Star Wars: Trace

Chapter 1: A New Life

~ 5 Years After The Declaration of the Galactic Empire ~

The morning began with the sound of metal.

A hammer struck a sheet of durasteel somewhere beyond the settlement, each blow echoing through the narrow streets. The noise was followed by the hiss of steam, the cough of an old engine, and eventually the distant call of a vendor trying to convince someone that his bruised fruit was still worth buying.

Trace opened his eyes.

For a few seconds, he stared at the ceiling above him.

The room was small. One bed, one desk, one window.

The walls had once been painted white, though years of dust and smoke had turned them dull grey. A thin line of sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains and stretched across the floor.

Trace rolled onto his side and looked at the clock.

Late.

He pushed himself out of bed.

"Trace?"

His mother's voice came from the other side of the door.

"I'm up."

"You've got another interview today."

Trace paused while pulling on his shirt.

"I know."

His mother didn't answer immediately.

Then came a quiet:

"Good."

Trace opened the door.

His mother stood in the small kitchen, holding a cup of caf between both hands. She looked tired. She always looked tired these days.

Their apartment wasn't much.

The kitchen was barely large enough for two people to stand in comfortably.

The heating unit had stopped working several months ago, and one of the lights above the table flickered whenever the power fluctuated.

His father sat at the table, staring down at a datapad.

Trace walked past him.

"Anything?"

His father looked up.

"Nothing yet."

Trace nodded.

"Same."

His father gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Something will come."

Trace wanted to believe that.

He really did.

But wanting something and believing something were becoming to very different things.

For months, he'd searched for work.

Mechanic's assistant.

Cargo loader.

Warehouse hand.

Security guard.

Anything.

Everywhere he went, there were more applicants than positions.

And every time he returned home without a job, he could see the disappointment on his parents' faces.

They never blamed him.

That somehow made it worse.

Trace picked up his jacket.

"I'll be back later."