Luke watched the sun rise over the spaceport, reflected in a thousand minds' eyes until even the pale, washed-out light that struggled through the clouds seemed almost too bright to bear. Carnival had ended days ago, and the air of irresponsible revelry had been replaced by one that reminded him in a different way of Mos Eisley and of the home he'd left behind. The dawn brought hope to the people he watched, but it was faint, buried under whispers of despair that built on one another until they became a roar. Luke tried to listen, to hear what they were trying to tell him, but his efforts were halfhearted. His head was pounding. His back and shoulders ached, and his eyes were gritty and dry. He had hardly slept since he'd been on Kurakae, and it was starting to feel like he'd spent the better part of a lifetime here, in the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon.

He had tried to familiarize himself with the spaceport at first, making the necessary trips back to the X-Wing to retrieve Artoo and the few other practical supplies he'd brought with him and venturing back into the city to buy what he had not. But there were too many people here, too much noise, and whether it was perception or paranoia, Luke couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He stayed on the ship now, watching the shadows and feeling the eyes of the city prickle like sparks in the darkness.

Even now, the Falcon had drawn the attention of a young man – a spaceport mechanic – who looked up at her from below, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. Luke focused; saw the ship as it must have looked in the mechanic's eyes. He felt a twinge of passing interest…but that was all. They were strangers here, all of them, the ship included, and as such they attracted attention. If there was any more to it than that, it was lost in a web of tenuous connections, the jumble of consciousness all around him and the darker, omnipresent chill that had driven him from bed in the first place.

Vader.

The thought made his hand start to itch, and he rubbed absently his stump. It didn't hurt as much as it had, he thought, although he wasn't sure if the weird burning sensations were actually getting better or if it was just that he was too tired, too frustrated and to used to them to care. Maybe it was just that, with Han and Chewie around, he had more to take his mind off of them.

Han. Chewie. He could feel his friends now, stirring in the darkness of the crew quarters. Han, shivering as the remnants of his own nightmares fell away. Chewie, alert in an instant and worried. He called out in the Wookiee tongue, and while the words were almost as much of a mystery to Luke as they'd been three years ago, he understood the sentiment perfectly.

"I'm up here, Chewie! I'm all right."

It was Han's footsteps, and not Chewie's, that he heard in the corridor. "Couldn't sleep, huh?"

"You too?"

"Hey, you know me." Han fell into the pilot's chair with a forced nonchalance that matched his tone of voice perfectly. "I'm just looking out for you, kid."

"…Thanks."

"So…whatcha doing up here?"

Luke shrugged. "Just…watching the city, I guess."

"Not much to see." Han paused. "…You dream about him too?"

This took Luke by surprise. He saw Han's dreams, sometimes. The cold, the dark, the pain. Brushing up against Luke's own memories and…resonating. He wondered if Han could see his dreams too, or if he was just making an educated guess. Maybe it was just that obvious.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Sometimes." Every night. But he couldn't say that, even if it was true.

"Well, we'll be out of here soon enough, and then –"

"Good." Luke spoke too quickly, and it only sounded more childish and unnatural when he tried to cover it up. "I – I don't like it here."

Han smirked. "What's there to like?"

"I think we should leave."

"Hey, not so fast, kid." Han was trying hard to keep his tone light, but Luke could feel the confusion, the anger, and above all the sickening worry that had been all over him and Chewie ever since they'd ran into each other in that bar. "This is my business associate we're talking about here."

Luke shook his head. "He's not gonna come through."

"He will."

"I don't…" Luke closed his eyes. There was something there… something dark and rotten and…

"What?"

"I can't…" I can't see. "I don't know what it is, Han. I just…have a bad feeling about this." His hand was itching. Aching. Screaming, even though it wasn't even there.

"You sure you're okay, kid?"

"I'm fine!" Luke snapped. He hadn't meant to. "I'm all right. It's just…someone's watching me. Watching us. The ship. I don't…I don't know."

He waited for Han to make some sarcastic remark about the Force, but he didn't. He just kept staring straight ahead, out into the dawn that was breaking over the spaceport. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"You got it." Han stood and turned as if to leave, but he didn't take a step. "We're out of here. But we talk to Sauvith first."

Luke didn't know what to say to that. Han was right. It had been his idea to come here, his idea to look for a lightsaber in the spaceport underworld. And maybe he did need a weapon; maybe Han was right about that too. But Luke was pretty sure he wasn't going to find one here.

"Han," he began.

"I shot him."

That was the last response Luke had been expecting. "What?"

"Vader. I shot him, on Bespin. And he just… stopped it. Blocked it. I don't know. I didn't miss!" Han turned around, and Luke could see the plea in his eyes. "I didn't miss. He was right there. He just put up his hand and…absorbed it, or something. Ripped the damn blaster right out of my hand."

"The Force."

"Yeah."

"I…" Luke hesitated. He hadn't talked about what had happened on Bespin, not with Leia, not with anyone. He took a deep breath, and then the words came out in a rush. "I hit him too."

"You did? Did you hurt him?"

"A little. I think. I don't know, after that he…."

"Hey…" Han stepped forward, and for a moment Luke was afraid that he was going to touch him. "It's okay." He looked pointedly at what was left of Luke's right arm. "I, uh…I think I get the picture."

His absent hand throbbed, and Luke covered the stump with his left hand, self-conscious but at the same time perversely grateful for the injury. Let everyone think that this was what was bothering him. They were half right, anyway, and if they ever knew what else Vader had taken from him….

A concerned roar echoed in the corridor, and Luke forced a smile onto his face. Chewie had been in the galley every morning since they'd been here, trying to find something that would counter the effects of field rations, hospital food, and in Han's case – he strongly suspected – weeks of nothing at all. It wasn't any different from flying halfway across the galaxy with one hand, or pulling the Falcon apart for no reason other than to put it back together. Chewie was doing what they all were doing, just trying to put things back the way they had been, to pretend that they were still who they had been, and that the Falcon was still home.

"Think you can eat?" Luke looked up at Han, trying to pretend that the answer even mattered. That he even had a right to ask the question, or to be on this ship in the first place.

"Yeah, sure," Han mumbled, as if he hadn't really heard the question. "Chewie! Are we ready to take off?"

With that, he headed down the corridor to the galley, but Luke lingered for a moment in the cockpit. He had spent so many nights here, in the glorious days after Yavin when it had seemed they could conquer the world. It had been home, because they had all needed it to be. But now…the ship felt different. Wrong. Han had told him that Lando had fixed it, rewired it, and the hatred with which he'd said it had been palpable enough to push even the prying eyes of the city from Luke's mind. Maybe that was it. He had hardly been paying attention to the inner workings of the ship when it had carried him from Bespin, and before that…it had been months, at least, since he'd even been on the Falcon. Maybe it had always had those weird dead ends, connections that seemed to lead to something but that never quite came alive. Like some kind of modification that had been started and never finished. But that didn't seem like Han. Didn't really seem like Lando, either.

There was another cry from the galley, and this one Luke understood well – it was the closest thing to his name that Wookiee vocal chords could manage, underscored by a kind of paternal concern that Chewbacca probably would have worked harder to hide if he'd known how strongly Luke could sense it. "I'm coming, Chewie!" he called, and he put the cockpit behind him.

"All right, I'm eating!" Han held up his hands in mock surrender and took another bite of whatever kind of fish Chewie had brought back from the marina the day before. He was frustrated, and it showed in the lines on his face as clearly as it did in the ripples he made in the Force.

"Hey, Chewie." The words were muffled as Luke found himself enveloped in a hairy Wookiee hug. Han snorted, but Luke knew that he didn't really disapprove, and he found himself playing along. A couple of years ago, all of this – the hug and the breakfast and the general concern – would have annoyed him at least a little. But now that Worrying About Luke was just about the only thing Han and Chewie seemed to agree on….

"All right, ya big softie. Let him go."

Chewie growled, but he did as he was told.

"Are we ready to leave or not? No," Han cut Chewie off before he had a chance to finish his response. "I don't care about the thermostat in the cargo hold. Can we take off?"

Luke wanted to tell him that something was wrong with the ship, but he didn't. What could he have said? This wasn't like Echo Base, wasn't like Uncle Owen's condensers. Then, he had known what was wrong and what could be done to fix it. This… this was just a feeling. Besides, if he brought it up, Han might decide to pull the whole ship apart again, and then…. A shiver ran down his back. No. It was more important to get out of here, and to make sure that Han and Chewie went with him.

"All right." Han pushed his plate away; he'd barely touched the food. "We go see Sauvith first, see if a couple thousand credits'll motivate him."

Chewie shook his head, obviously not thrilled with that idea, but Han wasn't going to be swayed on this.

"We need this, Chewie. Yes, I know what I always said about the old man! I take it back, all right? Luke…Luke hurt him, Chewie. He hurt Vader."

Chewie managed to roll concern, admiration, and disbelief into a single warbling syllable.

"It wasn't like that," Luke explained. "It didn't… stop him, or anything."

"Yeah? Well, it was a hell of a lot more than I could do."

Han stood, and Luke watched him go, knowing that he wasn't going to find what he was looking for, but also knowing that there wasn't anything he could do to stop him from trying.

Han had spent a lot of time on this planet, back in the day, and even when he hadn't had business in its less-than-legitimate back office, he'd spent a fair number of hours in that old Sabacc hall. Morning or night, Carnival season or tax time, it had always enjoyed a decent business. Today, it was almost deserted, and the owner – usually apathetic, if not exactly cordial – gave Han and Chewie a dirty look as they entered. "He's not here," the old man hissed, and the clear implication was that anyone looking for Sauvith would be better off going back to wherever they'd come from.

"Where is he?" Han tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was starting to grow in the part of his gut that just knew when it was time to fold.

"Not here."

"It's important."

He felt the cold butt of a blaster pressed against the back of his neck, and the old man stepped back, shrugging as if to say, "I told you so."

"Get out of here, Solo." It was a female voice, one that he'd heard before but couldn't readily place. One of Sauvith's women, he assumed.

He heard a roar, felt the swipe of a paw and then the woman was pressed up against the wall, the blaster flying halfway across the room. She was bleeding, but it wasn't Chewie who had hurt her. The wound was old, to judge by the color of the blood, and badly dressed with a dirty cloth that had half-fallen over one eye. Han knew her, or at least he knew her face, and it wasn't the kind of face that he would have ever expected to see so twisted in misery and fear.

"It's for your own good!" she spat and inched back, even though there was nowhere behind her to go. Chewie hadn't moved his hand from her throat. He growled a question that Han didn't expect her to understand.

"Where's Sauvith?" It wasn't a direct translation, but he figured he'd get better results with that than with Chewie's version. "What happened?"

The woman shook her head. Her whole body was trembling.

"Chewie, let her go. Chewie!"

"See for yourself," she gasped. Han couldn't tell if it was sweat running down her face, or tears. "See what you and your Jedi friend…." She said Jedi like it was hellspawn, and Han didn't stick around for the rest of the sentiment.

The hall patrons, sparse as they were, followed him with their eyes as he stormed through the room, back to the soundproof, blastproof door that had sometime since his last visit been stained with the residue of blaster fire. There was no one to guard it. Chewie pushed Han out of the way and swung the slab of steel out of the way with his bare hands. In the split second before his eyes could confirm it, the Wookiee's cry told Han everything he needed to know.

The bodies were stiff, the blood on the floor dried. The room had been ravaged.

"Yeah." Han nodded; Chewie's appraisal of the situation was pretty accurate, as far as he could see. "I think I can guess what they were looking for. Hey!" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sauvith's woman, creeping slowly across the floor to the doorway. "Where do you think you're going?"

She scrambled to her feet, but Han was faster. He grabbed her roughly by the collar, and her bandages fell to the floor. They were covered with blood, but the wound beneath them was superficial, and at least a few days old. She was virtually unharmed, and probably at least as strong as he was. It was just his dumb luck that, for whatever reason, her hatred for Luke didn't appear, at least at this moment, to extend to him.

"They let me go because I talked." She lowered her voice; Han wasn't sure whether she'd spoken loud enough for anyone else to hear.

"Who?" He felt her shake, knew that it was his hands that were doing it, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. "Who did this? Who let you go?"

"You tell me." She wrapped a calloused hand around Han's wrist and gave it a sharp twist…right there, right against the bone in the same place where Jabba's guard had cracked it with a metal rod and then forced it back into the manacles. The world flashed red, and he fell onto one knee, never taking his eyes from her face. She could have done that all along, could probably kill him and Chewie right now if it suited her. "I didn't exactly stop to take names."

"Vader."

The woman blanched. If it was true – and Han had no reason to doubt his own instincts on this one – she hadn't been lying. She really hadn't known, which at least meant that it hadn't been Vader himself who had been here.

Han rose to his feet, the pain in his wrist forgotten or at least overshadowed by the mad calculations that his mind was struggling to make. How had Vader found them here? What was he looking for? Why kill the old dealer instead of just taking what he wanted? And had he taken it? Had there been anything there to take? It didn't really matter now. If they stayed here much longer, something much nastier was going to find them. Find Luke.

"Come on, Chewie." He ran out into the city, not needing to look back to know that his first mate was right behind him. "We've gotta get back to the ship."

Luke saw what Han saw, felt what Han felt, and in that one crimson instant, he thought that he even caught a word.

Vader.

Han was afraid. He could sense it. Not afraid for himself – Han was never afraid for himself, not anymore – but afraid for Luke. Luke wished that he could tell him that there was no reason to worry. Vader wasn't here, and even if he was…he wasn't going to hurt them. Not now, anyway. Not before he had his son, standing before him of his own free will.

"Artoo?"

The reply was distant; Artoo had been running diagnostics in the maintenance bay, and apparently he wasn't finished yet.

"No, stay there!" Luke called. He was already on his way back to the cockpit. "How soon can we take off?"

The Falcon had been designed for a crew of at least two, and Luke had never taken her through the startup sequence without Han. But he had Artoo, and he had the Force. And for the first time in days, there was no one around to notice or care if he used it.

The sublight engines rumbled into life, and the electricity coursing through the ship felt just as good as warm energy rushing into his own body. A blast of stale air hit him in the face as the life support systems came online. It smelled like the Falcon. Luke smiled at the thought. It was silly that something like that should matter, but it did.

"Artoo?" He settled into the pilot's seat and called into the ship's internal comlink. "Can you give me a reading for the hyperdrive?" A flood of information spilled onto the cockpit monitor. "All right. Are you done with that diagnostic?"

Negative. Not yet. But Han and Chewie were on their way; they didn't have much time.

"Abort it for now, then."

Artoo squealed, obviously not happy with the idea of his work going to waste.

"I know, I know. Can you get back to the ship on your own?"

The reply was a hesitant affirmative.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

He waited until he was alone, and then he let himself stretch out into the sky. Father. There. The Vader-spot was where it had always been, dark and pulsing and always, always, calling to him. Not on this planet. Not here. You want me to run. Why?

Heavy footsteps on the landing ramp were the only reply. "Chewie, get the engines going!" Han's voice echoed in the hallway. "Luke! Where are you!"

"I'm here!" he called back, and his words were drowned out by Chewie's call.

"What do you mean we're ready to leave? All right, then, change of plans. Hey!" Han grabbed Luke by the arm and forced him to take a step back into the cockpit. "Where you do think you're going?"

His tone wasn't exactly unfriendly, but it took Luke by surprise. "Back to my ship. I – I thought we were getting out of here."

Han yelled over his shoulder, "Hey, Chewie! Get that X-Wing out of here, would you?" He turned back to Luke. "Where's Artoo?"

"I sent him back to the ship. What's going on?"

"Vader." His voice was black. "Sit down, kid. Looks like you're my new co-pilot."

"Han, I can fly."

"Never said you couldn't. Chewie! Get out of here! Come on, baby…."

The Falcon rumbled and purred as she lifted off, rapidly rendering the city and its denizens dolls and then miniatures and then little more than specks as she pushed up towards the mesosphere with a speed that forced Luke into the co-pilot's seat with a combination of G-forces and good old-fashioned shock. The roar of the city faded to a buzz and then into a barely audible hum, and he could see Han and the ship around him in sharp relief, coming into focus after what felt like a long sleep.

The com system crackled into life, and Chewie's voice resounded in the cockpit.

"He's got Artoo," Han translated, and then pushed the button that would allow him to respond. "Thanks, Chewie. You got the coordinates?"

Chewie apparently did.

"Meet you at the rendezvous point, then. No, I don't know where we're going from there. Got a couple of things to ask our resident Jedi first." He glanced at Luke out of the corner of his eye, and Luke had the sinking feeling that that last comment hadn't exactly been for Chewbacca's benefit.

"Han…" he began, but before he could figure out exactly what it was that he wanted to say, the ship's alarms began to blare, and the control panel erupted into a flurry of red lights.

"Save it for hyperspace, kid. Boost the deflectors!"

Luke hesitated just for the moment that it took him to remember to do it with his hand, and not with the Force. Vader was far away, but if he'd had any doubts about his father's part in what had happened here, they were erased by the sight of an Imperial Star Destroyer growing rapidly over the horizon.