© & TM 2016 Lucasfilm Ltd.
Cover and interior art by Brian Rood
All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.
ISBN 978-1-4847-9847-8
Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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
THE STAR DESTROYER was silent as it glided through the blackness of space. But for stormtrooper FN-2187, the chatter around him was almost deafening as he nervously adjusted and readjusted his formfitting white armor.
FN-2187 had prepared long and hard for that day, but he couldn’t stop sweating. Other stormtroopers were laughing and joking among themselves as they noisily prepared for their assignment. But FN-2187 couldn’t bring himself to join in. He was too worried about what was going to happen during his first real assignment.
Even though they were all wearing identical armor, FN-2187 could easily spot in the crowd his three friends who made up the FN Corps with him. Each stormtrooper had an assigned First Order designator, but when they were alone, the four of them used the nicknames they’d given each other and themselves.
FN-2199 was Nines, because he thought it sounded cool. Their sniper, FN-2000, called himself Zeroes, because of the pure simplicity of his designator. The three zeroes made him feel special, and he didn’t care about the whispers that someone who called himself a zero wasn’t going to have much expected of him. Zeroes liked it, and he stuck with it.
FN-2003 didn’t get to pick his own nickname. He got stuck with Slip, because he was always sliding in behind everyone else. Slip was a bit slower, a tad clumsier, and a little less studious than the rest of their fire team. He tried hard, but he was never quite at the same level as the rest of the group.
And the rest of the group was never quite at the same level as FN-2187. Everyone knew that he was one of the best stormtrooper cadets ever to have come through training, and next to him—especially in one-on-one training—most of the other cadets looked and sometimes felt more like Slip.
FN-2187 was strong, loyal, brave, smart, and willing to follow orders but able to make correct decisions on his own when he needed to. He was clear officer material for the First Order, so he had never been given a nickname and had never chosen one for himself.
After years of training, FN-2187 had itched for some real action. Like other stormtrooper cadets, he’d rotated through several lower-level duties, including a janitorial assignment, but he hadn’t seen any real live-fire action yet. Then one day their trainer and leader, Captain Phasma, told him that they would be deployed. So FN-2187 gathered his men, double-checked their gear, and headed to their transport.
“Did the captain say where we’re going, what we’re doing?” Slip asked once they were aboard and alone.
“Of course not,” Zeroes said dismissively. “She’s not going to tell stormtroopers the Supreme Leader’s plans, or General Hux’s, or even her own. She’s not going to ask for our opinion. She’s got a job she wants done and she’s counting on us to do it.”
Once their gear was stowed away and their helmets were off, they finally had time to chat with the older stormtroopers who shared their space.
“Fresh meat,” said the stormtrooper across from them. “Who’s who?”
Slip puffed up proudly. “FN Corps. Slip”—he pointed to himself and then around to the others—“Zeroes, Nines, and Eff-Enn-Two-One-Eight-Seven.”
The stormtrooper looked FN-2187 in the eyes. “Let me guess. Eff-Enn-Two-One-Eight-Seven is in charge, right?”
“That’s right.”
The stormtrooper harrumphed and stared at FN-2187. “No nickname. You’re one of those.”
FN-2187 looked around at the others, confused. “One of those what?”
The stormtrooper chuckled, but there was something hard and dangerous in his laugh. It wasn’t what you would call friendly. “An outsider, cadet. You’re on the outside, and you’ll always be looking in and wondering why you don’t belong.”
The rest of the stormtroopers laughed, including FN-2187’s friends, which only intensified the bad feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.
A few hours later, they were marching through a mining colony called Pressy’s Tumble to “restore order,” as Captain Phasma coldly described it to them. Enemy agents were fomenting rebellion among the miners, who had been unearthing a valuable ore that was crucial to the First Order’s plans. So FN-2187 and his troop had been told they were there to put an end to the disturbance and get everything back on schedule.
Once they were on the ground, Captain Phasma’s icy voice crackled in FN-2187’s helmet. “Proceed with your team to level alpha-seven-seven, room aught-three. Confirm.”
“Confirmed.”
A few minutes later, they approached Captain Phasma, who was standing outside a closed door, light glinting off her chrome armor. “The negotiators are inside,” she said. “You and your team will accompany me.”
The question escaped FN-2187’s lips before he could stop it: “We’re negotiating with the Republic?”
“No, for the striking miners.” Phasma strode into the room and stood in front of a table with four humanoids.
A bedraggled human gathered his courage to speak. “Have you considered our requests?” He swallowed hard.
Phasma hesitated slightly. “I have given your request the thought it deserves.” Her helmet turned slightly toward FN-2187, and her voice was thick with menace as she said, “Kill them.”
Silence filled the room. No one moved, as if they couldn’t believe what they had heard. FN-2187 was sure it was a mistake.
But then Slip fired, and then Zeroes, and then Nines.
When the blasts had ceased, Phasma walked across the room and nudged the bodies with her armored boot. Her dark cape flapped softly as she moved toward FN-2187 and stood in front of him.
“You’re now stormtroopers.” Phasma looked around at them, and they could hear pride in her voice.
Back on the Star Destroyer, Zeroes, Nines, and Slip celebrated their day’s work with the other stormtroopers, but FN-2187 went his own way, saying he wanted to get more simulation time. No one objected.
FN-2187 asked the computer for a random scenario, and it obliged, allowing him to pick off Resistance fighters right and left. But then it started to mix in civilians, first as obstacles to be avoided but then as hidden Resistance fighters to be eliminated. Finally, there was no one in uniform to shoot. Instead, women and children filled his sights.
FN-2187 lowered his rifle.
This isn’t right, he thought.
But what could he do?
A FEW DAYS LATER, FN-2187 was aboard another transport ship. Captain Phasma had ordered his team to deploy to a desert planet called Jakku.
Stormtroopers marched out of their transports onto the sandy desert of Jakku. The ships had landed only a few klicks outside a small village.
None of the officers had told the stormtroopers exactly why they were there, only that th
ere was something and someone in the village that the higher-ups wanted badly. As soon as the stormtroopers landed, Resistance fighters began to pepper them with small-arms fire. The stormtroopers’ armor could deflect most of it, but they quickly cut down several of the village’s ragtag defenders.
Before he could engage in the battle, FN-2187 saw Slip on the ground.
Slip’s white armor had an ugly black scorch mark on the front. FN-2187 tried to lift his friend’s head, but a pained groan made him stop.
Stunned silent, FN-2187 could only watch as Slip’s body began to shudder, and with his last breath, his friend reached up to touch FN-2187’s helmet, leaving a bloody mark on his visor.
FN-2187 backed away, speechless. Did that really just happen?
He didn’t have much time to consider the question. Embers rained from the sky as fellow stormtroopers shoved him toward the center of the now-burning village. Meanwhile, a massive shuttle came in to land nearby.
It was Kylo Ren’s shuttle.
Kylo Ren was the Supreme Leader’s greatest warrior: a dark and powerful figure known for his erratic outbursts and fits of rage. Kylo stalked out of the ship and strode through the smoke and destruction the First Order had brought upon the village. The battle had ended, and surviving villagers, now prisoners, watched warily as the masked Kylo Ren approached an elderly man two troopers had dragged forward.
Tall and cloaked, with a black-and-silver mask and thick breathing apparatus, Kylo Ren exuded the same invincible confidence as Captain Phasma—only deadlier, if that was possible. Afraid to move, FN-2187 watched from the corner of his eye as Kylo Ren’s distorted voice rose and fell in negotiation with the elderly leader.
Although the lenses of his helmet showed no difference between Kylo and the others, FN-2187 imagined a distinct aura surrounding the tall warrior, one that crackled with menace as he talked. Suddenly, FN-2187 saw Kylo’s hand fly to his side, and the red flare of a lightsaber flashed against the night sky.
Without warning or mercy, Kylo Ren put an end to the old man.
Then FN-2187 heard the telltale crackle of blaster fire, but instead of an explosion, he saw Kylo raise his hand and, somehow, stop the bolt of energy in midair.
Stormtroopers ran to the source of the blast and dragged a Resistance pilot in front of Kylo. A kick to the legs drove the man to his knees, but it did not change the smirk on his face one bit. FN-2187 wanted to watch what came next, but a lieutenant told the remaining troopers to fall in and wait for orders.
FN-2187 gathered the surviving members of his fire team and stood at attention behind Kylo Ren, who whispered something to the Resistance pilot before two stormtroopers roughly took him by the arms and dragged him to the First Order transport. Captain Phasma approached Kylo.
“Sir, the villagers.”
FN-2187 expected to be told to torch the buildings, destroying any chance of retaliation from the villagers before the First Order could leave orbit. But that was not what Kylo said.
“Kill them all.”
A single nod and Phasma turned, looking directly at FN-2187 at the far end of the line of troopers. “On my command. Fire!”
In a single motion, the stormtroopers snapped their blasters up, took aim at the helpless crowd, and started shooting. But FN-2187 hesitated, then simply pretended to fire.
When the smoke cleared, only the First Order troopers and their superiors were left standing. Once again, it hadn’t mattered that FN-2187 never pulled his trigger. The villagers were still dead.
FN-2187 looked around in a quiet panic and, to his horror, made eye contact with Kylo Ren himself. The dark cloaked figure stared right at the frozen trooper.
He knows. He must know. And I’m…dead.
But he wasn’t. The glance, which seemed to FN-2187 to last an eternity, lasted barely a second. Then Kylo Ren resumed his pace, looking deep in thought as he strode toward his shuttle.
When Kylo had passed, the blue bolt of blaster fire that had been suspended in midair was finally freed from the dark warrior’s hold. The blast made contact with a vaporator in the middle of the village and exploded in a shower of sparks.
As troopers razed the wreckage with flamethrowers, FN-2187 took one last look at Slip.
Slip had died for nothing. Even worse, his death had come as they were terrorizing and killing innocent people. That wasn’t what they had trained for. The First Order was supposed to represent peace and stability, not fear and death.
I can’t do this anymore, he thought.
THE FIRST ORDER TROOP transports touched down gently in the landing bay of a Star Destroyer known as the Finalizer. Stormtroopers disembarked in waves, marching in squads through the hangar. FN-2187 staggered out of his transport, with Zeroes and Nines close behind.
A fellow stormtrooper dragged the captured Resistance pilot off another ship and led him right past FN-2187. FN-2187 felt a twinge of sympathy for the prisoner, but his mind was too consumed by his own predicament to really focus on anything else.
For a second time, he had disobeyed direct orders. He knew what happened to stormtroopers who were disobedient.
FN-2187 was starting to panic again.
He needed to breathe—to really breathe, not just recirculate his own oxygen through the filters his helmet provided.
FN-2187 climbed into an empty transport ship and removed the black-and-white weight from his head.
But his panting only continued. He couldn’t steady his heartbeat.
What am I going to do?
Slip and the villagers returned to his mind. A wave of nausea flooded his body.
“Eff-Enn-Two-One-Eight-Seven. Submit your blaster for inspection.”
Phasma’s cold metallic voice broke the silence of the transport.
FN-2187 looked over his shoulder, startled by her presence.
“Yes, Captain.”
This was only a reprieve, and a short one at that. He was still in danger, but at least now FN-2187 would get a few more moments before the inevitable happened.
“And who gave you permission to remove that helmet?” Her tone held the promise of punishment.
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
He couldn’t look at her. She would see right through him.
“Report to my division at once,” Phasma said as she left the transport, her boots pounding hard against the grated floor.
FN-2187’s time was officially up. If he turned over his weapon to Phasma, the scans would show that he had disobeyed orders, and he would be punished. If he didn’t turn over the weapon immediately, she would assume that he had done something to disguise what the rifle would have shown, and he would be punished. If he didn’t show up at Phasma’s division within the next few moments, she would send some of her personal guards after him and he would be punished.
FN-2187 was in a bind.
He needed help.
But who would help him?
Everyone on the Star Destroyer was allegiant to the First Order.
Well, FN-2187 thought, not exactly everyone…
FN-2187 took a deep breath as he approached the cell. Once he entered, there would be no turning back. It was now or never. Confidence was key. He kept his stride steady, and the heavy door opened before him.
A single guard stood near the door, and in the center of the room, shackled and slumped down in an interrogation chair, was the Resistance pilot. The cuts and bruises on his face showed that he’d been beaten, and the haunted look he gave FN-2187 told him the man had nearly given up.
FN-2187 turned to the guard. “Ren wants the prisoner.”
The restraints clamped to the pilot’s arms and legs suddenly sprang free, and FN-2187 escorted the weakened prisoner out the door.
FN-2187 marched the pilot through the sleek hallways of the Star Destroyer with his blaster pressed firmly to the man’s side. He hoped Kylo Ren hadn’t permanently damaged the guy, because the next part of his plan required a pilot.
“Turn here.”
FN
-2187 pushed the prisoner into a cramped passageway off to the side.
From the Resistance pilot’s eyes, FN-2187 could tell that he thought he was being led to his doom. He had to speak quickly to gain the man’s trust.
“Listen carefully. If you do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here.”
“What?” The pilot stared back at him blankly.
FN-2187 took off his helmet. He needed the Resistance fighter to understand. They didn’t have much time before someone noticed the pilot was missing.
“This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape,” he hissed.
The pilot wasn’t convinced. “You with the Resistance?”
FN-2187 couldn’t help snorting at the ridiculous notion. “What? No, no, no, I’m breaking you out. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”
The prisoner’s exhausted expression melted away. “I can fly anything.” He looked FN-2187 up and down. “Why are you helping me?”
FN-2187 stood a little taller. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said.
The pilot instantly saw through his act. “You need a pilot.”
FN-2187 sighed. “I need a pilot.”
The prisoner just smiled. “We’re going to do this.”
FN-2187 put on his helmet, turned the pilot back around, and marched him toward the landing bay. Now all they had to do was make it through hundreds of First Order troops without suspicion, get to a TIE fighter, and escape the First Order.
FN-2187 AND THE RESISTANCE PILOT entered the hangar bay, which was teeming with people.
“Okay, stay calm, stay calm,” FN-2187 whispered as he poked the Resistance fighter with his blaster.
“I am calm,” the pilot whispered back.
“I’m talking to myself,” FN-2187 replied.
Finally, they made it to a two-man TIE fighter and dropped inside.
“I always wanted to fly one of these things,” the pilot said almost reverently. He looked over his shoulder at FN-2187. “Can you shoot?”
FN-2187 removed his helmet. He was happy to be rid of it, he hoped once and for all.
But he had never been in a TIE fighter before.
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