Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Wars franchise and its characters. All that I take ownership of is Hana and her mannerisms. I seek no profit from this story. This is just a fun project. A what-if regarding if Han Solo had been a female trying to survive as a smuggler who's quick-on-the-draw. No other genders change in the story. I plan to write an altered version of Star Wars: A New Hope, Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back, and Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. This will follow the storylines of all three movies but from Hana's point of view with slight alterations. So, in case you were wondering: SPOILER ALERT!
This story is rated M for Mature.
Chapter I
The Tatooine suns beat down upon the spaceport of Mos Eisley, warming the inhabitants to a point that inspired irritation and decreased patience. Arguments could be heard amongst the docking bays of the port, between pilots who were certain another had stolen one of their tools and between smugglers and their hires over how much missions were worth. Bounty hunters lurked around every corner, seeking to make a quick profit. After all, if you were in the darkest port of Tatooine, you were bound to find someone who was on another creature's wanted list. It was just a matter of how high the reward was, and how easy the target could be taken down. It kept the targets' ears on edge, the hunters' eyes keen, and all fingers quick on the trigger. Everyone was looking for gain and trying to avoid loss, especially with thieving Jawas running about. Such an atmosphere created an endless realm of indiscernible chatter streaming around docking bay 94 and the large, clunky ship it held.
The woman leaned up on the tip toes of her heavy brown knee high combat boots, the windows and door of her large ship temporarily open to allow at least some circulation as she worked on the hyper drive. Not that the circulation helped very much, seeing as the air outside was just as dry and hot -if not more so- than the air inside. The woman's black canvas pants, as thin as could be allowed in the deep, cold recesses of space, didn't offer much relief from the intense heat as they raced up her legs, bound in the dark leather straps of the holsters holding her twin blasters, which were topped off by a belt with plenty of leather pouches holding each and every tool she could possibly need for a quick fix regarding the ship she piloted. She knew the ship like the back of her hand, and knew where any spare tools she may need were stored in the craft.
She grunted, arching up higher, pushing and shoving and popping out devices as she attempted to figure out just what was causing her latest issue. As she was stretching her taut muscular arms up higher over her head her black cargo vest, made of the same canvas from her pants, lifted up as well. The vest continued to hold more tools and spare parts she might need, and also had a hidden pouch holding some galactic credit standards she kept handy for spare parts or just a quick drink in nearby cantinas. Underneath the vest was a white long sleeve top of thinner canvas material that raced down her arms to end just above her wrists and that reached down just beneath her chest.
Beneath the lower lip of the shirt was the beginning of a large marking embedded into her skin, of a ship that for the most part was circular like a sun with a pronged top pointing up towards the woman's face. The ship was detailed with many angular lines in alternating colors of silver and black that shone against the woman's tan, toned stomach, with a long silver line making up the bottom of the mostly black lined ship. When she'd first gotten the marking, the skin had tugged a bit more than usual, seeing as the silver parts were in actuality metal scraps taken from her ship. She grunted, arching her head up more to try to see the panel she was working with better, a screwdriver/welding laser combination tool firm between her teeth, her nostrils flaring with a dark steel stud piercing the upper part of the left.
She had a long leather strip around her neck with a metal lined pendant of a star upon it, hanging just above where her breasts began. The star had many shards of glass and crystal welded together to create a multi-colored design within it. Just above it on her throat was an old white scar, a thick white band that encircled her neck perfectly, the skin stretched and contracted there due to prolonged damage to the epidermis, the nerves beneath that shot completely. She often joked that if anyone grabbed her by her throat out of anger, she wouldn't feel it anyway. That was helpful, she claimed, since the best thing she did was piss people off.
Her arms beneath the shirt were beginning to sweat straight through the material, the ends of them being donned with fingerless, brown leather gloves. Her fingers themselves sticking out of the ends had only nubs for nails, bitten down by harsh metal to the point where they were nearly nonexistent. Calluses donned the pads of the fingers as they worked skillfully over the metal plate holding the wires she had pinpointed as the problem causing her hyper drive to malfunction. She'd already unscrewed the plate but now it was a matter of jiggling it out in just the right way to get to the wires underneath. It was caught on itself, being a part of a very old ship, and with a grunt, she narrowed her dark brown eyes and jerked back quickly, determined to get it off. Without her hyper drive working properly, she was screwed. With a grating noise the plate came free, some dust from inside spilling out.
She smirked around the tool in her mouth and turned to a pocket of her belt, fumbling around inside as the sun caught on the long metallic earring she wore in her right ear, a metal spike piercing through the lobe of the other ear. The right ear was donned with a long metal chain that brushed against her shoulder, donned with multi-colored metallic shards spiraled and bent in unique and eclectic ways. Over the long earpiece hung a dark dirty mop of long brown hair, sectioned out in tendrils due to the fact that she needed to wash it that evening. After all, she figured she needed to at least twice a week on Tatooine, rather than her normal once a week quota. Past that, she felt no need. The only person she really interacted with was her co pilot, and if she smelled, he reeked! So, she let her oily, sweaty mane hang freely on the right side of her head. After all, the thicker it became with dirt and sweat, the more it acted as a curtain against any bounty hunter that might be looking to profit from catching her whenever she went into the cantina. The other side of her head wasn't quite so lucky.
The entire left side of her scalp had been removed of any follicles of hair, leaving sleek tan skin underneath just over her skull, dotted with light scars from encounters gone south. In addition to the scars, along the skin there were two sweeping black lines with dark blue outlines, curved on the inside edges and spiked on the outer ones, arching up in the direction of her spine to just beneath the peak of her skull and then curling around towards her temple. She reached up with some binding tape from her belt pouch and began to tackle the frayed wires guilty of causing her ship's latest issues, covering their frayed edges before taking her screwdriver's laser and searing off the materials, effectively melding them together, before sliding the screwdriver into her back pocket. Whipping out an electronic reader much like those found on various droid units, she pressed a button and a long thin pole shot out of one end, donned with prongs at the end of it for easy insertion into outlets on the plates below and above monitors on ships. It was a universal device, able to be easily twisted and moved about to get accurate readings. And far less expensive than having a clunky droid beeping and rolling about, which just so happened to be the thing she may have taken this little device from before modifying it to fit her needs. Needless to say, the droid was not amused.
Bending the prongs to the point where they were just the right size for the outlets on the plate below the wires she'd been working with, she slid them into place and began tapping at the buttons on the device, her forehead screwed up in concentration, pulling at the skin of her aged face. If the current was just as strong on either side of the wires then the issue should be fixed and the circuit of power complete. She bit her dirty lip as the machine beeped slowly, receiving a reading from the ship. Once a beep sounded, she turned and got a similar reading from the plate above the wires. A few moments later she smirked, the issue apparently solved. For now, she thought with a crooked grin that revealed slightly chipped and bent teeth, credits just like her calluses of a rough, hard earned life-although she had to admit that her temper and wit were most likely the cause of the condition her teeth, not the processes required for maintaining her ship. Screwing the plate back on quickly, she patted the ship in that area with a firm hand, "Try to hold yourself together a bit longer next time ol' girl. Don't make mama work too hard," she whispered in a hoarse but loving voice she never used for another thing in the galaxy, using vocal cords that had been strained beyond help to the point of perpetual hoarseness. Others had commented that it made her sound far too old for her age, and that it also sometimes made it hard to make out what she was saying. But up to that point her ship hadn't complained about her voice, so the opinions of others bothered her little. Her ship was her ultimate partner, and the only thing she'd ever give such weight to.
It was her livelihood, allowing her to smuggle shipments to various parts of the galaxy at top speeds. She had made various modifications to the original design, thus making the ship her own. After all, the faster it went, the more money she made, and the easier life she lived. It was her lifelong friend and they'd been in more than one tight situation, but always had ended up coming out the other side. Walking towards the open door, she put both hands up above the door hatch, patting the hard metal of the ship and leaning out slightly into the Tatooine heat, gazing about docking bay 94, the suns hitting the metal on her stomach and making it gleam. Most captains left their ship to rest at other areas of space ports such as this, to take a break. But she preferred the docking bay, staying close to the ship that was more like her child than her tool.
Various hallways crisscrossed around the bay and she saw captains and creatures walking about within them, heading to missions to who knew where. She frowned as she watched them all, feeling irritation that they had so many places to go so often. It wasn't like she didn't have places to go on occasion and clients to serve, but she knew she'd be far better off if she had half as many missions as they did. Being a female smuggler, she could have the fastest ship in the whole fucking galaxy and it still wouldn't matter to some people-although she would argue that whenever she was in tight spots she had two rather noticeable assets that male pilots failed to have that could offer a simple, quick distraction to most officers. The sexual discrimination was a constant irritant to her, and kept her hot-blooded most of the time. That's why her copilot went fishing around in the cantinas, not her. He may be able to rip arms off better than her-in fact he could do it quite easily in under a minute-but he was a big softie really, all roar, and would never imagine hurting anyone without proper cause. He created a sharp contrast to her own fiery temper, and she'd never seen him purposely hurt anything unless it was in self defense.
In light of the ironic differences between the two of them, he therefore went fishing about while she waited patiently-or sometimes rather impatiently if she was honest with herself-at the ship. She bit the inside of her dusty right cheek. He should have been back by now . . . hopefully with some news of clients needing her services. If he didn't make it back with news soon, she'd be more willing to contact him, accept that the well of Mos Eisley was figuratively dry of any prospective clients, and drag him back to her ship to take off. Her nature forged from a trying past made her restless, never wanting to stay in the same place for too long if she could help it. And the overarching watchfulness, ever-growing, of the Empire didn't help ease her tension. She'd been here for a little over a week now, and that was too long for her liking. At that moment, a large, furry, burly alien of blue color and beady black eyes paused and pointed at her as he was making his way down a hallway.
"What's wrong little girl, need some help with your big bad ship?" he taunted. She rolled her eyes in response. The other male captains were always giving her grief and acting like she wasn't tough enough to handle them. That's how it'd always been: her against the galaxy. And that was how she liked it. If she was against everyone, then that narrowed down her allies in the simplest of ways: she need only be concerned with herself. She fought for herself, defended herself, worked for herself. And when necessary, ran away for herself. She had no personal strings tying her down, none of that honor shit to weigh on her mind. Her goal was always the same: looking out for number one. Nothing more, nothing less.
"MAYBE IF I NEED HELP CRASHING DEAD INTO A MOON! ISN'T THAT HOW YOUR LAST SHIP ENDED GROOP?!" she hollered back, narrowing her eyes at him threateningly while her mouth quirked itself into a mocking smirk, "STRAIGHT OUT OF HYPERSPACE AND INTO ROCK. I WONDER WHAT YOUR HIRE SAID ABOUT THAT WONDERFUL CALCULATION?!" He growled and turned to face her head on, shaking a furry fist at her and hurling insults in various languages. She sneered as he broke for a deep breath. "SURE YOU WANT TO SAY THOSE THINGS TO ME?! WHAT ABOUT WITH THE LIGHT OF MY BLASTER'S ARTILLERY EXPLODING ACROSS YOUR FACE?!" she shouted with a snarl added to her tone. He paused as her left hand slid down her side, tapping the grip on her strapped in blaster, knowing that even with the yards between them, she'd hit square on. Grunting, flinging his hands at her in a way that meant she wasn't worth the trouble, he turned to the direction of hallway he'd been headed to and walked off, mumbling obscenities.
She sneered, nostrils flaring a moment more in his direction, her adrenaline racing even after just that exchange. Once she was sure he wasn't going to head back for a second round of yelling, she was about to turn back to the inside of her ship, to prepare for take off. He had been the final confirmation that she was done with this place . . . at that moment, another pair of creatures caught her eye, forcing her to turn her head and blink at them. Two Rodians, one clearly an adult male while the other was a young child of indiscernible gender from her distance, walked down the hallway in the opposite direction that Groop had just gone, apparently oblivious to the heated exchange which had just taken place. The male had a bulging brown leather satchel, faded, worn, and stained over time, slung over his side. As he walked, the smaller of the two hurried behind him, carrying large bulkier items. As the man walked, she couldn't decide if he was a pilot or a mechanic hired by some of the more foolish and trusting captains to work on their ships. Not that she didn't think he couldn't be honest and trustworthy. She'd just learned never to trust anyone with anything of importance to her, and certainly never with her beloved ship. That was why she never let anyone tamper with her ship but her and her own copilot. As the older of the two turned and talked to the younger, she blinked and watched as the younger's ears perked up as it seemed to gaze at the older male in an adoring fashion, as if it was hanging on every word. She sighed, her chest heaving as it took her back into her memories. . .
The dark haired man leaned back with a large smile in the small cockpit of his ship. It was a simple, small, old ship, only capable of smaller smuggling operations, and not nearly fast enough on its best day to outrun many Imperial starships. "We should be at the rebel base in less than an hour," he turned to the small brunette child sitting in the far too big copilot chair. She turned her brown eyes to him, adoring the man in spite of the dumpy condition of their ship, a gleaming glass pendant of a star hanging heavy around her neck. It had been a token her mother had often worn, and so she never took it off. When her father had given it to her, she'd been filled with joy. Ever since her mother had died when the girl was two, caught in the crossfire of a cantina dispute, the man had become the child's entire world. Shortly after the incident, he had moved fully into the small ship he owned, bringing her along with him. She helped him with everything-inventory, maintenance, piloting, navigating- or rather, almost everything. The only thing he never let her do was aim the guns of the ship, but that was something he rarely did himself.
She adored her father, but there was just one thing she didn't understand, "Dad, why do we do this?" He frowned, "Do what?" "Smuggle supplies to the Rebels? Isn't it dangerous going against the Empire?" she asked. It never made sense to her. Her father was an overly cautious person. Why would he do things that were so dangerous? He smiled weakly, "The answer's simple, my little navigator. . ." he reached out and put a firm hand on her hair, which was braided back in a messy brown rope down her back, and wiggled her head back and forth playfully, "It's the right thing to do by the Force." She frowned, him having never mentioned such a thing. Then again, she'd never before questioned his judgment regarding the shipments. She was only six after all. But they'd had to get through quite a few tight financial spots lately, he'd said, and so she had to wonder why he'd risk so much for the Rebels, who clearly didn't pay him enough for his trouble. She supposed other children didn't worry as much about such things, but her life revolved around what they did, so it was often on her mind.
"The 'Force'?" she repeated. He smiled calmly, "Yes. It's the essence behind everything and around everything in the universe. It's the balance of good and evil, and right now the Imperials are upsetting that balance, according to the Rebels. And I believe them. Darkness spreads out from the Imperials wherever they go, so the Empire can't be good for overall harmony. So, I try to help the Rebels bring balance back to good and evil. Hoping one day it'll all be right again." "But what if you never bring that balance back? What if it's never right again? What difference can we make in all of this?" she asked. It truly all seemed far too vast an idea for them to make much difference. He shrugged, shooting a crooked grin at her, "We may never bring balance and it may never be right again. Heck, my sweet, we may never make a big difference at all. But we will be rewarded. The Force ALWAYS rewards those who do good for others. Somehow."
She nodded, smiling at him, believing him with all her heart. After all, her dad had never hurt anyone on purpose and he'd made it through life. He had to be right about this 'Force' thing. At that he smiled even wider back, and he turned to the large windows facing Space before him, and froze, the color draining from his face. Frowning, she turned to look at what had caught his eye. And stared, at the ship approaching them far too fast to be a good thing for them, a crude emblem for the Empire smeared across on its front panels. "They must have come up to us when I wasn't paying attention," he muttered, worry in his tone. Tapping at a screen, he grit his teeth and bit his lip, "They're behind us too. . ." he whispered, more to himself than to her. Turning to her, as if noticing her for the first time, he whispered a hoarse, fearful voice, ". Go hide under something. In a storage closet . . . anything. Be quiet. " She frowned, "What's going. . ." How could he be so unsure if he'd just told her about believing in the Force? Wouldn't it see them through? "GO!" he gasped, terror entering his voice, staring at her with wide, panicked eyes.
It filled her with fear and panic and getting up, the girl rushed away and out of the cockpit, tripping over things in her haste to get to a hiding spot. Finding a small closet that would normally be used for smaller cargo, she pushed inside and closed the door, listening as their ship slowed and powered down as the other ships latched onto it. A moment later, she heard doors opening, people shouting, and heavy boots marching just outside the door. Pushing her hands up to her mouth, she breathed hard against them, moving to crouch down near the floor between two storage containers, staring with fearful eyes at the darkness before her. Surely the Force wouldn't let them down. It couldn't, could it?
A Wookie call broke the woman out of her memories like a slap to the face. She jumped slightly and blinked, focusing on the Wookie at the foot of the ship door's ramp. The creature gazed up with bright blue eyes peaking out from his brown and black furry face, nostrils twitching, wearing nothing but an artillery belt and a holster holding his bow caster. Given the fur covering his body, he didn't need anything more in the chill of space travel. She cracked a weak smile at him, "Finally found someone, ya damn fuzz ball?" He nodded, giving a soft, grated cry of affirmation. "Good," she muttered, and hitting a button near the door mechanism, she began to let up the door, walking down the ramp as it slowly rose up and back into the ship, "I was beginning to wonder what the hell I had ya for. . ." The Wookie made a disgruntled sound, beating his chest in an offended way. She smirked at him, hopping off to land firmly in the dirt beside the beast that towered over her by at least 3 feet, knowing that he didn't take her insults seriously. They were affectionate jabs at the beast that stood three heads above her with muscles that could tear her apart. She chuckled and shoved his arm, the large burly thing moving gently against her, "Yeah, yeah, I know you think you're the best damn copilot in this whole forsaken galaxy. Don't be so full of yourself," she grinned, speaking in a tone hinted with amusement. The Wookie gave his best grin and one firm hand rested on the middle of her head, wiggling it as he crooned at her. It was his way of showing affection right back without hugging her. He could always sense when a full hug was unwanted, and tried to abide by that rule as much as possible. She admired his restraint: the damn thing was so clingy all he ever wanted to do was grab someone in his bone crushing arms.
She smirked, shoving his arm off and turning as the two began to walk to the hallway nearby, "Yeah, yeah, I'm really happy to see you too. Alright, let's see what guys you have hooked on the line. Any names or facts I need to know about before meeting them?" she remarked, ready to head on to the cantina. The sooner she met these clients, the sooner they'd be in the air . . . hopefully. Suddenly he gripped her shoulder, and she frowned, turning to face him to find him nodding towards her left breast. Tilting her head down, she sighed, closing her eyes momentarily before frowning at what had caught her co pilot's attention. Two more symbols were showing from under her shirt where it'd moved away due to the movement of her arms. They were her least favorites on her entire body.
One symbol, closer to the center of her chest, was of the color pitch black, and was an overlay of universal symbols for hand and mouth, outlined with angular edges that caused it to form a warped pyramid. Beside it, in deep red, was an overlay of universal symbols of change and beneath. Those formed more of a circle due to having curved edges. She hated those symbols, and was grateful he'd pointed out that they were showing before they'd headed into the cantina. "Thanks," she whispered hoarsely, tugging the shirt's upper lip up higher and then shrugging her vest tighter around shoulders to help hide the symbols that were destined in design and location to not be easily hidden. They were meant to stand out, and that was the last thing she'd ever want. Once she was content they were as well hidden as possible, she turned to him, "Let's go. And tell me about our new client." Pushing past him, she marched from the docking bay, the creature following dutifully behind, grunting and crooning things to her as she bobbed her head, listening to him intently.
She paused upon entering the Cantina, holding up a hand to stop the Wookie's monologue, glancing at a group of Imperial Storm Troopers near the doorway conversing with various bar patrons. Just the sight of the bastards sent a feeling of nervousness into her gut and set her entire body on edge. She'd need to be a bit more at ease to discuss any mission. She turned to the Wookie beside her, and patted his shoulder, "Go find the new clients. I'll get something to drink and join you. Get a corner table. Somewhere dark in here. I want to avoid those ivory clad fuckers as much as possible," she muttered, hoping that a little drink would calm her nerves. The Wookie grunted with a shrug, nodding before turning and making his way through the crowd. She had no doubt she'd be able to find him quite easily, even in the darker parts of the cantina.
Turning, she walked up to the bar, leaning over and tapping the bar keeper who grunted and began to turn, ready to take her order. "Hey," a nearby alien slurred, pushing past her. She frowned hard at the creature, its two buggy starry eyes bulging in its head as it ordered some cocktail she'd never heard of before. As the barkeeper began to turn to fix the creature a drink, she began to glower at being overlooked, the nervousness in her stomach turning to raw fury. Such a conversion was often made when it came to her temper. Leaning over, she shoved the offensive alien hard to the side, making the alien growl and face her. "Do you mind?" she snarled, eyes vicious and narrowed at him. If she were capable of such a thing, she was certain she'd be spitting fire. The creature growled at her and shoved her hard back, apparently nonplussed by her anger. She slammed into a large alien on her other side, which growled, whipped around, and was about to shove her back until it received a cutting look from her and noticed the hand that was instinctively moving to her blaster on that side, "You were saying?" the woman hissed, her eyes daring the burlier alien to follow through with his rage.
The alien turned around, believing it to be in his best interest to let her be, and she turned to the other alien that was chattering angrily at her, "So, don't like me shoving you back, huh, you insolent shit stain?" whipping her blaster around, her finger already on the trigger, she pointed it at him, slamming it onto the bar surface, "How you like it now? If not, maybe I could make you a brand new stain across the floor of this hellhole? Red? Black? Brown? What color is inside you, anyway?" she snarled, her voice going a tone darker and deeper, forming a growl. The alien noticeably got flustered and backed away, leaving the bar. She turned as the bartender slowly put the cocktail down and slid it forward, glancing at her nervously. The liquid inside looked like piss, but then most of the drinks in this bar did. That didn't mean they tasted like it though. Smirking, she grabbed it, "Put this on his tab. For all the trouble he caused me." Tilting the dark grey cup back, she closed her eyes, taking a sip and letting the liquid race down her throat. Bringing it back down, she winced slightly at the acidity of it, licking her slightly burning lips as she gazed at the murky liquid. Not her choice, but it was free, and laced with liquor that would help dull her nerves before meeting the prospective clients. It would do. Turning, she marched off, sliding the blaster back into its holster.
She found herself growling as she passed the Modal Node band, which seemed to play even more annoyingly loud in her ear upon her passing them, the alien creature nearest her leaning forward and tilting his head expectantly to the open helmet on the floor holding a small batch of galactic credits. She snarled in response in a way that made him lean back slightly due to wariness, "Me, give you money? For fucking up my ear drums? Fat chance," turning the cup over the helmet, having drunk a good bit more of the liquid prior to passing the band, she poured most of the remnants into the helmet and onto the floor around it as she continued past. Hearing disgruntled sounds behind her, she smirked, chuckling, and brought the cup back to her lips, taking a sip as she neared the table where her Wookie copilot sat studying an older white haired man in a brown robe and a sandy haired boy in a khaki tunic and brown pants.
Ok, enough messing around. Time for business, she thought, and straightened her back, walking around the small table, sliding the glass onto the table as she sat down, leaning with her back towards the Wookie, blinking at the people before her. No matter how pissed off she may be, she knew all too well that without clients her livelihood was completely shot. And she was in even a tighter spot for money than normal at that moment. She had to take on these clients, regardless of how deplorable she found them. That meant studying them and trying her best not to piss them off. Admittedly, the latter of the two was easier said than done. . . She let her brown eyes play on the older man, who the Wookie had informed her was Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi.
The man looked far too old and weathered to survive much space travel in her opinion, but for the right price, if he wanted her to take him across the galaxy just so he could die, she would. The boy on the other hand, who the Wookie had not provided the name of, looked like a kid green and fresh out of the family home. His hands held some calluses, but it was clear he'd led a sheltered life, with his reddened smooth cheeks, innocent eyes tainted with only a bit of distrust, and overall boyish features. Not to mention he didn't have any real scars as far as she could see. It made her lip want to curl back in disgust. She was certain she'd seen ten times as many hardships by the time she was his age. But let him go through the galaxy with her. Let him grow up a little. If he wasn't ready for the hardships, that was no skin off her nose. She'd been wanting clients, and here they were. And even if they were so ancient it made her snicker or so young it made her want to roll her eyes, they were about to pay her for taking them across the galaxy, and boy was she about to make them pay up.
She smiled and tilted her head, eyes playing dangerously in the light of the Cantina, and tugged at the front of her vest, turning to face them head on, "I'm Han Solo, I captain the Millennium Falcon." she slowly tilted her head towards the Wookie who turned his head slightly, blinking at her as he rested a furry hand on her thigh, not in an overly affectionate way but more of a way aimed at keeping her steady and even tempered during the future exchange. With that having been done, the Wookie turned to glance at the two males before them, ever protective over his captain. He was going to be the silent onlooker, ready to cut in if things went south but was otherwise happy to let her do the rest of the talking. She tilted her head the other way, blinking at the two men, glancing at the Storm Troopers in the cantina and making sure they weren't about to get close enough to eavesdrop. She hated those goddamn Imperial boy scouts. Turning back to them, she shrugged her shoulders before continuing, "Chewie here Tells me you're looking for passage to the Alderaan system."
Author's Note: So what'd you think? Did you like Hana or were you disenchanted with this new version of Han Solo? Are you eager to read more about her journey? Please review to tell me what you think! No flames please.
