The duty on the Death Star was pretty cushy. Trooper X1 could be in the Dagobah system, or sweating on Tatooine. But he managed to pull some strings with his commanding officer to get him on the ‘Star’. He was lucky, stationed in cool halls of steel, where each turn brought polished corridors and sharp views of stars. Routine stayed quiet, patrols light. No sandstorms or hostile life to dodge.

Each meal came warm, unlike field rations, and sleep held no distant howls or sudden ambushes. Duties involved guard shifts, checks, orders from superiors—mundane, safe, and timed. Friends joked, laughed, even gambled on breaks. Life aboard seemed ideal: stable, secure, with no peril or struggle. Commanders praised alertness, yet few threats came near. X1, though aware of potential risks, felt at ease here, unworried.