Chapter Text
From his position in the backseat of the helicopter, Dr. Benjamin Solo could clearly see this was all a terrible mistake.
His index finger reset his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stared out the window. He crossed his ankles and opened his heavy thighs wider on the cramped seat in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure on his knees. After a lifetime of being at least thirty percent too large for any space he occupied, Dr. Solo was used to fitting into uncomfortable positions.
He looked down upon the endless waves, white-capped and angry, churning in the grey-green sea below. His stomach churned, too. It was just nerves, he told himself, it would all be fine.
The flight was much longer than he had anticipated and that wasn’t helping matters. Time and again, the strong winds shoved against the small helicopter and the the pilot worked to shove back. The helicopter set a zig-zagged path away from the mainland and out across the open North Atlantic Ocean to his new temporary home.
A particularly emphatic gust made Dr. Solo’s stomach drop, and he swallowed and wiped the sweat beading on his brow. The turbulence and his growing apprehension combined to make him very much regret the egg and bagel sandwich he ate for breakfast.
“Only a few more nautical miles, Dr. Solo!” the pilot called out. Dr. Solo nodded affirmation at the window pane and sealed his lips together. Of course he knew Ahch-To was isolated, that was an essential fact upon which his mission was predicated, but feeling the isolation so clearly was another matter entirely. Dr. Solo had always been more comfortable in the realm of theory rather than feeling.
They flew onward until he saw a twin-pinnacled stoney crag jutting up from the water. He recognized the main island of Ahch-To and knew from his research that it’s twin, an even less accessible island, lay behind it. Part of an archipelago, only the two larger islands were compatible with human life. They were covered in patches of green grass and mosses, in some areas even trees, and had fresh water sources percolating underground. The islands supported populations of fauna including various bird species, small rodents, and visiting sea lions and seals, although those were not the creatures Dr. Solo was here to study.
He looked down at the small island and could see why it was overlooked. It was clearly too remote and hazardous to be of any commercial or residential use, with no natural resources worth the expense of extracting them. Ahch-To had fallen through the cracks of time and been largely ignored until the shipping lanes recently changed and a party of lost fisherman made a surprising discovery.
Now it was thought the land may hold value of a completely different nature. That was what Dr. Solo was here to find.
“Coming in for a landing, hold on! Gonna be a rough one!” the pilot yelled in a voice entirely too chipper for the circumstances.
Dr. Solo braced himself, large arms spanning the entire backseat. He gripped the metal safety bars with white knuckles and closed his eyes.
Only one year.
+++
Hundreds of years ago, the main island of Ahch-To had supported a thriving culture of early humans.
They had built a small village made of rocks and found materials. Tucked next to a rocky overhang that afforded extra protection from the temperamental weather and just below the lightning strike zone of the peak, it had stood the test of time remarkably well. A full archaeological survey was planned to document and record the structures of the village. Until that time, Dr. Solo was on strict orders not to touch the dwellings. He could, however, set up camp on the adjacent flat area and take advantage of the protection from the winds.
The pilot helped Dr. Solo unload and carry his crates of supplies: a heavy canvas tent, two duffle bags of personal belongings, and his instruments and equipment. He had two weeks’ worth of rations and would receive air-dropped deliveries of food bi-weekly. Dr. Solo had an emergency kit and a satellite phone if he needed to call for help, plus an extra battery. Beyond the food drops, he would have no other contact with the outside world for the year, by design.
“All set?” the pilot asked him. Dr. Solo struggled to remember the man’s name, then noticed the tag on his flight suit.
“Yes, Mr. Dameron, thank you.”
“You can call me Poe!” Poe didn’t seem to speak, he only exclaimed.
“Thank you, Poe.”
“Okay, see you in two weeks, then!” He flashed a bright smile and turned to leave.
Dr. Solo nodded. A sudden and unexpected swell of emotion rose in his chest. One year in the field, and he'd be completely alone. This man was the last human contact he would have for awhile. Although Dr. Solo was primarily a man of solitude and preferred it that way, the realization that he would have no other option seized him tight in the chest.
Poe stopped and faced him. “Oh, you have the flare gun?”
Dr. Solo checked his emergency kit and gave him a thumbs up.
“Don’t use it unless you hear the 'copter. If you fire too soon, I won’t be able to see it. Okay?!”
“Yes. Okay.”
“Good luck!”
Dr. Solo waved and attempted to smile. He watched Poe start up the engine and fly back to civilization until he was just a tiny dot on the horizon, like the period at the end of a sentence.
He stood a few moments more. The island was peaceful. The wind whistled and blew at his shaggy hair. The thought popped into his head that he probably should have gotten a cut before he left. Ah, well, too late now.
Dr. Solo walked back through the ancient village. He inspected the stone huts with his hands stuffed in his short’s pockets to remove the temptation of touching. The small structures were shaped like beehives and made from brick-sized rectangular stones that seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces. Sturdy and clever in design, they would have been easy to produce by relatively small hands. Each featured a perfect rectangular doorway.
The precision of the doorway caught his eye. He leaned in closer. The corners were perfect right angles, even after all this time. Clearly the people who made them had an intelligence and degree of skill. Discovering their fate was part of the reason he was here.
He set about unloading his bag and began pitching the large survey tent. Dr. Solo hadn’t been in the field in years, but the tent set-up came back to him relatively quickly. The physical work of lifting and unpacking was a happy respite from the rigors of his usual analytical internal dialogue. His mind quieted as he settled into the manual labor with a sense of relief and ease.
The sun beat down on him. It was late spring and still relatively cool, but the heat of the exertion made him sweat. He stripped off his jacket and then his vest and shirt, until he stood bare chested. Why not? There was no one here to see.
Dr. Solo rifled for his sunscreen in his med kit. Years of academia had not offered him an opportunity to build a base-layer. He worked out daily for stress relief and that probably showed in his body, but his skin was as pale as a fishbelly and a sunburn was not a good idea. He spread double-digit SPF on his face and torso, then twisted to reach around for his back and shoulders. If nothing else this year, he could perhaps get a tan for the first time in his life. He capped the tube and went back to work.
He un-rolled the large twenty-by-twelve foot canvas tent. It was a thick, heavy-duty beige canvas that was both durable and weatherproof and was supported by a series of two-inch diameter wooden poles. He unfolded the camp shovel to begin digging the postholes. As Dr. Solo bent over to scrape into the rocky soil, he heard a cascade of small pebbles fall behind him. He paused. When he heard no other sound, he began digging again.
Another flurry of falling rocks stopped him. He looked over his shoulder this time. The rocky overhang above him seemed secure. No big boulders to roll down and crush him in his sleep, as far as he could tell. Perhaps it was a small rodent or a bird causing the sound. When he detected no other movement, he stood and walked to another corner and resumed his digging.
He was getting lost in the work again when he heard a large rock plop down on the ground some feet behind him. Dr. Solo froze. That didn’t sound like an accident. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. It had been verified that the island was empty besides him and the elusive research subjects, yet he felt like he was being watched.
Dr. Solo's hands kept working, but his mental focus remained on his ears as he listened for any other movements behind him.
He reviewed his research plan and timetable from memory. His test subjects were shy and skittish by nature, so he didn’t anticipate making contact for quite some time. He would set up camp and monitor the herd from afar with his telescope and binoculars. Then, after meticulously plotting out routines and behavior patterns, he would slowly introduce his presence over a course of weeks, perhaps leaving items of clothing on the perimeter of their range so they could scent him first. If that went well, in a few months time he may let himself be seen. In cases like this, space and time were of the utmost importance. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize the success of his research by making a hasty or wrong first move.
His thoughts were interrupted by a large thud landing on the ground just behind him. A round rock rolled up next to his foot like a baseball. It couldn’t have been more intentional than if it hit him on the head.
His heartbeat pounded and he flew to his feet and whipped around. Was that a small flash of movement on the rocks above him? He couldn’t tell. He ducked and bobbed his head but spied nothing else. He swallowed the urge to call out “Hello?” The wind whipped his hair in front of his face and a shiver rode up his spine.
Ben Solo was suddenly aware of himself, standing exposed in only his shorts and boots, bare-chested in the middle of nowhere.
When no other rocks fell, he continued pitching his tent.
Once it was finally set up, he sat on his cot and ate a ration bar while pulling out his first Moleskin journal. A sense of excitement coursed through him from the thrill of novelty and of the beginning of a new adventure.
He wrote in a fine swirl of cursive:
The Ahch-To wild Omega population: Day one, arrival.