He had hours. Hours and hours. To think. To-
He was crying.
He wiped a hand under his nose.
Real tears, since he couldn't remember how long. Tears he'd wanted to let fall, for Owen and Beru. For Ben. But there was never time.
Luke it's too late!
Too late to go back. To go - back.
Leia. It's what she called out to him when they witnessed Ben being cut down, and Luke had yelled "No!" as if denying it would make it less real. Had she whispered no or it's too late when the planet killer's laser headed toward Alderaan?
It was too late for Hoth, and he cried for the snow that turned black and the wampas trapped when the concussion of the thudding steps of Imperial Walkers collapsed their lairs. For ice that turned to steam, for the tauntauns stampeding over the ridge. For Lucky, because he'd been in shock or under sedation and he was only just now understanding what must have happened. Luke had passed body after body of infantry, stiff with cold, but it was too late to dispose of them properly, and he tried to remember each one, because someone had to.
He cried because he wasn't dead and when his remaining squadron members flew off, he wouldn't go with them.
He hadn't even told Leia.
She would mourn him, and he felt so bad. Not like she did her father; for she knew what had happened to him. She'd never know about Luke; he never told her. He'd tried, gotten so far as to open his mouth and say, "Leia" but his courage left him, and she would say, "what?" with a smile, and "what" again, with a laugh, and a touch, and a come on, you can tell me anything but he couldn't. And now, when she arrived at the rendezvous site and pored over the check-ins, she would see the pilots' names lost at the Battle of Hoth – Hobbie's, and Dak's, and others- but not Luke's, and she would await him, but he would never arrive just the same. She would think of those moments while she cried for him, how he wanted to say something, and she would think is that why? but she would never know and her grief would turn to anger, and she'd make herself forget about him.
Fresh tears filled his eyes, blurring the streak of hyperspace.
R2D2 beeped from his position in the back of the X-Wing, but no translation came up on his screen. It was enough, though, to pull him out a little, to stem the flow of tears.
He'd rather have blood to staunch, but he was starting to realize he rarely got what he wanted.
It's easier to die, he thought. Hobbie, going down in a brightness of fire, disappointment and pain.
Hobbie's part was done. There was no more.
Except Luke could still see him, playing the part of tauntaun while Janson rode on his back, Wedge narrating, the part of Han Solo today played by Wes Janson. Featuring Dak Ralter as Luke Skywalker. We come upon our hero face down in the snow….
Kicking them out of his recovery room, angrily embarrassed.
Dak was gone, too.
He saw Hobbie the tauntaun, laughing, the same time he saw Hobbie's speeder hit the Imperial Walker, and he couldn't connect the two, like they were separate people, like the tauntaun actor was forever, and the fatal crash happened over and over again.
Do you know that, Ben? Do you know it's easier to die? You must know that. Were you unable to kill your pupil when he turned to the dark side, or did you let him live, bitter and unhappy, knowing you lived too?
But you had your share of death. My mother and father and all those Jedi. So you were ready to die when you faced Darth Vader. Because it was easier than anything else you've done.
And you put all that on me.
He shouted in the cockpit into the silence, lifted his knees and slammed his feet down in utter, complete frustration.
I hate you!
All- the Empire definitely, the lot of them; Moffs and troopers and pilots and the Emperor. Ben, for the expectations and riddles and obligation that Luke didn't know he never wanted. Darth Vader of course because Luke never would have hated if it weren't for him. Hobbie, for dying so easily and being free.
Hobbie, who played the part of a tauntaun.
A sound escaped Luke, a harsh, bitter sob.
He had not died. So many opportunities. Death was always there, offering itself. Come on, Luke. It'll be easy. Yavin. The dianoga in the garbage masher. The snow storm on Hoth. He hadn't known. He kept fighting it, putting it off, not this way, not now.
But like Hobbie, he'd be done. Free. No such thing as embarrassment in death, when you froze to death like an idiot. Just nothing. And it would be left to Leia to cry and despair why and see how much easier it was until she went along with Death one day, too.
He straightened from his slump against the ship's wall. Is this what you're leading to, Death? Not his Leia. No- if he was dead, free and unencumbered by living thoughts, and he saw her come toward him, happy in reunion, happy in death, Luke, look – me too! Isn't it wonderful? He'd frown like Uncle Owen when Luke missed his curfew and he'd take her firmly by the wrist and throw her back in with the living and say oh no you don't. You get back out there.
This lifted his spirits a little, to imagine that he, dead Luke, could override Death. What about when Han joined him, he thought next, if Luke didn't join him first?
Han would completely reject it, he knew right away, just be outraged. The fuck I'm dead, he'd proclaim angrily. Dead Han would look around, highly offended, and wonder why Luke was just tolerating this. You just gonna sit there, kid? Han would see Death's barrier that separated the living and he would bang and curse and yell and insist he be allowed to leave until Death threw him out, unable to want to tolerate someone so… difficult.
And still followed by Chewie, Luke saw, which made him almost smile. Chewie wouldn't mind death. To him life was orderly and death was earned, even if by a snow storm, but if Han Solo didn't want to be dead right now, well, best stay with him and help him stay out of trouble.
A life in protest. Luke had never really considered Han in that way before, but it was true. Han's life, by Death's standards, was small and insignificant, and probably easily caught. One's actions made one's own death, was Life's philosophy, but Han completely rejected that. Life's a cheater, Han declared. The gambler. Deal me another hand. I'm playing again.
He felt exhausted. He hadn't managed to die again. Hadn't managed to do much, except tell Wedge you'll have to take this sh- He forced an end to the thought. It wasn't helping.
Wedge was alive, he reminded himself. His Co-commander and bunk mate. He'd made a good shot. And Luke had done something - he had zipped his speeder over to the farther Imperial Walker shooting crossfire, the one that got Dak, to protect Wedge. He closed his swollen eyes and the blue arcing of electricity in his speeder cockpit seared behind the lids, and he opened them again.
Hoth was lost. The Empire had found them, after all. The evacuation alarm rang just as he was thinking of taking a nap.
Ancestor Luke, in his chair, telling stories, lucky to be there, would skip over the battle. It was war, there were supposed to be battles. That wasn't the interesting part of the story. He was a fighter pilot; it's just who he was, like anyone waking up in the morning to go to work. The maneuvers, the strategy- how did you take the ATATs down, Ancestor Luke?- none of that mattered -we used our harpoons and tow cables- none of that was important. It was the lives, and his friends, and the damage- gods, the damage- that he would want to talk about.
He passed a hand over his jaw, remembering how chunks of ice were starting to fall from the ceilings of Echo Base. Words as he ran by ... not meant to win... hope it collapses on the Emperor himself... The first transport is away... Han, solemnly handsome: "Be careful."
Spent. You, too. His eyes felt puffy and he couldn't breathe out of his nostrils. The Falcon sailing out of the hangar, Luke's heart brimming at the sight. Beat up and rough, like her crew, but dependable, and ... the best, Luke thought. Like her crew.
Han had to be thinking like Luke now. Like there was too much at stake, too much unknown. Fluttering misery in his gut. You never joined and I never resigned, but we're both leaving. I don't know where I'm going and you don't know what's ahead.
But good luck, Han. I mean it. I hope you come through this. I don't see how you can, I-
New tears. Because it was all so hopeless, everything, and he'd gotten a good goodbye from Han, the best he ever offered. "Be careful."
What about Leia? Had he a chance to repair what he'd done in Luke's recovery room? It was easy, when there was no evacuation yet and Han thought Luke's destiny still followed Leia's, and she wouldn't be alone; easy to leave mad and easy to make her mad. Easy, when he hadn't laid course yet for Tatooine, hadn't made facing Jabba a reality yet. Easy to lie to himself then, I'll come back, because no one accepted being murdered. Not Beru or Owen, coughing and crawling through their burning home, telling themselves as they burned and died, if I can just get out of here. Not Alderaan. And definitely not Han, who would land in the realm of Death and protest, "the fuck I'm dead. Lemme out."
Sometimes Han took the easy route, and sometimes he fought as hard as he could.
Would he tell her he loved her?
He should, Luke thought. But he couldn't, because then he'd never leave.
What was Leia thinking, he wondered. En route to Home One, huddled in conference with Dodonna and Rieekan, going over details that needed no going over: Hoth was lost. Had she felt the moment the hangar emptied, pausing in the command center with only the battle to keep her company?
She would feel it, but then she'd push him out of her mind. Princess Leia Organa never took the easy route.
Leia, Luke's mind grieved.
And he was so tired.
"R2," he requested of his droid. "You can take over navigation again; I'm going to get some shut eye."
There was an affirmative beep and Luke lay his head against the canopy and closed his eyes.
I wasn't going to go, Han. You thought I was babbling and I told myself it was an hallucination and I couldn't leave Leia.
But - it must have been Han. Luke had almost sat upon a data board on the seat of his X-Wing when he was ready to evacuate. One tiny file in the menu, no heading. Just a series of numbers. Planetary coordinates. Han, who gave the Force no credit at all, must have been curious how Luke, who went off to check a meteorite and gotten attacked by a wampa, was suddenly aware of a planet's existence he had no business being aware of when Han found him almost frozen to death.
Han was telling him to go. To not take the easy route, and go. Leave everything he knew on an off chance, the slight odds Luke was not crazy.
He couldn't sleep. He wished he could take his helmet off. He wished he had a blanket. He wished he could stop feeling so godsdamned cold.
He had feared Dagobah would be a very long way, and that he would need to stop to refuel and recirculate his flight suit, but six hours was not a long trip by any means. Anobis had taken days to reach.
He let the ship's vibrations fill his helmet, chasing all thoughts until they stopped coming, and slept. He still felt everything when he woke up, guilt and despair and sorrow, but it was smaller, and he could hold it inside him without needing to show tears. Grieving is like a cut, Luke thought. It hurts, and it's raw, but then it closes over and you have a scar. He felt guilty for the thought.
When he shifted in his seat the data board tucked between his legs fell on the floor, and he stooped to reclaim it. Han had put only one entry on it, so Luke thought he may as well claim it as something that was actually packed.
Things I'm Taking With Me, he entered.
-R2D2. Which is fitting, he noted.
R2 housed Leia's hologram message and was trying to reach Ben, which was how Luke found Ben, and now Ben led Luke to Dagobah. And he's mine; Uncle bought him, so it's not like I'm stealing from the Alliance.
-An X-Wing, which I've stolen.
It was one reason why he'd put off the trip to Dagobah. When he first considered Ben's vision in the warmth of his recovery bay, he'd noted how impossible it seemed. How long would I be gone? Luke wondered. And how am I going to get there? He was a commissioned officer in the Rebel army, you just didn't borrow an X-Wing and take off. Can't Yoda come here, train me on Hoth?
He thought of resigning. Or putting in for indefinite leave.
Why, son? he imagined Dodonna questioning him.
Because a ghost told me to before I collapsed from the cold.
Dodonna had offered assistance in his Jedi training, but even that sounded crazy to Luke.
He was trying not to think of who this Yoda could be, though his mind wasn't obeying him. He was a Master, who trained Ben. On Coruscant? Had this Yoda been killed in the Purge, and was a ghost like Ben? Or had he somehow survived and fled? And why Dagobah? Han mentioned that it was a swamp. It sounded wet. Was it possible for a planet to be strong in the Force, and that's why Luke was to go to Dagobah, or was it because Yoda liked swamps? Luke didn't, that was for sure.
-My lightsaber. Of course, Luke noted.
-Fifteen face cloths, four pair of socks, and my snow uniform. Because that's all I own. Oh, and the security camera that belongs on the Falcon I used to take pictures for Leia's human cosmology report.
-A Force lesson, whose message keeps changing so I have to study it more.
-Ben, I think; though I haven't seen him since he said you will go to Dagobah. There you will learn from Yoda, the Jedi master who instructed me.
Luke sighed as his mind went through the round robin of questions about Yoda again.
-A ton of questions, doubts and a looming sense I am making the biggest mistake of my life.
-Three Alliance-issued meal trays to enjoy while I'm supposed to be following their coordinates, and four nutrition bars. I hope there's some place to eat there.
The number of meals indicated the hyperspace journey from Hoth to wherever the rendezvous point was located was a good distance away. He wondered where Home One was. Leia had mentioned it once, hadn't she? when she told him about the second Death Star. But he didn't remember. He wished he had a star chart. He could study it, make guesses. R2 probably knew, but he still regarded it as a security risk to ask him. What if he was captured?
He squirmed. The Empire would shoot him as a traitor, and so would the Alliance. He was absent without leave.
Things I've Left Behind
This was a hard list to start, because it tore at his heart.
-My sanity. See above.
-Leia.
He lifted his head and stared out the canopy, because it was hard to write with a lump in one's throat.
The reason I wasn't going to go at all.
The issue of transportation notwithstanding, Leia was the real reason he was going to put his trip off. His Force lesson had stayed with him. Their two beginnings, hers almost the same as his, bound him to her even stronger than her holomessage had.
Yet the Force wanted him to leave her.
It didn't make sense to him. She had stayed by his side while he recovered from severe hypothermia and nerve damage and infected wampa wounds, devoted; and he felt weak. Not sick, just- weak. In her presence, her… ability? Her everything? His escape from a wampa left him lying in bed while her escape from the clutches of Darth Vader had her winning a war.
The lesson was of a baby girl, brought home to a frail queen by her viceroy husband. A princess, like her mother; a senator, like her father. Adopted into a strong culture of heritage, raised to resurrect something dead.
And things kept dying. Poor Leia, Luke thought. First her mother. Little pieces of her world disappearing until there was nothing left. Only what her father left her. A war. A lifetime of vigil, until it was either won or lost.
It must have been a terrible night for her, he reflected, when she believed he and Han to be lost. While he spent the night mostly safe and rambling deliriously to Han, she spent it waiting for morning when their bodies could be found. A worse night for her than it had been for him. Waiting for execution on the Death Star was probably easier. Because dying is easier, Luke reconfirmed to himself. It's loving that's hard.
She must have thought she was alone again. It was nice to know that Leia counted a farm boy and a smuggler among the things she cared about, things like peace and freedom.
The ironic thing was she would tell him to go. The thought would make her a little sad, and a little jealous, but she would say, "Luke, this is everything you've always wanted!"
"Do you think it was real, though?" he would ask her.
"Of course it must have been," she would assure him. "Otherwise you wouldn't have had it. You have the Force."
She had such confidence. In him, and herself. She believed in his vision, and she believed she would see him one day as a Jedi.
What would happen to her now? Alone at the rendezvous, the responsibility of having to bolster Home One's spirits after a terrible loss on Hoth. Not even Han to keep her occupied. Which brought him to the next item:
- Han.
Again, he found it hard to write something. Finally, he came up with, whom I let go.
Fresh misery and guilt, and he knew why now all this was impossibly sad. For close to three years now, it had been the farm boy, the smuggler, the Princess. Three lives, one destiny. Now, three paths stretched out before him. Alliance, Force and Hutt. While Leia had Luke she had the Force, and while he had her he had the Alliance, just like the brochures Han had peddled in a Force vision long ago. But Han would leave empty handed.
It was one thing to let someone go, whom you knew had a chance of becoming something. He knew Leia would be excited for Luke, and Han was tacitly encouraging about Dagobah. But Han... Leia had let him go, too, which while it was nice to have someone share his guilt, he didn't feel better. They let Han go, to face the Hutt. Someone who paid bounty hunters to kill him, kill him; not just capture, and they were going to let Han breeze in, "you don't have to be mad anymore, Jabba. I've got your money, plus." Han, with his casual charm and confidence, and Jabba would try and make sure this particular death was not easy.
Luke straightened in his seat, ready to take over manual controls again and enter the coordinates for Tatooine. This was wrong. If Han supported Luke's career with the Force than it was only fair Luke supported Han as a smug-
That didn't come out like it was supposed to.
He's got to follow his own path.
Leia again, so young but wise.
But Leia, he would whine.
I don't like it either, Luke. But we have choices. And he made his. A long time ago.
She sounded angry, in his head. The thought of Han leaving always turned her curt.
Luke bobbed his head from side to side. She was right. There were choices. Han could stay, or he could go, and both Luke and Leia, and even Rieekan, with formal papers drawn up for Han to sign, had attempted to persuade him to stay. Han had been very clear what he wanted.
- Han and Leia. Because it was nice to watch.
Luke almost deleted that. But then he thought, you know, it had been nice. A bright spot in the war. Something that would never have happened if there hadn't been this war. A princess and a smuggler would never have the circumstance to meet in times of peace and prosperity.
He took a moment to enjoy thoughts of his friends, the way she touched him and the way he looked at her, and decided to delete it. He wrote, last item deleted, because I think it ceased to exist before I left. So I haven't left it behind.
-Memories of Han and Leia, he edited.
The last time he saw Han, it had been in the hangar, and he'd gotten a heartfelt, "Be careful." The last time he saw Leia, it was on the way to his speeder, and he dashed into the command center to make sure she left the picture of Alderaan on her vacated office wall, and she told him she'd leave a wampa in there, too, if she could, and they were about to say more, but a tech announced, "Imperial Walkers on the north ridge," so they held each other's eyes and said at the same time, "May the Force be with you," and she had to direct the troops and he had to shoot down Walkers.
But the last time he saw Han and Leia together had been in his recovery room. Han burst in with a loud saunter, full of forced cheer and so much presence that Luke, Chewie and the droids immediately faded to the background as he targeted Leia with the reflexes of a speed draw, and the room narrowed to just the two of them.
"Well, Your Worhship," he drawled cockily, whirling from Luke's side.
It occurred to Luke it might be the first time they were together since Luke's return to base. Leia had remained at his bedside, using the sick bay as office and mess during his recovery.
Had Leia the chance to say to Han, I'm glad you're alive. I'm glad you're safe, like she had told Luke over and over?
She wasn't going to now, that was clear.
Luke thought of ordering them out. It was his sick bay, after all, and they were pissing him off. He wanted to yell at them to take their...their crazy courtship, if that's what this was, the hell out of there. To stop sticking him in the middle-
It wasn't his fault she'd been deluding herself Han was going to stay. It wasn't his fault Han decided to let Leia know by shaving his beard.
She was angry with Han, because of Luke. As if Han risked his life in some gallant overture. Here, Princess, accept this knave as a token of my love. Be with him, and think of me. I did it so you would no longer be alone.
She thought Han thought she should be with Luke? Was she crazy?
Did Han? There was an air of aggrieved hurt about him, like he'd offered something up and been rebuffed. He offered Luke? No, Han was not that kind of crazy.
Han went after Luke because when there was a chance, no matter how small, you took it because you might get lucky. He was showing Leia this is the man I am but the one she saw deserted her for a Hutt and left again, for a friend, and that hurt even more.
Han put his arm around Leia, something Luke had seen him do before, but this time it was false, exposing, and they all knew it.
Leia shook him with off genuine anger. Her eyes blazed, her teeth on her lips spitting childish insults, and she looked nothing like the composed Princess Echo Base knew, and she came at Luke like he was her weapon.
Alarmed, Luke sat up. She meant business. She was going to throw Luke in Han's face.
She'd done it before, just a few times, when she wasn't getting what she wanted from Han. It didn't matter that he never got the Leia he wanted, but she would show him what she could be like with someone else. Luke, usually.
Luke called it the Han Smile because she only ever aimed it at Luke when Han was around. And she would touch Luke. The Han Touch. Never hold hands with Luke, but hug him quickly, or link her arm in his. Claim him, sort of, in front of Han. Luke, I haven't seen you all day. Come to my quarters for tea.
"I guess you don't know everything about women yet," Leia had told Han in a scathing voice, and Luke braced himself as she grabbed his head.
Her lips were on his mouth, not kissing, just flattened against him, and she held the sides of his face, preventing him from recoiling. She kept him like that a moment, her mouth pressing angrily, and as his own surprised eyes met hers he saw a plea.
She released him, her face starting to flush a brilliant scarlet, but to her credit made a fairly elegant exit.
Han had his moments, he really did, Luke thought, but he'd blown this one sky high. In a show of support for Leia, he pretended she had actually and meaningfully kissed him, and gloated with his arms folded over his head.
Chewie was willing to discuss it. "The Princess is different than other human women I've known," he offered up to Han and Luke. "Either she does have more to teach you males, or she made that up," but no one answered him.
She expressed her true feelings for me. Typically, Han had twisted the truth. No Han, Luke thought, she denied her true feelings, but you know them now anyway.
Han and Leia. Two lives inside a war. Ancestor Luke rocked in his chair. I loved them, he told his descendants.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The quiet was getting to him. The wait. He was impatient to land, now that there was no going back. He watched the console anxiously, looking for blue sparks and he listened to the silence outside the canopy, imagining an air leak.
He breathed deep, and tried to calm his mind. Too many memories, lists. Biggs, Hobbie, Dak. Han, Leia. Leia.
Two babies, born with an Empire, twenty-two years ago. A Jedi, passing tradition off to one who couldn't carry it. A Senator, taking on something new as his government died.
A history lesson? Luke wondered, as he thought of What the Force had revealed to him. The ways of the old life, the Jedi and the Old Republic, Ben and Bail symbols of each, giving way to the future, the Empire and dark times; two babies offering hope. Merely hope.
Ben. Leia. Years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars.... He claims to belong to someone called Obi Wan Kenobi...
"R2? Were you really Obi Wan's droid?" Luke used Ben's Jedi name. A mournful whistle sounded, but the translation screen read, 'negative'.
Intrigued, Luke said. "You can't lie. You're an astromech. 3PO said-"
Surprisingly, the droid interrupted with a spurt that sounded disdainful. Luke would have interpreted it as 'pain in the ass if I had an ass', or more simply, 'liar' but the screen read, 'faulty translation.'
"Oh," Luke said thoughtfully. How would R2 be connected to Ben, if he was traveling with Leia. "You were Viceroy Organa's?"
'Negative.'
"Then-" Frustrated, thought back to everything Ben had told him, every connection between Ben and Bail. Star pilot, general. "You belonged to the Jedi?"
R2 took a moment to whistle an answer. Luke noted the hesitation, but read off, 'affirmative.'
"They were peace keepers, warriors," Luke talked to himself. "So they needed to get places." They had things, he wanted to tell Rieekan, to go back to his interview with the General. They did possess, contrary to their monk-like reputation. They weren't given passage to places they needed to be; they weren't served in this way out of kindness or goodness, like they were food and shelter. "They had a fleet."
The realization chilled him, though he wasn't sure why. If it was a fleet the Old Republic made available to the Jedi, that was one thing; if they had their own... no wonder the Emperor feared them.
"Did you fly with General Kenobi?"
'Negative.'
"My father?"
'Clarify.' The whistle sounded evasive.
Puzzling, Luke thought at first. Then he thought, it's a droid. R2 would not be invited to participate in the drama of life and love, would he. "Anakin Skywalker."
'Affirmative.'
Luke's breathing hastened, and he felt excited. "Tell me about him."
'Human.'
Luke laughed in bitter irony. What had he expected. Once upon a time?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
R2 woke him up again when it was time to emerge from hyperspace. Luke rolled his ankles and stretched as best he could in the cramped cockpit. Six hours.
Dagobah was... ugly, from space. Luke immediately apologized for the thought, connecting the planet as the physical embodiment of the Force and not wanting to cause trouble by insulting it before he even met it. He'd been so many places now. How could one top the yellow of Tatooine, the white of Hoth, the Bright Jewel Cluster? Pink clouds.
It was... he tried to put it positively. The color of Han's eyes? Murky brown-green or green-brown. No pink. It didn't look particularly inviting, but neither did Tatooine or Hoth. Neither did Han's eyes, until you got to know him.
It looked drab. Yes. Tatooine looked hot, even from space, and Hoth looked very cold, as cold as space. Dagobah was fairly characterless. There weren't any great mountain ranges; there weren't any pools of blue, great bodies of water. The superficial view offered very little.
"Massive life form readings," he informed R2 unnecessarily, because the droid had access to the same information. "There's something alive down there."
His first lesson: the Force was an energy field created by all living things.
Maybe that's why Dagobah, he thought. So many living things. It must be strong with the Force. Had Yoda known of it? Is that why he was here, one of those millions and millions of life forms? Or had Dagobah called him when he fled from Darth Vader?
His second lesson: Jedi Knight Obi Wan Kenobi had passed a baby on to Owen Lars, not so much to keep him safe, but for safekeeping. Until the baby was ready to come to Dagobah.
His ship shuddered and the console lights went dark. "I know, I know!" he shouted to R2. I'm here, I'm here! he told the planet. "I'm going to start the landing sequence" he announced, but it was no good. The planet had the ship, and Luke fought helplessly as they tore through tree tops.
Six hours. Six hours ago he did not object to the thought of dying, would welcome a visit from death. Six hours later and he thought not now, not this way. I will not die.
Lesson Three, Luke thought. Time. Life and Death. Babies and descendants. The past and the future.
His X-Wing landed with a crash. Luke stayed frozen a moment, waiting for his brain to catch up with his heart. His eyes watched the water droplets stream downwards. He was alive. Uninjured , even.
Water, he groaned. I hate water.
The canopy opened for him when it shouldn't have. The console was dead moments ago. He took in the surroundings. Water, which he hated, and fog, which was air made of water; grayness covering everything- trees and water and life. He heard calls, rustles, creaks and splashes.
Steamy fog curling in a finger over the swamp, beckoning. Luke's desperate eyes sought past it.
Mystery, and riddle, and life.