[Hux]

Hux was sitting on the log that had previously been under the ship. The top end had been cut off by Rey's lightsaber for some reason that had not been shared with him, and then the bulk of it had been hauled out and left to the side of the ship. It worked as a passable seat, though now that night had fallen, this end of it was outside the direct light from the open ramp. Since he was on it, everyone else steered clear. That was fine. He was staring at the ground vacantly.

In the previous four or five hours:

He'd been informed that six of his ships sent to monitor the remains of the Hosnian system had mutinied in favor of someone claiming to be the deceased Emperor Palpatine.

He'd had to puzzle out this Palpatine's bizarre communication to him, which seemed to be an attempt to lure him into an ambush in the Hosnian sector. Hux had assumed it was a Resistance ploy and refused it, possibly with a little too much monologuing about how whoever it was could stick their proposal up his chute. Not that he'd used language that crass, but he was sure the message had gotten through.

Because he'd been attached directly after.

He'd lost that battle.

He'd lost his ship and nearly all the crew. Had any of them survived aside from those with him? He didn't know.

As a result, he'd lost his personal command.

Had he also lost the entire First Order? Was he supposed to have seen the attack from this Darth Sidious coming somehow? Was Palpatine real? The Resistance certainly seemed to think so, taking it on faith. He was still trying to wrap his mind around whatever Sith sorcery this represented, and the implications it had for, say, Snoke's death.

He'd nearly died.

He owed Kylo Ren a life debt (again?). Or Poe. It was hard to tell, but in either case, they were his enemy. (Or were they? Poe had declared them friends. Surely that was specious.)

He'd been duped into accompanying the Resistance and furthering their plans, and he couldn't even blame them for actively deceiving him. Evacuating had been the smartest thing to do.

He'd been involved in a crash while unsecured and had suffered enough of a head injury to be knocked unconscious for at least several minutes. His thinking was still disordered. His head hurt constantly.

He was stranded on an unknown, apparently uninhabited world, cut off from the galaxy as a whole.

He'd thought it possible they'd asphyxiate on the ship.

He'd been assaulted by an alien, with the fight broken up by a traitor.

He was in the presence of three different people he'd tried to have executed (unsuccessfully in each case, which didn't do good things for his ego, although he'd never seriously expected or intended to kill Ren – see above possible life debt from years earlier; he hadn't even punished anyone for Ren's escape), and two powerful users of the Force. Both of whom had many reasons to bear him personal animosity. One of which had laughed at him earlier (or nearly had) and it was the only thing he was currently, inexplicably, angry about. Probably because it was the only one of his problems that was immediately to hand. Being this angry at a Force user was suicidal, but she had yet to act like she noticed.

He had two squads of troopers looking up to him, expecting him to continue being the general. These stormtroopers constituted his only protection against the Resistance, the Force users, the aliens, and were the only manifestation of his authority.

And … he was supposedly the son or nephew of Emperor Palpatine, aka Darth Sidious, a fact the Resistance fully intended to exploit, regardless of his opinions on the matter.

He was sure he should have an opinion about this, but at the moment he felt like a husk. He wished he could dry up and blow away like the bit of paper his father had accused him of being. His father, who had been a clone of Palpatine. Hux couldn't argue that on appearances. Everything he'd ever seen of Palpatine was heavily doctored by the propaganda department, so a lack of physical resemblance was meaningless. They were both humans with pale skin and red hair, but since when had that been a sure sign of relation?

Certainly, their conduct was similar - their personalities, now that he knew what he was looking for. His father had been an abusive waste-bag. Being a clone of Darth Sidious entirely explained the implacable, no-negotiation, no-mercy nature of Sidious' surprise attack on the Finalizer. One did not 'smart off' to Brendol (or Palpatine, apparently) and get away with it. It told him so much about Sidious' intentions. If only he'd known this earlier, his strategy would have been wildly different. Everything might have been different. But he hadn't known.

A familiar pair of non-regulation boots intercepted his line of sight. Hux looked up at the intrusion to see Poe offering him a cup of something. He wanted to turn it away as brusquely as he had the water and meal bar the stormtrooper had brought him earlier.

Something of the intent must have shown on his face, because Poe said, "I made it for you."

He took it to be polite, even though he was under no obligation to be polite to these people. It didn't appear to be water. He sniffed at it.

"I'm not familiar with the First Order eats," Poe said, settling in next to him with his own cup – uninvited, but Hux found he wasn't unwelcome. "All the label said was 'Orchard Mix'. Tastes like fruit punch to me." Poe took a sip. It reddened his lips.

Hux looked at Poe's lips for a long beat. There was no First Order here aside from himself and the troopers who (so far) answered to him. No High Command watching him for any deviation from the norm. Just him and whatever he wanted. They were nice lips. He nodded and absently took a swallow. The tangy, sweet taste jolted him enough for him to explain, "It's a standard drink included in survival rations for the high calorie content. The strong flavor masks some nutrients typically not included in meal bars."

"Oh? So it's actually good for you?"

Hux chuckled ruefully. "Under some circumstances. We have forty-eight cycles of food and twenty-one people. Enjoy it while you can."

"Forty-eight cycles is a long time. If we can't get the ship fixed in that much time, then it can't be fixed."

"Forty-eight person-cycles. It's designed to give the ship, at full complement, four days of supplies. We'll be through it in two." Another thing to add to the list, he supposed – the looming prospect of starving to death.

"Oh." Poe's eyes widened. He looked down at the cup, then at Hux. "Should we … like, ration our food?"

"I don't know. My survival instruction has been that the best place to store one's food and water is in one's body, especially in the beginning of a survival situation, where a sharp mind and capable body pays the biggest dividends. But that included many variables, some of which are present here, such as competitors and the possibility of instigating an internecine hoarding situation."

"'Intern-a-scene … You're saying if we try to ration, there's going to be an argument between the Order and the Resistance?"

"More likely between those are friends with the Force users and those who are not." Which meant he needed to stay fortified, he supposed. He took another drink, wishing some rules-bending crew member had stashed liquor on the ship. It wasn't unknown to happen, but if it had, then the stormtrooper who found it during the physical inventory had bent rules further by failing to disclose it.

"Oh."

Morbidly, Hux said, "I suppose I need to kill everyone who isn't immediately useful, but how to know which ones they are? The obvious surplus are my own troopers." He turned the cup in his hand and shook his head slowly. He'd lost so much already. So many. Lives squandered because he hadn't taken seriously a villain reportedly killed some thirty years ago.

"No one else needs to die."

"Tell that to my enemies." His voice came out sounding frail to his ears. He coughed and cleared his throat.

"Hey." Poe was not fooled by the subterfuge. The pilot put a hand on Hux's knee and rubbed it slowly. His hand was warm through the fabric. Poe had taken off the work gloves he'd worn earlier. They were sticking out of his breast pocket at the moment, looking like some kind of lowbrow decoration. "Those survival packs or the med-kit should have an amino acid analyzer that can tell us what we can eat around here. And I'll bet Kylo and Rey can use the Force somehow to … I don't know, lure animals in that we can eat. Something like that. Don't give up hope."

Hux let out a shaky sigh, easing slightly. "You're right. You're right." He lifted his cup in mock toast. "I don't know about hope, but 'don't give up' is a sentiment I can rally around."

Poe nodded. He reached into a different pocket and produced a meal bar. "I saw you turn down your dinner earlier." He put it closer. Hux took it slowly. "Don't give up," Poe said.

Poe jogged Hux's knee for no reason, or because it amused him. Hux nudged him back just the same, watching to see what the gesture meant. "Yeah," Poe said, nodding to him like they'd made an agreement.