Chapter Text
This all started a long time ago.
My grandfather dreamed of the stars. Of looking up, out there in all that blackness, and finding life. He wanted proof that we weren’t alone. So he experimented with portals, rifts in space and time. But one of his experiments went wrong. He got his proof, in the end.
Just not the way he thought.
No one’s entirely sure what he was working on, way out there in the Pacific Ocean. But whatever it was, it turned the Marianas Trench into a doorway. The first kaiju came through it and headed straight for San Francisco, where my grandfather and his family lived. My grandmother died in the attack.
It took three nukes to finally kill the thing. And just when the world breathed a sigh of relief, another one came through. And another, a year later.
When my grandfather couldn’t close the door he’d made, he focused on something to fight whatever came in. Traditional weapons weren’t enough against kaiju, and every nuke we used only poisoned the earth more. So to fight the monsters he’d made, Anakin Skywalker made new monsters.
He called them jaegers. Hunters. Giant humanoid machines meant to fight the kaiju on their own terms. He even piloted the first one himself, with the original test pilot Ben Kenobi. My grandfather didn’t fight for long, though. He left that to his children, and their children after that.
Because this is the Skywalker legacy. My legacy. Fight, or die.
Los Angeles Shatterdome, Year 31 of the Kaiju War
The moment the alarms sounded, Ben’s feet hit the floor. He wasn’t really awake yet, not at two in the morning, but he was getting there. A quick glance at his monitor hit like a shot of coffee; kaiju stats were rolling across the screen, and just like that, Ben was on fire.
“Hey!” He shouted, leaning over to bang on the metal door connecting his room to his copilot’s. “You up, old man? We’ve got movement in the breach!”
The door swung open. His copilot leaned through it, dragging a hand down his much older, craggy face, glaring at Ben through bloodshot eyes. The red and yellow lights of the alarm flashed above his head.
“Yeah kid, I noticed. Damn thing, getting me up this early. What’ve we got?”
“Category Three.” Ben raked a hand through his dark, curly hair, eyes eager, grin nearly feral. “They’re calling it Starkiller.”
“Starkiller?” A roll of the eyes, a grimace. “Where do they come up with this stuff?”
Ben smirked as he pulled a shirt over his head, a dark grey one emblazoned with the logo from the Jaeger Academy. “Weren’t you the one to name your jaeger Millennium Falcon, Han?”
“Hey!” Han Solo looked, if possible, even grumpier. “That’s our jaeger. And don’t call me ‘Han’. I’m still your father.”
“Yeah, sure,” Ben replied, digging his boots out from under his bunk. As their connecting door swung closed, he called out, “Don’t make us late, old man!”
Han waved him off. “Don’t get cocky, kid.” The door clanked shut behind him.
Less than five minutes later both Solos marched through the hallways to get suited up. They wore matching brown leather jackets and identical swaggers, Han still waking up while Ben looked like he was trying to melt steel with his gaze alone. Hatches closed and sealed with a hiss behind them as they stepped into the lab where the technicians were waiting.
Getting into the drivesuits always reminded Ben of documentaries he’d seen about medieval knights in armor. They too had had people to attach each specific piece—chest plate, gauntlets—and make certain it was secure. But at least a knight could wear soft clothes or a padded gambeson. Under their white armor, Ben and his father wore skin-tight circuitry suits, designed to receive and transmit impulses between human and jaeger.
Ben flexed his shoulder muscles as their helmets were finally fitted in place, the relay gel draining from their face plates down to the linkages on their spinal columns. Han took a moment to nod his thanks to the techs for their work, but Ben was already heading out of the drivesuit room to the Conn-Pod. Han rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders (Kids these days, what can you do?). The techs chuckled as he followed his son.
Their harnesses lowered into place as the two pilots entered the pod. Ben took the dominant pilot position on the right side of the room, Han the left. They stepped into their foot restraints as more techs connected them to the system. Screwed in, wired up, buckled and bolted, their hemisphere control discs snapped into their hands, Ben’s right, Han’s left.
“Morning, Solos!” A familiar voice called over the communicator.
Ben leaned over to press the receiver button. “Hey R2, how’d they get you up so early?”
Their Mission Controller, Rob Redding, was called R2 by almost everyone who knew him. Ben could almost see the older man’s bald head and blue eyeglasses as he heard him speak.
“You know that can’t run this place without me, the whole thing would fall to pieces.”
“Is that so?” An older female voice interjected over the comm.
“After you, of course, ma’am.” R2 cleared his throat. “Marshall Leia Organa-Solo, on deck.”
Now it was Han’s turn to grin and lean over to the receiver. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said. “You know, if you wanted me out of bed, you just had to ask. No need for a big show about it.” He winked at his son, who rolled his eyes.
“Han, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I could call in two other perfectly capable pilots,” Leia said. She sounded equal parts exasperated and amused with her husband, as usual.
“Who’s not taking it serious?” Han asked, offended. “We got this. Ready to drop when you are.”
“All right then. Engaging drop.”
With a shudder, their Conn-Pod released, falling on a track to the jaeger below. It was like being on a rollercoaster, soaring to the bottom of a hill, before the brakes caught them, easing them into position. The pod rotated a full three hundred sixty degrees, screwing them into place. Their pod was now the head of a jaeger, Millennium Falcon.
She was a Gen-3, one of the older models still in service, and more than a few people had fondly called her “a piece of junk”. But to her pilots, the silvery-white humanoid machine was beautiful. The Conn-Pod’s viewport was a large circle, the Falcon’s “eye”. As Han flipped a switch, a notification appeared on it that the main engine was now starting up. From outside, the center of the Falcon’s chest would begin spinning, emitting a blue glow. Ben could feel the hum under his feet, the sheer power come to life.
It was time. As the doors of the launch bay opened and the jaeger rolled forward on treads previously reserved for NASA shuttles, Han glanced at Ben.
“Ready, kid?”
Over the comm, R2 had initiated the countdown for the neural handshake.
Ben nodded. “Born ready, old man.”
Han grunted. “Don’t call me—”
With a surge of electrical impulses along their spines and into their brain stems, both men entered the Drift.
Ben surged past waves of memories. His own, his father’s, all swept by in a blinding blur. If he cared to look, he could watch his own birth, his own childhood from two points of view. But that would be a bad idea. He let them roll on, just trailing his fingers in the river.
Wonderful girl either I’m gonna kill her or I’m beginning to like her. A tiny courthouse wedding but Leia was wearing white her hair in a long braid piled on her head.
A little boy with dark curly hair, You’re never home, you’re never here! Father and son, playing with toy jaegers, riding on his father’s back, chasing both his parents when he pretended to be a kaiju.
So what d’you think of her Han? I don’t know kid I’m trying not to, but he thought of her a lot, his friend’s sister, the way she looked in a flight suit, what should we name the baby not Anakin how about Ben?
His face shoved in the mud, the anger like fire it was a bloody nose and he was in trouble. That Solo boy’s trouble they said...
There. Both felt the connection settle into a balance, and in unison they clenched their fists. The jaeger around them did the same.
“Right hemisphere, calibrating,” Ben said, lifting his arms into a defensive stance. Han made the same gesture.
“Left hemisphere, calibrating,” said Han. As one, they punched left fist into right palm, Millennium Falcon imitating their every move. Ready to go.
“Alright, boys.” Leia said. “Your orders are to hold the Miracle Mile and keep that thing out of Los Angeles, understood?”
A flicker of Han’s thoughts had Ben looking at their radar screen and frowning at what he saw there. He leaned to press the comm. “Marshall, I’m showing that there’s still boats around the Channel Islands, have we got refugees camping there?”
It was suicidal, but not unheard of. As the rich moved inland, the poor were shoved toward the ocean. Those desperate for a place to bunk down would settle anywhere, even on islands. The nearby Shatterdome and jaegers made some feel that their odds were better. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“They’re not a concern right now. The islands are twelve miles out, you are to hold at ten. You’re protecting a city of four million people, not a few dozen refugees. Is that clear?”
The look Ben and Han exchanged was an old, familiar one. Don’t tell your mother.
“Understood,” Han was the one who replied, grinning at his son. “Wish us luck, sweetheart.”
“Good hunting, boys. Stay safe.”
Millennium Falcon strode out into the sea, the night sky ahead flashing with lightning. Accompanied by two helicopters, they headed into the storm.
The visitor’s center on Anacapa Island was equipped with an emergency siren long before kaiju appeared, but when it blared now the campers knew it could only mean one thing.
People tore out of their tents, some with small children, and ran for the visitor’s center. Those that had boats ran for the pier, not thinking about trying to navigate through stormy waters at night. The panic was almost a living thing gripping people’s hearts and lungs, the siren its voice.
Between flashes of lightning, there was suddenly a shape in the water that wasn’t there before. One person pointed it out, yelling, and the entire crowd stilled. When the lightning flashed again, the shape was closer, as if a new island had decided to join the chain.
Then the dark shape reared up out of the water. And up. And up. As rain and seawater poured down its body, the kaiju Starkiller opened bioluminescent eyes, blade-shaped head turning to look at the crowd of tourists huddled on the cliffs in front of it. It roared, a sound of pure primal malice echoing through a body the size of a skyscraper.
The people ran. Starkiller sank its claws into the top of the cliff, the ground crumbling under it as it pulled itself up over the edge. A child screamed.
And then, a horn blared, accompanied by a roll of thunder. The kaiju froze, turned. Helicopters swept overhead, spotlighting the jaeger erupting from the water. Millennium Falcon sounded its horn again. It was a call of challenge, a declaration of intent. As the kaiju snarled, coiling to attack, the jaeger put one fist up while the other beckoned with an open palm.
Let’s go, ugly.
Starkiller roared, lunging. Falcon sidestepped, smashing their waiting fist into the side of the kaiju’s head. Before the monster could recover, Falcon punched again. The kaiju is knocked into the waves.
It snarled. In the darkness, Ben could see its glowing eyes narrow. Starkiller surged forward, the dagger-like edge of its skull aiming for their torso. Han pulled them back and to the side. Drawing it away from the island, the people. Ben punched, right hand aimed for Starkiller’s head. It saw them coming, mouth opening, teeth gnashing. The punch changed to a hold. Ben felt the echo of teeth biting into his thumb. He grimaced.
Plasma cannon, he thought.
Not yet, not with the island right behind it. Han’s voice in his head replied.
Come on!
Get it turned around first!
His father had a point. But dragging the fight further out to sea would cost them an advantage. Jaegers worked best on solid ground, and the island shelf gave them good footing in shallow water. Turning would take them right off the shelf.
No time to argue.
They threw Starkiller over their hip, stepping into deeper water to piledrive the kaiju down. Ben cocked his arm, prepping his plasma cannon as the kaiju struggled to its feet. When the kaiju lunged, Han held up their other arm to fend it off. It grabbed the charging plasma cannon, pulling.
What’s it doing?
Now! Fire now!
Ben roared, blasting the cannon once, twice, into the kaiju’s side. Bioluminescent blood sprayed out as Starkiller fell back into the waves, sinking out of sight.
Leia’s voice crackled over the comm. “What was that? We show an energy pulse miles from where you’re supposed to be!”
“Just going for a little walk, Sweetheart,” Han replied. He grinned at his son, who matched him. “Didn’t think you’d mind if we took out the kaiju while we were at it.”
“You two disobeyed a direct order. When you get back—”
R2’s voice cut in. “We’ve got life signs! That kaiju is not dead!”
The sea rolled around them, dark and relentless. Thunder rumbled overhead as they turned, looking for any sign of the monster. Ben was suddenly aware of just how loud his own breath was. His mother’s voice was yelling, telling them to get out of there.
I’ve got this, he thought. We can take him.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Han muttered, letting his son lead as they took a step deeper into the ocean.
The water on Ben’s side exploded. Before they could react, Starkiller struck them across the face, claws leaving deep gouges in the metal. Ben yelled, the pain echoing in their suit’s biofeedback. He cocked his arm, instinctively going for the plasma cannon.
Starkiller lunged.
Pain. His arm, no, Falcon’s arm, ripped from its socket. The kaiju dug in with its edged skull, ripping and tearing. Metal screeched, wires popped. Ben screamed, the electronics in his suit burning. Han gasped, feeling the echo on his end.
Ben! Ben, hold on!
Falcon punched with its remaining arm, dislodging Starkiller. The kaiju reared up in response, crawling on top of them, claws sinking into the cockpit. Ben could see its eye through their viewport, glowing against the darkness.
It knows we’re here. How? How does it know we’re here?
Metal groaned as a massive claw appeared next to Han’s head, sinking into the cockpit. His father looked at him, terror written on his face, vibrating in the Drift.
“Dad!” Ben shouted, his father’s fear amplifying his own. “It’s coming through the hull! What do we do?”
Han glanced at the giant claw, then back at his son. Their eyes locked. “Ben, listen—”
Starkiller roared. The hull gave way. Everything screamed at once—metal, kaiju, men—and then Ben Solo was alone in the cockpit. He cried out, feeling as though his head had been torn open. In a way, it had. The Drift was silent, and where Han Solo had stood was now only a deep gash, an open wound of machinery.
The kaiju pushed him back through the water, the Falcon slamming against the side of a cliff. It jolted Ben through the pain. As Starkiller slashed and ripped at his chest, Ben lifted his good arm. Slow, too slow. Everything was so heavy now, an impossible weight on his body, on his mind. He could feel his blood pounding in his ears as he switched the control disc to his good hand. His father’s side. He cocked his arm back, feeling the pulse building, a tingling through his arm.
Roaring, Starkiller bent and drove the spear of its skull into his chest. Again. Again. Ben screamed. The pain burned, white-hot agony. He was on fire.
As the kaiju lunged once more, Ben roared back at it, heaving his arm forward. The cannon flashed. Starkiller was filled with light.
Leia could not look away from the screen. The pulse cannon’s last shot had wiped out the kaiju signature. But the Millennium Falcon’s was gone, too. She watched, frozen, as R2 refreshed the system again and again, trying to find some sign of her son in the vast ocean.
As the people around her panicked, Marshall Leia Organa remained a bastion of stillness, her only movement the tears rolling down her cheeks.
On the island, the rain lightened to a fine drizzle, a chill damp in the moments before dawn. The people on the island waited, watching. They could hear the large steps through the waves, the creaking of metallic joints.
As dawn broke, the silver and white jaeger rounded the cliffs of the island, stumbling up the beach. It staggered on the slope, stumbling and falling onto the sand. At the last moment, its one remaining hand reached out, planting into the ground, the cockpit coming in to rest beside it.
A child ran forward as the life left the machine, and the rest of the crowd followed. The cockpit had been ripped open in the fight, and a pilot stumbled out as they approached. He climbed over the mounds of dirt his landing had created, gasping for air. As the crowd reached him, he collapsed, blood from his face and his side painting his white suit red.
“Dad.” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Dad...”
Someone grabbed his hand, and Ben Solo’s eyes slid closed.