The Clone Wars had little effect on my people, and we continued on living our normal lifestyles more or less.
Our langauge was definitive. Although we were all fluent in Aurebesh – or Galactic Basic, as it is often called – we mostly spoke Mando’a, the native tongue of the Mandalorians. Although now I would probably consider it to be a very difficult language, it was truly beautiful and felt wonderful while being spoken.
As a traditional part of the Mandalorian culture, at age eighteen I crafted my first set of functional Mandalorian combat armor. I painted it with my own style of colors (as was encouraged in the society), and wore the Lutso family insignia on my right breastplate. The symbol was a small, intricately designed circular shape with five angled arms protruding from it. I still wear this symbol – I’ll explain more later.
At age twenty I would finally be given the title of the Mandalorian Supercommando, and be able to join my father and the other men in battle. Indeed, my life was looking pleasant as my twentieth birthday approached, with no forseeable problems to slow me down.

But then the Galactic Empire became involved.

We weren’t able to ignore them the same way we had ignored the Republic. As the Empire continued on it’s rampage of destruction, it tore my life to ribbons and ended the rest of my family’s.
They came on the dawn one week prior to my birthday, standard year 014BBY, eclipsing the sun with massive Star Destroyers. Dropships soon rained upon the planet surface, and before any of us knew it our village was swarming with Stormtroopers. They will not take us without a fight, we said, and many of us died with that thought. They started by unloading the Stormtroopers with stun weapons, then when they realized our intentions they finished the thought with rocket-wielding Shock Troopers.
I was mad, and I used my vibroblade to cut through many a Stormtrooper in the initial frenzy. But even as determined and adrenaline-fueled as we were, even we were not invulnerable – and we learned this as the Imperials enclosed and eventually overwhelmed us.
My father, mother, and most of my friends were killed once the Shock Troopers opened fire with the rockets. Enraged by the death of my parents, I charged at the troopers with intense energy, actually managing to kill three of them before falling to a stun baton.
Although now I consider myself lucky enough to have been spared, at the time I would have rather died. I try not to remember the day as best I can, but it still is with me…
I awoke to find my entire clan scattered, each one of the surviving members being held by two Stormtroopers. Very few of us had been left alive, but among them I found my friends Levinth and Charco. When I made eye contact with Levinth briefly I discovered that his father had also been forcibly put to rest by the Empire.
Apparently we were being shuttled to distant worlds so as not to pose a threat to the Emperor. This undoubtedly meant something along the lines of a lifetime in a spice mine, or a miserable existence in a concentration camp.
Interestingly enough, I found neither of the opportunities to be particularly exciting. I decided to stick with my instinct that no Mandalorian could be contained by two flimsy Stormtroopers and proceeded to show my escorts a good time. After they hit the ground, I ran as blaster shots started sizzling past me. I ran harder than I ever had in my life up to that point, so hard that I was out of the smoke within minutes.

For three days after that I wandered the deserts and fields of Concord Dawn, realizing for the first time just how easy it was to become lost in the barren landscape. I was on my own for the first time, and thouroghly fatigued by the time I found any means of communication, which thankfully was early on the second day.
It was a long deserted temporary mining settlement, containing little more than a broken computer terminal, some chairs, and an ancient burrowing rig. At first I was not excited, but upon closer inspection I found a partially buried long distance comm unit. The compacted dirt it had laid under had provided decent protection for it over the years, and after a short time I was actually able to resuscitate it.
Incidentally, the only comm number I had memorized belonged to the only person that I would have trusted at the time – my old friend and ex-Mandalorian, Felome Eta. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, but when I managed to get my message across to him through the warbled transmission, he became ecstatic. He left immediately and had locked onto the transmission by the end of the day. I stayed put as he arrived the next morning, blowing up a dust storm in his descending ship. I got onboard immediately and we blasted off, wary of the possibilites of Imperial patrols or search parties in the area.
While in hyperspace route to Corellia, I explained to Felome what had happened at Concord Dawn. He took the news heavy-heartedly; although his time there was limited, the planet was as much a home to him as it was to me. It also signified the increasing totaltarian approach of the Empire, which Felome was in drastic oppose to. He was angered by the news, and I seem to recall him saying something to the effect of the Rebels eventual victory over tyranny…
As our conversation continued, Felome invited me to come live with him on Corellia. I could tell that he meant it, but I couldn’t accept. I was an Imperial fugitive, and my mere adjacency to Felome threatenend his very existence. When we got to Corellia, I was going off on my own – or so I thought.
I never reached Corellia.

Upon exiting hyperspace into the system, we were intercepted by a patrol of Imperial frigates and knocked out of the sky before either of us could so much as utter a word. I was thrown into unconsciousness by the vacuum of space. I wasn’t sure if Felome survived.

As my consciousness returned to me, I slowly gathered myself as being in the presence of a medical facility. Several variety of terminals and monitors surrounded me, emitting an overlay of soft pulses and beeps. The room I was in was particularly dark, which I realize now was hardly ordinary for hospitals of that time period. That never made sense to me, to be honest. Recovering patients, some of which on the brink of death more often than not, and they’re expected to feel more comfortable and prone to healing when thrown under examanatory flourescence. Doesn’t make sense to me personally, but anyway – this facility was particularly dark, and I found opening and adjusting my eyes to be a pleasantly painless experience. I stood up from the metal cot I had been mysteriously placed on, and walked towards the only door in the room. I was surprised to find it unlocked.

A guard of some type was waiting for me outside. He seemed surprised to find me active so soon. I asked him some basic questions, but all I got in return was the impression that the man was a complete idiot who couldn’t even tell me what position he was holding in this arrangement. Eventually though, I got the tidbit from him that the Emperor was “looking for me”, and “wanted to meet me.”

Not if I could help it.

I thanked the idiot and moved on to where he directed, finding after a series of hallways another man who immediately and enthusiastically identified himself as the station master. So my suspicions had been correct – I was on a type of space platform.

This man explained to me in far greater detail the reasonings behind my capture and treatment. To put it bluntly, it wasn’t good; Felome’s ship had been tracked since he had recieved my message and been labeled as harboring a fugitive from Concord Dawn. We were blasted out of the sky because of it, no questions asked. It seemed that it was only a convenience that I had happened to survive the encounter. And now, I was being shipped to the Emperor himself, to be made the ragdoll of his personal vendetta against my people.

Again, not if I could help it.

It seemed luck was with me that day however, for while I remained locked in this political banter a call came to the station master of the utmost urgency – the station was being attacked by Rebel forces. The Rebels! Attacking the very station I was standing on, just as I was about to be sent to see the man behind the conflict. It was at this point in my life that I realized for the first time the absolute impact this Civil War actually had on the Galaxy at that time.
Possibilities of escape in the inevitable forthcoming confusion flicked through my mind. I was practically gone already.
The first shell hit the station and the resulting shockwave was enough to send myself and the Imperial crashing to the floor. I acted quickly – while the other man was still recovering I propelled myself upward and shot out of the room, only hearing his shouts of protest after I was well down the exit corridor. I made progress quickly, thankful for the timing of the crisis; I passed by several Officers in the halls who were too preoccupied to notice me. Directional signs along the ceiling guided me easily to the escape pod bay, and after sliding through the opening to the terminal I quickly initiated the nearest pod without any regard to where the autopilot would have me coursed for landing. The door to the pod slid open and I hunched inside. The thing was extemely uncomfortable, but I figured spending the rest of my life in it would still be better than spending it on board the station. I punched the override and felt the rockets kick to life above my head – the hatch slid closed as I caught a glimpse of my detainer entering the room, and suddenly felt myself thrust out into antigravity as an earsplitting noise resounded through the cramped cabin. The transit was short, and I was en route to landing within five minutes. That was a bad sign to me – with a distance  that short it was obvious that the space station had been orbiting a planet, and that of course begged the question of whether or not said planet was an Imperial hotspot. I didn’t like it, but I decided to take my chances.

It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.

Kevin Kreger is a photographer, filmmaker, and writer. His contributions to Verivex include science fiction, history, and reflections.Learn more about Kevin Kreger on his website or connect with him on Facebook.