Supply Run
Chapter Nine
Chewbacca piloted the heavily laden speeder much like he piloted the Falcon—very fast, and with a seemingly unending number of twists and turns—just like Han did, in other words. Luke didn't really care, so long as they got back to the freighter as quickly as possible. And alive, he amended, as the speeder lurched, then dipped dangerously to starboard as the poorly secured generators shifted under the force of a particularly tight turn around a corner. Luke clung more tightly to the hand bar in the speeder with one hand, while clutching his lightsaber in the other. As he had pointed out to Chewie, with only the smallest amount of sarcasm, in the close confines of the speeder the lightsaber was actually a better weapon than a blaster.
Luke turned away from his constant scan of beings and vehicles along the side and behind the speeder to stare at Chewie. The Wookiee had let loose with a string of Shyriiwook invective impressive both for its ferocity and for its intensity. There had to be something really bad happening to agitate the normally gentle Chewbacca to this extent.
"What is it, Chewie?" Luke pushed himself off the side of the speeder as the Wookiee turned sharply to port, squeezing the vehicle into a small service passage off the main thoroughfare.
With a howl of impotent rage, Chewie flung one hairy arm in the direction of the road on which they'd just been traveling.
The young man squinted at the area indicated as the speeder jounced through the narrow alley.
"Something's blocking the road?" Luke asked. He couldn't tell what the obstacle was in their path, Chewie had changed their course too quickly.
Chewie offered an affirmative grunt and a brief explanation.
"I don't get it," Luke confessed. "Why is that bad? If there's an accident or something up there, and the authorities have the road blocked, won't that make it harder for Black Sun to get to Leia and Han?" Leia had told Luke—and Han had told Chewie—that they were already back to the docking rings, and practically back to the ship. Once they were inside the Millennium Falcon, they would be safe. Even if the temperamental freighter didn't always operate as expected, its heavy armor plating, anti-personnel shielding, and its very illegal collection of armaments could fend off an army. At least until Luke and Chewbacca could get there to help them.
Chewbacca's answering growl was derisive.
"Oh," Luke said sheepishly. "I didn't think about the fact that it means we won't be able to get to them as fast, either."
The Wookiee continued on, concern replacing derision in his grumbles and groans.
"Do you really think that Black Sun could arrange for an official roadblock? Don't the patrollers have to do that? Or the space dock authorities?" the boy asked. He found it hard to believe that it was possible.
Chewie's bark was short and to the point. With enough bribes, anything was possible.
Luke nodded thoughtfully as he watched out the front windscreen. He was a long way from the simplicity of moisture farming on Tatooine. Every once in a while, he missed the simplicity part.
####
"That's it," Han announced as he palmed the Falcon's hatch shut."No one else gets in till Luke and Chewie get back here." He pulled out his comm and checked the time on it. "They ought to be here any minute." Under normal circumstances, Han would have been pleased with the success of their mad dash back to the ship, but today nothing seemed normal. Every time things appeared to be going his way, something happened to screw them up. Somehow, this particular instance didn't feel any different. "Where's the stuff from the bank?" he asked Leia.
The princess was leaning against a bulkhead, pulling off her lovely, hated shoes. She kicked them aside as she reached inside her overdress.
"Here," she said, holding out a heavy duraweave bag.
"I'm going to put that someplace safe," Han said, reaching for the bag.
Leia snatched the bag back out of his reach. "What are you going to do with it?" she asked him.
"Hey, your Worship!" Han protested, his face a combination of anger and hurt. "You still don't trust me with your money?"
"I trust you," she responded, a trace of impatience in her voice. "I just want to know where you're going to put it." Leia propped one hand on her hip. "I think more than one of us needs to know where it is," she explained.
"Oh." He hated it when Leia seemed to think things through more clearly than he did. He especially hated the fact that it happened quite a bit. "You know the smuggling compartments?" he asked.
Leia nodded.
"Well, inside the one farthest aft is a small safe box." Han started toward the compartments. "Come on," he directed her.
Padding along in her stocking feet, Leia followed the smuggler as he strode purposefully ahead of her. She struggled to keep her long, heavy garments out of the way, grabbing bunches of the brocade out of the way with an irritated twitch of her hands.
Han had already picked up the false deckplates and dropped down into the smuggler's hole by the time the princess caught up with him. He looked upward at Leia, but instead of looking over her head, as he usually did, he found himself face to face—or rather face to foot—with Leia's stocking feet.
Han had never thought about Leia's feet before; he didn't believe he'd ever seen the princess without shoes, or boots, or something. Her feet were tiny and slender, just like her hands. A frown formed on his face as he looked more closely at them. They were also bloody. He could see red splotches across the top of both her feet where the toes met the body of the foot. There was also a dark crimson stain on one of her heels. He realized she must have been absolutely miserable as they'd hurried back to the ship.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know your feet were that bad." He awkwardly indicated the stained socks. "That must have really hurt."
Leia looked a little flustered, and hid one foot behind the other. "It's not that bad," she lied. "It happens to women all the time." She smiled self-consciously. "We wear stupid shoes on occasion." She didn't bother to add that it was almost impossible to get shoes that fit her tiny feet properly. "Show me where the safe box is," she said instead.
"Okay." Han hunched down into the compartment. His voice reverberated oddly off the smooth metal walls of the compartment. "If you follow this seam down to this rivet and press here…"
Leia bent down low to look inside the compartment, wrestling her heavy draped gown out of the way. "Where?" she asked.
"You have to bend down lower," Han advised her. "It's almost at floor level."
With a grunt of frustration, Leia crouched down as low as she could get. "I still can't see it," she said. The heavy brocade of the overgown slipped out of her grasp, and fell across Han's head. He shoved it out of the way with a quick hand, and raised one eyebrow mockingly.
"I hate these clothes," Leia grumbled. "Just hang on a minute," she said to Han. Standing, she started working on the fasteners that held the overgown in place across her breast.
Both of Han's eyebrows rose and disappeared into his hairline as he watched Leia's hands work.
One by one the clasps fell open, revealing the soft cream-colored fabric of the underdress. Compared to the heavy brocade, the fabric of the underdress was soft and filmy, its loose weave clinging lovingly to the curves of her breasts and hips.
"Uh, Leia," Han began, then stopped. His eyes moved slowly up from her feet to her face, taking in every centimeter between them with undisguised interest.
With a quick movement of hands and shoulders, the brocade overdress dropped to the floor in an ungainly heap. She stepped over the pile of heavy fabric and reappeared at the edge of the smuggling compartment wearing just the underdress. When she saw the gleam in the smuggler's eyes, her lips pursed into a tight, disapproving line.
"Captain Solo," Leia said sternly. "There's no need for you to get so excited. I have no intention of providing you with a show." The princess scowled down at him from the edge of the compartment. "I'm every bit as decently covered as I was before. We need to get this money safely stowed away. Show me the safe box," she demanded. "Show me how to get inside it."
Han swallowed a smile as Leia reached down and handed him the duraweave bag containing 20,000 in credit chits and several Adleraanian gems.
She really has no idea, Han thought as he took the bag and hunkered back down into the compartment. She's so focused on getting the job done she has no idea how beautiful she is—or what she does to a man. It was just like inside the garbage masher on the Death Star, he thought fondly, with that white gown sticking to her in the muck. He felt his heart speed up, and sternly ordered it to calm. His success was minimal.
Running his fingers down the false seam, he felt for the rivet that wasn't set as tightly as the others. He pressed inward on the rivet and twisted it carefully, one-and-a-half times counter—.
His hand slipped, turning the makeshift knob the wrong way around as Leia dropped lightly next to him in the smuggler's hole. The brush of her thigh against his as she settled herself next to him zinged with electricity. She has no idea, he repeated to himself firmly.
"Can you see now?" Han asked her as he sucked in a deep breath. "Run your hand down this seam to this rivet. Then push in like this," he leaned forward to press in on the rivet. The princess leaned in to look.
If the touch of her thigh had felt like electricity, the unintentional press of her breast against his arm as she bent forward was like a bolt from a blaster. Kriff! It took all of Han's will power to keep his breathing slow and even. This time, however, he felt a reaction from the princess after her unintentional contact. A sudden intake of breath, a quick jerk back.
His lips formed a quick smile, which he immediately stifled. Maybe, he thought hopefully, after this gods forsaken mission is over, they could try another meal together. And perhaps something more…
With a quick flip of the wrist, Han opened the small safe box. Then he closed it again. "Now you try it," he directed the princess.
Blushing a little, and careful to avoid unnecessary contact, Leia slipped her hand forward and maneuvered the rivet. The small door to the safe box wouldn't budge.
"Here, press here and turn the rivet this way." Han guided Leia's hand down the seam. He could smell the shampoo in her hair, and the scent of the soap she had used. He felt his face get warm. He was both relieved and disappointed when the hidden door popped open under Leia's direction. She placed the bag inside and Han shut the door. He blew out a gusty sigh.
"Okay, your Worship. Are you convinced your stash is safe?" Han asked with a smug grin.
"Perfectly. I was sure you had any number of places to hide things that aren't meant to be found."
Even though he knew that Leia had meant this as an indictment of his—mostly—former career, Han smiled and accepted the statement as a compliment. With one swift, strong movement, the smuggler levered himself into a sitting position up on the Falcon's deck, then reached down a hand to help Leia up. He pulled the offered hand back when he heard a rhythmic banging on the ship's cargo hatch. Two, then four, then one.
"That's Chewie," Han said with a heavy exhalation as he rose to his feet. Tense muscles he hadn't been aware of loosened. "Come on," Han extended his hand to the princess again. "I need to close this up and help them load the generators." With a sharp tug, he helped Leia clamber out of the compartment. "You stay inside the ship," he directed her. His eyes ran up and down her slender figure one more time. "And you should probably change your outfit," he added with a mocking, randy grin as he dropped the deckplating back into place. "You don't want to get the kid all worked up."
With a quick wink, he headed toward the main cargo hold.
####
Chewie's growled questions were getting repetitive, though Luke was loathe to tell him so; he understood the concerns that were driving the Wookiee to repeat himself.
"No, I don't see any Falleen," he answered patiently. "And I don't see that droid, either," he added before Chewie could ask. Again.
The Wookiee actually snorted out a laugh, and ducked his head in sheepish embarrassment. Then he returned to the task of getting the two of them and their load of generators through the maze of the space docks. Fortunately, it seemed that spacers were more tolerant of the Chewie's erratic driving—and a lot more nimble when it came to getting out of the way—than the general populace of Ord Mantell was.
Luke continued to scan the area for any signs of imminent threat, but as they drew closer to the Falcon's docking bay he began to relax. 273, 272, 271. The speeder flew by bay after bay. Luke loosened his sweaty grip on his lightsaber. 270, 269, 268. As docking bay 267 came into view, he reattached the lightsaber to his belt.
The lumbering speeder truck turned into bay 267 with a spray of gravel and scree. Luke breathed an audible sigh of relief as Chewie slowed down to a speed that could almost be considered safe. The young man's eyes darted around the docking bay. It was placidly quiet, with no sign of any danger. The Falcon's main boarding hatch was sealed tight, though it didn't appear that Han had felt it necessary to activate the anti-personnel field. A good thing, too—it would have been hard to get to the freight lift if they had to contend with being zapped by an energy field.
Chewie steered the speeder between the Falcon's two mandibles and cut the engine. The Wookiee leapt nimbly out, Luke following close behind. Chewie pounded out the prearranged code on the hatch of the forward freight lift and then stood shifting nervously from foot to foot, waiting until Han opened the hatch and dropped the freight lift. A clang, followed by a grating screech, signaled the descent of the lift.
"It took you long enough," Han chided, as he rode the lift down to the pitted tarmac.
With an indignant howl, Chewbacca summarized the carnage at Marak's shop, the difficulty of navigating the loaded speeder through Old Ord Mantell's narrow streets, and the suspicious roadblock.
The roadblock garnered the most of the Corellian's interest. "So, do you think it was Black Sun that set it up?" he asked.
With a shrug and groan, Chewie indicated that Han's guess was as good as any.
Han pulled on a pair of nerfhide work gloves. "We better do this in a hurry then," he said.
Luke moved to the back of the speeder and lifted open the hatch to the cargo area. He had just released the binder on the nearest generator when he saw a flash of green and felt a suggestion of impending doom inside his head. His heart began to pound and he had to fight the urge to run for his life. He heard Chewie low in panic and Han's muttered curse. Remembering Ben Kenobi's advice at the Death Star, Luke struggled to clear his mind and let go!
Time and motion slowed to one-quarter speed. Luke clearly saw the Falleen behind a stack of coolant drums far across the docking bay. The boy pulled his lightsaber off his belt as the Falleen pulled out a large and wicked looking blaster.
"Han! Chewie! Look out!" The lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss.
Even as Luke shouted out the warning, his lightsaber came up and blocked two red blaster bolts as they seemed to float lazily toward his friends. As the bolts pounded harmlessly into the worn floor of the bay, time returned to normal. Han had his blaster out and was firing in the direction of the Falleen. His first two shots were wide. His third shot went home, hitting the Falleen squarely in the back.
In the back? Luke knew that was impossible; he turned to look at Han for confirmation. One look at his friend's face said it all. For the space of a heartbeat, Han's eyes goggled in disbelief, then they began to search for the source of that shot. Chewie clutched his bowcaster, doing the same visual scan. His eyes narrowed as he howled a virulent Shyriiwook curse. At a ninety degree angle to the Falleen stood the assassin droid, IG-88.
####
Leia stood silent and unmoving as she listened to Han open the cargo hatch and lower the lift. She let out the breath she was holding when she heard him harangue Chewie for taking so long to get back to the ship, then she bent down to pick up her discarded garment. Everything sounded perfectly normal. It was turning out to be a successful mission after all, even with Han Solo's dire warnings, and her own bad feelings about the trip. All they had left to do was load the generators and they could get off this pestilent planet and back to Hoth. Which really wasn't that much of an improvement, she thought with a sour smile. It was colder than… Well, colder than any other place she could think of. However, in the plus column, no one knew the base was there. Yet.
Grasping the heavy brocade overdress in both her arms, Leia went back toward the crew quarters she berthed in when she was traveling in the Falcon. She thought briefly about tossing the kriffing thing into the waste chute as she passed by that hatch—it was tempting—but the princess controlled her urge. No matter her personal feelings, it had taken credits to produce this gown, credits that could have been used for something else, a day's food, for instance.
Leia tossed the overdress across an empty bunk, and hitched her arms behind her shoulders to undo the fastenings imbedded in the soft cream-colored fabric of the underdress. After a minute of wiggling contortions, she felt the last restraint loosen. Freeing her arms, she slipped the garment past her breasts and hips and onto the floor. She scooped it up and tossed it onto the bunk next to the overdress. She'd better hurry, she thought, in case Luke wanted to come in. The two young rebels shared the space when they traveled with Han, always being careful to not invade one another's space. It would have made more sense to have Han bunk in here with Luke, giving her the privacy of a compartment to herself, but the princess was loathe to listen to the insults and complaints the smuggler would be sure to heap on her were she to displace him from his rightful quarters as master of this bucket of bolts. Grabbing her ship's clothes, she hurried into the small 'fresher attached to the crew quarters.
As she wriggled her legs into her khaki pants, she frowned unhappily at her baggy, threadbare panties. Looking at herself in the small, wavering mirror she took in the sight of her ill-fitting military issue brassiere, providing a sharp contrast to the elaborate make-up she still wore. Gods, she missed her own lingerie. Not only for the softness of the fine fabrics, but because it fit properly. She wondered what Han Solo would think if he saw her in this mismatched mess. Or what he would think if he saw her in something soft and silky that fit her figure.
Even in the Falcon's sorry excuse for a mirror, Leia could see the color that suddenly flooded her cheeks and neck. What was wrong with her? There was absolutely no reason for Han Solo and undergarments to occur at the same time in one of her thoughts. She tugged the pants up over her hips and closed the fastenings. Reaching for the shirt, she slipped her arms in and began closing it up over her miserable excuse for a bra. It had been a very pleasant lunch, the princess thought. Right up until the moment Han Solo claimed to have seen the Falleen, it had been, anyway. She hadn't seen anything. Maybe Han had said that just to get out of being a civil human being?
No. Leia finished the last of the closures on the shirt and worked to wrestle its too long tail into her pants. Gods she hated being short, or at least hated not having clothes that fit properly. No, Han had been enjoying that meal, too, she was sure of it. He had been civil, even pleasant. And maybe she'd been imagining it, but just for a moment, Leia had felt a connection to the Corellian pilot. Something much more intimate than friendship.
From outside the ship, Leia heard a thud. She assumed that it was the first of the generators being loaded. With a mental shrug, she reached over to turn on the water in the dented sink; she wanted to get this paint off her face. Whatever she felt—or imagined she felt—about Han, she needed to set it aside. They were at war, there was no time for anything else.
Another, louder noise caught her attention. It didn't sound quite like freight being loaded. She pulled the scratchy towel down off her still damp face and listened more carefully. Now she was able to discern a high-pitched screech, followed by a ringing thud. That was a laser blast!
Flinging the towel away, Leia grabbed her blaster as she bolted out of her quarters.
####
Han's eyes flicked rapidly from Chewie to Luke, and from the dead Falleen to the very functioning IG-88 droid, all the while his overloaded brain tried to assimilate what had just happened. One of his enemies had just killed the other; you didn't see that happen too often. Too bad it wasn't a good thing. If he'd had to face one of the two, he'd much rather have dealt with a Black Sun Falleen then an IG-88 assassin droid.
Even more difficult for Han to grasp was Luke. The kid still stood there in the dim shadow of the speeder truck, the blade from his lightsaber glowing green. He'd just deflected two blaster bolts fired by a Black Sun killer, without even breaking a sweat. If Han wanted to be honest about it—and he wasn't at all sure he wanted to—the kid had even looked elegant doing it. Kriff! If there was any truth to this Force nonsense, Luke had just proved it. Han didn't think he would ever be able to live with that.
A blaster bolt landing squarely between Han's two feet brought his attention back to present. He looked down at the burnt duracrete between his boots and wondered just what kind of blaster that droid was armed with.
"Solo," IG-88 called out. The mechanical timbre of its voice sounded threatening.
"What do you want?" Han called back. It was just a delaying tactic; the pilot knew exactly what the droid wanted.
"I want you."
No surprise there, Han thought. "Yeah, well we can't always get what we want, now can we?"
Chewie groaned a soft admonition to his friend.
Don't antagonize him. Han was willing to admit that was good advice, but he figured it was little late in the game for that.
The assassin responded with another shot. A yelp from the Wookiee and the smell of singed fur had Han spinning to look at his friend.
"Chewie," he hissed. "Are you all right? Did he get you?" Han could see burnt fur on the Wookiee's shooting arm, but the shot hadn't hit flesh or bone. Kriff, this droid was good!
Chewie rumbled that he was fine.
"All you have to do is come with me, Solo," the droid said.
"Not happening," was Han's response as he turned back to the droid. Another shot from IG-88's blaster landed between his feet. Han swallowed convulsively. To his other side, he could see Luke creeping toward the assassin, his lightsaber still clutched in his hand. Han shook his head, an infinitesimally small movement he hoped the kid could see, and the droid could not.
The next shot neatly clipped Luke's lightsaber, sending it spinning across the tarmac. Luke jerked back in shock. So much for not being seen.
"Solo. Jabba the Hutt wants you. I want Jabba the Hutt's money."
What did a droid do with money? Han wondered wildly. Another shot wanged the duracrete at his feet. But IG88 was manumitted, he conceded, though rogue was a better descriptor for the droid. What did he do with credits—anything he wanted, Han supposed.
"Come with me," the droid continued. "Don't make me kill the Wookiee and the boy." Then it waved an arm at the Falcon's cockpit.
Han looked over his shoulder to see Leia's face through the transparasteel. The look on her face, a combination of anger and anxiety, was one Han knew all too well.
"I won't kill her," IG-88 reassured Han. "She's more valuable than the others. Maybe I'll give her to Black Sun," the droid continued. "Or maybe I'll give her to the Emperor. It depends on who pays better."
Han continued to stare at Leia. Stay there, princess he willed at her. Stay there! His gut twisted when he saw her raise her blaster. Kriff, she's going to come out here. She's gonna get killed!
Sucking in a deep breath, Han tensed his muscles and raised his own blaster. He knew that he wouldn't survive a head-on charge against IG-88, but maybe Chewie and Luke could get Leia to safety if he were dead. Then all the damn droid would have to do would be to pick up his bloody carcass and tote it back to Jabba.
In a huge burst of speed, Han surged forward, firing shot after shot at IG-88. He got maybe 20 meters away from the ship before a bright flash blinded him. He felt a sharp pain in his temple, then the whole universe went black.
.