AN: Thanks as always for reading and reviewing! Note: A Zilkin is a small Star Wars species, the same as Colonel Gascon, the tiny colonel from the Clone Wars storyline where R2 was sent on a mission with a bunch of other astro droids and they ran into a clone with amnesia.

"Defenders of the Force Episode 6: The Fading Spirit"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 4

"And what the hell are we doin' here?" Han exclaimed.

"You keep asking that like you expect me to know the answer," said Rya. "I don't, all right? I don't know how your mind works – I'm just here to help you figure that out."

Han inhaled through his teeth as he took in his surroundings. They were outdoors, surrounded by trees so tall they looked like they could stretch out of the atmosphere; the air smelled like wood and water and Wookiee growls could be heard in the distance. Kashyyyk, obviously, which probably meant they were somewhere in his childhood.

Sure enough, there was a small human boy of around eight next to one of the trees, fiercely sticking his fingers between the gaps in the bark, his dirty bare feet scraping against the trunk. His hair was even scruffier than it would be when he grew up, dangling into his eyes and sticking up in all directions like a wild mane.

"Heh," the older Han found himself saying, "I was always tryin' to climb trees as well as Wookiees could."

His mother smirked at him. "And how often did you bathe?"

"Only when Chewie forced me - I didn't like baths."

"It shows."

Han groaned, causing Rya to snicker. He wondered how often she would have forced him to bathe if she had lived. Maybe she would have chased him around wherever they would have lived and carried him to the tub like how he and Leia used to chase the twins.

Just then a group of child Wookiees came striding through the trees, the largest one pointing in the younger Han's direction and giggling at him.

[Look,] the large Wookiee growled, [Han's trying to climb again.]

The young Han ignored the chuckling of the other Wookiees and kept digging his fingers between the bark sections.

[Awww, isn't it cute?] the large Wookiee continued. [The little one thinks he can climb.]

Young Han growled in the most Wookiee-like voice he could muster. "Go away, Ronti."

Han of the present gritted his teeth, knowing fully well that Ronti and his gang never went away when he told them.

Sure enough, Ronti and his gang kept up their chortling. [Give it up, little one,] he taunted. [Why don't you go play with the babies and leave the climbing to us?]

With that, the young Han let go of the tree and whirled around to face Ronti's group, growling louder than before, baring his small teeth. "Take . . . that . . . back."

[Or you'll what? Claw me to death with those tiny excuses for fingernails? Bite me with your non-existent fangs?]

With an ear-piercing scream, Han jumped on Ronti, punching him several times in the gut, but within a few seconds Ronti pounced on him, pinning him to the ground. In another second they were rolling around each other, bringing on laughs and cheers from Ronti's gang. Han punched, bit, kicked, but Ronti was stronger. Soon Han was bleeding from his arms, his nose, and his lips.

The older Han did his best not to flinch, though it was difficult when he remembered how Ronti's claws felt under his skin.

[What's going on here?] a familiar voice suddenly roared.

Chewie came stomping in and stood over them with his paws on his hips. [Han, get up! Now!]

Both Han and Ronti scrambled to their feet. "Ronti started it!" Han immediately protested. "It's not my fault!"

Chewie glared down at the boy, holding out his paw. [Come on, let's get you cleaned up.] After Han reluctantly took his paw, Chewie turned his glare to Ronti. [And as for you, your parents are going to know about this.]

Ronti and his gang ran off, leaving Chewie to deal with his adopted son, tugging him along through the woods. The older Han also felt himself being dragged along, as if an invisible wire was tugging him. In a few minutes, the trees opened to reveal the lakeshore, the wind blowing the fresh scent of water into Han's nostrils.

"Chewie," the child Han asked as the Wookiee scrubbed his arm with a rag dipped in the lake, "how come I ain't a Wookiee?"

[Because you're a human,] said Chewie.

"Then how come I ain't livin' with other humans?"

[You know why,] Chewie said as he rubbed the rag up and down Han's face. [Your parents died in a ship crash. Now hold still.]

"But why?" Han persisted, his voice gurgling around the cloth as Chewie wiped his bleeding lips. "How come I gotta be an orphan?"

Chewie was silent for several moments as he washed his adopted son, making him flinch from the stings. The older Han noticed a pensive look on the Wookiee's face, as if he too wondered why the boy had to be an orphan.

"Why did you ever leave here?"

Han jumped slightly at his mother's voice. "Well . . . I wanted to see the galaxy, ya know."

"I understand that," said Rya, "but you probably could have done that with an honest line of work. Why did you choose to become a smuggler?"

Han sighed as he sat down on the sand, gazing at his younger self who was still flinching and squirming as Chewie washed him. "Okay, I was about sixteen or seventeen. As you saw back there, I didn't exactly fit in with the Wookiees. They were all bigger than me, stronger than me, they could all do stuff I couldn't do, you get the picture."

"Yes," said Rya, sitting next to her son.

"Well like I said, I was about sixteen or seventeen and I'd decided I'd had enough of this planet. I stowed away on a trader ship thinkin' I could get myself a job on whatever planet they were goin' to." He ran his teeth over his lower lip. "The traders found me right after they came outta hyperspace and they were gonna take me back to Kashyyyk . . . but then we ran into some Imperial trouble. The Imps captured the ship and took us all prisoner – turns out those traders weren't as honest as they made themselves out to be."

"Smugglers?"

"Somethin' like that. Anyway, once the Imps raided the ship they dropped us off on Coruscant and took the ship with 'em, so we were stranded. Fortunately, the smugglers had some . . . connections in the Coruscant underbelly." Han shrugged. "I learned the ropes, learned to fly, and by the time a year went by I was one of 'em. What's more, I liked it. I enjoyed the thrill of bein' an outlaw."

Rya looked like she wasn't sure how to react to this latest information about her son. Her mouth twisted from side to side before she spoke. "Well . . . what about Chewie?"

Han drummed his fingers on his knee, once more gazing out at Chewie washing his younger self. "Bout three years had gone by and I'd gotten myself in a lotta trouble by then. But then . . . Chewie found me." He swallowed, his throat feeling dry. "He'd been lookin' for me ever since I disappeared. Three years and he never gave up."

Rya smiled at her son. "You're lucky to have been raised by someone so caring." She gazed back over at Chewie. "Your father and I couldn't raise you, but at least you had Chewie."

"Yeah," Han said through another sigh. "Well anyway, you'd think he was gonna demand that I return to Kashyyyk right that instant, but he didn't. I told him I was an adult now and I was makin' my own decisions." A slight grin crept across his face as he remembered that incident. "He said he understood, but I was still makin' dumb decisions."

"You were," said Rya.

Han ignored her interruption. "So anyway, he didn't demand I come back to Kashyyyk – instead he wanted to be able to look after me, and if that meant becomin' my smuggling partner, then he'd do it. Heh, imagine, three years of lookin' for me and then becomin' a smuggler just so he could protect me."

Rya put her ghost hand on his shoulder. "He never gave up on you, so don't you give up on yourself."

"I dunno HOW to not give up!" Han exclaimed, glaring at his mother. "All I'm doin' here is watchin' memories! How the hell am I s'posed to fight whatever's killin' me like this?" He blew a long stream of air out of his mouth as he flopped down on his back. "I bet I ain't even really dyin'. I'm prob'ly just havin' some weird dream."

He expected his mother to scold him, but she gave no response. The sun's rays quickly irritated his eyes and pushed them closed as his breath slowed. The heat enveloped his body, massaging his skin, reminding him of how he'd often slept on this beach under the warm Kashyyyk sun. His center of consciousness was sinking down . . . down . . . down . . . he was floating in the familiar warmth . . . maybe falling asleep was the way out of this dream . . . maybe he'd wake up in his familiar bed with Leia by his side . . .

"HAN! NO!"

Han's eyes shot open, but he wasn't in his bed. He was still lying on the beach with Rya hovering over him, her hand on his shoulder and her eyes widened. "Han," she said in a rapid voice, "you can't go to sleep here – if you do you'll never wake up, ever."

"Whaa?" Han blinked several times, still feeling his eyelids wanting to stick together.

"You have to stay awake," Rya said rapidly.

"But I'm not awake."

"Your body isn't awake, but your soul is still conscious inside your mind." Rya's words sounded like they were running together – Han imagined that she might be panting if she still drew breath. "If your soul falls asleep, you'll die."

. . .

Ahsoka blinked at the empty stall as if her eyelids had the power to reveal their culprit. His Force signature was still throbbing at her, telling her that he was in this stall, yet the stall was obviously empty. She breathed a couple of times, wondering if this was some kind of illusion.

"What are you doing?" Uma exclaimed, shoving her way past the older Jedi. Without any hesitance, she stormed up to the toilet, lifted the lid off the tank, and stuck her hand into the tank, sending the heavy stench into Ahsoka's nostrils.

"Ah-HA, there you are!" Uma shouted, pulling her hand out of the tank. "Here's our little fugitive."

Wriggling in her grasp was a Zilkin, barely bigger than her hand, his eyestalks darting around to glare at both the Jedi. Ahsoka ground her teeth at him, suddenly wondering if it would break Jedi protocol to spit on him.

"Are you the one who shot General Solo?" Uma asked in a hard voice.

The tiny creature merely laughed, a long, drunk, insane laugh.

Ahsoka growled at him, raising her lightsaber up to his neck. "Talk! Are you the one who shot General Solo?"

"Yes!" the Zilkin snarled, still laughing. "The mistress has big plans, big big plans."

Uma glared down at him. "What kind of plans?" she demanded, squeezing him slightly harder.

"We're gonna make everyone Force-sensitive!" he sang out. "Then when everyone's Force-sensitive, there will be no need for the Jedi!"

Ahsoka almost dropped her lightsaber. "What? That's insane!"

"Is it?" the Zilkin asked. "Well General Solo's got the Skywalker boy's midichlorians flowing through his veins right now!"

"Idiot!" Ahsoka exclaimed. "You can't transfer midichlorians!"

"Well I just did!" he squealed, drooling on Uma's fingers.

"And General Solo is dying!" Uma shouted. "Now if you want to live to see another day, you'll tell us the antidote."

The Zilkin broke into another drunk laugh, as if he didn't care if he lived or died so long as he could have some amusement beforehand. "There is no antidote, you fools!"