her way toward the small garage where her father’s speeder—her speeder—was stored. The garage door was old and heavy. As she approached, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, ensuring no patrols were nearby. Satisfied she was alone, she slid the metal door up with a grunt, the automatic opening mechanism having broken at some point, the effort rewarded with a sharp screech of protesting hinges.
Inside, the speeder sat in the dim light, a battered but reliable relic from a time before the galaxy descended into chaos. From before the Clone Wars. Before the rise of the Empire. The deep green paint was faded and chipped, but the craft was well-maintained, from her father’s meticulous care. She ran a hand along its side, her fingers tracing the scratches and dents that told their own stories. Her father had loved this speeder. It had been his pride and joy, a symbol of the simple life he had worked so hard to preserve. Now, it was hers.
Janice climbed into the seat, the old leather creaking under her weight. She quickly ran through the pre-drive checks, her hands moving with practiced ease over the controls. The hum of the repulsorlift engines brought a flicker of comfort, a sound that reminded her of childhood rides into the hills with her father. She had no clear destination in mind, but she knew she needed to get away. The woods that bordered the town called to her.
Easing the speeder out of the garage, Janice squinted against the sunlight as it broke through the morning haze. The patrols seemed thinner here, fewer eyes watching as she maneuvered toward the town’s outskirts. The moment she passed the last building, the oppressive weight of the town lifted slightly. The dirt path ahead wound its way toward the tree line, where the dense canopy of the woods waited like a sanctuary. Janice pressed down on the throttle, and the speeder surged forward, the rush of wind pulling at her hair.