Centaxday. 22.10.24

"—Luke? Luke, are you there?"

The metal cylinder in his pocket bleeps; it's a comm. He interrupts his mindless trudging—he does not know why or when he began trudging, or why he is trudging in this direction, away from the burning buildings he left on the horizon, but he continues, nonetheless—to fumble for it. "Hello?"

"Stars, I hope you get this. Did it wear off? Do you remember us again? Do you—"

He doesn't.

"—know what's happening? It's Leia, I should say. I was so glad to get your message. I'm glad you're alive. I hope you're still alive; if the Empire are on your tail, you might not be, or you'll be captured. So I won't give you our coordinates, but I hope you're alright. And I hope you know we're coming for you."

He listens in fascination, like this is a holodrama happening to someone else. It might be. He doesn't know how he got this comlink.

"The last thing I knew, Amnedor pulled something, and we were stunned, and then the Empire got involved, but I knew you'd have escaped. I think Wedge cried when he got your message. You're always pulling off these stupid escapes."

"That's Luke Skywalker, for you," says in the background, a man's voice. He listens ever closer. Maybe this is his comlink. Maybe he is Luke Skywalker, their friend.

"Anyway. Keep going—get as far away from that facility as you can. That's an order. We got out of atmo, but I'm trying to get some men to launch a rescue for you. You might be dead before we get to you, if the chemicals build up too quickly. Remember what Amnedor said. Don't drink the water. It'll kill you slowly. And it'll wipe your memory all over again." A sharp sigh. "If you've already drunk the water, you may not remember this—or me—at all, so listen to what I'm saying now. Don't drink the water."

"I won't," he says.

"We're coming for you. Be careful. We'll come and save you, even if the Empire gets to you first, even if you can't remember who we are. We're going to save you. Just keep moving."

It is as he keeps moving, as he listens to her instructions, that danger flashes through him.

One step hit something hard under the soft dead grass. A boom, and suddenly he is lying on his front in the wet, odious mud. It is sticky against his open mouth; he hacks and swallows before remembering that he isn't supposed to drink—is this drinking? The ground is thick with water. He rolls over, staring up at a yellow sky. The comm in his hand rolls away and sinks into oblivion.

He can feel something happening. How? How can whatever this is be so powerful that swallowing a tiny bit of mud would—

There is no pain beyond distant bruises. He scrambles to his feet and sees he was lucky. The ground has a crater in it, now: a mine, or a remnant of a mine, left lying fallow for however long this destruction has reigned.

Why is there a mine here? Why would anyone put such destructive things on former farmland—what rebellion had there been?

Where has his comm gone? He looks around in the swampy mud and dead grass, but there is nothing. Whoever Leia is, he cannot contact her again. He has to wait for her to find him.

Has to wait for who to find him?

What is he not meant to do?

He spits the taste of wet mud out of his mouth. Water—he's not supposed to drink—no, he needs—

There's a river up ahead, and a bush not too far from it. He'll drink from there to wash the taste out of his mouth and hide there until someone comes for him.

Who is coming for him?