Leia greeted her brother with a hug. Age and gravity had stolen some height from each of them, but her head still reached the same spot at his shoulder. As he rested his cheek against her hair, Luke could hear the sounds of starfighter engines and blasts from the target range.
"How are things going?" he asked, without letting her go. He'd only been away from base a few days, serving as a sort of Force-sensitive radar on an undercover scout ship. But things could change overnight.
Leia stayed there in his arms for another moment, face pressed into the wool of his jacket. It could have been any year, any day of the Rebellion or now the Resistance, any moment from princess and farm boy to general and Jedi.
When she stepped away, he could see her expression turning serious, as she let the space between them shift her back to the day's current challenge.
"The atmospheric camouflage seems to be working," she said. "At least, for now. We're doing our best to make the most of whatever time we have here. But I'm glad you're back. We need you."
"What is it?" Luke asked, imagining a new mission, a ship in trouble, the First Order intensifying their strength.
"Go see Finn," Leia said. "There's something wrong with the chickens."
When Luke had first arrived here three months ago, following the Falcon in an ancient shuttle and carrying the weight of a promise to Rey, he'd been surprised to look down and see an expanse of raw dirt out beyond the prefab buildings.
Now, the energy of green growing things was a constant presence, calling to him from the far western edge of the base.
Farming was something new the Resistance had taken on. If they managed to stay here long enough, there would be fresh produce in the commissary and real meat for the mid-day meal. Good for morale.
Even better, it would be insurance against siege and disrupted supply lines.
Not that that explained, at all, why Leia wanted him to go check out the chickens.
There'd been some noise from the Resistance, shortly after Luke's return from his self-imposed exile, about enlisting him as an advisor for the gardens. He'd been a farmer once, hadn't he?
Luke imagined that his younger self would have been insulted. He was a Jedi! He had more important things to do!
But age had brought a certain intelligence, as well as calm. Food was important to an army, just as important as blasters or starfighters. Or Jedi Knights.
So he'd been a little embarrassed to have to tell them he knew nothing about growing food. A moisture farmer's job ended once the water was pulled from the sky. Actually making use of that water? It was an entirely different skill.
It was a skill, he'd noted with interest, that a certain former Stormtrooper had taken to with enthusiasm.
Luke found Finn standing at the edge of the chicken yard, looking glum. Beyond the fence, a dozen birds scratched in the dirt.
Some had white feathers and bright red combs and wattles. Some were brown, with yellow or brown feet. A couple were black from beak to toes, feathers glossy.
About half looked like utterly normal chickens.
The rest of them had eyes gone yellow from center to edge, glowing faintly and rimmed with red.
So this was why Leia had sent him.
Luke recognized those eyes. He'd seen them too many times in Force users who had slipped into the Dark. Some of them were there still. Some had died at his hands. He'd brought back only two: His father, for the few minutes he had lived. And a young woman named Neddiya, who was in the medical ward on Denon. She'd been there for years now, sedated and kept safe, unable to leave behind what she'd done.
There was a chicken coop at the back of the yard. More yellow eyes glowed from its shadows.
Luke leaned on the fence next to Finn, copying his position, elbows resting on the rail.
"They're First Order chickens, aren't they?"
"I had a connection." Finn sounded pained. "This guy I knew when I was on the sanitation squad, he had a recycling business back then. Picked up all the scrap metal when they—" Finn paused, then went on, "When we were building Starkiller Base."
Luke wanted to put a hand on the young man's shoulder, reassure him that FN-2187 was a different person, that Finn could leave his First Order sins behind with his Stormtrooper armor. But he couldn't, not really. That history was part of him.
Finn went on. "This guy, he quit working for the First Order after Starkiller took down the Hosnian system. You can't just run, though. He's pretty much in hiding all the time, dealing black market, whatever he can trade. He had these chickens—" He shrugged, rueful. "The Resistance had the credits. I thought we could help him out."
Several of the chickens had their beaks lowered to the dirt, heads bobbing as they pecked at something there. Periodically one would straighten up, use its claws to scratch away a new bare spot, and begin to peck again.
"The ones with the spooky eyes, they're the new ones" Finn added. "They haven't… converted the others, or anything. I mean, as far as I know. Yet."
"What have they been doing?" Luke asked.
One of the yellow-eyed chickens raised its head and let out a noise. It sounded like a cross between a cough and a laugh.
Buk-buk-buk-bukahhh. The other chickens picked it up. Bukahhh-buk-buk-bukahhh.
An echoing buk-bukahhh came from the coop, pairs of yellow eyes still shining through the dark beyond the doorway.
Finn shuddered.
"That. They're doing that."
Luke's life as a starfighter pilot, soldier, and spy had taken him to many places, over many years. He'd passed through busy markets on a dozen planets around the galaxy, where chickens squawked in cages stacked three or four high. He'd spent three tense days, once, in a safe house on a chicken farm on Aldivy.
Luke knew what chickens were supposed to sound like. And it wasn't like that. There was something about it, an echo from years ago.
It sounded like the Emperor's laughter.
The ghost of electricity shivered along Luke's skin.
"Their eggs taste awful, too," Finn said.
"You ate their eggs?"
A voice from behind Luke chimed in. "Definitely awful."
He turned to see his new apprentice coming down the path. She was decked out in work pants and boots, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a smile on her face as she caught sight of Finn. "You fed Rey their eggs?"
"She volunteered!" Finn's tone had gone defensive.
"We both had some," Rey said, coming up to stand on Luke's other side, resting her own elbows on the fence beside him. "Just a bite each. Dark Force energy doesn't taste good at all."
"Sort of chalky," Finn added.
"Bitter."
"Really?" said Finn. "I didn't think bitter. I thought they were more…"
"Acidic?" Rey tried.
"Astringent?" Finn offered.
"Astringent," Rey agreed. The two of them nodded at each other, satisfied with their conclusion, then looked expectantly at Luke.
"What?" he said. "I didn't eat the evil eggs."
"But you'll know what it means," Rey said with confidence.
"I know we shouldn't be feeding eggs filled with Dark Force energy to Resistance fighters," Luke sighed. "I don't know why they taste funny. Animals don't usually turn, it's more of a human thing. I haven't made a habit of eating my enemies."
"We both felt pretty bad afterwards," Rey said.
Finn leaned over and whispered behind Luke's back. "You don't think he ever actually—?"
"Of course not," Rey hissed back, but Luke could sense the edge of uncertainty there.
He couldn't help laughing. "Don't worry, either of you. I really have no idea what the Dark Side tastes like."
"What are you going to do?" Finn asked.
The fields behind Luke felt vivid with the generous energy of thriving plants. Here at the edge of the chicken yard, there was a change that reminded him, vaguely, of the difference between atmosphere and open space. There was something that slid from safety to uncertainty, from warmth to chill.
The First Order chickens continued to peck at the dirt, yellow eyes intent on their search. Luke didn't care to hear them cackle again, but for now they weren't doing anything worrisome.
So what did that edge of uneasiness mean? Long experience had finally, finally taught him: You don't know yet. Wait and see.
Finn and Rey were looking at him, waiting for him to have the answer. It was easy to guess why Han had taken them in, kept Finn's secret, offered Rey a job. These kids, both of them, were just as wide-eyed as Luke had been at nineteen, and-if the stories about Starkiller Base were true-just as reckless.
He'd thought, for a time, that he was done being a teacher. Apparently, he wasn't.
"You're the chicken-keeper," he told Finn. "Keep an eye on them. See if anything changes. I'm going to go find some breakfast. Not eggs."
Luke woke the next morning to Finn pounding on his door. "Master Skywalker! Luke! Jedi Master!"
He opened the door to Finn's worried face. The young man's right hand, raised to knock again, had three deep, parallel scratches along the back. Fresh blood tracked down to his wrist, bright against dark skin.
"It's the chickens. You have to help!"
Luke didn't know Finn well enough, yet, to know if the urgency in his voice signaled panic or a problem that Finn truly couldn't handle on his own.
He left Finn standing in the doorway while he rummaged blearily in a drawer for a clean shirt and a pair of trousers. "Where's Rey?"
"I didn't want to wake her up," Finn said. "It's so early."
Luke ducked into the refresher to change out of his sleep clothes. As he ran the ultrasound cleaner over his teeth, he closed his sleep-heavy eyes and tried to remember when he was 20 years old with a crush on a beautiful girl. Of course his memory must have been playing tricks on him, but he couldn't recall a time when he'd let Leia sleep-because he couldn't remember a time that he was awake and she wasn't. He only remembered her being there already in the command center, whenever he walked in. Wielding a blaster beside him on missions. Sitting between him and Han on the top hull of the Falcon on a rare, quiet night, watching dark clouds drift across the stars.
Finn was still standing in the doorway when Luke emerged. "You could have come in and sat down," Luke said as he pulled on a pair of weatherproof boots. He'd learned, during his time at that safe house on the chicken farm, that regular shoes and farmyards didn't go together well.
"I never knew people with private rooms before," Finn said. "Don't you wait to be invited?"
"I'd say all bets are off when you show up at this hour. That's not exactly a normal thing to do in the first place."
Finn stepped over the threshold. Looking at him more closely, Luke was troubled to see that it wasn't just his hand that was injured. Both arms were covered in gouges up to his elbows.
"Was that the chickens?"
"What else would it have been?"
"You never know," Luke said. "We had pretty vicious squash on Tatooine."
Finn didn't laugh. Right, Luke thought, this kid only knows me as Jedi Master Skywalker. The legend returned from exile. He has no idea when I'm joking.
"You'd better wash those wounds out," he said, more serious now. "There's a medkit in the cupboard next to the reflector. There should be enough strips to cover up the worst ones."
"Can you go on ahead?" Finn said, eyes following where Luke pointed. "They're probably still at it."
At what exactly? Luke thought. "Are they hurting anyone else?"
"No, not yet. Just, please, go and stop them!"
As Luke turned toward the door, Finn paused on the way to the refresher. He picked up Luke's lightsaber from its place on the worktable. "Don't you want this?"
He's nervous about walking through the door, Luke thought, but he'll pick up a Jedi's lightsaber, just like that? "Are the chickens armed?"
"Seriously," Finn said, holding out the weapon. He turned his hand to show off the scratches going up his arm. Blood had begun to well up again from the worst ones. A drop splashed red onto the floor. "I'll clean that up."
"Don't worry about it," Luke told him. "It won't be the first time I've had to clean blood off my floor. Be careful with that," he added, leaving Finn with the lightsaber handle in his hand.
Military bases never slept, but they had their rhythms. The quiet lanes, the artificial glow from a few windows, the faint light at one edge of the sky were visions Luke had seen so many times. Rising early for a mission, touching down after battle. Facing the early morning after a sleepless night.
Two young women in work uniforms strode past, heading somewhere with purpose. Luke raised a hand and they waved in return, seeming unsurprised to see him. Either that, or they didn't know who he was.
Celebrity or stranger, Luke was grateful to be part of life on base again.
He made his way past the hangars and along the path through the neat, furrowed fields. Rows of wide-leafed vines were low, grey shadows. Taller plants, staked to poles, made dark, waist-high spikes. The chicken coop was a black rectangle.
The chickens were already out in their fenced yard. The ones at that safe house on Aldivy had been early risers, too. During those few days Luke, injured and exhausted, had made a game out of recalling every swear word he knew, in every language, as he lay awake listening to a rooster crowing to summon the sun.
Several chickens were gathered by the door of the coop, fluffing up their feathers. Amazing, how they could turn their heads all the way around to reach the feathers on their backs. Other birds were scattered about, scratching and pecking at piles of dry grain. Yellow eyes shone faintly in the pale light.
There was a squawk from the corner of the yard.
By the time Luke looked over, there were feathers in the air.
Blood flew as a white chicken, yellow eyes glowing, jabbed violently at a black chicken's head.
Its victim cowered.
Luke vaulted the fence. He grabbed the pecking bird, lifting it off the ground. The black chicken ran for the coop, blood on its feathers reflecting the pale light from the sky.
A moment later, he understood why Finn thought he might need a weapon. The white chicken was pecking at him, head twisting on that flexible neck, beak driving holes into bare skin.
Luke switched his grip so the sharp blows would land mostly on his exposed metal hand. He'd given up, years ago, on having the synthskin repaired. The loss of that hand was so far back in memory… at this point, it was simply useful to have a part of himself that was impervious to pain.
The chicken's legs windmilled as it pecked harder, beak bouncing off hard metal. Sharp claws ripped at Luke's shirt and left hot scratches on his belly. He reached for its thoughts and was so surprised by the intensity of the bird's panic that he didn't see the other birds approaching until the first one struck at his shin.
"Ow!" He jumped back but the yellow-eyed chickens followed, heads bobbing, beaks like turbohammers against his boots and the skin above them.
He was aware of how ludicrous this was even as he sank his mind into the Force, letting it guide his feet to sidestep these feathered demons. He didn't try again to read them. He just gave them a push so they skidded, frozen for a moment in chicken astonishment, away across the yard. He turned a corner of his mind toward shaping a sense of calm for the bird in his arms, hoping chickens didn't have much will of their own.
The bird quieted, then tucked its head between its body and his chest.
Luke settled into a squat and then shifted to a cross-legged position in the dirt. He noticed, too late, that the chicken yard hadn't been raked out yet that morning. Oh well, he thought, aware now that he was seated among chicken droppings. One of the good things about being back on base was that the Resistance had laundry droids.
The sun wasn't over the horizon yet, but it was getting lighter. Past the fence, the green of growing crops was emerging from the grey and black shadows.
From the hen's thoughts came flashes of a dim space, a room full of other chickens, a sharp smell of ammonia. Underneath was a sense of uncertainty that, Luke found, made him feel a little empty. Almost as though there was an open gap where his-its-sense of self, of chickenhood, should be.
There wasn't much more to gather. At the safe house Luke had quickly learned to tune the chickens out. Otherwise, he'd have been drowning in thoughts of tasty bugs and how to make sure he got his share of grain.
He was still sitting there, white chicken in his lap, when Finn arrived. Finn stopped outside the fence, reaching over to offer the lightsaber in his outstretched hand. "I brought this for you. In case you needed it."
"Thanks," Luke said. "I don't seem to."
"Why aren't they attacking you? That's not fair, they had no problem attacking me."
"They did." Luke shifted the chicken so Finn could see the blood on his own skin. "Some of that's mine."
"And you just let them? You're a Jedi, you could've—" Finn made a waving motion with his hand. It was a clumsy imitation of the gesture Luke used to focus Force energy, but Luke had been just as clumsy, in the beginning. If he'd met these chickens in the days before Dagobah, there was a good chance they'd have ended up smashed across the side of the chicken coop—if he'd been able to get them to budge at all.
He smoothed a hand over ruffled feathers.
"I didn't let them. It just took me a minute." Luke smiled, still petting the chicken. It gazed up at him with its glowing eyes, and he gazed back, keeping up the connection. "I don't think it's time to cut these guys up for the stew pot just yet."
"Plus I bet they taste awful," Finn said, still conspicuously on the other side of the fence.
"Probably," Luke agreed. It would have been interesting to find out, but he didn't like the idea of killing a chicken just for an experiment. To nourish people fighting for a better world, that was a reason he could understand. But not so he, Finn, and Rey could each take a bite and spit it out.
Plus, Luke didn't know what happened to a Dark Force user's soul when they died. He'd never seen the spirit of an enemy the way he saw Yoda and Obi-wan and Anakin. Whatever it was that happened, he didn't think it could possibly be good.
Finn opened the gate cautiously and stepped into the yard. A dozen chicken heads swiveled to look at him.
He walked over slowly, carefully, with no sudden movements. He crouched beside Luke and, when everything remained still, extended a bandaged hand to pat the white chicken's head. "Hey, chickie-chickie. How's that evil Force energy treating you?"
Luke laughed, and as he did so he broke eye contact with the chicken. Immediately it leaped from his lap, giving a sharp peck at his shin as it went.
Finn jumped back. The chicken dashed past him, clucking with that unholy sound.
Luke pressed a hand to his leg where the chicken had gotten in its last blow. He peered underneath to see if he was bleeding. "Never underestimate the power of the Dark Side, Finn. It'll surprise you every time."
"Do you think it's actually evil?" Finn said, watching the white chicken as it rejoined the other yellow-eyed birds. They'd regained their composure after their Force-fueled flight across the yard and were calmly pecking at the dirt.
"No," Luke said, "I don't get evil from them, I don't think."
"Do chickens even have enough brains to be evil?"
"Good question. You'd have to be smart enough to make a choice, wouldn't you. I've never had much of a conversation with a chicken."
"We can't let them go on like this," Finn said.
"No," Luke agreed.
"So what do we do?"
"I don't know yet," Luke said. "Do you?"
They sat there together a few more minutes, watching the chickens go about their morning.
Finn left Luke sitting in the dirt and went to get two wide, flat rakes from where they were leaning against the fence. He reached a hand down to Luke, who grabbed it and pulled himself to standing. Finn handed him a rake.
"Like this," Finn said, showing him.
"I know," Luke said, starting to rake straw up into a pile. "I've been on a chicken farm before."
"Was that before or after you became a legend?"
"During, I think." Luke had long since stopped worrying about the "legend" thing. It made people uncomfortable when he tried to downplay it. "Shoveling chicken shit keeps you humble. It also makes great fertilizer."
"Wouldn't that make the vegetables go Dark, too?" Rey's voice came from the other side of the fence.
Finn greeted her with a smile that made Luke remember, once again, what it felt like to be that young.
"There's another rake by the shed," Finn said.
Rey cheerfully went to get it. Luke wondered if she could tell how hard Finn was trying to play it cool around her. He could have reached out to sense it, but he was more polite than that. He also knew Rey's recent history. When he did that sort of thing to Leia, she just considered it annoying. To Rey, it would have been a betrayal.
"Did you figure out the chickens?" Rey asked, raking bits of straw into the pile Luke had started.
Before he could answer, there was a commotion from the other end of the yard. Squawks and screeches rose from a writhing cluster of birds in the shadow of the shed.
It was an all-out chicken brawl.
Finn led the way. "Cut it out!" he yelled as he ran. "I don't take care of you for you to beat each other up. The medbay does not take chickens!"
Luke and Rey were right behind.
The three of them picked up flailing chickens and tossed them away from the fray. The yellow-eyed birds kept running right back in, clawing and pecking at the others.
"Wait." Luke stepped far enough away to be out of range of beaks and claws. "Rey?" She followed suit, moving a few meters outside the rough circle.
Finn continued tossing birds out, as fast as they could run in again. Until suddenly he found there were no more yellow-eyed chickens to throw. Just a bunch of ordinary chickens, clucking quietly in the sudden calm.
Luke and Rey each had one hand extended at waist level. They both had eyes half-closed, expressions calm.
Centered between their outstretched hands was a loose group of chickens frozen in place, heads up as if listening. Some faced Luke and some faced Rey, yellow eyes fixed on their faces.
"That's a little freaky," Finn said. "The two of you with that Force look. You should not look so much alike."
As a group, the chickens rose into the air. Their wings were still. They simply floated, a few centimeters between their feet and the ground. They drifted, slow and steady, over to the chicken house.
"Anybody inside?" Luke asked.
Finn counted aloud. Twelve ordinary chickens. Eight Dark Force chickens, floating serenely toward the coop.
"That's all of them," he said.
"Thanks."
One by one, the yellow-eyed chickens floated through the door of the chicken house until they were all inside.
"You got it, Rey?"
Rey didn't speak, but the chicken coop's door slid closed and the window coverings dropped into place.
Then she shook her head, blinking, as if she were waking from a nap.
She'd probably need a moment to get her head back in the regular world again. Luke, who had decades of practice shifting from the ordinary world to Force energy and back again, immediately went to check on the other birds.
"How do they look?"
Finn smoothed ruffled feathers and inspected heads, wings, and feet. "Nothing too serious. Some cuts and scratches. They should be ok."
Rey came over slowly, steps uncertain at first, but her expression had cleared by the time she crouched down next to them. "What do we do about the ones in the coop?"
It was Finn who answered. "We'll have to keep them separate until you"—here he looked at Luke—"figure out what to do about them."
"Why does everyone think I'm going to fix this?" Luke said, aiming his tone toward a gentle scolding. "You're the one who bought them." Finn needed to learn to handle these things, and so did Rey.
Especially Rey. It might be only chickens, but it was still the Dark Side. It would be good practice. "You should probably put some water in there for them," Luke added. "I'll see you later."
Luke went for a walk around base, thinking about other chickens he had known. He didn't remember this kind of behavior at the safe house. Those chickens had been serene, mostly, except for the bursts of squawking excitement when someone tossed out a handful of feed.
Then again, what did he know? He'd never even seen a chicken until he got off Tatooine.
Luke met with Leia for a briefing on the local command structure, talked to half a dozen squadron leaders about air defense, and spent an hour studying the latest upgrades to the A-wing line's manual controls.
Then, figuring it had been long enough, he went looking for Finn.
Finn had a room in the barracks nearest the fields, a narrow building that housed the base's technicians and other low-level workers. It was, Luke knew, a courtesy. Finn hadn't agreed to become an official member of the Resistance yet.
Finn answered Luke's knock and then stood there, looking surprised.
Luke smiled at him. "I'm waiting to be invited in."
"Oh! Right!" Finn stepped aside. "Please come in, Master Skywalker."
"Just Luke," Luke said. "You keep forgetting."
"Old habits," Finn said.
Looking around, Luke thought, old habits, indeed. The space was spotlessly clean, everything in its place. Unlike Rey's room, where bits and pieces of electronics, found objects, and tools covered every surface, Finn's looked like nobody lived there.
There was a single data-pad on the work desk, its screen aglow.
Finn offered him the room's single chair. Luke accepted out of courtesy, sliding the chair out from the desk and sitting down. Finn, still standing, reached past him for the data pad.
"I've been doing research," he said.
Luke had thought he might. He was glad to be proven right.
"It says here that chickens don't attack each other for no reason. As long as you give them enough space, let them run around and be normal. I couldn't figure it out. Our chicken yard has plenty of room. But look." Finn tapped at the data-pad's screen a few times, then handed it over.
The screen filled with a holovid picture. Hundreds of birds were crowded together, six or seven to a tiny cage, their heads up against the wires at the top. The bottom of each cage was bare metal, nothing to pad their feet. The chickens were packed so tightly, there was no room to move their wings. As they watched, one of the chickens lashed out at the cage beside it, pecking violently at its neighbor's wing.
"It's a First Order chicken house," Finn said. "This is from a recruiting video. 'Top farming efficiency. Plenty of food for the colonies.' They're proud of this."
They watched the video again.
Halfway through, Finn turned to Luke. "What do you think happens to somebody who's locked up like that all the time?"
"I don't know," Luke said. "But I can make a guess. Can you?"
Finn shuddered. "At least as Stormtroopers we got to move around. Get outside sometimes, see the sun. And some of us still…" He place a hand on the back of the chair, as if making sure it was solid, and real. "Most of us put our heads down and tried to say alive. A few people chose to die. And a few just... gave themselves over to it."
"Not everyone's built for hope. And when you let go of hope-"
Finn nodded. "I get it. That's how the Dark Side gets in. But you can fix them, can't you?"
Luke thought about it. "Maybe. But I think you and Rey can manage this one. Bring along the datapad."
One of the advantages to being a living legend was that you didn't have to keep to a set schedule. Luke was beyond rank at this point, beyond having to report for duty unless he chose to be there. And Finn didn't officially have to report to anyone.
They picked up Rey on the way back to the fields.
She'd been sitting with Leia, listening to a lecture on galaxy politics. Leia wasn't too pleased to let her go. But one of the advantages to being Luke Skywalker's apprentice was that when he came looking for you, you were allowed to drop whatever you were doing and follow.
"Bring her back," Leia said, her tone stern.
Luke smiled back at her as he and Rey left her office. "You're the one who wanted help with the chickens."
They were back at the chicken yard. Finn had handed Rey the datapad, and she had sat comfortably on the ground outside the fence to watch the 'vid. Then she'd looked up at Luke, her expression horrified. "Is that where our eggs come from?"
"Sometimes, probably," Luke admitted. "The Resistance wouldn't buy directly from the First Order, but sometimes we have to take what we can get."
"Not anymore," Finn said grimly. "I'll see about that."
Luke understood wanting to fix things right away. He also knew the world didn't usually work that way. "Finn," he began gently.
"Don't get all Jedi Master on me, I know how supply chains work. I'm also learning how farming works. We'll expand the coop, clear some more land-"
Luke laid a hand on Finn's arm. "You can go talk to the engineers later. Right now, we have a more urgent problem to solve."
The three of them lined up along the fence again, Finn, Rey, and Luke, all peering at the chickens.
Everything was calm for the moment, but there was no missing the half-dozen hens with the disturbing yellow eyes.
"What do we do?" Rey asked.
"What do you think?" Luke answered.
"I hate when you do that," Rey said.
"It took me a long time to learn to do that," Luke said. "Better if you decide yourself."
"You won't let me decide wrong?"
Into the silence that followed, Finn said, "You won't decide wrong."
Rey looked over at him.
"You won't." He sounded very certain. "You can do this."
Luke nodded to himself as Rey stood a little straighter. They were a good team, these two.
Rey let herself through the gate, walked over to the chickens, and gently picked one up. It had brown feathers and reddish-brown feet. She was awkward and it struggled, yellow eyes glowing.
Finn went over and adjusted her arms. The chicken settled. Rey closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes again a few moments later they were shiny with tears. "We could fix it by taking away their memories, couldn't we."
"We could try," Luke said. "Will we?"
He had offered that solution to someone, once. She had declined.
He could still see Neddiya's face, stark cheekbones and pale skin. Haunted eyes.
"I did what I did, Luke," she'd told him back then, clear and, in that moment, calm. As he left the medbay, he could hear her sobbing.
Rey looked troubled. "I don't know," she said. Supporting the chicken with one arm, she ran a hand along its back. "They didn't ask me to."
Behind her, Finn chimed in. "They're chickens. They're not going to ask."
"But don't they have the right to choose what happens to them?" Rey asked.
"I don't think they chose what the First Order did to them," Finn said.
She turned to him, looking up from her seat in the dust. "What if I just went in and stole your memories of the First Order?"
Finn shrugged. "You can have them."
Now it was Luke who looked concerned. "You don't mean that."
"I kind of do," Finn said.
Rey reached one hand up toward Finn. He took it, fingers wrapping around hers. "It wouldn't be right," she said.
"Me or them?"
"Both."
Still holding Rey's hand, Finn turned again to Luke. "You calmed that one chicken, didn't you? Can't you use the Force to keep them that way?"
"I could," Luke said. "It might work for a while." He waited to see if either of them would understand.
They got to it quickly, together. "It's not real," Rey said, just as Finn said, "It wouldn't last."
Smart kids, Luke thought. "It's complicated, isn't it? Finn, why wouldn't it last?"
Finn spoke slowly, working it out. "Because of what Rey said. The- the mind-thing. It's not permanent, is it? As soon as you stopped paying attention to that chicken, it took a chunk out of you."
"Of course it did," Rey nodded. "The mind control does work. If Kylo Ren had pushed just a little harder, he could have made me do anything. He almost did." She slid her hand from Finn's, setting it back down gently to stroke the brown chicken's back. "But as soon as he was gone, I was me again. If all those chickens ever knew was-" She shuddered. "One glimpse of safety isn't going to fix it."
Finn contemplated the chicken yard, gaze moving from fence to grain bin to compost heap. Then he crouched beside Rey, gently lifted the brown chicken from her lap, and set it on its feet.
"Come look at something with me."
Rey stood.
Luke stayed leaning on the fence, giving them time.
Finn walked over to the coop and inspected the outside. Then he walked the length of the yard, counting paces out loud, Rey right beside him, step matching step. When they returned to where Luke was standing they said, together, "We have an idea."
Luke hadn't known, in all these years, how many different skills stormtroopers learned in their training. He wasn't sure he liked knowing. So many Stormtroopers had died at his hands. He didn't need them to seem any more human.
Finn talked to the staff at Supply and came away with a stack of duraplast boards, nails and screws, a macro drill, and a cutting machine. Rey showed up late for her lessons with Luke so many times, with plast-dust in her hair and smudges on her face, that he cut her loose and told her to come back when she and Finn were done. She flashed him that radiant grin and was out the door.
The two of them divided the chicken yard in half, with a fence right down the middle and a coop on each side. Once that work was done, Luke found Rey and Finn there all hours of the day and night.
One side of the yard housed the yellow-eyed chickens. On the other side, the ordinary birds could go about their chicken lives in peace.
Every time a Dark chicken displayed normal behavior—preening, foraging, bathing in the dust—Finn or Rey would be there with a bit of fruit or a handful of grain.
Every time a chicken let out that unholy cackle, every time one tried to attack its neighbor, they were there as well. Finn would throw on a pair of thick work gloves and scoop the chicken up, and Rey would put a hand on its head—reaching bravely past the pecking beak.
"I'm sending it nice thoughts," Rey said the first time Luke was there to see it. "Finn's databank says they like forests and fields. I like thinking about forests and fields, too."
"How do you think it happened?" Rey asked. "I mean, did they know about the Dark Side?" She was leaning on the fence again, Luke and Finn beside here, watching the chickens. The planet's orange sun was starting to set. It was almost time to shoo the birds into their coops and close the doors for the night.
On both sides of the yard, healthy-looking birds preened and foraged. There were no more glowing yellow eyes.
"I think things got really bad for them on that First Order farm," Luke said. "They couldn't find anything good anymore. And I think they just… slipped."
They watched the sky shift from blue with white clouds to layers of dark pink and deep gold.
"Could I slip?" Rey asked.
"You won't," Finn said. "General Organa never did. Han Solo never did."
But Rey was looking at Luke, waiting for an answer.
He took a long while. "I came close, once."
"Because of Kylo Ren?" Finn asked.
Luke shook his head. "I knew who I was, by then."
Rey was still waiting, brows drawn together above serious brown eyes. She didn't need to ask again. Luke knew what she wanted.
"I'll tell you about it sometime," he promised. "What's important is, I didn't. If you ever get worried, Rey, you come see me. You go to Finn. You talk to Leia. We'll catch you. We won't let you fall."
Rey's head tilted to the side, thoughtful gaze still holding Luke's. "Ben-Kylo Ren-He didn't ask for help, did he?"
"No," Luke said. "He didn't."
Luke brought Leia to the chicken yard a few days later. The fence through the middle was down by now. Twenty chickens clucked and scratched peacefully in the dirt.
"You took a perfectly good soldier and let him do nothing but garden duty for three weeks," Leia said.
"I did," Luke said. "Although, he's not your soldier yet."
Leia gave him an irritated look. They both knew Finn was still making up his mind, and that it wouldn't help anything to rush him.
"You let your apprentice do nothing but pet chickens for three weeks."
"I did," Luke said.
"They're all better now?"
"The chickens?"
"Of course I meant the chickens. Rey and Finn are always fine."
Are they? Luke thought. We were them, once. After everything, arewe fine? "The chickens are fine."
Leia slung an arm across Luke's back and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thank you."
"I decided they needed names," Rey said. "Starting with this one." She was pointing at a black chicken, snuggled contentedly in a nesting box. "Darth Layer."
Finn stared at her. "You didn't."
They were inside the chicken coop, collecting the morning's eggs. Outside, a pile of boards sat ready to become new fencing. Soon, they'd start work on expanding the yard, so they could begin adding to the flock.
Rey pointed at the other black chicken. The hen's eyes were normal now, and she was clucking quietly. "And this is Kylo Hen."
Finn's hand went up to cover his mouth and muffle the laughter. There was still one white bandage over his wrist. "Don't tell General Organa."
Rey's face turned such bright red, Finn could see it even in the dim light of the coop. "I would never. Don't you dare, either!"
"Never." They ducked back out into the sunlight, balancing their way down the narrow walkway to the ground. "It makes it less scary, doesn't it?"
Rey dropped down to sit cross-legged in the dirt, scooping up a white chicken and cuddling it on her lap. She nodded.
"There's a difference, though, isn't there?" Finn said. "Between them and us?"
Rey's forehead wrinkled for a moment, then cleared. The chicken in her lap shifted restlessly, then calmed. "You mean how they didn't have a choice?"
Finn nodded. "I had a choice, and I…" He trailed off, took a breath. "I wish I'd left earlier."
"You couldn't have," Rey said loyally. "You'd be dead."
Kylo Hen made her way down the walkway, checking the corner where Finn usually tossed the grain. She pecked at the dirt, picking up kernels. Her feathers were glossy. Her eyes had shiny, healthy-looking black irises against clear white. Around her, white and brown chickens, eyes golden, brown, and grey, scratched and pecked peacefully.
You'd never have known that a few weeks ago, their heads were filled with anger, confusion, and fear.
"Kylo Ren—Ben—he made a choice," Finn said. "He didn't have to. I don't see how you come back from that."
"I don't either."
"Do you think Luke's going to try to bring him back?"
"I don't know," said Rey, smoothing the feathers on the white chicken's head, "Luke's got his own choice to make now, doesn't he. The smartest thing he could do would be to kill him, wouldn't it?"
Finn thought about it. "But wouldn't that mean… giving up hope?"
Rey set the chicken down and gave it a gentle push. It clucked peacefully at her and then waddled off to find some corn. "I'd better get back to my lessons," she said, brushing dirt off her trousers as she stood. "Whatever he decides to do, I think I'll want to help."