The Planet Kumat

The troopers sat around a sizable bench table, an air of suspense lingering. Some helmets were removed, as they had yet to be called into action, but kept nearby for convenience. No upstanding member of the Dominion’s troops ranks would dare be caught unprepared for the implementation of their duty, lest they be deemed unfit. And yet, as she starred at the ground, K883T’s heart thumped and her pulse quickened with her breath. In her silence, she struggled in vain to reassure herself. It was becoming harder and harder through the years, with her coping mechanisms fading with the memories of home. Resting her elbows on her knees, she bowed her head in a sigh, her long brown braid flowing down her shoulder.

“First battle?”

K883T glanced up at the beady, black eyes of a trooper helmet glaring her seemingly back to reality. Sitting up further, she nodded to the trooper gingerly resting the helmet under his armored forearm. He placed it on the table and sat down next to her on the bench, the K895 to the side on his breastplate a metallic silver to her bronze. The roar of the other troopers had quieted down enough for conversation at least.

“I remember my first time. After training, I was so eager to serve I would’ve done anything to be a part of the action. It seems you have more common sense than I did,” he chuckled and peered into the distance. A kerchief around his wrist, not usually visible beneath his uniform, was gently extended as he massaged it between his fingers.

“Just remember, we do this for them, for the glory of the Dominion” he patted her shoulder, the sentimental cloth stuffed safely back around his wrist.

A voice behind them chimed in through the laughter of the unit.

“Hey…K883T, you think you’ll actually be able to experience your first battle, or do you think the other units will handle it before you get any action?”

K883T turned around and several troopers exchanged chuckles and teasing shoves.

“I don’t know. But I’m sure we’ll be ready right,” she dissembled, endeavoring to exhibit confidence. Several of them clapped or raised their cups in the air in agreement. Another female sergeant put down her cup and patted the man on the back as she left the crowd to make her way to K883T. She glanced down at the weapon on her belt.

“Is that cleaned and ready?” She inquired.

K883T shot up in attention and nodded as she removed it from the holster, holding it up for inspection. Paying respect for those of a higher station was a constant reminder of conformity.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve even improved on my reloading speed quite a bit.”

“Really? And how about your accuracy?”

“I passed, didn’t I? Or I wouldn’t be deemed ready,”

“Careful trooper, don’t make me write you up for insubordination. That’s mandatory reeducation,” the warning echoing through their minds.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. Just my first time, I guess,”

“Happens to the best of them, just keep it in check,”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Good. And for the record, trooper,” she bent down to whisper, “I think you’ll do fine.”

Bowing as the sergeant retreated into the crowd, K883T slowly receded into the recesses of the bench once more, K895 having disappeared. The caliginous barrack environment weighed tediously, and she longed for the crisp, Kumatian breeze. Though patrol or cleaning crew were regarded as inferior, at least they felt the soft embrace of the winds against their face. Quiet moments alone could be stolen, salvaged from the emptiness of the Dominion, with a rush akin surely to a Ganatatara agitator. To be happy in such an existence as this was truly revolutionary, was it not? In a different life she might’ve been a technician, or pilot.

A bowl of cruel and a ration of bread was placed on her lap, and K895 sat back down beside her. The warmth radiated through her torso and sought to calm her nerves.

“Here, eat this,” he encouraged, “You’ll need it.”

It was true her stomach rattled with the fitting emptiness of sustenance, but she glared at the ration reluctantly. How well in the current circumstance would she be able to keep it down? Saving the bread in her pack on the table, she gingerly spooned the cruel to her lips.

“Thank you,” she swallowed.

The blare of the alarm sent commanders and sergeants rising to the entrance of the room, barking orders of attention. Troopers affixed helmets and gear, rushing to unit lines. Following suit, K883T returned the bowl to the table bin and found the end of her unit squad. She squinted beneath the helmet, the flashing of the lights making it more difficult to focus on the captain entering the hefty double doors, the faint glistening of sweat rolling across her forehead. His arms folded behind his back, the captain stood stout and resolute.

“Troopers!” he shouted, “We have reports of civilians converging on the crash site of the Ganatatara ship. You are to assist your fellow units and make sure the traitors are apprehended, by any means necessary. Do not hesitate with anyone willing to help the agitators.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!” resounded through the room, leading the pounding march of the trooper’s footsteps.

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