Two new stormtrooper recruits to the first
Death Star get more than they bargained for
in the first week of duty on the battlestation.

All ideas and Star Wars elements in this story
property of LucasFilm and not used in any
way for personal profit. Please do not reprint
this story without permission from author.

You can e-mail Quentin at 
Ulic_Qel_Droma@hotmail.com
or AdmiralHarkov@juno.com. And visit Quentin
and Celeste's Sith website at
http://come.to/sithlords


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		New Recruit
	     by Quentin Stuart
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"Personally," said Regan Dalvith, "I 
think it's more like a bad dream."

His roommate, sitting on the bottom bunk 
bed a few paces across the small room, snorted. 
"You're stationed on the most powerful 
battlestation in the galaxy, Reg, and you're 
calling it a bad dream?"

Regan slipped out of the tight stormtrooper 
body glove and pinched himself to work circulation 
back into his arms. "The Death Star is a 
nightmare, Verag."

Verag Bel Domon snorted again and stood. Tall, 
curly-haired, his Corellian descent was 
immediately discernable in his stance and 
accent. "Look, I'm not going to argue with you. 
You complained all through basic training 
and you're complaining again now. Wake up, 
Reg. We're here. We're Imperial stormtroopers, 
and we've gotta start acting like stormtroopers."

"We've only been here a week," Regan maintained,
rummaging in the tiny dresser for something 
suitable for sleepwear. "That hardly makes us 
full troopers."

Verag sighed and crossed the small room to 
wash his face. More like a closet than a room, 
actually, barely twenty pace wide on either 
side. It was whole lot smaller than the Academy 
dorms and a whole lot less comfortable. He 
splashed some water on his face and retreated 
back to his bunk.

"Besides," said Regan, slipping on loose pants 
and a shirt. "Who says troopers aren't allowed 
to have a little fun?"

Verag laughed out loud at that, throwing his 
head back. Regan glowered at him.

"Laugh all you want, Verag. I'm serious."

Suddenly Verag stopped laughing, jerking his 
head around with a frown. "Did you hear something?"

"No." Regan closed the drawer.

"Shhh!"

"What?" Regan exploded. "I thought I was the 
paranoid one?"

Verag held up one hand. "I swear there was a 
noise outside the door a moment ago."

Regan shrugged. "Probably someone down the hall. 
People do live on this level, you know."

"I'm gonna take a look."

"You're imagining things."

Verag payed the other no heed, walking to the 
closed doorway and placing his hand on the door 
release. Regan watched him, unconvinced. Verag's 
hand wavered over the controls.

"Well?" said Regan impatiently. "You going to 
satisfy your curiousity or not?"

Swallowing, Verag hit the door release with a 
quick, sharp motion. He looked out. No one.

"See?" Regan said, moving to his side. "What 
did I-"

He cut off then, a look of sick disgust growing 
on his face. "What the-"

Verag looked down, and then he saw it too. From
beyond the corner and down the corridor, as 
far as he could see was a trail of what looked 
like green slime. Not even half a meter from the 
doorway and only a little more wide, the 
substance-whatever it was-looked in the dim 
light like sickly olive mucus. Verag felt his 
stomach roil.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Regan announced.

Verag looked down the hall to where the trail 
disappeared around the corner. An uneasy feeling 
came over him. "I think we'd better go check 
this out," he said.

Regan glanced at him in shock. "Hey, no way. I
need my sleep, Verag. I'm not spending that 
time chasing unknown creatures all over the 
Death Star. Especially slime-secreting creatures."

Verag sighed. "This could be important, Reg. 
This isn't natural, whatever it is."

"You're right. It's not. And we have no business 
poking our-"

Verag glared at him. 

"All right, all right, hold on a second."

Regan retreated, grumbling, into the room and 
returned holding two blasters. "I don't know 
how I end up in these messes with you."

Verag took the blaster, ignoring him. They 
stepped out into the hallway, cautiously. 
As the door to their room hissed shut, they 
both jumped.

Regan sighed. "All right, Let's get this over 
with."

They crept down the corridor, following the 
gleaming, putrid trail. The trail continued down 
the slick metal floor, wiggling and occasionally 
thinning to a trickle before widening out again.

"I think we're going in circles, Verag."

"Shut up."

They walked on, following the seemingly unending 
trail. Verag's uncertainty grew. Maybe they 
were wrong. Maybe he'd been too rash. Maybe 
it was normal on the Death Star to find 
yellow-green trails of slime outside your door.

Just as he opened his mouth to admit his mistake, 
Regan made a noise of disgust.

"Well, there's the end of the road."

Verag looked, saw that a few meters ahead, the 
slime abruptly ended, leaving only blank metal 
deck. He jogged the last few paces, stopped, 
puzzled. What in the name of Corellia's mad 
kings was going on?

Regan came up beside him. "OK, so now-"

There was a clanging sound, and a writhing black 
mass fell suddenly from the ceiling, jerking 
towards them.

Verag didn't stop to think. He raised his blaster 
and began firing, in panic, screaming at the top 
of his lungs.

"AHHHH! AHHHH! AHHHHH!!!"

"Verag! VERAG!"

He fumbled to a halt, uncertain. "Wh-what?"

"Verag, it's a flight suit."

He spun to face Regan. "What are you talking 
about"?"

Regan gestured, a mixture of embarassment and 
sick humor on his face. "Look."

Verag turned to stare at the thing that hung 
from the ceiling and almost dropped his blaster. 
It was a flight suit, torn and ripped and 
drenched in some kind of black, oily liquid. 
He gripped his blaster, found his hands were 
trembling. Blast it!

"What kind of-"

Hands pulling at him. "Verag, look. The trail 
goes over to that wall panel."

Verag looked around and saw the green-yellow 
slime trail continuing up the corridor in drips 
and spatters, curving over to a loosened panel 
in the wall.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

His roommate sighed. "Verag, come on. Just to 
see where it ends."

Still numbed and angry about being scared out 
of his wits by a second-hand flight suit, Verag 
hoisted his blaster and marched determinedly 
over to the end of the trail, Regan beside him. 
They paused at the panel, both a little afraid 
to lift it.

"Oh, why not?" said Regan suddenly, handing his 
blaster to Verag. He knelt down, lifted the metal 
panel and poked his head in, began to laugh.

"What?" said Verag impatiently, holding both 
blasters.

"Verag, it's a-" Regan's voice cut off, then 
resumed in a loud shriek most unsuitable for 
an Imperial trooper. "Verag, come-AHHHHH!"

Open-mouthed, Verag watched the other trooper 
teeter on the edge of the floor for a second 
and then disappear from view. He ran to the 
panel, pushed it up. "Regan?" A terrible smell 
made his nose wrinkle. "Reg?"

A thrasing noise below. "For the love of seven 
hairy banthas, Verag, don't just sit there! 
Do something!"

Verag peeked down into the opening and began 
to laugh in disbelief. "Don't tell me you 
fell into the garbage chute, Reg."

Regan's voice held a trace of fear. "Verag, 
please. Get me out of here."

Verag threw up his hands, careful not to lose 
his balance, watching Regan wade dripping 
through mountains of odorous sludge below. 
"Do I look like I have anything that can help 
you?"

"Well-"

"Reg, I don't know how you managed to fall in 
there, but it's gonna be a whole lot more work 
to get you back out."

No answer. 

"All right, Reg. Look, hand me that big long 
pipe over there."

Regan waded over and clumsily grasped a length 
of pipe leaning against one wall, thrusting it 
up to the opening above. Verag lay down on his 
stomach, reaching his arms down for the pipe. 
It was barely long enough for him to grasp and
pull up.

"I've got it. Now climb."

"Are you sure?"

Verag grunted. The pipe was heavy, but months 
of stormtrooper training had done their work 
on the muscles in his upper arms.

"Sure. Hurry up, Regan."

He felt the pipe grow heavier as Regan began 
his ascent. He tightened his hold, hoped his 
hands wouldn't slip. But the pipe seemed to 
weigh more with each passing second and he had 
almost lost the battle when Regan's head 
emerged out of the opening, hands grasping for 
a hold. Verag pulled his friend up, grimacing 
at the gunks of garbage and slime sliding from 
Regan down onto the polished deck.

"You look awful."

Regan glared at him, then looked down at himself 
and shook his head in disgust.

"I think we've been had."

Verag nodded just as footsteps echoed from 
around the corner. They looked, wide-eyed, 
at each other. 

"Quick! we have to hide!"

Verag looked around frantically. "There's 
nowhere to go!" He looked back towards the 
garbage chute.

"NO," said Regan.

The footstpes grew louder, then rounded the 
corner. Verag's heart sank as he saw the rank 
insignia on the man's chest. 

"We are going to be in so much trouble."

The man to whom the steps belonged drew nearer, 
then stopped in front of them, his face 
expressionless. His olive uniform was neatly 
pressed, general's insignia shining in the corridor 
light. He looked at them for a long moment.

"Explain!" he barked.

"Sir, we-" Verag began.

"Sir, it-" Regan said.

They broke off, looking at each other, unsure 
of what to say. The general began to smile, 
then suddenly burst out laughing. Verag 
looked at him uncertainly, with some embarrasment. 
The general contained his laughter, the smile 
still on his face.

"You look like you've just waded through a week's 
worth of bantha fodder," he said, looking at 
Regan.

Regan swallowed, said nothing.

The general suddenly seemed to soften, looking 
at them. They must look a fright, Verag thought.

"Boys, by the looks of you, you just survived 
new recruit hazing," the general said, still 
smiling. "It's no small feat, and nothing to 
be ashamed of. I commend you on finding a way 
out of that garbage pit." He laughed again, 
suddenly. "Someone else might not be so kind, 
but I know how you feel. I'll give you two a 
break."

"Sir?"

The general brushed the question away. "It's 
late. Shouldn't you two be getting some rest?"

Verag snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!"

The general returned the salute, looking at 
them for another long moment, then shook his 
head in silent amusement and continued down 
the hall.

Verag stared after him for a second, then 
snapped back to reality. "Come on, Reg. 
We've got to get you into a shower."

They started back to their room in silence. 
Halfway, there was a whirr behind them. 
Verag looked at Regan, who shrugged.

"We seem to have picked up a cleaning droid."

Verag began to laugh, suddenly. "New recruit 
hazing! Man, are we going to get it tomorrow."

Regan glared at him, but Verag smiled 
reassuringly. "Don't worry, my friend. 
All you need is a good scrub."

Regan snorted, glancing down at himself 
ruefully. "New recruit hazing, huh?"

They reached their room without further 
mishap. Verag collapsed on the floor as 
Regan headed for the small shower stall 
without a further word. The water turned 
on inside, then there was a terrific yell.

"Oh, GROSS! What is this in my hair?"

There wasn't anything in the galaxy, Verag 
thought, that could faze an Imperial stormtrooper 
like this. Nothing.

He turned out the light and went to bed.


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(Author's note: If you found this story to be
utterly pointless and without meaning...
IT WAS!!!!

I was simply trying to show a different side of
what people envisioned Imperial stormtroopers to
be. Stormtroopers were real people, who, I
imagine, suffered the same as any new worker on 
the job or any high school or college freshman
new to campus. A different side of the Empire,
one rarely ever seen.

May the Force be with you all.)