Chapter 8—Where's My Epic Background Music?

After an indiscernible amount of time passes,we drop out of hyperspace in front of a large green planet that looks similarly to, but not entirely unlike, Earth. I'm sitting in one of the coordinate chairs in the cockpit as we approach, putting on my best 'I-go-to-other-planets-all-the-time-and-totally-don't-find-this-interesting' face.

"Where's this?" I ask.

"Yavin 4," Leia supplies, appearing in the doorway to the cockpit. She's dressed in my clothes, her long dark blonde hair still wet and tied back into one long braid which she's wrapped artistically around her head like a crown. "You're going to want to put me on the com," Han looks ready to protest but Leia cuts him off before he can. " I have the access code and it won't do anyone much good if we get shot down by the rebellion before we land."

Han looks to me and I shrug.

"Well she's not wrong," I say, "it wouldn't do anyone any good if we get shot down. It would certain ruin my day." Han smirks at this.

"Your Worshipfulness," Han says, handing Leia the headset with a dramatic bow. Leia ignores him and sits herself down in the co-pilot's chair, punching in a series of buttons.

"After we're done here," Han says, leaning over towards me, "let's have one of your Wine and Whine nights. I want to get drunk and complain."

"Those are the two things I'm literally always down to do," I say seriously. "And with the amount of near death experiences we've had in the last twenty-four hours, I'd say we've earned it."

"Wait- you two aren't staying?" Luke asks, appearing in the doorway. Blue eyes dart between us and suddenly the grating below my feet has become very interesting- wow, look at that. So… steely.

"And why in the blazes would we do that?" Han sneers.

"Yeah, Han here isn't the most patriotic man in the galaxy—and I'm not even from this galaxy, so I don't exactly have a stake in this war to begin with." I explain, god- my explanation sounds cringe-y even to my own ears. The cockpit shakes and the Falcon gives a groan and I brace myself against the coordinates' chair as we enter Yavin's atmosphere. A shadow passes over Luke's face as he looks between Han and I, it's just a flicker—too quick for me to read it, but long enough for me to feel guilty about existing.

"Oh," he says, "don't know why I thought we were going to be a team or something… stupid assumption for me to make."

"Yes, very stupid," Han agrees, clapping a hand on Luke's shoulder, "but at least you can acknowledge it."

"Han!" I scold, elbowing him sharply in the stomach. Han lets out a loud wheeze, doubling over. "I mean, we'll undoubtedly be on base for a few days as we get paid, and I'm sure the rebellion will have some dumb hoops for us to jump through with background checks and whatnot." I say quickly, "it's not like we'll be leaving immediately." Again I resist the urge to shove my shoe into my mouth. What am I saying? Why am I trying to comfort him?

I casually try to avoid Luke as we execute the docking and unloading process. Just as I had suspected, as soon as we land the Falcon is swarming with rebellion soldiers much to Han's outrage. Every nook and cranny must be searched for bugs and through the search, an Imperial tracking device is discovered.

"See?" Leia says vehemently, jabbing a finger at Han. "I told you the only reason they would let us go so easily is because they were tracking us!" She turns white, clapping a head to her forehead. "Heavens to Mergatroid—and I've led the Imperial Army right to our main base!"

"Don't worry, Princess." Says a giant goldfish wearing an admiral's uniform- if it wasn't for the fact that for the last three months my life has been like one long, really bad acid trip, I would swear that I'm tripping on acid. "You've accomplished the far superior task of delivering the Death Star blueprints to us—with these, at least we have a fighting chance." The goldfish claps a comforting hand on Leia's shoulder which she accepts graciously.

People dispersed quickly, everyone running off do to this or that military-related thing- I couldn't really tell you. Even though my dad way a Marine and a cop, my eyes glaze over every time someone mentions anything remotely militant. Leia was quickly surrounded by alien officials and disappeared down a corridor while whispering about strategic moves of different kinds. Luke was almost as quickly ferried away to the new recruits' center for some quick introductory training after he voiced his wish to join the rebellion and Leia had vouched for him. Han had… actually, I don't know where Han went.

My head swivels around in each direction, looking for my shifty comrade only to find him nowhere nearby. Chewie was roaring menacingly at a rebellion grease monkey that was trying to get a look at the Falcon's control panel as I wave him down.

"Hey, Chew, where'd Han go?" He roars belligerently back.

"He found the cantina already…?" I muse back, faintly impressed. "I swear, the man is part bloodhound for how quickly he can sniff out whiskey." Chewie roars back in agreement.

Not feeling too inclined to join Han at the bar, or tag along with either Leia or Luke, I plop myself down on top of a crate. Left in the sudden immense silence left in the wake of all the commotion, I wrap my arms around me despite the jungle humidity.

"Need a hand with anything, Chewie?" The wookie tosses me a wrench without looking up from the schematics he was looking over and growls some directions at me. I may not be an engineer, but I can at least tighten some loose screws. Plopping myself down in the indicated nook, I set to work, quickly becoming elbow deep in the Falcon's guts.

The room is fit to burst with rebel fighters. Everyone clad in an orange jumpsuit as they listen earnestly to the debrief. Luke is in the midst of the orange, sticking out like a fat pimple on a big orange face in his white moisture farmer's tunic. Jade, Han, and Chewie tuck themselves into a dark corner in the debriefing room, feeling as much the outsiders as they looked.

"The battle station is heavily shielded and carries a firepower greater than half the Starfleet." Explains a severe-looking grey-haired admiral. "It's defenses are designed around a direct large-scale assault. A small, one-man fighter should be able to penetrate the outer defenses."

The room breaks out in mutterings. One voice raises above all the others.

"Pardon me for asking sir, but what good is one snub-fighter going to be against that?"

"The empire doesn't consider a one-man fighter to be any threat, or they'd have a tighter defense."

"Their plan is to hope the empire will be looking the other way while we attack?" Jade whispers loudly to Han, looking skeptical.

"Ya gotta give it to them, JD, the rebellion's got some serious cajones if this is what their plan is." He smirks.

"An analysis of the plans provided by princess Leia has demonstrated a weakness in the battle station." The admiral goes on to say. "The maneuver will not be easy. You're required to maneuver straight down this trench and skim the surface to this point." He points to a spot on the map. "The target area is only two meters wide: it's a small thermal exhaust port, right above the main port. The shaft leads directly to the reactor system. A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the station."

"Should?" Jade says incredulously. Her voice is not the only one to break out from the silence as whispers once again skitter across the room.

"Only a precise hit will trigger a chain reaction, the shaft is ray-shielded, so you will have to use proton torpedoes." This is followed by another outcry from the collective.

"That's impossible even for a computer!" Says the man sitting beside Luke. He has dark hair and blue eyes and a beak-like nose that gives him the profile of a toucan. This comment receives him a sharp elbow to the stomach from the woman sitting next to him. She's pretty, in a 'I-eat-men's-hearts-for-breakfast-with-black-coffee' kind of way. Her dark hair is tied back into a tight bun, and the helmet tucked under her arms marks her as Green Group's Commander.

"But it's not impossible," muses Luke, still eyeing the schematics, "I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home. They're not much bigger than two-meters."

"Well bully for you," snips the woman.

"Easy, Samano," chides the bird-faced man, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "Don't need to go biting the new guy's head off on his first day."

"Man your ships," the admiral orders, closing out the meeting, "and many the Force be with you."

The room empties out quickly, people scattering in every which direction like that one scene with the rats from Ratatouille(™).

"All flight crews man your stations. All flight crews man your stations."

Han and I load our compensation into the Falcon as the intercom drones on.

"First stop once we get out of here is getting that damned bounty off my head," I say, grunting in my effort to move a rather heavy crate onto the Falcon's loading deck.

"Our heads." Han corrects.

"I'm sorry, but are you the one facing enslavement if we get caught?"

"Oh my god, again with the enslavement thing?" Han moans, chucking another crate onto the deck. I open my mouth to mimic him back in an annoying high-pitched voice.

"So," a new voice cuts our bickering short. "You got your reward and you're just leaving then?" Luke is standing there, dressed in the standard orange jumpsuit for rebel pilots. With the helmet tucked beneath his arm, he looks so much more mature and nothing at all like the farm boy we had picked up back on Tatooine only days ago.

Then again, that might as well be a whole lifetime ago.

Stormy blue eyes dart between me and Han.

My drop my eyes down to my shoes, unable to hold his gaze.

"I've got some old debts I've got to pay off with this stuff." Han explains, never pausing in his work. "And even if I didn't, you don't think I'd be fool enough to stick around here, do ya?" Luke is silent, but I can almost hear the petulance in his expression. "Hey," Han starts, "why don't you come with us?" He jerks his thumb back at me and winks. "You're pretty good in a fight, JD and I could use you." But Luke refuses.

"C'mon," Luke argues, "why don't you take a look around. You know what's about to happen—what they're up against. They could use a good pilot like you—and Jade, you're the best fighter I've ever seen." Luke says, suddenly turning to face me. "You could do wonders for their ground troops. You'd be a regular hero." My eyebrows shoot up at his words. Me? A hero? "If you two leave like this, you're turning your back on them."

Han shot back. "What good's a reward if you ain't around to use it? Besides, attacking that battle station ain't my idea of courage—right JD?" Han turns to me. I purse my lips.

Han spots my hesitation and looks at me aghast.

"Wait—you're not seriously considering staying for this suicide mission, are you?"

"I—uhm." I fumble with my words.

What Luke had said had gotten to me. I'd never been able to save anyone before in my life—not even myself. If I could… maybe help others, to change things for the better, then maybe...

"No—no, of course not," I say quickly. I can't look in Luke's direction.

"Alright then," says Luke. I keep my eyes fixed on loading up the rest of the crates. "Well then, you two take care of yourselves." He says scathingly. "I guess that's what you're best at."

I hear Luke's footsteps retreating when Han's voice pipes back up.

"Hey Luke," there's a pause and I can almost hear the smirk on Han's face. "May the Force be with you." Chewie roars chidingly at Han.

"Han," I start, but he waves me off as he places the final crate onto the loading deck.

"Yeah, whatever, JD—what was that all about you getting cold feet there for a second? Wonder Boy rubbing off on you, now?"

"No," I snip, crossing my arms. I can feel my face heating up.

Han snickers. "Next thing I know you'll be rescuing princesses in distress and signing up on suicide missions because you're so good."

"If you have already forgotten," I say hotly, "I already have saved a princess in distress—and with little to no help from you!" With that, I turn and stomp dramatically up the loading ramp.

The landing was crawling with mechanics and pilots. Last minute preparations were quickly being made as people readied themselves for what would undoubtedly be the fight of their lives.

Walking through the pandemonium, Luke tried not to ogle the ships too much; a childlike thrill zipping through him still at the thought he very soon he would be flying one of those X-wings.

He let his hand trail along the underside of one of the wings, feeling the cool steel, the smell of astro-fuel and sweat filling the hanger—

"Luke!"

"Biggs!" Luke shouts in astonishment. There, running around the corner of the X-wing was none other than Biggs Darklight: fellow outer-rim yokel and childhood friend. Of all the damn places in the galaxy…

Oh, how nice it was to see a familiar face.

"I don't believe it, how are ya?" They exchanged exuberant pleasantries, chatting excitedly and despite the rather grim circumstances they were meeting under.

"I told you I would make it someday," Luke gloats, "and boy, do I have stories to tell you."

"Skywalker," another voice—sharp and authoritative—calls out over the cacophony of ships readying for battle. Biggs and Luke turn to see (judging by their helmets) two commanding officers walking their way. The first one was a man Luke recognizes as the leader of Red Squadron: Garven Dreis; he's an older man with blond hair that is mostly grey by now and worn, leathery looking skin. Beside him was the woman from the briefing. Her dark eyes zero in on him and Luke suddenly becomes very aware that his jugular is exposed and fought the urge to hide the soft skin of his neck—possibly behind his helmet.

"Are you sure you can handle this ship?" Commander Dreis gestures with his gloves at the X-wing beside them.

"Sir, Luke is the best bush pilot in the outer-rim territories." Biggs vows, clapping a hand on Luke's shoulder. This seems to be enough for Commander Dreis but the Green Group Commander only raises a single eyebrow.

"Your name's Luke Skywalker, is it?" Luke stiffens.

"Uh, yes ma'am."

"He's the newest recruit," Biggs pipes up helpfully, "Luke, this is Green Group's Commander, Hana Samano." She switches her gloves to her other hand, offering a quick, firm, handshake.

"Commander," he says respectfully.

"Good luck out there, Skywalker." Her words are flat, and Luke can't tell if they're supposed to be threatening or if she was genuinely wishing him luck. He opts to just nod along dumbly and hope she doesn't literally bite his head off.

They leave, finally. Luke lets out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Don't worry about Samano," says Biggs, clapping a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "She's all bark, really."

Luke doesn't want to say aloud that he doesn't believe Biggs, but he doesn't believe him.

I watch the starfighters take off from the Falcon's cockpit. First Gold, then Green, then Red, and lastly Blue. In their wake, the hangar is left quiet and empty. The rest of the personnel of any sort of importance (ie Leia and everyone else but me) had retreated to the controls room where all the admirals and Mon Mothma were overseeing the aerial attack.

I think about my phone, somewhere up on that starship—hopefully to be destroyed soon. Then I think about some food… I'm hungry. I wonder if I wander around I could find some kind of mess hall or a kitchen.

Just then, there's a sharp rap at the entrance to the cockpit. I look up to see a man standing there wearing what looks like a military-issued suit- all bland and charcoal grey with a pair of large round glasses that distort his eyes to make them look bulbous and bug-like. A single wisp of brown hair had been glued down to his head Homer Simpson-style. He looks all the part of some bland office worker- like an accountant, maybe- except for the six legs he stood upon, all clothed in sensible dark grey slacks.

"Nancy Jade Duke? Are you Nancy Jade Duke?" He asks busily, looking between me and a tablet in the crook of his arm. "You're suppose to come with me."

"I- uh, I don't know what the right answer here is," I says slowly.

"Now, please. I don't have all day," he says curtly, turning on his multiple heels and walking back down the corridor.

Stupidly, I follow.

All the while the little man is blathering away, not even bothering to turn around to check if I'm still following him.

"It's been such a mess- such a mess- ever since the last system reboot. Everyone's been working overtime on schematics that nobody has even bothered informing the clean-up crew! Just a mess…" He tuts, skittering across the now empty hanger on his six legs.

Wait a minute- my spidey-senses are tingling. Something's not right.

It's quiet- too quiet.

Shouldn't there be some humming of large machinery…? The sound of wind, the sounds of others walking around, the buzzing of the intercom?

Or at the very least, shouldn't our footsteps be making noise?

I'm about to ask my nameless guide what the hell is up when he hangs a hard right down a hallway I hadn't seen.

And because I'm a plot-driven dum-dum, I sprint to catch up.

"Uh- hey, wait a minute! Sir? Dude? What's going o- woah…" I round the corner after him into an atrium so large that I couldn't see the walls or ceiling, though I'm sure they were there. The floor is a polished white material, everything it bright and shiny and futuristic. I turn to see the door behind me and through it I can see the hanger of Yavin 4.

This was definitely not on Yavin 4.

"What the-"

"Wait here." The room is filled to the brim with aliens of all kinds. The little accountant-man shoves me into a chair I hadn't noticed before. "Here's your queue number- whatever you do, don't leave or you'll lose your place in the queue and have to return to the back of the line." He says, and shoves a little piece of paper into my hand. It says: #37Q?788F. I look up at the Queue counter hanging from the invisible ceiling.

Now Helping #4.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"

I whirl around to try and find the little man again. "Hey- hey! You've gotta at least tell me why the hell I'm here!" I cry. "What is going on?"

The little man blinked his large bug-eyes at me and says, "you're in the wrong galaxy, m'dear. You have to see the public defense attorney or else you'll be deported."

My brain blue-screens.

"Wait- what? Deported? What- from the galaxy?" I fumble as I try to wrap my brain around what is going on. Deported? You mean go home? "But what if I want to be sent back home?"

"Everything can be arranged once you have your advisory meeting with your attorney." He says, briskly, "if you have any further questions, here's my card." He shoves another little piece of paper into my hands before skittering off into the heavy throng of aliens. I look down at the business card. It's a simple little square with the words "Guyfurth Theplo" embossed in glowing blue letters.

"Well!" I say in exasperation. Throwing my hands up, I flop myself back into an awaiting chair and resign to queue.

Its an unimaginable amount of time later when I finally reach the front of the queue. I'm pretty sure time has ended and restarted twice since my coming here. At some point I aquire a stuffed Elmo toy, but I couldn't tell you how.

Now Helping #37Q?788F

"Oh, finally," I moan, making my way toward the counter. "Hi, so I'm supposed to see someone about my galactic-displacement?"

A woman with large bug- eyes and wispy blonde hair swept up into some form of updo looked down at me from her perch behind her ridiculously tall desk. Her name tag read: Mona

"Of course," she says coolly, I can hear the clickety-clack of her keyboard as she began to type something in to a large floating blue screen in front of her. "Do you have your displacement form filled out?"

"My- what? Nobody told me I had to have any forms."

"You fill them out while you're waiting." She points over to the side where a large shelf sat filled with different forms right next to a coffee station. I could see a half-empty box of pastries next to the sugar.

Was that there this entire time?

"I…"

"Well then do you have a reassignment request?"

"No-"

"A DOHA complaint form?"

"No…"

Mona dropped her head, pinching the bridge of her nose, "do you have anything?"

"I have this Tickle-Me-Elmo."

Mona signed, closing one bug-eye and then the other.

"Alright. Name?"

"Nancy Jade Duke."

"Okay, and do you have an address Nancy?"

"Uh yeah, 1215 W John Street, Seattle, Washington… uhh, the United States? Earth, the Milky Way?"

Mona typed this all in, the information appearing on her floating blue screen in illegible letters.

"Mhm, yup. Here you are. Looks like you were one of those displaced during a new-system launch." More things appear on her screen as she continues to type away.

"...Right…" Nothing she was saying was making sense but at this point I had given up trying to fully understand anything. "So, how do I go about getting home?"

"Well you'll need to fill out a galactic-displacement complaint, then file a reassignment request form, present those to a council who'll decide whether to grant your request or not." Mona sighs, typing out a few more things. "And probably at some point you'll want to set up an appointment with a social worker to help get your documentation in order." There was a loud groaning noise as some papers shot out of what I assume is a printer. "Here."

She handed me a pile of multi-colored papers, all in alien writing.

"Wait- I can't read these. How am I supposed to fill these out?"

"Well it's not my fault you can't read Basic!" Mona snaps back hotly. "Find someone to help you fill them out, then!"

I'm not sure whether I wanted to wring the little bug-like alien-woman's neck, or have her wring my own to put me out of my misery. I could feel hot, angry tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

"And just how long is this entire process going to take?" I resist the urge to crumple the illegible documents in my fists.

"Depends, really. Around a thousand years, if you get a speedy hearing. But I've heard some wait a millennium or two before they got a hearing decision."

I slap my palm down on her ridiculously tall desk. "Okay, no. I can't wait a thousand years,- I am of a species that only lives to be about eighty- I- I can't- just- NO!"

"Miss," Mona says tersely, "I am sorry to hear that, but that is not my problem."

I heard the Queue counter click over.

"NEXT."

Un-be-lievable.

I'm fighting the urge to cry as I exit the large white room and reenter the reality of Yavin 4.

The jungle humidity hits my face as I step back into the hanger. I barely notice the introduction of loud noises as I keep my head down and ignore the commotion. I can just barely see the multi-colored documents, still clutched in my right-hand as I weave my way through the packed hanger.

"Nancy!"

I just want to make it back onto the Millennium Falcon, crawl into my cot, and cry in the dark undisturbed for several hours.

"Jade-hey!"

A hand clasps my shoulder and I'm halfway to throwing Luke over my shoulder before realizing it's him. It takes me a second to register the giant grind nearly splitting his face in two.

"WE DID IT!" He shouts. Han and Leia are in toe, sporting identical shit-eating grins.

Han lets out a crow of his own as I'm enveloped in a giant group-hug.

Oh yeah, we were in the middle of destroying the Death Star… It felt like a lifetime ago since I had last seen their faces, thought about the rebellion, or even feel the warmth of another human.

Just how long was I waiting in that queue?

"Oh, yeah." I look between all their faces, trying to fein my own excitement. "Congrats!"

"Luke here delivered the finishing blow." Han boasts, slinging one arm around Luke's neck.

Luke blushes slightly, his eyes darting over to me quickly before dropping to the floor.

"Hey, what's that you're holding?" Luke asks, spotting the documents and the Elmo.

"Don't worry about it," I say quickly, shoving the papers and the toy behind by back. "You just blew up the Death Star!" This statement brought on another round of cheers and the subject was quickly forgotten amongst all the celebration.