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Davin felt what hope he had left seep out of him. Standing at rigid attention just microns in front of Captain Terrik’s face, Davin knew what it was like to jump from a crashing ship into a pit of burning fuel.

Davin Felth was in the best shape of his life when he prepared to land on Tatooine. But getting there on board the troop transport the past month had been pure hell.

The twenty stormtroopers in the detachment had all pitched in in some way or another, “helping” Davin get up to speed in the rigorous training. Their normal three-month period of disciplining, schooling, and physical fitness was compressed into a never-ending nightmare for Davin. The stormtroopers were not about to allow a mere AT-AT operator, although a graduate of Carida Basic Military Training, into their esteemed ranks without passing through a minimum of ritual.

Davin did not have the time to be homesick or lonely, although his thoughts sometimes drifted to his two roommates back at Carida. He wondered where they had been assigned.

Ten hours before landfall, Davin marched up to the quartermaster and collected his desert gear: heat-reflective armor, comlink, filtermask, blaster rifle, blaster pistol, temperature-control body glove, utility belt, energy source, and concussion grenade launcher. He staggered to his cabin under the load of equipment.

Davin donned his helmet with automatic polarized lenses. Fully outfitted in the desert-terrain gear, he clunked to the mirror in his small cabin and looked himself over. Like it or not, he was finally a stormtrooper.

He used his chin to click on his chinmike, activating the comlink. He tapped into stormtrooper radio traffic for the entire troop ship: “Access to AT-AT bay now open.” “Cold assault and aquatic assault detachments reporting still in stasis.” “Tatooine landing for refurbishment ready when ready.”

A series of voices checked in. Davin thought he recognized some of the stormtroopers’ voices.

There was a long pause of silence. Sounding irritated, Captain Terrik’s voice came over the comlink. “Ten twenty-three? Are you up and ready?”

It took Davin a full two heartbeats to realize that Captain Terrik was speaking to him.

“Ten twenty-three ready, sir.”

“Report to the landing craft, ten twenty-three. Prepare to disembark. Move it!”

“Yes, sir.” His name stripped away, Davin had been assigned the emotionless number 1023 as part of his stormtrooper indoctrination. Their zealous devotion to duty demanded denial of the individual, pledging their allegiance only to the Emperor. Unwilling to make that commitment, Davin turned his thoughts to his family, his friends, as the training attempted to squeeze away his memories. His fellow stormtroopers reveled in the mystery that surrounded their existence, their lack of identity. With no one to turn to or confide in, Davin felt miserable.

It only took a moment to gather up his meager belongings. The clothes he had taken with him from home seemed useless now, but he kept them as a reminder of the life he used to have. He stuffed them in a sand-colored duffel bag and carried them with his weapons down to the landing craft. He kept to the side of the corridor as he walked, trying to keep out of people’s way. A group of naval troopers double-timed around the corner.

The corridor widened to the immense landing bay. Stepping inside, he felt as if he were outdoors. Worker droids ran along scaffolding that reached higher than an AT-AT; the bay was so wide that he had trouble seeing to the opposite side. He set off for the landing craft, halfway across the immense bay, to join the contingent of stormtroopers.

“Ten twenty-three?”

Davin swung his gear down and faced Captain Terrik. “Present, sir.”

“You’re assigned to scout unit Zeta. Something came up. We’re delaying reporting to the garrison, so pile your gear in the storage compartment with the rest of the detachment.”

“Yes, sir.”

Davin lined up and waited for Captain Terrik to finish his paperwork.