AND NOW HER SHIFT HAS ENDED

Han, Chewie and Jarik had been delivering consumer goods to Tatooine. Jaina was hugely pregnant, her due date coming up, and Han had been adamant that Jag remain behind as well. Han didn't do many trips to the Outer Rim anymore; he was sixty-four years old and while he was in great shape for his age, the age part was starting to factor in.

"Are we going to the cantina?" Jarik asked.

Han gave his youngest child a stern gaze. "If you intend to behave yourself." Chalmun's had been the site for Jarik's first drunk and disorderly. There'd been a few others, and Han grounded him for three months. It had been difficult for both parents.

"Aw, come on, I'm like so over the D&D," Jarik told his father.

"Good, because if you ever do it again, you're on your own with the justice system of whatever planet you happen to be stuck on." Han turned to Chewie. "And don't even think about bailing him out, you old softie."

{I am NOT a softie}, Chewie barked at Han.

"Sure you are, with all that fur," Jarik teased Chewie.

Chewie ruffled the boy's hair. The boy was as tall as Han and to those who'd known Han as a young man said he looked exactly the same. "But better looking," was always Jarik's response.

He was totally Han's son.

"Don't tell me you never got a D&D," Jarik challenged Han. Chewie roared with Wookiee laughter.

"Hey, if I didn't work, I didn't eat," Han sad grumpily.

{Didn't stop you from getting drunk sometimes}, Chewie said to Han.

"I could fly drunk better than just about anyone out there!" Han reminded him. He then turned to Jarik. "And don't you get any ideas!"

"Okay, okay!" Jarik threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. The three disappeared into the throngs of sentients of all sizes, shapes, and smells. Mos Eisley would never change, just as the black market would never completely die.

The cantina was crammed to the gills, even more than usual. The entrance allowed for a scan of much of the floor. Han's view hit the bar, as did Jarik's.

"Where's Ackmena?" Han wondered aloud. It was evening, and Wuher didn't work nights, but he was the one serving at the bar.

Tork, the bouncer, saw them and wended his way over to Han, Chewie and Jarik. He was crying. "Solo! Chewbacca! Solo Junior! I'm so glad you're here!"

"Where's Ackmena?" Han demanded.

"Oh, gods, Solo, Ackmena didn't show for her shift. I finally went to her quarters and I found her...she's dead." Tork released a fresh set of tears.

"Had she mentioned not feeling well?" Han asked the bouncer, placing a hand on Tork's shoulder.

"You know Ackmena. She'd never complain to anyone about something like that."

Chewie gave Tork a bear hug.

"She took five days off for your wedding, Solo, but otherwise, she's been here every night of her life since she was nineteen."

"Wuher's probably pissed that he's working a double," Han said. "Has it been announced?"

"No, but Wuher better do it soon or we're gonna have a riot in here."

"I think the time is now."

{I'll watch the door}, Chewie offered.

"Thank you," Tork replied in Shyriwook. He looked old and beaten as he pushed his way through the sentients of all sorts. He finally made his way to the bar.

There was a public address system in the bar, used more often in the past for alerting patrons that their conversations were being recorded by the Empire than for death announcements. (Shootings had always occurred; most were not acknowledged save for the mess left behind. And one of the reasons the cantina was so popular was the willingness of the management to turn a blind eye to the activities of their patrons, many of which were criminal in nature.)

"Shut the hells up, everyone!" Tork shouted over the PA. Tork was respected, so within a few moments, the riot of noise died down.

"You're all wondering where Ackmena is," Tork continued. "Unfortunately for us, she's passed on to the great cantina in the sky."

At first, there was silence. Then weeping began and increased in volume and participants. It looked as if some fistfights might break out. Tork demanded order.

"Ackmena is - was - the heart of this cantina." Tork was crying again.

"She never screwed up drink orders. Unlike some bartenders we know!" a patron shouted out, making an unveiled reference to Wuher. Wuher did not give a womp rat's ass as to what anyone thought about his abilities to prepare beverages.

"She was fair to everyone!"

"She didn't get weird when everyone else did!"

"She was hot!"

"She was always laughing!"

"At you, anyway!"

"She could shoot a blaster pretty damn good!"

"She didn't need the blaster! She just used her mouth!" This produced a great many guffaws from the crowd.

Han rolled his eyes. Some guys never change, he said to himself. His expression was enough to keep Jarik from laughing. The boy clapped his hand over his mouth.

"She smiled a lot!"

"She could sing!"

Tork asked for quiet again. "Let us sing in her honor, 'Good Night But Not Goodbye."

It was possible the worst din ever heard in the galaxy, but it was sung with feeling, or whatever passed for it.

When the song was ever, there was silence.

Tork spoke first. "And now her shift has ended."

Everyone echoed the line.

"I think this is exactly the memorial she'd have wanted," Han said to Jarik.

And then, Wuher made an announcement that no one had ever expected.

"Drinks are on the house."