Star Wars: The Hidden Empire

Chapter One ~ The imperial oddity

Serila was an anomaly within the Galactic Empire. She was a female officer for one, a rarity within itself. However, adding to her extraordinary résumé, she was a commanding officer. Even more unusual for someone of her feminine status. She was born on a backwater world, deep within the outer reaches of the known galaxy. Within the very boarders that separated wild-space, and the unknown regions.

It really should have been impossible for her to join the navy of the empire. More so considering that wild space yokels such as herself, human or otherwise, were seen as even more inferior then aliens that hailed from the core worlds. Yet those who serve under her command revered her as if she were a benevolent king. Her ancestors were simple farmers, yet she held a military prowess and strategic cunning that was yet to be matched. Serila Valiente was truly an oddity.

She awoke two hours earlier than her shift would suggest. A normal occurrence for the likes of Serila. She was simply one of those people. The first to arrive and the very last to retire. Sometimes her subordinates would order her to her quarters, if the hour called for it. Despite them not being eligible to do so. She supposed the habit originated from her agriculturist heritage. Farmers were hard working individuals by nature. From dawn through dusk, always were they found tending to their precious crops and livestock.

She rose from her bed, fully awake and with minimal grogginess. Dutifully as ever, she set to her morning routine. Making her bed to her immaculate standards. Taking a pristine uniform from her small wardrobe. Entering the joint refresher from her private quarters and carefully leaving her uniform to a hook behind the door. Taking a quick shower to bathe and wash her hair, as well as to chase away whatever sleep that remained. Like many things in her life as of late, it was a basic routine.

Exiting the shower and drying herself, she dressed into her freshly pressed uniform. Staring disdainfully at her mirrored image from the opposite side of the basin, she seized a comb and promptly ridded herself of her messy main. Neatly parting the ashen blond strands of her curly shoulder length hair, framing her angular face. The whiteness of her flesh served as a reminder that she hadn't been out on the fields of her father's farm in years, having long since lost her natural tan.

Satisfied with her appearance, Serila placed the final addition of her uniform. A white eyepatch that covered her right eye, which bore a wicked scar that traversed the full length of her face. She had lost it in a viscous brawl nearly thirty years before. She seldom wished to get an ocular transplant however. Not after the numerous crippling migraines she had suffered within the single week she had trialled the device. Luckily for her, whatever deity that created the human race blessed them with a secondary eye.

She exited her quarters and headed to the mess deck of the ship. Despite men of her particular standing normally preferring to dine privately in the officer's lounge- which she did also, on occasion. Serila, however, much preferred to spend some of her limited free time socialising with her crew. The hundreds of thousands of men and women who she considered to be the very backbone of her ship, and the empire by extension. And the very same important individuals that she rarely ever got the pleasure of meeting whilst on regular duty.

Entering the mess hall, Serila was greeted with silence. Every man in the vicinity having ceased what they were previously doing in favour of giving her their undivided attention. Serila inwardly cringed. That was the thing with wearing white in a sea of grey and olive, you stand out. Her audience's scrutinising gazes swiftly morphed into those of bewilderment and admiration as they recognised the distinctive blue, red and yellow colouring of her rank plaque. All stood to salute.

At first, Serila was confused. This certainly wasn't the first time she had eaten there. And no one, as far as she could remember, had ever reacted to her presence in such a manner before. At least not after her first unexpected appearance in the mess hall, which subsequently led to a rather snappy lecture on her part. Insuring the crew understood how little she cared for such pointless traditions. The salute was for the rank pin, not the individual.