Imperial Hilt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Imperial Hilt
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About the Author
Author’s Note
Preview: Imperial Assault | (Book 3 in Miranda’s Saga)
IMPERIAL HILT Copyright June 2020 by Celinda Labrousse. All rights reversed. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this eBook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be mixed up with anything that is real. Any resemblance to actual events locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Digital Edition JUN 2020
ISBN 9798649325875
Cover art by Karri Klawiter
Published by Labrousse Enterprises
All rights reserved
To My Uncle Robert
Thank you for being an inspiration
Chapter 1
Every child of the Empire knew what to expect in BASIC training. Beginning Assimilation Strategic Imperial Commissioning, BASIC was the core of all learning curriculum. Even homesteader vids like the ones Miranda was raised on required BASIC training instruction at the end of every history unit. So, when the Drill Instructor climbed aboard the M-class shuttle, Miranda thought she was ready.
“You have one minute to grab your gear and get off my shuttle,” the drill sergeant yelled. The drill instructor was tall enough that she had to stoop at the shuttle entrance. Not that there was much room there anyway. M-class shuttles were built for transporting bodies not for comfort. Standing room was a luxury BASIC recruits like them weren’t afforded. Apparently drill sergeants had to pay the price too. The drill instructor’s blue eyes flashed cold as she surveyed the overflowing transport.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” the shuttle of recruits chorused. The inside of the cabin was long, packed to the brim with the max number of recruits. Not a single surface was empty. Tension in the air remained thick enough to taste. Something between gym socks forgotten at the bottom of an exercise bag and human urine. The latter more likely for fear than anything else. It kept Miranda sitting forward unable to relax. Or maybe it was all the yelling. As a M-class, the seats faced front to back with a single row down the middle. The row being the only place a person could partially stand up and not hit your head even bent over. It was also the first space that filled when the craft had touched down.
“I can’t hear you!” The woman shouted every single word. It was like reading all-caps news vid casts about firestorms. She wore no makeup. Nothing to make her stand out. Still, she exuded power in a way Miranda had never seen before. Miranda wondered how the woman did it. Miranda had never been yelled at this much in her entire life, and the woman had only done introductions. Part of her wanted that kind of power.
“YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” A small smile creased on the side of the Drill Sergeant’s mouth. The smell of old socks and stale air intensified. It was enough to overpower anyone. Still, the drill instructor stood there staring them down. Her eyes cold ice at the end of a long hot day. Miranda was just thankful she’d be getting off this rust bucket as soon as they were given leave.
“Go, go, go!” came the order. The drill sergeant’s arm waved. Everyone reacted at once. People at the front of the shuttle were nearly trampled by those farther back looking to get out in the allotted time.
“What have I gotten myself into,” Miranda wanted to know as she half stood. The bag of new issued uniforms and required training gear rested on her lap. Her legs tingled as she rose. They threatened to give out on her before she even made it off the transport. They’d long ago gone to sleep under the weight of her bag.
“The only part of me to get sleep,” she muttered to herself. Ever since being dropped off she’d been carted around from one thing to the next. Poked and prodded from the rising of the first sun until the setting of the final moon. She was beginning to wonder if beds were a thing.
“Beep beep,” came a response. It was so soft Miranda almost missed it in the thunderous noise of everyone scrambling to get off the shuttle. Oscar lay nestled between her feet. He’d tucked the bulk of his body underneath her seat, where she’d been instructed to place her belongings. He was as tired as she was, having followed her around through it all with no charging station. Not that he needed one; he could charge on sunlight if he had to, but she knew that he liked to rest his old gears at night.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” she whispered to the droid. The line was almost to her, but not quite yet. “Having you on my lap, or this bag.” It was a tossup which was heavier. Oscar was no lightweight, but the bag... It maintained a gravity value of at least 50 cubits even in the artificial pull crafted by the shuttle simulator. She was not looking forward to having to carry it around the planet. Who knew that the gravity would be like here?
Oscar beeped a retort.
“I know you can walk,” she said. Oscar rolled out from his storage spot and down the lane, off the back of the shuttle in a way only a droid could. Weaving through legs and over bags.
“Hey, watch it!” someone shouted. The little droid ignored the grunts and comments.
Miranda slung the bag over her shoulder. It hit the guy behind her.
“Sorry,” she said as she ran after her droid.
It had been two days since Eric and the Prince had dropped her on this Lander-forsaken planet. Two days of pricks and prodding. Two days of measurements and blanket-less bunks. The staff had taken her hair along with her dignity in only a matter of two days. Left in its stead was a plastic shell that the Empire could now fill up.
A cold shiver ran down Miranda’s spine. She’d been passed from hand to hand. Never knowing. Never understanding who was really in charge. Still she followed. A blind sheep on a hayride.
She stepped up to the designated glowing boot prints. Each set of prints created a block of twenty recruits. When three blocks of twenty filled up, the lights would march the group further down the street. She was in the second block. The first group of recruits were already moving forward, following the glowing yellow boot prints.
“Get on your training square,” the drill sergeant screamed in her ear. “Move, move, move!”
Miranda jumped into the next available set of bright boot prints. She was too afraid to rub the offended ear, knowing she most likely would be punished for it. The world around her remained dark. There were a few stars in the sky, but not the wide range of galaxies she was used to. One moon provided all the light, but it was high; and its light, though full, did little to offset the darkening glow of the yellow boot prints.
On
ce all hundred or so of them were in place the Drill Sergeants addressed the group.
“I am Drill Sergeant Dan!” a woman yelled. Now that they were all standing Miranda could see that the drill instructor was the same height as Miranda, but slimmer, more muscular. Her eyes sharp and darting from their cold depths. Her voice was hoarse from the constant strain of shouting. “You will refer to me as ‘Drill Sergeant.’ When I ask you a question, you will answer, ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant!’ Is that clear?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” came the reply from the line of recruits. Miranda tried to count the number of seats in her head. She lost count when Drill Sergeant Dan shouted again.
“To my left is Sergeant Wing,” Sergeant Dan continued, indicating a tall black man with a scowl on his face. His teeth show white when he flashed them. The sight sent shivers down Miranda’s spine. “To my right, Sergeant Striker.” She indicated another woman of similar build to herself. They could have been twins if not for the difference in hair color. Cut short as it was, Dan’s hair was light brown while the other woman’s hair shone black in the synotho light from the streetlamps. “You will call them Drill Sergeant Wing, and Drill Sergeant Striker. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“You are here,” Drill Sergeant Dan began pacing in front of the recruits. The motion had a mesmerizing effect on Miranda, who was already tired, “because someone thought you could serve the empire. Someone thought you could become soldiers. Someone obviously failed to consult me.”
Miranda was confused, but kept looking straight ahead.
‘Don’t draw attention,’ she told herself. Another recruit must have also been confused: he turned his head to look at the person next to him.
“Did I say you could look around, Recruit?!” Drill Sergeant Dan shouted. Drill Sergeants Wing and Striker were both immediately in front of him, yelling insults and questioning his parentage.
“No, Drill Sergeant!” the recruit finally answered.
“Didn’t think so,” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled. “On your face! You owe me twenty for interrupting me.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” The recruit hit the ground and started doing push-ups, Drill Sergeant Wing correcting him on his form.
“Now, I may not have been consulted,” Drill Sergeant Dan continued, “but it is my job to turn you into soldiers. For the next twelve cycles, you are mine. You will eat when and where I tell you. You will sleep when and where I tell you. You will use the latrine when and where I tell you. And,” she paused for effect, “if you are very, very lucky, I might just let you join my army. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Good! When I say go you will march off in cadence.”
The recruits shifted on their squares.
“Recruit Peeper!” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled. There was no response. Drill Sergeant Dan shouted at the recruit who had done push-ups. His name tag read Farmer.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant?” he finally answered.
“You will take the lead. I’m watching you. Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Good. Now, on my order, you will go through those doors,” she pointed at a set of double doors nearby. “Those in the left column will report to the barber. Those in the right column will report to the quartermaster to receive your uniforms and PT gear. You will follow all directions given to you immediately. When you are dismissed from one office, you will report to the next. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Move out!”
“Hoist your bag over your head,” Dan ordered. The wind picked up pulling at their bags. One of the recruits behind Miranda pumped their bag into her head.
‘Turn around is fair play,’ she thought.
Drill Sergeant Dan was speaking about something, but it was hard to hear over the wind. Miranda knew the woman was yelling but the wind blew it further down the line.
“Follow the lights, stay in step,” she heard. The lights moved forward, creating a short staccato line that ended before she would have hit the soldier in front of her. She stepped forward. Her first marching exercises. Her boot hit the pavement. Crunch. Crunch. The boots moved in time with the lights. For the first time since separating from her Ironsides, Miranda felt it was all starting to feel real.
They walked like that, arms raised above their heads, drill sergeants screaming in their faces, light-timed movements, for long enough that Miranda felt like they’d walked for miles. When the lights finally stopped, she dropped her bag, exhausted.
“Who told you could lay your RUCK sack down?” Sergeant Dan screamed at them. Miranda’s tummy rumbled.
“You’re hungry, is that it?” Drill Sergeant Striker crooned.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” a well-meaning group of soldiers said. It was made up of those that still had energy. After the marching and the lifting, and the standing, Miranda wasn’t among them. Even a well exercised farmer like her didn’t have that much strength.
“Well that’s too bad,” she said. “Pick them up!” The order propelled through the ranks too slowly. Miranda was able to grasp the bag in her hands, but it wouldn’t lift off the ground. The contents felt turned to stone too heavy to lift. She ground her teeth and tried again. Her arms strained, but did not move from their down-pointing position. A few of the others were sitting on their bags, the screams from the instructors hammering them into the floor instead of encouraging them to lift their bag.
“You can’t pick up that bag,” Sergeant Striker yelled.
“You decided to join the empire and you can’t pick up a bag?” Drill Sergeant Wing yelled an inch from her face. Spit from his lip landed on her cheek, but she couldn’t wipe it away.
Instead she focused on raising her arms until the bag was again over her head. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Sure, she could carry a full grown ors twenty feet from one pen to the next. But that was a rare thing. She’d never tried to carry one above her head. Now she almost wished she had. Then this might not have been so hard.
Miranda pushed a third time. The bag and her arms obeyed. She let go of the breath she’d been holding. The instructors looked her over. Satisfied, they moved on to harass a different recruit.
There was a long piercing sound that cut into her like a knife. Miranda stumbled forward, nearly losing the bag.
“Get it up, Recruit Farmer!” Drill Sergeant Dan turned around to yell at her. Miranda balanced the bag above her head again. Her arms burned with the effort.
“Just keep it up for a few more minutes,’ she begged her arms. “Then this will all be over.” It helped for Miranda to keep her hopes up.
“Fall out!”
Just like that Miranda had made it through her first BASIC test. The sigh of relief caught in her chest as she realized. This was just one of many to come. She sent up a prayer to God to protect her. She was going to need all the help she could get.
“Move!” Drill Sergeant Dan ordered. Tired, hungry, and half dead Miranda followed orders and moved.
Chapter 2
They expected her to run. On numb legs, still carrying her bag, with no new food in her stomach, having not slept in two days. They expected her to run all the way until they told her she could stop. Not just her. Every recruit. They also expected her to do it as they yelled profanities at her.
The worst part was Oscar loved it. The little lander trash was wheeling around Miranda’s feet, beeping out happiness and glee. To him this was another adventure. He was celebrating when he’d been too tired to get off the shuttle. Not tired, Miranda corrected her thoughts. He’d been bored. Her getting yelled at must be a change of pace for him. The little traitor.
Miranda wanted to punch him so hard his circuit breaker got jammed. That’s how tired she was. She’d never wanted to hit anything in her life, and now she wanted to punch the one thing that she cared about most in the world. The only issue was she needed both hands to carry her bag. If only she
was a droid, then she could attach a second set of arms to lift the pack while she slapped sense into Oscar.
“I’ll get you later,” she huffed at him. If he heard her, he didn’t respond.
Miranda made her way single file through a corridor down a long hallway to her new barracks still running. Or at least as close to a run as her body would let her. Her arms were numb for the weight of the bag. Her lungs burned. Her hunger long forgotten, replaced by the need to vomit. Having nothing in her stomach she didn’t know what would come up, but when she stopped she knew she’d be sick all over the floor if she wasn’t careful.
She hoped this was her new barracks because all she wanted to do was sleep. It was too late to eat, even though they spent the day on a shuttle without food or water she didn’t think they were getting any now. They’d stripped her of all her civilian clothes and food days ago. Not that she’d had much. There was the uniform Adam had dropped her off in. The one she’d been issued back on her home planet when she’d been recruited. They’d taken the dress she’d been wearing then. She’d had no money, no food, nothing to her name after it had happened. Only Oscar remained from her old life. Some part of her knew that if the little droid stayed close, everything would be okay, even if he was singing imperial marching tunes as he rolled along.
The line of sixty or so troops that made up her platoon wound through the building into what was definitely a barracks. They stood on either side of bunk beds stationed all around the room.
“Attention!” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled. Miranda snapped her feet together, locking her knees and looked straight forward.
“This is your new home,” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled. She stared each recruit down as she passed, correcting posture and foot placements as she went.
“For the next twelve cycles You will treat this place with the utmost respect,” she continued. “This is not your mama's house. Her rules do not apply. This is my house. Only my rules apply. Everything has a place. You will make sure that everything you own is in its place at all times. Even droids.” Miranda could feel Dan’s eyes burrowing into her. Miranda swallowed hard.
Imperial Hilt (Imperial War Saga Book 2) Page 1
