The Blast at the Edge of the Galaxy
On a forgotten outpost at the edge of the galaxy, one trooper stands between order and chaos. But when fantasy and reality collide, a single blast changes everything.
The trooper checked his energy rifle. Again.
It had become a habit — before every shift, after every patrol, even during breaks. His fingers moved without thought: grip, charge pack, scope. Just in case.
He knew the chances of needing it were low.
Especially here, on the edge of the galaxy.
The sun rose over the desert town in its usual lazy way, bleeding orange across the rocks and dull metal domes. Dust drifted in the air like smoke from a battle long past. The trooper walked his route — armor scuffed, blaster polished, boots leaving the same prints he’d left yesterday.
He’d done this for years.
No new orders.
No promotion.
No explanation.
Every request for transfer met the same response:
“Just do your rounds, stay on script.”
So he patrolled. Watched. Waited.
The town looked frozen in time: same stalls, same vendors, same rusty speeders in front of the cantina. Only the visitors changed — and even they seemed to repeat themselves.
They came in waves, bright and noisy, through the tunnel at the edge of town. No ships ever landed. No transports arrived. They simply appeared, carrying bags and glowing datapads. They laughed, pointed, and wore shirts with old Imperial symbols as if they were jokes. Some kids even wore helmets like his, but flimsier, made of plastic.
Maybe part of an early recruitment program.
And then there was the ship — an old circular freighter that had sat in the same spot for as long as he’d been stationed here. Maintenance checked it daily. Lights blinked. Engines never fired. Rumor said it had once belonged to a smuggler, but no one dared touch it now. It was as much a relic as the sand itself.
The Blue Robot
The trooper was halfway through his route when he noticed something new: a small robot rolling past the fountain. Blue and white, dome-shaped, with a cheerful whistle.
He froze.
That model was ancient — long decommissioned after the rebellion. How had one survived here?
He followed. The robot chirped and swiveled its dome toward him, almost teasing. Then it rolled off toward the plaza, weaving through the crowd like it had somewhere to be.
The trooper narrowed his eyes.
“Unit, identify. Stop immediately. You are not authorized to operate in this sector.”
The robot ignored him.
He pushed after it.
Maybe it would lead him to its owner. Whoever it was, they’d definitely need to show their identification.
He emerged into a courtyard behind the market.
And stopped cold.
A group of people stood there — ten or twelve — all dressed in brown robes. Some held up datapads, taking pictures as others posed beside the blue robot, laughing. Then he saw them — the silver hilts hanging from their belts.
“Resistance members,” the trooper muttered.
He stepped forward, blaster raised. “Hands where I can see them! You are under arrest for possession of restricted weapons!”
The group turned, startled — then burst into laughter.
One woman clapped. “Wow, what a blast! That sounded so real!”
A man grinned, lifting a recording device. “Can you say ‘move along’? My kid loves that line!”
“On the ground!” the trooper barked. “Now!”
They laughed again. One of them even bowed.
“Okay, trooper, you win! We surrender!”
He grabbed the nearest man by the shoulder and shoved him down. The laughter died instantly. The man cried out, shocked and angry.
“Hey! What the hell, dude? Let me up!”
The others froze. A few glowing screens hit the ground. Faces paled.
Then panic.
Security arrived — three men in dark shirts with badges. No armor. No visible weapons.
“Sir,” one said, calm but firm. “Let the guest go.”
The trooper didn’t move.
“This man is a resistance sympathizer,” he said. “They’re armed infiltrators. You should be detaining them.”
The guard frowned. “Okay. Let’s take a breath. We’re going to get you some help, all right? Please release the guest.”
They thought he was joking. Or testing them.
He stepped back, blaster still raised.
A crowd had gathered now. Quiet. Watching. Some raised devices — perhaps for intelligence gathering.
One of the guards edged forward. “Look. Lower your rifle. You’re scaring people. It’s just a prop, all right? Let’s talk.”
The trooper shook his head.
“This isn’t a prop,” he said. “One blast is all it takes to stop this insurrection before it spreads.”
The man on the ground whimpered.
The guard’s hand moved to his side. “Put it down. Now.”
“I’ll give my life to protect the order in this outpost,” the trooper said.
He pointed his rifle.
A single shot cracked the air.
He staggered. Looked down, stunned, at the hole in his armor. Blood poured out.
For a moment, he didn’t understand. The armor hadn’t protected him.
Then he fell. His helmet clattered against the stone.
The Aftermath
Security evacuated the area. A medic removed the helmet, revealing a pale, middle-aged man with sunburned skin and dry lips. His eyes stared upward, unseeing.
Someone whispered, “Was he… one of ours?”
“No record,” another answered. “No ID. No contract. Nothing.”
They wheeled him away under the indifferent sun. The visitors resumed their tours. The robot chirped once, then rolled back into the crowd.
By afternoon, the plaza looked exactly the same as before.
The same ship. The same dust. The same endless music drifting from unseen speakers.
Only one thing had changed: a faint scorch mark near the edge of the courtyard.
Most visitors thought it was painted there.
A special effect. A story detail.
A leftover blast from some long-past rebellion.
None of them knew it marked the spot where a man had gone over the edge to protect his reality.
I ABSOLUTELY LOVED THIS! What I’m left wondering is, was the trooper really from a galaxy far, far away or a deranged man? 🤔