Chapter Text
One humid summer, when he is young – when he is very young – his mother bundles him up and pushes him towards Uncle Nok’s gleaming silver spaceship where it squats under the outer canopy of the swamp outside Tetsu Enclave.
“We cannot stay,” she explains, words riding the rush of every breath. “If we stay, others will come and they will hurt us. We must leave Rodia. We must leave now.”
Over his shoulder, he can see little dots in the sky. Smaller points, pinpricks of light against the smoky, dusky sky, fall from their holds and through the shattered skeleton of the city’s protective dome. They erupt in clouds of orange flame where they land and lick the silhouettes of surrounding buildings with greedy tongues.
They’re far enough away now so as not to hear the blasterfire and the screams. But his brain overlays the sounds over the faraway sight anyway, supplying also the hum-roar of prowling gunships and the mocking cackle of Chattzas.
“Is father coming?”, he asks, forcing his gaze back onto her face.
Mother hesitates. Something catches in her lungs. “He is helping our neighbors,” she says. “We must leave with Uncle Nok. He will keep us safe.”
Uncle Nok is by the unfurled boarding ramp, soaked in nervous sweat and carrying a blaster that looks like it hasn’t seen use in years. He takes Mother by the elbow, calls her Neela, and speaks into the fan of her ear. They think he can’t hear them, but he can. He is saying there are too many people and not enough seats. He is saying They are closing in.
Mother sets her jaw. She nods, and pulls the blaster from Uncle Nok’s hands.
“I am going to stay and find your father,” she tells him, setting her palms against his cheeks. “We will take another transport offworld. You must leave with your uncle. We will find you again once we’re away. Until then you need to be brave, and always listen to your uncle. Okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbles.
She pulls him close, wrapping her arms tight around him. There is nothing now to block his view of the inferno racing through the cracked dome, of gunships toppling buildings with the ease of a stray thought.
“I love you, Greedo,” Mother whispers. “I’ll be right behind you.”
That’s the last he remembers of home.