The redheaded boy sits on a ship without viewports so he cannot see the endless dunes or the raging war going on above them. All he can see right now is the other children: two dozen of them lining benches on each side of the transport ship, all of them in white, all of them staring at the young child as if he’s a gobbet of meat and they’re a pack of slavering yenavores.
They are hungry and feral and he tries not to tremble.
But the boy trembles harder, instead.
The door to the transport bay opens, and a man steps in—the boy knows this man: Counselor Rax.
The man comes and stands before the boy, looking down.
“Hello, Armitage.”
“Sir,” the redheaded boy says in a small voice. “Hello.”
“Has your father explained to you what’s happening?”
“No, sir.”
“Hm. Brendol does not much like you, I suspect.”
Tears line the boy’s eyelids as he nods in agreement. “I suspect that is correct, sir.”
“Listen to you. The pinnacle of a private education. Such a crisp evocation of words for such a young lad. Even in fear you speak clearly and plainly. Well done, Armitage.” The man sighs and kneels down. “I was not initially so fortunate as you. I was born here on Jakku. This horrible world. Those born here are already dead, or so I once thought. But I was reborn. I was brought into the Empire by our late Emperor and made anew. I was turned from the little sand-scoured Jakku savage into something considerably more civilized. I was like you in one way, though: I, too, was scared.”
“I am scared, sir.”
“Yes. That is wise. Fear is useful when it guides us—but it becomes dangerous when it governs us. I am here to tell you what is going to happen. We are taking this ship to a location where a second ship awaits. You and these other children will be taken far away. Your father will come, as will I. We will meet others at our destination. Together we will begin something new. We will leave all of this behind. Do you understand?”
The boy does not, and he says as much. “No, sir. Not truly.”
The man laughs softly. “That’s fine, Armitage. It will all become clear one day. For now, I leave you with a gift.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“These other children? They stare at you, don’t they?”
“Y…yes, sir.”
“They want to kill you, I fear. They want to slash you with their fingernails. They want to bite you until you are just unrecognizable pieces. They would, if given half a chance, beat you with common rocks until all your limbs were broken sticks. Just as I was once a savage of Jakku, so too are these children savage in the same way. Your father’s work has only heightened that impulse. He has sharpened them the way you do a knife.”
The boy is truly afraid. The urge to go to the bathroom rises, and he is suddenly sure that he is going to wet himself. And he knows, too, that when he does, the other children will pounce upon him at this man’s command. They will smell his weakness and they will slaughter him.
“I…”
“The gift. You want to know about the gift. Here it is, Armitage: You will lead these children. They will serve you. And one day soon your father will pass down his teachings to you, and you will learn to do what he did. It will be your life’s work to take children like these savages and hammer their malleable minds into whatever shape you so require. They will be tools built for the work at hand. That is my gift to you, boy. One day your father will die. One day soon, I fear. And you will take his place.”
He stands then and speaks to the other children. “Listen to me closely. This boy, Armitage Hux, commands you. You will do as he decides. You will give your lives for him if you must. Nod if you understand.”
They all nod in a simultaneity that both disturbs and thrills Armitage.
“Thank you,” Armitage says to Counselor Rax.
“It is my pleasure. The future of the Empire needs you. Now sit tight. We’re almost at the Observatory. Our destiny isn’t long now.”
With that, Rax turns on his heel and walks back through the rows of children and back out of the transport hold. The door seals shut behind him.
The children all turn once more toward Armitage to stare. He fears that this has all been some trickster’s ruse, some game played upon him—they won’t listen to him. He doesn’t command anything or anyone. They’ll laugh at him and, as the man said, they’ll beat him, claw him, bite him.
He draws in a quick intake of breath and points to one of the children with a wavering finger—the child is a boy like him, but with tar-dark hair and sun-marked skin. “You,” Armitage says to him.
The boy says nothing.
“Do you agree to do as I say?” Armitage asks.
The dark-haired boy nods.