4 BBY — Hoth — The bitter winds of Hoth howl mercilessly across the icy shore, stinging Arya’s cheeks like a swarm of angry needles. She squints into the distance, where the horizon is rapidly being swallowed by an advancing wall of white. A winter storm is coming — fiercer than any they’ve encountered. The team has no choice but to find shelter. With no likelihood of extraction, Arya knows they are stuck here for the foreseeable future. She turns to her companions, Herm and the droid K2-SO, her brow furrowed with urgency.
“All right, we need to find shelter, and fast,” Arya says, raising her voice above the wailing wind. “We won’t last long out here.”
K2-SO’s photoreceptors flicker as they adjust to the diminishing light. “Scanning for possible safe locations,” the droid announces mechanically. “Perhaps the droids over there know of a refuge.”
Herm pulls his cloak tightly around himself. “Better than freezing out here. Let’s go.”
As they approach the droids, Arya’s eyes narrow. She can see that they are in rough shape, discarded remnants of the Empire’s once expansive arsenal of mechanical servants. Their chassis are weathered, rust-streaked, and dented, but their photoreceptors flicker to life as the team draws near.
“Hello,” Arya calls out, her breath crystallizing in the cold air. “We mean no harm. We need shelter before the storm hits.”
One of the droids, its once shiny, now pockmarked frame sitting up a bit straighter, responds. “Are you Imperials?”
“No, we’re not,” Arya assures them. “We’ve come to Hoth for a mission, and we’re stranded. Can you help us?”
A chorus of mechanical murmurs fills the frigid air. The droids seemed surprised and uncertain but also curious. Another droid, its memory circuits slightly less wiped than the others, speaks up. “We were abandoned at an old Imperial research base. It is not far from here. Perhaps it can serve as your shelter.”
“We would be grateful,” Herm says, shivering. “Can you lead us there?”
The leader droid nods its rusted head. “This way.”
As they trudge through the snow, Arya strikes up a conversation with the droids. “How long have you all been here?”
“By our calculations, it has been approximately four standard years,” the leader droid says wearily. “Our memories were wiped before the Imperials abandoned us. However, we have managed to maintain functionality to some degree.”
Arya feels a pang of pity. To be left behind and forgotten, with nothing but the chill of a desolate planet for company—she admits it’s a fate she wouldn’t wish on anyone, even a droid. “You’ve done well to survive,” she says softly. “What happened to the research base?”
“It was deemed non-essential when the Empire redirected its resources. We were ordered to stay and guard it, though from what, no one ever said,” the leader droid replies. “We’ve kept ourselves operational using whatever parts we could salvage. We just want to be useful again.”
“Well, maybe we can help each other,” Arya offers.
Before long, the shadow of the Imperial outpost looms before them, a weather-beaten relic of a colder, more oppressive time. With creaking joints and whirring servo motors, the droids clear a path into the structure. Inside, the recycled air is frigid but bearable—a marked improvement from the ferocious blizzard bellowing outside.
The small outpost is bleak, its walls echoing with the silence of abandonment. Arya and Herm exchange weary glances as they follow the droids to a lower level. K2-SO breaks the silence with his always blunt observations. “This facility appears to have been maintained rigorously, given its circumstances. A testament to our mechanical hosts.”
In the basement, they find a storeroom with surprisingly well-preserved rations—old Imperial supplies that will provide much-needed sustenance. The ragtag team settles in, spreading out thermal blankets and setting up a small heater to ward off the cold seeping through the floors and walls.
As the storm rages outside, Arya and Herm take the time to learn more about their hosts. The droids seem eager to share, excited for a change in their monotonous existence. Each droid has a unique set of talents and a wealth of knowledge about Imperial ships, which intrigues Arya — and further burns the desire to find a rightful purpose for them.
The leader droid, whose memory hasn’t completely been erased, stands before Arya and Herm with an earnest look — if a droid can even possess such an expression. “We were created to serve, to be useful. Being forgotten is a fate worse than being recycled. Please, help us find a purpose again.”
Arya meets the droid’s gaze, her resolve hardening. “We’ll do our best. We don’t leave anyone behind — not even droids.”
K2-SO, who has been attempting to establish contact with the Rebel Alliance, turns from the comm unit, his chassis sagging slightly. “The storm is interfering with our communications. I’ve been unable to get a signal through.”
“Keep trying, K2,” Arya encourages. “We have to get word out about the situation here.”
Hours later, the storm continues its relentless assault, but K2-SO finally succeeds in establishing contact. His photoreceptors glow brighter as he relays the message. “I have connected with the Rebel Alliance. They’re aware of our situation and will dispatch a U-Wing to extract us once the weather clears. I’ve also informed them about the droids.”
A sense of relief washes over Arya and Herm. As they wait, the leader droid shares tales of their combined struggle for survival. Their desperation to avoid succumbing to rust and oblivion, their attempts to be more than just outdated models left to the elements. Arya feels her respect for them grow.
At last, the howling winds outside begin to subside, replaced by an eerie calm. The U-Wing arrives without delay, descending like a silver bird of salvation. Arya, Herm, and K2-SO quickly mobilize the droids, guiding them to the transport ship. The droids’ processors buzz with excitement, their circuits brimming with a renewed sense of purpose.
Once aboard, Arya feels an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. They all head back to the Hoth basecamp, where they swiftly pack up the remaining equipment. The mission is more than complete—it has given birth to unexpected allies.
But Hoth has one last surprise. As they ascend into orbit, sensors blare a chilling warning—an Imperial patrol is approaching, their ships shining menacingly against the blackness of space. Arya’s heart races, and she exchanges anxious glances with Herm.
“We don’t have a backup plan for this,” Herm says, his voice laced with dread.
The leader droid steps forward. “Perhaps…I can assist,” it suggests, its voice filled with an odd mix of hope and determination. “I know old Imperial access codes. They may still be valid.”
Arya nods, encouraging. “Go, talk to K2 and our pilot.”
The leader droid approaches K2-SO and whispers the lengthy sequence of codes. A tense silence follows as the codes are transmitted. Every being aboard—the droids, Arya, Herm—awaits with bated breath for the response.
The Imperial patrol ship’s comm crackles. “Codes check out. You are cleared to depart.”
Exhales of relief sweep through the cabin. Arya looks at the leader droid, a smile forming on her lips. “You did it. You’re all truly valuable allies to the Rebellion now.”
As the ship surges forward, the stars stretch into lines, and they jump to lightspeed, heading to a brighter horizon. The once-forgotten droids have found a new home — a new purpose alongside their human companions in the ceaseless fight against the Empire.