Across the Stars

3 ABY

Somewhere in between Cloud City, Jabba's Palace, and a bout of skepticism

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Dear The Force,

... Mr. The Force? Mrs. The Force? Apologies in advance. You spend half a year out here frozen in carbonite and it gets hard to be discerning about these things.

In either event, I think we both know under normal circumstances I never would have bothered to consider the possibility. Solitary confinement changes folk, I suppose. You and your kin seem to be having a helluva ride with solitary yourselves by the way; all that time balancing cosmic energies, expanding the universe, dealing bad hands to those poor souls at the Sabacc tables.

Speaking of poor souls - it's me. Han Solo. Captain of the Millennium Falcon. Smuggler of goods. Victim of bounties and misplaced trust in Cloud City administrators.

Probably never thought you'd be hearing directly from me, huh? Well, I've been known to pack a surprise or two. Although, up until six months ago I don't know if we'd consider ourselves to be on speaking terms. What can I say? Not generally the type to be convening with cosmic entities.

But well, here we are.

That is to assume, 'here' is a place and not the psychic hellhole it's been feeling like these days. I'll give it to you straight. Days are nights, lefts are rights, and my internal body temperature is somewhere between subzero and nonexistent. How I've managed to maintain these bouts of consciousness is a question beyond even me. Something about being deep dished in a pool of liquid carbon just fires the right neurons, scratches the right itches.

See, out of all the things they fail to tell you about the carbon-freezing process (and frak, are there a lot), this one might be the most damning - you're frozen in body, not frozen in mind. No sir, I haven't gotten that lucky. Not this time. Six months locked in this ice-rock container and not once have I been able to shut off my own genius. Get some shut-eye to help bask in the anxiety of it all.

Enough about my problems, though. You're probably wondering why - out of all the thousands of made up entities in this foshed-up galaxy - I'd be talking to you.

Well, let the record show that I did try to talk to some of those other made up ones first. It's just... none of them were answering my calls. And Luke (Skywalker, that is) always did make sure to put in a good word for you in particular. Said you were like this kind of energy field whats-it, ray shield sounding sort of thing. That you bound the galaxy together and helped make the pinstripes in lightspeed look real pretty. Even once said he's had the pleasure of talking with you when he was in some kinda altered state before.

Now, I don't know about you, but it only takes me a couple rounds of Corellian Ale to be in an altered state, so consider me a dash skeptical about that whole thing. But hey, what do I got left to lose by humoring his delusions? Outside of my mind, that is.

Oh, and no, before we get any further with this conversation and/or monologue of mine, I just want to make one thing very abundantly clear. This is not me asking for forgiveness. No sir (ma'am), I think we both know I'm well past the point of forgiveness. And as far as cosmic tallies go, I'd like to believe I've mostly made up for my set of debts.

But here's the thing, The Force. The one real, damning truth that I don't have the fuel to run away from no more. I need something extra to believe in. Just the idea of a belief, really. Not a 'cause' per se, lot of good serving the Empire and Rebellion's done me.

So I need to believe that you're out there hearing this plea, The Force. Because this is me standing (sitting?) here before you, asking for a favor. One itsy-bitsy, eensy-weensy measly little request for everybody's favorite smuggler.

I need you to send a message out for me. One of those good ol' astral projections Luke's always gone rambling on about. Just kinda hip shoot it out there into the void if you please. One message, The Force. You think you can do that for me?

...

...

Alright, alright fine, a couple messages. Knew I couldn't pull a fast one on you. Besides, if this is all the time I've got left, I guess I wanna make sure I've got the words right. Have my affairs in order, y'know?

See, I never was much for wills, or eulogies, or waxing poetic to the voices here inside my head. And before we get any further lemme just set the record straight on another thing - I really do think that I had most of the important stuff figured out in this life. I knew when to shoot, when to run, when to hotwire a speeder bike just for fun. The thing is, most of those things are good when you're living, but when you're me, and you're... 'here', and there's so much that's been left unsaid...

Right, let's get this message thing started off with a bang, shall we?

...

To the golden boy himself,

C-3PO.

You've always been a reliable companion whose advice I've cherished greatly. Over the years I've come to appreciate your insightful observations and considerate-

Hahahaaaa. Ahahahahahha.

Yeah, no. I can't do this one. I just... I tried to keep a straight face, alright? Tell Leia that I really did try.

'Sides, if I can't connect with the Force, there's no way the droid can. Six million forms of communication my Corellian ass.

...

Oh, here's a good one.

To my 'friend',

Lando.

You two-timing, droid-banging, card-peeking, cape-obsessed, no-good bastard.

I probably would have done the same thing in your position.

I forgive you.

...

Alright, alright, now that I've got those out of my system.

To the Farmboy,

Luke.

Just know, I'm blaming you in the event that this whole 'altered state' thing doesn't work, but then... I guess you wouldn't be hearing it anyways.

I could go on this whole speech about how proud I am that you've gone from shooting womp rats to destroying Death Stars, but your head's big enough as is and the Rebellion probably can't spare another helmet.

For the record, I still don't know whether you even managed to make it off Hoth or you're out there taking a dirt nap that's even colder than mine. Might never find out, the rate I'm going.

Either way, just know I've been thinking about you a lot lately, kid. You and your big head.

...

To the Princess,

Leia.

I know that you know that I know that you know... but let's just leave this message here for possible future reference, alright?

Here's where I should probably drop in some half-baked line about you being an angel, but I hear that one's already been taken. I'll save the gushy love cargo for when I see you in person, just know you're the one for me sweetheart.

Keep things nice and diplomatic in the meantime. I'll see you on the other side, hopefully prior to Jabba trying to eat me.

...

To the best damned co-pilot in the Galaxy,

Chewie.

Wua ga ma uma ahuma ooma. Uwana goya uhama.

RRRrrruurgh! Arrggg! Hoyaarg aga huwaga?

Aaawww rooowwr rrrraahhhrr.

Alright, alright, so my Wookiee-speak isn't what it used to be, but it's the thought that counts, right? I'm sure you caught the gist of it.

Keep the Falcon tip-top for me big guy. I know she'll be safe in your paws.

Oh and P.S.

You can keep that medal they gave to me back on Yavin. Fosh knows you've earned it well more than I have.

...

Well, The Force, I think that's all I got. Hope you were able to copy the gist of it down. I'm not much of a writer myself so if you could just gloss it up some here and there, that'd be great. Definitely try and make me sound as smart as we both know I am.

Maybe add in one last part here too, a little secret to see them off with. Hell, it's probably the one thing I can manage to say with complete sincerity.

Tell 'em I'd do it all over again in a parsec. Every shootout, garbage monster, and Hyperdrive failure.

Yeah, you know what? Just tell 'em that last part. That's more my speed. Cut out all the rest of that mushy essay poodoo. They don't need to hear that.

Except Threepio, of course. You can keep his.

End

Author's Note: This oneshot was written as part of the Writer's Anonymous 'Never in a Million Years' Challenge.

As an aside, it was also the chapter to finally get this dinosaur of a document across the 100,000 word mark.

You know, sometimes I amaze even myself.