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The troopers always drew short straws to determine who patrols the corridors outside the Supreme Leader’s corridors. There had been knifings over the results. But the patrols must go on and eventually some supremely unlucky squad headed out to make the rounds.
Over the years, they’d developed ways to insert extra padding inside their armor. It reduced the bruising if one of them found themselves colliding with a bulkhead. Experiments were made in reinforcing their collars but given up after they determined it did no good against choking – the Force insinuated itself inside their armor and wrapped itself directly around the skin of their necks. Luckily for them, that most often happened to officers, not the rank and file.
DS-5467 led the squad today. When the lift deposited them on the level they slunk out, falling into their two rows with obvious reluctance.
“All right. Let’s get this over with,” he told them. “Move out.”
They were trying something new today. Each of them had fastened felt pads to the soles of their boots. This would, they hoped, give them a better chance of sneaking away if they rounded a corner and came upon Ren in full tantrum mode.
Their footsteps hit the floor with a dull thud instead of the normal stomp, and as they completed their first circuit of the deck DS-5467 could see shoulders begin to relax. They made their second circuit without incident. Rotations had been stepped up for this duty, so each squad only spent a half a shift on patrol on this deck. At a normal pace, that meant they passed Ren’s quarters eight times.
“Six to go,” one of the squad muttered.
They almost made it. As they rounded the corner at the end of the corridor outside Ren’s quarters for the eighth time, DS-5467 saw movement. He held up his hand and the patrol screeched to a halt. Standard operating procedure in these situations was to back away, slowly and cautiously, holding your breath, praying not to be noticed, but this time they all froze, dumbfounded, staring.
There’d been a betting pool going on as to whether or not the general and Ren had been fucking for years. They’d all put in a few credits at some point or another. The bets all involved who initiated, who dominated, and speculation on favorite positions. There wasn’t a single betting tier that covered what they saw unfolding before them.
Hux leaned against the door to his quarters. Ren stood in front of him, one arm tucked around Hux’s waist, the other braced against the door above Hux’s head. Hux had both hands buried in Ren’s hair and his tongue buried in Ren’s mouth.
Raising his hand, DS-5467 flicked his fingers back and they all stealthily stepped around the corner and out of sight. The pads muted their footfalls, and neither Ren nor Hux seemed to have noticed their approach. Holding one finger up in front of the speaker grill of his helmet, DS-5467 peeked out into the corridor again. He immediately wished he hadn’t, as he had to witness the sight of Ren picking Hux up and carrying him into Hux’s quarters, Hux’s legs wrapped around his waist. None of this dislodged Hux’s tongue, although just before the doors hissed closed he could have sworn he heard a giggle.
“We’re dead,” AR-4448 moaned. “They won’t bother with reconditioning. Straight out the airlock.”
“Only if they find out we saw them.” DS-5467 took off his helmet and stared down every one of his squad. “This didn’t happen. We never talk about it, even among ourselves. Not one word of this ever leaves this corridor. Got it? I don’t care how much the pool is, won’t do any of us any good when they space us.”
He got it, fervent agreement from every single trooper.
They counted to five hundred before resuming their patrol. They had to scurry to make their rendezvous with their relief, and DS-5467 considered warning them for a brief instant, but in order to do so he’d have to admit they’d seen something and he couldn’t risk it. So he merely nodded at SP-9101 as they passed each other.
“Nothing to report,” he said, and ducked into the lift.
As soon as his shift ended he went straight to his quarters and pulled out the emergency bottle he had stashed in the bottom of his trunk. Maybe if he drank the whole thing he’d wake up the next morning thinking it had all been an alcohol-fueled dream.
“Here’s hoping,” he told himself as he pulled out the cork.
