It's like Raiderball, Luke thought, thinking back to his school days here on Tatooine. He had a recreational education coach at school who creatively developed games for the students to develop hand-eye coordination and to encourage growing muscles.
Raiderball was adapted from Tusken Raider culture. The teams had long poles which had a wide area for hitting and which ended in a mesh net to catch a heavy ball. Four players held the position of Raider, and their job was to steal the ball from the other team and bring it to the end of their own playing field. Four others provided defense, keeping the opposite team away from the ball. Two additional team members were the Banthas, who stayed at each end zone and protected their territory with their thick padding. They did not carry the poles but were allowed to use their hands.
He had enjoyed the game. They played it indoors so they could run without suffering heat exhaustion, but the floor was sand. He liked the mental cunning, the physical test of his limitations. Not unlike what the Force asked of him, he realized.
But this was not a game. He was neither Raider nor Bantha, but merely trying to deflect the endless boulders Vader rained down on him and Yoda.
Vader's lightsaber was still hitched to his belt. He stood still in the desert while his destructive fury transformed the landscape. Luke and Yoda used their lightsabers to bat boulders away.
"Master Yoda," Luke shouted. It was impossible to form a strategy. The noise of chunks of earth and stone being torn away from canyon walls that had taken thousands of years to form was deafening. He and Yoda were having trouble getting to each other.
Deflecting the boulders wasn't difficult. Neither Yoda nor Luke had yet to suffer an injury, besides the dust of sand getting in their eyes and crumbles of rock falling around them.
Luke wondered how long Vader could continue in this vein. Certainly Luke could swat boulders all day, but it was frustratingly unproductive.
It was odd, to enter the fight of his life and yet not feel danger. He could sense Vader's fury. It was pure and crystal clear, like a spring he had discovered on one of the Rebellions' earlier bases. But this fury wasn't directed at Luke.
Vader seemed to have forgotten that Luke and Yoda were there. His anger came from inward, from a history of hurt, loneliness and deception.
Luke edged his way over to Yoda slowly. Although Vader couldn't see him, his Force sense seemed to locate Luke and he had to keep a watchful eye out for hurled boulders.
"Is this it?" Luke couldn't help but ask his master. Anticipation had built up his fight with Vader as a terrifying event. While potentially dangerous, there was a definite lack of terror. "What are we doing?"
"With himself, Vader fights," Yoda answered. "Know his son lives, only recently had he learned. From his master."
"Emperor Palpatine?" Luke slashed at a boulder aimed right for him and felt the dust settle in his hair.
"Directed at him is his anger."
"Too bad Palpatine's not here right now," Luke said. "He could kill him for us."
Yoda nodded. "Believe now that is his intention."
"Really?"
Yoda nodded again, artfully spinning and striking a large rock back-handed. "Feel you him? Only his son, Vader wants. Carefully, we must handle this."
Yoda felt a clarity, something he had not felt in a long time, since before Palpatine's ascension to power. Any lingering doubts and fears crumbled with the canyons. With Luke here now, the son of Anakin Skywalker, the uncertainty of the past decades was erased.
As Yoda had watched the galaxy fall to Palpatine, he thought he'd been helpless. Thought he had lost. But Luke had shown him the error in his thinking; he hadn't been helpless. He had been wrong to wait. He had been afraid to do more than wait. The Force was not passive, but he had been. He should have acted, long ago. He saw the Force in him now, awakened and alive, rippling like heat waves. It danced happily from Luke to Vader and back to Yoda. His term of lethargy had ended. He knew now what he had not known twenty years ago. That one must act. No matter the result, win or lose, one must act.
"He doesn't want to hurt me?" Luke asked. Deep down, he agreed with Yoda. Vader was a solitary figure, battling inner demons.
"Think not, I do. Anger with me, will he have. If wish to end this we do, step out and reveal myself I must."
"What will that do?"
"To the here and now bring the fight. Reach him we must. Begin with anger, the easiest way."
"Or love? Does he love?" The idea his father had harbored a desire for him - not his abilities - was enthralling.
"Risky that is. Sees the perceived evildoers, he does. Obi-Wan, Palpatine, me. If see you he does, think Palpatine you are."
Luke was vaguely insulted. "I don't look anything like the Emperor."
"Remind Vader of his mentor you might. When Palpatine Chancellor, and young, once was." Yoda closed his lightsaber. He stepped out, holding his arms out and using the Force the same as Vader did. He did not deflect them back at Vader but tossed them aside. They crashed bouncing to the ground.
Around him Luke saw a completely new landscape. Where once tall canyon spires loomed, now the sand was littered with rubble. Some of the canyons stood at half their original height; others looked deformed and fragile as their supports were eroded.
"Vader," Yoda called. "To me, bring your fight."
Luke saw Vader's helmet jerk suddenly, as if woken abruptly. The air became hushed.
"Powerful, your son is," Yoda informed him. "But of the light is he. Grown up, under the cloak of darkness he has."
"My son," Vader hissed. "His place is with me." Luke took an involuntary step backward as Vader's anger redirected itself. He stalked toward Yoda. "You," he menaced. "You were a part of this. You took my son!" Now the lightsaber ignited.
"Took him not from you, Anakin," Yoda countered evenly. With an almost leisurely air, he activated his own lightsaber again. "From Vader and the Emperor saved him we did. No more dark did the galaxy need."
As if given a signal, both Yoda and Vader leaped toward each other. Luke, who in all his training had not witnessed a lightsaber duel since Ben gave himself up to Vader, was awed by the flashing movements of his master and father. His eyes saw blurred shapes, his ears registered the loud hum of lightsabers.
He hadn't been afraid before, but he was now. Unsure of what his role was in this duel he helplessly held his own lightsaber out. He did not act, however. Yoda's voice held him back. Wait, Luke heard in his mind. Wait. When comes the time, know you will.
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Leia perceived a spike in Luke's Force sense. There was no porthole where she was rooted to the spot in the rear of the medbay, so it wasn't clear to her what was happening, but obviously his confrontation with Vader was heating up. She didn't like being separated from him. But she wasn't sure how she could help. She was no Jedi. She did not know how to wield a lightsaber. And Yoda was with him, she told herself. Yoda would watch out for him.
Something had broken in her the moment Chewie took Han from her, like everything was spiraling out of control. She felt useless to both Luke and Han, and in the waning heat of the day, she became numb. She stopped moving, let Chewie clear a bay for the slaves to gather, let him get water and bedding. Chewie was everywhere at once, bringing supplies from the cargo hold, arranging for the comfort of the slaves, and helping the medic with Han.
The medbay was a small and cramped space, and with both Chewie and the medic tending to Han and C-3PO in there to translate, she was in the way so moved as far back as she could.
On the skiff she'd been positive she was the only thing standing between Han living and dying. She was terrified of letting him go. After Chewie ushered Han to the medbay she spent precious minutes holding her breath, trying to prepare herself, until she swayed on her feet. But PM 7 ministered to Han proficiently and expertly. They had cut off his vest and shirt and he lay bare chested on the bunk. She now clutched his vest like a talisman and refused to look at his wound. The med scanner was like the Falcon's console board months ago, lit up with alerts and flashing lights warning of dangerous blood oxygen levels, pressure, pulse rates.
PM 7 had a habit of muttering to himself while he worked and Chewie hooted softly, Leia thought just a comforting noise. It was directed at anyone who needed it; her, him, Han. Chewie stepped forward just enough to squeeze Han's feet. He gave Leia a somber look.
"He didn't find any needles?" PM 7 asked C-3PO. He was less frightened of the Wookiee now, but was amazed that any being could understand such speech.
"No, sir," C-3PO answered. "He was unable to locate any in the storage containers. And I'm afraid we used the last one in here several months ago, when Master Skywalker received an injury."
Leia lifted her gaze from Han. "What do you need?" she asked. If she could be of help, useful, perhaps this lethargy would leave her.
"Needles," PM 7 flashed her a quick look before returning to his patient. "For the drip line. You've got saline solution," he indicated with a sweep of his hand clear bags on a metal table behind him. "And plasma at proper storage temps. But nothing to get it in the vein."
"It wasn't part of the inventory." Leia shook her head. Though she and Luke had counted the supplies long ago, she remembered clearly what the order had been. "That's one item not hard to obtain."
"Why do you have all this anyway?" the medic asked her as he worked. "Are you part of a charity organization or something?"
In a manner of speaking, she thought wryly. She decided to be upfront with the medic. "They are for the Rebel Alliance. I'm sure you are aware of the Galactic Civil War?"
"Of course," PM 7 acknowledged. "News of that proportion reaches even Jabba's palace."
"Well, we're supplying the base with much needed medical supplies. We had to obtain them illegally."
"I'm sure," PM 7 said mildly. For a moment Leia regretted her honesty. Did the medic disapprove of the war? Would he report them to the Empire? She needed to feel him out.
"Does it bother you, to keep company with smugglers?"
The medic snorted. "Bah. I've kept far worse company, believe me. I'm worse, myself."
Leia didn't understand his veiled reference, but thought now was not the time to remind the doctor of his personal failings. "What was Jabba's opinion on the war?" she asked.
"Jabba only thought about things if it could make him money," PM 7 said. "I wouldn't be surprised to hear he supported both sides, though I don't know."
The definition of a true mercenary, Leia mused. She thought back to one of her first conversations with Han, when he'd insisted his only motivation was money and she'd called him a mercenary. But he'd never played both sides. He would never take money from the Empire, at least not after he met Luke and Leia.
Han was breathing on his own now. The medic had inserted a tube to clear the air way of blood and injected a coagulant to stop internal bleeding. She could hear air escape his lungs, exiting with each shallow inhale and exhale.
"Can you roll him over?" the medic asked the big Wookiee. "Just on his side. Need to get to the exit wound. That's it," he encouraged.
She wouldn't look at it. Instead she focused on Han's face. She barely recognized him. The essence of his character was missing. Han's face was always so expressive, even when he was making himself unreadable. No thoughts crossed his face now. She had enjoyed watching his mouth and eyes. Now she looked at him differently. She saw the outline of his jaw, the curve of his nose. His shoulder had a dark mole and a small scar. Where are you, Han?
She decided if Chewie could offer sound then she would offer touch. "Is he in pain?" she asked PM 7. She moved to the side of the bunk and stroked the hair over Han's forehead.
The medic pointed at a pile of packets Chewie had brought in. "Would you open those for me please? Put on some gloves – got to keep them sterile. It's bacta bandaging." Leia thought he was going to ignore her question, but after working silently a moment, he answered her. "Unconsciousness is still not fully understood, Leia. I know of patients who report experiences in such a state. They recognize voices, touch, family, even though physically they cannot respond. He'll certainly have pain when he regains consciousness, though."
"He will? Regain consciousness?" Leia asked. She handed him the bandaging. It felt cool and wet, even through the gloves.
"Oh, at some point." PM 7 began to wrap Han's chest.
"Is he still in danger, of.. of dying?"
PM 7 bobbed his head from side to side, considering. "I'll be honest with you: here, yes. Without better care. He's lost a lot of blood. There's a risk of cardiac arrest or stroke. In addition to the trauma."
Leia's eyes darted to the med scanner. Chewie whimpered and squeezed Han's foot again. "Will you sedate him? "
He didn't look up while using scissors to cut the bandaging. "No," he answered curtly. "Can't. Suffered a laceration to a lung. I'm just stabilizing him. He's going to need full facilities at a surgery center."
Leia nodded and looked down at Han's quiet face again. It was selfish, she knew that, but she was glad. He would waken, and even if it hurt, she wanted to hear his voice again.
PM 7 leaned against the cabinets. He let out a heavy sigh. "That's all I can do right now," he said. "We need the needles."
"I'm not familiar with Mos Eisley," Leia admitted. "Will we be able to obtain them in a medical supply store?"
PM 7 nodded. He looked very tired all of a sudden. "Yes, certainly. They are actually sold in general stores here. Dehydration and sunstroke are common maladies. Life in the desert. Beings learn early how to administer an IV line." He took off his gloves and made to leave. "Do you mind if I check through those medical supplies? I'll see what else we'll need from town. It would be helpful to leave before dark."
"Not at all."
Chewie and C-3PO followed him out the door. Leia, left alone with the odd noise of Han's breathing, found her hopelessness returned in a wave. Lightly she stroked his brow. He was lost to them again. Her fingers moved down his cheek, over the scar on his chin, along his neck under the jawline. Lost, just when she was finding him. "Han," she whispered into his temple. "Will I still dream of you?"
She closed her eyes, placing her forehead on his, and remembered their free fall. Her thoughts ran together, like the first time she had meditated with Luke in the Force. His warm touch, how her dreams made the Death Star incompetent, Vader's cape unraveling. You're beautiful. "So are you."
I'm supposed to be fighting, she'd told Han in the supply closet.
You are, he'd answered. Luke, "the garbage masher's this way." Leia smiled.
Luke.
"I'm supposed to be fighting," she said quietly into Han's hair. "Luke's outside, with Vader."
You're going to be late for your Rebellion. Flying her in the Death Star, mining gems that became bombs in her hands. He brought her to the fight and he gave her weapons.
She fingered his hair, strands that curled in opposite directions, streaks of gold on the dark, like his eyes. "What do I do?"
The Death Star had a guilty conscience. Alderaanian puzzle gems and her bedroom. His mouth on hers, his hands in her hair. A bit of Vader in you. "Tell me, Han. I feel so lost."
Her chin quivered. What if she lost him? He's your spark, isn't he? "What you do for me, Han." Her lips brushed his forehead. "You support me. Help me. Know me."
His hands in her hair, weaving. No secrets. Black and white, good and bad. Tying himself to her, holding her while they fell. I'm right here, Sweetheart.
"We're linked," she realized. "Since the Death Star." Storm Troopers, slipping on ice, not noticing them, aim poor.
On the Death Star, she'd lost herself. Her world was destroyed, her person violated. She experienced unbearable pain and anguish. She had been ready to die.
And, too, on the Death Star, she found herself. Met resolve, saved lives, found family. She wanted to live.
Tears came. "You gave me me. Didn't you. What will I have if you die?"
But she knew. She would still have herself, she always would. She had that resolve to fight, to defend, to save lives. She had family, and while they died they were never completely lost. Not when they had given so much. Every being had a similar story. Everyone lost a loved one, at some point. That was the simple truth of life. Alderaan would never completely die, because it was a part of her. Han was a part of her too, and he would never leave, even if he died.
Her tears dripped on his forehead and rolled into his hair. "Thank you, Han. If I don't get to tell you later. Thank you. I love you. I'm going to go and fight now."
She gave him one last caress, one last kiss.