Cadet Redsun. Upon being notified of your new assignment to the Imperial Citadel, I confess to experiencing no small measure of surprise. Surprise, I suspect, that was dwarfed only by your own. Our calling, as sons and daughters of the Empire, can often take us in directions we least expect, but it is in how one champions the helm of his own destiny that is the true measure of a man. And, while you may never serve as an enlisted officer in the Imperial military, your Empress has called upon you to lead. You have trained your whole life for this. Serve your Empire well.



####


For the eighth time, that morning, the cool blue image of Captain Weximan Redsun vanished. The burbling holo disc in Jeryd's palm fell silent, and was buried at the back of his footlocker, between his freshly-folded PT whites and a stack of Baastian Cain smashball cards. The footlocker closed with a snap. Jeryd rose from a foetal crouch, and once again, scanned the length of the expansive dorm room for eavesdroppers. There was only Kass, lingering by her bunk at the far end of her room, beside the door he'd just watched the rest of his unit file out of. Now that he could no longer hear the clipped monotony of his father's voice, the renewed silence was alarming. Still, Cadet Pheridae was too preoccupied with her revision notes to notice. She had a field medicine exam coming up tomorrow that had haunted her for the past week.

"Hey," he said, gently pulling her from her thoughts, "Feeling confident?"

"Not exactly," she said. She didn't even hesitate. "Those damn bacta dilution rates, again. So stupid."

There was a familiar datapad in her hand, she gave it one last look, then discarded it without ceremony onto her bunk. For Kass Pheridae, that was dramatic. She was usually so calm, stoic even, to the point of being eerily still. It made sense, Jeryd thought. After all, who wanted a medic with unsteady hands? He watched her take a single breath, then exhale for what felt like fifteen minutes. She then snatched up her sinister-looking comb and started raking it through her mass of frizzy hair. She never once flinched.

"You know what you are, right?" he said, and on cue, passed the hair band from the foot of the bed. She accepted it at once, and started wrestling her hair into submission. "You're one of those students who worries themselves sick before a test, and aces it, every time."

She shot him a look, "Don't even joke about that, Redsun."

"Come on. Kass! How many times did we go through those questions, eh? You've got this." He clapped her on the arm and nodded at the door. "We've got some free time. I'm going to give Jensen a spanking. Want to come with?"

Kass considered the question, and behind her eyes, he could see thoughts of bacta dilution rates bubbling away. A hint of a smile crept through, and from her bedside, she swept up a duffel and shrugged it onto her shoulder.

"Sure. I've been looking for a chance to put Saffi Smix on her ass, all week."

"Yesss."


####


In the six months since he first arrived, bruised and resentful, and under armed escort, the Imperial Citadel had truly started to feel like home. Despite the outrageous grandeur, there was still so much that felt familiar to someone like him - raised on military bases, with a military family, educated in military schools, graduated from a military academy - everywhere he looked there were people just like him, uniformed men and women united in ideals and purpose. In the beginning, he trudged through these illustrious vaulted halls feeling like a stranger in his own skin. And now? Now, he owned that shit. This was the Imperial Citadel, at the heart of Imperial Center, and he was training not to be just another nameless soldier, or one of tens of thousands of officers scattered throughout the galaxy. No. The officer pins he never got to wear had been traded in, long ago, and in exchange, he was to be forged into the absolute elite of the Imperial military. When he was through, here, even Captain Redsun himself would have to call him, 'Sir.'

That was a thought that put some extra vigour in his stride. Kass matched pace without fuss, she being the second tallest in their unit. Together, they made an imposing pair. There was something else buoying his spirits, too. It had been 93 days since he'd summoned the courage to message his father about his transfer to the Citadel, breaking a twelve week silence. The last time they spoke, it was the night before his reassignment to Carida for officer training. The night his old life ended. The wait had been agony: 93 silences, 93 rejections. In the end, it was worth it, to finally hear his old man speak with that same Imperial passion he'd come to expect - it lit in him a fire he hadn't realised needed kindling. Vindication. Damn, it felt good.

And it was in this family of cadets, the unassuming misfits and genetic anomalies of the galaxy, that he'd once again found this calling of which his father had spoken. There was Kass, originally a trainee medic, now a formidable hand-to-hand fighter who was also capable of stripping a T-21 in 48 seconds. Tolomy Pash, the Duros introvert, was a tactical genius and, frankly, every other kind of genius. He made a mouse droid sing for Thida on her birthday, and has taken to lightsaber combat like a quadduck to water. Thida, one of the two Rodian cadets in their dorm, was one of the best pilots he had ever seen. A true natural who never went easy on him, and she was also an artist with a hydrospanner; she worked an ion engine like a finely-tuned melodium. Then there was Neb: Nebbil Hoob was practically a different person to the naive and timid greenhorn who'd gotten a beating off Vissica for having six scuffs on his boots. Over time, the layers were peeled back to reveal a young man who was capable and full of confidence, with a knack for mind tricks that made him the best prankster in the Citadel. He was also one of the best marksmen in their unit, which came as a complete surprise, not least of all to Neb, himself, who remained about as bloodthirsty as a falumpaset. And while there were some things that may never change, the changes that were taking place in each of them were a marvel to behold and a testament to the transformative power of the Imperial military. Sometimes, when they were all together, it felt like they could change the galaxy.

But it was not Neb, or Thida, or Pash he was heading towards. Ahead, stood one of the towering entrances to the Citadel, a column of white where the daylight stabbed into the gloom, and beyond, he felt him. Jeryd smiled to himself. He couldn't remember when it started to happen, or to what extent, but over time he became more and more aware of the presence that surfaced like a bright spot in the back of his mind whenever he was near Jensen Par'Vizal. From his current position, he had a strong sense of his direction, and the closing distance between them. More than that, however, he had a strong sense of him, of what made Jensen Jensen, of his current state of being. It was difficult to describe, an alien feeling that was at once also intimately familiar. Even at the best of times, Jensen felt like an impenetrable pressure-sealed crate of feeling, emotions packed so tight they might as well have been a fist. And, every once in a while, when the fist squeezed tight, a droplet of truth bleed through. It was in those moments he best understood Jensen Par'Vizal, and together, they had already been on quite a journey of their own.

Their mentor was gone, now, and perhaps Luka would never be back; Jeryd didn't like to think about it. But, in his absence, they had each other. Maybe it was the final gift from the man who taught him to accept what he was, and showed him how to become so much more. It was a debt he feared could never be repaid. He wondered if Jensen felt the same way. He could ask him, once he was done beating his arse.

When at last they passed under the cavernous archway, they were greeted by an immaculate Coruscant skyline of pearly white and blue. For as far as the eye could see, the horizon was clean, unbroken by the obnoxious stratoscrapers and gaudy monoliths common to Imperial Center. Here, the Citadel stood proud and singular, as rightly it should. In the dazzling sunlight, a million rooftops blazed like the surface a tranquil ocean, and above, the sky twinkled from the light of distant skylanes. Traffic around the Citadel was scarce and controlled, and with good reason. Though, being a native of the capitol, it did make him feel isolated from time to time, but all Jeryd had to do was to remember to look around.

Before the dramatic descent of broad innumerable steps, and before passing the great bronzium statues that flanked them, Jeryd and Kass broke off to walk the expansive terrace that circled the perimeter of the entire Citadel. On a day such as this, it teemed with vibrant life; officers, troops, and recruits of all stripes rubbed shoulders, here, to walk, socialise, enjoy lunch together, or expend some surplus energy in the open air. It was here where most PT sessions took place, and dotted around the terrace at intervals were plenty of facilities for training. Indeed, scarcely five minutes could pass without hearing the clap of boots double timing the perimeter in perfect synchronisation. It was like sweet music to his ears.

It was at one of these designated training areas, where there was the clamour and flash of crossed training sabers, that he spotted an unmistakeable head of slick red hair sticking out from the crowd. Jensen was sat amongst the benches, carefully studying the exchange between a couple of older cadets, a guy with a tattooed scalp, and some strange fuzzy alien with bulbous black eyes and gnarly teeth. Kass must have spotted Saffi, because she took off without a word, zeroing in on her prey like a shark with the scent of blood. So Jeryd ascended the rows of benches alone, weaving between clusters of cadets, and took a seat next to his unlikely friend.

"Ten creds says the one with the teeth wins."