Phasma (Star Wars) by Delilah S. Dawson
Inside, the building was flawless. It was as if the miners had simply walked out, and everything had kept going without them. Which was almost what had happened. After Phasma found a small cart and rolled the heavy metal plates down the smooth hallway, she passed wide, shining windows looking down on the factory floors and into boardrooms. In one room, she found hundreds of deactivated droids, standing still and covered in dust. In another, she found several dozen people curled up on the ground as if they’d simply lain down to sleep and stayed there. Beside each of them was a cup still rimmed in poison. Funny, how people who had never had to fight to stay alive were so willing and eager to give up their lives when faced with a few challenges. Phasma had grown up eating sea urchins raw and drinking water from snail shells, while these folk had looked around at bounteous fields of grain and been unable to handle being abandoned by their overlords.
Phasma was happier with the First Order than she had been with the Scyre, but she would never be willing to drink poison for any master.
“Fools,” she muttered, dragging the cart farther down the hall.
She had chosen this particular factory, out of dozens of Con Star factories, because it had specific machinery capable of replicating a very particular kind of process. Having downloaded the facility’s map into her datapad, she knew exactly which room housed the equipment she needed. She didn’t even have to flip the generator; everything hummed along perfectly when she powered up the synthicator.
Plate by plate, she fed the chrome sheets into the smelting chamber until they were all gone. Then, piece by piece, she removed her stormtrooper armor, placed it in the scanning chamber, waited until it had been properly coded, and replaced it with the next piece. They had built this costly machine so they wouldn’t have to constantly ship in new parts whenever something broke; they could merely replicate an exact replacement. Phasma was happy to consider it one small piece of Con Star’s payback for having made her early life a living hell.
The synthicator screeched back and forth as each new piece of armor took shape in glorious chrome. She had to carefully file the sharp edges and drill holes and place bolts here and there, but the printer’s work was flawless beyond her wildest imagining. The helmet was the last piece and also the most time consuming. She had selected a prototype helmet design that Brendol had rejected but she had fought for, and she had to first remove all the intricate electronics within without damaging them, then reattach them inside the new helmet. It was a tricky business when working with plastoid and even more challenging when dealing with the slickness of the chrome. She sighed heavily and pulled out her datapad, studying the downloaded schematics to help her get all the fittings just right. To think: Just a year ago, she had never held a working datapad, and now she could build one from scratch, given the right materials.
Powering down the synthicator, Phasma left her old white armor on the ground. Piece by piece, she put on the chrome armor for the first time, lovingly fitting every shining plate. Her captain’s cloak sat perfectly on her shoulder, swirling around the metal with a satisfying swish that it didn’t have over the old white plastoid. Along with the chrome plating from the ship, she’d also hauled in a new chrome sidearm and matching chrome blaster rifle, both ordered secretly and already tuned to her gloves. The blaster slid into its holster with a decisive click, and Phasma smiled.
Standing before a plate-glass window, Phasma was, for once, satisfied. Just as she had constructed this shining suit, the first of its kind in the First Order and even more distinctive and commanding than that sycophantic fool Cardinal’s red suit, she had also constructed a completely new Phasma. She spoke the updated Basic of the First Order fluently, her accent just as clipped and polished as Brendol Hux’s. She fought better than any other stormtrooper, including Cardinal. And she took her orders directly from the general and no other, a position she’d reached in less than a year.
In part by getting rid of anyone who stood in her way, of course. But that was something she’d learned on this very planet. Kill or be killed.
So she killed. And still she rose.
Phasma rubbed a dull spot on the chrome helmet until it shone and carried it under her arm. Down the long hall, past the tomb of dead fools, and out the door she strode, her boots the only sound in the entire world. Her ship waited in a peaceful field, the kind of place her parents and then the Scyre folk had told her stories about as a child, a dream lost generations ago, of simply walking on solid ground without a starving belly. Placing the chrome helmet on her head, she took in a deep breath through the filtration system, tasting the air of Parnassos for the last time and finding it sweeter than ever before. She boarded her ship, took off, and blasted into the sky and back toward the Finalizer and her new life.
She swore never to return to this planet again, or to the girl who had once lived here.
There was only one more person alive who had seen her face, and she was on her way to end him.
She had become Captain Phasma of the First Order, and nothing could stop her.
To my sweet husband, Craig: I forgive you for killing me with those Noghri in the Star Wars RPG back in 1997.
Mostly.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, or maybe it was 2015, I bought a vanilla cupcake at the grocery store because it had a plastic Darth Vader ring stuck in the frosting. As I held the cupcake, I made a wish on it: I wanted to write a Star Wars novel. A few weeks after shoving that cupcake in my mouth and devouring it in two gigantic, messy bites, I was invited to write “The Perfect Weapon.” A year later, I was offered the immense honor of writing Phasma.
Getting to write stories in the Star Wars universe is a dream come true for me, and I’m so grateful for the chance to be a part of something that’s been so important throughout my life. I’d like to thank everyone who works on Del Rey Star Wars, including Elizabeth Schaefer, Tom Hoeler, Jen Heddle, Shelly Shapiro, Michael Siglain, David Moench, Julie Leung, the Story Group, and the publicity folks who take great care of us authors at cons (and everywhere else). Thanks to my agent, Kate McKean, for helping me navigate even when she isn’t quite sure who Yoda is. Thanks to my best buddies Kevin Hearne and Chuck Wendig, who passed on their priceless knowledge about writing canon, as well as the support of Ty Franck, Daniel Abraham, Matt Stover, Christie Golden, Claudia Gray, Tim Zahn, Janine K. Spendlove, Beth Revis, E. K. Johnston, Kelly Thompson—heck, to all the amazing Star Wars writers, with extra hugs to the #StarWarsGirlGang.
I’m so grateful to everyone who reads my books and to those who review, podcast, retweet, blog, or otherwise take the time to spread the word. Star Wars fans are the best fans. Thanks to the 501st for inviting us to their amazing party at Star Wars Celebration Orlando—and for doing so much good in the world. And a shout-out to all the Bazine Netal and Captain Phasma cosplayers. I don’t think I’ll ever stop squealing when I see your amazing costumes.
Thanks to my husband, Craig, for always being my biggest fan and favorite person and for being just as nerdy about Star Wars as I am—but, again, you should feel very bad about killing me with Noghri. Thanks to my kids, both secretly name-dropped in this book, for being awesome. Thanks to my mom, Linda, for helping wrangle the Padawans while I was writing. And thanks to my much-loved plush Princess Kneesaa, who’s been with me since Christmas 1983. I am and will always be #TeamMurderbear.
May the Force be with y’all, and thanks for reading!
BY DELILAH S. DAWSON
STAR WARS
Phasma
The Perfect Weapon (e-novella)
THE STRIKE SERIES
Strike
Hit
THE SHADOW SERIES (AS LILA BOWEN)
Conspiracy of Ravens
Wake of Vultures
THE BLUD SERIES
Wicked Ever After
Wicked After Midnight
Wicked as She Wants
Wicked as They Come
Servants of the Storm
ABOUT
DELILAH S. DAWSON is the writer of the Blud series, the Hit series, Servants of the Storm, and the Shadow series, written as Lila Bowen and beginning with Wake of Vultures. She is the creator of the Ladycastle comic and writes for the Adventure Time comic. With Kevin Hearne, she co-writes the forthcoming Tales of Pell series, beginning with Kill the Farmboy. Delilah teaches writing courses online for LitReactor and lives in Florida with her family.
whimsydark.com
Twitter: @DelilahSDawson
Facebook.com/DelilahSDawson
If you enjoyed Star Wars: Phasma, don’t miss the next must-read tale on the Journey to the Last Jedi.
Star Wars: Canto Bight
Visit a lavish new locale rich with opportunity, but where the stakes couldn’t be higher.
Featuring new stories and characters from The Last Jedi.
On sale December 5.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
Delilah S. Dawson, Phasma (Star Wars)