CHAPTER ONE
His short life had been marked by megatons of bad luck, but at least Trever counted himself lucky in one respect: Regular attendance at the Ussan Day Academy was no longer required.
When his father and brother were killed by Imperial forces after the Clone Wars, his world had imploded. Everything had stopped making sense, and going to school had made the least sense of all. So he had closed the door to his old life and left it forever. He’d become a street kid, a thief, a con. Then he’d found out that Ferus Olin, the guy who let him sleep in his back room, used to be a Jedi, and the next thing he knew , . . wha-woosh, he was running blockades and dodging stormtroopers.
Top of the list of things he never expected to do again: go to school. So much for that idea. He was now a fresh recruit at the Imperial Naval Academy on Coruscant.
Why couldn’t he have gone undercover someplace fun, like a space station cantina in the Outer Rim?
Because Lune Oddo Divinian, the Force-sensitive son of Astri Oddo, had been kidnapped by his father and sent here. And Astri was frantic to get him back. So Trever had offered to enroll, make contact, and get both of them out in a couple days’ time. At least that was the plan.
To Trever, school had always felt like jail. But the Imperial Naval Academy really felt like jail. There were no stun cuffs or energy cages, but there was a state-of-the-art security system, ID badges, and old B-l series battle droids from the Clone Wars that had been reactivated and reprogrammed for security. They were still in temporary quarters that the Empire had requisitioned, an old hospital built of gray synthstone. The place had no windows and still smelled of bacta.
He looked like every single one of these other recruits, with freshly-trimmed hair cut close to his skull, tunic and pants the color of a swamp, and the stupidest little cap he’d ever had the misfortune to have plopped on his head. Trever slipped it off and crammed it into his pocket. He had left behind his clothes and possessions at the checkin, and now he had to find his quarters.
The halls were empty at the moment. It was class time. All of the recruits were sweating over holo-books, and soon he’d be joining them for some new-moon fun.
“Hey, gravel-maggot!” the sharp voice called from behind him.
Trever kept walking. He wasn’t here to become involved in student disputes.
‘I’m talking to you, gravel-maggot!”
Unless, of course, some idiot bully tried to get in his face.
Trever turned. A tall recruit with three silver bars on his chest stared him down.
Keep your cool, Keets Freely had instructed him. Keets had researched an article on the Imperial Academy when it was still in the planning stages. Back when Keets was a journalist, before he’d managed to get a death-mark on his head after he’d angered the Empire several times. You’re a new recruit. You’re the bottom of the heap. Just about everyone is allowed to torture you. It’s part of the process. They want to turn you into an Imperial. They want to break you down and build you up again. Whatever you do, don’t lose your temper,
“Where’s your cap, gravel-maggot?”
Oh. The cap. Trever reached into his pocket and took it out.
“You’re required to wear it at all times.”
“Nobody told me. Sorry. I just got here a couple of minutes ago,” Trever said.
“Put it on now, gravel-maggot!” The tall recruit slapped it out of his hand and it fell on the floor.
“Now that was counterproductive,” Trever said.
An interesting thing happened when this particular recruit got upset. His cheeks went pale but his neck flushed. If Trever had been on the streets of Ussa, he’d comment on it. Call the guy a ruby-throated kete and take off. Trever was a better runner than a fighter.
What bullies didn’t understand was that you had to particularize your insults. Anybody could call anybody a gravel-maggot, for moon’s sake.
But he wasn’t supposed to lose his cool. He was Lune’s best hope of getting out of here.
“Pick. It. Up.” The other student spit out each word. Trever picked it up. He put the cap on his head. “Uniform delinquency and insubordination.” The recruit’s lip curled. He moved closer. “Bad luck on your first day. You’re dead.” And suddenly there was ablaster barrel pointed at Trever’s chest.
The guy wasn’t just a bully, he was a lunatic! Trever’s knees almost buckled. After all this, after all he’d been through, this couldn’t happen. Not here. He felt an unpleasant sting. “Ten degrades,” the student said, and strode away. What just happened? Trever wondered. What was a degrade? Sweat trickled down his back. He thought he’d stared death in the face.